Life in the Slow Lane

Not that anyone in our house ever makes lists (no, never!), and not implying that if there were such a list-maker that her spouse would need suggestions in the romance department (quite the opposite, actually), and, one more disclaimer, as in all romantic endeavors, it is wise to not overdo things. 1) Notice the List . If your honey is a list-maker, it is a pretty good clue he or she thrives on the sense of accomplishment. And what, I ask, is accomplishment without acknowledgement? If you have not been gifted with a keen sense of observation, take a peek at your honey's list now and again. Then you can say with confidence "Honey, thanks for dusting the floorboards, they look great!" 2) Take a Cue from the List . Unsurprisingly, list making and the Love Language "Acts of Service" coincide frequently. If you've got a few spare moments, skim the List to see if there is anything you could do that would give your spouse the satisfaction of crossing someth

This weekend was opening weekend for the LA County Fair, and we made sure to get there. Not because it was opening weekend but because we could get in for a dollar per adult rather than the $19 per adult on subsequent weekends. I'm fairly certain one of my earliest memories is from a fair where I was hot, tired, and sick from eating too much cotton candy. Today we swapped out the cotton candy for Italian ice (which a cheerleader managed to dump over me and the baby). As CutieLittleBoy missed the syrup shower, hopefully his first memories of going to a fair will be better. We saw pig races. (Although this pig is prize winning for going nowhere fast.) We saw lots of cool animals. We bought yummy flavored honey sticks. We petted stingrays. We saw Chinese acrobats and stood in the hot, hot sun. We saw lots and lots of trains. And we did not buy any Krispy Kreme Sloppy Joes . It was a good time.

My loyal readers may remember that this year, rather than taking an exotic or slightly neurotic vacation, we chose to stay close to home and vacation all year long.  Today's installment? A helicopter tour! As you might suspect when an off-the-wall, out-of-the-ordinary idea makes it to our day planner, this was a deal we simply couldn't pass up. Not only was there a Groupon voucher for a 20 minute helicopter ride, but we had a still-unused Groupon gift card from last Christmas and a use-it-or-lose-it promotion code for Groupon about to expire. When all three aligned-- well, it was meant to be. (Besides, it is my birthday month.) I suppose some might get upset at us for counting a tour of the Channel Islands (off the coast of Ventura) as part of our Los Angeles vacation, but our pilot/tour guide made sure to point out the various mansions and beach houses of the Hollywood stars on our way. The helicopter company also offered us champagne (we chose sparkling cider

In case anyone is curious, having a baby (or the imminent waiting thereof) is bad for your text message allowance. Where is this magical "reverse" that shows the care instructions for 0-3 months? Many of you may not have realized that we have our very own home theater. These are the Good Ol' Days.

I said goodbye to my best friend on four wheels this week. We had nearly seven and a half years of a beautiful friendship, Burgle and I. She was the first car I paid for with my own money. With her faithful service I met the man I eventually married, left home to seek my fortune, and started my first real job. I married, bought a house, and birthed two children. I wrote a chapter for a book, served as an associate editor on an internationally published textbook and added two stamps to my passport. I answered more than 10,000 letters, translated a phone call for the office of the first lady of a Central American country... and grabbed naps in Burgle's front seat on my lunch breaks. I don't care to try and count how many times Burgle helped me move (not to mention the 5 months I was mostly homeless... or had MANY homes as my mother pointed out). At one point, all of my worldly possessions could be moved with only Burgle's help... even my recliner, dresser, and bookshelf

This month marks the longest consecutive time I have lived in any one place. -- Can we have a moment of silence to reflect on that please? -- Thank you. Now back to the subject at hand. Four years ago, when escrow finally closed on the only condo we could afford, we laughed off people's doubts about buying such an itsy-bitsy space. Four hundred and seventy-three square feet is plenty for us, we said. It is just us two. And we settled in to our cozy little space and loved every square inch. A few months ago I walked into the hallway of our building to find a neighbor wrestling an enormous piece of exercise equipment down the stairs. We're moving, he said. Same complex, just a bigger unit. You know how it is, there just isn't enough room for the two of us. I nodded as if in sympathy and hurried my hugely pregnant self through my door before snickering quietly. Try adding two babies and a pet snake, I thought. Sometimes in those early morning hours in bet

I'm one of those women who have relatively easy, uncomplicated pregnancies. My worst complaints are the ones I am too embarrassed to admit in public and only mention in the vaguest of terms to my husband or doctor, and then only when under duress. Uncomplicated, except for the one which involved a middle of the night ambulance ride and an emergency surgery in the wee hours of the morning to save my life. My life was saved, but my baby was already gone. I learned there was no heart beat six days before Thanksgiving, six days before the "magic" week where it is suddenly safe to announce the pregnancy to the world. I had been dreaming of the various cute ways of making my pregnancy known during the family get-togethers at Thanksgiving. Instead, I spent the holidays trying to hide my tears while lying on the couch: too tired, weak, and in pain to participate in any but the barest of family activities. I remember being surprised by the depth of anger I

Any of my faithful readers use the traditional or modern suggestions for anniversary gifts? Today SOS and I celebrate four years of marriage. If we want to go the traditional route in our gift exchange, we'll do the fruit and flowers thing. Or we could be modern and exchange appliances. At least, so says About.com . Good thing I married a traditional sort of guy. This, however, isn't why I'm writing. Associating specific kinds of gifts with certain anniversaries has a history far older than I had imagined, which is why I think it is time for an update. Instead of the gifts being symbolic of the depth of the couple's commitment (and whoa is that a scary concept: paper? aluminum? Nothing says "Thanks for sticking it out this year, Honey," like a Dixie cup and Reynolds wrap), I want to propose a much more prosaic purpose: replenishing the worn or broken wedding gifts. For instance, four years ago, SOS and I received glass water goblets, tumblers, and beds

Have you ever stopped to ask for directions only to find that your confusion and rising sense of panic is worsened because you can't understand the "help" given to you? Maybe you don't even recognize the language you are hearing. Such was the case on our most recent vacation day. We were enjoying our Los Angeles vacation like any true angeleno would: tuned to AM 1070 listening for our doom as announced "On the Fives", that is the traffic report. The Saturday of a three day weekend and our doom was pretty much sealed: the traffic report named each of the freeways on our planned route south. But we've considered the Greater Los Angeles area our home long enough... surely we could outsmart the poor, speed-limit-abiding, ignorant tourists clogging our freeways. Besides, if our wits weren't quite sufficient to get us from Point A to Point B along an alternate route, we always had our Garmin GPS for back up. So off we zipped. Permit me briefly to p

It really is impossible to know how one candidate's triumph over another during an election will affect your life. Here is the straight truth: I have a flat loaf of too-strong Pepper Rosemary Bread cooling on my stove and cabbage in my fridge because Obama was reelected. But that is not all, friends. No, that is, by far, just the beginning of it. Exactly three weeks after I made the short walk to my voting precinct, I heard rustling at my door and a purposeful knock. I opened the door to find an enormous box. My neighbor was smiling behind it. "I've signed up for weekly delivery of local, organic produce. With Obama president for another four years, I thought I would do my part," she explained. I didn't quite follow her explanation, only that she had more food than she and her husband could eat... far more than she could even fit in her tiny kitchen. We were just beginning to see the bottom of our Thanksgiving leftovers, having a neighbor share their abu

I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but we caved. Friday night at 8:23 found us racing to the Disney Store to purchase annual passes so we wouldn't need to stand in line Saturday morning. Don't ask us exactly how we justified the purchase, but let's just say this month we are eating out of the abundance of our freezer and pantry supplies rather than accomplishing our normal grocery routine in an attempt to diminish the impact to our savings. And look... standing in line to meet Winnie the Pooh: And with the stubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff: Really, believe me, it was meant to be... I mean... we just happened to be at Pooh's Thoughtful Spot for the only 15 minutes when all of our favorite residents of the Hundred Acre Woods were there to take pictures. I know this still doesn't quite justify a spur of the minute purchase of annual passes to Disneyland, but look at those eyes! Pooh Corner was clearly a hit. CutieLittleBoy requested we r

I've been thinking about the expression "When God closes a door, He opens a window." It is meant to comfort the frustrated, to assure that just because you aren't able to go or do the thing you had anticipated, God still has a plan for you. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Perhaps it is because the language purist and individualist that I am resents having a cliche applied to my life. Or that I am an over-literalist and the analogy of having a door closed on me and then trying to find a window that I don't mind climbing in, seems a waste of time and energy. It reminds me of one super stellar housesitting gig I accomplished where I locked myself out of the house. The only way I could come up with to get back inside was through the doggy door. Of course, the dog was of the purse-carrying kind and there was no way I was going to get into the house through her route of egress, but I did spend a good deal of time imagining scenarios wherein the doggy door was my path to succe

There are many reasons to take public transportation, not the least of which is because CutieLittleBoy asks repeatedly to get on the "bus/train". So we agree: Vacation Day 1 is all about riding the bus/train.  For those of my readers who take public transportation every day, please stop laughing. I once read an article by a man involved in urban ministry who preached the necessity of teaching children how to use public transportation. As a rite of passage he took each of his three children downtown at the age of five and assigned them the task of making it back home by themselves. (I could possibly be wrong about the age, but it was shockingly early.) As a postscript he included the comment that he secretly shadowed his children to make sure they were safe, but I always figured he included that only at the insistence of his wife who likely spent the entire day sitting at the kitchen table biting her nails and watching the second hand inch around the clock. Not

The year 2013, we've decided, is the year of the Los Angeles vacation. Since getting married, SOS and I have alternated between domestic and international destinations for our vacations. After our two weeks in the Cook Islands in 2012, this year calls for something a little closer to home. Problem is, we think our normal vacation time (and hours) might be otherwise occupied. So where can you go for vacation experiences and keep it all contained to weekends? There's no place like home: Los Angeles, let the good times roll.