What Does the Fox Say?

GERING-DING-DING-DING-DINGERINGEDING

http://youtu.be/jofNR_WkoCE

Dog goes woof   Cat goes meow  Bird goes tweet and Mouse goes squeak...

Cow goes moo  Frog goes croak  And the elephant goes toot...

Ducks say quack and fish go blub And the seal goes ow ow ow

But there's one sound no one knows

WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY?

WA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-POW!

She's baaaaack. 

Actually, she never left. At least she never left my heart or yours. Right?

Today, The Cousin and I went to the library. Just her and I and, what seemed like, a million snotty nosed 2 and 3 year olds that drove me nuts, reminding me that I'm much more qualified, these days, to be a pole dancer than a pre-school teacher.

GAWD! It was like a nut house and the only sane one?  The Cousin.

Calm, cool, collected and VERY well-behaved, she patiently waited her turn to participate in Miss Linda's interpretation of the children's story "There was an Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly." (Weird messages throughout, but all in the name of rhyme, which I abhor.)

I gotta hand it to Miss Linda. Day in and day out, dealing with a room full of out-of-control toe-heads that do far more than just wiggle on their carpet squares. These punks throw full-blown, screaming tantrums and the moms, every once in a while, look-up from their IPhones.
I pray to God that Linda isn't a volunteer.
The Cousin and I positioned ourselves on a multi-colored beanbag.  She insisted on sitting on the patch of blue fabric, because blue is now her favorite color. (Man, I was worried it was going to be pink.) We were both poised on-lookers, and every once in a while, she leaned into me and whispered, "Valerie, what does the fox say?" Her giggle is infectious.
This is her new joke and her new favorite video. And that's right. She calls me "Valerie" now.

The days of "Wallery and roses" are long gone. Caillou too. (Thank you, Jesus!) She's shedding Elmo and Caillou like an old coat and turning to Madeleine and YouTube fox videos.
She's growing up.
She doesn't need my hand to get out of her car seat, nor an extra offer of support to climb 3 flights of stairs. Today, along with her usual books and movies, she wanted to check out a book to read to her new baby sister. Now that's maturity, people!  It's as if Superwoman has emerged out of the ashes...
Yes, I am now, and forever more, "Valerie" to her and together we will conquer this library story time madness, one screaming toddler at a time. 

And then we'll get the hell out of dodge. Have a little beverage. Chat about the old days. And read her new addiction, one square at a time!

She's a cool kid with a cool outlook.
We all should be blessed with this much curiosity and zest for life:

See a pile of fall leaves, jump in them just to hear the C R U N C H !  

CRUNCHING, PBJ IN HAND

Plop down in the middle of our shadow, simply because you want to "touch it!"

As adults, we've lost that "zest for life."  Seems we go about our daily routines, rituals and obligations required of us at such a pace, any zest that remains is just in the lemon peel of our cocktails.

Seems we've also lost, what I often refer to as, "the art of conversation."  Look in your mailbox. Any cards, notes, letters from friends or simply bills and consumer ads?
Now, look in your email box.
Less and less, right? How about on your voicemail of your phone? Any calls from friends lately? Maybe, but not as much as a few years ago. Lots of texting to converse and lots of Facebook to share stories, opinions and pictures. The idea of calling a friend, on a regular basis and meeting at a cafe to "catch-up" or sharing recent photos, offering a hug (real arms not virtual)...
Those times are less and less. 

I propose to you, that this lessening, is removing the zest from each of our lives. 

So, what does the fox say? 

Call a friend today! Meet on an unknown trail and take a walk with that friend or by yourself.
Sit smack down in your shadow! Put a box, from your remote control car, on your head and pretend it's your helmet!

Play the video at the beginning of my blog, and dance around your living room!

Locate "The Cousin" inside yourself! She's there waiting.
Let her soar today!

~tpg

P.S. Next week... Interview #5 with Mina; a polished gem who's a very long way from home.
Stay tuned in, pals.

Interview with a Two-InaHave Year Old

Obtaining and documenting oral histories (or herstories as the case may be) takes time. Not only does it take time, but it takes opportunity, some thought and luck. As I wait for the above mentioned components, in order to share with each of you a little slice of the human experience or "life on the street", I offer up the following interview with The Cousin.  It is my first interview in hopefully an interesting series. The Cousin was born with her daddy's (abba) hairline on April 29, 2011.  Her momma was in labor for god knows how many hours, but throughout the night.  Thank Jesus the Royal Wedding was on to distract her. She was named after the matriarch of the family, their great aunt who was a retired nun. She was 97 years young when The Cousin was born.  Her parents  continue to give her, warmth, stability and love, crazy love...

 

tpg: "So you are two years old?"

The Cousin: "No, Wallery. I am two-inahave."

tpg: "Oh yes! You are two and a half!"

tpg: "So, tell me what a two and a half year old likes to do."

The Cousin: "Well, I like to go to the park and play puzzles and I like to watch Cinderella."

tpg: "Do you get to watch Cinderella every day?"

The Cousin: "No, just a little bit." (holding up her right thumb and index finger to indicate about an inch)

tpg: "Why?"

The Cousin: "I dunno. Because momma and abba say not too much tv."

tpg: "How do you feel about that?"

The Cousin: "I feel mad about that because I love Cinderella and Gus and the Prince." (picking her nose.)

tpg: "What's your favorite part of Cinderella? Do you like the part when the mice make her dress? or when she cleans the floor? or when the pumpkin turns into a carriage?"

The Cousin: "No. I like the ball. I want to go to the ball. (running to the couch) Come on, Sweet Pea, let's dance..."(she pulls at her cousin who is content eating a cracker on the couch and shows great refusal.)

tpg: "Don't you also like taking pictures?"

The Cousin: "Yes I do."

Her Still Lifes:

Her Portraits:

tpg: "What's your favorite food to eat?"

The Cousin: "I like cookies and grapes.  And raisins!"

tpg: "Do you like cinnamon?"

The Cousin: "Yes, I love cinnamon!" (big smile)

tpg: "Do you like chocolate?"

The Cousin: "Yes, I like chocolate. Can I have a cupcake from Uncle Matt's birthday?"

tpg: "How about a half of one?"

The Cousin: "No, Wallery. A whole one!"

The Cousin: "Can we go outside now?"

tpg: "Yes we can. Thanks for talking with me today."

The Cousin: "It's ok."

Stay tune, readership, for interview # 2 next week...with a grown-up of interesting proportion.

~tpg

The Metamorphoses of a Blog

If you live in Monterey, then you know that summer begins in September. Tourists pile in by the thousands, beginning Memorial Day weekend and continue pouring in through Labor Day.  They wear shorts, tank tops, sunglasses. They're equipped with beach umbrellas, coolers, rubber floaties.
And to their surprise, they freeze their asses off because it's foggy as all hell May-August.

I can't get enough of this delicious sunshine. I can describe it much like Goldilocks described the 3 bowls of porridge she tasted at the bears' kitchen table..."This one is much too hot... This one is much too cold... But this one (Monterey) is just right."  And it is. It's been a delightful 78-82 degrees for a couple of weeks and holding steady.

And I'm holding steady too. Holding steady to the unflappable truth that the only thing in life we can be certain of is change. I'm holding steady to dreams and personal ambitions as well, be they small, be they simple. I have a handful, as I'm sure all of you do. Mine tend to hover in the writing/photography, art and publishing realm. They're the kind of dreams, though, that have vivid, detailed beginnings; ones you easily recall upon waking, but whose endings fizzle away into incompletion with no recollection.   
I dream of a poem being published in The Sun Magazine or my screenplay being read by someone who matters.  I daydream about my blog picking up a big corporate sponsor or two and actually earning bank for my writing. And yes, I dream about having "follow-through". I can't begin to imagine what that feels like. I've started 6 or more short stories, 3 children's books, a box full of interviews, a folder of photographs, stacks upon stacks of poetry. I've hoarded about 50 skateboards, that my dear mother-in-law picked up for me at yard sales for 2 bucks each, because I will in fact do artwork on them again one day. I'm the girl with the ideas.  I'm the girl who could come up with a hundred business plans, but YOU, not me, will have to see the project through to the end.

I'm holding steady to the idea that I can move forward on some of these projects and if I don't? Well, if they all just spill out of my soul and into boxes, folders and computer hard drives, then at least I can say that the spilling brought me quiet satisfaction and released a part of me that needed to be un-caged at that moment. I'm particularly interested in interviews. I have this deeply rooted desire to ask and listen, ask and listen. I would like to interview individuals, one each week, for this blog. Simple people. Complex people. Misfits. Trend-setters. Whatever. The desire stems from a firm belief, that is wedged, etched, carved in my core; that individual lives, individual stories are worth hearing and are what truly matters.

Oh yes, I can spew about the economy, war versus peace, women's issues, lgbtq rights, animal abuse, poverty...but really, at the end of the day, it's an individual's experience that is worth remembering.  Think of your own lives. Can we really recall points, figures, images as much as we  can recall a conversation that moved us?

I have a hobby: I like to watch. ;) I can sit for hours on a park bench, at a bus station, in a coffeehouse and just watch people.  My dream is to interview them, not just watch them. Kind of win their trust, open them up a bit with sincerity and charm, and then ask some interesting and important questions. Then, listen.  Just listen to them, which is a skill in and of itself and sometimes challenging. I'd like to sit back and let them spill because most people like to spill. That spillage is the story, the significant piece of non-fiction that we can all relate to.  Listening to individuals connects us as humans and frankly, we all need to feel connected.

There's a man, a black man with soft eyes and weathered skin. He always wears a red and charcoal flannel shirt and jeans, sometimes a baseball cap that's frayed around the edges. He usually can be spotted in front of the Starbucks in Seaside or at the bike trail where they hand out free meals each evening. His large cardboard sign reads, "VIETNAM VET. ANYTHING HELPS. GOD BLESS YOU."  This man interests me. He intrigues me and his story is my story and your story.  I feel as if I want to look into him, not simply at him from afar. Why, you ask? Because this man's experiences are part of a bigger tapestry whose threads stitch together the very fabric of our existence. Not just his!  You see from afar, we can think, "Oh, I hope he's ok." or "I wonder if I have a buck to give him." or some might think, "He's probably not really a vet. What a gimmick."  But to actually speak with him for 15 minutes, ask him his name, his opinions on various subjects, where he grew up and so on, might offer up an understanding and bring some enlightenment in the form of not just kindness but authentic connection.

It's perhaps the difference between looking out on a field of brown-skinned farmworkers and thinking, "Wow, that's difficult, back-breaking work" and sitting one-on-one with one of the workers, over coffee perhaps, and asking her about her life. It's the difference between noticing a store owner behind a counter and asking him how he's doing today. Sometimes, that's all it takes to spark a connection that brings people together. There in lies the understanding.
There in lies the element of being human.
This is my dream for my own personal growth and for this blog. Because by sharing those interactions/interviews with y'all, an even larger group of strangers unite in the commonality of being human. I've touched on this subject before, but never truly dissected it. I could, at best, compare it with dipping my toes in the ocean but never diving into the wave. I wanna dive into that wave now, head first! Could be frightening. Could hit hard on the ocean floor. Could tumble and crash against the rocks. It's a risk that I'm willing to take. I'm also listening to one of my best friends, who I can always count on to be straight-up with me. She told me, in so many words, that the blogs are getting a bit repetitive and that I had the ability to expand my writing, to venture out more. Her words, along with my personal desires and unfinished projects, have brought me to this moment.

Oh, don't panic! I will still be writing about the escapades of Sweet Pea and The Cousin! But there's small changes in the air for them too.  The Cousin is about to have her world rocked, big time, with the arrival of a new sibling on September 30! (Hopefully, the child will be born with a safety helmet on.) And Sweet Pea's mom will soon be in transition and between jobs, so she will be home with Sweet Pea more...Where does that leave the nanny?  Well, we met last night to discuss it and I basically said, "You're keeping me! End of story."  But life does bring change and that we can depend on. I roll pretty well with change. Hell, I intentionally change my hairstyle and color every other month. It's awesome when I want to remain anonymous in a crowded room.  So, beginning October, I begin my journey with them in new and changing ways. I'll still be bringing you the lowdown, just other things as well to kind of mix it up. Things like observations and hopefully, interviews.  But those little girls, who have melted my heart, and yours, like butter in mama's skillet, will certainly be hanging around too.
Perhaps, my first interview will be with The Cousin. Now that would prove insightful!

And readership, I'd love your feedback as my blog metamorphoses into new shapes, new conversations and explores unchartered waters.  

To be continued...

~tpg

"We be stylin"

"I love to get her to this manic state."

"Baa Bee, that's the funniest joke I've heard in a long time."

"I'll be back!"

Running Wild and Looking Pretty

Yesterday was rough. I'm talking Brillo pad. I was running on empty to begin with and they refused to take naps.  Now let me explain something to you about a 1.5 and 2.5 year old's refusal to rest their weary little heads. When toddlers refuse to take naps, it's quite frankly worse than building a bonfire inside an igloo. It sucks. It's chaos at its finest, and I embellish not when I say that the worst thing that explodes from every pore of their cute, pudgy, soft skin is a resounding, clear message of "I'M BOSS!"

Yes, there was a constant struggle yesterday for "boss rights" as 3 young, bright, talented women vied for this leading role.  It seems these two didn't get the memo that the nanny is the boss, and apparently, they will do more than arm wrestle with each other, to maintain the crown...
And along with this boss thing and the bossy, irritating behavior that accompanies being the head hancha, is this personality characteristic of wildness that seemed to split at the seams for 9 hours straight.

"I'm the captain of this ship."

"Let's have some fun!"

"Say what?"

Danger in the shape of something wild
Stranger dressed in black, she's a hungry child
No one knows who she is or what her name is
I don't know where she came from or what her game is

"This will really drive her crazy."

"No, Baa Bee! It's not clean-up time."

Hot child in the city
Hot child in the city
Runnin' wild and looking pretty
Hot child in the city                                              

"Give me the damn doll."

Things were basically crumbling by 10:00 a.m. 

Why I suggested making Playdoh as our project is beyond me. 

"I'm having little voices in my head telling me where to toss this flour."

"And you don't take me seriously because? 

Hot child in the city
(Hot child in the city)
She's kinda dangerous
(Hot child in the city)
Young child
(Runnin' wild and lookin' pretty)
Young child, runnin' wild

"Naps are for sissies."

"This is the closest you'll get to changing my diaper."

"I'm done with highchairs."

Truthfully, I felt my control slipping away from the minute the moms left for work. The Cousin's mom hasn't limited her television time and, of course, the first thing out of her mouth when her mom left was, "Wallery, can I watch Caillou?" I exerted my control, mentally patting myself on the back for the boundaries I was putting forth. Well, she threw the biggest f@#king tantrum that could be heard three blocks away.

You know if you give in when the tantrum arrives, it's all over people. They own you.

So I held my ground, tried to bring out the new wood puzzles, bowls of blueberries, ANYTHING to gain jurisdiction over the situation.  Things did calm eventually.

I was a wild kid too. Well, I had my days. My mom once told me when I was two, I used to roll down the backseat car window and throw my books out. And she, being a new mom, would pull off to the side of the road and fetch them for her sweet daughter.  Evidently, this continued for a while and then one day, my mom just kept driving. I guess my tantrum was epic. And you can probably guess; I never threw my books out the window again.
My wildness took a hiatus through high school, as I became "born-again" and spent my free time giving out Bibles at the local mall.
(You can't be too wild when you're telling people they need to be saved.)
But I found my wild child again in my late twenties and throughout my thirties. WHEW! Welcome back, baby! Those were fun times; wild, free and fearless.
Many of you know what I'm talking about and here's the thing. Whether these two girls are wild or mellow or a pleasant combination of both, I'll surely be along for the ride.

Here's a few quotes by a few famous folks with regard to wildness.

"I was a sloppy kid, wanted to be just wild."~Etta James
 

“Some prefer the wildness. Some the calm. There's enough of both in the world for everyone to have their choice. And enough time for any to change their mind.” 

~Nora Roberts

"Take a walk on the wild side."~ Lou Reed

"I'd like more of the world to go back to being wild."~ Hayao Miyazaki

And one more for y'all. Perhaps, the one I'm secretly hoping will stick.

~tpg 

"I need this wild life, this freedom."~ Zane Grey

Lucky, Lucky, Lucky Day

Sweet Pea called in sick today. I think, though her parentals reported a 102.8 fever, she was faking it in order to have a day home with mom. Who can blame her really? Her mom is close to perfect, beyond attentive and drop-dead gorgeous.  I would have faked sick habitually had she been my mom.

The Cousin was higher than a kite on a summer day, when she heard the news.  I arrived and hadn't even put my things down, when she came skipping out of the back room, on her tippy toes no less, to greet me. As y'all know, sharing the nanny, or any adult for that matter, leaves a sour taste in The Cousin's mouth. Today's her lucky day. A pair of Aces.
The Lottery. And her way of showing it? She hands me every damn toy she owns: the cash register, the tower blocks,
2 baby dolls and several books.
"Let's play, Wallerey."  Her pronunciation of my name is changing; taking on a new sound-form.  Lots about her is changing. Her hair's getting longer, her speech more defined.  She questions everything.  The first time she asks the question, it's cute.  By the 6th or 7th time, it's borderline annoying!
"What are you doing, Wallerey?"
"I'm pushing you in the swings."
"What am I doing?"
"You're swinging."
5 minutes later...
"What are you doing, Wallerey?"
"I'm still pushing you in the swings."
"What am I doing?"
"You're swinging."
12 minutes later...
"What are you doing, Wallerey?'
"I'm drawing with chalk."
"What am I doing?"
"You're drawing with chalk also."
5 minutes later...

You get the picture.
So, today's just The Cousin, me and the phenomenal sunshine that rarely shows itself in Pacific Grove, CA.
We're in the buggy and out the door by 9:00 a.m.

"Sweet Pea! You can call in sick anytime!"

Kitty goes everywhere with us these days.  I end up holding her paw while The Cousin plays in the wood-chips or eats her crackers.  She doesn't want Kitty to be left alone on a bench or in the stroller.

Kitty is a pain in the ass on the changing table. Seriously, I have enough trouble maneuvering The Cousin, the diaper, the Wet Wipes without worrying if I get the excrements on Kitty.

"Wood-chips are The Bomb."

The park becomes our mutual Nirvana. It's so much easier with one. I can't drive this home enough. As much as I love that little shit, Sweet Pea, it's a piece of cake with just The Cousin. After a couple hours, we load up and head to the library for Toddler Storytime. We make our way through a crowd of about 20; moms, toddlers, toy dinosaurs, carpet squares. We find our place near the facilitator woman who has a tee shirt on that says, "Reading is Delicious." The shirt has a picture of cartoon-like children eating big slices of pizza with books sprawled around the kitchen table.
I find the shirt a bit odd, and quite frankly, ridiculous, but whatever.  When it's time to begin, the lady grabs a bumble bee hand-puppet and starts singing a jubilant rendition of "If You're Happy and You Know It" and The Cousin and I chime in.  I look around the room and see lots happy kids and lots of runny noses. After 2 very long stories (this lady hasn't a clue as to the attention span of a 2-year-old) The Cousin can't sit any longer and heads to the book crates.

During her "book safari", a woman looks at me and says, "Your daughter is so cute."
MY DAUGHTER!?  Love that.  Especially after multiple comments regarding my possible "grandmother status".
I must admit it felt just fine.
"Thank-you." I hear myself saying. These types of lies boost my ego in some superficial way.  Soon, The Cousin is starting to lose it. This becomes apparent when I tell her we need to go to the bathroom to change her diaper, and she yells "NOOOOO!!" in her "not-so-proper-library-voice" then goes sprinting down the non-fiction aisle.  I know it's quickly approaching nap time, but I don't lose my cool.
A quick diaper change and we're on our way.

It's difficult to make time for naps. We're busy girls.  We really don't want lunch either.
There's no time for it.
We are artists and artists need to express themselves. Period.

"Wallery, I'm painting sunshine."

And then come the questions...
"Wallery, can I touch this?'
"Yes."
"Can I eat this?"
"No."
"Can I paint the table?"
"No."
"Can I paint the paper?"
"Yes."
Our afternoons, like our mornings, are rich.
And then, as unpopular as it may be, we cram down some lunch-grub and head to the crib with some books.
I'm on my knees, praying,  for 45-50 minutes. I can almost taste the delicious silence that will soon be mine.

Like her, it was my lucky day.  The Cousin slept from 2:00 p.m.- 4:15 p.m.
Can I hear a SAH-WEEEEEEET!??!

And me? I'm feeling the luck and the love today.  Feeling the beautiful gift of having one kid, not two, and thinkin I just might have enough energy in reserves to stay awake long enough to watch Jeopardy when I get home.
Peace y'all!
~tpg

Happy Birthday Girls!

                                                               This kid rocks my world.

This one also.

  

Sweet Pea reminds me of all things raw and spontaneous that exist in the universe.
She's headstrong, yes, and determined; a "spur-of-the-moment" kid.
But she can also be so tender.
She loves flower petals, basketballs and dangerous appliance wires; not necessarily
in that order.
And she loves, no adores, her cousin, much to her cousin's dismay.

"Numero Uno, Amigos!"

  And guess who turned one last week?

"Look out world! I'm two!"

And guess who turned two?
It's birthday madness around here and we've got the energy to prove it!  Presents! Balloons! Singing! Sugar-hangovers!  It's all double intensity with the girls' birthdays only a few days apart.

I picked a bad week to give up coffee.  If fact, I  was clean of the stuff I call "God's beverage" for approximately 72 hours, then I arrived at The Cousin's pad and broke down.
I made myself a cup; one in which the color was that perfect caramel brown.
Those tea drinking, self-righteous-hippie-bastards, who profess to be living a good, healthy life drinking pints of green, white and black tea on a daily basis, do not have a one-year old and a two-year old in their care.  I'm back on tea this morning; tea and this roasted grain crap.
I wonder how long it will take until my partner kicks my cranky ass out of the house.  It's all a test for me. Is coffee what's affecting my stomach or is it all the other delicious toxins God created? Could be stress, says my doc, or a combo of several things that "women your age" get...
I'm thinking I could give it up for 6 days a week and then drink one cup every Wednesday, in order to be alert for my nanny assignment.  But, I'm not a very disciplined girl, never have been and I don't do much in moderation. Lesson not-yet learned.

So Bal-La-Lee partied with these girls like it was 1999, and let me tell you, they can party!
We started with a little chalk art; a personal favorite of The Cousin's ever since she met her neighbor buddy, Miles.

Then Sweet Pea took it upon herself to sample an appetizer.

"Yuck. Send this chalk back to the chef."

Next, it's run run run with the birthday balloon until it pops...which caused major grief that needed immediate consoling.

Happy moments before the Big Bang

Life is like that though.  One minute, you experience the thrill of running freely under a sun-drenched sky, green balloon in your hand and not a care in the world...

And then the next minute, you trip up or your special balloon suddenly pops, and life becomes one depressing shit hole in the blink of an eye.

It's times like these that we head to the "you-know-what."

"Dora the Explorer got nothing on me."

"I'm not saying Cheese"

Somehow the park takes all our blues away; melts every last one of them like sticks of butter in the noonday sun.  

Life suddenly returns to  "happy" and little women (and the big ones too) get very,very tuckered; 

which is always nice.

Sweet Pea defines her own nap time.  It is she and she alone that determines the exact amount of allotted minutes. When she's ready to rise, she's ready to rise.  The Cousin, on the other hand, slept 2.5 hours which set a beautiful record!

I sat Sweet Pea down for her afternoon snack.  Oh, did I mention?  She also determines how she will sit in a highchair.

"What exactly do you mean I can't sit like this?"

I dig her tenacity.  It's like a bulldog. Reminds me of so many persistent women I know and have known; all of which embody this incredible amount of strength and tireless determination.  

Hope she never loses it...

~tpg