Saul Good and Co.

Holiday Road

In less than t-minus three hours I'll be on vacation for about a hundred years. I am still tying up all my loose ends in the workplace, but I'm in remarkably good shape. Next frontier: packing.

I am so giddy I can hardly see straight. Though I can't wait to get to my favorite place and be among my favorite people and totally unplug and drink beer on the beach all day long like a champ (you know, to help my foot heal), I'm on the precipice, where everything is potential. All memories yet to be made. It's a wonderful place to be, and to be able to recognize it is a gift. To take a moment to sit back, breathe in, appreciate. Set an intention, and move forward. There's more to say, always, but today this will suffice.

Check you muffins on the other side.

 

The Fevah

To follow up on my list of ailments because apparently this is the sort of thing I think is acceptable to write about now, I'm still waiting for the verdict from radiology, but my heel is feeling tons better, so there's that. The rash seems to be dissipating, probably because it went below 90 degrees for a second last night. And if there's anything wrong with my nose, it's not harmful, only cosmetic. I can live with all that. Now of course Mike's got an owie back. Maybe sometime before vacation comes and goes we'll have a day where together we add up to 100%.

Never mind all that junk, I'm on the cusp of a long reality break, and though I'm knocking things down left and right in the workplace, and there's lots and lots to be done at home first, my mindset is sort of already on vacation. It's a lovely feeling. As ever, I look forward to returning with renewed sense of purpose, and what I might be able to accomplish after hitting my creative reset button.

I may check in here once or twice more before I drop off the map, but if it's to impart anything of substance, I'll be the most surprised of anyone.

 

 

MONDAY SMASH

My body is in mutiny mode. ARGH.

Exhibit A: Last week I was snuggling with my kid, which is a generally fantastic thing, and he suddenly moved his big bony skull and cracked it against the bridge of my nose, which made a sound I can't and don't want to describe. I don't think I broke it, fractured it at most, and the swelling seems to be down now, but for a few days there I was pretty sure the big man on campus was going to disinvite me to the dance.

Exhibit B: broken out in spots all over for no reason I can pinpoint. Probably the heat. Who knows. If you weren't already backing away from me, your retreat will begin, and double time.

Exhibit C: my heel my heel, the saga of my heel. I slipped on the last step going downstairs and landed flat-footed, HARD on the tile this morning. My injury has been very quiet of late, I've been working out like crazy and feeling terrific, and as of right now I'm having the worst pain there ever. I can't put weight on my left side and it's infuriating to me. We'll see how the rest of the day goes, I may end up at urgent care, possibly going on vacation in a cast or some other namby pamby contraption. Or, it'll hurt for the day and slowly dissipate. I'm really banking on option B.

Verdict: my outer casing is a raging arsehole sabotage machine. But other than that all is well.

Precious and Few

I'm on deadline today, so I only have time for a capsule version of the  V. V. Important News of Life:

1) Camp is, so far, a raging success. HR is happy there. I mean, he gets to go swimming and have ice cream every day, I'd be happy there too. But as of day three it's been a really positive experience, so we've signed him up for another week. I'm really glad we went for it. 

2) SYTYCD guys, my gah. I think Megz is my hero, but I am in a place now where I love them all, on both teams, and will be sad for whomever is voted off next week.  That final group routine from Team Street! Moises tapping! It's all happening. This is the stuff I've been waiting for.

3) It's my dad's birthday today, one of the planet's true dudes, hence a great day in history.

OK, back on task. More soon.

Only One Push From the Nest

This morning I got to bear witness to one of the cutest things that has happened in my son's life, if not anyone's life in history. It's HR's first day of camp, a city day program. He's only signed up for this week, and based on the success/failure of this week he might go next week as well. It's a long day for him (it goes 3 hours later than school did) and we weren't sure if it would be the right thing, but we decided to give it a try because the mom of one of his school besties said he was enrolled and really enjoying it.  So we got there this morning, got in line for registration not really knowing what to expect, and HR's friend came around the corner, saw HR and gave him a huge hug. Then he ruffled his hair and said, "Hey, little buddy." Keep in mind this child is months younger than HR. The look on their faces at being reunited, the whole scene, just filled my goodwill meter for the month. If I were a human-form emoji, you'd see the hearts bulging out of my eye sockets from space.

Tomorrow morning, now that he knows what to expect, will be the true test of whether camp is working out for the boy, but I personally think it will be great for him (and a great "break" for Mike, who can now get a lot more done during the day with those extra hours), and I'm so excited that he's forged these friendships in one school year. I did get a little pang walking away from him this morning, but nothing like it used to be. He's growing up, learning how to deal with new situations, it's gratifying even as it's tinged with...something. Not exactly sadness, just that parental lump in the throat with which I've become all to familiar. How do people send their kids to sleepaway camp? I'm not saying I'd never do it if he wants to someday, just, honestly, how do you handle it? Knowing a few faces (including the woman who ran his preschool program) went a long way in comforting us all, though I'm not sure which of us needs that comforting the most.  In any case, I'll report back later in the week, just so that you're not slain by the suspense of my domestic life. 

Dance Break

I bet you're super curious about my take on this season of So You Think You Can Dance. You're not, but I'm going to talk about it anyway. Just to say that I'm excited now that the audition process is over and the real stuff begins. I'm not sure how it will go, and I'm not sold on this stage vs. street format, since it's not clear if they're going to pair people up and put them in different genres like they've done the other 11 seasons. It's not that I'm against change in general, I just don't know if this shake-up will be beneficial. We'll see.

I am actually really jazzed about the street team, there's so much talent and personality there. My favorites are Virgil, Alain, Jaja and Yorelis. Everyone on team stage blends together at this point, but I'm confident that will change for me once the actual competition starts and the skills start popping and something surprises me and gives me the chills, a la Joshua and Katee's first routine ever. That's why I watch.

I don't like the panel of judges AT ALL. I get that Paula Abdul is an accomplished dancer/choreographer, but she's a crap judge, and Jason Derulo is clearly a ploy to get new viewers. He's not good at all, and is really squeamish about male dancers. It's making me feel bad about liking his music in the first place. So unless they're planning to stack the judges' table with compelling guest judges, I'll be muting/fast forwarding the critique parts of the show.

Ah, but dancing. There will be dancing. And that's all right with me.

 

Nothing More Than Feelings

I've been avoiding this blog lately because every time I send the bucket down the well of entry inspiration, it comes back filled to the brim with extreme emo. EXTREMO. I am living a pretty happy life, which is boring in itself to write about, but when the sad/serious/lamentation baggage I carry inside me wants to come out in my writing place, it's equally boring. I mean, it's healthy and productive to want to get it all out, particularly if I'm planning on writing an extremo-based memoir. But that's where I want to corral it, for now, in that space. It's a good reminder to get to work, I think. And that doesn't leave much for here.

I'm not saying I'm going to stop regaling you with my feelings. Not at all,  that's my bread and butter, homeslice. Just that I want to show other sides of myself, and those sides have taken a backseat to the endless emotional heavies. I am not actually that much of a one-note. Or maybe I am, but it's a worthy challenge to fake my way out of presenting that way every damn day.

Fittingly, we took HR to see Inside Out this weekend and it was as wonderful as everyone says, and twice as heartstring-tugging. Plan on packing double the amount of tissues you think you'll need, then double that. Here's our boy's enactment of the five feelings depicted in the film. And yes, drama camp is the plan for next summer.

 

The Heavy

The emotional hits just keep on coming!

Yesterday HR had his last day of Pre-K. Even though it was the longest school year in the history of the world (thanks, winter from hell), it still seemed so fast! Wasn't it just yesterday that I was stressing out over the heartbreak of dropoff? And now he would gladly continue to be dropped off every day. He really took to the structure of school, and I'm happy for it, but it's good for him to have a vacation, like it is for all of us. There was no formal ceremony or anything but the sight of all those little guys streaming out of the building yesterday was stirring to me. I was wearing sunglasses, and good for that.

(It was just exactly like the opening scene from Dazed and Confused. )

I'm also sitting on a goldmine of inspiration in the form of letters that were recovered from my parents' basement. When I did my semester abroad during my junior year of college, it was the early days of electronic mail and though I did have an account, I didn't have access to it when I was in the Parisian program. And so there were letters written and letters sent. Some every day (Mike and six months into our relationship at this point), some only one-off correspondence with the most unlikely of friends and acquaintances. But oh the memories in that packet of paper. Epic double-sided, single-spaced, 20-page missives from my best girl Nik. Air mail envelopes bearing my grandfather's gentlemanly script. Memere's handwriting, oh Memere. News from my sweet friend Jenn. Town gossip from my friend's aunt. I could go on and on. All that richness, all those amazing memories, so much to be said for the dying art of the letter. And I can't read them. I can't do it. I know that the words will only be cheerful, chatty, loving and upbeat. But it's not the contents so much as what they represent. Whom they represent. I have to wait for the right time to tear into them because I know I will crumble like a cookie and that takes some space and time and a box of tissues or five.

So that will be an interesting entry in the near future.

Feeling things is the best, but baby jeez, so heavy.