My friend Jane Brda just wished me a happy Rachel Ray birthday. This is funny because of this.
(Yes, that's a link to my book, "Every Freaking! Day with Rachell Ray: An Unauthorized Parody." )
Another thing that is funny (albeit in the "isn't that odd" and "well, one just has to laugh because otherwise one would cry" senses of the word) is that Rachael Ray, for all her mediocrity, is so very popular—-and powerful, perhaps--that some publications wouldn't review or even mention this parody of her for fear that they would lose advertising money or something. Therefore, Rachael Ray is a huge success and I am not. Funny, right?
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
No Ketchup
One waits, the waiting accompanied by a pulsing of anticipation/excitement/worry.
Seven months ago I waited for this to be done:
Once the snow melted, I began to wait for these:
Today I waited for my grandson to be born.
This was different than when my granddaughter was born. Sixteen years have passed and life has changed, of course. On that day I was an active participant in the birth and while the pulsing was certainly there, my attention was on my daughter, my focus was keenly on her and the incredible ordinary magic of the process.
Today I waited. I sat on the couch in my living room working while the dog and cats slept nearby, the historic heat pressed its estimable weight on the world and, a few short miles away, my daughter once again labored through the incredible ordinary magic of giving birth. The pulsing this time was nearly deafening, pulling my mind and heart away from the work at hand. When the pulsing overwhelmed, I called friends and talked until it was just a hum in the background.
In the evening family assembled—my daughter's sister and aunt, my husband, Florida Freddy. We ate pizza, we laughed, we talked. We waited together. Then a point came when I knew I had to go to the hospital—worry had overwhelmed all the other elements of waiting. I drove the few miles, walked in to the labor/delivery room, checked out what was going on and, after a little while, came home again.
Two hours later my phone buzzed. "Baby's here. Shannon says Wendy's, please."
We all piled into one car and headed for the drive through. I spoke into the intercom, gave the order. "A #1 with cheese and no onions."
"No ketchup?"
"No. No onions."
Shannon's aunt said, "Where did she get 'no ketchup?'"
We all laughed, releasing the swirl of anticipation and excitement (no more worry). We laughed again when the two giant cups of soda were passed out of the drive through window. We laughed again when we saw the sign proclaiming that ketchup and salt were available by request. We even laughed when we got stuck behind a man on a motorcycle following the white line on the right side of the road at 10 mph in a 35 zone—though our laughter was once again tinged with worry.
In the vestibule we had to wait to be allowed in—a group of five giddy adults carrying tubs of soda and a paper sack redolent of grease and salt, surrounded by a pulsing halo of excitement and anticipation that was surely visible.
Down the hall, the nurses calling congratulations from their station and then the waiting was over and there was this:
Look at those eyes. Look at the old soul peering out from inside.
When I held him for the first time, I felt a pulsing made of wonder and gratitude and the incredible ordinary magic of love.
Seven months ago I waited for this to be done:
Once the snow melted, I began to wait for these:
Today I waited for my grandson to be born.
This was different than when my granddaughter was born. Sixteen years have passed and life has changed, of course. On that day I was an active participant in the birth and while the pulsing was certainly there, my attention was on my daughter, my focus was keenly on her and the incredible ordinary magic of the process.
Today I waited. I sat on the couch in my living room working while the dog and cats slept nearby, the historic heat pressed its estimable weight on the world and, a few short miles away, my daughter once again labored through the incredible ordinary magic of giving birth. The pulsing this time was nearly deafening, pulling my mind and heart away from the work at hand. When the pulsing overwhelmed, I called friends and talked until it was just a hum in the background.
In the evening family assembled—my daughter's sister and aunt, my husband, Florida Freddy. We ate pizza, we laughed, we talked. We waited together. Then a point came when I knew I had to go to the hospital—worry had overwhelmed all the other elements of waiting. I drove the few miles, walked in to the labor/delivery room, checked out what was going on and, after a little while, came home again.
Two hours later my phone buzzed. "Baby's here. Shannon says Wendy's, please."
We all piled into one car and headed for the drive through. I spoke into the intercom, gave the order. "A #1 with cheese and no onions."
"No ketchup?"
"No. No onions."
Shannon's aunt said, "Where did she get 'no ketchup?'"
We all laughed, releasing the swirl of anticipation and excitement (no more worry). We laughed again when the two giant cups of soda were passed out of the drive through window. We laughed again when we saw the sign proclaiming that ketchup and salt were available by request. We even laughed when we got stuck behind a man on a motorcycle following the white line on the right side of the road at 10 mph in a 35 zone—though our laughter was once again tinged with worry.
In the vestibule we had to wait to be allowed in—a group of five giddy adults carrying tubs of soda and a paper sack redolent of grease and salt, surrounded by a pulsing halo of excitement and anticipation that was surely visible.
Down the hall, the nurses calling congratulations from their station and then the waiting was over and there was this:
Look at those eyes. Look at the old soul peering out from inside.
When I held him for the first time, I felt a pulsing made of wonder and gratitude and the incredible ordinary magic of love.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Again, Around The Sun
Yesterday was my birthday.
It was a delightful day: my husband and I went to the NY Botanical Gardens to experience the special exhibit about the gardens of Alhambra, to look at the peonies (my favorite flower), to walk through the rose garden; then an early dinner (or was it a late lunch?) at the Tarry Lodge with good wine (very good wine—thank you, Joe Bastianich, for that wine list) and good food (very good food—thank you, Mario Batali, for that menu).
This was a departure from my usual mode of celebration, which involves inviting people over and me cooking (which I love) amid the hubbub of talk and laughter and the kids braving the not-yet-warm pool. One of the by-products of having a birthday that usually happens on the "unofficial start of summer" holiday weekend is the tradition of a cookout, after all. And I love that, usually.
But this year I needed some time to walk among the flowers and trees and shrubbery with my best friend, needed to reconnect in a new spot (we'd never visited together—which is unbelievable), needed to smell the perfume of a garden I do not tend. I needed, frankly, to be tended to myself. Because I made the space for that, it happened.
My daughter and both of my brothers called with birthday wishes before we set out for the day—as did my friend, Miguel, with whom I share this birthday. I was, frankly, stunned by the number of birthday wishes I got on Facebook; an embarrassment of riches, that.
The weather was glorious. The peonies are beginning the end of their glorious blossoming (a surprise, each time, that just a few degrees to the south makes that much difference—mine have just begun!) yet they were still showing off, as peonies do and which is why I love them so. The roses were, as they always are, an inspiration. And as we rode on the tram through the shade of the forest (a forest in the middle of the Bronx—it still blows my mind!) with a good breeze blowing, I thought, "Oh, yes, it's my birthday. Happy Birthday to me."
This is a Peace and Love rose.
It was a delightful day: my husband and I went to the NY Botanical Gardens to experience the special exhibit about the gardens of Alhambra, to look at the peonies (my favorite flower), to walk through the rose garden; then an early dinner (or was it a late lunch?) at the Tarry Lodge with good wine (very good wine—thank you, Joe Bastianich, for that wine list) and good food (very good food—thank you, Mario Batali, for that menu).
This was a departure from my usual mode of celebration, which involves inviting people over and me cooking (which I love) amid the hubbub of talk and laughter and the kids braving the not-yet-warm pool. One of the by-products of having a birthday that usually happens on the "unofficial start of summer" holiday weekend is the tradition of a cookout, after all. And I love that, usually.
But this year I needed some time to walk among the flowers and trees and shrubbery with my best friend, needed to reconnect in a new spot (we'd never visited together—which is unbelievable), needed to smell the perfume of a garden I do not tend. I needed, frankly, to be tended to myself. Because I made the space for that, it happened.
My daughter and both of my brothers called with birthday wishes before we set out for the day—as did my friend, Miguel, with whom I share this birthday. I was, frankly, stunned by the number of birthday wishes I got on Facebook; an embarrassment of riches, that.
The weather was glorious. The peonies are beginning the end of their glorious blossoming (a surprise, each time, that just a few degrees to the south makes that much difference—mine have just begun!) yet they were still showing off, as peonies do and which is why I love them so. The roses were, as they always are, an inspiration. And as we rode on the tram through the shade of the forest (a forest in the middle of the Bronx—it still blows my mind!) with a good breeze blowing, I thought, "Oh, yes, it's my birthday. Happy Birthday to me."
This is a Peace and Love rose.
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