Posted on by cheryloreglia · 8 Comments

What is that Incessant Ticking?

Alarm Clock Lying on Multicolored Surface

Do you hear what I hear?

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…is this a cultural construct or the work of medieval religious institutions who wanted to regulate daily prayers, rest, and work schedules?

Well, let me just say not much has changed.

I feel regulated much of the time, not just by clocks, but my hormones!

Sssssh…I hear this retort repeatedly these days, as I randomly lament out loud about the incessant heat, and my persistent body odor. I have no tolerance for heat, microaggressions, and uncertainty. This could be part of the aging process, unexpected hormonal shifts, or simply a reasonable evolution of thought?

We’ll never be a hundred percent sure because if I’m not allowed to speak in my own home it feels as if my thinking has also been obstructed.  #QuarantineIssues

At the current moment, there are no less than three conference calls being conducted within earshot of my chair, which is my lake house office, and I’m finding it difficult to focus with all this conflicting chatter.

Is anyone else experiencing this phenomenon?

On one of the calls my sister-in-law is tutoring someone in Spanish who lives on the other side of the state, my daughter is discussing a recently filed lawsuit about gender inequality with coworkers, and Looney is discussing a bloody crime scene, or no, maybe he’s forecasting for next quarter? Either way, it’s not a pretty picture.

Maybe I should paint my nails, something that doesn’t require critical thinking, but has a distinct bonus of looking eloquent while holding a wine glass. Win, win.

I’m determined to focus on the positives this week, clearly my morose blog on “dreaming of the life I once loved” was not appealing to y’all. If you missed it, consider yourself blessed.

“On some level, my life has been wasted on me. After all, if I can’t remember it, who can? The past is slipping away and the present is a constant affront. I can’t possibly keep up.” Nora Ephron

This week I’m all about optimizing the time I have left, much less melancholic (not to be confused with alcoholics), and a more fertile use of my resources.

So I’ll be perfectly honest, I thought I would have accomplished so much more by the time I turned 60, but here I am in view of the finish line, and it feels as if I’m suddenly sprinting instead of taking a leisurely stroll, smelling the roses, tending to my arthritic knees?

Why is time passing so quickly?

This is hard to admit but I’m discouraged by my lack of accomplishments. I don’t know exactly what I was hoping would happen by my 6th decade? It’s vague at best. It’s not as if I expected to be rich and famous by the time my hair went totally grey but I thought I’d have more accolades than an apple award from the Cambrian School District and a picture with Donny Osmond? I guess my assumptions about this stage of life didn’t include a pandemic, travel restrictions, and such incertitude?

“Sometimes—many times—both in life and in marriage, you hope for the sunset overlooking the ocean off a deserted beach in the Mayan Riviera, but what you get is a drive to physical therapy. That’s okay. Maybe it’s actually how it should be.” Allison Winn Scotch

Most people don’t grow up. Most people age. They find parking spaces, honor their credit cards, get married, have children, and call that maturity. What that is, is aging says Maya Angelou. If this is true I have aged rather than matured.

I did think I would have done more with my writing? Hosting a blog for several years, writing almost daily, does not always lead to something more concrete. You know what I mean, like making the NYT bestseller list, which leads to an Oprah interview, and maybe a sitcom? A girl can dream…

What I’m realizing is if I want more out of my writing (or anything in life for that matter), I have to be the one to foster the opportunities and procure my goals, because my fairy godmother is suspiciously absent.

Maryanne Pope says, “the fact of the matter is: time IS passing very quickly. And I’m hoping that the sooner I can shed that which I no longer want or need (or is no longer serving me), the more time and energy I will have to focus on what really matters to me – the relationships, projects, causes & activities – in the years that remain,” from her post Is this what happens at 50?

So this got me thinking about what I want to focus on in the coming years and the things or projects that are “no longer serving me.”

Feels a little like wrestling with the devil, does it not?

Have you ever had these thoughts when reading a favorite book? I find myself savoring every word because I have this nagging suspicion that I won’t have enough time to read it again. Who thinks like that? Here I was aiming for a positive approach and now I’m just being surly.

I remember when I realized that I had been an Oreglia longer than I had been a Johnson (my maiden name) and today I realize I have lived longer than the time I have left in this beautiful world. Of course, I would never want to repeat some of those years, that should be part of the calculation, but the math gets complicated.

So here’s the deal, it’s time to weed out, let go of the things that are mere distractions, and allow that which is most important to come into focus. One day it seemed as if my life would last forever, I was accumulating people, things, real estate, and children like nobody’s business. Jessica Francis Kane says I reached a point where the balance of the past and all it contained seemed to outweigh the future, my mind so full of things said and not said, done and undone, I no longer understood how to move forward. I was tipped backward and wobbly, my balance was off, and this made sense to me. Life seemed so long, I couldn’t see how anyone proceeded under the accumulated weight of it all.

That being said, I’m not only weeding the garden, I’m weeding my life, and once that’s done I can sprinkle it with a little preen so the cultivated parts will survive.

An aside: this just happened in real-time and it’s applicable if you have an odd sense of humor.

Looney says, “Kelley can you help me with this?”

“What?”

“My phone is all messed up, it won’t alert me when I get a text message.”

She walks over to his station at the dining table, looks at his set up and says, “Dad, when your earphones are plugged into your phone, that is where the sound goes. Your phone doesn’t know when your earphones are in your ears or not and therefore you can not hear the sound of an incoming text.”

“Stupid phone.”

I can’t resist, “I thought you had a smartphone.” Bahaha

I got the look.

As Nora Ephron claims writers are cannibals, they are predators, if you say anything funny, or if anything good happens to you, you are in big trouble.

Back to weeding, I’m starting with my bookcase, because books represent where you are in life. I’m thinking if I get rid of the how-to books; how-to parent, build confidence, get stains out of the laundry, feng shui the house, influence others, Knodo the closets, and cook on a budget, maybe dump some of the romance novels, and all those books on living a beautiful life, or how to write an exegesis on the Gospel of John, I would have room for my current obsessions. I would also like to order my books categorically so my travel guides won’t feel snubbed by the classics, maybe separate my cookbooks from the gut health guides, give the books about writing and publishing more space!

After the bookcase, I’m working on the trinkets, platters, and people. Maybe it’s time to let go of my day job, learn how to take amazing selfies, tell better stories? It would be an adjustment for sure, I’d be demoted to being a person, instead of an educator? I’d have to get new business cards.

I wake early, grab a cup of coffee, and slip into one of the patio chairs placed in the heavy shade of the morning, taking stock of my life, considering the things I can live without, and the ones I need to pull closer. I take a deep breath as if my nose has caught the scent of something beautiful, and I don’t know why but it makes me faint with hunger, a hunger for more time. I close my eyes and lean back in the chair, my vast emptiness exposed, and I sit here marveling at the endless space waiting to be filled.

Life is prodigious.

So here’s the question. What will we fill our emptiness with?

I’m suddenly giddy, like the time I flew in my dreams, I believe it’s time to ignore the clocks, toss the calendars, and as if helium balloons, let go of all these self-imposed restrictions. “In my own little corner, in a post COVID world, I can be whatever I want to be. On the wings of my fancy, I can fly anywhere, and the world will open its arms to me,” Rodgers and Hammerstein.

“The sun is setting on whom I was in order that I can become the type of person that I wish to be. The beauty of twilight is that it enhances everything. Personal change requires the courage to let go of personal security and venture into a new world,” says Kelroy Oldster. The truth is our vocations have called us and we’re tired of being away, the beds are made, the children are sprung. So, who am I now? Elise Hooper says I’m old enough to wear wrinkles and scars, but young enough to feel stronger and smarter because of them. At the very least I deleted my tictok app!

I’m Living in the Gap, the clock is ticking, and I’m not having it.

How you doing? Please don’t say you’re fine! Drop a few notes in the comments.

Anecdotes:

  • “Put one foot in front of the other, no matter what. Enjoy the hilltop views, have courage in the valleys, pay attention to the bends in the road, cry when you have to, laugh when you can, be helpful to others, share your joys as well as your sorrows, and remember that God created you for a purpose.” Eleanor Brown
  • “After staring at the ceiling for more than an hour, I was finally asleep, but I wasn’t in my dream. I was walking and walking beside a small stream, and only stopped as I saw a big rounded tree. What made me stop was that the tree had leaves the size of a palm. Bigger than any size I had seen in my life.
    I stepped under its shade looking closer at the magical tree and found that my name was carved at its big trunk.
    I was still surprised and bewildered at my finding when I felt the tree shake and a leaf fell in front of me. I was about to pick it up when more and more leaves started to fall, leaving the tree with only half of the leaves. I tried my best to stop my tree from shaking when I woke up from my dream. I was breathing heavily. My heart was beating fast. I was soaked.“My life, The leaves are falling one by one from my life.”
    I said to myself, as I closed my eyes hoping for my life to find spring again.” Ahmad Ardalan
  • Age is something that doesn’t matter, unless you are a cheese. – Billie Burke

 

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 17 Comments

I’m Dreaming of the Life I Once Loved

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I love to sleep. As Ernest Hemingway so eloquently claims, “my life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?”

For example, just this morning, before I opened my eyes, I received a facetime call from my daughter Julie (I’m at the lake, she’s in the Bay Area house), and the image that appears on my tiny iPhone screen is that of the twins snuggled in my guest room bed. It’s better than coffee! Almost…

Julie says, “Cora has something to tell you Grammie.”

As I’m running through the possibilities in my head (new tooth, broken vase, she knocked the heels off my favorite pumps) I say, “Cora, sweetheart, what happened?”

“I bead.”

“Oh, no, a bead got stuck in your nose?”

“Bead,” she says louder emphasizing the “e”.

Julie offers, “she’s was bleeding Grammie.”

“Oh no, what did you cut?”

Apparently, the girls were fighting over a small ceramic angel (the one featured at the beginning of this post) I have her resting on the piano in the family room (their current bedroom), and somehow during the push and pull over this figurine, Cora’s face took the impact of a two party struggle. Might it be a mistake to confuse children with angels? According to those present blood was everywhere, girls crying, utter mayhem.

“Oh No! My wings are effed up!” Tammara Webber

To be a parent is to show courage and grace under pressure, Julie races off to deal with the injured, while Nic manages the fallout! Kelley is summoned from a dinner party to act as chauffeur, and off they go masked up to the emergency room, hours later, two tiny thumbnail (2)stitches holding Cora’s skin together, they head home, exhausted, and ready for sleep.

The blood has been removed from the crime scene, the house is eerily quiet, Nic is waiting up for his girls, Kelley returns to her dinner party. As Daniel Humbrey’s notes the measure of a persons worth isn’t their emotional reaction to hardship, it’s there actual reaction. Booyah.

I tell Julie, “throw that damn angel in the garbage, she’s obviously fallen.”

But those aren’t the only issues besieging me when I’m awake, there are seasonal mishaps that occur especially during the summer when I tend to live in flip flops. I have an annoying proclivity to stub the same two toes, right foot, outer two, repeatedly. I’m left to wonder how many times can one reinjure the same toes without severe consequences? I’ll keep you posted.

During the summer I also spent a lot of time on zoom calls, not only with my beloved Geckos (spiritual, mental, creative support group), but I’ve been learning about structural racism, COVID friendly lesson plans, and how I can respond responsibly to these issues in the classroom. You might ask what sort of classroom will I be permitted to utilize in the fall?

I’m so glad you asked.

We are preparing for a hybrid model of instruction. I will have half my students in the classroom live, masked, and socially distanced, with the other half on a zoom call from the safety of their homes (not sure what is worse, this virus, or the mental health dystopia we’re creating).

If this sounds challenging it’s because it is.

I’ve developed a worthy strategy to comply with the new learning model, half of the students who will be with me physically in the classroom will do application work that I can help them with, like writing, connecting, applying, and interacting with other students. The other half at home will be reading, watching clips, listening to podcasts, and reflecting on the current topic individually.

So, you guessed it, just when I got my mind wrapped around this absurd approach to teaching, Gavin closed all the schools temporarily, and I’m back to square one.

As Gell Mann claims, “modern education is like being taken to the world’s greatest restaurant & being forced to eat the menu.”

This means we’re back to remote learning which requires a whole new set of lesson plans and strategies. See what I mean about loving my sleep?

I may have mentioned, at least a dozen times, I dream about water when I’m feeling overwhelmed.

In my dreams recently I have survived torrential floods, iconic title waves, overflowing bathtubs, and rivers gone wild, that literally swoop me up, and toss me into the raging waters of something akin to Niagara Falls. I attempt to fly but my clothes are soaked and anchor me to the turbulent water. Are you getting the picture? I wake up exhausted as if I’ve been swimming upstream for a mile.

Is there no escape from the chicanery of life?

That’s why I have wine, silk pillowcases, and the Calm app loaded on my phone.

I’ve learned from Ernest H. that you can’t get away from yourself by moving from one place to another? Darn, that has been my primary strategy. I move from one house to the other on a continual basis, never knowing where I am when I wake up, or who is in residence with me. I’m not really getting away from myself as much as I’m destroying my lucidity.

Not good for writers, this pandemic is messing with my destiny, uploading a future I’ve taken pains to avoid.

Ernest H. also says write hard and clear about what hurts. The thing is there are thousands of books if you’re dealing with loss, whether it be a loved one, vocational shift, or a split in an important relationship, but there are no books on how to survive a pandemic?

It forces the question, what in tarnation is going on, and how are you dealing with it?

Look how we rallied in the beginning of the pandemic with drive by birthday and graduation celebrations, we learned how to zoom like nobody’s business, and we started spending a lot of time on yoga apps, cooking, and reading! All good things but as you know all good things come to an end. Not COVID!

Now I’m feeling a very human response to all this isolation, I’m anxious, and slightly depressed.

I miss all the normal stuff like hugging, shopping, and dining out but it’s more than those surface things. I miss the ease of connecting with those I love, a last-minute meet up at our favorite restaurant, the one where they know our names, and our order. I miss weddings, graduations, sporting events (I threw that one in for Looney), my students, and impromptu gatherings on the patio but more than that I miss the way we show up for each other especially for the important things in life. I miss traveling with my friends, experiencing the world, the one that used to be my oyster, and finding that damn pearl. I miss my son in Portugal. I even miss bad things like funerals, airport security, and bathing suit shopping. I miss you and your crazy way of being in the world.

I’m dreaming of the life I once loved, wake me when you find it, we’ll grab a flight to Italy for some prosciutto and melon. Ernest says, “Out of all the things you could not have there were some things that you could have and one of those was to know when you were happy and to enjoy all of it while it was there and it was good.” Life is short, we’re all trying to ignore the underlying tension of something happening that we can not prevent, don’t waste time fighting over fallen angels!

I’m Living in the Gap, spending my time in LaLa land, sweet dreams.

How are you dealing with the pandemic? Please share some creative ideas in the comments. 

Anecdotes:

  • “Wine is one of the most civilized things in the world and one of the most natural things of the world that has been brought to the greatest perfection, and it offers a greater range for enjoyment and appreciation than, possibly, any other purely sensory thing.” Ernest Hemingway
  • “When you wake up with a song stuck in your head, it means an angel sang you to sleep.” Denise Baer
  • Currently reading Olive Kitterridge by Elizabeth Strout and Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott (I read this one every year).
  • “Everyone has been having a hard time with life this year; not with all of it, just the waking hours. Being awake is the one real fly in the ointment—but it is also when solutions come to us.” Anne Lamott 
  • My creative pasttimes include: playing Mexican Train in the middle of the day, trying new recipes from Diane’s Kitchen, walking the neighborhood, remodeling my kitchen, teaching Audrey her letters, designing a book cover, paint and wine parties, landscaping the courtyard, and dreaming of Paris.

 

 

 

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 23 Comments

Not that you asked…

Family update, not that you asked, but I’m just getting over my PTS from last week, and I could use a little support from things that don’t slither or build webs.

Even gratuitous interest is welcome.

Something I knew, but conveniently forgot, three-year-olds scream. A lot. It’s sort of an ear-piercing howl that lingers in the air as if a recently smoked cigar. You know what I mean? But so do their giggles and that’s the win.

I wake up to the echo of soft laughter coming from down the hall and can’t remember a time when this wasn’t so?

The odd thing is when it’s quiet you know there’s trouble brewing, that’s when you jump up and rush the tranquility.

Rounding the corner to the room in which the twins were last seen, I ask accusingly, “What are you two doing?”

“Nothing (in unison),” claims Cora and Sienna, looking up at me with the most cherubic faces you have ever seen.

“What’s in your hands?”

Four sets of little hands disappear, “nothing Grammie.”

“Are those Kiki’s earrings I see scattered all over the floor, dangling from your shirt, hiding in your hands?”

“We organizing Grammie.”

“Did Kiki ask you to organize her jewelry?”

“Yes, she did,” says Cora.

“Seems odd?”

“We helping,” says Sienna as she holds a crystal earring up to her ear.

“Let’s put them all back and then we can have an Otter Pop!”

By the way, Otter Pops solve everything.

Can we move on to the industriousness of our five-year-old roomie? When this child is in pursuit of an important task it is nearly impossible to dissuade her. Recently I found her creating a collage with my latest DIY magazine, later that day she was using my toothbrush as if her own, after relocating my lipsticks to an undisclosed location? Today she was lavishing my French perfume on the dog and my hair clip has mysteriously disappeared?

It’s quite possible Shaggy not only smells but looks better than the humans with whom he resides?

And by the way, adult children revert to their adolescent personas when in the company of their parents, only now they’re educated, self-funded, and not subject to parental restrictions or grounding.

It’s utter mayhem.

Even so, everyone is getting their needs met, albeit with a few peculiar compromises, and silent negotiations. We’re under construction, literally, and metaphorically. My daughter and son-in-law just took ownership of the house across the street. It needs some serious renovations, but that’s the beauty of a large family, many hands make light work as John Heywood notes.

Families have their own micro-culture, it’s as if a bustling harbor, a place to moor your person while you recover from the stress of the outside world. Shannon Alder says love doesn’t make the world go ’round, love is what makes the ride worthwhile, and family is your fast pass.

The best part of being in a large family is you don’t have to waste your time trying to prove yourself in order to be loved, we actually care about each other, and value one another even when we’re acting like total assholes. At least we take turns. Can I just add some of us have taken more turns than others? As Johathan Carroll reminds us, real love is always chaotic. You lose control; you lose perspective. You lose the ability to protect yourself. The greater the love, the greater the chaos. It’s a given and that’s the secret.

I have learned through long and lengthy discussions that disagreements don’t get resolved, they hibernate, until a new issue emerges, and they return disguised as concern, judgment, or control. There are no winners in the ring of unresolved conflict, just knockouts, and bruised feelings. You can’t change people, it’s more about acceptance, and the resolve to agree to disagree. I have to learn to be okay with that, move on, grab an Otter Pop. #LifeLessons

Here’s another hiccup when you live in crowded conditions with wannabe fairies, aka Cora, Sienna, and Audrey. Things get lost! Julie lost a wallet, Larry couldn’t find his keys or flipflops, and I believe there was a necklace that went missing for several days. I keep losing the book I’m currently reading, our shoes are never where we left them, and we are always in search of our iPhones. When one phone rings seven people go into a hard scramble and one of them doesn’t even own a phone?

One day I was using my Airpods and the next day they were gone! I accused everyone (including Shaggy) of borrowing them and then failing to return the merchandise. They all vehemently denied any knowledge of their whereabouts (keep in mind four of us have the exact same model).

A week later I found them precisely where I always store them and had searched this location no less than fifteen times! Fairies or adults? We’ll never know for sure.

The minute the kids got the keys to their new house, we migrated across the street as if a murder of crows, forming this makeshift crew of amateur artists attempting to paint a new portrait over a previously used canvas. The kids have submitted plans to the city for an extensive remodel, and while they await approval, there is a lot of prep work that needs to be done. The first order of operations was to pull up all the old carpet, clean out the garage for storage, remove the draperies and rods, along with some of the landscaping, and finally take down the dated wallpaper.

It’s interesting to me how our lives follow the same cycles, we experience periods of creation, followed by deconstruction, and then reconstruction, and it’s the same for houses, cultures, governments, movements, relationships, even our faith. Is this what you think about when you can’t sleep? I didn’t think so.

Too bad we’re deconstructing this beautiful house in the middle of July, it’s hot and humid, and I believe I have sweat out half my body weight pulling carpet staples out of the floorboards.

We were delighted to find hardwood under all the carpets, solid wood doors on all the rooms, and a wallpaper mural of Paris in the dining room! Everywhere I look I sense a surfeit of memories and traditions lodged in the walls of this charming house and smile warmly at the sweet memories domiciled in the future.

Our lives are continually under construction, just when things get comfortable, we find ourselves redesigning the idle spaces. “Every day we reconstruct ourselves out of the salvage of our yesterdays,” says James Sallis. I say family is but a glimpse of heaven simmering on the fires of hell, and like Olaf says, “some people are worth melting for.”

I’m Living in a crowded Gap, searching the net for diversions, catch me up on your life in the comments!

Anecdotes:

  • “The strewn and tangled wreckage that litters our lives is the precious raw material from which great beginnings are forged.” Craig D. Lounsbrough
  • “Writers will happen in the best of families.” Rita Mae Brown
  • “Before you were conceived, I wanted you. Before you were born, I loved you. Before you were an hour, I would die for you. This is the miracle of love.” Maureen Hawkins

 

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 15 Comments

What Happens At The Lake…

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I feel compelled to share a few minor snafus that have recently befallen my life. In fact, it’s become my new hashtag.

What happens at the lake, stays at the lake, and for damn good reason.

Larry, Kelley, and I arrive at Clearlake a few days earlier than the rest of the clan to get things set up for our 4th of July celebrations, work in quiet for a couple of days, and paint a couple of wicker patio chairs. Seems pretty tame?

Believe me when I say things did no go as planned. [Trigger warning, this post contains graphic accounts of spiders and snakes]

We begin transferring from car to house duffles of clothing, coolers, computer bags, cases of wine, hundreds of dollars worth of groceries, and a few safe and sane fireworks for our upcoming celebration. These are rote sort of task as we load the food into the pantry, clothing to our rooms, setting up home offices in our claimed spaces. When these tasks are finally complete I show Kelley the recently shiplapped rooms and a few minor upgrades we’ve completed while she’s been away.

This is when we hear, “Holy shit! Are you kidding? He’s back,” Larry sort of screams from the back of the house.

“Who’s back?” I calmly ask because I have been taught not to panic.

“The snake,” his voices edges up a notch.

“A SNAKE,” Kelley bellows, she slips into total panic mode, repeating the word “snake” at least five times.

Larry says, “Yes, it was peeking out from under the laundry room door, looking around as if we were invading his space. I think it’s the same one we found here a few weeks ago.”

“Wait, there was a snake in the house a few weeks ago? What the hell? I was not informed of this crisis?” Kelley says.

“It would be impossible to keep you up on all your Dad’s adventures,” I add.

Below is the video of our previous snake removal for your enjoyment.

Little did we know Larry ignored my recommendation to let the snake go away from the house, as soon as he was out of sight, he dumped our little friend in the ivy on our side yard.

Bad move Looney!

That badass snake is back, he’s pissed, and he’s not ready to leave.

Larry tentatively opens the door to the laundry room and there he is all coiled up behind the door!

“Oh my God, it’s huge,” Kelley shouts.

Larry heads to the garage and returns with a bucket and shovel while Kelley and I frantically shove a towel under the door.

Kelley says, “what are you going to do with that?”

“Get our friend out of the house.”

“This is how we got the last one out,” I explain.

The laundry room is a tight space, as Larry tries to corral the snake, Kelley screams, the dog barks, and the snake slithers under the washing machine. I can’t site Larry’s exact words here, it would be inappropriate, as this is a family-friendly blog, but let me just say it wasn’t pretty.

I think it’s sort of extraordinary that snakes are sacred to Egypt, associated with the power of the underworld, and a source of fertility in some societies? Alice Turner says, “snakes in the ancient world, because of their skin-shedding ability, often symbolized immortality or eternal youth.” There are people who believe snakes are the barriers of guardian spirits and they protect the home.

Yes, those people are clinically insane.

“Snakes can have dozens of young at a time, and so they have come to symbolize fertility. They resemble vegetation, especially roots, in their form and often in the green and brown of their skins. The undulating form of a snake also suggests a river. A point of muscular tension passes through the body of a snake and drives the animal forward, like a moment moving along a continuum of days and years. Like time itself, a snake seems to progress while remaining still. In addition, the body of a snake also resembles those marks with a stylus, brush, or pen that make up our letters. Ornamental alphabets of the ancient Celts and others were often made up of intertwined serpents. It could even be that the tracks of a snake in sand helped to inspire the invention of the alphabet.” Boria Sax

There were snakes, therefore I write, maybe I should be grateful.

“I wonder why he keeps coming back?” Larry muses as he unhooks the washing machine. Our plan is to put the machine on a dolly, roll it out to the courtyard, coax the snake out of the machine, and put it in someone else’s yard.

Best laid plans.

I say, “what’s not to like about this place? It’s cool, lots of tile, holes to slither in and out of, spiders to eat…someone make me stop talking.”

I get the look.

“Dad you should put on some shoes!” Kelley warns.

Larry ignores her and proceeds to wheel my beloved washer outside. Kelley and I are extremely helpful, jumping around, squealing, and wailing. The dog is wagging his tail as if this is a joyful event. Larry is cussing profusely. We lay the machine on its side and all three of us bend down to peer into the bowels of this snake-filled contraption. We can see the little fellow all coiled up in the back corner behind the drum and several spider webs. The next thing we know he disappears?

Larry starts removing the side panels. I’m thinking that’s the last load we see washed in that machine! I’m a little contrite.

Kelley decided we needed to go live on Instagram. Perfect. If you’re in a hurry it gets exciting around minute six.

From my Girl Scout days, I learned a few things, I call them survival skills, for example, if you see a snake you should stand still or walk backward very slowly, never run, or scream. As I’m running and screaming at least I know I shouldn’t be.

The very next day calamity paid us another visit. If it’s not snakes, its spiders!

“Are you kidding? I can’t believe it, the dock fell, if it’s not one damn thing it’s another,” Larry comes running up the ramp shouting (I left out a few words for your benefit, you’re welcome).

Kelley and I are enjoying an adult beverage on the patio, I whisper, “do not go live with this Kelley, he’s sort of crazy about his boat, things might get ugly.”

We all run down to the boat to offer our assistance, the dock is completely submerged in the murky water, with the boat bouncing off the piling! Apparently, this unleashed hundreds of spiders that were peacefully cohabitating underneath the dock.

They’re everywhere, huge, gigantic spiders and they’re pissed.

Larry comes running towards us with a flimsy piece of plywood in one hand and an extension ladder in the other.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Thankfully Griffin and Tori show up, our neighbors, and they run over to help. It was unfortunate that several spiders took a liking to Tori’s legs and she went into a spider jig, you know the one, where you scream and flounder about, brushing spiders off your person. You get the picture.

“It’s spider season. Every year, right about now, thousands of the godless eight-legged bastards emerge from the bowels of hell (or the dock, whichever’s nearest) with the sole intention of tormenting humankind.” Charlie Brooker

Kelley, Griffin, Tori, and I are attempting to hold the boat study while Larry has erected the extension ladder on this thin piece of plywood which he has laid across the bow of the boat. He climbs up to the top of the ladder, which is leaning precariously against one of the support beams, in order to reach the motor, and replace the chain that slipped off. It isn’t going well. There is a lot of yelling and cussing and instructing that the boat holders “are doing a piss poor job (not his exact words).”

“I have moved an inch, any more this ladder goes down, and I’m dead.” We’re over the water so I believe he’d survive, there could be a broken bone or two, maybe a few spider bites, and some splinters. I’d say his chances of survival are at least 73 percent.

While the spiders climb up our legs and drop on us from the rafters, we attempt to hold the boat study, as Larry leisurely repairs the chain. I’m shaking from the effort, flinging spiders off me with my free hand, you can hear the thud as they hit the deck, scuttling off to terrorize someone else. They have eight frickin legs, they move sideways, how is that right? Who authorized the evolution of spiders, because seriously, that was not a good plan.

“I’ve only had three bites. I’m sure they’ aren’t black widows, please take your ever-loving time.” It’s possible I’ve overreacted.

Finally, the chain is fixed, but that is only the beginning of this catastrophe. Larry climbs down from the rafters, lays the ladder down, and tells us (roars at us) to each hold onto one of the wires attached to the submerged dock, and an intricate pulley system. He pushes the button to test the chain, it holds, he presses the button as the dock rises with this very concerned look on his face.

Excuse me but I want his job?

That only serves to incite the spiders, and by the way, death to anyone who abandons their post. “The spiders so large they appear to be wearing the pelts of small mammals,” notes Dave Barry.

By some miracle the dock lifts up and captures the boat, it’s not level or structurally sound, but for now, we have solved the immediate problem. All of the wires have unspooled and it’s nearly impossible to fix that without about eight hefty guys who can weigh down the cables as we restring them.

His brothers will all be up tomorrow and they can deal with it. For now, Kelley, Tori, and I race for the safety of the patio, brushing the spiders off us as we go.

We sit on the deck while the sun sets, sipping wine and, and imaginatively retelling our tale. It gets exaggerated with every telling and slightly funnier.

Day three, while enjoying coffee martinis (it’s a real thing) on the Goudreau’s patio in the late afternoon, Tim (Kelley’s fiance) walks around the corner causing quite a ruckus! There were tears and cheers but no hugs! His visit was a complete surprise, we’are touched by his sacrifice to be with the family before starting his hiatus in Florida to cover the NBA games.

Kelley was over the moon, spider bites, and all!

Just when I think I can’t handle one more unexpected event…

Larry set up his office in our bedroom, he’s on conference calls all morning, with those AirPods on, it’s as if he were on his own planet.

I went to take a shower, yeah, I’m that person.

I’m Living in the Gap, shedding my clothing, trying not to look back at the demise I leave behind.

Annectdotes:

  • “When a woman teams up with a snake a moral storm threatens somewhere.” Stacy Schiff
  • “A man was asleep in his open hut, when a huge snake bit him and swallowed his foot. The idea of this happening is enough to drive chills up any person’s spine. The snake then proceeded to chomp its way up the man’s leg, until it couldn’t go any farther. The man’s yelling and screaming brought people running to the rescue. Men with machetes hacked away at the thrashing monster, until the snake finally released its hold. Local legend has it that the man survived but lost his mind in the ordeal and hasn’t been sane since. Trinidad does have huge snakes including Pythons and South American Anacondas. The island, known for its snakes, has the greatest diversity of these reptiles in the Caribbean.” Captain Hank Bracker
  • “Nevertheless, again and again, in season and out of season, the question comes up, “What are rattlesnakes good for?” As if nothing that does not obviously make for the benefit of man had any right to exist; as if our ways were God’s ways….Anyhow, they are all, head and tail, good for themselves, and we need not begrudge them their share of life.” John Muir
  • “Spider venom comes in many forms. It can often take a long while to discover the full effects of the bite. Naturalists have pondered this for years: there are spiders whose bite can cause the place bitten to rot and to die, sometimes more than a year after it was bitten. As to why spiders do this, the answer is simple. It’s because spiders think this is funny, and they don’t want you ever to forget them.” Neil Gaiman

 

 

 

 

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 16 Comments

The Relatives are Quarantining with Us

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Congested, crowded, over-capacity are words that currently describe my situation.

So far this week I have learned that extending the bubble is an act of courage, there is a mysterious pain in my jaw, and for reasons unknown, I’m channeling Oscar Wilde.

Here’s the deal, we’re all living in quarantine, but some of us are choosing to scan for the positive, I don’t know who these people are, but I believe they’re dangerous, keep your social distance!

If it’s true, what you see and hear depends on where you are standing, and what sort of person you are, then I’m off my game, landed in hot lava, and feeling a little flustered.

Don’t click off, it’s poor etiquette, stay the course.

My son-in-law Nic, and daughter Julie, recently sold their house in Willow Glen, and their family of five are now residing with us until they finish remodeling their new home, conveniently located across the street. They’ve taken over the guest quarters, family room, and half the kitchen.

We have discovered that our internet is not sufficient to allow for five people on conference calls at the same time, not to mention access to one’s blog, or publicizing on twitter. In addition to this requirement, writers need quiet, Bahaha.

Kelley, my younger daughter, arrived yesterday from Boston, her fiance is covering the NBA games in Florida, and Kelley has decided to hang out with us while Tim is away. She’s taken over the mermaid room, her stay is indefinite, and her special power is the ability to spread herself evenly throughout the house. It’s an art.

I was bullied into doing a ten-minute ab workout with Kelley, I can’t describe the agony that was enacted on my body in 600 seconds, there will be no belly laughing in the near future, or smiling.

My son Tony is stuck in Portugal due to COVID travel restrictions, he scored a cool job with a start-up in Lisbon, and it’s our hope he’ll be able to jump over to the states for a visit soon. We have the living room reserved for him and Thalita, with a  plush couch, and big-screen television. What’s not to like?

Dante, my youngest, has a permanent room in the front of the house, it’s decked out with a dozen or so high-end speakers (not great for my nerves), he’s converted his walk-in closet to a bar, managed to fit two lounge chairs into the tight space, a queen bed, a gaming station, and large oak desk from Mom’s estate. It’s what we call an eclectic look, but he only stays here about six days out of the month, as he travels for work, so when he’s out of town we keep the door closed, and this is calming for everyone.

I still have my sanctuary in the back of the house, a room with a view of the patio, and luxurious bath, praise be to God, although it’s become a popular hangout for the relatives. Yesterday the twins decided to host a tea party in my bed, things went south rather quickly, and somehow an entire pot of water spilled on Nono’s side of the bed. He was not pleased. He made an overarching dictum that no one but Grammie is allowed in his bed.

At least Nono has an entire office to himself with a sofa sleeper when necessary!

There’s this new program on Netflix called Floor is Lava. It’s become an overnight sensation for millions of Americans sheltering in place. It’s a simple concept, they set up an obstacle course, and participates are challenged to cross the hot lava field using recklessly placed stools, ledges, and pyramids without falling in the “hot” lava. Yes, let your imagination go wild. I have no idea why Julie and Nic introduced this concept to the children? They have taken to crossing from one end of the house to the other without stepping on the floor. It’s mayhem. They recruited Dante and I found him balancing precariously on the hallway shelf, while Audrey yells, “Grammie you just died.”

And ended up in hell!

When things get crazy I send everyone to their assigned spaces, which doesn’t really help as they tend to overlap, and no one listens to me anyway.

There are eight cars currently in need of parking spaces, the garage is stuffed with Julies’ belongings, we were able to create a path to the beer refrigerator, so calm the hell down. The cars have been situated on the driveway in a complicated matrix and now it takes an engineer for me to get my car out. God forbid we run out of milk or toilet paper!

I posted a no vacancy sign on the front porch and pray the COVID patrol doesn’t think we’re hosting a rager.

The first order of business is setting up beds for the littles. I put three twin mattresses in the family room for the grandchildren. It looks like a jigsaw puzzle, add in 50 pairs of miniature shoes, shorts, shirts, dresses, bathing suits, books, stuffed animals, and “special” blankets, and I think you get the picture.

My calamity Janes have landed.

I think it’s fair to ban scooters from the house even though Cora claims, “the halls are very long Grammie.” We’ll have to paint when this is all over.

The kitchen has become a hot spot, as one would imagine, I can’t seem to keep the refrigerator full, or the sink empty, and besides no one is hungry at the same time, so it’s become a pandemonia express around here. Mangiamo!

We’re still pretty buttoned-down in California (a COVID hot spot), and I’ve been managing with wine, but there are limits to that sort of therapy.

What I need is retail therapy, a real store with things I can touch things, clothes I can try on, and trinkets to tempt me. I want to browse, grab a coffee, carry bags to my car! Is that asking too much?

I didn’t think so.

Here’s my current philosophy, when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. Thankfully I was able to convince Jeff to restore my Amazon priveledges or God knows what I’d resort to. Etsy?

I want to be totally transparent, my name is Cheryl, and I’m an Amazon addict.

I need parental controls!

The other day I learned that Spanx makes swimsuits. I know, Spanx, the tummy flattening line. Who knew?

I got so excited, I immediately checked my Amazon account (even though I was stretching the internet, no bun intended), and yes indeed they carry the swimsuits. Not that I wear swimsuits all that often, it’s more about the idea of a Spanx bathing suit hanging in my closet, but let’s not muddle the issue with endless details.

After putting three very stylish suits in my cart, you’ll be happy to know I did not proceed to checkout, I’ve enacted a self-imposed 24-hour hold on all purchases. We’ll see how long that lasts?

It’s the intention that counts.

This morning I returned to my blissfully full Amazon cart, and decided on one style of bathing suit, which I believe will complement my mature figure, and had it sent to the lake house. When I have things sent to Lake County I save a ton on interest. Well, not a ton, but like two percent. It’s something, I saved $1.16, and now I can put my guilt to rest. Of course, I put the rest of the suits in the “save for later” file, with the 300 other must-have items I have stashed there.

I don’t know about you, but there is always something to clean out in my life, now it’s my “save for later” cart. I’m such a Kondo fail.

But let’s not dwell on the negative. Oscar Wilde says anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination. He also said I can resist anything except temptation. Bahaha, I think I’m his reincarnation.

Let’s talk about Looney’s shopping fails, shall we?

It all started with a silk pillowcase I received for my birthday from my age phobic children who now all happen to live with me. They claim this one pillowcase will keep me cooler at night (a plus for postmenopausal women), my hair will stay cleaner (interesting), and it prevents wrinkles (no one has explained this phenomenon but let’s assume it’s a cogent claim).

One damn pillowcase and let me quote my Dad here, “when it seems to good to be true, it’s too good to be true,” but Oscar adds the truth is rarely pure and never simple.

Anyway, this got Larry thinking about the current state of our pillows, subpar is a good description. They are atrocious, overly loved, flat, and lacking any discernable appeal. I can’t explain why ALL our pillows have collapsed at the same time, it’s like the stock market, only I’m not losing any sleep over it.

So we’re watching Ozarks one night, and in between episodes this ad comes on claiming to have “the best pillows in the world,” or your money back (too good to be true?)

Larry says, “I going to order those pillows right now.”

“Honey, I like to squish my pillow before I buy one, what if it’s too hard.”

“We’ll never know until we give it a try.”

“It does have a money-back guarantee?”

He places an order without the 24-hour waiting period, do you see how the rule applies to only a select few?

After weeks of anticipation (pillows being a non-essential commodity), and endless shipping delays, the pillows finally arrive. We’re giddy with excitement, Larry rips open the packaging, and out pops a bushel of new pillows. I squish one. They’re bigger then they appeared on television and lumpy as no-knead bread. I’m not convinced.

I gently unwrap my silk pillowcase and reverently slip it over one of the new pillows.

That night I slept for a total of three minutes. I have a kink in my neck, and my jaw is sore, but I’m willing to give the new pillows some time to settle down. It might be the death of me but as you know I already died in the hot lava.

Days go by, my jaw continues to deteriorate, I think I’m clenching my teeth all night because I’m so uncomfortable? I can hardly chew or talk (Larry’s chalking that up as a win), and I haven’t slept since these lumpy monstrosities arrived. Irritable might be a good word to describe my current mood.

I’ll give it one more night because I’m an optimist under normal circumstances.

Night three, it’s 2:00 am, I’m wide awake, and tired of playing solitaire on my iPhone. I get up, tiptoe down the hall as not to wake anyone, and rummage through Larry’s office in search of my old pillow. I find the blessed, flat, overly loved headrest, the one I’ve dreamed upon, and slobbered on, the one I was about to throw away. Unforgiveable, I toss the “best pillow in the world” across the room, slip the silk cover gently over the old one, and fall into bed.

Bliss, miraculously the pain in my jaw has eased, I can speak again, and the kink in my neck is yesterday’s news.

I hear Larry on the phone the next morning, “yes, I ordered four pillows and want to return them all.” There is a pause.

“No, I do not want to try the condensed version.” Another pause.

“We prefer feathers. Thank you.” I love a man who knows what he wants and sticks with it.

More news about the new roommates, snakes, spiders, and fireworks coming soon, but for now we’re congested, crowded, over-capacity, staying loyal to our middle-aged pillows, and looking forward to celebrating the 4th at the lake with the extended Oreglia clan and my swanky new Spanx bathing suit.

Here’s to our lady, and the beauty of independence, let’s hope the irony is not missed on my children!

I’m Living in the Gap, catching up on my sleep while not wrinkling, one-word silk.

What words currently describe your one precious life?

Anecdotes:

  • “When women are depressed, they eat or go shopping. Men invade another country. It’s a whole different way of thinking.” Elayne Boosler
  • “Buy what you don’t have yet or what you really want, which can be mixed with what you already own. Buy only because something excites you, not just for the simple act of shopping.” Karl Lagerfeld
  • Be yourself, everyone else is already taken. Oscar Wilde