The nightbird

Do you remember this from the early 70's ?
“The flutter of wings, the shadow across the moon, the sounds of the night, as the Nightbird spreads her wings and soars, above the earth, into another level of comprehension, where we exist only to feel. Come, fly with me, Alison Steele, the Nightbird, at WNEW-FM, until dawn.”

I thought of the Nightbird last week as I wandered through my house at 2 am, warming myself some milk and trying to decide what soothing activity would send me back to dreamland. Ah, the soft, sultry voice of Alison Steele would do it, reciting poetry over Andean flute music and playing Riders on the Storm by The Doors, if it were raining. She was the popular voice of progressive rock starting in the late 60's and played whatever she wanted on her show.

Now I am my own Nightbird, creeping around in the wee hours. Peace prevails in the house and it feels like it's completely my world--my kingdom of the night.The clutter recedes in the background. The low lighting blurs the colors and shapes.  The full moon through the window is high and partly obscured by clouds, swiftly passing over it, so that it really does look blue.  I swear I've heard the fairies tapping very gently at my window or was that suggestion lifted directly from a play I saw last Saturday?

Every so often I get these weeks where I'm turned around--day for night, night for day. It starts with being on the computer too late in the evening and going to bed with the neurons still firing. I toss and turn and then silently open the bedroom door, hug the banister and disappear downstairs.  One night I started watching a Turkish movie with subtitles, which I thought would be sleep inducing, only to get caught up in the story until it ended at 4am!

I can't decide if sleeping with the window open helps or not. I love the loud, steady, one note thrum of the crickets and insects at high decibels, punctuating the August night with exotic chirping calls and buzzing answers. Who is out there? Tropical birds...giant frogs...cicadas who missed their cue to return underground?  It's a soothing symphony; yet, I'm also awakened by the sprinklers coming on at 3 am and the newspaper delivery at 5. The seemingly permanent construction crews in my neighborhood start at 8. So maybe windows shut is a better option.

My insomnia usually stops as quickly as it starts and I return after a week or so to a normal routine with no explanation. Perhaps I need to pick up Goodnight, Moon or is it time for Lunesta?

Trendsetting

Did you know I'm a trendsetter? As you may know, son Eric and I are supporters of Cory Booker and went Running with Cory in a Morristown campaign event. Finally got our bumper stickers and were glad to see on Tuesday that the Mayor of Newark easily captured the Democratic nomination for US Senator from NJ with 60% of the vote. But, no, that's not what makes me a trendsetter.

A friend and I were planning an outing on Wednesday and she suggested the Newark Museum. Was this taking Cory Booker's trumpeting of the "new" Newark a bit far? My friend insisted the museum is truly a  "hidden gem", which she had discovered years ago. And she was right! The building surprises you with vaulted skylights and interesting vistas. Look down this corridor and you see the marble mosaic of Hercules at Gibraltar, otherwise known to us as the Prudential Rock. Look up and a Calder mobile is suspended above you. Pass through this hallway and note a charming collection of teapots through the ages.

The museum permanent collection is a pared down Art History 101, with one or two works of many well known artists, each room representing a different time period and philosophy of art. Here a Warhol, there a Winslow Homer or John Singer Sargent.  Even Thomas Edison's early videos are included.

The museum links to the beautiful Victorian style Ballantine House, home of the famous beer family who had a brewery in Newark.  One of our favorite display cases showed a collection of utensils and objects and asked you to identify their use. I felt like the new, confused footman in Downton Abbey, discerning the fish server from a spoon warmer and the salt dishes from the butter plates. Luckily the answers were provided and the stern visage of Carson was nowhere in sight.

There were a fair number of day camp groups and others at the museum and many of the exhibits are family friendly. African art and Tibetan/Indian art are well represented. In addition, the traveling exhibits are novel and worthwhile, including Papyraceous, which sounds like a made up word, as creative as the paper sculptures and works it included. 

You can imagine my surprise when I opened the NYTimes today to read Holland Cotter's review of The Art of Translation....at the Newark Museum. Cotter concludes his article this way:
So it comes down to this: to see the world, really see it, you have to travel. The Newark Museum is about a half-hour from Midtown by the PATH train, then a short cab ride or walk. Just go. 

(Thanks, Holland. I guess you saw my tweet. Cory Booker's not the only one with followers!)

Middle Child Day

I read in the Bergen Record that today is officially Middle Child Day. How appropriate, I thought, as my own middle child, Eric, began yet another long car trip with his younger brother Scott. This time Eric is heading to Indiana University to begin a doctoral program in parks, recreation and tourism. Scott generously volunteered to help with the move. No room in the car for Mom this time, but I am reminiscing about our original cross country trip in 2010, the Summer of Eric, which became the impetus for this blog.

I've been calling this summer the Summer of Eric Part 2, also known as SOE2, since Eric arrived mid-June. Not every mother gets the quality (and quantity) time with an adult child, so I appreciate the gift this summer was to me. We did a lot of things, like fishing, going to the beach, visiting NYC and the Great Falls of Paterson, running with Cory Booker.

On the Norma-K

Hanging with Cory

Running with Cory

No keepers on the Norma K. Next year we're taking the Cock Robin day cruise.

The 12 fish in 30 minutes day!

But, just as memorable were the small things, our daily routine. We started breakfast on the deck or the porch at Brick with a selection of fruit--this from a picky eater who only ate a strawberry for the first time last year.

We each buried are noses in the newspaper--mine usually the old school actual paper version; his on the Kindle. Yes, I was told I eat too loudly-slurping my cereal and knocking the spoon against the bowl. Is someone a bit grumpy in the morning? We often had our respective work to do -my MBCN emails, webpage updates and September conference tasks; his review of potential IU courses and revision of his presentation for a November conference.


Lunch might involve catching up on a tv show-Dexter or reruns of Breaking Bad with no commentary allowed during the show. Theories on future episodes were discouraged-- "You're ruining it for me."

We even managed to get some things done off my to-do list---impossible tasks like throwing out old basement furniture and mysterious black bags. My hero! I still maintain, however, that I never threw out a paper grocery bag with plastic cups from various ball parks around the country. Even I would realize that this was a priceless collection. Maybe it will turn up by Thanksgiving?

Best of all, we had wonderful gatherings with family and friends--- 4th of July fireworks cruise, barbeques and a Yankee baseball game (although I didn't get to boo A-Rod.)

Good Luck Eric cake from Molloys

fireworks cruise on Norma-K

Father and son

The Fans

With the first born

At Jenk's Gate 5 Beach

I was up at 6 AM today to bid the boys farewell, so it's almost nap time here.

Thank you, Eric, for SOE2. Good luck in your foray into those flyover states. Promise you won't change from Green to Tea Party and......

  Happy Middle Child Day!

PS. Your Cory Booker bumper sticker is in the mail.:)

96 degree golf

Crazy, I know, but I played golf on Thursday in my regular 9 hole golf league. Given that most of the women complain about just about everything (It's too hot, too cold, too buggy, too slow, too windy),  I was surprised to see that seven of the sixteen members had shown up.

Most of the week I had spent cocooned in my air conditioned house with occasional forays to the garage to get into my air conditioned car. I might as well be living in Arizona.  When I walked down the driveway Thursday afternoon to pick up the mail, it didn't seem that bad--there was a breeze blowing the hot, humid air around and I was determined to get outside and enjoy the summer. The Paramus course had to look better than the British Open's burned out fairways with tall, yellow fescue, waving invitingly from the deep rough.

Even with benefit of a golf cart, layers of sunscreen and several bottles of water, I had to admit I was waivering by hole 5. I tried to stay in the shade, but the sun was intense, beating down on us, as we chased our putts down. I felt a shortness of breath, climbing back into the cart. Not even the fact that I parred the hole seemed to help and I thought about tossing in the (wet) golf towel and retreating to the clubhouse, which was an easy ride from the 6th hole.

Then we saw it. The 6th hole. A desert traveler's seductive mirage.  Four sprinklers gently undulated, creating double rainbows all the way down the fairway. It was beautiful, as though we had finally arrived in the colorized land of Oz, leaving behind dusty, dry, black and white Kansas.

"We're saved!" I yelled to my similarly fading teammates. After the tee shot, I drove straight towards the sprinklers, careening the cart in figure eights around the cool jets of water. I got out and walked slowly through the arching sprays, feeling like a kid again. My cautious and reluctant fellow players laughed at me "You're all wet."  "Come on," I urged them, "we'll be dry by the next hole."

From that moment on, the round changed. We were exuberant at cooling off and recapturing, if only for an instant, the simple thrill and careless abandon of youth, running through a sprinkler on a sultry afternoon with no worries or decisions beyond what ice cream we'd get from the Good Humor man, the summer stretching out before us with long, lazy days and endless possibility.

Ahh...isn't that what summer's all about?

A loov-ley holiday

No driving in London!

We had a "loov-ley" holiday in England. The only downside now is having to listen to Gary pepper his speech with "cheers" and "brilliant" and talk of his "mates."

Most exciting was driving the roads of England and Wales, particularly the narrow lanes of the countryside, lined with gray stone walls. How we returned the car without a huge gash on the passenger side is a miracle.

The BIG car and me in Dover

While Gary was quite happy to be upgraded to a midsize Volvo station wagon with all the latest whistles and bells, I kept thinking a nice mini Fiat might have been a better choice. But  automatic transmission, offered only in the midsize class, was a non-negotiable requirement. Bad enough that I had to scream our new mantra "left, left, left"  while Gary negotiated the numerous roundabouts than to even imagine him downshifting midcircle. The Volvo did have many features--so many that we didn't realize we had GPS until the second day. (Yes, next trip we may indeed be ready for a guided tour)

On the first very long day of driving we became well acquainted with three features of the Volvo: BLIS, DAC and  LDW. The BLIS button (which we both misread as BUS) caused a red light to appear on the side view mirror. Did it know when we passed a bus? Kind of spooky. And why would we care? No, it simply lit up every time there was any kind of vehicle in the Blind Spot. Our Blind Spot Information System was actually quite handy.

Yup--a 2 lane road!

But DAC and LDW with their blinking waning lights and musical DIT A DIT A DIT, sounding like an early game of Frogger, became our friends. DAC was the Driver Alert Control and LDW the Lane Departure Warning. No straying over white lines allowed.  At first it was as though Gary were playing his own video game, while I kept leaning to the right, willing the car away from curbs, bushes, stone fences, bollards, and parked cars who flaunted their side view mirrors. I started to keep score. Day one: curbs 4 , mirror whacks 3, bollards 1.

And what is a bollard you may well ask? Steel and concrete poles or barriers to block off a street. In Liverpool when Gary went to park the car, while I registered at the hotel, he took a long time finally showing up at the registration desk. Understandable, I thought, with all the narrow cobblestoned streets in this gentrified hipster warehouse district. Our loovley GPS lady had faltered for the first time, misguiding us to turn into a one way street, so I had hopped out to find the hotel. Gary had continued straight and progressed halfway down the plaza past the bollards, when it became obvious it was a pedestrian mall.

Gary did get better. Slowing down helped. "The right lane is the passing lane" I kept yelling.

HIM: "I hate to have a line of cars behind me."
ME: "Let them wait--Keep Calm and Mind the Speed Limits"
No one else did and Gary developed  a particular dislike for Audis, who always seemed to be the ones tailgating and aching to pass.

Those stone walls

We thought Kent had the narrowest roads until we drove through beautiful Snowdonia Park in Wales with roads carved out of the mountain sides, two lanes of traffic often unexpectedly funneling into one.

3 Million sheep go wherever they want

We googled the traffic fatalities for Wales and only 93 people were killed in 2012. Is that a lot for a country of 3 million people (and 3 million sheep)? There were 5,971 accidents with 8,565 casualties, and that's good news because the numbers have been declining. It seems hard to believe when you watch cars hurtling around blind curves and accelerating up wet, slick roads. Glad we weren't driving them in the 90's when the stats were much worse!

Be careful exiting the hotel's front door

We saw no troopers or highway patrols in England or Wales, but signs warned of surveillance cameras in use. By the second day we were running with the pack and I've been checking the mailbox for our list of tickets. Wonder how many pounds that will come to?

Who cares?  Relaxing at pub with mussels and a pint.

What happens in Vegas....

The year of Chuck is coming to an end. We concluded the celebration of his jubilee in Vegas last week with  Elton John's Million Dollar Piano concert, the Kenny Chesney No Shoes Nation show, a stay at the Bellagio, some great dinners and a visit to the Mob Museum. I wish I could say there was a really big gambling winner, but I avoided the casinos and didn't hear too much bragging from those who tried their luck (skills?)

Here's the photographic evidence of what happened in Vegas...

 

3 floppy hats at the pool- Note the No Shoes Nation tee shirt from the Kenney Chesney concert

The whole gang at Bellagio Pool

My favorite: the dancing fountains at Bellagio

Not as good as my Texas La Quinta Inn waffle, but pretty, pretty good!

Dinner at Trevi Restaurant at Casear's

Our view of the elaborate Elton John show

 

The Jubilarian at The Mob Museum

The lineup: wanted for card counting and various other casino tricks

The U of M represented at the Mob Museum for the 50's basketball point shaving scheme

Al and Chuck

At the Neon Museum at 3 pm on a blisteringly hot day

Our tour guide at the Neon Museum

That's all folks!

Well, not quite.

I'll end with a little quiz:
1. Who got upgraded at the Elton John concert to a 6th row orchestra seat?
2. Who traveled on every monorail and visited every major casino?
3. Who played golf at 7 am two days in a row?
4. Whose room faced the parking garage?
5. Whose room had a spectacular view of the strip and the Bellagio fountains?
6. Who rated the guide at The Neon Museum as a C performance? Who gave him a B-?  Who grades tour guides and why?!
7. Who had lunch at Toby Keith's I Love This Bar and Grill aka The Red Solo Cup Place?
8. Who spent the most time at the pool?
9. Who continued on to Scottsdale after this trip to Sibling Adventure Part Two--golfing with the K's?
10. Who paid for all this? :)

Adventurous Weekend

Two weekends ago I visited the shore to see how the restoration of the beach and boardwalk were coming along. At Point Pleasant Beach, the commercial section of the boardwalk is almost all open and the residential sections are under active reconstruction. Good news! Of course, things may look like they are returning to normal on the outside, but inside many homes there is still much work to be done.

boardwalk above Haven's Beach

view from the ocean toward the boardwalk

Houses along the inlet are still in bad shape

I enjoyed the sunny but crisp day and then went to the brick house to stay overnight. Everything there looked fine--I walked around the house and no leaks or problems.  We had survived the winter intact.

As often happens to me when I'm on my own, I got sucked into the computer and ended up working until almost midnight. I collapsed into bed in a restless sleep. Was it too much spice in my dinner from Spike's takeout? Was it the feeling of being in a strange house with unfamiliar noises of the heat turning on and off? I wrestled with my pillow for a while and then sat up, startled by some noise. I peeked out the blinds because it first sounded like birds chirping. It's 1 AM, my rational self scolded me. Were these jet lagged birds just back from a European vacation?

I sat perfectly still. I strained to hear the chirping again, but this time it sounded like heavy breathing. I poked my head cautiously out into the short hallway which connected the smaller bedroom to the master. The hallway seemed eerily long and threatening. It's a small house, I said to myself, yet it seemed like Jack Nicholson might suddenly pop out from the bathroom, wielding a butcher knife. Get hold of yourself, I reasoned. I heard thumping now and peeked out the windows to see if there was anyone outside. Slowly, I crept down the hallway to the master bedroom and jumped into bed. All quiet. I breathed a sigh of relief. Wow. The imagination is a powerful tool.

...And then all hell broke loose. Thumping, banging into walls, running in circles--there was definitely something in the attic. When the sounds momentarily lulled, the chirping, chattering returned and then, as if a whistle had been blown, the running recommenced. Squirrel olympics? rabid raccoons? These sounds registered decibels above the mere skittering of field mice. I wasted no time and threw on my clothes, started up the car, (remembered to open the garage door), and wheels screeching, shattered the quiet of the streets. It was 1:30 AM.

Surprisingly, the parkway was crowded, but I stuck to the right lane all the way home and let the DWI's streak by me. It was 3 AM when I finally exhaled and arrived home sweet home. I fixed myself a snack and heard familiar snoring from upstairs. The next morning I woke at 8 and found my husband sitting at the breakfast table, just finishing up the Sunday sports section before heading off to work. He was surprised. What are you doing home? I pointed to the note I'd left for him on the counter and my coat and bag on the chair.

Oh--I missed them. 

You probably would have missed it, too, if a van pulled up last night at 3 AM and emptied out the entire first floor. 

I married a man who would have slept through the minor annoyance of a squirrel olympics with no problem.

My trapper arrived on Tuesday. You're not allowed to kill wildlife, so Balance of Nature promised to trap and remove whatever animals you were harboring. I was drawn to the ad for Nuke 'em Pest Control, but I figured, despite the oddly comforting image on their trucks of a mushroom cloud surrounded by dead pestilence, that even they would have to follow state regulations.

My main concern was that the trapper might not be able to find the small holes through which the animals had entered. Was I wrong! Stevie Wonder could have found the three big holes in the roof near the gutters. Walking around the house I had missed them because basically I was looking below the gutters. Step back 10 feet and look up again and you can't believe it. They found fresh evidence of squirrels, older signs of raccoons and a bird's nest to boot- a veritable menagerie. Previously I would have loved this picture which a wisecracking friend sent me. Now it just looks sinister.

How can you not love me?