After So Long, A Sad Update

Hey friends. Carol (my beloved Normal Neighbor to this blog), died on May 1. She had been diagnosed with colon cancer at the start of 2011, and there were lots of ups and downs and calm periods and crises, and finally it was all too much, and there was nothing else to do. I'm breaking my blog silence to tell you about it because today, her mother called me, and I went over to Carol's house, and she gave me my old wig back. It was the wig I wore four years ago and had given to Carol a while ago. But she also gave me another wig Carol got for herself, one I'd gone with her to pick out. So somehow I lent one wig and got two back. She handed me the bag with the wigs, and I looked down inside it, and in that moment, it was just so much living for one day that writing about it really seemed like the only possibility.

Right after we found out her time was short, I talked to her best friend, who had just spent the whole day with her. "How was she?" I asked. I wanted to know if she talked about dying and in what way. The whole three years of her illness and treatment, we never talked about dying and we fully embraced a narrative of cure and healing, that she would do these painful, arduous, or merely pesky things and then finally be free of it all. But with that narrative taken away, I wanted to know how she was facing it. Her friend said, "Oh, we didn't talk about any of that. We talked about normal things. She wants to get the bathroom retiled." We laughed. But I thought, if that were me, I would want to talk about it. I'd want for someone to say, "This is happening and it's real."

When I got to talk to Carol myself, in the midst of her telling me about the hospice facility she would eventually go to, I said, "How did we get here so fast?" And we both started to cry, the first time we ever cried together. Because always before there was a hope, or a meal to organize, or a thing to be done, or something else to be said. But not anymore. And she said, "I know, how?" I said, "I just wanted you to have a good summer." She told me that she didn't want to die at home, because she didn't want the house to be gloomy forever for her kids, and I said that I totally got that. Then we talked about each of her kids and agreed that everything would be okay. And then I was squeezing my face together and trying not to make any noise because I wanted to hear her talk. And she said, "Of course I want more time, but you know...I don't want to just hang around."

The very last time I saw her, she was still at home, and we didn't talk about any of that. I hugged her and sat with her for about five minutes. She was sitting up and dressed, and we chatted about where I was off to next. I don't know, something insignificant. It is a lot harder to think of meaningful things to say than it should be. I think I told her I loved her. Or maybe that had been on the phone. Then a few days later she was sleeping most of the time, and then she was admitted as an inpatient, and then she was gone.

We had a funeral and a gathering of friends and neighbors, which was good and necessary. And now that has been several weeks ago, but I have felt all this time that she was at home around the corner, and we just haven't gotten a chance to catch up. It has been like one of many summers where we're both busy, or in-and-out of town, and we may not be together for a few weeks at a time. I've seen her husband, and her kids, but always with a sense that while Carol is somewhere out of sight on that day, eventually, soon, her absence will be over and we will meet.

Then, today, her mom summoned me to the house, where she's been going through Carol's closet and dealing with her things. Her mother is seventy-five and vigorous, capable, talkative--a big presence. Years ago Carol would sometimes suggest, with good humor, that her mom could be overbearing. But now she is running the house when Carol's husband has to be working. God grant all of us a busy, overbearing grandma to step into the space we leave behind.

So Carol's mom gave me a houseplant and a plastic shopping bag with the two wigs in it, the same shopping bag I'd put my wig in to lend it. And I thought, again, "How did we get here? How did we get here?" I didn't want the wigs at all. Mine, I am sick of looking at and I promise you I would never wear it again, but I bear it no ill will, if that doesn't sound ridiculous. But looking down into the bag and seeing Carol's, I felt such a shock of recognition--like, that's Carol's hair--and it brought her sadness and her vulnerability from that time all back to me. How did we get there? How do we do the things we have to do? How did I get here? And why me and not her?

I took them and thanked her and said that I would either keep them in case someone else needed them, or that I would donate them. "You never know," she said. And I walked home and put the plant in a bigger pot, then I took the wigs out of the bag and shook them out and looked at them, then I put them back into the bag and sat it at the bottom of my staircase. Then I went to Pretty Neighbor's house and drank three beers.

Now, as I have said in this blog so many times, you know everything. If you have read all this then thank you. xoxo

Three Years Away from That

Today I took Laura to a get-together with some of her swim friends at a trampoline park. I took Hank too, and I planted myself on a bench in a central location where he could buzz by every now and then and I could verify that he was still alive.

Another swim mom sat down next to me. I almost never see these women because we all just drop off at practice. There is really no standing around the side of the pool chatting. Too loud and too wet and the kids are too big for that now. We're practically strangers to each other. This lady was wearing a head scarf in a way that pretty clearly said, "I am having or have had chemotherapy."

I am long, long past the time when I needed to talk to everybody about my breast cancer. Not sure I ever really did, actually. But this lady and I chatted, first about swimming, then about child-activity juggling in general, then about tennis, which is always a topic of widespread interest around here. I said, "I had breast cancer three years ago, and I started playing tennis in earnest after I was finished with that."

That opened the door for her to talk about herself and her ongoing treatment and so on, and we talked through the rest of the hour of the kids' jumping time. Part of the time it was like we were two med students presenting a History & Physical to each other. I noticed that she was very, very conversant in cancer treatment--in oncotypes and histology and staging--whereas I was a bit rusty. I told her, "You know, it's hard to understand how, but I actually can't remember some of this." She said that was good to hear. I said, "Believe it or not, a lot of this treatment stuff will come to seem like just a really bad weekend."

I'm almost three years to the day from when I heard that diagnosis on the phone. I would love to think that the three years means I'm safer. Probably I am, a bit. We talked about the fear and dread, the cancer-worry that is now part of normal fabric of everyday life. It hums along at low volume most of the time, with occasional loud blasts of noise. I told her, "The good news is that you get it all back, all the stuff you're losing right now. It comes back." She complimented my long hair, and I said, "Yeah, I should really get it cut, I've made my point, I think."

The funny thing was, about forty-five minutes into this conversation, I'd had enough. There was pleasure in making a human connection and in listening to her share about herself, but then it was like I wanted to push back from the table. I am not at the point where I could, like, help with a support group or do some kind of work with people having cancer treatment. Maybe it's like what peace of mind I have is too lightly held, I don't know.
....

Normal Neighbor's colon cancer is back. Or it never went away? It has been two years since her diagnosis and treatment, and she has been very well during that time. But now it's back, and it's awful. She's having chemo right now, a more intense course. She is dog-sick. Her hair is thinning and I gave her my wig. Remember Codi? I don't know if she will need it, but she wanted to be ready. She came to my house to get it, and it's the only time in all this junk that I've ever seen her shaky and upset. I hugged her and told her that she would still look like herself, no matter what.

Living, man, it is not for the faint of heart. That's all I got.

An Update On Some Lovable Characters

This was baby Hank in his first Halloween costume, a ferocious bear.

Rawrr.

And here is my nephew Gabriel making that costume his own.

Urge to squeeze him...overwhelming! Seeing him in that bear suit, I know that my heart will go on. I love seeing the kids' hand-me-downs on other kids in the family. He and Hank do look remarkably alike to me. Anyway, Baby G continues to grow in stature and wisdom. I have a couple of little video clips from our time together in the mountains last month. If you like things that are adorable, you might want to watch.



Genius baby. Watch in high def for maximum cute.

And here is my sister absentmindedly holding him while I film her. This was pretty much the scene. One of us holding him and somebody else capturing the moment.

G checks out Matt.

Hmm now. My post title promised you "characters" plural and I have only given you one baby character. Let's see. I've also been meaning to tell you how Normal Neighbor is doing with her cancer treatment. When I last mentioned her, she was in consultation about whether to have this somewhat investigative procedure. She and the surgeon decided not to do that (whew) and instead to do radiation therapy targeted at this one remaining lymph node. So she is about halfway through her 30 treatments right now.

When she was telling me the treatment plan, she was dreading the daily driving down into the city, and I agreed that it was an awful grind. But get this: some folks from her husband's club (he's a golf pro) have given her a car service. A large black man in a large black cadillac picks her up every morning and drives her to Emory, over an hour away. That has got to be the greatest gift you can give someone in that situation. Just awesome. These same friends have also got someone cleaning her house. Those friends are good friends to have.

So I think she is going to be okay, and that this will be the last thing. I hope it is. Her treatment has dragged on longer than mine did. It has been this entire year. At this point, my cancer treatment seems kind of like a bad weekend I had once.

Another lovable character: Frenemy Neighbor. One weekend night lately, Matt and the kids and I were up at the tennis courts. Matt and I were playing in earnest and the kids were whacking balls around. FN texted and asked if Laura could play, so I told her to just bring P up to the courts and the girls could hit. FN gets there, and instead of making the drop-off, saying hi, and leaving, she hangs on the fence and wants to talk to Matt and me. Now, we had not left our court positions and showed no inclination to chat. We were engaged in the playing of tennis. The fact that we kept calling out the score and playing points could have been a clue. But she was all talky talk talk with the talking. And then, THEN, a new and unsuspecting neighbor wandered up, and she turned her attention away from us and proceeded to suck the very life out of him. I enjoyed watching it, because what he was going through was what I must have looked like six years ago when we moved here. She gave him the full interrogation, whipping out her phone to enter his and his wife's contact info and quizzing him on their occupations and livelihood. She left him a desiccated husk. I say that in a loving way. She lovingly sucked the life out of him and I'm lovingly reporting it to you. I am all about the love.

So now you are up to date on some of the haps.
xo
b

Happy Hour with Normal Neighbor

A few of us gathered for drinks at Normal Neighbor's on Friday, and this afternoon I sat with her at the pool. Lots of good NN time. If you're just coming around, I have told in the past about Normal Neighbor's colon cancer, here and here. I thought I'd give y'all an update.

When she was diagnosed back in January, I was terrified for her. After her surgery I was still terrified for her, as they were able to remove all the cancer from her colon but had to leave a couple of lymph nodes. Now, though, I'm happy to report that she is doing great. She had six cycles of chemo, and not the twelve she'd first thought she was having. That was a huge relief, because chemo was really tough on her. She had every side effect going. Terrible neuropathy, nausea, fatigue, blurry vision (!), you name it. I thought, there's no way she can live like this for twelve cycles.

I brought her lunch at chemo one day and sat with her until she could go home. I wondered what I would have made of the place if I hadn't been through it myself. It's not exactly cheery, an infusion room, and hers was less cheery than mine had been. Having done it, though, it just felt familiar. And while I was grateful I wasn't there for treatment, it was very much on my mind how possible it was that I could be there again one day. Mostly I hated that they couldn't seem to get a handle on her side effects. It was frustrating, as I didn't think she was making a big enough deal of it with her doctors.

She had a scan midway through her treatment that showed no cancer in her lymph nodes, so the chemo had worked and was working. There was one suspicious spot on her abdominal wall, but the surgeon thought it could be scar tissue from her surgery. Then she finished chemo at the end of June, and on Thursday she had another scan to take a look at everything. She'll hear the results Monday.

In the meantime, she had a great summer. She's back to playing tennis--our ALTA league starts Tuesday--and they went on some great trips. She's very tranquil about all of it, though we commiserated about how anytime we feel a pain, anywhere, we think, "It's the cancer." I told her that if my ankle hurts, I wonder briefly whether it could be ankle cancer. I try to mostly keep this hypochondria to myself.

So Friday she made little chicken salads in phyllo cups, and I walked around the corner with a bottle of wine. We gathered with the K(C)athies and another tennis friend on her back porch. Gossiping was carried out. One of the K(C)athies is getting a divorce, so we got updated on that. It was the first time I'd seen her since I got back into town at the end of July and noticed a 'For Sale' sign in her yard. The minute I saw it I thought, "Oh dear." She gave him divorce papers on Friday. So they have their house on the market, but they're both still living there. Awkward. We touched only lightly on the whole subject, she is not the gut-spilling type.

Then I told Normal Neighbor about the Dustbuster Mom, and after she finished a bout of hysterics, she said that she knows that family from girl scouts. She said, "Yes, she is friendly, but if you want to take them on, it might be a project." Hmm. The only anecdote she shared was that once her daughter had bailed out of a sleepover at the dustbuster house after only an hour, because it was "too chaotic." Then again, Normal Neighbor's daughter has some delicate sensibilities.

Then I sat with her at the pool today and she told me a bunch of things about how assy K(C)athy's husband is. Short version: assy, with anger problems.

Anyhoo. That is what is up around these parts. Housework, pool, now I'm making this soup.

How Is Normal Neighbor Doing?

I had lunch with Normal Neighbor today. Several of you blog friends have asked me how she is doing since her colon cancer diagnosis. Thank you for thinking of her. She's had two cycles of chemotherapy now, and this week she's well enough to play tennis. She was at practice this morning and is playing a match tomorrow, despite being so ill last week that she had to go get IV fluids two days in a row. And her doctor had told her that "this wouldn't be the kind of chemo that makes you really sick." It just goes to show, there is no telling how a person will react to treatment. I am worried about her, because she has to have ten more cycles of this stuff. I'm hoping they will get better at managing her side effects.

I was hoping to play doubles with her this week, but the captain didn't put me in the lineup.  I think because I am the worst tennis player in the world, and nobody wants to be my partner. Pouty lip. Or sure, maybe it's because not everybody can play every week, whatever.

Also, today I hit my practice partner in the back of the head with my serve.  Thwack. Smacked her square on the head.  She was fine and of course I apologized profusely, but in my defense, she is tall!  And she needs to scooch over! That ball was going in until it ran into her head.

So it was an awesome tennis morning.

But then it got better 'cause I got to catch up with Normal Neighbor. We talk regularly, of course, but she hasn't really been up to doing too much. And it was nice to have a chat with no child hangers-on. It is truly amazing the way our neighborhood has turned out in support of her family.  I mean, when I had my surgery and treatment last year, we were well taken care of, but nothing like this.  There are probably fifty people on the meal roster; their family has had meals since January. At first every weeknight, now a few times a week.  The K(C)athies and I got her a massage.  And there's a fund everyone is pitching into to pay for her house to be cleaned twice a month.  NN has lived here a long time and everybody loves her.  It is really something. This coming Monday is my day to bring her lunch during her chemo infusion, sit with her, and drive her home. I had to throw some elbows in the neighborhood to get that gig. I might have pissed off the tennis captain, and I don't think Laura will ever be welcome in Girl Scouts, but I'm in.

It's funny though, Normal Neighbor was telling me about how a woman she has known a long time--not a close friend but a neighborhood acquaintance--won't see her since her diagnosis. She's cooked two meals for NN's family, but delivers them to the house of a mutual friend, and NN has to go get them.  NN thinks she is simply uncomfortable and doesn't know what to say. She said, "I think she expects me to be on my deathbed."

I agreed that it's surprising how some people just get weird in the face of illness.  I told her how, last year, there were a couple of people who avoided me all summer.  People I'd been friendly with, whose children Laura had played with, just suddenly had this strange blindness to my existence.

This one chick would see me across the pool, studiously avoid me (and I was fine with that because she's the world's most tedious bore), and then later would tell Pretty Neighbor, "I saw Becky today but I didn't get to talk to her."  Oh, because there was that river of radioactive slime between us, of course you couldn't come over to say hi. And I was at the freaking pool. So it wasn't going to be some awkward hospital bedside conversation. It's me, reading Us Weekly.  I'm fine, really.

Not to make this all about me.

So we had a nice lunch and a chat and then we went to TJ Maxx, where I bought a workout top and Normal Neighbor bought her dog a new set of food and water bowls, fretting that they weren't exactly the right shade of pink. Not the right shade of pink. For a dog to eat out of.  Because getting the pink just right is who she is.  I tried to reassure her that any dog would be lucky to put its snout in those peachy/coral pink bowls, and we called it a successful outing.

I hope y'all are well. Weather is gorgeous here. So gorgeous. It's hard not to feel like everything is going to be a-okay.

I'm Back at It, Baby

This morning I played in my first ever tennis match.  This is huge for me.

Despite being generally active (and liking the outdoors), I've never been what you would call athletic. And team sports? My sister can corroborate: the Odom girls do not do team sports. Too much chance of jamming a finger or somebody ending up crying. Yes, there are moments from my brief childhood church softball career that still haunt me.  Like the time I was in the outfield and managed to catch a fly ball.  I was so surprised and thrilled that I just stood out there doing a special little dance instead of throwing to second base.  It was awkward.  Watching adults try to restrain themselves from pointing out my mistakes was not my idea of a good time.  Better to go inside and play Trivial Pursuit.

Yet last winter, I let Normal Neighbor talk me into getting on a beginners' tennis team she was starting.  During my first team practice, I pulled a muscle in my butt.  I felt like such a jock!  Glutes!  GLOOTS!  I practiced for several weeks before getting sidetracked by the whole breast cancer shebang.  I had to quit before I ever got to play.

But spring doubles has started back up, and we got together for practice yesterday and had our first match today. Boy did I miss Normal Neighbor at the first practice. She was our team captain before she had to quit and deal with her own cancer stuff, and I needed her out there to put up with my shaky serve and gossip during water breaks.

And today we had our first match.  I was put in line 5, which means I'm mathematically the worst player on the team. My partner was very sweet, though, and our opponents, Misty and Christy (no joke) were also newbies.

Y'all, it was really fun.  We lost, but I had some good moments, I really did.  I'm not uniformly bad in all areas.  I think the 30 Day Shred really helped me. I ran around and didn't get tired.

One especially super awesome moment was when I had to yell out to our team captain, across another court, "HEY WENDY, IS IT OKAY IF I SERVE UNDERHAND? THAT'S LEGAL, RIGHT?"  Everyone from the other team paused and looked over to see the Venus Williams in their midst.

Then I served underhanded, the ball was in, and we played the point.  I heard my name being called.  I turned back to see the captain and my other teammates shaking their heads.  "No, Becky," they called out. "You can't bounce it for a serve."  Oops.

You see, at an earlier point in my life that might have been embarrassing.  But somehow my self-image is unassailable by that kind of thing. We all laughed.  

Live and/or learn.  

It was really fun. I was happy just to play and I can't wait to get better.  Another plus is that, in this league, there is major food after the match.  I already hold a Grand Slam title in women's snacking and I will be defending it vigorously.

Bad News on My Block

Remember back in December when I told you guys that my friend Normal Neighbor was having a breast biopsy? She was very anxious about it but it came back benign, and we all breathed a sigh of relief.  Then I stopped worrying about her health and entered a pleasant holiday stupor, forgetting that her doctor had told her she was pretty severely anemic and needed to have a colonoscopy after the new year.

Then I was flying to LA.  You know how when your plane lands and your phone picks up service again, you get that avalanche of text messages? One was from her.  It said:

Bad news from the colonoscopy this morning. It is cancer. Not up to talking right now.

I just sat there staring at my phone. Cancer? I thought, "She can't have cancer because I didn't even know this was a possibility."  It wasn't on my radar screen at all. I didn't know the colonoscopy was to rule out cancer. She's only 45.

While I was snowed out of Atlanta that week, she was getting prepped for surgery, fast.  When I finally talked to her, the day before her operation, she sounded upbeat, surprisingly so.  I recognized her state of mind as that dazed, not-too-down, busy feeling you get when you're dealing with a new diagnosis, trying to learn everything, and getting ready for surgery.  The mind is an amazing thing. There's something about all the activity that insulates you from the fear, at first. But she told me a couple of things that gave me a feeling of foreboding. The surgeon thought a couple of her lymph nodes looked like they might be involved, and there was a suspicious spot on her liver.

I got a sinking feeling as she told me that. It sounded to me like we were talking about Stage III disease, right out of the gate.  I did a bunch of googling "colon cancer staging" and "colon cancer prognosis by stage" and sunk even further.  I just thought, "How could it have gotten this bad without her knowing?" It brought up a lot of my own anxieties about cancer and about how, with breast cancer anyway, once you cross over into metastatic disease, you are no longer "curable."  I thought about how your life can change in one minute.  I felt miserable and scared for her.    

I didn't blog any of this because the situation wasn't really stable, and it all felt too raw.  I thought about how my blog name for her, "Normal Neighbor," doesn't do justice to what a sweet and reliable friend she is. 

She had surgery four days after her diagnosis, while I was still out west.  They found two cancerous lymph nodes and took a biopsy of her liver.  By the time I made my way home, she was almost out of the hospital. She felt better than before the surgery, now that the large tumor in her colon wasn't making her sick. And what's more, she and her husband seemed happy, relieved she came through the surgery, and optimistic.

I said to Matt, in so many words, that I didn't understand why they were in such a good mood.  He said, "You mean you think they're in denial?"  I said I didn't think they were in denial, but it was like they had reached some advanced state of acceptance and serenity, way, way fast.  I told him that I didn't want to be the friend who shows up at your house and says, "Don't you realize how serious this is?"  He agreed that I should not be that person.  He said that he thinks of them as "here and now" people, and that they're just focused on getting her good care.

And in the last couple of weeks, it's funny: talking to her and hearing that she is not in despair and torn up with anxiety, that she feels her treatments will work and she will be fine, it has made me believe it. She will start chemotherapy on Valentine's Day, and apparently it's not the kind that makes your hair fall out, which is good. But I was ready to speed over there with my wig, Codi. You know I was.

I thought about that Stephen Jay Gould essay about survival statistics, "The Median Isn't the Message."  That's worth a read if you don't know it.  And I remembered what one of you sweet blog friends told me when I was agonizing over my own cancer staging and prognosis:  Even if you're facing something with a one percent survival rate, there is no reason to think that you won't make it into that one percent. Indeed, it's hard to live any other way.

So I am still just shocked about this turn of events.  Fucking cancer, I swear.  I felt the need to tell you guys because it's definitely something going on in my life and my 'hood, and this is where I talk about that stuff.  But I am hopeful, I really am. 

Let's be alert to our bodies, but without being anxious and freaked out.  I'm trying to strike that balance. And let's be thankful for every day we have health.
Love,
B

Hard Times in The Hood, Updated, HURRAY!

On Google maps, there's a little "real estate" box you can tick, and it will show you all the houses around a particular address that are in various stages of foreclosure.  It is very eye-opening.  You can zoom out and back and see all the little orange dots appear, each one representing a "distressed homeowner," as the realtors' details term them.  There sure are a lot of distressed people.

In doing this I found out that my very own neighbor, Rebel Yelling Mom--who long-time blog readers may remember--her house is going to be sold at auction.  We don't talk so I didn't know, but I imagine this is not what they wanted to have happen.

I wish we were buying a house now instead of in 2006.

And speaking of distressed people, my mind is occupied tonight with thoughts of our very own Normal Neighbor, my friend, who has to have a breast biopsy in the morning.  She is pretty worried, as you can imagine.  I believe that it will turn out to be fine, but I hate that she has to go through it, both the procedure and the anxiety of waiting for the results.  I couldn't even say very much to her about it.  I didn't want to say, "Man, that biopsy is going to hurt."  I just told her that it would most likely be fine, and it will.

I was trying to figure out if knowing me--and watching me go through all the junk I had to do in the last nine months--would be reassuring to her as she deals with this anxiety, or would have the opposite effect.  I asked Pretty Neighbor what she thought and she said she didn't know. I don't either.  Obviously I am still here and feeling great, so that's an encouraging truth, but Normal Neighbor had a front-row seat for all the difficult and downer moments along the way.  I hate that she has to go through this moment of fear.  I'll keep you posted.

Hard times all over.

xoxo
Me

Finally, edited to add: Normal Neighbor got the all-clear on her biopsy.  Before she heard, she told me that during the procedure, the radiologist told her that the mass didn't look malignant.  NN said, "But I guess they say that to everybody."  I was like, "Oh no they don't!"  During my biopsy the radiologist said, "Huh, that looks weird."  Awesome feeling, that was.  


And a bone scan I had for utterly no reason on Tuesday was also clean.  You see, one thing I like to do for the holidays is submit myself to medical testing that carries a slim, slim chance of finding anything wrong with me but that nonetheless gives me 48 hours of anxiety and gloom.  Sugarplums! Remind me not to do that again unless I have a really, really good reason.  


Now I am off to Costco (now that's what's crazy) to get a poinsettia and to open a bottle of wine actually in the aisle, right between the bagels and the rechargeable batteries.  


I love you all.
b

Spotlight on Normal Neighbor

What are my neighbors up to?  I have been a little out of touch because my new part-time job is driving down to the perimeter to get radiation treatments, but today I had lots of time with Normal Neighbor.  We met for lunch, just the two of us, then later, as it happened, she reconvened our intermittent program of happy hours on her back deck.  This is the first week it's been pleasant enough to be out there; we didn't do it all summer because it was too dern hot.  Yes, "dern."  D-E-R-N.  Anyway, so it was Normal Neighbor and me and both of the K(C)athies and drinks.  Now I am totally caught up with Normal Neighbor.  Here are the gleanings:

She has already been up to Burt's Pumpkin Farm, out in Dahlonega, to get the huge pumpkin for her front sidewalk.  She went on a weekday afternoon, right after the school bus came, to beat the crowds of pumpkin seekers, 'cause that place is like Epcot Center this time of year.  I had to marvel at her on-top-of-it-ness.

In addition to the best pumpkins, there is a nudist colony/resort in Dahlonega.  I had to marvel again at this bit of info, because this is not the kind of thing that Normal Neighbor is usually up on.  Hmm.  Apparently it is quite a destination for naturist folks from all over these United States.

Normal Neighbor has not read the Twilight books but is planning to.

She made us a little appetizer pizza using a pie crust.  She pressed the crust into a pie plate, put two cups of mozzarella on it, then put on sliced roma tomatoes, garlic, basil, and a drizzle of olive oil.  Normal Neighbor knows all the best lady snacks.  Why haven't I ever made that?        

She met her husband in a bar.  She noted at that meeting that his pants were hemmed with duct tape.

Normal Neighbor is the captain of our tennis team.  It is driving her crazy and killing her love of tennis, she reports.  I find it hard to believe, but everyone calls her to complain to her about the people she pairs them with for matches, and to blame their losses on their partners.  We agreed that this sniping and griping is tacky beyond words.  She said, "I still like those girls but they have become, like, almost bitches."  

So that's all I have.  Now it's like you were there too.

Happy Friday y'all!  

Gossip Helps Us Define and Enforce Norms of Group Behavior

When Normal Neighbor came to drop her daughter off for Laura's slumber party on Friday, she stayed for a beer and a chat. The previous Friday, some of these same little girls, Laura included, had been at a slumber party around the corner, hosted by another friend of ours for her daughter. This mom has six kids. (I've never quite come up with a blog name for her but I really like her, and she is a part of the whole scene. Maybe Mellow Mama?) Her little girl and Normal Neighbor's girl and Laura are all good buddies. Anyway.

So Frenemy Neighbor's daughter P was also invited, but the hostess was told she'd be arriving later because her parents were busy and she was at her grandmother's for the evening. Frenemy told Mellow Mama she'd go get P and bring her to the slumber party by 8:00.

Normal Neighbor said that around 10:30, the hostess figured that P wasn't coming, turned off the porch light, and went to bed. At 11:30 the doorbell rang. Mellow Ma had been asleep, as were half of the party guests. It was Frenemy wanting to drop off P at the party. So drop her off she did, and then picked her up again at 9am.

Normal Neighbor and I exchanged grimaces over this episode, and then I told Pretty Neighbor about it too. It's just a typical page from the Frenemy parenting playbook. They take P with them everywhere while they conduct adult business, so she misses out on a lot of things, then they control her time so rigidly that she misses out on some more stuff. She is home schooled, but they aren't the networking type of home schoolers. P seems isolated to me, very isolated.

I just don't think that girl has enough fun or enough kid time.

This afternoon was another characteristic episode. I texted FN at about 2:00:

Me: Hey, Matt is going to take Laura to the climbing wall at the gym, would P like to go?

FN: Yes but we r eating right now. We need to work on the rental house today, P would need to stay whole afternoon with u. What do u think.

Me: Well, the climbing closes at 5 so they would prob be there until then anyway. We are having lunch too but we are almost finished. Y'all?

FN: We are just sitting down, would u be up 2 her staying with u the rest of the day???

Me: We would be great with that part, but it sounds like they might not have enough time if y'all are starting lunch. Maybe a different day? Climbing is open til 8 on the weekdays.

FN: Ok, if you want P for playing we will prob leave in 15 or 20 minutes and back this evening. Thxs.

With that last message, I didn't feel that she had gotten my drift at all, and I also felt that if we didn't take P with us, I was condemning her to spend several hours sitting in her parents' empty rental house. Because I know that, to Frenemy, "the whole afternoon" doesn't mean until 5 or 6, it means until 7 or 8. But I didn't think we were communicating well, so I called her. I learned that they were having lunch at their house, not a restaurant, and P would be available soon. And I learned that I was right about the 7 or 8. Frenemy asked if "7 or 8" was okay, and I, remembering her penchant for lateness, said, "That's fine. 8:00 is when I start getting the kids ready for bed." That must have worked, because they rolled up at 8:20. Improvement. And the girls had a good time climbing, and then P helped Laura clean her room.

Whatever! I guess I'm telling you this because I tell you everything. I am a magpie, and here is another bit of shiny thread.

The Sun Did Not Shine

Except on that rodent, apparently. Hank is home today, but yesterday in school they made groundhog puppets (think tongue depressor sticks and a metric ton of brown construction paper). This morning we were puttering around when he said, "Oh! I have a idea! Why don't you watch the news about a groundhog!" He was so excited. So for the first time in my life, ever, I hastened to the TV on the morning of February 2 to tune in the proceedings in Punxsutawney. Fortunately Al Roker had sent his crack team of correspondents to Gobbler's Knob. We watched as the guys in top hats manhandled Phil, and Hank loved every minute. He turned to me and said, very solemn, "He saw his shadow, Mom." In case I'd missed it. When you're three, I guess everything in the world is new and weird, so sure, a day devoted to this groundhog character, why not?

I love that movie, Groundhog Day. So funny and goodhearted, it is definitely in my top ten. I'm not sure what else is in the top ten. I might put Solaris up there, no kidding. It's a mood piece, people.

I've given a little thought to what days I would want to live over and over. Have you? Certainly the day I got engaged to Matt, when I knew without doubt that large portion of my future happiness was assured, and I felt so relieved. Maybe one of the first days I spent in Italy as a college undergrad. One of the days this Christmas, with all the family together in the mountains. Really, considering we never know what's coming at us next, I would take any ordinary day on repeat.

Other things in this day so far:

Someone please explain to me why it is impossible for us to get our recycling to curb in time for the truck. The garbage and recycling trucks come around Tuesday morning. Why do we not think of this Monday night? Instead I run out there in my Uggs every week at around 9:30. This is on time for the garbage, but not the recycling, though some time they mix it up and come later, and this epistemological gray area leads me to text Normal Neighbor at some point during the afternoon and say, "Did your recycling come?" And she's like, really? I am SO BORED that you're asking me this again. It comes EARLY IN THE MORNING, POTATO HEAD. She's a lot nicer than that though.

I was going to have my first tennis lesson this morning, but it got rained out. Tennis is a big huge thing in the neighborhoods here, and I've always wanted to learn, so I figured that one way to do that would be to join a team. Normal Neighbor is starting a beginner's team, and when we were at a party she asked me if I wanted to play. I said yes. Then she called me a week later and said, "Did you really want to be on the team or were you drunk when you said that?" I was like, honey, I don't know how to take that. Also I've never been so drunk that I agreed to participate in group sports. Except possibly that time Freshman year when we played Red Rover. So I've been thinking that I need to do more things that scare me, and this tennis thing is one of them. I will keep you posted.

If I had this day to do over I would totally make that recycling truck. Have a fun Tuesday, my dears.

That Neighborhood Party: People

When we went to the progressive dinner last weekend, Matt's mother and brothers were in town visiting us, so we did not intend to stay out a long time. Normal Neighbor's house was to be the last stop of the night, so I told her at the beginning of the evening, "We're not going to stay super late, we've got a houseful of company." In the South, saying you have a houseful of company is understood to excuse any behavior, any lapse, or any absence. It could get you out of going to your own funeral. As the mourners stood around the empty casket, someone would say, "Well, I bet they have a houseful of company."

So yeah, we weren't going to stay late. Normal Neighbor and her husband laughed and repeated those words to me as we tripped gaily down their frozen sidewalk at 3 o'clock in the morning. That party sort of took off. Everyone was just so darn convivial. It was a nice mix of people we already knew and people we'd never met. I wanted to file a few reports on the people you've come to know here on SubMat.

Normal Neighbor: I really love that woman, she of the beer koozies with grosgrain ribbon around them. She is one of those women--and I don't know if this is particular to the South, but I see it a lot here--who really knows how to use her voice. I mean, her speaking pitch is really dynamic, and she uses it to great advantage. She is pleasant to listen to, and can give you a hug with her voice, or convey intense amusement, outrage, whatever. This is not to be underestimated. Also, she has never failed to be nice and normal. Her husband, a golf pro, is among the professionally gregarious. Those two like to party, if we're using "party" as a verb. They certainly do it like it's a verb.

Frenemy Neighbor: Frenemy arrived alone because her husband was "having symptoms." I was like, "Oh no, symptoms of what?" Then she said he had a cold. I was like, who talks like this? I steered clear of her in general, though I did get a lot of enjoyment out of a moment when another woman's husband was trying to hug her. I missed why this hug was occurring--it was a little aggressive on his part probably, like forced merriment--but she acted like he was covered with poisonous spines. Another friend from up the street--she has six kids so we'll call her Mother of Many for the time being--was complaining to me that Frenemy has been trying to recruit her husband into their multilevel marketing scheme. We shared an eye roll. Also, Frenemy was wearing a bright orange, really hairy scarf. She looked like she was being choked by a Fraggle.

The Mystery People: Okay, here's where I sound kind of weird. I spent a while with the Mystery Lady, sitting next to her at dinner and chatting. Even given her quirks and abrasiveness, I would far rather spend time with Frenemy than with this lady. Her husband seems just garden-variety creepy to me, but she left me kind of unsettled, with a cold feeling.  I mean, Frenemy has a recognizable personality, with recognizable human emotions, however awkwardly they are expressed. Mystery Lady seemed to me like someone completely turned inward, moving through a world of objects, trying to wrest her desires from the material world. My intuition is that the people in her life are objects to her too, with different purposes, in a utilitarian array around her.

She can make normal chit-chat, sort of, and smile when appropriate, but there is no animating spirit behind it. Really strange. They have had a series of au pairs in their house, so she told me a little about the au pair program, and about how you can try to bend the rules to get more than the allowed amount of work out of your au pair. Then she told me about how she and her husband met online, and their courtship, and I felt like I was talking to one of those automated customer service robots who simulates human interaction. The thing is, from seeing her daughters, I think that she has no idea how needy they are. It's clear that there is some kind of nourishment they aren't getting from her. Yet she looks pretty, her house is pulled together, and she's going around having an adult life. 

That's a lot to take from a dinner conversation, huh? Maybe I'm the weird one. I'll say more if I can figure out how to articulate it. I was just uncomfortable with her, in a deep way.

So we are all up at the mountain house, playing in the snow, which explains my blog slacking this week. I hope you are all managing to stay warm. Back soon!

The 30 Day Shred, Day Two: Oh My Heck, Y'all

Whew! Jillian, my new personal trainer on the 30 Day Shred DVD, says that pain is just fear leaving your body. Reader, there is a lot of fear leaving my body today. I did the workout for the second time last night. And I swear to the lord, I can already see a little bit more definition in my upper abs. Understand that noticing this is like peering down into a koi pond and glimpsing a darting fish. It's down below the surface, but it's there.

After I mentioned this workout the other day, my friend Jane posted about it. Jane has been shredding for 30 days, and she's gotten great results, AND she really nails the tone of this DVD, so go check it out. As she says, the workout is led by Jillian, with her "two best girls" backing her up. One, the goddess-like Natalie, is doing the advanced form of each exercise, and Anita, who is a hyperalloy combat chassis made in the fires of Skynet, does the "modified" version. I can only do push-ups the girl way, so I stick with Anita most of the time.

Jane says she finds Jillian's patter to be "shockingly demotivating." It's true that Jillian is always saying things like, "I know you wanna quit on me," or "I know you just wanna turn off this DVD and sink back into your own filth." I think it depends on your style of working out, though. I don't mind hearing that, because it makes me think, "Okay, so it's normal to want to die right now." To me, it is sort of encouraging.

One lesson learned: don't wait until after midnight to work out, because you will be up until four in the morning. Last night I lay down in Hank's room for a few minutes while he was going to sleep. We have an extra bed in there. So I fell asleep, and woke up at 11. Then I talked to my buddy Erika about these conference proposals we were working on, for like an hour, then I dragged myself into Matt's office. I said, "Oh my god I still need to shred! Wah!" I threw myself down on the carpet. And he said, "I'm going to tell you a truth. There are people who are doing the 30 Day Shred, and there are people who are not. You need to decide which of those you are, and be that." Then he smiled with satisfaction at his nugget of wisdom. So I went upstairs and put on my sneakers.

Afterward I was so filled with energy, I was like, "Let's play some Rock Band! Woohoo! I wanna ROCK." So we did, and it got really late. Then Matt agreed to get up with the kids this morning. So everything worked out swell.

I do recommend this workout. Right now my quads (I have "quads" y'all, which are like muscle thingies in my legs), and my stomach muscles are pretty sore. But I'm going to take some ibuprofen so I don't feel all the fear on its way out. I still have to escort the kids around trick-or-treating, and Normal Neighbor has promised to supply beer for us to drink while we do that. It will be classy! Her beer is in cans, but she has these little koozie things with grosgrain ribbons tied around them. Adorable.

Y'all have fun tonight!

Four Conversations with My Neighbors

1) I was over in Fancy Land taking Laura to a friend's house, and I stayed to have a drink with the hostess and another mom who was delivering her kid. In the course of the visit, talk turned to housework, specifically laundry, and how I think it needs to be abolished in favor of just going naked all the time, because the laundry is seriously killing me. Our hostess said that her cleaning lady does the family's laundry, and I was like, "Exsqueeze me? How does that work?" "It works great," she said. I bet it does. I don't have my cleaning lady anymore, but even when I did, she didn't do laundry.

Then the other mom piped up and said that she pays her mother to come over and do their laundry. I had an ambivalent response to this. My mom and my mother-in-law do things around my house every time they come to town--I'm certainly not opposed to accepting their help. I love it. But the notion of taking one's mother on as paid household help seemed strange to me. Or it at least took me a moment to process the idea. While I was thinking about this, the other mom went on, "She likes to sit on the couch and fold clothes and watch TV. And since it's kind of mindless work, I just tell her, 'Take all the time you need, Mom. You're not bothering anyone.'"

2) My friend Normal Neighbor will just not pick up her dog's poop. It really bugs me about her. When she's out walking her little dog, and it drops a deuce in someone's yard, she just looks around to see if anyone has noticed. A few days ago, we were both on the way to the bus stop with our dogs, and her dog stopped to make a deposit. I pulled out a plastic bag and pointedly held it out to her. "Here," I said. "Nah, it's okay," she said, "They're not home."

3) Mindy, next door, is having her basement redone. She told me she'd gotten all new paint, floors, and furniture down there, and I told her I'd like to see it when she gets everything set up. She said that she just had to get the bear skin hung on the wall. I was like, "You have a bear skin?" And she said yes, that her late husband had shot it. (Her husband died a few years ago, and she just remarried.) I said, "Wow," because I was thinking that a bear skin didn't really accord with my ideas of Mindy's taste in decorating. That is to say, while a bear skin isn't exactly my thing either, I was actually going to be impressed that Mindy was taking that kind of decorating risk. I've been in her house, and her taste, like that of a lot of my neighbors, runs to extreme matching, a reverence for a quasi-Tuscan look, and safe, idea-free interiors. Think burgundy and hotel art. Then I remembered that she'd said she was having the basement made into a "man space" for her new husband, Ron, and that one of the rooms is Harley-Davidson themed. It made me realize that she didn't see the bear skin rug ironically, or as an aesthetic object, the way I might. She saw it as a trophy, duh. We were coming at this bear skin thing from totally different angles.

When I said, "Wow," Mindy apparently thought I was expressing disapproval, because she hastened to say, "Well, we had history with that bear," which made me laugh. This black bear was stalking all around their cabin in the mountains, and even came into their house one time. They were afraid for their little dog, so her husband shot it. And now, she's using the skin of the bear that her dead husband shot to adorn the walls of her new husband's man cave. Isn't that weird? Or not weird, but striking. As Matt said, "Ron has taken on the Mantle of the Bear."

4) My crazy Frenemy Neighbor told me that as soon as Halloween is over, she's getting her Christmas trees out. She has three or four artificial trees that she puts up. I said, "You're getting an early start!" She said that she has so many ornaments that if she doesn't start in early November, she'll never get them all hung by Christmas. She went on to say that she collects ornaments, and if I'm ever bored, she offered, she'll tell me "the story of every one of them." I blacked out for a minute and then told her that I was going to make it my life's work to never be that bored.

If you like lists, check out the listy thing going on at ABDPBT:

Have a nice day!

Please Share My Umbrella

Every weekday afternoon, I go up the hill to the corner to meet Laura’s school bus. This takes some doing, because I take Hank and the dog with me, and only the dog is on a leash. I enjoy this part of the day not just because we get to greet Laura and walk her home, but also because it is a chance to chat with my neighbors while we wait for the bus. We congregate on the corner, we stand and wait, and we disperse again with our kids. That is all. Yet it is possible to do it wrong. So since it's back-to-school time, I offer some thoughts on Bus Stop Etiquette:

It boils down to this: The bus stop is a social space. For a brief period in the morning and afternoon, an unremarkable corner in our neighborhood becomes a bus stop, which is a social space. Not in the way that a party is a social space, but when we are there, we are in society with others. We form a society of people who are waiting for their children. Accordingly, we are subject to conventions that govern our social behavior. The rules, happily, are not difficult to master—you don’t have to know which fork to use or how to introduce a bishop to an ambassador. The only rule is that you must acknowledge that this is a social experience, and engage, at least minimally, with your fellow bus stop attendees. A very little will suffice. Eye contact, a greeting, and you’re good. Chattiness and real warmth can come later—we have 180 days.

It seems silly to talk about this, because this is second nature to anyone who wasn’t raised in a barn. But it is in my nature to try to codify things that usually go unspoken, and it seems there are people who don’t know. If you sit on the curb fiddling with your cell phone, your back turned, and ignoring the group, I will judge you. I am sorry, because you are probably a really great person. But we are trying to have a community here. And we need you. “Geez Beck, lighten up,” you may say. Let people just do their thing once in a while!” There are plenty of places where you can act like no one else exists. Like while you’re shopping. But here at the bus stop, we have a lot in common. We live in the same place, and our kids go to the same school. That is huge, y’all. So make with the pleasantries.

Matt does the morning bus stop run, and he reports that the scene is slightly different. Fewer kids ride in the morning, so there are fewer adults about, and some of those are on their way to work. The increased bustle plus the early hour means that it’s a more businesslike affair, but some people try to avoid even the greatly reduced sociability of the morning bus stop. Matt says that one mom (who lives right beside us—more on her later) never makes eye contact with him or acknowledges the presence of other people at all. And one dad wouldn’t speak to him after an initial grunt, even when spoken to. After I interviewed Matt about his experiences and expectations of the morning bus stop scene, he invited me to spend a few days getting up at 6:30, in order to experience it firsthand. In the interest of this sociological study, I almost would. But instead I’ll take his word for it.

In the afternoon, the cast of characters includes my friend Normal Neighbor—I haven’t ever written about her, though I like her very much, because she’s nice and normal—whom I’ve been seeing at the bus stop for over two years now. Normal Neighbor and I are friends in 5-10 minute increments. We rarely spend more time than that together, even though her daughter often plays with Laura. Yet we transact a lot of business in that time—exchanging info about the kids, school, running our households, and various gossip (don’t make me defend gossip as a valid and indispensable cultural practice ‘cause I totally can). I am thankful for her and I look forward to our chats, and we help each other by picking up each other’s kids sometime.

Another member of our little society is the German au pair who lives with the family down the street. Actually, the family just got a new au pair, and we haven’t really talked very much yet. I thoroughly bonded with the old one, Steffi—she was totally a hausfrau in training and really embraced her role—but I am sure Fabienne will be interesting too, even if the dad of the family she works for thinks her facial piercing will make it “hard for her to fit in here.” (Dude, it’s not that big a deal.)

The point is that these few minutes at the bus stop are a great opportunity to exchange information or just build ties of civility with the people around us. Am I a freak here? What are your expectations for this social scene, if you have any, or do there seem to be different rules in your particular situation? If it takes a village, we’re the village, right? We don’t even have to like each other, but we have to be civil, in the fullest sense of the word. Okay, end of lecture. Now go forth and schmooze. Or just remark that, yes, it is still very hot out, but at least there is a nice breeze.