Julio, I See You

If you're anything like The Cousin, you're an observer of life. You walk through the world like a hushed shadow, but your eyes are in a constant state of panoramic.  It's a comfortable way of being for her. It feels like an old, soft, washed-out pair of denims; the ones you want to wear every day, even if they haven't been laundered in a while...
Stop. Take notice. Process. Ponder. And for god's sake, perform these tasks in silence because when you're out in the world, the world is much too noisy.

I never was that kind of kid. I couldn't adhere to such characteristics in adolescence nor adulthood either. Speak first. Shove entire size 8 shoe into mouth after.

But as I enter what society has termed "middle age," I'm morphing a bit... Stop. Take notice. Process. Ponder. Listen. Bite tongue. Learn something.

When I look around at humans, I readily see both kinds: the observers and the engagers.
I want to be more like The Cousin. I've encountered so many people, whose names will go unmentioned, that tend to feel they have a lesson to teach us all. It's a common occurance. Have you ever been sharing something of your life; perhaps a situation, an opinion, a dream, and I'll be damned if "the engager" fires back with an answer (THEIR answer) which usually has everything to do with THEIR experience, THEIR opinions and THEIR advice. They seem to know that you'll be better off listening to THEM. It's as if, while you are speaking, you can almost see their response-words excitedly dancing on the tip of their moist little tongue, which is poking out of their half-opened mouth.  THEY ARE NOT LISTENING TO YOU! They're preparing, editing, revising their script for THEIR next reading, which translates to a lecture.

If you're not born with the gift of listening and observing, you have work to do. One of the reasons I'm interested in interviewing people, is I want to improve my listening skills. I want to cross over to the observer side of life. I want to follow in The Cousin's footsteps.

There's a man who sits on the brick ledge in front of the downtown post office. It's difficult to determine his age and ethnicity. People who live on the streets appear older than they actually are. Weather, I suppose. Weather and worry.
He's sun-drenched from years on the street. His face is leather brown, his hands boney and curled.
He's quiet. He doesn't have a sign with words like ANYTHING WILL HELP or GOD BLESS YOU. He's always hunched over in his layers of jackets, the color of Army fatigues. When he does look up, his eyes cut through me like the point of a serrated knife. Sometimes, I observe him from across the street. I notice people walk right by him. Most do not give eye contact.
They look right through him.
He's faceless to them.

They look down or pretend to be on their IPhones or turn their heads the other way.  It must feel more comfortable for them to remain in their own world; a world where hungry, homeless, drunk people do not exist. When I have a $5, I give him a $5. When I have a single, I give him a $1.
He always says, "Thank you." That's it.
I like that.

I know that my small amounts of money won't get him off the streets. I also know the streets might be exactly where he wants to be; as comfortable for him as the soft, old jeans I spoke of earlier. I know he may spend his money on booze or something else that makes some people hesitate to give anything. He's quiet. That's my draw to him. Something inside of him is shy, distant, discreet.  What was he like as a child? Did he start out lively, talkative, sure of himself, only to be hushed, crushed by someone or a chain of events?  If I gave him $20 bucks, if I knew his name, if I offered him a hot meal and a shower...It would all be a band-aid and yet, he sits in my neighborhood, hunched over and silent.

That nudges me to inquire about his story because he has one.  They/we/you/me...we all have one.

I pretend his name is Julio. I imagine he was once a vibrant child who loved to play with trucks. I wonder if he had dreams of being a football player or a musician.
I ask myself, is he a father, and if so, where are his kids? Did he abandon them? Do they hate him? Or are they looking for him but he cannot bring himself to re-appear in their lives, not in the state he's in. Was Julio in Viet Nam? Desert Storm? Did the sound of exploding bombs and the sight of death snatch his sanity?
Why do I give a shit? Why this unexplainable fascination of mine?
I actually don't know. Not really. Maybe it's because no one tells his story. You tell yours. I tell mine. We tell our stories everyday. We share our daily lives through social media, by phone, at cocktail parties, on long walks with friends.  How easily we forget that we are constantly sharing our daily lives, our "memoirs" if you will, with others and from that sharing, we get recognition, validation and even pleasure from the interactions with others...
Engage. Observe. Share. Listen.

I have this fantasy about asking him to sit with me at a small outdoor cafe next to the post office. Have a lunch together. Tell him the truth; that I want to ask him questions about his life in order to better understand my own. I would ask him what he would charge for his time. I would ask him his name, so I wouldn't have to refer to him as Julio.
That's where I'm at. I almost did it Tuesday. Then I chickened out. Today I have free time, but there's laundry to do, and there's always tomorrow.  Right? You see, these are the hiccups that stand in my way. If you told me this exact fantasy, I would whole-heartedly encourage you with a zealous GO FOR IT! I would tell you there's nothing to fear but fear itself and all that bullshit and I would be behind you 110%!  Yet, here I sit in my own angst puddle of uneasiness and self-doubt, while thousands of folks' stories go untold...

~tpg

Sweet Pea & Me, It's a Good Thing

Let's get this party started.

Sweet Pea wears the flag of freedom when The Cousin is on holiday.

The Cousin's in Israel. She took a plane last week to spend time with her dad's side of the family.
The Cousin and Obama in the same city, at the same time,  makes me excited. Knowing The Cousin, she will draw way more attention.
So, this family VK left me and Sweet Pea sola yesterday. Yowza! It's so unbelievable how a kid can change so much in just a couple of weeks.  I swear to god, she's a miniature adult now.
Indications?  Well, she's refusing to eat baby-type foods; refuses to be spoon-fed.
She demands chunks of food and wants them placed on her tray so she can pick them up all by herself.
Of course, if I don't comply and try to sneak a spoon of yogurt or oatmeal in, she pulls one of two stunts: either she bites down on the spoon and won't relinquish it or she swings her arm at the spoon and the mush goes flying.
Her new way of eating produces several clothes changes during a day.

Are there seconds?

As well as, bib changes. It didn't take long to figure out that she hates the plastic Bjorn baby bib.

Damn this thing.

You know Bjorn products are modern looking, for sure. They come in all these hip, cool 2013 colors, but they're not at all what they're cracked up to be. Kids just know.  This bib is as hard as a Tonka truck. I mean, would you like it strapped around your neck while you're trying to enjoy a meal?
Sweet Pea had yam (people yam not Gerber yam) and ground beef with lentils.  I think it was the lentils that brought on the series of poopy diapers, but that wasn't my issue with Sweet Pea yesterday.
So, she was lying on the changing table and it was a "doozy".  Her legs were active. Her head was moving. Suddenly, her right arm comes down and takes a swipe of poop.  "Shit" was my actual thought.  
I managed to clean her all up rather quickly, and efficiently I might add, and I stand her up stark naked.  Her smile's so big, it reaches New York. Then, she looks me in the eye and starts peeing on the table. (Her smile continues to reach New York).

I don't blame her.  She's got me all to herself.  No cousin to choke her. No project time for The Cousin. No sharing of "Bal La Lee" and she's gonna milk it for all that's it's worth.
Sweet Pea pushed it to the limit. I kept hearing Elton John's song in the background, Philadelphia Freedom, throughout the day...

Do you need this one?

Under sink cupboard

Plastic bags bad for sea creatures and other living things

It cracks me up that the parentals have one of these on the pots and pans cupboard and not on the cupboard with trash and hazardous cleansers.

They think they're so smart.

I'm pretty sure Sweet Pea will be figuring out how to crack this open.  She's a whip.

Actually, she's got me beat in that department.  I spent several minutes yesterday trying to turn on a black Iphone that was sitting on their shelf.  It was quite frustrating and I was feeling like it finally happened; I'm finally my mother... then Sweet Pea's mom came home for the "noon feeding" and I admitted to her my lack of tech skills. She burst out laughing saying that the phone is Sweet Pea's "pretend" Iphone.   Very funny.

Enjoying The Old Testament

Sweet Pea can sit still. Really she can.  For a fraction of a second.
Here, she's reading about Adam and Eve.  Yep.  She seems to be laughing, doesn't she? I don't think she believes it either.  And if the chapter on Sodom and Gomorrah is in there, I'm screwed.

Because reading is valued by her family (and by the nanny) I try to read lots of books to both her and The Cousin on my watch.  To my surprise (or dismay) there were a couple of new books in Sweet Pea's book basket.

Nanny's Choice

When it was my turn to choose, I really got into Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You?  


Since Sweet Pea lives a mere 10 minute walk to the aquarium, we decide to go on an adventure.
Why the hell not?

I'll tell you why.  It makes absolutely no damn sense to go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium during spring break.
Sweet Pea, though she had only 30 minutes of nap under her belt, was a trooper!  It was me that was sweating bullets.

We be diggin Splash Zone.

S.P.: "Let's go!" Me: "Let's rest!"

And then what really made my afternoon was a voice in the crowd call out Sweet Pea's name.  It happened in the Open Sea exhibit room.  Seems Sweet Pea and this woman's daughter are in the same play group on Tuesdays.  She introduces herself, her husband and her in-laws and then says in this perfect, syrupy voice that will remain with me until I die, "And you must be her grandmother?"
That's it. We're out of here.

Home at last. Just in time for an afternoon snack before Da Da gets home.
Life is definitely good.
And Sweet Pea and me?  We're a good thing.

Signed the nanny & friend not the f@!*ing grandmother,

~tpg

Those Damn Hippies Had It Right

Wednesday.  Why is it I’m the only one that wants a nap? The Cousin hates the word. 
Turns and runs at the very mention of it.  Christ, I can’t even get the "n" sound out of my mouth and she’s gone.  
And Sweet Pea? Well, Sweet Pea is Sweet Pea in all her reigning glory and we all know what her most powerful artillery against napping is:

That ear-piercing cry that I’ve written about for months.  

So, The Cousin got a new toy. 
It's a "spinning egg".  She so digs it, but she digs it alone. She wants her space and I so get that. But as you can see by the hand in the right corner of picture, The Cousin and I had our work cut out for us.  Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea. Why can't you take "no" for an answer?  Actually, my very own mother used to say that to moi.  Hmmmm... 
I guess if there is such a thing as karma, then this whole bloody gig makes sense.  
It was destiny that brought Sweet Pea and me together.




This Wednesday I took some hits.
Sweet Pea bit me to communicate that she wouldn't be going in her baby play seat. 
Her teeth made direct contact with my left shoulder.  
After the bite, she looked me straight in the eyes and smiled.

The same was true with the carrots. Her new trick is to clamp down on the spoon when it's in her mouth and hold on. I end up puling that thing like it's caught in a vice and she digs it. Looks right at me and smiles big through the orange substance.
Carrot puree sprayed all over my glasses from her other new trick: blowing bubbles with food.
She loves the sound of it and she loves my reaction.

When it all goes to hell in a handbag, I get out the rig.

Initially, they are reticent to go.

But I harness them in like roped calves and they don't have a choice. 
I need fresh air. Well, actually, I need a cool, refreshing grown-up beverage, 
but fresh air will have to suffice for now.

After Work Grown-Up Beverage.

I can't write a blog this week without mentioning Sandy Hook Elementary.  Especially when I am surrounded by 2 little children who light up a room when they walk or crawl into it, just like the youngsters who lost their lives that horrible day.

But, I can't help but think that we, as a nation, are not really getting it.  You see, sadly, this is America. Why are we surprised when something this violent happens? We fund every war, involving our nation or not, with our weapons, drones, arms. Very profitable for us. Why aren't we outraged when our drones kill hundreds of children in other countries? We are a nation that advocates the death penalty as a solution to violence. We violently took this country from its native people, then violently built it with slaves...why are we surprised?

Now there were times that, you know, I wanted to pack a small handgun when I managed the park. 

Would've ended a few disputes over so-in-so's dog shitting in so-in-so's carport.  Could've also possibly deterred Ralph from crashing park parties and calling the sheriff on himself...

But seriously people! 

Now I'm not a girl that thinks the solution lies in prayer. 

And I most certainly don't think this act of violence was some God's plan as some extremists suggest.

I think the truth lies in the good old green-back dollar and I think assault weapons 

are a huge, profitable business.

I also think the NRA has its grubby little hands tightly around (and squeezing) the genitals of every political hopeful in D.C.  As Feinstein just said, "You don't need an assault weapon to kill a deer." 

Ban 'em!  It's the only solution, however, 

I wish I were as hopeful about a change or a ban as many of my friends are.

Send me some hopefulness, would y'all!? 

Somehow, I can't help but wish that if we put love before greed and power, love is what we will get.

This year my partner and I are standing up for peace. Well, in this case, lying down for peace.

And for us, it's a laugh or two but really, the truth is, it takes more than a wish, more than a prayer...  

It takes action. 

It takes action from you, from your family, from the politicians we elect (or the ones who get in due to voter machine tampering or paid off Supreme Court Justices).  It takes action from your boss, her brother, the guy selling coffee and a nutty girl like me. 

Maybe 2013 is going to be that kind of year: An Action Year! 

Taking action to speak out against violence, to get laws changed, to say, "NO" to the dudes that are profiting from mass weapon production that not only kills our children, but children world-wide. 

Those damn hippies had it right. 

~tpg

Give Peas a Chance.