Green Balloons

Yesterday I waited in line to purchase green balloons to fly in remembrance of Quinn.  The line was long; a forty minute wait to pick up my three balloons costing less than $5.00.  "Did you know the family?"  "What happened?"  I was asked in line more than once.  No, I didn't.  My children did not know Quinn and I do not know his parents, but today we fly the green balloons.  He was a third grade boy, the youngest of four brothers. 

I tied the balloons to our lamppost this morning with Cooper in tow as he asked, "Is there going to be a parade today?"  

"No, not a parade exactly..." as I bumbled and fumbled my words to try and best explain what happened to a child the same age as his beloved big brother.

"Oh, I get it.  It's going to be a parade of sad people."  And just like that off he went to tend to his melting snowman pile.  Just like that...

How do you explain something like this?  It is inexplicable to us as adults, but how do you explain to a child why a classmate suddenly passes away, or an elementary school in Connecticut so similar to their very own loses 20 students in the blink of an eye?  The death of a child goes against nature, and it is simply, inexplicable.

As I finished tying the three balloons to our lamppost I noticed a small piece of string left from the red balloons we flew for Chase almost two years ago and I thought of each of the children this community has lost in the near six years we have lived here.  It's too many.  One is too many. 

Then I intently watched my own as he played in the snow on a cloudy morning oblivious to the sadness felt today in our community.  

Election Day 2012

I have never used this space to talk about politics or religion, but today is important.  I won't say much, other than just get out and vote.

I respect if this issue is one of religion for you (although I may not understand it), but politics?  I don't get it.  People are people and they deserve to experience love like everyone else.  Period.  Your vote matters.

A Giant Season

Spectacular.  Thrilling.  Emotional.  

There were the hits, the broken bats, the creepy beards, spectacular catches, the Cardinal fumbles, the orange flags, the kayaks hoping to catch fly balls in Mc Covey Cove, and the chilly San Francisco drizzle that of course rolled into a classic San Francisco downpour.  The San Francisco Giants are once again headed to the World Series after a hard fought battle for the Pennant and man, do they deserve it.

I know The City by The Bay technically isn't my city anymore, but it does have a way of seeping into your DNA and settling into your bones and never giving up until you mentally promise that one day you will be back.  It's just that kind of place with those kinds of people, and ultimately those kinds of fans that know how to support and host a team through good times and bad.  The Giants have a long history of battling their own identity, whether it be their home city (New York?  San Jose?) or their playing field, Candlestick anyone???  No thank you.  

I remember seventeen years ago when this stadium by the bay didn't exist and it's future lie simply in desperate pleas on orange Prop P signs plastered in every restaurant, shop and apartment window around town.  In spite of this gigantic, "modern" new stadium being proposed for one of the seediest, filthiest neighborhoods in The City that was home to only the dump, shopping cart communities, and abandoned warehouses, support was finally strong in 1996 after many failed attempts to build the Giants a new home.  We voted, the prop passed and as construction got under way, we saw restaurants and bars gentrify the area along with swanky new condos and even a Whole Foods Market.  Pac Bell Park was completed in 2000 and the following summer I took my three week old son in a Baby Bjorn to his first baseball game and remember that gorgeous San Francisco day like it was yesterday.  The park is now on it's third name in six years, AT&T Park, but will always be the beloved home of this dedicated team and it's fans.

Go Giants!!

Wine Workout

I just came across this fabulous article in the October issue of Food & Wine magazine.  "Train Yourself To Be a Better Wine Taster" really breaks down the essential steps in evaluating wine by taking wine out of the process completely.  What???  Oh yes, absolutely.  

Working on an account with Andrea Robinson too many years ago I first heard her describe wine to a hotel waitstaff in this manner and I can't tell you how enlightening it was.  I won't go into all the details but when she spoke about body, tannins, oak, etc. using comparisons such as milk (nonfat, 2%, whole), tea (oversteeped), and toast (burnt), it was an analogy that made wine so sensorially easy to understand you could instantly see light bulbs going off around the room.  The article breaks tasting wine into six tasting exercises to more clearly define the meaning of body, tannin, acidity, sweetness, flavor, and oak.  It is a brilliant way to "help even a wine know-nothing become a smarter, happier, more insightful taster."

Cheers!

Transitions

It might not feel like summer is fading behind us with the gorgeous weather we have been experiencing lately, but the transition into fall is most definitely here. Beaches close, school begins, football Sundays take over, and ever so slightly the air and light seem to shift in the direction of the seasonal change.  No more lazy mornings; gone is the complicated dance of coordinating which child goes where; and the endless afternoons and evenings spent by the pool watching the kids jump off the the diving board time and again are a distant memory. 

This school year began with two firsts. One first year in middle school and another entering elementary school for the first time.  Actually make that three.  I had my first

declaration that "this might be a good year for a girlfriend".  This child just entered fourth grade.  Yet as scary as those "firsts" may be, the transitions were somewhat seamless.  Middle school nervousness quickly eased into a confident knowledge of how to navigate the windowless labyrinth of the new building, how to simultaneously remember a locker combination, school ID and a hot lunch code.  Yet the biggest middle school first seemed to be the toughest for me.  Well, how should I put this?  You know, that male tweeny need for "body care".  Gulp. I've got one word for you, AXE. 

Hair gel, body spray, deodorant, shampoo, the Axe list goes on and on.  With scent names more pornographic than titles on a Marriott adult movie channel, I was left with the chore of smelling each and every stick, spray, and coiffing goop on the shelf until I finally decided on the rather benign sounding and smelling, "Cool Metal".  I guess the result is better than the alternative- smelling like a sweaty, barnyard animal wearing rotten gym socks. At least we are ahead of the curve, right?  This boy of mine, my middle schooler, he's growing up fast and a list for masculine hygiene products is most certainly a "first".

In Minnesota we ride the school bus.  From day one.  No "ease into the system with a few morning drop-offs before you get used to the bus" type of situation around here, even if it means a few transitional tears.  Surprisingly, the tears were not from the quasi-embarrassing paper name tag they make you wear around your neck stating who you are so that teachers and volunteers can pluck your sad little ass out of a crowd and lead you to the right classroom.  They weren't even necessarily because he would rather be with me all day doing "boring Mommy stuff", but rather, those heart breaking, gut wrenching tiny tears were all about THE BUS.  It's a big scary thing to a little guy who could use a step stool just to climb into the gigantic vehicle with an outspoken, Grandmotherly driver who booms, "Good morning SWEETHEART!!" as the door swings open.   Well, Cooper is lucky because he gets a lot of help in this department.  He is the first brother to get a full-on chaperon that not only gives him a pep talk each morning, but holds his hand all the way to the bus stop and sits in the front seat with him so that he doesn't have to be next to the kid that "smells like minnows", whatever that may mean.  Christian is Cooper's unwavering protector, "coach", buddy, and idol, and will no doubt be his wing man later in life, with all of that sassy fourth grade chick knowledge under his belt after a week and a half.

Transitions are good, they are necessary, and sometimes they can produce tears.  All you hope is that those tears eventually transition into something happy.  I think we are just about there...