Night of Fireworks

Due to some odd family circumstances this Fourth of July – namely that my son is terrified of fireworks in any form, and that my daughter was having some Issues with her Attitude – we did not attend the Celebration of Explosives as a family. Since I was free of the child who cannot handle loud noises, I decided to try to move in closer and to see if I could not get some good photos. There are two fireworks shows left in the South Bay and one of them was in the middle of the city north of us surrounded by trees, buildings and other things to get in my way, not to mention parking problems for blocks away. The other one was, of course, the Eastlake show I have previously ranted about. I will not pretend my rebellious self was not intrigued at the possibly of “showing them” by watching their damn show anyway. Take THAT, Eastlake.

So the girl child and I headed out and wound up alongside a road on the edge of a canyon with a good view of where the fireworks would be. We had a lovely view of the prison, actually. You would think such proximity would bring those Eastlakers down a notch, but you would, apparently, be wrong.

We were technically parked in a bike lane, but so were about 400 other people so I figured we’d be safe from parking tickets. You can see where this is going, can’t you? Well, you are wrong! The worst that happened – and, granted, it was irritating – was that a cop drove by approximately 5 minutes before showtime shouting at us all to move.

So we quickly hopped in the car and drove closer to the spot in hopes of finding some place where there wasn’t a damn bike lane (impossible – as it turns out, Eastlake is 112% bike lanes) and I somehow found myself turning into a condo complex (because what’s more illegal than a bike lane? tresspassing!) where, to my delight I discovered myself a largely empty parking lot right under the fireworks! WIN!

The moral of the story is that Eastlake is right: we are ghetto. And we are not ashamed of it. We will sneak right in to your damned exclusive shows, and we will park in your bike lanes, and we will ENJOY YOUR FIREWORKS. And there is not a damn thing you can do about it!

I hope you had a great fourth as well!

West Side Story, or The Princes Screw Over the Paupers

My town is divided between the West and East sides. I live on the West Side and would have it no other way. My side of town is the historic part with remnants of once-grand Victorian lemon groves, of wartime population growth, of history that spans over 100 years. The East side was primarily cow pastures in all their peaceful glory until about 15 or so years ago when housing developments pushed the farmers God knows where. The East side is a really nice-looking community, but one that mirrors every other development built in my lifetime.

To outsiders, Chula Vista has a reputation for being gang-ridden and run down. These people are obviously unaware of the peaceful and gorgeous middle-class neighborhoods that populate most of the West Side, but the reputation remains. I don’t really care what they think – I love my town fiercely and unconditionally. But it is true without a doubt that the government has poured all of its resources into the East Side in these recent years (a fact that has obviously backfired in this housing climate, as most of the newest developments remain empty, like a shiny new ghost town).

As a perfect example, I often point out that my high school, which has the magnet program for the Creative and Performing Arts was looked over when the government decided to build a beautiful new multi-million-dollar theatre at Eastlake High School. Where is the logic in that? Eastlake has no magnet for Performing Arts! The Students of Chula Vista High School were hurt and offended at best. We felt the city government made the choice to pour yet more money into the richer schools where it was not needed as badly. Meanwhile we had to – I SWEAR I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP – wipe our asses with paper towels as the school’s daily supply of toilet paper ran out by 10am each morning (and the paper towel supply was gone by noon).

Our city is in a desperate budget crisis right now. They are threatening to cut library, rec center, and other community programs. They are having to cut back on fire funding. They tried to raise the sales tax here one cent for the next ten years, but, sadly, that did not pass. I support their decision to cancel the fireworks show last year and this because, frankly, I think it pales in comparision to the other things we need to spend money on right now.

But then I saw this sign last week. And it hurt and offended me so deeply I am not sure I will be able to put it into words.

I understand that we live in a free country and that ensures our Eastlake residents to hold their own private show. Please don’t respond with that bullshit. Sometimes we have to look beyond what is rightfully ours and into what we should do for others.

This enrages me. Are the residents of Eastlake afraid the poor people might run in and take over? They don’t want us with our torn and filthy clothes, with our overpopulation of children who run around like animals disobeying authority? Are they afraid they might get stabbed or that gangs might let loose with graffiti right in the middle of the crowd? I cannot think of any reason aside from fear which would cause them to remain so elitist in these hard times.

Honestly, if Eastlake is going to have this attitude – to exclude other citizens of their own City from events such as these which celebrate for us all – they can just secede and form their own city. It would be much less hurtful. We are, after all, talking about more than half of the City here – this is not some small country club! This is an entire region which is holding a celebration the rest of us are not invited to. And it is wrong.

This does not effect my personal plans for fireworks viewing – my family has a little park we like to go to which is situated on a hill and so we have views of many shows all the way to Downtown San Diego and beyond. But to be so blatantly unwanted and disallowed from something such as this… is just offensive.

Screw you, Eastlake.

County Fair

For the whole set, click here.

Car Show

Last night my family and I took a stroll down the main drag here for the summertime car show. Without even realizing it, I got photos of almost each color in the rainbow, and I do love rainbows (also shiny things).

Click here for the rest of the set.

It’s Good Because I’m a Chameleon

Last night I spent a rare night with my BFF and we took the time to wander around the mall not buying pricey underwear. (Also – I found the babylegs. Turns out my usual Target is simply too ghetto for such fancy things.) Naturally, we ended up in the unmentionables department looking for knockoff-pricey underwear instead when we spied this package of chonis which comes in a variety pack of “body tone” colors. Which is a great idea, you know, for Crayolas. But less so if you want the underwear to all match your skin.

I think this is a really great way to make friends, though. You can grab a pack and then wander through the mall looking carefully at the skin colors of women until you find the perfect one – at which point you will whip out your pack of underwear and tell the startled person, “Look! You match! Let’s be friends!” How can they say no? You will bring diversity into your life. I promise.

I’m not sure how to handle the dark pink pair, though. Maybe that is for when you get sunburned while at the nudist colony. Yes, that must be it.

Today is Stupid

(And it’s not even Thursday.)

This afternoon:
~I ran a couple of quick errands with the kids (and here you will laugh and laugh because I just wrote “quick” and “errand” and “kids” all in the same sentence). My son has this selective hearing thing where I have to repeat myself about 400 times before he is even aware that I am speaking to him. And then he says, “Whatchoo say?” which was cute the first time, but once I realized it meant I’d have to repeat myself a 401st time, it got uncute. And I have to make sure I repeat myself quickly before he forgets he is listening to me. It makes errands so.much.fun. /sarcasm.
~By the time my quick errands were over, we were 15 minutes away from the library where M was scheduled for a MoPA “workshop” in only 10 minutes. Luckily I have that delorean time machine. CRAP. No, that was just a movie. We arrived late.
~AND once we pulled into the parking lot we discovered it was FULL. Never in all my life have I seen that parking lot FULL. So I ended up parking on a residential street two blocks away. And not cursing as much as you would think. (Note to self: walk next time. It’s good for the heart, the environment, and the parking lot.)
~As soon as M was situated in her class, I ran to the bathroom and asked E if he wanted to join me. He said no and since he’d peed not too long before, I figured it was OK. You can see where this is going right? Yeah. But since there wasn’t a puddle, I let him sit in it because the car was parked two blocks away. Not that I am bitter or anything.
~Should I add here that none of the books I wanted were available? No? OK.
~On the way home I didn’t win Killers tickets for the second time in two days. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to PAY. And Brandon Flowers, lyrical genuis though he is, is twitchy and wears feathers and I’m not sure that’s worth $50. Maybe if I close my eyes.
~Speaking of music in the car, I can no longer listen to my iPod in the car because the connection is bad between the adapter and the phone. I’m not sure which part is bad, but it keeps coming loose and sounds awful. The adapter only (that’s a sarcastic “only”) cost me $100. Maybe I could sell it on Craigslist for Killers tickets. I would throw in some feathers.
~Remember how my son peed his pants at the library? Well, he pooed them when we got home. Yay. He didn’t want to see or smell it. Neither did I, man.

That’s all so far (isn’t it enough?). But I promise to update you in realtime if anything else goes entertainingly bad.

UPDATE: And by “realtime” I mean, “as soon as the crisis is dealt with.” Because not 2 minutes (I swear to God) after this post was published, I discovered my sweet son who I promise not to flog had actually pooped on the motherfucking COUCH and then trailed little crumbly (but easy to clean up so long as they had not been squished into the carpet – and they had not been) poo-bits around the house. FUCK. I know you are not supposed to lose your tempter with potty-trainers, but I get a free pass after this afternoon, right?

ETA: Also, I noticed as I was cleaning up the poo, that I kept thinking of trips to Chuck E Cheese when I was a kid. I am thinking I have some fucked-up repressed memories, no?

ETA 2: When I told The Son I had to clean the couch, he told me, “Have fun!” Stinker.

Upon Litha

Litha, the Summer Solstice, is the day we say goodbye to the Sun, as he descends into Winter. For many, this is represented by a God or Goddess who journeys into the Underworld and is reborn around the Winter Solstice. That is a little abstract for me at this point in my spiritual journey. I have been thinking a lot about what I actually believe right now and it has less to do with Gods and Goddesses than it does with the Earth itself. From my earliest self, I have found God within the elements of the Universe, and it is this base of my spiritual inspiration that I am focusing on right now.

The sun and the moon. The power of the ocean, fire, and wind. The warm, soft support of the life-giving earth. These are the things which fill my heart. Madeleine L’Engle speaks of the “wildness” of Creation, and this is exactly what moves my soul. The Rune of St. Patrick from her book, A Swiftly Tilting Planet speaks to me.

At Tara today in this fateful hour
I place all Heaven with its power,
And the sun with its brightness,
And the snow with its whiteness,
And fire with all the strength it hath,
And lightning with its rapid wrath,
And the winds with their swiftness along their path,
And the sea with its deepness,
And the rocks with their steepness,
And the earth with its starkness
All these I place,
By God’s almighty help and grace,
Between myself and the powers of darkness.

Harry Belafonte’s song, “Turn the World Around” makes me sing along with the Universe.

We come from the fire
Living in the fire
Go back to the fire
Turn the world around

We come from the water
Living in the water
Go back to the water
Turn the world around

We come from the mountain
Living on the mountain
Go back to the mountain
Turn the world around

Oh, oh so is life
Ah, ah so is life
Oh, oh so is life
Ah, ah so is life

Do you know who I am
Do I know who you are
See we one another clearly
Do we know who we are

Water make the river
River wash the mountain
Fire make the sunlight
Turn the world around

Heart is of the river
Body is the mountain
Spirit is the sunlight
Turn the world around

We are of the spirit
Truly of the spirit
Only can the spirit
Turn the world around

These are the elements upon which my beliefs lie. These are the things which have moved me since childhood – the parts of my belief system which are stone, which do not change in light of the details which revolve around them as the Earth to the Sun. Ultimately, at the base of everything, The Universe is what I need.

Goodbye, Sun, have a safe journey into winter, and thank you for blessing us with your power.

April Fools in June

I attended a baby shower today in centralish San Diego. Due to some last minute family plans (apparently The Husband’s grandmother’s birthday was a complete surprise), I had to arrive late and was even later due to Target’s apparent discontinuation of BabyLegs. While I was trying to explain the concept of BabyLegs to the employees (and to assure them that they did, indeed, carry them in the past) I got a text warning me that Buchanan Street didn’t exist and not to get lost. (I replied with, “BUT THERE ARE NO BABY LEGS!”)

Duly warned, I saw that, sure enough, my phone directed me to take Buchanan street, but I laughed and shouted, “Haha! You can’t fool ME!” at it and switched to map view for a path that circumvented the not-street. But that was as far as I had gotten on that line of questioning. At the party, I was informed that the “street” was actually a canyon and when I got home I looked it up in stalker satellite view and sure enough it’s a fucking canyon. What on EARTH? How can this be a computer glitch? It had to be entered into a computer at some point, right? Was it a joke? Or was it once a street that collapsed in a horrible disaster which the government covered up? Please help me wrap my mind around this. I’ve seen internet maps screw up before, but not to this degree.

4UMomz

Dreaming of Home

I want a home with space enough for my children to run and play outside. To ride bikes, to throw balls, to color with sidewalk chalk. I want space for a sprinkler or Slip n Slide during the summers. And to do all this within the safety of their own yard, in their pajamas if they like (but maybe swimsuits for the Slip n Slide).

I want fruit trees – avocado, pomegranate, and lemon. I want rosemary and lavender bushes on either side of the front door. I want a little garden and a compost bin full of worms.

I want a little fire ring we can dance around on the Summer Solstice, hand in hand with friends. I want a tree draped in colorful ribbons and bells and windchimes. I want a moon garden with a spot for a scrying bowl. I want to create a magical space.

I want a washer and dryer that is not coin-operated, one that I don’t have to leave the property to get to, one that I can just toss in a load whenever we are at home. I want a clothesline.

I want to use gray water to feed our garden and trees. I want to explore native plants. I might want a small cactus garden in honor of my grandmother.

I want a space for my kids to craft and learn. I want shelves for all of their toys and books. I want orginization.

I want all my boxes of holiday decorations OUT of my closet.

I want to paint the living room a warm red color. I want wood floors. And a Roomba. And I will probably want to cheer it on.

I want a bathroom with a window. And perhaps another bathroom as well, or at least half of one.

I want levels. Two steps down into the living room makes me feel happier than you can imagine. Cozy, like a bird in a nest.

I want counter space. I want storage space. I want cabinets that do not shave off 1/4 tsp of rotten wood each time I slide a drawer open. (Am I asking too much here?) If I am dreaming big, then I will add that I want an extra fridge in the garage.

I want a garage. And, frankly, I don’t even care if I can park the cars in there. If it keeps our stuff organized I will happy park in the driveway. I want a driveway. I want garage shelves stocked full of barrels of coconut oil and whatever flour it is that I am into at the moment. I want a place for our big freezer that’s not crowding our dining table.

I want a home that makes me feel comforted and peaceful. One that I can open up to gaggles of children without feeling claustrophobic. I want all these things, but not much more. I want a home.