Fair is fair

Posted on August 21, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Every year, around the first of August, I start watching for the Northwest Washington Fair posters, that herald the arrival of one of my favorite summer traditions: a night at the fair grounds. Since moving here, we have only missed one year, and we wont do that again! I can practically hear some of my friends groan: “Once our kids are grown, what’s the point?”  It’s seedy at worst, kitschy from a neutral stand point and overpriced-for-the-same-thing-each- year, from pretty much every angle. I hear you. Valid points one and all; but I love the fair and I don’t see that changing any time soon. I love sitting on my beautiful deck, in silence, watching the water. I am deeply satisfied with the solitude and peace of the wilderness I escaped to this summer in Montana and Wyoming, and where I live here in Washington. I am very happy in clean, aesthetically pleasing surroundings, no doubt about that. But this girl is still happy to dive giddily in to the seedy, made for Bravo world of the fair.

We generally arrive late afternoon, to avoid the heat, and so the kids can get a few insane rides in first, before we head to the food concessions. Every year, as we enter, I warn my family: “We are NOT staying late!”  Then we’re off.  Little Man loves the Gravitron, and every year he tries (with no luck) to get the rest of us to go on. Fools climb inside the dark space ship like ride, and then spin so fast that they’re pulled against the walls, for about 2 minutes. He loves to brag that he once rode it 12 times in a row. Amazingly, this is a fact. It makes me sick just to watch others ride it, but there’s little argument that it’s best to get that out of the way before one eats. I don’t do spinning rides anymore. They remind me too much of being very, very drunk and I prefer to avoid either. My kids: spin them, turn them upside down, or drop them from ridiculously horrifying heights and they are very happy. Not me, I just watch and vicariously get a thrill, or get dizzy.

Now that my kids are older, I don’t really need to stand at the exit of each ride they go on, waiting to cheer them as they come off. However, I noticed that they still like to wave to me from the rides. Now, I go just to watch people, generally sharing a running commentary with a good friend, who is equally humorous and snide in appraising what we see.  I admit it, I am very judgmental at the fair. I’m not proud of that, but there’s just so much to… well, judge. So, while I try to be pretty “PC” the rest of the year, at the fair: the gloves come off. It’s not pretty, but in my defense: what I see is generally not pretty. I find it damned near impossible not to notice:  the garish decorations and sexualized everything (these days, women in bikinis get you on a ride that was once called the Himalaya, and had a very benign, un-sexy yeti); the very young girls in very short shorts and tank tops (colorful bra straps exposed), paired with cowboy boots/uggs/flip-flops/ platforms; their young boyfriends who walk around with their hands around, on and all over said young girls, or the men of all ages staring at them; the totally wasted people of all ages; the teen parents (there were so many this year!), for whom this is probably a big night out, but who bring their very young children and seem very annoyed that those kids want to get out of their strollers (at the fair!) and do something other than drink blue juice from a a bottle (for the record: I feel for these young parents, I honestly do, but it’s hard not to comment); the happy looking families who are there to see their little ones ride the dragon coaster and giant slide, and wave from the side; the teens, the teens, the teens; the country folk and the mohawk folk; and the carnies, oh, the carnies!

           

This year, we actually watched as a “carney” winked at someone off to the side, then walk over and passed a small package to them (Principessa was sure it was illegal); then scare a young girl by yelling “HEY YOU!” (apparently for fun) so that she looked terrified even before she was tossed sideways through the air.  When he saw that someone was blowing bubbles, he gleefully chased them, yelling “bubbles!”; just before he checked my kid’s safety bar and pushed the on switch.  I saw Principessa’s face as she watched this entire scene too, and wondered why I still allow my kids to ride these things. Tradition, right? I did it too, and lived to write this. Maybe these guys are good people?  What do I really know?  But a lot of them just don’t look like it.  This year, my friend and I were actually working to figure out which of the ride operators looked the most wasted as they buckled the lap belts of those young girls in short shorts and tanks. Then we watched as another operator spoke directly to the very large breasts of a woman who was asking if her son was tall enough to ride.  I was just waiting or him to measure her, not the child!  Ick. Really, ick. The young parents, the provocative teens, the sketchy carnies: it’s all there and it’s hard not to stare at and comment on. The lights blare at me in psychedelic greens, pinks, blues, yellow and orange.  The game vendors call us over to sink a duck. The air whirs as motion swallows you, whether you’re riding or not. The sound of riders screaming and the clangs and pings and bangs become a wall of sound that washes over me and I am swallowed up in the experience. The sensory over-load is a rush, without any drugs.  And I watch, until I just can’t take another minute… or I am too hungry to take it any more.

The food is the next step in this visceral binger, and food is something I think about a lot as we plan our trip to the fair. I eat very little that day, in anticipation of the outrageous amounts I will consume later.  There is no other time of year that I must have a one pound turkey leg. Must. Have. It.  This is usually eaten with an ginormous mound of greasy, curly fries, doused in salt and ketchup, and vegetables in the form of corn on the cob, slathered in butter.  We share all this, but massive amounts of food are eaten, no matter how you rationalize it. This year as we ate, a Willy Nelson cover band played a few feet away as the sun got low and we filled ourselves with all that fair food. Little Man, having just finished his own turkey leg (which he didn’t share), smiled and said: “When you’re at the fair, it’s just good to be American.” Sing it Willy!

Round two is dessert and starts right after turkey and sometimes continues until just before we leave. Dairy rules here man, and one must eat dairy in some form. The cows are being milked right at the ice cream stand, just to show you how close to nature your food is. We often share a Moowhich as soon as we’ve finished “dinner.” They’re ice-cream sandwiches, made with home-made chocolate chip cookies and vanilla ice-cream filling. Heaven. I let my friend get that, and just mooch bites, that way the calories don’t really count: they’re not mine. Every other year, I’ve had an elephant ear and a frozen chocolate covered banana (semi-healthy, right?), but this year there were no frozen bananas and I traded in the elephant ears for my first Funnel Cake. Holy delicious, fried, fatty dough slathered in strawberries and whipped cream Batman! Little Man and I shared one, but there was some serious fork battles going on as we duked it out for the last bite. To my credit: I drink water, but that is the only healthy thing I ingest.

                     

There is one thing that I never miss a the fair: the barns. The barns are the best part of the fair for me, and I always save them for last. If the food is the binging, the barns are where I purge all the less desirable stuff that came before. Having ridden horses most of my life, I smell that wonderful hay, oats, manure and animal smell and I just want to muck a stall and saddle up. I can’t be rushed in the barns and will walk each isle and check out each “Beef,” “Swine,” “Equine,” llama, goat, chicken and rabbit that made its way to the Lynden fair grounds. I want to pet each cow I pass, run my hands along the satiny coats of the magnificent horses, and often find myself thinking: “we could raise a few goats.” Or, “chickens would be nice.” Who isn’t charmed by the goats, climbing atop each other’s backs or their food bins and challenging the others to knock them down? I’m endlessly amused by the piglets shoving each other aside to get a solid grasp on the exhausted mother pig’s teats? The barns bring out my inner farmer and I am patting, cooing and down in the hay, nose to nose with a pig, regardless of the muck that’s there. I find myself reading the brochures on 4H and wondering if I could still join. I will stand and watch the equestrian competitions, as my kids pull on my sweater to leave and I practically whine, “just one more minute.”  (Note to self: I will start riding again this year! Western or jumping, that’s the ticket.) I save the barns for last because they are my happy place.

                              

     b

When we’ve eaten as much as we can; ridden all the rides we can handle for the $30 arm band (for real or vicariously); listened to the Tea Party vendor explain the Declaration of Independence; checked out the military and police vehicles; visited the expo on all things seen on TV (will that magnet really make my knee feel better?); looked at each blue ribbon for quilting, knitting, sewing, leggos, drawing; grown immune to the screams of riders being hurled about; and collected enough manure in our treads to almost guarantee a salmonella outbreak at home… it’s time to leave the fair. As we pass the darkened gates, most things besides the rides having shut down for the night, I take one last deep inhale of fair and prepare to return to my clean, ordered world… until next year.

Do you love the Fair?  Tell me about your favorite fair foods or experiences. Pass this along, if you liked it, with the Share button, or hit Like and show some love.

Note:  the “carny” link is a photo from on line. I did not include photos of people who were actually at our fair, to be fair.

Posted in Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, My world, Parenting, Summer | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda…

Posted on August 17, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

What a month it’s been, what a week! Ok, what an amazing summer, for me to take stalk, explore new roads (literally and figuratively) and to look at a lot of things with new eyes. Coming out of some dark, personal times in the winter, I’ve needed to really take a fresh look at a lot of things and figure out what I want, how I see things ahead of me, where do I go from here. All the details don’t really matter, as they so often don’t. If that were the only thing that has begun to sink in, that would be good. That lots of other things have become illuminated is icing, fucking icing man. (I know, language. But, if you’re reading my blog, you get what you get and hopefully you can look past those areas where I still stumble.)

I’m beginning to see that being in the dark, so to speak, is a great launching off point. There aren’t a lot of options, if you don’t want to be in the dark anymore: Turn on a light, or just get used to stumbling around bumping your shin on things. Right? I know, that sounds a bit blasé  (or is it cliché) and I know that when I’ve been stuck in the mud, I do not appreciate similar advise: “Just shift your thinking”, “change your attitude”, “look on the bright side”… etc.  It isn’t always that easy, and it’s particularly hard to hear these Hallmark verses, when you’re feeling just the opposite. Some times the mud really sucks you down and getting out is just about impossible. All those dinosaurs didn’t die, stuck in the mud, because they just didn’t try to get out. And I hear some of you already: yea, but we’re not talking about real mud, this is figurative!  Ok, but I think the mud in our heads is often far worse!

So, there I was digging in the dirt, working through stuff and feeling stuck, with the lights out.  I don’t need any pity here, it’s just the fact. It was bad. And I realized: I just don’t want to be here (in this space) anymore. Where is the f’ing light switch?!  Step one, grab on to the amazing life lines that a few precious people tossed me. Sometimes, love gets through even the darkest places and it’s enough to just help you open your eyes again. Thank you dear, amazing friends and family who knew that and jumped in the water to help, and have hung around to make sure I’m still floating. From there, being a pretty independent person, I set out to figure out how not to be in that place EVER again. And something amazing happened: all kinds of new doors started opening. Amazing doors and wondrous things began presenting themselves.

After a few months of being stuck with my writing, I sat back down and wrote a very powerful new chapter for my book that harnessed all that dark, sticky stuff and put it to use. My writing group told me it was one of the best chapters I’d submitted. I knew they were right, because when I was writing it, I could feel that groove, that mojo flowing back. It felt gooood! I started looking at older chapters, things I’d thought were done, and began re-writing, and those too got better feedback. Let me be clear, my writing group kicks ass!  I mean: they kick you in the ass.  The members are sharp writers and readers and they rarely mince their words. The fact that we all have each other’s back, softens the beating some times, but when they don’t like a chapter, a phrase, a sentence, a comma (!), I hear it. It makes each of us better writers and while I’ve had to throw away a lot of my babies (translation: let go of and remove writing/story lines/etc.  that I really thought were good, but no one else did!) I trust my writing posse. So, to hear from them that what I thought was good writing, sounded that way to them too, really felt great! I could feel myself climbing out of the hole.

There are lots of details in between but really the next big step came when I threw caution to the wind and took off for Montana. Those two weeks of being on my own; listening to my own thoughts and instincts; letting go of things that needed letting go of; being open to amazing adventures and interesting people; and being ok with just being alone for a while, was so eye opening, so freeing. I had a computer, I could write every day, and I did. I wrote 4 new chapters and got lots of editing done on the book and the blog became a new outlet and focus. Even if only a couple of people were reading (and some days, none), it felt good to be putting it down.

I could also plug in at the end of the day and and chat with people who wanted to share the adventure or connect with me. There is something very pure about sharing thoughts and experiences without the facial expressions, the interruptions, the physicality:  stuff that face to face conversations can sometimes bring. I know that there is something missing there too, but for those two weeks, it was really special to tap in to new friendships and get to know people on a different level. There were days when I was alone all day, but then someone would be there at the end of the day, to say “how’s it going?” “tell me about…” or just share some piece of their world. It was magic. It was delicious.

It was amazing to just be alone so much. I felt like my mind was free to ramble over the mine fields I’d been trying to get around, through, over… when you’re alone, you can’t talk it out or run it ’round and’ round. You have to just sit with the discomfort or the grief  or uncertainty, and wait for it to subside or, if you’re lucky, resolve. You also don’t have the pleasure of sharing the good things, the wonder and appreciation of a place like that. So, you get to listen closer to your own feelings.  In the wide spaces of Yellowstone, I let a lot of things go. I think. It’s hard to know for sure yet, but it feels like some of the fog has lifted and I feel lighter. That freedom to just turn left or right; ride that horse or not; take a stranger for a ride and get to know an old man with a story; face my fear of bears and so many other monsters… it was all there for me to explore. No one there to tell me that it wasn’t wise, or that there is another way to do it, or to just talk me in or out of anything. It was liberating to trust my own instincts and have it go well. Or, when it didn’t, not feel like the world would fall apart. If you make a mistake in the woods and no one is there to see it, does it make a sound?

I was barely home and it was time for my 30th h.s. reunion. When I think of all the insecurities and anxiety I felt initially about going to this event, and then look at all the wonderful things that came out of it, I could burst. I have rediscovered friendships that I foolishly let slip out of hand. Years of living away from the place where I grew up put barriers up that we didn’t work to climb over. How sweet to see the love that is still there, with  people who have known me through so much. The new people who have come in to my life and expanded it with colors and textures that make me smile, even as I write this. Being in Scituate, my home town, again, and not feel haunted was something I did not anticipate. I realized that I have come to terms, finally, with the fact that the family I loved and thought would always be there, is gone. Those who have not died, have changed so much that our lives barely cross anymore. For so long that hurt me and I yearned for all that had once been nurturing and safe. This time, I could see clearly that I have yearned for what I thought we were, when I was young and didn’t understand how life changes us all. That family is not there any more and it helps me see more clearly what is there, what is real.  It was sweet to sit with my wonderful cousin and talk about these things, with honesty and integrity and no more longing. We have both grown up… finally.

It’s not that there weren’t some sad moments:  missing so many people (my grand parents particularly) that once filled my life and defined so much of how I defined myself.  I haven’t let go of all the woulda, coulda, shouldas that I’ve carried through the years. But this time, they were with me, and I felt less encumbered by the shouldas that I used to dwell so much on. Shoulda spent more time with them when they were here. Coulda come back more often. Woulda, but I was raising young children and driving from Michigan to Cape Cod every summer to be with my family. I clung to that sense that we all needed each other to continue being whole.  Once my grandparents were gone, I began to really see that it can’t be all on me to go there, and if I don’t then there is little left. Being there, on my own, was freeing: to look at it all honestly and just let it go. My grandmother is gone and so is the family she tried to paint for us all. Her house is still there, but we all moved on and are left with Christmas cards and occasional emails or Facebook comments. It’s ok. I coulda been upset about this, but  as I sat by the beautiful marshlands where I once played and felt nothing but joy, I let that too go.  Woulda, coulda, shoulda, IS.

Dear friends made room, met me, on the one and only day I could make it work and we filled the time with so much love and laughter that all the Couldas that didn’t work out this trip, faded to the back. Neosporine for the soul.  I wrote some more, and I got to read!  In the midst of all this cartharsis, the blog was Freshly Pressed and 7,000 people read my post.  As I was finally crawling clear of the hole and feeling lighter and happier, hopeful and excited, empowered,  I found myself hugged by thousands of strangers (nearly 400 of whom took the time to write to me as well) who seemed to celebrate with me that I was finally finding MY voice.  A voice free (er) of  self-doubt and guilt for all the woulda coulda shouldas I’ve been carrying around for so many years.  Seven thousand people (a number that turns me inside out still!) read my words, and they liked me, they really liked me  (as Erica, at WordPress so cleverly stated).  It was an electric jolt of validation and reward with uncanny timing, an amazing dollop of whipped cream, on top of my big custard pie of happiness. Incredible things have opened up from that and I’m excited to see where that all goes. When school starts, I will be editing the manuscript and taking opportunities offered. I can barely wait.

Ok, so things in life don’t just spin from dark to bright in a couple of months, without some residual stuff to work through. I get it. I am processing it now and finding new bearings. I know myself well enough to know there will be some days when all this good mojo slips out of my hands a little. There’s still the geyser theory to contend with. Wink, wink. But, right now I am holding on tight and enjoying the glow. Enjoying the shiny bits that are new and wonderful right now, that I’m still exploring and getting to know, and letting go of people and things that just don’t nourish me.  I’m  open to new friends, new experiences and really enjoying the great friends here who have been helping me stay afloat while I ran in circles.

There are the woulda, coulda, shouldas that hold you back and mess with your head, and there are the ones that spin you round, shake your world up a little, but open doors and brighten your perspective… make you want to jump in and make them happen.  I’m embracing those for now and letting the others go. And that, feels really good!

Note:  What holds you back? What would you change and what are you grateful for? Are there woulda, coulda, shouldas in your closet too?

Posted in Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, My world, Women's issues | Tagged , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Ode to the Middle Man

Posted on August 13, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note:  Strong sarcasm ahead. It is bred in me, and having just returned from the Boston area, where I grew up, it is on high gear right now. Also, while my kids have forbidden me to post their pictures or use their names, my son did give me permission to post any pictures of him when he was little.

For those of you who have been reading my blog, you may have guessed that the title of this post does not refer to some deeper social issue. Middle Man is my 19 yo son, who has been home from his first year of college and who is returning to school this week. And, if you’ve been reading (if you haven’t, well you should go back and read the other posts!) I did warn that this day would come:  The end of summer would be approaching and I’d shift gears and suddenly feel some motherly remorse about things I said earlier, and start to pine for a little more time with my college age kids. The messes would seem trivial and I would realize the greater value of our relationships and just be satisfied to have this time with them, before they’re gone for good (cue: Cats in the Cradle)… Um, nope. No doubt the illusive Mother of the Year Award that I’ve been chasing for twenty-one years, is about to slip through my fingers again and somewhere my aunt, if she’s reading this, is saying: “Oh lord.”  She is a much kinder soul than me. She’s the mom I turn to when in doubt. Sometimes I make her shudder, but she loves me.

While I am now a tad wistful that my son leaves in a few days, and we all know I’ll be tearful next week, the reality is:  it’s probably time for summer to end. This has been a rough one for our family, not typical in many ways and pretty much a challenge for all involved. From my perspective, I was utterly unprepared for the directions things went this summer. To start with, having two kids in college has changed the dynamics of how our home is the rest of the year. It’s quieter for starters and much cleaner. Little Man (15) is generally an easy going kid, who doesn’t present a lot of challenges, when it comes to teen issues or behaviors that we need to address. He usually picks up his stuff when asked, says sorry easily, and likes to be around us. We are well aware that this is all a-typical. Having raised his two older siblings, we have no illusions that we are somehow wonderful parents who raised this great kid. We are just lucky… for now. (That is the other thing we know at this point: it can all change in one semester.) You put all the same ingredients a bowl, but that doesn’t mean you get 3 vanilla cakes. You’re bound to get some chocolate swirl!

So, back to Middle Man. He is as opposite from Little Man as two people can be. He has been the kid who tests all of our rules, all of our patience, all of our hypocrisies (“don’t leave your stuff lying all over” “ok mom, should I put your pile of papers somewhere, or do you want them left on the counter?”).  Sharp as a tack;  thoughtful when he wants to be; selfish with his smile or laughter, but able to melt me when he shares them; quick to let things go (unlike the rest of his family who seem to hold on tight to most issues); adventurous and fearless:  something that makes a parent shudder, or beam, depending on the circumstances, and possessing a dry, clever sense of humor– me: “Do you think “blank” is gay?” MM: “No, why would you think that?” “Well, I can usually tell. There’s just something in his expression, something I see there, even though I hear him talk about girls a lot.” “Yea, he does talk about girls a lot. What do you see in his expression?” “Just something in the way he looks.”  “The way he looks? I don’t think he’s gay, he just has bright eyes!” Left me snorting with laughter.  These are all pieces that help make up the son that has challenged me at every turn. The kid who is most like me in many ways and the most different as well.  My boy.

When he stepped off the plane, back in May, looking every bit the college kid who had partied all night and figured a 5 AM flight would still be ok, my heart nearly burst with joy. I was so happy to have him home again and really looked forward to a summer getting to know the new, maturer version of the kid we sent off in the fall. He dresses sharper, studies hard at school, cares about his grades, has good friends and is happy, thus: he must be almost grown up, right?   Pause: let me just say here, I did know this was a fantasy. I may still have his (and his sister’s) little red boots by the front door, to remind me that he wasn’t always this big, but I knew he’d be leaving big, smelly sneakers in the middle of the kitchen floor, in no time.  I did tell friends that I knew this summer might be challenging: His sister, Principessa (21), had been in Israel for an entire year and has embraced a much more conservative Judaism than the rest of us; Little Man is no longer a baby and at 5′ 8″ was ready to assert himself a little… I knew it would not be smooth and Brady sweet. I did see some conflict coming. BUT, in that moment, when he brought his bags out to the curb and gave me a big hug, my rose colored glasses had no smudges; I beamed the entire ride home.

Cue screeching breaks:  The shiny, sparkly images in my head, lasted about a week. It had to change; any parenting book could have warned me. However, I tend to buy those and then not read them. No doubt, on pg. 54 (or earlier) of any guide to living with college age kids, there must be some well researched explanation for how and why it can all go wrong. For my part, the expectation that my calm, mostly clean, ordered environment would stay that way was plane old, ok, I’ll say it: Stupid. Duh. My middle aged brain must indeed be losing gray matter and IQ points to have thought otherwise. Again, the rosy vision lasted a week.

The rest of the summer has been a battle to get kids to: rinse down the kitchen sink (I’m sorry but I hate old food drying on my sink… nachos, THE worst!); move the dishes 6 more INCHES to the dish washer (a modern marvel that they can not understand works better for getting things cleaned, than say, leaving them sitting there); not leave stinky, dirty socks on the kitchen floor, kitchen counters, family room floor, sofa, you name it; not leave shoes every where; wet clothes in the washer until they mildew and stink (right, good that they put said clothes in the washer, but I’ve begun to question whether I should just buckle and start doing their laundry again… to avoid the mildewy stink!)… and while Middle Man does not hold the sole responsibility for all this, he seems to have missed all the Memos that his expensive college must have sent out (that comes with the tuition, right?), regarding how not to piss your mom off, when home for the summer. He is the only nacho culprit in this house and if I see one more pile of nacho remnants in my sink, I may implode.

Principessa brought her own unique issues in to the house with her kosher 2 burner hot plate, set up on the end of my counter, her kosher plates and cooking utensils and her new religious practices that make it impossible for her to eat any of my cooking or eat any of the foods our family has always shared. Gone are the gorge on crab summer dinners and cheese burgers. If I can’t cook for you, am I still your mom? Middle Man, in his razor sharp way of doing things has delighted in finding humorous loop holes in the Torah (Old Testament) and to the many edicts that sage Rabbis have taught, much to Principessa’s amusement or fury, depending on the issue or her mood. They have gone back and forth between fighting and trying to bond all summer.

Little Man has spent the majority of his summer (aside from his trip to Yellowstone) on the X-Box 360 or our computer, playing video games.  Principessa and Middle Man have spent the majority of that time making passive-mostly aggressive remarks about that fact, harassing Little Man and venting to mom. They would cry foul if mom called it snitching or tattling, but it seems pretty much like snitching or tattling.  Mom is sick to death of it. She agrees, but she’s tired of hearing it and of being put in the middle, trying to acknowledge that it’s not ok to be on video games all summer, but she’s not a bad mom for allowing it and there’s nothing “wrong” with Little Man for doing it… The fact that she’s talking in the third person, and fantasizing about kids going back to school, so she can move out of this ugly mom phase, is clear proof that it’s almost time for summer to end.

I have definitely been Ugly Mom for a number of days this summer. I admit it; I own it. I can also defend it: You try cooking for gluten free, kosher, vegetarian, “I don’t eat potatoes or tomatoes”, kids each meal. Fair, Principessa has agreed to cook all her food this summer, but you try feeling like the food you’ve worked years to perfect for your babes is no longer ok to eat (at all) and not be a little ugly. You see your boy come home bloodied and needing stitches from the Vancouver riots (Stanley Cup finals, and please note I’m from “Boston”) and stay pretty mom. Ok, so Middle Man was not burning cars or inciting mahem, but he was close enough to the action to end up cut and bloodied and needing those stitches. He was arrested during game 2 of the Stanley Cup play offs, and while there were no charges (they just rounded up a very large group of people and did not charge them), it is enough to test any mom’s patience to find out your kid has been in jail all night. There is banging up the car. There is the numerous nights out without letting parents know where he was. There are the messes and rule breaking. I maintain that all this might make any mom turn ugly over a three month period. And if you’re this mom: a tad volatile and not one to let much slide by, well Ugly dwelled here.

Middle Man can defend each of the points and no doubt most parents of 19 yo boys would argue that the mess and some upheaval just goes with the territory. Surely that’s all in the parenting books too. BUT, it made for an awful lot of buttons being pushed. The fact that I ran off to Yellowstone for two weeks is pretty much a testament to my inability to take home that Mother of the Year statue. I would probably have only thrown it at someone. Today, while chatting with Middle Man I noted that he has been the charming, sweeter son I so enjoy spending time with now that he’s leaving in 3+ days. His perception is that it was me who had the issues, not him. “I had a great summer mom,” he said, with that smile that melts me. No doubt darlin’.

I however, have struggled with the shifts and changes that came this summer. I am happy to see my kids growing up and I know that they are going to be good people who do exciting things in life, Middle Man especially. He has always been better at letting things go and moving on to the next exciting chapter. He makes fun happen and he’s made good friends and fun memories to show for it: a summer hoe down with 50 gallons of red jello, for jello wrestling; road trips to concerts; a mini-Woodstock by the lake, and more.

But I’ve struggled with holding on to my sense of self while he explores his. I’ve stumbled trying to maintain my own humor in situations that only he finds amusing. It is probably not the best attitude when you catch yourself hoping that some of your future grandchildren will be curfew breaking, party loving, nachos in the sink dumping kids, or worse, just so your own kids will see the points your making now. I’m tired of hearing me say “someday YOU will get this, you’ll see…”  So, no wonder he is. What if he doesn’t?  What if they don’t? What if my future grandchildren are wonderful kids who make everything easy and never push any limits for their parents (my children)? Would that mean that this was mostly me and my stuff this summer? Was it me having trouble accepting the changes that come with college age children or were the problems real? Or is it something in the middle, man?

How was your summer?  Did you have children home and what ages?  If your kids are in college, how have the home-comings gone?  Share your thoughts. Tell me what you think.

Posted in Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, Parenting, summer vacation, Women's issues | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Come Fly with Me.

Posted on August 11, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

I’ve been traveling all day, from my original home in the Boston area, back to my current and forever home in the Seattle area. It is about a 12 hour trip, or more, with drives to each airport (rental cars to return, luggage, security) and home (1.5 hr drive, without traffic, on the Seattle end). It is a day that involves waking in one bed (my nephew Z’s) and finally sleeping in my own again, and switching from one emotional and physical world to an entirely different one on the other end. The distance probably helps frankly. As I went through each phase of the trip today, my head gets an opportunity to begin the process of processing the switch.

I have to say, I am a pretty lucky woman. I am someone who craves adventure and change, and I’m fortunate enough to be able to travel a lot. Not everyone can say that, and I am grateful every day for what I have. When I get on a plane, I truly switch over to another mindset. I leave my responsibilities (taking care of my kids, my husband, our life), the things that are expected of me at home, the demands and benefits. I don’t miss it much while I’m away but I let it go in waves, as I travel from point A to point B.

Going home, the place where I grew up, however, was an entirely different can of worms. As I left Boston today to return to Bellingham, it was so much harder to let go of my past and move back in to the place where I live now. Old friends, who knew me “when” linger in my thoughts, bringing out a me that doesn’t live in Washington state. They knew me when: I was younger; finding my way, and then another way (and another); dating my first boyfriend; trying to make my way in the social stratospheres of high school and college; wondering what I’d be one day; dancing like a fool; waiting tables; fretting over weight, hair, who likes me, who doesn’t, school, love, lost love, blah blah; they knew me when I was becoming, who I am today. Being with those people, in those places again, was a real trip; leaving it to come back to who I am, was not an easy journey.

The entire week was mish mash of old and familiar and often feeling completely turned around. Ironically, even my faithful companion, my navigation, found all the new rotaries (round abouts to some of you) confusing and seemed to send me the wrong way each time. Her counting was horribly off and as I headed for the airport to leave, I literally entered the same rotary in Winchester 4-5 times to figure out which “4th exit” she actually meant. It was the 2nd. I felt equally turned around emotionally. I spent the week immersed in all that old history, all those old connections (as well as the new ones made this week at my reunion). An emotional mine field of some of the happiest days of my life and some of the hardest… each moment I was there, I felt unsure of which mines I’d set off. Old crushes that just aren’t there anymore; friends that changed and friends that are wonderfully the same; people I thought I knew, but now know for real (how good to see that most of us really do grow up!); connecting with the children of friends I’ve had since I was their age (big shout out to Aaron, who helped me jump into the modern age and learn how to work my own computer!); friends who have known me for so much of my life that they are just part of me; seeing family and people who feel like family… and then the place. The place that helped mold me and still holds such a piece of me that it’s hard to arrive and depart without feeling like I’ve left something on the plane, me.

Thank God for the transportation… that chance to process it all and move from one plane to an other, literally and figuratively. Being in airports gives me a buzz anyway. I could sit in most terminals (NOT the one in Minneapolis. Ok, before anyone tells me how wrong I am: I’m not referring to the big nice one that allegedly exists, but the crappy little one with lousy fried fish, that services Sun Country) for hours and just watch the other travelers do their own travel morph. Children running all over and most of us just hoping that they are in fact tiring themselves out. I’ve been there with three of my own challenging travelers, so while I have empathy for the poor, anxious parents who are hoping their kids are quiet and well behaved on the flight, I’ve paid my dues and now I just hope they’re right! Run Johnny, run… wear yourself out I silently pray!  The chicks who are dressed to the nines because traveling in really high shoes and tight clothes is so comfortable (but someone will likely be happy on the other end), along side those who have decided that pajamas saves all that discomfort (please don’t get me started on wearing pajamas in public!).  The business travelers who are plugged in and tuned out to the rest of us (we can in fact hear you when you chat on your cell phones), but make good watching for those of us who are essentially travel stalkers : watching everyone.  As I watch everyone else, I can be distracted a little from the emotions of separating from one place, and moving back in to the other. I spend my time creating vignettes for the people I observe and lose myself a little in the process. It helps actually… I can come back in and out of my own transition and it helps me work through it all.

We are lucky in Seattle to have an airport that is filled with beautiful artwork (famous glass panels, sculptures, First Nation exhibits and photo galleries), fun shops and an environmentally conscious atmosphere that is soothing and pleasant to this traveler. It may seem a bit twisted, but I’m generally happy if I can have a lay over and spend some time checking out the latest artists, visiting Fireworks Gallery, or just sitting in the food court (I rarely fly without a stop at Qadoba grill) and people watching.  Ok Johnny, we’re done flying now… please stop running around while I eat.  When I arrived home this time, I knew it was foolish to try and deal with the 5:00PM traffic. So, I enjoyed some of the things I love at our airport and just sat a while. It’s familiar and feels like (almost) home and it gave me time to take it all in and let it all go. I needed to let some of the emotions of this week dissipate. I needed to let go of some of the people and places that I wont see for a long while and be ok with that again.

         

Earlier, as my first flight lifted off from Boston’s Logan Airport and the harbor and shoreline spread beneath me, I felt my emotions pull and swell. Those islands and the shape of the coast, the famous painted natural gas tanks that can be seen from the air, all are still familiar and it feels like I am leaving home, just as I did twenty years ago. Part of me gets a desperate urge to turn the ride around and get off.  However, as my last flight made its final approach over SEATAC, in Seattle, and the waters of Puget sound sparkled around the Emerald City and the endless islands of forest green, gold, blues and purples, I could feel my emotions swell all over, to be home again. I could feel my children closer to me and waiting for me to come in. Even if they were really just on line or playing video games, I like to imagine them still making welcome home mommy signs.  They didn’t, but their smiles were warm and the hugs felt good. The messy kitchen, well, I’m working on ignoring that. What I really felt as I made that last drive up through “the pass” (lined with huge evergreens and Lake Samish) in to Bellingham, is that I am the sum of both places, but this is home. And it’s good to be back. (This is a view from my kitchen, lucky indeed!)

Note: If you liked this post, please hit the Like button below, or pass it on, with Share button.

Posted in Beautiful places, Humor, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, travel, traveling alone | Tagged , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

PS to Grass is greener…

Posted on August 9, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

You can be sure that I will not make three posts on any other day, however, I have gotten so many comments from the Freshly Pressed post, “The Grass is Always Greener on Someone Else’s Head…”  I’ve heard from so many great people and am sincerely, overwhelmed by all the warm wishes and positive responses.  Thanks!

The comment that so many of you made was that I should have posted a picture of my hair. Honestly, that hadn’t occurred to me. Given the fact that 6000+ people ended up reading that post, I’m actually glad that my picture wasn’t up all weekend… I don’t think I could have handled that feedback!  However, it’s a fair point. So I’m posting a picture from my “avatar.”  This does not show my hair when it was long, curly and much redder, it’s what it looks like now in its no frills no effort stage.  Hope this quells the curiosity.

Thanks again to all of you who took the time to read that post (and others) and give such thoughtful feedback. Am still reading the comments and overwhelmed by the response!  I hope you’ll check out older posts and let me know what you think. The feedback has been very helpful and I appreciate hearing what you relate to and what you don’t.

Thank you!  Dawn

Posted in Beauty, Honest observations on many things, Musings | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Playlist to a reunion, just for the fun of it.

Posted on August 9, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Don’t bother if you’re not a music person… but this is the playlist for my 30th high school reunion. There are so many songs I left off, so many more I could have put on here, but it touches on many of the key songs/artists. We were in high school from 1976-1981.  The list extends out until our college graduation year (1985ish) as we all like the idea that we are children of the 80s, music wise. We were too busy reunioning to really listen, but I’ll be playing some of these for a while…  Note: I owe a big thank you to Simon, who put most of this together, with my feedback and a few good conversations about music. We both think a lot about the playlists, and it was fun to hang out and bounce music off each other (at a “prom” no less!).  Thanks Simon!

The Boys of Summer, Don Henley
You Shook Me All Night Long, AC/DC
Sweet Emotion, Aerosmith
Feel Like Makin’ Love, Bad Company
(Don’t Fear) The Reaper, Blue Öyster Cult
More Than a Feeling, Boston
Sunshine of Your Love Cream
Bad Moon Rising, Creedence Clearwater Revival
Dark Star, Crosby, Stills & Nash
Life In the Fas,t Lane Eagles
Crocodile Rock, Elton John
Forever Man, Eric Clapton
Go Your Own Way, Fleetwood Mac
Juke Box Hero, Foreigner
Barracuda, Heart
Teacher, Jethro Tull
Any Way You Want I,t Journey
Carry On Wayward Son, Kansas
Immigrant Song, Led Zeppelin
Sweet Home Alabama Lynyrd Skynyrd
Mississippi Queen, Mountain
Hair of the Dog, Nazareth
Spirit In the Sky, Norman Greenbaum
Another Brick In the Wall, Pt. 2, Pink Floyd
Another One Bites the Dus,t Queen
Feelin’ Alright, Rare Earth
Roll With the Change,s REO Speedwagon
Bitch, The Rolling Stones
Tom Sawyer, Rush
Rock’n Me, Steve Miller Band
Bang a Gong (Get It On) T. Rex
The Seeker, The Who,
Dude (Looks Like a Lady), Aerosmith
Obsession, Animotion
Walk Like an Egyptian, The Bangles
White Wedding, Pt. 1 Billy Idol
Call Me, Blondie
You Give Love a Bad Nam,e Bon Jovi
Summer of ’69, Bryan Adams
Driv,e The Cars
I Feel for You, Chaka Khan
Why Can’t I Be Like You, The Cure
(I Just) Died in Your Arms, Cutting Crew
Girls Just Want to Have Fun, Cyndi Lauper
Let’s Dance, David Bowie
Animal, Def Leppard
Hungry Like the Wolf, Duran Duran
One Thing Leads to Another, The Fixx
I Ran (So Far Away), A Flock of Seagulls
Cars, Gary Numan
Sweet Child O’ Mine, Guns N’ Roses
Things Can Only Get Bette,r Howard Jones
Don’t You Want Me, The Human League
New Sensation, INXS
Footloose, Kenny Loggins
Hello, Lionel Richie
Down Under, Men At Work
I Melt With You, Modern English
One Night In Bangkok (Single Version), Murray Head
Promises, Promises, Naked Eyes
Bizarre Love Triangle New Order
Big Time, Peter Gabriel
Every Breath You Take, The Police
Let’s Go Crazy, Prince & The Revolution
Send Me an Angel ’89, (Edit) Real Life
Addicted To Love, Robert Palmer
Don’t You (Forget About Me), Simple Minds
Tainted Love, Soft Cell
True Spandau, Ballet
It’s My Life, Talk Talk
Everybody Wants To Rule The World, Tears For Fears
Runnin’ Down a Dream, Tom Petty
Pride (In the Name of Love), U2
Jump, Van Halen
Dance Hall Days, Wang Chung
The Promise, When In Rome
Here I Go Again, Whitesnake
Sharp Dressed Man, ZZ Top
Careless Whisper, Wham!
Precious, Depeche mode
Personal Jesus, Depeche Mode
Blue Monday, New Order
Rock Lobster, B-52s
Love Shack, B-52s
Livin on a Prayer, Bon Jovi
I wear my sunglasses at night, Corey Hart
Could you be love, Bob Marley
Take On Me, A-ha
Our lips are sealed, The Go-gos
Venus, Bananarama
Old Time rock and roll, Bob Seger
Saturday Night, Bay city Rollers (for Deanne)
Born to Run, Springsteen
The River, Springsteen
Tusk, Fleetwood Mac
Landslide, Fleetwood Mac
Break on through, The Doors
Billie Jean, M Jackson
This must be the place, Talking Heads
Burning down the house, Talking Heads
Psycho Killer, Heads
Let’s go to bed, Cure
Baker Street, Gerry Rafferty
Sexual Healing, Marvin Gaye

Note:  What songs would you add to this list, for my next reunion (I’m saving this)?  When did you graduate High school and have you gone to a reunion yet?  How did it go?  If you enjoyed this post, please hit Like. Or pass it along, by hitting Share.

Posted in Daily Observations, Musings, My world | Tagged , , , , | 5 Comments

Wicked good.

Posted on August 9, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

It’s hard to sum up the past few days. It occurred to me to write some quick line like: “The reunion was amazing, I can’t say anymore.”  or “No comment.”  or “Two days later, I think I’m still hung over.” or even “Oh, it was simply lovely and we all had a really good time.”  Each would be true. Each sums it up… but the sum of the equation is different depending on the variables you punch in. It was a warp speed ride through thirty years of memories, misconceptions, dead on perceptions, laughs, missed chances, and then some.  Who says you can’t go home?  I went home, and it was delicious. It was dizzying. It was bitter sweet. It brought closure and it opened new doors. It was nothing like I expected. As we say in Scituate: it was wicked good.

I have not been back to my home town often in the past 30 years and the past reunions I went to were very different for me.  As I’ve posted previously, I went home with baggage before and I wasn’t sure how to break the ice and move forward, lighten the load. This time, I went in with some new perspectives, having broken that ice via Facebook in the months and weeks leading up to the reunion. I had old friends on board and new ones, that I looked forward to spending more time with. Early on, a friend and I agreed we’d spend the weekend together.  She understood the insecurities and the stuff that I might struggle with and she just sent me a hug over the wires and said “I’ll have your back,” and she did. As it turned out, we morphed in to “Thelma and Louise” for the weekend and just decided to see where that ride would go. We had each other’s back, while we made the most of the fun.

The festivities the night before really helped make it all easier. Several of us arrived Saturday, ready to pick up where we’d left off Friday… laughing and bypassing any bullshit.  I was presented with a bag of Doritos right off by said comrades, an old joke with a new spin.  Old joke:  My boyfriend in high school asked me not to eat Doritos while we dated. Being a silly, young girl at the time who hadn’t thought to say “F that” I stayed away from them for the  three years we dated.  New spin: They also figured prominently in the Friday night party, so it was a very sweet gesture to bring me a bag at the reunion… there were a few people who were happy to share them, once the drinks were flowing… um, which was pretty much all night and then some.  There was some humorous debate about what year Nacho Cheese Doritos (the offending flavor) came out. One class mate insisted that they came out during our high school years, but I’ve since learned that this fact was way off.  The idea that we could claim Doritos as part of our high school milieu was a sweet notion while it lasted, but alas.

One of our classmates lives in Japan and plays in a band there.  In addition to him, two of his bandmates flew over, 2 other classmates who still live here jumped on board and they rocked our socks off. How many other class reunions can say they had a band fly in from Japan to play?  Cool quotient went way up.  In between sets, I had put together a lengthy iPod playlist of songs from our entire four years and then in to 1985 (when many of us graduated from college) because so many of us preferred to think that the early 80s was “our music.” Can’t say that anyone really heard the iPod set, as we were a tight pod anchored to the bar. It’s just part of our scene… it’s a crowd that parties hard and loud, when we party. It was like we were all 18 again, only legal, and no one was missing a minute of the buzz. Rock Lobster, Bruce Springsteen, Elton John, Michael Jackson, the Cure… not as compelling. I’ll keep the playlist for the next party.

The initial happy squeals of “oh my god! You look great!” (would you say any different and risk hearing less about yourself?) gradually became the sound of old friends filling in the blanks and making new connections. I for one, talked with so many classmates that I spent hardly any time with in high school, and made some new friends.  It was all fresh, with the misty glow of the past adding a little fairy dust to every interaction. If we hadn’t been friends then, we still made it through the same trenches then to come out at the Radisson in Plymouth, MA now. We are tied by that, if nothing else.

What I really learned this weekend, was that I grew up in a very unique and special place. I always knew it was beautiful and my memories are very strong. However, I never really realized that I share that with the entire  Scituate high, class of ’81, alumni. So many others were sharing the same strong ties, the same colorful imagery and deeply rooted memories. We all were powerfully impacted by the place we shared for those years, whether we stayed there or have moved to other places. I know that reunions bring out this kind of stuff, but this was different. Really.

               

It really hit me this weekend just how special the SOUTH shore of Boston is. The beautifully weathered Cape Cod houses and dense woods; the stunning green marshes with their brackish water and changing hues; the twisting roads and old stone walls; the rocky shore and picturesque light houses; the fishing boats coming in and going back out, unloading their catch at the pier; the bars and shops; the rich history (there are few places in the US where you will find a house that is 300 years old)… all of this sparkles to me now and I realize that it was all being burned in my heart then. I left it, but it didn’t leave me. This weekend, I shared that with 100 other people who all feel the same way. We were all molded by the place and that adds to our connection.

There was the wild partying… I payed dearly for staying up until 4 AM and thinking I was still 18.  For that record you all know I keep: I can still take off my heels and climb a truck. Didn’t quite sail the boat, but it was amusing for while. No further comment. It felt a little less fun Sunday morning… ok, all day Sunday. Ok, and part of Monday.  From the Facebook posts, I wasn’t alone. While I laid low much of Sunday, I was with friends again by nightfall and rallied with a lobstah roll and fried clams.  Older but not dead yet. I sat with wonderful new friends in the hahbah (harbor) and recounted tales from the night before. We laughed at the way some things just don’t change and lots of other things do. We laughed that 4 of us wouldn’t have been out together 30 years ago, but were glad to be doing it now.

Today, I drove back downtown. I had another fried clam plate (you can’t eat enough, when it comes this, but I may need clam detox later) and Thelma and I sat by the brilliant blue water and talked about it all. We took pictures of the boats coming in and going out. We took pictures of the lighthouse. We took a picture together, with our past in the background. We hugged and said goodbye for now.  I drove on to the beach to see where I had played so long ago. It looked just the same, unlike so many other things that have changed in town. Maybe Elephant rock and ’76 rock aren’t quite as big as I remembered, but all the essential things are still there.

                    

On a whim, I stopped by my grandmother’s old house, where I had lived for a while and where I felt the happiest as a kid. Almost didn’t do it, but my car made a sudden turn and there I was at the door.  The new owner, a woman who graduated one year ahead of me, welcomed me in and warmly showed me the entire house. Much had been changed, but the same bones were there.  The family’s 10 year old daughter showed me my old room, her’s now, that I had when I was exactly her age. Despite the new paint job, it still echoed with my brother and sisters’s voices. I could still see where my Barbies had been kept and where the attic stairs still live. The trees in the yard were bigger, but still there and my grandmother’s Japanese Maple is beautiful. She died of Huntington’s disease 12 years ago, but the house she designed and built still holds all that she brought to it. I am so grateful for whimsy.

As I drove down through Cohasset, ignored the navigation (urging me to take a different route) and took the short cuts I still remember by heart, through Hingham and on to route 3 N, I finally felt that lump and found myself teary. (You had to see that coming!) As if on cue, the skies opened up and it poured. Thunder and lightening came as I felt myself leaving my home again… This time, a lot lighter and knowing I’ll be back.

NOTE:   I got permission to post Thelma’s picture.  I can not post photos from the reunion. What happens in Scituate, or Plymouth, stays in Scituate… suffice it to say, we all looked fantastic!  Also, note the incredible sun on one side and dark thunderstorm on the other in the final picture, it was pretty damned amazing and pretty much mirrored just how I was feeling!  If you enjoyed this post, read “Friend Me“, the lead up to the reunion. If you you like it, please hit the “Like” button below and/or “Share” it with a friend.

Posted in Beautiful places, Beauty, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, My world, travel | Tagged , , , | 18 Comments

Friend me.

Posted on August 6, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Life is funny. I waited a long time to get a Facebook account, and I’m still totally lame when it comes to working all the technology and keeping up with stuff that changes on line… But who knew that it would be the big ice breaker for my 30th high school reunion. Nearly a year ago, two of my ex-classmates started planning our class’ 30th reunion, back in my home state of Massachusetts. Part of the planning was a Class of 1981 reunion page, and that’s where the party started.

I grew up on the south shore, in the small town of Scituate. The reunion is in Plymouth, because here weren’t any hotels in Scituate, that could manage our group.  We’re all old enough and wise enough to not want to drink and drive;  and we’re all old enough and wise enough to know we’ll drink.  This is and always was a party crowd.  Some things don’t really change. What has changed is that we all started the party on Facebook and then got to just pick up mid-sentence, in person. The FB reunion page that our Prom Queen and King (hailed such for all the hard work they did to organize all of us) started up, has been a place for all of us to initially check in and discuss whether we were coming.  We then began posting old pictures and sharing tales from our youth.

For a while it was like we were back in school as everyone fell back in to their initial tribes. However, as the weeks flew by and we all began to make reservations and book the hotel, the dialogue took on a new feel. People who hadn’t been friends in high school; who hadn’t kept in touch for all these years; people like me, who maybe hadn’t thought much about any of that, began to ask “what have you been doing?”  “Where do you live?” “What’s up?”  I found myself up late at night “chatting” with people who I felt tied to by  a shared, ancient history, but who were now new friends for all intents and purposes. We began to fill in the blanks and forge new alliances and bonds. We began to connect on a new playing field.

So, when we got together last night at a classmate’s house, near the beach in Plymouth,  it was like walking in to a room full of old friends and picking up mid-sentence… mid-Facebook sentence. People were commenting on so and so’s latest pictures, the comment so and so posted earlier and the funny responses, and we all felt like we’d passed go and were jumping right in, where we left off. Only, for some of us, it was a whole new jumping-off point.  I don’t really remember a lot of the same things some of my classmates remember from high school; I was not there or have forgotten. However, I was there when they posted their latest vacation pictures or laughed about losing weight before the reunion tonight.

Very few are bringing spouses, a smart thing it seems. It’s strange enough bridging the 10, 20 or 30 year gap that exists, depending on which other reunions you came to and who you connected with then,without trying to make your spouse or partner feel comfortable as well. Who would?  I know that when I attended the 10th and 20th (a decade girl), I felt pretty out of my own little loop. I had been in touch with 4 people since high school and I stuck like glue to them.  With no electronic ice breaker, we didn’t have all this pre-reunion catching up and I just didn’t know where to start. So I pretty much stayed in one spot most of the night, enjoyed the people I already knew and didn’t take any steps forward.

I was also still working through old high school anticipations and issues and probably wasn’t ready to see things with a fresh perspective. The FB angle has done away with so much of that. I came in to this knowing that I’m not the only one who was feeling a little bit grayer than I’d like to be; I’m not the only one who doesn’t weigh what I did in high school; I’m happy to joke about that and have some fun with it.  These shared insights, helped level the playing field for so many of us. We arrived at the bonfire last night, ready to start fresh and not judge.  By the time our pre-party ended last night, we had become a whole new tribe:  having spent an entire night laughing our heads off and breaking the ice that we would have broken tonight.  By the end of the night we were all “friending” new old friends and waiting to see each other tonight, for the real reunion.

While I may think that FB isn’t the greatest thing for everyone, it’s a real benefit to the whole social networking aspect of re-connecting with people who you may never have wondered about again, or ever seen. It’s a pay day for reunions. As I iron my dress and get ready to go downstairs, I’m excited and ready to continue the dance.  When I get my first cocktail, I wont be worrying about who to share it with, or hoping (honestly) that it loosens things up.  When we’re all dancing to the band and then the playlist I put together from our era (AC/DC, Aerosmith, Blondie, Bay City Rollers, Cure, Depeche Mode, The Police, etc) , I wont feel as concerned about how silly I look. We’re all going to be silly together.  I am looking forward to catching up with all kinds of people I loved in high school and just as many I hardly knew then. Now, they all seem like old friends and I can’t wait!

Have you gone to a reunion recently? How did it go? What was good or bad about it? Did you find that re-connecting on line first, helped?  Weigh in and share a comment.  If you liked this post, please hit the Like button below, or pass it on, with Share button.

Posted in Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, My world, travel, Yee haw | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Thank you, merci, gratzi, спасибо, tak, תודה, gracias!

Posted on August 6, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

This is a brief post to thank you to Word Press for featuring my last post, “The Grass is Always Greener on Someone Else’s Head” in Fresh Pressed yesterday. I was totally stunned, completely surprised, dizzy with delight, thrilled. I am away from home right now, at my 30th reunion (see new post), and had not checked anything on line. Imagine my surprise when I woke up to nearly 100 new comments!! It didn’t occur to me that I’d been “Pressed,” I just thought my friends had gotten awfully generous in their support! When I went to my stats and saw 1,700 new hits yesterday, I nearly swooned. Ok, maybe not swoon, but the word is so cool and it’s close! I was amazed, flabbergasted, honored and I’ve had a blast reading the comments today, while trying to catch up with old classmates.

The reunion starts shortly (check back for a re-cap), but I didn’t want to wait another minute to say thank you. Thank you to all of you who read my blog for the first time and took the time to like it or comment on it. It means a lot to me that my writing was viewed by so many people, and they took that time to read it and respond. Writing is what makes me tick, it gives me my groove. Thanks for encouraging me!  For all my friends and other readers who have read from the start and supported me, thanks for pushing me along and letting me know that it matters. It means so much.

Off to the reunion. Check back for updates… though who knows how much of it will be suitable for print?

Posted in Honest observations on many things, My world, Parenting | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Grass is Always Greener on Someone Else’s Head… or is it?

Posted on August 3, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

freshly-pressed-circle** Update:  This was post was originally published in August 2011. I had been blogging for six weeks, and it was Freshly Pressed. I had no idea what that meant at the time, I didn’t even realize it had been FP’ed for a full day! Boy have things changed! Now I covet that golden boy! When I first published this post, I had no idea how to add photos; I didn’t know how to add links; I was clueless. Clueless. There were so many comments asking for photos, but I didn’t know how.  So, I’ve updated the post.  In this reblog, I’ve added some photos, fixed a few typos and put in links.

In August 2011,  I think I had five followers (really), and had not even told many of my friends and family that I was blogging. Now, I’m quickly approaching 2,000 followers and I’m in my groove. I have goals for 2014 that are much bigger than anything I imagined then. But this post got me going. There were hundreds of comments. Women from all over shared their stories about hair, in the comment section. Some of them are really amazing, and worth reading! Check them out, below the post. Add your own thoughts.  In addition, my daughter cut her long hair into a short “bob.” It’s short and sassy and suits her perfectly. Personally, I think she looks great however she wears it!  Here’s The Grass is Always Greener, updated and improved.

The Grass is Always Greener on Someone Else’s Head… Or is it?

Put a hat on it...

Put a hat on it…

What is it with women that we are forever coloring our hair, curling it, ironing it, extending it, feathering (oh those poor naked birds!) it, etc… you get the picture. I have a dear friend who for the 24 years I’ve known her has been trying to undo the curls she naturally  has. I for one, have always coveted her thick head of curls!  When she would fall in the pool and come out horrified that her hair was rapidly winding up into tight coils, I only wanted to have that hair for myself. Now that she can have it chemically straightened, she swims without fear and we laugh about this old drama. I love her straight hair, because ultimately I love HER.  Still it always struck me that she and I could see her hair so differently, when we agree on so many other things.

I have only colored my hair once in my life. I had fine blond(er) highlights put in to see what it was like to be in the “tribe.” I got it in my head that getting your hair colored was a right of passage of sorts (it really is), and that just once I wanted to share the ritual. I was 42.  I am pretty sure that most of the women I know color theirs, though for years and years, I always assumed that the hair color I saw, was the color that naturally grew in. Well in to my 40s, I naively believed this and friends would laugh at me when I would finally notice “roots” or figured out that their blond was not nature made. I still assume that most people’s color is natural, unless I can absolutely see something different than the pink, deep purple, blond, brunette, orange, etc that’s on top, coming in at the base. Even then, I often give the benefit of doubt.

My high school graduation picture

My high school graduation picture

I grew up with bright red hair… a blessing and a curse in my youth. My gym teacher (and some others) called me “Carrot top” while others called me “Red;” I hated it.  All through college, when it was long and I suppose more striking, total strangers would come up to me and just touch my hair. It drove my husband nuts for years; while I had come to think people just did that. When I went to the Phil Donahue show (years and years and years ago), the show aired with Phil, with his striking white mop of hair, stroking my red hair… friends teased me for years about it!  I had long made peace with my hair by then… I am happy to be a red-head, even as it fades to darker auburn with increasingly visible white and silver streaks.  For now, I will go on record to say: I do not plan to ever color it again.

IMG_7698 - Version 3I haven’t owned a comb or brush for 15 yrs and will only get hair cuts/styles that require sleep, washing, and nothing else. I’m lazy, and have let go of that one vanity… for the most part. I don’t worry about it and I often don’t do anything to it until it’s time to wash it again. For that, I feel very fortunate and grateful. I have lots of friends who have to invest loads more effort.  My good friend C, who cuts it, has told me over and over:  “Yes, you could have that style, if you’re willing to spend a few minutes with a flat iron, or if you’re willing to use some more ‘product’, or blow it out…” Instead, she just laughs at me and ends up doing variations of the same cut, as I can’t bring myself to put in the effort.  Nonetheless, some days I do wish it was curlier, longer, thicker… like that woman’s or that one, or the one over there.

When I told my daughter, Principessa,  what I was writing about here, she shared that she had once worn a hijab for several days, in support of some Muslim friends at college. She told me that she found it very eye opening, though her professors gave her odd looks. Wearing the hijab, she realized just how much energy, physically and spiritually, she puts in to her hair each day. “The focus,” she said, “was suddenly only on my personality, me… not as much on my looks. It was so freeing!”

Graduation day (2012). My beautiful girl and her beautiful hair. I straightened mine for the day.

Graduation day (2012). My beautiful girl and her beautiful hair. I straightened mine for the day.

My daughter has gorgeous, long, wavy hair, that has been changing from the blond of her childhood to the darker color it will probably be as an adult.  She asks me: “Mom, is my hair getting darker?” with a worried expression.  “Yes, it’s gorgeous,” I say. I look at her and simply see beautiful hair, but I understand that she is wondering if it might not be nicer wavier, or straighter, thicker or blonder again. Ironically, that’s just it:  all those other heads out here are wishing to be other heads. While each of us admires someone else’s locks, that someone is most likely wishing for yours, or yours or yours… or mine.  We may not openly say I wish I had your husband, your house, your figure, your career, your life… but so many women say: “Oh I would kill for your hair.”

It’s rare to hear a woman say: I love my hair.  For now, I still covet my neighbor’s other stuff; I have plenty of insecurities to work through.  However, when it comes to my hair I think I’ll strike out into bold territory here: I love my hair.  On “bad hair days” I may occasionally dream of longer, curlier, whatever hair,  but for the foreseeable future, I’m sticking with this head.

Look at that curl! Yeehaw!

Look at that curl! Yeehaw!

Question:  Are you happy with your hair? What would you change? What do you like?  Make a comment and share your thoughts. If you liked this post, hit Like and help spread the word with the Share button.

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What do I want? I’d love to see my Tales From the Motherland Facebook page reach 500 likes in 2014. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, it’s where I try to be brief.  Most importantly, if you like a post hit Like, and leave a comment. I love to hear what readers think.  Follow along; you’ll get each new post delivered by email, with no spam.  If you see ads on this page, please let me know. They shouldn’t be there.  © 2014 Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

Posted in Beauty, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, Parenting, Women's issues | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 289 Comments