The opposite of gratitude involves women behind veils

That's Door Number 9 at the Social Security Administration office where I walked today, pushing Sophie, for our 1:15 appointment. I had thought we were summoned to prove, again, that Sophie is still disabled, but we were actually there for a random review. Evidently, these happen randomly -- maybe once a year, or maybe every four months, you never know, the clerk told us. You'll come back separately to establish her disability for another year, she added cheerfully. I was in a funk from things unbloggable when I started out with Sophie, determined to walk it off. What I didn't realize was how far the building was and how difficult it was to push Sophie in the wheelchair part of the Duet bicycle and how hot it was outside. Can I reveal that I wept a bit behind my sunglasses? When I finally pushed through the doors and went through security, I was too overcome to even care that a tiny wizened old woman with what appeared to be a sheet wrapped around her head, shielding everything but her eyes, glared at me as she sat waiting. Well, I confess to recognizing perhaps a modicum of irony in her stare/glare, and I might have muttered freak in a veil in my mind, but I pushed Sophie past all the gawkers and collapsed. For some godforsaken reason, Sophie is choosing to withhold liquid today, so I spent the rest of the hour waiting and trying to coax her to drink from her sippee cup.

When the review was finished, we walked back home, and while I would have preferred to lie down on my bed, remove my sunglasses and have a good cry, I was kept alert and wired by the jackhammers digging the trench on the side of the house. But now I'm boring myself, so I'll call it a day.

Sayonara. 

May the force be with you.

What I did with 16 eggs, 3 cups of sugar and various other ingredients, today

Buttermilk Cake with 

Lemon Curd Filling and 

Vanilla Buttercream Frosting

When I wasn't doing that, I was doing this:

Saturday selfie with Sophie

and listening to this:

Boys playing video games and fighting

During the cake clean-up, I literally begged The Brothers to take their sister out on a bike ride. I had been incredibly neglectful of Sophie all day. After yelling from the Video Den, formerly their bedroom Mom! It's pitch black outside! and me yelling back to Just do it! You'll be fine in the dark! Stay out of the street!, they did it. They took Sophie outside on the Duet bike and rode crazily up and down the street with her for twenty minutes. I boxed the cake, finished cleaning up and lay on my back on my bed with my eyes closed. The thought passed through my head that something horrific would happen to all of them, out there in the pitch black dark, on the street in Los Angeles, and that I would be blamed for being a negligent mother, but that thought was only for a second because they were back, pounding on the door, pushing the bike on through, Sophie's cheeks and hands chilled, my guilt assuaged.

Siblings

Here's a photo of The Brothers with Sophalofa on The Duet. It's a photo of harmony that perfectly captures the joy and wonder of childhood with a twist of acceptance and diversity:

Aren't they sweet?

Then there was this:



That might have been incredibly exploitative, but I didn't want any of ya'll to be jealous of us or anything. Notice how effective my parenting style is as well. You can't see it, but shortly afterward the house went up in flames, I streaked naked down the street, Sophie got up as if she were Lazarus and began reciting Hindu poetry and both boys disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

It's like winning the lottery around here!

So, the Husband dismantled the two gigantic boxes that housed the Duet bicycle and put it together. Here's a photo and then two short videos that I made so you could get a good idea of how fantastic this thing is.

By the way, I don't want to hear anything about helmets, O.K.? And when The Husband heard that I will inevitably hear from readers about helmets and safety, he got all Swiss and testy and started ranting about Americans and their safety shit, but I didn't include that in the video. Trust me, I've heard it, and ya'll don't deserve that.

I feel like I need to crawl on my knees to Mecca, now, and not in supplication but in thanksgiving.

Adaptive Tricycles, Eduardo Galeano and Missy Slick

 Missy Slick, a reader of this blog and great graphic artist sent me an email describing what sounds like a wonderful book by Eduardo Galeano, called Children of the Days: A Calendar of Human History. This morning, Oliver and I just so happened to have cleaned off the adaptive trike rusting in our backyard and taken Sophie for a ride, so here's an example of quite perfect synchronicity:

\

June 19th 

DANGER: BICYCLES!

"I think bicycling has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world," said Susan B. Anthony.

Her companion in the struggle, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, said,  "Woman is riding to suffrage on a bicycle."

Certain physicians, like Phillipe Tissie, warned that the bicycle  might provoke abortion and cause sterility, while their colleagues insisted that this indecent apparatus might lead to depravity because it gave women pleasure when they pressed their intimate parts against the seat. 

The truth is the bicycle gave women mobility, allowed them to leave the house and enjoy a dangerous taste of freedom. And it was the bicycle that sent the pitiless corset, which impeded pedaling, out of the clothes closet and into the museum.

Word is, too, that the Duet is being shipped to us this week!

A gratitude post from your resident carmudgeon

The Husband took Sophie out this morning to the Santa Monica Farmer's Market, where they purchased some of the above apricots which were then sliced and brought to me on a plate while I whiled the hours listening to federal grant review talk.

The apricots were a high point.

I am grateful for work, for The Husband's flexibility today, for near-constant sunshine, for funny friends, for Oliver's upcoming semi-final baseball game (who knew their losing team would make it this far!), for Henry's eighth grade graduation tomorrow, for my Duet bike which will soon be ordered and delivered, for the friends who made it happen, particularly Missy B., and for apricots, golden yellow with a blush of pink.

Dear You

Dumbfounded.

Stumped.

Speechless.

Overwhelmed.

Blown Away.

My Socks Knocked Off.

Floored.

Filled Up.

Graced.

Happy.

(that would be me, and much like the photo above, taken nearly thirty years ago with some of the beautiful women who orchestrated the whole beautiful project, I can't do anything but say thank you, my hands to my face with a big, giant grin)

Thank you, Chez Werndorf, Neuro-Chick Kid Doc, Carrie, Brittany, Gay, Gina, Jill, Liv, elizabeth, Beth, Buck, Mitzi Ann, Janet, Bob, Emma, Owen, Missy Slick, Bluegal, Susan, Carol, Gail, Sheila, John, Susan, Moye, Doug, Claire, Teddy, Margaret, Anderson, Anna, William, Lucas, The Freemans, The Sullivans, the Banksons, Vic, Mary Grady, Helenie, The Mermaid Union, The Martins, Jennie, George, Will, Allen, Jack, Mary Campbell, Peter, Henry, George, Ella, Sloat, Ginna, Carson, Clara, Grace, Roy, Carlton, Monster Max, Heather, Logan, Diana, Len, Annabelle, John, Jane, Phil, Fish, Johanna, Daisy, Dash, Carolyn, Hartley, Grace, Anne, Dave, Sarah, Anne-Hope, Laura, Charlotte, Dean, Jessica, Hazel, Grace, Nora, Willa, Julia, Billy, Emily, Grant, Sarah, Antoine, Mattieu, Blanche, Alix, Melissa, Mark, Linda, Rod, Ethan, Parker, Peter, Shannon, Suzanne, Kevin, Allyson, Frank, Elizabeth, FOS (friends of Sophie), Chamberlins and a gazillion Anonymous people.

Thank you.

The Long Distance Casserole Brigade: A Guest Post

So, I was loathe to post anything about this amazing thing going on behind the scenes of my very active life, but I'm going to do it here in a lame attempt to accept grace -- well -- hopefully -- gracefully. Here's a guest post written by one of my oldest and dearest college friends, Missy B. 

There is an old tradition in the South (does this happen everywhere?) involving casseroles and frozen fruit salads.  This tradition demands that whenever there is a family crisis, a death, a hospitalization, a new baby, or an illness, friends line up at the door with food in disposable aluminum dishes that will hopefully bring some sort of comfort to the family in distress.  When my mother was run down by a hit-and-run driver in our lovely suburban neighborhood in the late eighties (she improbably survived with only a broken leg), my family received so many casseroles that my younger brother set up a ranking system where fantastic meals were rated a 10 and the not-so-yummy might even receive a 1 (green bean casserole with canned French fries on top anyone?).  When I improbably birthed twins at the age of 42 after years of infertility, we did not cook for a month because of the generosity of our friends who set up a meal brigade.  I will never forget the shit-kicking smile on the face of one friend as her family of four marched down our driveway, each person proudly holding a piece of their lovely meal: salad…casserole…crusty bread…dessert.

It is what we do to somehow participate in the joy or the sadness of our friends.  I mean, sometimes, what else can we do?  We can’t take the burden from our loved ones but by this symbolic act, we are saying: “Know that you are loved.  Know that we are thinking about you.  Know that we want to help in some way.”  It beats the hell out of handwringing and doing nothing, you know?

Those of you who love Elizabeth and her family from this blog might sometimes experience this feeling of desperation.  My God!  What can I do to help? Those of us who have known Elizabeth since college or even before and now live so far away join you, her new friends, in these feelings of inadequacy about our inability to somehow pitch in and help.  

Remember Elizabeth writing about her weekend reunion with her friends from college a few months ago? (read about it here) Well, we all decided during that weekend that we wanted to somehow create a long-distance casserole brigade because none of us live close enough to support her in the day-to-day of taking care of her beautiful Sophie.  We can’t bring her casseroles, give her respite, take her out for a drink, watch her in her plays, run a carpool one day or any of those things that we would be able to do if we lived around the corner.

So, instead of these things, we created a fundraiser page so Sophie can ride in style in a new Duet wheelchair bike.  You can visit the site here if you want to participate:  

https://www.youcaring.com/aduetforsophie

(nota bene: Elizabeth was reluctant to share this on her blog but we convinced her that you guys might like to join the fun!)

I am, as you can imagine, speechless. A rare thing, all around.