HALLOWEEN IS FRIGHTENING

Halloween morning, the kids popped out of bed early, ready for their breakfast candy. "Stop stealing from the trick or treat bowl. That's for later," Hepcat bellowed. Even Teen Spirit, who is historically difficult to rouse in the morning, was up and ready for high school in record time, his pockets stuffed with Hershey's kisses.

The Oh So Feisty One packed her cowgirl chaps in her pink backpack. "Just in case my teacher lets us put on our costumes." This was unlikely because her school prohibits any recognition of Halloween in sensitivity to the children whose religious beliefs prevent them from participating.

Smartmom tried to get some money work done on Monday but by 2 p.m, she surrendered to the reality that Monday afternoon and evening were for one thing and one thing only: Halloween.

First crisis of the day was the case of the missing cowboy hat: OSFO searched the apartment high and low. Smartmom finally unearthed it underneath Teen Spirit’s bed.

Second crisis: Teen Spirit needed a shirt for his impromptu pirate costume. "You can wear this black shirt of Dad's." Smartmom told him. "No he can't," Hepcat screamed from the living room. "That's my special shirt."

"it's alright, mom," Teen Spirit told Smartmom ever-attentive to Hepcat’s moods.

They did manage to find a billowy white shirt in the closet. Teen Spirit strapped on his belt, plastic sword, and the pirate hat he'd purchased at Rite Aid, ready to join a band of roving teenage pirates who were waiting downstairs.

Aargh.

Trick or Treating on Seventh Avenue, OSFO was, characteristically, driven to procure as much candy as she could possibly fit into her shopping bag. They were joined by Ducky, Groovy Aunt’s newly adopted one-year-old daughter from Russia, who was dressed in a zip-up bunny costume with little paw gloves and a cloth carrot.

Her first Halloween ever - god knows what Ducky was thinking. Big brown eyes open wide, she inhaled the crazy costumed scene from her stoller.

The group went back to Groovy Aunt’s for some apartment-building style trick or treating. Volume is what that's all about. "Let's see," OSFO calculated. "They've got six floors and eight apartments on each floor…”

OSFO hasn't learned her multiplication tables yet, but still, that's a lot of candy.

Third Crisis: OSFO developed Halloween fatigue mixed with an acute case of "not being the center of attention."

That darn baby in that darn bunny suit: Ducky was sucking all the attention out of the room with a straw. OSFO ripped off her cowgirl chaps and flung her Payless cowgirl boots across the living room and staged a a world-class snitsky. Arms tightly crossed, she faced a wall and snarled. The only remedy: a large does of alone time.

Rejuvenated by a few minutes of quiet and three mini Twix bars, OSFO was ready for a little trick or treating and the Halloween parade. "The houses with the Jack-O-lanterns are the ones with the candy," she said with the assuredness of a seasoned navigator. Racing up and down the brownstone stoops, she rang on door bells and filled her bag with more candy.

Crisis number four: By the time they got to the parade, it was over. The streets were filled with teenagers. Teen Spirit was spotted in front of Starbucks with a can of shaving cream - horror of horrors. Strange to say, with all her worries about sex, drugs and rock 'n roll, Smartmom never once imagined he'd be a shaving cream trickster.

Live and learn. Hepcat trailed Teen Spirit and the teenage pirates to Barnes and Noble and insisted that he be home by nine.

Before bedtime, OSFO weighed her Halloween treat bag on the bathroom scale: "I've got five pounds of candy. Don't anybody touch it," she screamed and then proceeded to stash it in her secret hide-a-way.

Halloween Crisis number five: The day after Halloween, Teen Spirit couldn't keep his eyes open during English class. He fell asleep on his desk. Smartmom hopes he didn't snore. Now that would be very distracting.

How was your Halloween?

TEEN SPIRIT GETS SERIOUS

Teen Spirit's band had a big talk the other night: sort of a group therapy session minus the therapist. The band just sort of thought they needed to get things out on the table. Problems were coming up. Personalities were clashing. Bad feelings were going unexpressed. Truth be told, the kids were getting annoyed with one another.

"We didn't play much music at last night's rehearsal." Teen Spirit said Saturday morning.
"Really, why not?"
"We just talked." he said.
"About the music and stuff?" Smartmom asked.
"No we talked about what's been going on with the band."

Smartmom was glad that Teen Spirit mentioned it. He is loathe to confide in her anymore. Well, he does from time to time. Just not as often as he used to. He knows she is nosy so she tried not to sound too interested in his revelations. "Uh huh. Oh really. That's interesting," she said intermittently as he told her what went on.

From what he said, it sounds like they were really able to express their feelings and get things off their chests in an honest and gentle way. Smartmom wanted to ask Teen Spirt what the band members had said about him.

"So what did everyone say about you?" she asked nervously.

"They said I'm a really, really good bass player. But that I need to learn some music theory. They think I need lessons."

Smartmom stayed quiet, dying to hear how he felt about their comments.

"So I want to take lessons. I need to learn more theory." Teen Spirit said after a long pause.

Smartmom was elated. There is nothing better, she believes, than for an artist to recognize for himself that he needs more technique. Obviously, Teen Spirit knows why he needs to learn to read music and understand scales, and chords and key signatures, and all that. He's a little paralyzed without it. Sure he's got a great ear: but there's just so far you can go with a great ear. Yes, he's wildly musical: but he needs to be able to jam with ease.

Later that day, Smartmom and Hepcat went right to the source: Craig's List, and looked for a bass teacher in Park Slope. They found two and e-mailed them immediately. One of them got back to them right away. Teen Spirit starts his bass lessons right in the living room this Tuesday afternoon.

And so it begins. Teen Spirit is getting really serious. Doing what he needs to do.
Learning what he needs to know.

Cool.

THE RELIGION THING

The religion thing. It nags at Smartmom: Nag, nag, nag. Especially during the Jewish high holy-days.

It's not like she grew up religious or anything. Hers was a secular Jewish upbringing on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. In other words, she was brought up by atheist Jews who were, nonetheless, very committed to their Jewish heritage.

That meant Passover seders and the occasional trip to a synagogue for a service or a Bar Mitzvah. When Smartmom was ten years old, her parents decided that she and her sister needed to go to Sunday school. Her parents wanted to "give 'em some of that old time religion," she guesses. .

Whatever. It seemed hypocritical to Smartmom. And yet, it was probably a good experience even if they weren't happy about it.

Having to go to Sunday school meant no more Sunday morning bike rides in Central Park a cherished weekly family activity. Biking to the Sheep's Meadow, the Bandshell, the boathouse was one of the great pleasures of Smartmom's youth. Sitting in the basement of a synagogue discussing anti-semitism and Zionism was not.

They dropped out after a year.

And yet. And yet. Since childhood, Smartmom yearned for a spiritual connection. For reasons she still doesn't really understand, she wanted to fast on Yom Kippur, to eat only matzoh during the 8 days of Passover, to see the Hanukkah candles glow night after night. She once kissed a Bible after it fell on the floor.

Smartmom believe it was some sort of spiritual connection she was after. No doubt she felt exceedingly Jewish and exceedingly connected to the history and the culture. But she wanted more. And as a parent, Smartmom has struggled to instill a sense of Jewishness in her inter-faith children. She has tried to give them a real sense of their roots, their history, their connection to Judaism.

And she has suceeded to some extent. While her kids do celebrate Christmas with their Presbyterian relatives out in California, they also celebrate many Jewish holidays with their Jewish relatives in New York. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. They know that she meditates daily: a practice she values deeply; they have grown used to the small Buddha figurines around the apartment and her Tibetian singing bowls. This will either create great confusion or a multi-cultural melange that will be quite valuable.

Smartmom has never really found what she was looking for or an institutional religious environment she felt comfortable in. And oy has she tried. Over the last many years, she has been wandering Jew on the high holy days, going from one synogogue to the next, seeking an environment for her and her family that she wanted to make a commitment to.

But still, something keeps Smartmom from being anything more than a high holy-day Jew. That's when the urge hits her: Nag. Nag. Nag. She never makes plans in advance reservations. But she usually finds herself on the eve of Yom Kippur racing off to a Kol Nidre service somewhere. It's her favorite service of all -- for the music and the solemn, deep spirit of the evening.

The ritual of atonement seems essential to her. To take stock of the past year and atone (if not to God, then to herself) for what she is not proud of. It's such an important way to start the year; to help yourself grow as a human being.

So this Wednesday night as usual, Smartmom felt the urge to participate. She thought about it on and off all day and at 7 p.m., she googled Kolot Chayenu and found out that the Kol Nidre service was set to begin at 7:30.

Kolot Chayenu is a progressive Park Slope congregation of 250 members which bulges to such a big size on the high holydays, that they rent the Mission for Today Church on Sixth Avenue between 3rd and 4th Streets right around the corner from Smartmom's apartment.

Fortunately, OSFO wanted to come along and they dressed up and ran over there in a teeming rain. They got there just as the service was beginning and saw a lot of people they knew; there was a warm and familiar feeling in the room. They were lucky enough to find a seat in the last rown right behind a pillar. Still they were able to hear the cantor's beautiful voice. There were other singers, as well as a violinist and a clarinet player.

OSFO got antsy about an hour and a half into the service; it was uncomfortable sitting on Smartmom's lap. Last year she lasted the full three hours. Smartmom didn't get to hear the most beautiful and moving part of the music, but she enjoyed what she heard and, as usual, she was glad to be there.

This year, as usual, Smartmom felt part of and not part of the service at Kolot Chaynu. I guess that's how she takes her Judaism. She is comfortable with marginality: that sense of belonging and not belonging (how Jewish) at the same time. Something compels her to connect with her fellow Jews on this night so that she can hear the stirring melody of Kol Nidre. Even if it means racing out of the apartment just minutes before the service: something compels her to belong.

SPAMMERS BE DAMNED

In the months that Smartmom has been away from Blogger, the spammers have come out in droves. They've taken over. They're ruining the blogosphere.

Less than a year ago, blogger felt like a giant and wonderful global vilage. It was so wholesome, so sweet, so friendly.

Now, these bloggers are using the lingo of blogging to get their stupid commercial messages across. "Hey I like your blog. Check out..."

Such crap. You get excited about having a comment and then BOOM. The comment has nothing at all to do with your site, nothing at all to do with your post, nothing at all to do with anything but CRAP.

Smartmom is disappointed that something so great has been co-opted so quickly. So nu? What else is new?

Of course, there are measures that one can take to banish those dreadful SPAMMERS. For now anyway. And Smartmom has finally taken them. You better believe she has.

The spammer problem isn't as extreme on Typepad, where Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn lives. However, OTBKB, doesn't get the personal, daily comments that Third Street did. It's a different kind of blog.

Smartmom says: "I don't want no friggin dog collectibles, wedding crap, and whatever stupid stuff you want to sell. Get away from here." It's like a nasty dog showin up in her garden. She just wants to kick it and tell it to: "GET AWAY FROM HERE! GO!"

It seems like years since Smartmom wrote THE GLOBAL BLOGGAGE, a post which celebrated the Blogosphere as a place where people could express themselves so freely: Calling out into the big, existential void: IS ANYONE LISTENING. HELOOOOOOOO.

Well, people were listening. A circle of really special bloggers came to visit Third Street. People from all over the world. It was a really special time. And the Blogsphere is still a wonderful thing.

If it weren't for those damn spammers.

But now these spammers - little robots that attack Blogger blogs, are everywhere. It is rampant.

DUCKY'S ARRIVAL AND THE OTHER SHOE DROPS

Ducky arrived in Brooklyn on August 28th. Smartmom was in California but on the phone with Groovy Aunt from the minute the plane touched down at Kennedy.

A few days later, when Smartmom and family returned from California, they went straight over to Groovy Aunt's to see the little red head. Nothing prepared them for her beautiful smile, her bright eyes, the cute way she sucks her thumb.

Yeah, they'd seen pictures. But seeing her in person was altogether different.

Right away, OSFO got in the crib with Ducky. Their bond was immediate. For the next few days, OSFO was at Groovy Aunt's side almost constantly helping her feed Ducky, pushing Ducky on a swing at the Third Street Playground, dressing her in all her adorable outfits, even watching her be diapered(though OSFO found that to be quite "gross").

It was immediately obvious to Smartmom that her niece was an exceptional child. Smartmom was smitten with instant love for this bright-eyed, world class smiler. She watched each day as she adapted to life in Brooklyn and made huge developmental leaps literally overnight. Smartmom also enjoyed being the elder statesmen of mothering. She gave her sister all kinds of tips, how-to's, this-might-be-of-help-type instructions.

Soon, however, it became clear that Gfoovy Aunt had pretty much figured mothering out on her own and was intimately attuned to just about all of Ducky's needs.

OSFO couldn't stop talking about Ducky. "Isn' she cute?" "Don't you just love her?"

The other shoe did drop about a week after OSFO and Ducky met. It was just a matter of time. OSFO got angry and jealous in spite of the fun she was clearly having around the baby. "Why are people only interested in Ducky?" or "Why is everyone talking about Ducky?"

No amount of, "You're such a wonderful cousin," or "You're such a big help." could quell OSFO's feeling of having been replaced by this 20-pound attention snatcher.

It occurred to Smartmom that maybe she had gone a little overboard in her reaction to Ducky's arrival. For days, they did little else but spend time at Groovy Aunt's or talk about Ducky. When they weren't with Ducky, Smartmom was putting together a 'baby brag book' of over 20 pictures of Ducky: Ducky in the garden, Ducky in her room, Ducky in her stroller, Ducky in a swing.

Smartmom showed it to everyone she ran into on Seventh Avenue. "Have I shown you my pictures of my new adopted niece?" she said. OSFO would just roll her eyes. "Come on mommy," she'd say.

Plainly, OSFO was going through a 'What Am I, chopped liver?' phase. And while her Aunt (and her mom) were still paying plenty of attention to her, it didn't feel like enough. Nothing was enough. Nothing. It felt that bad.

Groovy Aunt even managed to spend some time alone with OSFO, which helped a bit. But nothing really made the pain go away and more than a few visits ended with OSFO in tears. "Nobody is paying attention to me. I hurt myself and no one cared," she'd say rubbing an imaginary bruise on her knee. She even said that she hated Ducky and wished that she would go back to Russia.

Well the worst of that has passed. The turning point was the day OSFO and Smartmom babysat for Ducky. Being with Ducky without Groovy Aunt made it easier for OSFO to enjoy Ducky and it cemented the bond between them. When Groovy Aunt was around, OSFO had a tough time focusing on the baby because she was so busy feeling deprived of Groovy Aunt's attention.

That day, OSFO and Ducky had a wonderful time playing on the bed and crawling down the hallway together. OSFO even fed Ducky two containers of O'Baby banana yogurt. "You have to feed her really fast," OSFO told her downstairs neighbor as she expertly shoveled spoonfuls into Ducky's waiting mouth. "She got used to eating really fast at the orphanage. That's why she gets hiccups a lot."

It feels like Ducky has been here for ages. Amazing how she's become a regular part of everyone's life now. It a constant source of joy for Smartmom to see Groovy Aunt with her baby: pushing the stroller on Seventh Avenue or holding her in her lap at Connecticut Muffin, it's so nice to see a dream come true. And what a dream she is.

TRANSITIONS

Groovy Aunt and Bro-in-Law are off to Russia next week to get Ducky. It's been a long road but it looks like they will have their Ducky home by September 1st.

Excited and overwhelmed sums up Groovy Aunt's mood. Getting visas, airplane and hotel reservations, more doctor's letters. There's lots to do before the trip but Groovy Aunt seems to be taking it in stride. She's got her eye on the prize: Ducky will be in Brooklyn soon.

OSFO can't stop thinking about Ducky. Or more to the point, can't stop wanting to buy things for her new cousin. "Hey, these pink shoes will match those pants we got her." she said as we walked into Peek-a-Boo Kids earlier today. "Ducky doesn't have rain boots. She's gonna need these." she says holding bright red Wellies in her hands. "Look, Ducky and I can dress alike. They've got a party dress in her size and my size."

And on and on.

Smartmom is really curious how it will really be for OSFO when Ducky arrives. This is a major transition. When Groovy Aunt got married, it was a real adjustment for Teen Spirit and OSFO. Prior to her marriage, Groovy Aunt was available 24/7; she slept over all the time and particpated in many activities. After her marriage things changed a bit.

OSFO still gets upset when Groovy Aunt has to go back to her apartment. "You always have to go home to cook dinner for
Bro-in-Law," she'll cry as she clings to Groovy Aunt's arm. "Why can't you sleep over?"

So you can imagine what's ahead. Groovy Aunt's is bound to be preoccupied with her Ducky. It's gonna take a lot of getting used to. For both of them. OSFO is sure to feel that she's been replaced and will most likely experience moments of anger, even rage.

And jealousy. And jealousy. Imagine Groovy Aunt holding Ducky in her arms and kissing her big cheeks. And more: OSFO won't be the youngest in the family anymore. That will take some getting used to. All eyes will be on Ducky for a while and that's going to be hard to take.

And what kind of playmate will Ducky be? OSFO is probably fantasizing that Ducky will be the best playmate in the world. Wait til she finds out that she's just a one-year-old baby who may not be interested in doing what she wants to do.

There will be trouble ahead: you can bank on it. But Smartmom knows that OSFO will adjust. And having a new cousin will be worth the trouble.

Change is hard for everybody. Groovy Aunt and Bro-in-Law are on the verge of a huge change in their lives: they won't know what hit them. Whooosh. Good bye free time. Sleep. Quiet dinners. Movie nights. Time to think. For a while anyway.

Hello diapers, playdates and playgrounds. And loving someone more than you ever loved before. Welcome passion and fear and worry and protectivness.

OSFO's world is also about to change, too. So is Smartmom's. She's been the sister with kids for so long. And Groovy Aunt has been the Groovy Aunt. Everyone is going to have to adjust to their new roles, their new identities.

It's going to be an interesting time for everyone.

DAY CAMP FOR OSFO

OSFO is loving day camp and that's a good thing. At the beginning of the summer OSFO was anti-camp. She tried a day camp two years ago and said, "Never again," It was a gymnastics day camp and OSFO had big expectations: she probably expected to spend the entire day jumping on a trampoline and doing cartwheels.

Turns out, the kids had to do quite a bit of exercise in the morning. Warm ups. And OSFO wasn't too crazy about THAT. One time they went to a public pool on Douglas Street in Brooklyn and OSFO claims the water was really, really shallow: "Two feet high, Mom. Not so great for swimming." She didn't much like the kids either.

Okay, okay. Smartmom let OSFO quit after a week and OSFO happily hung around the house. Smartmom tried not to think about the hundreds of dollars wasted.

Last summer, day camp was, of course, out of the question. OSFO and Smartmom spent afternoons at the pool in the Mariott Hotel in downtown Brooklyn, where they enjoyed the sauna, the whirlpool, and a chance for OSFO to take swimming lessons.

As this summer approached, Smartmom wasn't sure what OSFO would be up for. When Smartmom found a chess camp at a place called "Let's Play Chess," a small storefront on Fourth Avenue between 8th and 9th Streets, she was surprised when OSFO said yes. For three intensive hours a day, it was chess, chess, and more chess.Smartmom signed OSFO up for one week as an experiment and the "anti-camper" seemed to enjoy it. But Smartmom only paid for one week - she wasn't going to get burned again.

At the end of the week, the teacher gave OSFO a trophy because "she improved the most of everybody this week." That was a big thrill. But there were no girls at the chess camp and just a group of slightly hyperactive boys. OSFO was itching to hang out with girls and to go swimming.

That's when she asked if she could join her best friend at a camp called Kim's Kids where they do swimming, hiking, and special trips.

"But you hate day camp," Smartmom said. "I know. But I want to try this one," OSFO replied. "Well, if I'm going to pay the money, you have to promise not to quit. You have to make an effort to like it," Smartmom said firmly. "I will," OSFO said.

Smartmom had to jump over hoops to get OSFO into Kim's Kids, which is run by a fifth grade teacher at PS 321 who really knows what he's doing. But Smartmom being Smartmom was able to do it. She begged, she pleaded, she filled out the forms and handed over a check for $475 dollars.

After the first day at Kim's Kids, Smartmom knew it was a go. "It was great!" OSFO exclaimed, still wet from the beach with swatches of sunburn under her eyes. "And my counselor is really pretty," she added. All the kids look exhausted but like they had enjoyed themselves. Smartmom knew it was the kind of camp that even a avowed "anti-camper" like OSFO could enjoy.

OUT FOR A WALK, BACK IN A JIFFY

On Friday night, Teen Spirit decided to stay up all night. Just for fun. It wasn't like he was gallavanting around Park Slope or running with a wild crowd. He was home and just decided to see what it was like to stay up all night.

Smartmom knew nothing about this until 9 a.m. the next morning. When she woke up, she found a note on the dining room table that said: Out for a walk. Back in a jiffy! It was signed Teen Spirit with a wacky smiley face.

Smartmom didn't know what to make of it at first. She looked around and was relieved to find Teen Spirt in the living room sitting on one end of the couch, OSFO on the other. "I stayed up all night..." he said openly. Smartmom held up the note. There was no need to ask any questions. "Oh, I went to the park at 6 a.m. I was swinging on a swing. I watched the dog walkers. It was very calm."

Okay. Weird. He's home safe. Thoughts bounced through Smartmom's mind.

OSFO said she was telling Teen Spirit the story of when Smartmom was a 10-year-old girl and she and BEST AND OLDEST had a secret club called S.U.A.N. or the Stay Up All Night Club. One night, they did indeed stay up all night and at 6 a.m. or so they left a note saying that they were going to Herman's Toys and Stationers on Broadway to buy some pencils. Instead, they went to a 24-hour market on Broadway called Merit Farms, bought some fried chicken, and had breakfast in Riverside Park. After their little picnic sitting on a rock in the park, they walked down Riverside Drive and saw Smartmom's Dad leaning out the window nine stories up. "Oh there's my dad," Smartmom said. "He doesn't look happy." He screamed at them to come home. His arm waved angrily.

"I knew that story before you were even born," Teen Spirit told OSFO. At which point, Smartmom chimed in: "So, I see you're a member of S.U.A.N. now?"

But really she was concerned and deeply curious about what he was really doing out in the park at six in the morning. She wasn't ready for a big speech and a reprimand, it was too early in the morning for that. She did say something like: "The park is too dangerous to be out there in the morning." To which he replied, "But it was filled with dogwalkers..."

It's a strange thing being the mother of a teen. Sometimes Smartmom just don't know what to say or do. Hepcat and SM plan to have a talk with Teen Spirit today. A long talk. There are a lot of rules that need to be set down. Rules they didn't even know they had to set down. Who knew that "Don't take walks at 6 a.m. in the morning" was something that had to be said. Teen Spirit is crossing all kinds of lines. Not in the obvious ways. But he's doing it just the same.

Book Tag from Little Light

Smartmom is coming back to Blogspot. And this seemed a good place to start. These kind of things usually drive Smartmom crazy. But for some reason, it was pretty easy this time. She just put down what came to mind. No big statements intended or attempts at self-identification. No showing off. Just what came to mind...There are some darn good books mentioned here.

Stay tuned for more tales of OSFO, Teen Spirt, Hepcat and Smartmom....

1. How many books have you owned?
Too many.

2. What was the last book you bought?
Collected Prose by Paul Auster

3. What was the last book you read? All the way through?
City of Glass by Paul Auster

4. What are FIVE books that have meant a lot to you?
Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism by Gershom G. Scholem
The Origins of Totalitarianism by Hannah Arendt
Herzog by Saul Bellow
Zen Mind, Beginners Mind by Shunryu Suzuki
New House by Marc Kaminsky


5. What books should others read:
For the Relief of Unbearable Urges by Nathan Englander
The Architect of Desire by Suzanne Lessard
The Liberated Bride by A.B. Yehoushua
Age of Iron by J.M Coetzee
Zen Mind, Beginners Mind by Shunryu Suzuki
Charlotte's Web by E.B. White
All of a Kind Family by Sydney Taylor

Tag you're it:
Udge
Red Eft
Hepcat (He can publish his here).
Mamainwaiting

GROOVY AUNT MEETS DUCKY

Groovy Aunt and Bro-in-Law flew to Moscow on Saturday. They spent two days sightseeing in Moscow and then flew to Perm, two hours by plane from Moscow. After driving 2 1/2 hours from Perm to the orphanage in the countryside, Groovy Aunt finally met Ducky (her real name is Svetlana), the little girl she is going to adopt. What a journey it's been. Here is an excerpt from an e-mail Groovy Aunt sent Smartmom:

We went to the orphanage today to meet Svetlana. It was all a blur. We drove 2 1/2 hours on country roads that look like New England - Arrived at the "Children's Home" around 1pm - We met with the doctor and a social worker. It was quite intense. She basically went over all the information we already had

And then they brought her in. She's really cute. Very calm and serene, but also alert and liked playing with the toys. Her hair is definitely red. although he doesn't have much of it at the moment. She still has those big cheeks. We gave her some of the toys we brought and she enjoyed them a lot, and seemed very engaged in play. She also liked when I read the book that you gave me. The one about daddy. I held her for a long time. Meanwhile, we were trying to take her picture for Dr. A. and fill out that Denver questioniare. It was all really crazy, but also special and unique. I felt close to her.

She sucks her thumb, by the way - and starts crying when her thumb leaves her mouth. She also has a cold and possible bronchitis. The orphanage is fairly clean, and not too depressing. It is in an old building with murals and art on the walls. We didn't see any other children. They let us be with her in the music room - Apparently, she likes music although I didn't try serenading her on the piano. Some of the toys I brought make noises which she seemd to enjoy. I didn't really get her to smile. She kind of looks at me quizzically...

The pictures for Dr. A. didn't come out right so we'll have to take them again tomorrow. Svetalan has a nice young caregiver named Oksana - very sweet and pretty girl. After about an hour, they took her for her nap and we left. We gave them all the gifts and they seemed rather overwhelmed. It was a nice feeling. When we got into the car, jeff and I slept all the way back to Perm. It has been an exciting and frightening day. My mouth got incredibly dry when entering the orphanage. It is all strange and wonderful. I definitely feel like I'm lost in translation.

The In-between Moments

The 25th anniversary of Smartmom's college graduation is coming up this June. It's hard to believe it's been 25 years since the day the great I.F. Stone, that iconoclastic journalist and critic of the Cold War, McCarthyism, and the Vietnam War, spoke to her class of 1980 at SUNY Binghamton.

She can't remember a word he said but she does remember that his commencement speech was quite long and characteristically controversial, as it elicited boos from some parents in the audience. Their reaction disgusted and embarassed her.

Smartmom's twin sister, Groovy Aunt, went to a different college so Smartmom hasn't a clue who spoke at her graduation because their graduations were on the same day. Groovy Grandma went to Smartmom's graduation, while Groovy Grandpa went to Groovy Aunt's. They were divorced so it was probably better than way.

While Smartmom is not sure if she will be attending her 25th reunion in October, Groovy Aunt is planning to go to hers. She got a questionaire in the mail that asked something like: "So, what have you been doing since graduation?"

To Smartmom, it seemed like a horrendous exercise in personal reductiveness. A friend who went to college with Groovy Aunt said she took one look at that questionaire and knew that she was incapable of filling it out. "I'm having a mid-life crisis, I wasn't going to sit there and do it," she said.

Those kind of reunion questionaries invite boasting, whether it's about your spouse, children, career, or creature comforts. You feel like you've really gotta impress all those people you went to college with: Look how great my life is. Look at my kids. Look where I live. Look at my degrees. Look at my job. Look how much money I make!

But still, it got Smartmom thinking: WHAT have I been doing since the day I.F. Stone spoke to my class in the Broome County Arena? What fabulous resume can I whip out to impress my peers, what personal biographical detail will just wow them all....

Hmmmm.

Well...

Ahhhh....

Seriously, how does one honestly characterize a quarter century of one's life? Is it all really just a list of degrees, courses, jobs, projects, addresses, and names. Are we nothing more than our resumes?

What about the interstitial life - the life that goes on between the lines of all the other stuff. The little discoveries we make about ourselves; the conversations we have with friends on the phone; the surprising moments we have with our children on the way to the store; an inside joke told over and over; the words of a wise therapist; getting proposed to at Two Boots Restaurant on Avenue A; an ephiphanic walk across the Brooklyn Bridge; stopping at the National Poultry Museum while driving through Kansas; hearing Caetano Veloso and Ornette Coleman in concert and Patti Smith at CBGB's ; a memorable meal in a small Tuscan town; Teen Spirit and OSFO's first words...

What of the life we live concurrent to the resume life. The life of our hearts, our minds, our sensations? Our attempts to just BE.

Mother and Son

Smartmom popped out of bed at 1 a.m. hearing noises, thinking there was a burglar in the apartment. She tiptoed down the hall and realized it was Teen Spirit awake in the living room, listening to music on his iPod and absentmindedly clapping his hands. He looked appropriately tired for the early morning hour.

"Hi mom. Can I have something to eat?" Teen Spirit asked.
"Make it yourself," Smartmom snapped. Happy to see him, annoyed by the question.

She sat down at her computer and her son sat down at his - he checking his favorite Internet comics, she fiddling with her blog: OTBKB.

Eventually, he cajoled her to make him a bowl of Ramen.

"My throat hurts. I had a coughing fit earlier. Didn't you hear it?"

Lately, Teen Spirit vascilates between insolent and incredibly loving. One minute sharing a confidence, the next pushing his Smartmom away. It can be quite painful.

So this Mother's Day Smartmom is filled with questions about what it means to be the mother of a teenage boy. Will Teen Spirit continue with this push/pull? Or will he want nothing to do with her soon? Stay tuned.

Smartmom suspects that this too shall pass. How often has she said that to herself in the last fourteen years? Teen Spirit has been through so many, in retrospect, short- lived phases: Waking up many times in the night as a newborn. Teething. Finger sucking. Potty training. Tantrums. Night Terrors. Homework struggles. Power stuggles.

This is, no doubt, just the latest in a long line of developmental passages. But it ain't always easy.

This past year has seen such an explosion of identity in Teen Spirit.

His new style: black jeans, dark t-shirt (no stripes anymore, he said), brown leather jacket.

His hair: Long, stringy, a little rock n' roll. In his eyes like Violet in "The Incredibles."

His artwork: Notebooks filled with sophisticated cartoons, evolving characters. working ceaselessly to teach himself shading and other drawing skills.

His music: Playing bass with his band, Cool and Unusual Punishment has become a central focus over the last six months or so.

His interests: Nieztsche and Chinese history, Family Guy and National Public Radio. He's even started reading the New York Times and the articles, not just the cartoons, in the New Yorker.

Smartmom finds herself wanting more from him: more details, more information, more conversations like the conversations they used to have all the time. She cherishes her confidential chats with OSFO about her social life, her feelings, her fears. She worries that she won't be having those with Teen Spirit anymore.

So sitting at their computers in close proximity in the dining room, Smartmom and Teen Spirit share an uneasy hour in the middle of the night. She the intruder who makes Ramen, he the i-pod listening, cartoon artist drawing with his stylus pen

He thanks Smartmom profusely for the bowl of Ramen and immediately goes back to his music, to making his art.

He has bigger fish to fry than talking to his mom. Even on the eve of Mother's Day.

Note to Readers

Smartmom has been really busy over at the new place: Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn. So she's been slow to update Third Street. She apologizes to her friends and readers and hope they'll keep on coming to Third Street anyway.

Smartmom still loves it over here at blogger. And the Third Street site really means a lot to her. Heck, this is where she "met" Udge, 32 Poems, Ellswhere, Savta Dotty, Unenchanted Rant and all her other blogger friends. And old face to face friends like Oswegatchie and Laments of the Unfinished have their blogs on Blogspot, too.

Blogger is where Smartmom discovered her inner-blogger. It's where it all began. So she has no intention of abandoning her roots, as it were.

Third Street has a very different feeling from OTBKB. It's Smartmom's personal place to really vent and share what she feels, what she sees, what she observes about this life.

All of this is Smartmom's way of saying: Keep on reading while things are in transition and Smartmom finds the time to spend some time here. At this point, she is mostly re-working posts from OTBKB - but that's just for the time being.

So keep visiting: it would mean a lot to her. It really, really would.

See below for a bunch of new posts...

The House That Jonathan Bought

Smartmom has actually been inside the house. The house that authors Jonathan Safran Foer and Nicole Krauss are buying for $6.75 million. It was on the Park Slope House Tour years and years ago. As everyone knows, those house tours are a form of real estate porn. You get to be a voyeur, to see what it looks like inside those houses you walk by day after day. Fantasies abound as you pass. Ah the envy, the longing, the sense that such wonderful lives are lived beyond the stoops of those brownstone and limestone glories.

It's a nice house the house they're buying. And not only that: the yard goes from Second Street all the way to Third Street. That's right. It includes the empty lot you pass when you're walking to Prospect Park on Third Street (close to PPW). The current owners keep their SUV in the vacant garden lot and they have a fancy wood playground set there. Every time Smartmom and OSFO walk by, OSFO invariably says: "I really, really want to try that playground one day. There's no-one ever in there." And then I have to explain that it is not a public playground but a private yard for a boy and a girl who never use their fantastic playground equipment.

The thought just baffles OSFO's mind. Smartmom figures that they're at their Hamptons beach house most weekends so they just don't have the time to use that glorioius playground that OSFO wants to try.

The house on Second Street that the Foer-Krauss' are buying is super deluxe; a to-die for brownstone. The decor, however, is ugly, ugly ugly. Overdone wall treatments, expensive appliances, bad art. Way too much money combined with way too little taste. That was Smartmom's feeling, anyway. But the house has what you call great bones. Really fantastic bones, she would say and lots of historic detail. Smartmom would be MORE than happy to live there. And so would you.

But that yard. It's a yard where a house might be. It is so super duper luxurious to have all that space. In Brooklyn. What a garden it could be. What flowers. Trees.

Smartmom is kind of excited about Jonathan and Nicole moving there. I bet they're going to do wonderful things to that house; big, comfortable writing rooms, a library or two with shabby chic sofas, no doubt. A voluptuous living room, an inviting kitchen with a view of their gigantic backyard.

She's glad that place is going to a couple of talented writers - maybe they'll even use their gigundo backyard. It'll be great for daydreaming, star gazing the Brooklyn sky, and hours and hours spent reading on a hammock.

That's what Smartmom would do.

Brooklyn Backlash

As she usually does, Smartmom read with interest Bob Morris' weekly column in the Style section of the New York Times: "The Age of Dissonance." This week's really hit home. Titled, "No Sleep Till Brooklyn" he opened with the revelation that local literary luminary (a dime a dozen around here) just sold one Park Slope House for more than $3 million and bought another one for $6.75 million.

"Maybe Brooklyn can finally stop the need to promote itself as some kind of hip equal to Manhattan. Here is a loaded celebrity author who could afford to buy anywhere - who doesn't have children who would need extra bedrooms and a yard - and he has chosen Brooklyn over Manhattan."

He goes on to say: "Paying $6.75 million to live a half-hour subway ride from Greenwich Village. That tells the world that you're not an outskirt. You're a mecca."

At this point in her reading, Smartmom's blood pressure is rising. And the quote from Marcellus Hall, the illustrator of the New Yorker cover that got Marty Markowitz schvitzing all over the letters from readers page of that tony publication, really pissed h er off: "It's all just insecurity."

Who says that Brooklynites would rather be living in Manhattan? Smartmom is born and bred Manhattanite - grew up on Riverside Drive no less and she chose to be here. Granted, she was priced out of Manhattan back in 1991 - but that's besides the point. She didn't know better. She thought she was settling when she was actually doing something better. And that doesn't come from insecurity.

Every choice comes with a price. Sure, Brooklyn is half-hour away from the village, forty-five minutes to Chelsea, and an hour door-to-door to the Upper West Side. But so what?

As Morris says, Brooklyn has become a world-class mecca, a destination not a place to escape from (as it was for Groovy Grandma's generation). She always said, "Growing up in Brooklyn makes you an over achiever. You have to cross the bridge."

Teen Spirit and OSFO aren't itching to escape from Brooklyn the way Groovy Aunt's generation was. They love it here and they know it has a great deal to offer. They don't feel gipped that they're not in Manhattan. They know they're living in one of the great communities in America.

And that doesn't come from insecurity, Marcellus Hall! That comes from a wholehearted appreciation of a really special place.

Real Estate Blues

It keeps coming up again and again. In conversations on Seventh Avenue, on the radio, in the local media. It's definititely on Smartmom's mind: the reality that New York City has become a rich person's town. If you don't make a gazillion dollars a year, you can't live here anymore. Well, you can live here - but you can't buy a house or an apartment where you wanna be. Those who have chosen career paths far away from Wall Street - in the arts or in the non-profit sector - are being squeezed out of this city.

Smartmom finds herself feeling marginalized even in her own neighborhood where real estate is on everyone's lips. It hurts to have been one of the early settlers in Park Slope and to feel like there's no place left for me.

Back in '91, when Smartmom moved here, she and Hepcat were priced out of Manhattan. She , for one, had to be dragged kicking and screaming to their first apartment on Fifth Street. You see, they needed three bedrooms because they had a new baby, a boy who is now nearly 14 years old. Their needs exceeded what they could afford and find on the other side of the river. They didn't buy because they weren't even sure if they were going to like it here. It was Brooklyn afterall.

But Brooklyn enchanted. The red brick, the brownstone, the afternoon light on the dogwood-lined streets really struck a chord with me. Smartmom fell in love with the scale of the neighborhood, its architectural integrity, its beauty.

So here they are all these years later: enthusiastic members of this community. They've had their financial ups and downs and downs but have still managed to make a satifactory life for ourselves. OSOF and Teen Spirit are in the local public schools, we're card-carrying members of the Park Slope Food Coop, and they buy most of their books at the Community Bookstore.

But times are a-changing here: Brooklyn is, once again, in transition. Only rich refugees from Manhattan can afford to buy a gorgeous limestone, or fill all those new condos along Fourth Avenue. Everything is up for grabs: Sunset Park, the Atlantic Rail Yards, Kensington, Fourth Avenue, that crazy garage on First Street and Fifth, the Gowanus. Everything that made this neighborhood special is now just a real estate developer's dream. It's a land grab out there and everyone's got a price, an offer they can't refuse.

Smartmom wishes she could say that they'd had the foresight to invest. Wish they'd had good real estate karma. But they don't and I guess it wasn't meant to be. And that makes her sad...

Smartmom never thought she'd say it, let alone think it: but even she, diehard New Yorker born and bred that she is, may be getting fed up with this town. Even Smartmom is losing her taste for a city that's built on greed.

All Along I Had What I Needed

After a weekend spent channeling Isadora Duncan, swimming like a dophin and yelping like a whale at a Berkshires retreat called "Coming Home to Your Heart," Smartmom took away a simple message

"All along I had what I needed. It was enough."

These words came out of her almost unconsciously as she recorded her thoughts on paper after waking from a dream. She wrote about the sense of scarcity that she feels in her life; it's a primal feeling she's carried with her for years. But it also connects to her fear of not being able provide for herself and her family - now and in the future. A common fear many of hold at this stage of life.

The anxiety, the sense that there isn't enough - money, time, space, talent, love, things, attention, goodness, nurturing. In so many ways she focuses on what she doesn't have.

Back in Brooklyn, Smartmom has been thinking about those words over and over. It's become her mantra as she goes about her business in the Slope - walking to the office, to the school, to meetings, to the gym, to the Park. What does it mean really? Or to be more exact: how many things does it mean?

"All along I had what I needed. It was enough."

This morning in the shower, Smartmom felt some of the fortifying solitude she felt during the silent breakfasts in the Berkshires. A revelation came to her: she could wake up just 15 minutes earlier each morning and be alone, shower luxuriously and meditate. She has the time that she needs. She just needs to use it.

On leaving for school with OSFO this morning, Smartmom couldn't find her keys. The usual panic set in. And no, they were not on the handy key hook that's right by the door. An hour later a neighbor called, "I have some keys, they may belong to you..." They were in her apartment all along: she'd left them on the stoop. All along she had what she needed...

And now, facing a congested day, Smartmom some calls, moved some appointments around and has made it possible to get done all the things that need to get done today.

"All along I had what I needed. It was enough."

Smartmom is looking forward to discovering all the things that means.

Smartmom escaped Park Slope for the weekend and everyone seems to have survived in her absence. Hepcat was telling those who asked that she was off being a goddess, dancing in a barn

Not far from the truth. But not quite.

Suffice it say, it was a "mindful" weekend with plenty of rest, quiet, inspiration and the good company of a small group of interesting women. It was, to say the least, fortifying.

Smartmom can't pinpoint what she appreciated most about her retreat in the Berkshires. But boy did she liked those "silent breakfasts."

Smartmom slept in a room with rustic, antique furniture in the book-filled Race Brook Lodge, a 200 year old post and beam barn at the base of the Taconic Mountain range. She woke up with no one waking her, no sleeping child beside her, nothing to do for anyone else but her.

Each morning, Smartmom got to spend an hour or so simply getting ready for her day: showering, meditating, writing down my dreams, thoughtfully putting on her clothes, brushing her hair...

She found that in the quiet, she could easily remember her dreams, and spend time contemplating them. Sometimes it took 20 minutes or more, but details came back to her: little by little voices and images came to consciousness as she quietly began her day.

At 8 a.m., she went downstairs to the sunny breakfast room. Everyone in her group was quiet, sitting at tables reading, writing, eating and drinking coffee or tea alone. There was delicious food to choose from: fresh fruit salad, homemade muffins, bagels, eggs, cheeses, cereals, muesli, orange juice, cranberry juice, water, Stonybrook yogurt - you name it.

Smartmom selected her breakfast with great care, trying a little bit of many things and sat by her self, smiling, nodding hello to her fellow retreaters as they came into the room.

The silence was anything but awkward. It was required, which made it easy, so easy. It seemed completely natural and such a soothing way to begin.

At 9 a.m. the retreaters walked up to the barn, a huge open space with enormous windows framing the woodsy view, the brook outside. Overhead, there were huge white Japanese lanterns. No longer silent, some talked, some stretched, some read or wrote in their journals.

When it came time for the dance to begin, they got into a circle, put their right hand over left, held hands with those to either side and waitied for the music to begin.

And then, the group of ten women danced a simple Greek dance to the music of Nina Masouri - a soulful song with a heart wrenchingly beautiful melody.

Even this morning, back in Brooklyn, Smartmom can't get that song out of her head, or the simple steps out of her body. Nor would she want to.

Smartmom would love to try the silent breakfast approach around here. And a simple Greek dance before everyone goes out the door would be great way to begin their hectic days. But somehow, she doesn't think it's gonna work. Just don't think so...

Sleeping Teens

Three teenage boys slept in Smartmom's living room on Sunday morning. God knows what time they actually fell asleep. One was sleeping on the couch, one in a sleeping bag on the floor, and Teen Spirit was squeezed into the red club chair, his legs hanging over the side, covered in his favorite blue comforter.

They were snoring, drooling, generally lost in sleep.

Smartmom went to bed around 11 p.m. and they were, of course, awake. She woke up a few hours later, maybe 1:30 a.m., and they were still up. She said something like, "You guys should really think about going to sleep. You must be tired." One of them, a tall redhead said, "We're teenagers, we never get tired." Red was listening to thrash metal music on an iBook, the other boy (Best Buddy) was noodling on an unplugged electric guitar, and Teen Spirit was reading a Japanese pulp classic called, "Battle Royale," which, he explained, is about a class of junior high school students who are taken to a deserted island, provided with arms and forced to kill one another.

The guys were together all day. They're in a band called "Cool and Unusual Punishment" and they were recording some songs onto Best Buddy's iBook over at Bed his apartment. They were particularly excited about a self-penned, acapella tune called: "Onomatopoeia."

Smartmom always knows when Teen Spirit wants a favor when he says, "Hi Mom," in a really cute English accent. When he called at 10 p.m. last night asking if his two friends could sleep over in the living room (because Teen Spirit's bedroom is too small for sleepovers), she didn't say no. "Why are you letting them sleep in the living room?" Hepcat screamed when he got home from a late night shopping trip. "I was planning on doing a lot of work in there." But what was done was done. It was a good opportunity for Hepcat to get a good night's rest for a chance.

Besides, the boys look so innocent when they're sleeping.

Dried Flowers

There's a woman on Smartmom's block who lost her husband last September. A small, stocky woman, she waddles a bit as she walks up Third Street. And she  looks like the loneliest person in the world.

Her husband was much taller than she, handsome, with a full white beard. Barrel chested, he always looked so robust. Smartmom was surprised one day when she saw him coming out of a yellow cab looking so weak, his wife had to help him out of the cab and over to their stoop. At first Smartmom thought the man might be his father. He looked exactly like her husband just much, much older.

Smartmom mentioned this to Hepcat and he said he knew something was wrong. He'd seen him talking to someone about selling the BMW motorcycle he kept in the front cement yard of their building. "That bike meant the world to him. I thought it was strange that he was selling it," Hepcat said.

They learned that he had cancer soon after from neighbors on the block. One day SM saw two of his sons sitting on the bench in their yard and somehow she knew.

Smartmom never knew him at all. She only observed his comings and goings on Third Street. But she liked him: the way he looked, the way he talked to his adult children, his friendly, deep-voiced hellos, the closeness he emanated with his wife. Smartmom guessed, in that way you conjecture about neighbors,  that they were longtime Park Slopers, progressives, political-types. Through their front window, there was evidence of a former hippie life - Indian-print fabric, abstract paintings, cermaics, stained glass. To Smartmom it brought to mind: civil rights, New York in the 1970's, "We Shall Overcome." 

Infused with grief, his wife looks lost, aimless, sad all the time now. She still smiles at Smartmom on Third Street. But they've never been in the habit to stop and talk. Besides Smartmom doesn't know what to say. Clearly, this woman is trying to find her bearings in a world without her bearded man. The other day Smartmom noticed a vase of dried out roses in her window.

It made her sad just to see them there.

Balabusta

It never ceases to amaze Smartmom how very connective the Internet is. She has "met" so many people through this blog.

Just today a woman from Chicago wrote to say that she'd like to use SM's "balabusta" poem as part of a wedding shower gift. She also wanted to know if SM had any other balabusta poems.

SM is delighted that this woman, a 67-year-old former English teacher at the University of Wyoming and Iowa State University, wants to use SM's poem as part of an elaborate shower gift she is giving to a colleague's daughter. SM is also incredibly impressed that she asked in the first place. That seemed pretty classy.

And no, SM doesn't have any more balabusta poems.

Balabusta is a Yiddish word that means terrific homemaker or super-efficient housewife. There's an exclamation in American Jewish that goes: "such a balabusta you are." It's something you would say after a wonderful and effortful meal. Or when admiring an immaculate apartment. 

SM also wondered how exactly this woman from Chicago found the poem in the first place - it appears on the Internet in two places, but still. So SM googled "Balabusta" but there was no link to it there.

Hepcat also known as Mr. Knowledgeable, suggested SM try "Balabusta Poetry" and lo and behold - there it was, number 2 on the google roster, which directs surfers to the Poetry Superhighway, where the poem was published in January 2005.

This Chicago woman and SM have exchanged a flurry of e-mails. She sounds very nice. She even asked about Hepcat's photography: "we are always looking for new talent for our publications," (she now works in public affairs, communications and fundraising for an environmental organization ).

Ooooh, SM thought, maybe something more will come of this connection. So she sent her a link to No Words_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford because, as she said in her last post: "God works in mysterious ways."

Here is the poem that the woman from Chicago admired.

Yiddishe Mama

Such a balabusta
I am
bringing this tin
of homemade cookies

More fodder for
your extravagant elucidations
your theoretical be-bop

Chewing them slow
you savor the X-ray view
swallowing the id of me

Flavorful, rich
Freudian frosting
Purveyor of
phantasmic erogeny
and childhood suffering

I whipped up these
mnemonics of small
sweet longing
in my hot basement kitchen

For your plasir
and your analysis, of course

Sugar on your lips
you lean forward
eyes shut tight
receptor of
psychoanalytic radio signals

and riff radiantly on my
unconscious confections

Take them for what they are

my cookies
are yours

Siblings-R-Us

Smartmom senses that her piece, "How the Other Half Lives" really hit a nerve. And she thought she was the only one with sibling issues. Hah.

It's nice to know (or sad to admit) that others have this kind of domestic rivalry with their siblings.

As rich as. As neat as. As talented as. As loved as... These are the questions that siblings grapple with endlessly.

It's the way of the world and unfortunately, sibling rivalry is a fact of life. Siblings compare themselves to each other in so many ways throughout their lives. Birth order and sibling competition can define people.

As babies - siblings fight over their parents love. As they grow older they measure, judge or elevate themselves based on the accomplishments of their siblings.

Here's what some of the readers of Third Street had to say:

From Udge:
"That sibling rivalry is quite a thing, isn't it? Watching my father and his brothers suggests that it nevers stops.

My sister's house is in a similar introspection-inducing relation to mine as MIW to yours: she has the knack of making a place that's truly "homey", whereas I just live somewhere. It is a style to which I could gladly aspire, but I am too messy to live it as she does, and I suspect that the non-mess is a large part of the success. I'll have to work on it."

From Red Eft:
I'm more of a HodgePodge Lodge sort myself. It's cozy.

From Little Light:
"It's funny how we all perceive what others have differently. My thought was that Mamainwaiting has all new things because they just got married and moved into that apartment. And of course, it's easier to keep a house cleaned with no children in it.

I think my situation is beyond comparing - my sister lives in a big, beautiful house in Iowa - I live in a 250 sq. foot studio in Manhattan - c'est la vie."

Even Groovy Aunt, pleased as she was to see a photo of her immaculate bedroom on the blog, shared her thoughts after reading Smartmom's piece.

"I enjoyed reading your impressions of our apartment and how we live - I don't think Bro-in-Law's closet is alphabetized, but I guess it might as well be ... I'm glad you enjoyed your stay and were also able to appreciate that there is no place like your own home."

Siblings are us. The only way to avoid these issues is to be an only child. And I'm afraid it's a little to late for that now. A little too late.

Living on the Street

Smartmom knows it's spring on Third Street when she sees her neighbor's faces for the first time in months. Last night before sunset, Third Streeters were out in force, sitting on the steps in front of their buildings, watching the kids play, seeing who was walking down the street.

And chit chatting.

On Third, Smartmom and her neighbors spend much of the warm months out on the street. The 8-unit limestone apartment buildings, of which there are ten or more, have these large, gated front yards that are perfect for hanging out.

Unlike those with brownstones, there are no backyards on Third Street, so Third Streeters do their outdoor sitting, eating, lounging, reading, watching our children play in plain sight. This adds a pleasant social element to their outdoor recreation. There's lots of spirited talking over the fence at passersbys. "Nice bike," someone might say to a neighbor's kid. Or "Is it possible that so and so is going to college. When we moved here he was just six."

On summer weekends, the people in Smartmom's building bring out canvas umbrella chairs, green plastic turtle-shaped pools and barbecues: they do a great imitation of suburbanites. They even have impromptu building-wide pot-luck barbecues, which include marshmallow roasts for the kids and lots of beer and wine. For the grown-ups.

"Anyone up for a barbecue?" is all it takes to motivate Smartmom's neighbors to check what's in the fridge and cook dinner outside.

For the next few days it'll be like old home week. If the weather stays warm, Smartmom and her street-neighbors will shoot the breeze with friends they haven't shot breezes with in ages due to cold weather and rain. Everyone will be in a slowed down, "isn't this a lovely day," kind of mood and they'll hear the latest news, all the Third Street gossip.

And they'll be out-of-doors for a change, back to living their lives out on the street near the window boxes and the garbage pails.

How the Other Half Lives

Now Smartmom knows how the other half lives. Literally. Her other half. While their friends from Kingston slept in their apartment on Third Street, the Smartmom clan slept at her twin sister's a few blocks a way.

Groovy Aunt and Bro-in-Law, who were away for the weekend, have an immaculate place - no clutter, no mess. And everything is brand new - coffeemaker, televisions, stainless steel refrigerator, granite counters. It helps that they don't have kids yet (they're adopting a little girl from Russia in a few months) because they're both neatniks and everything has to be just so.

Much as Smartmom would love to live this way, it just doesn't seem possible in her apartment, with Hepcat and Teen Spirit and OSFO. Their pad is chock full of things - clothing, books, computer equipment, school papers, toys. They're four people with lots of combined interests, activities and STUFF.

Smartmom would be lying if she said she wasn't jealous of the way Groovy Aunt lives. It's so calming to be there. There's nothing to distract you from the lovely colored walls, the Arts and Crafts pottery, the framed prints on the wall, the view of Prospect Park out their window.

In this regard, Smartmom and Groovy Aunt more different. Or maybe they just made different choices. Groovy Aunt has always been the more visual one. Even in elementary school - she was the artist and Smartmom the musician (violin and later guitar) Now Groovy Aunt is in the film biz and Smartmom is writer. They've always staked out different areas to throw ourselves into. It was a coping strategy, a way not to step on each other's toes.

Their husbands are quite different, too. Hepcat is a lovable packrat with an inability to part with even the most mundane piece of paper. He collects cameras and computer equipment, books, and strange things like Greek diner coffee cups.

Smartmom's brother-in-law is compulsively neat. His closet says it all: suits, shirts, pants and ties are arranged in something akin to alphabetical order. He has not one, but two dressers full of perfectly folded clothing, and his shoes are lined up on the closet floor.

Suffice it to say, Hepcat has an very different approach to things.

Serenely elegant, Groovy Aunt and Bro-in-Law have a sumptuous brown leather couch, an entertainment armoire, built-in bookcases, a dining room set - it truly could be featured in a magazine. It's that nice.

To be honest, Smartmom's place is a little more rococo, decorated as it is with antique furniture handed down or found on the street. There are a few items, like the green leather sofa from Ikea, and the Noguchi coffee table, that they actually picked out and bought. It's a hodge-podge at best, a well-intended one, but a hodge-podge just the same.

So Smartmom spent the weekend comparing herself to Groovy Aunt; a natural thing for siblings to do. But it's not really all that fun as it bring up subtle shades of sibling rivalry. It wouldn't be that hard to redecorate, she kept thinking, to throw things away and organize what we have...

So despite the calming decor and the world's most comfortable bed, Smartmom didn't sleep that well at Groovy Aunts. The traffic noise on Prospect Park West and the rain on their bedroom air conditioner had her up at one-hour intervals. It's always strange sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, with unfamiliar noises.

Smartmom had to conclude that even if it's not quite right, there's no place like home. Simply because it belongs to you.

Visiting Brooklyn

Red Eft, Dadu and the family came down from Kingston for the weekend. They used to live in Park Slope so it's always nostalgic for them to revisit the neighborhood where they spent the first few years of their children's lives.

They moved almost exactly three years ago. It was in April and their friends gathered at Ozzies to say a noisy farewell just hours before they drove off in their overstuffed blue Volvo.

Over time, they created a new life for themselves in a yellow Victorian house on a grand, tree-lined street in a small upstate city.

It wasn't easy at first. They renovated their house and Dadu, a lifetime non-driver, had to learn how to drive. But eventually, they settled in and made friends through the strong homeschooling network in Ulster County, and the local Unitarian Church.

The kids thrived with a huge backyard and ample space for creative activities and imaginary play.  There's nothing like a house with two stairways to make a childhood fun, particularly for games of Hide and Seek.

Still, it's sad to have them so far away. And in some ways, they are still Brooklynites at heart. They miss the Food Coop, the Botanic Gardens, the street life, and the friends they made here when their children were small. The kids reconnect almost instantly. It's a raucous time - they seem to bring out the LOUD in each other.

As for the adults, the distance seems to have intensified the friendship and proved to  them all that it wasn't just being neighbors that pulled them together as friends.

Tomorrow they'll  do all their favorite Brooklyn things: lunch at the Taqueria, the Carousel in Prospect Park, First Night at the Brooklyn Museum, a visit with friends from pre-school, and a walk down Seventh Avenue just to see who they run into.

On Sunday, they'll go back up to Kingston restored by their weekend in Brooklyn. Filled up with the things that they miss the most, they'll return to the sane, non-Brooklyn life they've created in the new place they call home.

Waiting for Sonia

Once again, Groovy Aunt writes about what she is feeling on the long, windy road to adopting Sonia in Russia. My heart goes out to her: she has no idea what to expect and a deep longing to be with her adopted girl.

This adoption process has been far more stressful than I ever imagined. I didn't spend a whole lot of time deciding whether to adopt: my infertility treatments had failed and I was very, very sad. The whole experience had been very intense with many ups and downs - moments of hope followed by crashing disappointment and dispair. What I did know at the end of it was that I still wanted to be a mom and to create a family.

So adoption seemed like the logical next step. I knew there were many risks, but I did what I often do - I closed my eyes and dove in.

So here we are a little over a year later waiting to meet our Russian baby, Sonia. We have her photograph, which was taken when she was 3 months old. Now she is 8 months old. When we see her, she will look very different than she looks in her picture. I have no idea what to expect.

I met a nice woman who told me that she felt attached to her adopted daughter from the Ukraine the moment they met. And the little girl, whose name is Elana, almost immediately began to hang onto her and hasn't let go two years later.

There's lots to know about life in the orphanage. The children don't necessarily drink milk. And they eat very strange foods like fish soup every day. When we get Sonia, we'll have to be very sensitive to her diet and not introduce foods that she may not be used to like sugar or milk. Some of the childrens' eyes are very sensitive because they are not taken outside very often; Sonia may need to wear sunglasses when we go out to Prospect Park.

The woman also suggested that we introduce Sonia to Russian speaking people as a way to gage her orphanage experience. If she enjoys "talking" to the Russians, it means that she has fond memories of her time in the orphanage - if she recoils, then, perhaps, she does not. She also said we should start looking for a speech therapist because Sonia will most likely need one.

So there are a lot of things to think about. She also said that one of the first things we will probably do at the orphanage will be to read to Sonia because it helps the bonding process. She also said her daughter is so attached to her now it makes her laugh to think about all her worries about Attachment Disorder.

So what did I do? I went to Barnes & Noble and bought "Good night Moon" and "Pat the Bunny". I also bought some developmentally positive rattles and toys. I couldn't resist a cute pair of little, pink shoes called Robeez. These are the small things that are helping me prepare to be a mom - to assuage my worries and to imagine my new life.

Labor of Poetry

Smartmom edits Pandamonium, PS 321's poetry magazine, and it's mostly a labor of love. But it's also a bucket-load of work. Since 2001, she's headed up the team of parents who type, design, scan, proof read, edit and fundraise for the 70-page magazine, which features one poem from every child at the school; 1300 poems in all. It's nothing if not inclusive and that's what she loves most about it.

From pre-K to fifth grade, there's a wide range of subject matter, quality, and style. You can learn a little bit about the teachers through the poems their students write. Some classes produce lots of poems about "rain going pitter pat." Other teachers help kids dig deep for content and forms of expression.

There are so many interesting poems, it's hard to pick a few to mention here. Smartmom enjoyed a vivid poem about an asthma attack, a humorous piece about a boy not wanting to "practice, practice, practice" his horn, a sad poem about the divorce of a girl's parents, and one called: "When Alliteration Hits Me:"

When Alliteration hits me / I/ Marvel at Monkeys maliciously/Mashing Mangos making/Metropolitan Museum Mummies/Melancholy/When Aliteration hits me...

The end of March is always crunch time for Smartmom. She's been holed up in her office for the last five days doing a final proofing before sending the file to the printer. She feels like she's going blurry-eyed making sure that students' names are spelled correctly and that there are no typos or punctuation errors.

Much as she can't wait for this laborious task to be finished, she does enjoy these long days spent sitting on the floor in her office, reading the poetry of children. It is a rare chance to get inside their heads and find out what makes them tick. Like this excerpt from a poem by a fourth grader:

Me

Violet purple
sleeping flamingo pink
pony-tailed brown hair
dirty sand brown eyes

My hometown Brooklyn
Florida, I come from
Jamaica, I come from
Barbados, I come from
Africa, I come from
but love is what I have

Rainbow

Hepcat's aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer not long ago. A school teacher in Northern California, she is a bright, shining person full of life and love. A widow since the early 1980's, she is no stranger to life's difficulties. But she is a great person with a great disposition, two loving children and three beautiful grandchildren.

Hepcat's Aunt and Smartmom have always had a special connection. They see each other no more than once or twice a year depending on the frequency of family events, celebrations, and meetings when Smartmom is out in California. She visited New York City over 14 years ago and they had fun painting the town together.

Smartmom and Hepcat's Aunt have been e-mailing eachother quite a bit of late. Just yesterday she sent Smartmom this missive.

"God sent me a rainbow this morning! Just after daybreak, as I walked (for the first time in a long time) with my dear friend, Sally, we saw a trace of a rainbow, down low in the west. Then, suddenly, arched across the WHOLE SKY, we were looking at the most magnificent, incredible, awesome rainbow either of us has ever seen....all 180 degrees of it.....breathtakingly brilliant.........and I knew right then that this was MY rainbow - my own personal, private rainbow - filled with God's glorious promise of hope. I'll carry that hope in the memory of my rainbow with me in the coming months...along with my deep gratitude for each of you and your love, and your prayers and the little piece of you that I carry along with me on this journey."

In her e-mail reply, Smartmom asked for her latest cancer news and Hepcat's Aunt sent this:

"I got news last Thursday that I didn't like very much. : ).. I must have two rounds of chemotherapy before I have radiation...so I will likely be in treatment from now through summer. I will lose hair in the first round, fingernails in the second round...I will try to keep working through it all.......but of course, one just doesn't know how one is going to tolerate any of this!! In the meantime, I am hanging on to my rainbow!!!"

In addition to Hepcat's aunt, two other friends of Smartmom were recently diagnosed with breast cancer. Both have now completed their treatment and are moving forward with their lives. One of them kept working right through the treatments and had a wig made that looks exactly like her own hair. In characteristic fashion, she learned everything there was to know about the disease and the treatments that exist. And she made choices based on knowledge and the intuitive trust she felt for certain practitioners. She said the chemo went much better than expected and that the new anti-nausea drugs are amazing.

The other friend took to her bed for the duration of the treatments: she figured that she needed to take good care of herself. A natural redhead, with long, lustrous hair, she had two or three wigs made in styles and colors she thought might be fun. One day she wore a short blonde wig to pick up her daughter at school. She swears no one said a thing.

All of these women are heroes to Smartmom. They are going through what all women fear, with courage and the zig zag of emotions one might expect. Smartmom has so much respect for Hepcat's aunt and her rainbow. Smartmom knows that what she is facing isn't easy. But with karma like that, Hepcat's Aunt is sure to make it through with her wonderful spirit intact.

Ghosts

There are ghosts around here. And Smartmom isn't talking about the spooky kind. They're friendly ghosts, like Caspar: ghosts of friends who have moved away from Park Slope for greener pastures elsewhere.

These friends have left behind pieces of of themselves that appear from time to time when she walks past their apartments or the well-worn spots on Seventh Avenue where they used to stand and talk.

Some of these ghosts are good friends, people she tries to stay in touch with. Friends who, regardless of the fact that they have abandoned her for, say, a huge Victorian in Rockland County, she continues to love.

Smartmom's friends from across the street fall into this category. They're here but they're not here. She checks their window everytime she leaves the building. What she is checking for is anyone's guess. Now that it's spring she half expects to see her friend weeding her flower boxes, or pulling her shopping cart chock full of Food Coop bounty.

And then there are the friends who up and left Smartmom for a big Victorian in Upstate New York. She still dials 718 when she calls them on the phone. Yesterday she addressed a postcard to them and wrote Brooklyn, New York instead of...

There's also the family downstairs, whose kids were best friends with hers. "I'm going down to Eddie's," was Teen Spirit's constant refrain until the day Eddie moved away. Eddie and his sister were like family, as were their two younger siblings, and their parents. Even if they were wildly different in their approaches to things, the two families found common ground on Third Street.

This block is also full of the ghosts of people that she never got to know but still wonders about: the single mother with the adopted son from Viet Nam, the woman who writes T.V shows for PBS and her husband and son, the two moms with the two kids who moved to Montclair, the family from Yemen with the spunky daughter (does she wear a veil now that she's grown up?). And there are more. Plenty more. And they're all still here in their way.

It's been hard to figure out how to be friends with the friends who have moved away. it takes time, a year or more, to accept that their ghostly apparitions are just that, and that they're NOT coming back to the Slope. Denial can be deep.

The next step is learning how to be friends at a distance. Phone calls, addresses and email must be memorized. New conversational topics must be substituted for the old standbys: local real estate, 321 teachers, Coop gripes, and Third Street gossip. The ease of shouting up to a window Brooklyn-style, must be replaced with the effort of picking up the phone

But it can be done. First come the good-byes. Then the ghosts. And then, after a very long time, the acceptance that they're no-longer in their too-small apartment in Brooklyn, but a suburb or town that's really not that far away.

Disappointment

Things don't always turn out the way you want them too. And Smartmom has learned that lesson again and again.

Needless to say, Teen Spirit didn't get into the high school of his choice. It looks like he may be going to private school. He really liked the place - the alma mater of his beloved Groovy Aunt. This could be a blessing in disguise.

Smartmom has a strange personality combine: she has bad luck AND an incredibly optimistic outlook. It's really a survival mechanism. Maybe she's had it all her life. Things aren't that great but they have to get better.

Which isn't to say that she doesn't do her share of self-pitying rants and tears. Because she does. A lot. And she had a few good cries yesterday (not in front of Teen Spirit, of course) because she was disappointed by the outcome AND because she felt that she had, in some way, disappointed her son.

Like many a mom, she took it on herself: the blame, the sense that it was fundamentally HER fault that Teen Spirit didn't get into the high school of his choice.

THE JUDGE was around from the moment Hepcat read the letter to Smartmom over the phone. Nastiness oozed from his tongue: "What did you expect, Not-so-Smartmom? You're not an A-list kind of person and neither is he." (Ooh that hurt, is it any wonder she despises THE JUDGE?)

SHOULDA WOULDA COULDA, appeared too and chimed in with: "You coulda been more savvy, shoulda found an "in", coulda been more strategic, shoulda prepped him more."

And wouldn't you know it, MS. MEAUREMENT stopped by too - "So and so had better grades, so and so had better scores, so and so looks better on paper. And so and so GOT IN."

Smartmom let them follow her around for hours. She was listless, tired, without the energy to force them away.

Fortunately, she began to feel her inner-optimism emerge during her late-afternoon workout with her wonderful physical trainer. Lifting weights made her feel strong and powerful, like the fighter she is. ("I'll drop these ten pound weights on you, JUDGE, MS. MEASUREMENT, SHOULDA WOULDA COULDA. Shoo Shoo. I'll punch you all in the head.)

Her inner-optimism came in strong after two, count 'em, two Margaritas at the Miracle Grill with Groovy Aunt. In her semi-drunken state, it dawned on her that she knew Teen Spirit's top choice was a long shot; she'd prepared herself for months for the eventuality that he might not get it. It's a de-humanizing system, she reasoned, 5000 kids applied to the school he wanted to go to. 5000 little universes reduced to cold, hard statistics.

So what was it that was making her feel so sad, so put down, so ANGRY.

The power that the piece of paper had to make her feel like a failure. The power that the piece of paper had to make her feel like her son was a failure. The power that the piece of paper had to make her feel like moving out of the city and living in a trailer in California. The power that the piece of paper had...

She ripped it up. Right there. And set in on fire in the ashtray.

Not really. Resaurants don't have ashtrays anymore. But she did burn it. In her head She really did. She burned it. In her head.

Mean Girls

Second grade girls can be pretty mean. What they call Grade Recess over at OSFO's elementary school might just as well be called "Lord of the Flies."

Is it diabolical or just developmental?

OSFO has been coming home with stories that would make your skin curl. And she's no innocent victim. But Smartomom worries that she is being manipulated into mean girl behavior by alpha girls that don't seem to know better.

OSFO seems a bit confused by it all. "She makes me be mean to people I actually like," says OSFO about another girl who seems to be the center of the action. "I really hate her but I also want to play with her..." OSFO adds, obviously confused by the attraction and repulsion she feels toward the mean girl. It's a double bind.

Smartmom is struggling to figure out what to do. She's talked to her teacher - who says that she's going to have a discussion about it in class. And she's talked to other parents who have girls in the second grade. One mother, who has an older girl as well, has been through it before and says that you have to do a lot of work at home to counteract what going on. You can't necessarily change the world of the playground but you can instill moral and ethical thinking in your child.

One or two moms have tried to speak to the mother of the most alpha girl of all but the mother apparently doesn't want to get involved. Apparently she got quite exasperated and said, "Leave me out of this," she told one mom. "Let them figure it out for themselves."

While that is often Smartmom's attitude about more benign childhood squabbles, this seems to be a problem of a different magnitude. What goes on in that playground is settting the groundwork for emotional issues that could last a lifetime.

This is Smartmom's first exposure to the world of mean girls. Teen Spirit never had problems like this at the playground. He had other problems but nothing quite this scary (though he might disagree). Smartmom better read the books, see the movie, do a little homework. Time for a little consciousness raising for mom and daughter. You can't start too early, she says. Can't start too soon.

Blue Sneakers

As Smartmom put on her sneakers this morning, preparing to take another run, she took a long, hard look at those well-worn shoes. They are like old friends those blue and white nylon Sauconys with the small hole in the right toe and the frayed thread around the edges.

Those sneakers and Smartmom have been through a lot together. And they look it. Dirty, worn down, worn through, they've pounded pavement in the snow, the ice, the mud, and the grass. They've been with her on snowy nights in Prospect Park when snowflakes the size of ping pong balls covered Smartmom's wool hat, and nylon jacket. They were with her when she ran the Cherry Tree 10-mile race and the 11-mile practice a few weeks ago. And they were with her again, in the early ocean light on the Boardwalk, the amusement park boarded up and mute, the runners raring to go.

Smartmom also put on the official Brooklyn Half-Marathon t-shirt, given to the runners with their New York Road Runners Club registration bag. It's a soft cotton white long sleeve shirt that says Brooklyn in blue

The shoes, her race number, a piece of paper she pinned to her shirt, her nylon jacket, pants, the Road Runners shirt: these are the concrete reminders of Saturday's glorious race.

Her race number is already in the special cabinet in the living room along with other small, special things like her grandmother's sewing kit, her hospital braclets from when Teen Spirit and OSFO were born, her mothers 8mm movie camera, her grandmother's driver's license, the funeral card from Dave Fontana's funeral, the pin from Beautiful Smile's 60th birthday party, the handmade love note Hepcat made on a menu when they went to the Tonga Room in San Francisco in 1989.

These special keepsakes hold a place of honor in what they've dubbed the Cabinet of Wonders. OSFO and Teen Spirit like to look in there and hold these family treasures that are imbued with good stories and family history.

So what to do about those blue sneakers. Smartmom knows she needs a new pair. But she's not ready to part with these well-fitting, worn-in shoes. They say you're supposed to replace a pair of running shoes every 800 miles. That may be salesmanship, it may be true. Who knows. That hole in the toe isn't going to get any smaller.

If they fit in the cabinet of wonders, she'd put them there. But they won't. So that's that. She'll just have to find another way to honor these overused, loyal friends.

The After Race

Savor, dictionary definition: to appreciate fully,enjoy or relish. To taste or smell, especially with pleasure.

Smartmom wanted to savor the sweet triumph of her half-marathon finish. And she did. Once she got home from the race, she took a long, hot bath. Hot. Her legs stretched out, her back against the porcelain, the steamy water soothed her throbbing muscles.

Oooooooh. It felt good after the pounding her body took. She didn't have any scary pain. But her body ached.

Eyes closed, she re-ran the morning over and over in her mind. The Eastern Car Service ride with T-leaf and Ed to Coney island; a long drive on the BQE thinking: and we're going to run all this way. The smell of wintergreen infused the car. Smartmom didn't know what it was. Turned out to be Ed's BenGay. A baseball field of runners changing, stretching, men putting Vaseline on their nipples to prevent chafing, lines forming at the Port-a-Johns for one last pee.

And then the race begn. No gun. But what was the sound? Eyes scrunched tight, she could not recall. You're not timed until your sneaker, with its electronic chip, touches the starting line. No need to run to the start. Smartmom walked until she had to run.

Warm water on her face, her chest, her tired, tired limbs.

Smartmom remembered the early morning light on the Boardwalk, the Wonder Wheel on her right, the ocean on her left. Turnaround at 36th Street. The Wonder Wheel on her left, the ocean on her right. The patterns of the wooden Boardwalk made her dizzy, a weird kind of vertigo. It zagged and zigged like Op Art as she ran carefully, trying to avoid falling down.

In the tub, moments flashed back to her. She wondered what happened to the woman who tripped on the boardwalk and was down for the count. Smartmom saw her sitting at a picnic table looking pained, massaging her calf, a cop standing by.

Smartmom laughed thinking of Coach Cane as he ran past her on the Boardwalk. Seeing her holding her trusty bottle of Poland Spring he yelled: "Get rid of the bottle. There are water stations all along the route. You're already running crooked."

You're already running crooked. Smartmom said the words to herself over and over, a mantra, an easy rhythmic phrase. But she didn't feel crooked. And she couldn't let go of her bottle of Poland Spring. Security blanket, transitional object, insurance policy that she would not go parched.

Smartmom finally ditched it after the hill in Prospect Park.

Quiet, heartfelt words of encouragement helped her along the way. "You look great. You can do it." Just a little more and you're there." "Keep it up!" Voices yelling from an Ocean Parkway window: "Go runners go. Go runners go." also egged her on.

The mile markers flashed by on Ocean Parkway. At seven miles, Smartmom knew that Prospect Park wasn't far away. Her familiar familiar. P.O.C. (piece of cake) one we get to the park, she thought. it'll be P.O.C.

The bathwater helped her limbs return to some version of normality. As she soaked, she saw the finish line. Is that it, is this really the end? That goofy guy with the megaphone was on the sidelines near the finish. Drat. Smartmom winced at the memory. Why did he have to be there nagging her agressively in thick Brooklynese: "Come on, just a little mawh. Yews can do it. Come ON. Ya almost dere. Come ON!"

He seems to be a fixture at Prospect Park runs. So be it. Another hardship to overcome in the 13 mile journey.

Once out of the tub, Smartmom lay her head down and slept for fifteen minutes. Only fifteen but it was a sweet, restful, essential fifteen.

Did I really do all that, she thought. Pinch me now if it's true. Did I really run all the way from Coney Island?

All the way.

The Brooklyn Half

Smartmom, along wth hundreds of other runners, nearly missed the start of the Half-Marathon waiting on one of the many long Port-a-Potty lines in the field next to the Coney Island Boardwalk.

After a bit, she decided to bag the whole idea and joined the eleven-minute-milers on the Boardwalk. She was sure not to get stuck near the really fast runners - a great way to get trampled.

A pitch perfect day for a run, the sky was blue, the air was crisp and the ocean was right beside them as the race began. The amusement park was desolate and boarded over as they ran past Astroland, the Wonder Wheel, Keyspan Stadium, and the newly repainted Steeple Chase with its red, yellow and green scaffolding.

But it was seeing Beautiful Smile on the Boardwalk that nearly made her cry. Standing at East 30th Street with her daughter and two grandchildren, Beautiful Smile was smiling, waving and cheering Smartmom on. Smartmom ran up to East 36th Street and saw Beautiful Smile again on her way back down the Boardwalk.

The run down Ocean Parkway past fancy Orthodox Jewish homes and Yeshivas was long and flat. Going in reverse alphabetical order from Avenue X all the way to Avenue C with lots of names streets in between - who knew there were so many streets - seemed endless.

Only the mile markers helped Smartmom gage where she was in her run. When Smartmom saw the 7 Mile sign she knew she had only 2 miles to go until she reached Prospect Park - her home turf. That made the Parkway go faster. As did the conversation with T-Leaf, Smartmom's good friend and running partner. They talked about everything from their boys, who are best friends, to theater, the movie "Garden State," their future plans and more. It made Ocean Parkway speed by.

The Parkway was closed to cars and there was a big traffic jam on the service road beside the Parkway. A man yelled at a cop "I've got a woman in labor and I've got to get to the other side." Smartmom never heard the end of that one. People cheered from apartment building windows and some street corners. Others watched as they walked to shul for shabat services. One group of bystanders had a sign that said, "Keep the Pace," which Smartmom initially thought said, "Keep the Peace."

After Ocean Parkway, the runners got on the Prospect Expressway - Robert Moses' parkway to nowhere, and exited UP the Park Circle off-ramp. It was an unexpected hill, the only one so far, but Smartmom knew Prospect Park was coming soon, which took the bite out of it. Home turf. Even if she did have to run up the hill after the Zoo, it was a hill she knows very well. Coach Cane had them run up and down that hill five times at one practice. Smartmom would be in her old familiar and that would be all the motivation she needed to get to the finish line.

Prospect Park also meant she'd be seeing her friends and family. Hepcat was waiting at Grand Army Plaza with his camera. He cheered her on and gave her a big kiss as she passed, a wonderful uplift for Smartmom's sagging energy. At First Street Groovy Aunt and Bro-In-Law were cheering and waving, shouting and saying funny things. And at Third Street, Smartmom saw Real Fruit Jelly who was leaving a message on Smartmom's voice mail: "I think I missed you. I'm really sorry. Omigod, I think I see you now. Yes. There you are..."

Smartmom's fitness trainer called on her cell-phone near Ninth Street and kvelled over her progress. "Congratulations. You sound great!" On the way down the hill on the south west side of the park, some bystanders wearing crepe paper hats with big signs ran next to Smartmom, "What's your name?" they asked. When Smartmom told them they started to sing: "We are fans of Smartmom and she's looking great. Really, really great" The sang and ran with her for a while and then turned to another runner coming down the hill.

The last mile or so was through the transverse next to the lake, one of the most exquisite vistas in the park. A woman on horseback cantered in a horse run as Smartmom ran over an idyllic green bridge. Post-race runners were walking the other way, cheering on those still running.

Crossing the finish line after a 13 mile race is everything it's cracked up to be. Triumphant, anti-climatic, a much needed rest, a reckoning with what's come before. Hepcat was there - snapping a shot. He told Smartmom she ended strong. And she felt strong. Smartmom cooled down walking to the water table, eyeing the bananas that were the runners' reward, drinking plastic cup after cup of cold water. Soon, she realized how bone tired she was, how much her legs hurt, how much her body had just been through.

And she felt like she'd just run a half-marathon, which is exactly what she did.

Pink Shoes

OSFO's 8th birthday is on Saturday. And you can just imagine the anticipation pulsing through her little body. Yesterday she told Smartmom, after Smartmom promised not to get mad at her, that she sneaked a peek inside Smartmom's closet and saw a big American Girl Doll shopping bag. Smartmom didn't get mad at her. She knows how hard it is to resist spying on one's gifts.

And OSFO knows very well Smartmom's sad childhood tale. Just days before Christmas when she was 8 or 9, Smartmom stood on a chair in a coat closet and found one of her Christmas presents: a pair of pink patent leather Mary Janes from Saks Fifth Avenue. They were EXACTLY what she wanted. A few minutes later, her mother found her in the closet, grabbed the shoes away and reprimanded her.

On Christmas Day, there were no pink shoes. None. Smartmom's parents did, however, give her the shoes a few days later.

Lesson learned.

That story has become a cautionary tale around Smartmom's apartment. If she tries to get hints from Hepcat about her birthday or Mother's Day gift he says: "Pink shoes, pink shoes. Remember the pink shoes." Same for Teen Spirit and OSFO when they ask about their birthday presents: "Pink shoes," Hepcat will say. "Pink shoes;"

And yet as a cautionary tale, "Pink Shoes" just doesn't hold water. Instead, it makes you angry at the parents who felt they had to punish young Smartmom for something so innocent, so human. "Pink Shoes" is not a cautionary tale at all but a poignant reminder of Smartmom's terrible punishment for her delight at finding the gift she so desired.

Shiny, pink, glowing with potential: it was impossible not to hold those shoes in her admiring hands. Even if it was just days before Christmas.

Smartmom was surprised that OSFO peeked at the big, red American Girl Doll shopping bag. But really not that surprised at all.

Fire

Hepcat and Smartmom watched "Before Sunset" with Groovy Aunt and Bro-in-Law over at their place. The film is wonderful; a non-stop conversation between two ex-lovers as they walk around Paris. The steadi-cam operator deserves an Oscar for his camera-roll length takes of the two actors talking. He had to do a lot of backwards walking. Tres incredible.

When Hepcat and Smartmom walked out onto Prospect Park West after the movie, the sky looked smokey black and misty. As they turned the corner onto First Street they smelled smoke and Hepcat spotted sparks coming out of a manhole. There was a distinct rumbling sound mixed with tiny explosions. They immediately called the Fire Department and within minutes all the Park Slope companies were in attendance.

It seems that the salt that the city spreads on the streets to melt the snow not only rusts through automobiles and bridges but also seeps into the manholes and causes electrical shorts. Sometimes the result is stray voltage like that which last year electrocuted to death the woman in the East Village walking her dogs, who coincidently went to the same high school in California as Hepcat. Sometimes the saltwater in the manhole leads to an electrical fire or an explosion like the one that destroyed a car and blew out windows on the same Brooklyn block a decade ago.

The smoke turned black and the rumbling got louder. First Street residents poured out of their brownstones. A friend came out onto the street in a vintage fur coat with a glass of wine wine and a cigarette and asked them what was going on. "I thought the kid down the street was drumming. That's why I came out..."

They explained what they knew as others joined them. The crowd looked on nervously as the firefighters figured out what to do: they seemed to be waiting for Con Edison to turn the electricity off. Smartmom wondered which of the firefighters had been at the World Trade Center on 9/11. Squad 1 lost eleven men that day, including one of her friends. She imagined that they looked much the same as they did early on 9/11, as they got ready to to save lives and property, not sure what they were getting themselves into.

The firefighters went about their business with precision and competence. Smartmom told Hepcat to go home and get his camera but he didn't want to. He's been working on a series of photographs called: Earth. Water. Fire. Air. and he hasn't figured out Fire yet. Smartmom thought pictures of the firefighters might be just the thing. But that's why she's a writer and he's a photographer.

Smartmom went home to relieve their babysitter, Beautiful Smile. Hepcat stayed behind, interested to see what was going to happen next. After about an hour Con Edison had not appeared so Hepcat came home, leaving the firemen watching the smoke, listening to the rumbling, and waiting.

Passing the Baton

The big news on Third Street is that Teen Spirit's band is going to have their first gig. And that's not all. Their first gig is going to be at CBGBs.

That's right, CBGBs: the Bowery birthplace of punk rock. Just days ago Smartmom penned a love letter to that endangered New York City landmark on this very blog. Who knew Teen Spirit was going to get his big break there.

Seems that Red's math teacher has an "in" at the club. A bunch of bands from Red's Lower East Side high school will be performing there in April, including Cool and Unusual Punishment, Teen Spirit's band.

The band has a lot of work to do to get ready for their first gig. But they are pumped. There's nothing like a gig to get you practicing. They've only been playing as a group for a couple of months. Teen Spirit's been practicing bass lines non-stop in the living room.

Teen Spirit swore Smartmom to secrecy that she would not reveal what three songs his group is going to play. "That would ruin the fun, Mom," he said. "That would give everything away.

This morning, he asked Hepcat what CBGBs stands for. He figured Hepcat would know and he was right. "Country, Bluegrass and Blues. That's the kind of place it was going to be," answered Hepcat, whose encyclopedic knowledge of facts large and small are an asset to the household. In the late seventies, Hepcat saw the Ramones numerous times at CBGBs, one time with Talking Heads as the opening act. Hepcat spent a lot of time in clubs back then: the Mudd Club, Area, Studio 54 and Xenon, where he was staff photographer.

Smartmom was the singer in a jazzy band in high school. "Darn the Dream," "Someday Soon," and "Them There Eyes," were their most requested songs. They played at dances, in Central Park, on the steps of the New York Public Library. Teen Spirit's gig brings up bittersweet memories of her days as a singer; it's been a long time since she moved her hips on stage and sang into a microphone.

But it's Teen Spirit's turn now. Hepcat and Smartmom are passing the baton. It's Teen Spirit's time to rock and roll.

Dear Sonia

It looks like Groovy Aunt is back to writing her mamainwaiting blog It broke Smartmom's heart to read this sweet letter to Sonia. Last month Groovy Aunt and Bro-In-Law found out that they're not going to Russia until May 15th. The delay was unbearable after all they've been through. But they are taking it in stride and looking forward to the trip. Groovy Aunt and OSFO spend a lot of time in Sonia's room talking about Sonia. As you will read, OSFO is very excited about the imminent arrival of her baby cousin. From the way Groovy Aunt wrote this letter, you can tell that she is already a wonderful mom.


Dear Sonia,

I think about you all the time and hope that you are being well cared for, played with, hugged, snuggled and loved. It is very hard for us to know that you are there and we can't come to meet you. We are saddened by this but know it will be very soon when we get to hold you ourselves.

Your father is very excited to meet you. He took a lot of time and thought in picking out your stroller - it's quite comfy and we think you're going to enjoy riding in it.

We also fixed up your room. We bought you a lot of beautiful furniture. A lovely crib that your father says looks like Noah's ark - an armoire which is already filling up with adorable outfits for you - and a bookcase that is already filled with books from your Aunt and cousins and some very cute stuffed animals, some of which have been given to you by your cousin OSFO. Your grandmother Edith gave you a nice panda bear and he is sitting on the shelf right now, waiting for you.

OSFO enjoys coming over and playing in your room. Yesterday afternoon, she came over and put her stuffed dog Sandy in your crib. She also put a diaper on him and cut a hole for his tail. It was actually quite funny. I know that she loves you already. She gets very anxious when we talk about all the delays and the political issues surrounding the adoption. She starts telling me to "stop talking, it's boring..."
I think she just wants you to be here already as we all do.

Your room is so cozy. We hung a very cute paper mobile over your crib. Your other grandmother has already knitted you a lovely and soft pink blanket. It's one of the biggest projects she has ever undertaken. She is almost finished. Perhaps we will bring it to Russia with us.

Until then, we will be thinking about you all the time and we love you very much.

Mom and Dad

Good Bye Eloise and CBGB's

Smartmom thinks that Manhattan is really going down the tubes. It's impossible to live there unless you're rich, in a rent stabilized apartment, or someone who bought years and years ago.

Even Eloise can't live there anymore. Starting April 30th when The Plaza Hotel begins its transformation into condos, a mall and a small boutique hotel, Eloise will be just another unemployed children's book character. Maybe she should move out to Brooklyn.

Full Disclosure: Smartmom and Hepcat spent their wedding night at the Plaza. Many of their friends from the wedding followed them to the hotel and the group partied till the early morning hours. Someone even ordered (and paid for) champagne from room service. Oooh la la. The newlyweds would have spent two nights at the Plaza if anyone had told them that the room was booked and paid for in advance. They dutifully checked out at check-out time and returned to their funky apartment in Alphabet City for their second official night as a married couple.

Sure, Manhattan still has lots to recommend it: stellar institutions like the Guggenheim, the Met, the Rainbow Room, MOMA, the Metropolitan Opera and now Jazz at Lincoln Center. But that's not enough to make a city interesting. A city needs its landmarks (official and unofficial) and its historical places to give it that well-worn feeling of texture and depth.

It also needs its low rent stomping grounds for musicians; its funky downtown theaters for actors and directors; its hole-in-the-wall screening rooms for avant garde film.

Recently Smartmom learned that CBGB's "the home of underground rock since 1973" may soon be closing its doors. So many legends of 1970's punk rock have graced its dilapidated stage: Television, Talking Heads, the Ramones, Patti Smith, Blondie to name a few. The New York Press writes, "As the Bowery becomes increasingly unappealing for anyone who's lived here more than six months—with model bars and restaurants few of us can afford—CBGB's monthly rent, it's claimed, could hit $40,000 when their lease expires this August."

Tonic, another downtown hot bed of alternative music, has already initiated a fundraising campaign on their website to try and keep ahead of their steadily increasing rent. Yoko Ono and others are already lining up to perform benefit concerts.

And finally, the Fez, the music club in the basement of the Time Cafe, which presents the Loser's Lounge and other great New York acts, is also set to close down due to rising costs.

So what gives when the things that make New York great can no longer afford to hang around?

New York won't be New York without the option of seeing Patti Smith at CBGB's. Smartmom saw her there once, but it was an incredible 3-hour show a few years back in which she played the clarinet, read poetry by Charles Bukowski and sang, "Gloria" in top form.

New York won't be New York without the Loser's Lounge downstairs at the Fez, a monthly tribute show featuring a cast of mostly unknowns doing unconventional versions of the work of a single songwriter or group.

New York won't be New York without the fun of using the women's bathroom at the Plaza Hotel with OSFO; the vicarious pleasure of walking past the Palm Court and hearing the violinist play. Smartmom and OSFO always admire Eloise's fine portrait by Hilary Knight and head upstairs to the tres elegant ladies room.

Even worse, it looks like Smartmom and Hepcat won't be able to spend a nostalgic night at the Plaza on the occasion of their 20th wedding anniversary, which is a few years off. What fun it might have been to revisit the site of that special night when champagne flowed like water and they were at the beginning of the beginning of something big.

New York just won't be New York anymore.

Suburbia

It happens every couple of years. Friends of Smartmom decide to up and leave for the suburbs. It's always a sad state of affairs because it means that Smartmom will lose the easy, local company of people she cares about. Last summer, The Deserters moved to a big Victorian house in Nyack, putting an end to their impromptu and delicious Sunday night dinners. And when a couple of years before that Red Eft, Dadu and family left St. John's Place for Kingston (a small upstate New York City not a suburb) both Hepcat and Smartmom lost their constant companions.

When people move away from Brooklyn, it always churns up a lot of feelings inside of Smartmom about whether she is giving her kids a good life. Wouldn't they be better off, she wonders, with a backyard, big bedrooms and a basement playroom? How about a writing room, a computer room, and CLOSETS. But a move out of Brooklyn just doesn't seem meant to be. Hepcat always gets horribly lost anytime he drives out to New Jersey and Smartmom isn't much of a car person. Teen Spirit loves to be within easy walking distance of his buddies and Seventh Avenue. And OSFO, OSFO is a New York City girl, and that's all there is to it.

FINALLY, Smartmom has something to tell her friends who are considering a move to the suburbs. DON'T DO IT! IT'S BAD FOR YOUR HEALTH!

It seems there's finally "scientific" proof why Park Slope is a better place to live than say, Montclair, Hastings, or Maplewood. A study published in "Public Health" journal found that urban sprawl living is unhealthy. It can even shave four years off yor life.

It makes total sense to Smartmom. People get more exercise in places like Park Slope than the burbs because they're not in their cars all day. They walk all the time from one end of Slope to the other and think nothing of walking to Prospect Park, the Botanic Gardens, and The Brooklyn Museum, or bike riding across Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan.

Walking is a way of life here. Most errands take far longer than they should because of the number of people you run into on even a short trip. Standing on Seventh Avenue is a fun way to catch up with neighbors and friends and share gossip, news, and opinions. This is a very talkative place.

The researchers emphasize the importance of what they call "utilitarian walking": the exercise we Brooklynites get walking to and from school, up and down the subway stairs, or to Met Food for replenishments of milk and orange juice.

People don't usually think of that kind of thing as exercise but it is. According to the study: "It makes a huge difference. Just the 10 additional minutes a day that you go to the store and back easily add up to a couple of pounds a year in terms of body weight."

Smartmom is so loving this. She's lost quite a few friends to the suburbs and it's always so wrenching to see them go. Maybe this will convince some of those (and you know who you are) who are considering a move, to think about sticking around.

Feeling Blah

March is hitting Smartmom like a ton of potatoes. Maybe the fun of February has her feeling disappointed now that everyone has gone home.

It's the February blahs transposed onto March. Yeah that's the ticket. They can't be avoided, can't be missed. February's blahness is important, it's cathartic, it's essential.

Okay.

And Smartmom didn't have "the February blahs" this year, what with The Gates, the guests, and all that. There was just too much to do and good weather.

Monday's snowstorm, despite the beauty of it, made her feel tired of winter - the way she usually feels in February. And in a more general way, she's weary and worried: about her children, her career, her husband, money, taxes, health. She's hearing sad stories - about illness, death, difficulties in the lives of strangers and friends. There's something in the air. She wants to close her ears and say, "Stop" to her friends with their stories. But that's like saying "Stop" to life as it happens.

Smartmom is feeling those free-floating blahs that she hasn't felt in a while now. Lugging her anxiety suitcase, she's moving blahfully through these first days of March. Feeling tired and alone.

February's eupohoria was real. She thinks. It seems so long ago now. There's one of Christo's orange fabric swatches on the dining room table - a reminder of carefree days with friends and family. She holds it in her hands to remember the frivolity of those walks in the Park. Was that just Saturday?

It had to happen. These blahs. They're to be expected, needed, necessary. Yes.

So maybe everything will be a month off now. The usual hopefulness of March will be in April, the springyness of April will be in May...etc.

Smartmom is on seasonal delay. And that's why she's feeling so lousy.

The Brooklyn Half-Marathon

Start on the Coney Island Boardwalk at West Second Street. Head west on the boardwalk to a turnaround at 36th Street, and then return east. Exit the boardwalk at West 10th Street and continue east on Surf Avenue. Turn left/north onto Ocean Parkway to Prospect Expressway to Park Circle. Enter Prospect Park at Park Circle and head east on South Lake Drive. Continue around the northern end of the park, returning south on West Drive. Turn left/east onto Hill Drive and left/north onto East Drive. Turn left/west on Central Drive to the finish.

Afterimage

What was it about The Gates that kept making Smartmom think about 9/11?

The color for one thing. Christo and Jeanne Claude's choice of hue was both an acknowledgement and a joyful defiance of the city's perpetual orange alert.

One of Smartmom's friends said the plastic orange structures reminded her of the twin towers. And the way everyone kept looking looking up at the fabric recalled those terrible days in September when every one was looking up at the sky.

Someone else said that when The Gates go away, it will be like life after September 11th. the way we still see the twin towers in their absence; ghost images in the skyline of what once was and will always be.

The Gates united our city in much the same way that 9/11 did. But this time we were weren't joined in grief, fear and confusion. The Gates were about joy, about the meaning of art, about being alive.

It was a carefree walk in the park. And for that The Gates were worth every penny Christo and Jeanne-Claude spent on them.

Everything's Okay

On Wednesday when Smartmom got back from her evening run Hepcat said, "Oh by the way, you got a phone call from M. He said, 'Everything's okay, don't worry about it.'"

"Everything's okay, don't worry about it? What does that mean?" Smartmom wondered aloud.

Hepcat figured that Smartmom would understand the message, that it probably pertained to something Smartmom and M were talking about.

But it didn't: it made absolutely no sense to Smartmom, who questioned Hepcat, "Are you SURE that call was from M?" Hepcat was pretty sure that it was from her therapist, M. But he wasn't ABSOLUTELY sure. "I think it was your therapist," Hepcat said. "But maybe it was someone else named M. Do you know anyone else named M?" Finally he said, "Why don't you just call him."

On Thursday Smartmom left a message on M's machine. She said, "Hepcat said that you called. He thinks it was you. The message was a little strange. Could you call me back..."

A few hours later M. called. "That wasn't me," he said. I didn't call." Smartmom laughed at the confusion. Then he said, "But I won't be seeing you Monday." This stopped Smartmom in her tracks. M. has never, in the two years that she's been in therapy, cancelled a session (except for the month of August) "Why?" Smartmom asked nervously. "Because my father just died. I'm planning the funeral now."

Silence. Smartmom didn't know what to say. Because of the traditional boundaries of therapy she felt it would be inappropriate to say any of the thoughts that instantly popped into her head:

--I didn't know your father was alive.
--Where did he live?
--Did you love your father?
--What did he do?
--Did you have issues with your father?
--How did he die?
--Who was your father?

Smartmom did say, "I'm so sorry. How are you doing?" Those were the only words that eventually came to mind. M said, "I am heartbroken," She thought maybe he was crying. She wanted to comfort him, she really did.

"But I'm okay," he added in a reassuring tone. Selfishly (pragmatically) Smartmom asked if he would be seeing clients next week. "I may work on Thursday. It's too soon to say. But I won't be able to re-schedule you."

Merged with his loss, Smartmom began to feel her own. She wouldn't be seeing M. next week. He is her life-line, her confidante, her good object -- she hated the idea of missing a session. How will she survive?

Smartmom did manage to say, "Take care, feel better." Phrases so incredibly inadequate she feels embarassed to repeat them now.

When they got off the phone, Smartmom felt like calling M right back and telling him how terrible she felt for both of them. But she didn't - that would have been wildly inappropriate. She did go out and buy a condolence card at Barnes and Noble. Walking home in the snow she wondered, what is the proper etiquette when your therapist's father dies? (She wondered if Emily Post ever dealt with this?)

In the note, she wrote, "In my silence I was saying: I can only be grateful to your father, the man who, with your mother, spawned you and brought you into the world to be who you are. In my silence I was wishing you a bearable grief, comfort and all my love."

Smartmom still doesn't know who called the other day to say, "Everything is okay, don't worry about it." Maybe the call wasn't for her at all. Or maybe it was. She may never know. Just like she won't know the answers to her questions about M's father and so much else.

But "Everything is okay, don't worry about it" is what she might say to M about missing next week's session; about not telling her what she wants to know. About dealing with the loss we all dread and know will one day come.

Purple Tulips

Hepcat's mother is coming to visit for a few days to see The Gates in Central Park. She'll be arriving at 5 a.m. in the morning (Jet Blue's red-eye from Oakland gets in bright and early.)

Smartmom spent much of the day thinking about ways to make the apartment appear less cluttered, less crowded than it really is. She and Beautiful Smile rearranged the living room; they moved the green leather couch against the window and put the big, red club chair where the couch used to be. They cleaned, and cleared things away and threw out as much as they could. Hepcat, of course, picked through the garbage before it left the apartment. But that's to be expected.

Early evening, Smartmom went for a four-and-a half-mile run with her Half-Marathon group. It was the first group run since the truiumph of their 10-mile race. A full moon night, the blue grey sky was speckled with stars. Smartmom found herself running beside Coach Kane, who kept telling her to relax, to slow down, to take it easy. It was good advice.

When she got home she asked Hepcat one last time to clean his portion of the living room, the part of the living room that has become his de-facto photography studio and office. It is unbearably cluttered with computer equipment, photography equipment, wires, boxes, magazines, manuals, books, and other sundry detritus. Her request made him very exasperated and he told her that the real mess in the living room, the REAL MESS, was hers! He then pointed to a small gaggle of things on the metal table: a stapler, a pair of binoculars, some CD's, this and that. It was such an obvious diversionary tactic that Smartmom found herself ENRAGED. So enraged, she could barely speak for the rest of the evening.

And she cried. Bitter, angry, weary tears all alone in their bedroom. (And no, she's not pre-menstrual!)

This is a battle they've been fighting for too many years. Their domestic styles just don't mesh - any professional could tell you that. Hepcat with his packrat tendencies and Smartmom with her desire for a home she can feel proud of. On the eve of a visit from her mother-in-law, she is at her most vulnerable. And Hepcat just doesn't care.

When Smartmom regained her composure, when her tears were dry, she said to herself: "Fuck it, she's HIS mother. Let her see the way he really lives. Why should I shield her from the truth?"

Smartmom and Hepcat are not speaking. His mother arrives early. The apartment is, for the most part, clean. Hepcat's portion of the living room looks like a tornado zone.

When Hepcat's mother arrives, Smartmom will feel embarassed about the living room. She will be ashamed to be the kind of person who lets her living room look the way it does. The Judge, Ms. Measurement, and Fun House Mirror will all be attendance to make Smartmom feel even worse.

A party with all her old friends in Hepcat's messy part of the living room. Fun.

Hepcat just came back from a quick trip to the local market to buy coffee. He brought Smartmom flowers. Guess he's trying to make amends. But Smartmom is ignoring the flowers, ignoring his gesture. She can't bring herself to look at him tonight...or the flowers...

Later:

Before she went to sleep, Smartmom put the flowers in a vase. They are, actually, quite pretty...quite pretty they are. Deep purple tulips.

Music Survey

What is the total amount of music files on your computer?
6.73 GB

The CD you last bought?

Nick Cave's latest at Udge's suggestion and Rufus Wainwright's "Want Two"

What is the song you last listened to before reading this message?

"Love (Webster's Definition)" sung by Bob Dorough. Music by Dorough. Lyrics by Monte Ghertler

Write down 5 songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you.

Smartmom agrees with Udge, who wrote: "Oh, tricky. I could give you a list of a hundred meaningful songs, but five?"

"Bread" by Clem Snide
"Gretchen Am Spinnrade" (Gretchen at her Spinning Wheel) by Franz Schubert
"Hejira" or "Amelia" by Joni Mitchell
"Don't Explain" Sung by Billie Holiday
"Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" by Bob Dylan
"Alabama Song" sung by Lenya and "Unknown Kurt Weill" entire album ung by Teresa Stratas
"Ballad for Tin Horns" from Guys and Dolls by Frank Loesser

Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why?
Real Fruit Jelly, Laments of the Unfinished, Let the Air Out Slowly and Unenchanted Rant

Skating

Smartmom, OSFO, and Groovy Aunt bought ice skates today. Oh, and they went ice skating too. But first came the big SPLURGE at Good Footin', the active shoe store on Seventh Avenue right around the corner from the apartment on Third Street.

Groovy Aunt called first thing and suggested taking OSFO to the Kate Wollman Rink in Prospect Park. OSFO was onboard from the start but then said, "Mom, let's go buy those pink velcro skates they have in the window at that store around the corner."

Now this wasn't completely out of the blue. Smartmom had been talking about buying OSFO skates because having your own skates is just so much better than renting those awful blue skates they rent out at the rink. Awful just awful those blue rental skates are.

On the way to Good Footin' OSFO remembered that Groovy Aunt had said that she was going to get OSFO those pink velcro skates in the window at Good Footin' for her birthday. So OSFO asked Smartmom to call Groovy Aunt to make sure that she hadn't yet bought the said skates. Groovy Aunt said no but agreed to meet Smartmom and OSFO at the store.

One thing led to another. Smartmom decided to buy herself a pair of skates because, well, it's just so much more fun to have the right equipment. Then Groovy Aunt decided to get in on the act too. Suffice it to say, the three of them left the store with NEW SKATES ready for some fun on the ice in Prospect Park.

And what a difference! Skating on good skates really makes the whole experience so much better. In fact, Smartmom felt like she was twelve again, like she was really light on her feet, twirly, swirly and fast. She tried figure eights and going backward, she spun around and went zoom, zoom, zoom.

OSFO's skating also improved enourmously in her fancy new skates. For the first time she could go across the rink all by herself. She was confident, standing tall, moving fast on her new pink skates.

When it was Zamboni time at the rink, the three had to vacate the ice. They had hot chocolate and tasty churros at the rink cafe. OSFO, proud to be the owner of the pink velcro skates, wiped her skate blades dry and carried them all the way home on the subway back to Park Slope.

The Race

Smartmom ran in a 10-mile race around Prospect Park yesterday and none of her old "friends" were there to cheer. That was a good thing. The Judge, Ms. Measurement, Woulda Coulda Shoulda and Fun House Mirror were nowhere in site, which meant that there was no one around to question why she was doing this, or compare her to the other runners. No one to say, you shoulda run faster, you coulda done better or anyone to make her feel fat and lumpy.

Smartmom ran friendless and strong, feeling the power of her body pushing against the frigid winds. She knew she was in good form as soon as the race began at 10 a.m. Except for the bone chilling temperatures it was a wonderful day for a race. The cold was a non-issue almost immediately. When Smartmom passed the lake on the south-west side of the park she was already feeling sweaty and overdressed in her two jackets, two shirts, her head mask, hat, and gloves.

Staying in the back of the pack, Smartmom's strategy was to run at a slow, comfortable speed for the first two laps and then speed up on the third. Coach Cane advised the group to "run your own race and run slow." He reminded them that this was a practice race in preparation for the Half-Marathon on March 19th.

Smartmom took his words to heart and recited them to herself like a mantra. She ran mostly alone except for a brief conversation with a lovely French man in a red running suit at the end of the second lap. They spoke again near the end of the third lap.

As luck would have it, Hepcat, Teen Spirit, and OSFO were cheering as she finished the second of three laps around the park. And that gave Smartmom quite a boost. She was high from it for most of her third lap. And when she saw Real Fruit Jelly standing alone at Third Street less than a mile away from the finish, Smartmom's heart leapt again. Energy surged through her as she waved to her smiling friend.

Just up the road from Real Fruit Jelly, Smartmom saw Hepcat, OSFO and Teen Spirit. They had whines on their faces from waiting around in the cold. Smartmom even heard OSFO cry, "I'm cold, I want to go home now." Smartmom felt herself transition from 10-mile runner to mom. But she caught herself and screamed, "I can't be anyone's mother right now," and sped onward.

Near the finish, an obnoxious guy with a megaphone blared to Smartmom, "Take him on. You can beat him," he said referring to the Frenchmen in red. Smartmom decided to give it a go and she sprinted him to the finish and beat him. As she passed she said, "Sorry. It was nice running with you." They shook hands after the race.

There were no cups for water at the water table. So Smartmom opened one of the Poland Spring Water jugs and drank to her heart's content. The end of the race was a little anti-climactic. It was hard to believe she had just done what she did. But boy did it feel GREAT.

Bracing for the Break

Smartmom is bracing for next week's school vacation. On the one hand, she loves the hiatus from school life. The kids can sleep late and that's a good thing. They need the rest and she and Hepcat won't have to pull the difficult-to-wake Teen Spirit out of bed in the morning and push him out the door. Honestly, everyone, including the parents, could use a respite from the relentless pressure of homework, high school admissions, and the daily grind.

Winter break will also great time to expose Teen Spirit and OSFO to the wonders of the metropolis. The fantasy city vacation includes trips to Central Park to see The Gates, museums, Broadway shows, sights of interest, and places they've never been to before. Hopefully, Teen Spirit and OSFO will be on-board for such ambitious and edifying excursions.

On the minus side, the mid-winter break is a sudden break from Smartmom's personal routine and that's tough. She likes her routines and she needs them. When the kids finally get to school in the morning Smartmom sings a quiet, "Halleluah!" Not because she doesn't love being with them. It just that morning drop-off means she can devote herself to her work and some of the other things in life that matter to her.

Smartmom is a private self and a public self, a family self and a single self. All these selves manage to co-mingle rather nicely most of the time. But vacations sometimes throw her for loop. That's when she needs to be all her selves at once. It's a challenge to find time for scintillating vacation activities, work, chores and errands. ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

It can be pretty schizzy and can lead to a quiet longing for her normal routine: a counting the days until the kids get back to school and they can all get back to whatever it was they were doing before the vacation.

I Don't Remember Getting Older, When Did They?

Smartmom still can't believe she has a thirteen year old son. It seems just yesterday Teen Spirit was bundled into a stroller bound for Mommy and Me, a toddler exercise class they used to attend on Sixth Avenue near Lincoln Place. One of the girls they met in that class just had her Bat Mitzvah. Another girl looks impossibly hip slinking down Seventh Avenue with her friends.

It's like someone pressed the fast forward button and all those cute babies became cute teenagers at a too rapid speed.

All this comes to mind because today will be an important and not altogether pleasant day for many of these former toddlers: the acceptance and rejection letters from the specialized high schools will be handed out at my son's middle school.

Yay or nay: Stuyvesant, Bronx Science, Brooklyn Tech, LaGuardia and the others have decided who's in and who's out. A rite of passage of childhood in New York City, it will be a day of pain for some and exhilaration for others. Hearts beating fast as they open their letters, Smartmom can only imagine what must be going through their minds.

And at school there's no one there to remind them that it's just a test, just a school, just a stupid education system.

In the coming weeks, the other high schools will be sending their letters out. Fingers crossed, fingernails bitten to the pulp, parents and teens wait, their futures in the balance.

In the midst of this Darwinian shake-out, Teen Spirit and the other thirteen year old Park Slopers exist in a universe of their own. They instant message each other, hang out on-line at Xanga, practice with their bands, eat pizza at Pinos.

They walk down Seventh Avenue feeling the force of their emerging selves: independent and so very alive. It's a mixed bag these teenage years.

A Mixed bag.

Ecstatic February

The Gates are one of the best things to ever happen to New York in February.

February: it may be the shortest month, but it slogs on and on. There's usually ice, slush or snow on the sidewalks, bitter winter temperature and face slapping winds. The last few Februarys have seen city-stopping blizzards that have wreaked havoc on hectic lives.

Years back, when Smartmom was enduring a depressing February, this song by Dar Williams was on repeat on the CD player in the living room. Maybe that was part of the problem. But it seemed to express so well the hopelessness and listlessness of this deep-winter month.

And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together.
You stopped and pointed and you said, "Thats a crocus,"
And I said, "Whats a crocus?" and you said, "Its a flower,"
I tried to remember, but I said, "Whats a flower?"
You said, "I still love you."

But this year the color orange seems to be everywhere. Hats. Pants, Coats, Gloves. And of course, throughout Central Park, orange curtains are blowing in the wind. The fabric dances and changes color from orange to saffron to deep yellow in the sun. Enhanced by these bright orange structures, we see our mighty park through a new frame.

The Gates are an elixir for the mid-winter doldurms, that spiritual abyss that usually sets in this time of year when everyone is sick of their down filled coats and hearts are yearning for chirping birds and the buds of spring.

This city is just so excited about this monumental pick-me-up. People are throwing parties, taking walks, meeting friends in the park. Groovy Grandma's friend threw a viewing party in her Central Park West apartment that has windows facing the park. Another friend of GG's doesn't even live near to the park, but she invited friends over for coffee and a group pilgrammage to The Gates.

These events are like Superbowl parties for the Christo-crazed.

What happens to New Yorkers when they are ecstatic in February? Nobody really knows. It's never happened before: this is an experiment in the transformative powers of art. We don't even recognize ourselves. Eyes open wide, promenading through The Gates in cold and fair weather, we're connecting with all of our senses.

What happens to New Yorkers when they are ecstatic in February?

They swoon. And the world swoons with them.

MESSAGE FROM COACH CANE

Nice job yesterday. The group is really responding well, and I'm optimistic about the upcoming races.

On Wednesday, we'll do a one mile warm up (1/2 mile out and back) and then a lap of the park at projected half marathon pace. If you're not sure what that is just yet, now's the time to start thinking about it. Feel free to talk to me about it as well.

Saturday is the Cherry Tree 10-miler. As I've said, I want most of you to treat it as a "training race". In other words, use it as a tool to get a feel for running with a larger group, take advantage of the crowd and the water stops, etc. but don't run it all out or sprint at the end. Remember that our goal race is four weeks away and this is a tool to help us get there. Pace conservatively and aim for even splits for each lap. The crowd makes it easy to start out too hard, so please be cautious.

Because we're up to double digits, those of you who have been getting away with running on an empty stomach will want to get a few calories in you before the race. Keep it light and mostly complex carbohydrates. Nothing that will sit in your gut as you run. Since the start isn't until 10, you won't have to get up that early, but I would suggest at least two hours of digestion time. Just 200-300 calories should do the trick. Some toast and jam, a couple of fig bars, a high carbohydrate energy bar or something similar usually works well.


In addition to our two group workouts, please do two easy workouts on your own. one lap per is all I want this week.

See you Wednesday.

Just Mad About Saffron

Smartmom, Hepcat and OSFO journeyed to Central Park yesterday to see The Gates. At the entrance to the Park at 59th Street and Sixth Avenue, orange curtains were billowing in the breeze. The three walked underneath their first few gates and were swept into the intstant joy of Christo and Jeanne-Claude's happening.

The Gates are everywhere in Central Park. Around the Sheeps Meadow, in front of the Arsenal at the Zoo, by the frozen lake, in the mall leading to the Bethesda Fountain. The three of them only got up to 72nd Street—there is plenty more to see: it goes right up to 110th Street. There are 7500 of them in all and they fascinate from a distance as well as up close.

While Smartmom was watching OSFO climb some rocks, she overheard an "erudite" English woman talking to some friends. Well-dressed, middle aged, she might have been a professor or an intellectual wanna be. Heck, maybe she was the real thing.

"Do you think each gate works individually or does it only work in repetition?" she asked her group.

"Personally, they do nothing for me," she continued. "It's really just O.C.D. Art of the obscesssive compulsive. Much writing is like that, too. Tolkien for example. 'The Hobbit' with all its endless details, it's really more of a disability than a work of art."

Smartmom wanted to shake this woman upside down while she eavesdropped some more: "Well I guess you have to call it a sucess. They built it. Thousands of people came. That's an accomplishment in itself I guess," she said.

Smartmom wanted to say,"Lady, get out of your head. Walk around. Stand underneath one fo the curtains or on that god damn rock and look at the view. Notice the way the light hits each gate differently. Experience the exhilaration of being here. Thank Christo and Jeanne Claude for this exuberant and experiential gift to New York."

Some people just can't get out of their own way.

Pumpkins

Last night Smartmom and Hepcat partied like it was 1986 and what a night it was. They could have been in Area, the Tunnel or the Palladium, but it was the Brooklyn Lyceum, the classical style public bath that's been transformed into a theater and performance space on Fourth Avenue.

But really, they were years away from those fabled night spots of the mid to late 1980's, and their younger selves. In the here and now, the room was filled with middle-aged Park Slopers who looked pretty darn good in their Saturday night best dancing to an incredible mix of funk, rap, hip hop, and soul. Tom Tom Club really got the room moving as did Madonna and other old favorites. But there were newer sounds by artists they'd never heard of too, and they sounded just as good.

Yet, it wasn't a nostalgic night for pretending to be young or revisiting the past. No, it was a bunch of people acting their age -- boldly and happily expressing themselves in free form dance; shaking their hips to the rhythms of the night. There were couples, singles, friends, and strangers joyfully dancing together. People were sweating, stripping off layers of clothing; just content to be out on a cold February night away from children and the daily details.

When the clock struck midnight, there was a Cinderella moment in the room. Many had to get home to babysitters and sleeping children. Smartmom and Hepcat said their good byes and got their coats from the coat check. Walking up President Street toward Fifth Avenue and home, they could still hear the propulsive bass leaking out of the Lyceum's windows. The music was beckoning them to the dance floor for one more dance before they turned into pumpkins again.

Life

It's been a week. An emergency root canal and a funeral.

The tooth problem came on very suddenly. On Tuesday, Smartmom woke up looking like a chipmunk: her right cheek was swollen and her mouth was THROBBING.

Smartmom knew it could mean only one thing: ROOT CANAL.

That afternoon, she visited her exceedingly friendly endontist, who went at it right away. Contrary to public opinion, root canals are not all that painful. Not after all the novocaine the dentist shot into her mouth. But if you are claustrophobic and prone to gagging, like Smartmom, it is not especially pleasant.

Smartmom used her trusty meditation breathing to help her through the worst of the dentist's finger thrusting, drilling and digging into the root to kill the nerve. For Smartmom, the worst part is the closeness of the dental microscope, the dental dam, and the plastic over her mouth.

Smartmom just kept breathing through her noise and sucessfully avoided a panic reaction. The procedure went quickly and she left the office with a prescription for painkillers and antibiotics.

That night, Groovy Grandpa called at 10:15. That seemed a bit late for him and on the walk from her bedroom to the phone, she had a premonition that someone had died (it was just a matter of who).

"Is everything okay," Smartmom asked nervously. "Not really," he said. He told her that his first cousin had died of Leukemia.

This cousin, who was only 65 or so, was a very sucessful commercial photographer and the father of two children and three grandchildren. He'd struggled bravely and optimistically with Leukemia for the past seven year. Accepted might really be the better word. He accepted the Leukemia but didn't let it take over his life or take away his optimism and good spirits.

The funeral was a non-religious affair presided over by one of his old friends. The eulogies, delivered by eight friends and his daughter, all extolled him for his good, humor, his deep friendship, his positive attitude and his talent. One friend recalled something he'd said on the golf course: "It seems like every year we get worse. But this year we're playing like next year."

It was the kind of funeral that made you wish you could have had a little bit more time with that person - the eulogies made him sound like such fun. His friends knew him in ways that some in his family did not.

Smartmom, Groovy Aunt and MiMa Cat in one car followed Hepcat and Groovy Grandpa to the reception in Hartsdale. The men got unbelievably lost. They missed one turn and then went completely off the directions ending up in Greenwich, CT., nowhere near where they needed to be.

Smartmom, Groovy Aunt and MiMa Cat went with the flow wondering where the hell Hepcat was taking them. There was lots of getting off at exits, getting back on. At one point, Groovy Aunt even had to drive over a median. Zoom.

Smartmom wishes she could have been a fly on the car wall to soak in the mood in Hepcat's Volvo. Agitation plus agitation makes for AGITATION (you do the math). And she thought it was going to be a nice bonding experience for Hepcat and Groovy Grandpa.

So much for bonding. The group finally got to the shiva and enjoyed the company of family members they hadn't seen in too, too long. In part, the funeral reminded Smartmom that life is short and that there's no time like the present to get in touch with people you want to see.

The ride back to Manhattan was smooth and direct. Smartmom, Groovy Aunt and MiMa Cat listened quietly to kd lang's new album, "Songs from the 49th Parallel." She thought back on the day: about her cousin, her family, the shortness of life, the ways in which we don't always appreciate what's here, what's near.

Smartmom listened closely as kd lang sang the words to a song called, "The Valley:"

I love the best of you
You love the best of me
Though it is not always easy
Lovely? Lonely?
We will walk in good company

The shepherd upright and flowing
You see...

Savta, Frank and Me: Part Two

Smartmom did deliver Savtadotty's opus to Frank McCourt. But not before she ran five and half miles in a mostly empty Prospect Park with her half-marathon group. This meant missing the reading part of Mr. McCourt's event. So be it.

After her run, Smartmom went back to her apartment and absolutely HAD to take a shower. Then she dressed up in a tailored tweed jacket, new jeans and a lovely yellow print shirt (she wanted to look nice for Mr. McCourt). She asked Hepcat to put "The Stuyvesant Story" into a manila envelope. The two then decided that Mr. McCourt wouldn't want to carry a big envelope around. So Hepcat suggested folding it into a white business envelope, which is exactly what they did.

Smartmom got to MS 51 just as the Parent Coordinator was locking up the building. She told Smartmom that Mr. McCourt's reading was fabulous: "He is such a funny person." They walked together to the Old Stone House, which is in the JJ Byrne Park right next to the school. The meet-the-author reception was in full swing.

Smartmom spotted Mr. McCourt right away. He is a small, thin man with white hair and a kind, gentle face. The room was full of Park Slope machers, MS 51 parents and grown-up Stuyvesant students from Mr. McCourt's days at Stuy.

Turns out that Mr. McCourt's daughter recently moved to Park Slope from California. She has one child at PS 321 and another at MS 51, which explains his connection to MS 51. He is currently writing a book about the teachers at Stuyvesant High School.

In the back of the room, Mr. McCourt was signing books and reminicing with former students. Smartmom got on line and waited to talk to him. "I have a story for you from someone I've never met." she told him. "Oh really," he said. Then she asked him if he knew what a blog was. He said yes but he may have been humoring Smartmom (probably not. He seems like a really decent fellow). "The woman who wrote this is in Israel," Smartmom said. "Israel, eh?" Mr. McCourt has a lovely brogue. He smiled and took the envelope and put it in his breast pocket. "I will read it then."

Smartmom thanked him and walked away.

That was it. Smartmom felt a little funny -- it's so unlike her to do something like that. But she did it.

The whole thing is like a giant folk dance (a cyber doe-si-doe).

It starts in the 1940's with Mr. Calitri's english class in a Queens high school, to Mr. McCourt's studies with Mr. Calitri at NYU night school, to Savta's son's English classes with Mr. McCourt at Stuy in the 1980's, to Savta's discovery while reading "Tis" in her Tel Aviv kitchen that McCourt studied with Calitri and taught at Stuy, and then later reading Smartmom's blog about the McCourt event at MS 51.

The final dance steps: Smartmom handing Mr. McCourt the envelope and the graceful way he put it in his breast pocket.

The dance complete, everyone steps away and waits for the music to begin again. Life is like that.

Tonight's the Night or Savtadotty, Frank and Me

Tonight's the night! Frank McCourt, author of "Angela's Ashes," is reading at Teen Spirit's middle school and Smartmom is going to give him a copy of Savtadotty's opus: "The Stuyvesant Story." As Savtadotty wrote: "Giving the story to Frank McCourt almost completes the circle... HE HAS TO READ IT to complete the circle."

It all started when Savtadotty, a woman who lives in Tel Aviv, read one of Smartmom's blog posts about Teen Spirit's high school quest. It prompted her to write a piece about the day she took her son to take the Stuyvesant test.

Well, like all good stories this one wasn't simple. And like all good storytellers, Savtadotty started at the beginning, the very beginning.

"I am the youngest child of immigrant parents. My mother was about 7 when she arrived to join her widowed mother and 4 older siblings in Manhattan. She had been left in foster care in the port of Antwerp until her mother, teenage sisters and brothers were settled."

Savtadotty paints a picture of life in Queens after the depression. "In my growing-up world, all mothers had a calling to be homemakers. From what I could see, they had plenty of "d" power: deciding décor, dress, diet, doctors, and dentists. The fathers were mostly salesmen, small business partners, or skilled craftsmen: they had jobs, not careers."

She describes her public school education in Queens: "Public schools were taught by teachers happy to have secure jobs after the Great Depression. In elementary school, most principles were men, all teachers were women. WWII was in progress and no new schools were built; materials were reserved for "the war effort."

Education is largely the focus of Savtadotty's essay. Her high school english teacher was a published novelist and a big influence on her life. "Mr. Calitri assigned us the New York Times Book Review every Friday. He had us eagerly reading and writing book reports and essays." Clearly he must be partly responsible for Savtadotty's luminous essay writing skills.

From here, Savtadotty's story takes the reader to the late 1960's when she was a married woman with two children on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. "To the extent that it was preserved at all, my sanity was attributable to choral singing and communing with the other Stay-at-home-moms in Riverside Park.

"We would meet at least once a day at the sandbox, where the topics du jour were much the same as mommy blogs today: Child-rearing Best Practices, local events of interest, gossip, pregnancies, twins, book and movie reviews. We founded a co-operative three-morning-a-week toddler day-care center. We founded a fresh fruit-and-vegetable co-op, supplied by weekly trips to the Bronx Terminal Market in Hunt's Point (in a borrowed station wagon)."

Smartmom found this part interesting for the way that some things never change. But it also resonated with her because she grew up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and played in these same sandboxes in Riverside Park (a few years earlier).

A move to the suburbs (for good public schools) was followed by divorce. Her son got into Stuyvesant High School and it was decided that he would live with his father in Manhattan. Needless to say, it was a tough decision for Savtadotty to make: "My thoughts wandered: the "today I am a man" message of the Bar Mitzvah, the meaning of puberty for males, and how few life-decisions young suburban teenagers get to make nowadays...Fathers as role models for sons who grow up in single-mom households...Something primal about young men and older men being together..."

So what does all this have to do with Frank McCourt. In part 6 of her story, Savtadotty finally gets to the punchline.

"I'm sitting in my Tel Aviv kitchen one day, reading "'Tis" by Frank McCourt. I come upon the chapter about his enrollment at NYU night school, and the wonderful writing teacher he encounters there: Charles Calitri!

Later in the book she finds out that Frank McCourt was a also teacher at Stuyvesant High School. In fact he was her son's English teacher. What a coincidence!

At this point Savtadotty begins to dance around the kitchen.

"In a city of millions, my great high school teacher taught my son's great high school teacher! Just like a small town! Engineering works!" she writes. "Will one of Mr. McCourt's students teach one of my grandchildren? Where? Tune in in another 12 years or so. The story is definitely not over!"

Smartmom chuckled at this unexpected finale. She was expecting something a tad more dramatic and yet, it was such a wonderful coincidence and a very deep one. Savtadotty's story, which is dedicated "to immigrants who study, and to their teachers," moved Smartmom a great deal.

On Monday, Smartmom sent a comment to Savta asking if she'd mind if she gave "The Stuyvesant Story" to Frank McCourt at the reading on February 9th—it seemed like the right thing to do. Savta encouraged her to do so and that's what Smartmom is going to do. Tonight. At the meet-the-author reception following the reading. She's gonna do it.

Stay tuned for the rest of the story...

The Empty Apartment: a Fantasy

Smartmom has been fantasizing about taking over the vacant apartment next door. God knows, the Smartmom clan could use the extra space. But that's not exactly what Smartmom has in mind. She's thinking of using Ann's old apartment as her very own home-away-from-home, a little getaway right next door to the apartment she shares with Hepcat, Teen Spirit, and OSFO.

Granted, this is a crazy idea. But a girl can have her fantasies, can't she?

Ann's old apartment is identical to Smartmom's. There's a living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom and three bedrooms. The scale of the public spaces are generous. The bedrooms, however, are quite small.

For the decorating scheme, Smartmom is thinking: serene, soothing and Zen. She would paint most of the walls a soft white or beige and cover the floors in a white wool carpet. The living room would have a large, white sectional sofa, a low table, and pillows on the floor. Noguchi lamps would light the room softly.

In the dining room, the table would be a big slab of beautiful polished wood on a base and four comfortable chairs. A round Japanese paper lamp will hang over the table highlighting a ceramic vase of fresh flowers.

Smartmom's bedroom, will be dreamy mix of red, orange and saffron. There will be a bed low to the floor, a deliciously soft down comforter, and big, comfy pillows, sparkly Sari fabric for curtains, Noguchi lamps and a low bookcase with only the most interesting books

One of the bedrooms will be the meditation room with a shrine, a Buddha statue, a large candle holder and Smartmom's singing bowl. A meditation pillow will be positioned on the floor. And on a shelf: a CD player, books, incense and other meditation paraphanalia.

The other bedroom will be used as Smartmom's studio, a room where she can work on her writing, listen to music, make music, and do what she needs to do. There will be shelves of books, guitars, CDs and ample space for easy organization.

The bathroom. Ah the bathroom will be hers alone. There will be a candle next to the tub and all her favorite bath gels, soaps and creams. The towels will be big and soft and there will never be anyone's dirty laundry left on the floor. NEVER.

Perhaps you are wondering where Teen Spirit and OSFO will sleep? Well, they will continue to sleep in the apartment next door. And Hepcat? Next door. They will all be welcome in Smartmom's fantasy apartment if they promise not to spill anything on the white carpet, mess up the white sofa in the living room, or make too much noise.

Smartmom's fantasy apartment-of-one's-own, is a place to be quiet, to be serene, to be at peace with one's self. It's for those days when she's had enough of the noise, the chaos, the general domestic mayhem.

If all this sounds self-centered and selfish, it is. This is Smartmom's fantasy, so leave her alone.

When OSFO's golf games in the hallway get to her: Smartmom can go next door. When Hepcat's clutter and disorganization feels like suffocation: Smartmom can go next door. When Teen Spirit's high spirited friends are busting out of his small bedroom: Smartmom can go next door.

Much of the time Smartmom will still be in the old apartment: being with her family, loving them, helping with homework, cooking, and taking care of everyone. It's not that she wants to abandon ship. No, it's not that at all.

It's for those not-so-rare moments when Smartmom needs her own space: Ann's old apartment will be Smartmom's santuary, a very special place to call her own.

A Neighbor Moves

Ann, Smartmom's neighbor of nearly twelve years, is moving out today. She is finally moving into the brownstone she bought and renovated on Ninth Street. The movers came last week and yesterday she had her final apartment sale. Strangers were coming in the building all day to pick through baby clothes, toys, children's book and kitchen utensils.

Smartmom is sad to see Ann go although they never really connected as friends. They were, however, good neighbors. Whenever they saw each other they'd say hello, inquire about one another's children and ask how life was going. On occasion they helped each other out. Ann would ask for Smartmom's help in small ways: Can you let the exterminator in? Can Hepcat fix my computer? Do you mind lending us a copy of the Great Gatsby, my son has an English paper due?

Smartmom always kept a copy of Ann's key just in case. That sort of thing.

Hepcat once asked Ann, who is a lawyer, for legal advice. It was years ago when he was signing an intellectual property clause on an employment contract. She was extremely helpful and forthcoming with information and names of specialists in that field.

When Ann's great aunt died, Smartmom invited her in for a cup of tea. She was, understandably, feeling out of sorts and said it was strange to be home alone with such sad news. Ann told Smartmom all about her Aunt, who was an inspiring and loving figure in her life. Smartmom checked in a few times to see how she was doing. She seemd to appreciate that.

But, for the most part, Smartmom kept a respectful distance. You know that old adage: Fences make good neighbors. It applies to emotional fences too. Maybe because of this, unkind words never passed between them. Ann did once rightfully complain about some boxes that Hepcat left in the hallway. But other than that, she never once complained about noise or anything else. And that's exceptional for nearly 12 years of living side by side.

Smartmom observed Ann's life from a neighborly distance. A divorcee, Ann dated various men until she met a wonderful one who smokes a cigar, who is now her partner. Her son, who was only 6 or 7 when Smartmom moved in, is now a handsome, buff, and friendly high school junior.

For years, Smartmom has seen his dad drop him off at the building after their mid-week afternoon and evening together. Smartmom has discerned tension between Ann and her ex on these drop-offs. Smartmom always smiled supportively and then looked the other way.

Smartmom knew that Ann and her new partner were hunting for houses for over two years. Ann asked Smartmom to be discreet around the landlord. When they found the house they are moving into it was only supposed to take a few months to renovate. It took much longer and Ann kept Smartmom posted on their construction snafus.

Now this family of three is ready to move into their new home. Smartmom doesn't quite know how to acknowledge the move. A glass of champange, a modest gift, a card wishing her every good wish? It seems important somehow to honor this transition, this move from one place to another, this loss.

It's not enough just to wave goodbye.

Shoulda Woulda Coulda

Yesterday morning Smartmom was having a conversation with a mom at OSFO's school. They were talking about this and that. Stuff. Smartmom asked her what she did for a living and she said, "I'm a writer." to which Smartmom replied: "So am I." The woman was interested to know what kind of writing Smartmom did and Smartmom told her.

"What kind of writing do you do?" Smartmom inquired.

WELL, this woman went into a high speed monoglogue about being a screenwriter and how a well-known English director is attached to her project, which is fully financed. She's just waiting for production to begin to get her BIG check. She said she'd only started screenwriting 18 months ago after a career as an art historian and that she's in touch with all kinds of producers in Los Angeles and Europe. A bit of name dropping ensued. Blah, blah, blah.

Smartmom listened.

Real estate was the next fun topic in their conversation. Apparently she and her husband bought a house in Ditmas Park, a Brooklyn neighborhood of large Victorian houses, about two years ago. Smartmom mentioned that she and Hepcat had been close to buying a half dozen houses out there back in 1999 to which she replied, "You would have gotten a steal back then. Now you can't get a house, not even a WRECK, for less than 1.2 MILLION bucks." She went on to gloat how that neighborhood is really taking off. "There's even a good restaurant and a cafe on Cortylou Avenue," she said.

When Smartmom finally got away from this bragadocious babe, she started to do the math on all the money she and Hepcat could have made had they bought any of the houses they didn't buy. And who do you think she ran into? It was Smartmom's old, old friend Shoulda Woulda Coulda.

Good old Shoulda Woulda Coulda (SWC), she always drops in unexpectedly with a gigantic suitcase and a sleeping bag. When she comes she plans to stick around.

"Hey Smartmom, you SHOULDA bought that house on Westminister. The one with the two Viking stoves and six bedrooms. That was soooooooooooooooo stupid."

"But we didn't have any money at the time." Smartmom said.

"If you'd stayed in the film and video business like that lady you were talking to maybe you COULDA afforded it. You had to switch careers into writing." SWC made a face like she was going to puke.

"Hey that's hitting below the belt," Smartmom said.

"You WOULDA made so much money. And what about that house on DeKoven?" SWC said.

"That place had termites." Smartmom said.

"But THAT woman, the sucessful screewriter with the film attached to the famous English director, said all the 1.2 million dollar houses have termites. You COULDA gotten rid of the termites..."

At this point Smartmom said, "You are not staying in my apartment. Take your god damn sleeping bag and suitcase and get the hell out of here."

Unbelievably, SWC did just that. She picked up her bag and started walking away. But not before one last zinger:

"Alright, I'll go. But you COULDA been smart about a lot things. Real Estate. Career. I won't even go into investments. If you WOULDA listened to me you COULDA done some of the things that you SHOULDA done. See ya."

SWC leaves a foul smelling mist behind her that takes days to dissipate. It was all over Smartmom's down jacket and on her jeans. A bit of it got onto her black leather boots. Smartmom couldn't get her little encounter with SWC out of her mind for the rest of the day.

Even when SWC doesn't sleep over, she has a way of sticking around.

Dumb

Smartmom made the dumbest faux pas yesterday morning; She could just kick herself. She ran into the mother of a girl in OSFO's class crossing Second Street with her daughter on the way to PS 321. Her daughter is "an alpha girl;" a popular girl; one of those girls who always seems to be at the social epicenter. Or so she thought.

Smartmom said to the mom: "Do you know what day E.'s birthday party is on?" or something like that referring to the upcoming birthday party of another little girl (Smartmom asked because she'd misplaced the invitation) The mom said: "I don't know," with a funny look on her face. "She wasn't invited to E.'s party."

Oops.

Smartmom went on to cover herself by saying: "I thought your daughter was friends with E." To which the other mom replied, "So did I..."

Smartmom just kept stepping into deeper doo doo. And she felt like the biggest cad in the world. Lesson: never assume that someone is invited to a birthday party. Not even the "popular girl." And never ask anyone unless you are absolutely sure.

The social life of seven year olds is so damn complicated.

And lo and behold, The Judge showed up. He was hanging around to watch OSFO get a late pass but OSFO didn't get a late pass because she was ON TIME, Judge. ON TIME, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. Smartmom was quietly gloating.

But The Judge did manage to catch Smartmom's little gaffe. "You probably hurt that child's feelings blurting it out that way," he opined. "You should really be more careful about what you say."

"Shoo, shoo, out of my way, please," Smartmom said, making sure that none of the other parents could hear. She walked briskly down Seventh Avenue until she remembered that she had a meeting with a friend at Mojo. "You forgot, didn't you?" said The Judge. "Ever hear of an engagement book?"

"I've got one thank you," Smartmom said walking quickly in the other direction. "Well, it might be a good idea to look at it every now and then. Just a thought," he said.

"Up yours," she sneered as she walk-ran to Third Street.

"I'm just trying to help," his voice trailed away as he disappeared into the sky becoming a tiny speck like a lost balloon.

Anniversary

Today is the anniversary of Smartmom's parents. February 3rd. The date is etched in her mind. She and her sister would go to the same gift shop year after year to buy an anniversary gift for them. West Town House smelled of bath soap and sachet. It was just a block and a half from the Riverside Drive apartment. They'd browse for an hour or more. And with only four dollars, they'd find something to buy: a stone paper weight or a letter opener, which the owner would gift wrap in green paper and a black ribbon bow.

Smartom's parents aren't married anymore. They've been separated since 1976. But February 3rd still stops her short. And while they've been separated for longer than they were together, February 3rd means only one thing: the beginning of something that later came to an end.

Groovy Grandma showed OSFO her wedding album a few weeks ago. A large, white, leather-bound book, the black and white photographs present Smartmom's parents on their ceremonial day. In a simple and elegant, calf-length gown, Groovy Grandma looks like Audrey Hepburn; her hair is close-cropped like Hepburn's too.

Groovy Grandpa, with no trace of the beard that would later define him, looks pleased with himself and his bride. Their parents gather around them – mythical parents, they are all dead now. They look happy for this union, for this coming together.

Later, OSFO said, "Grandma doesn't look like herself," Maybe she didn't recognize her 78-year old grandmother as a beautiful young bride. Maybe she was surprised to see her grandparents together; she never seen them that way. It probably seemed strange; a little out of whack.

The separation came as a surprise, dramatic as it was. The rupture was sudden: suitcases packed; black garbage bags, filled with men's clothing, tossed. All traces of him were banished from the apartment; an anguished wife's ill-fated attempt at an exorcism.

Smartmom was only seventeen, a senior in high school, on the cusp of going away. It was awful to see her family bi-furcated. She was in the throes of first love, first sex, her future. Now this?

Like an ostrich, Smartmom buried her head in her own sandy concerns while her mother grieved and her father sublet a studio on the other side of town.

And when her first love decided he didn't love her after all, she bifurcated too. “Don't leave me,” she cried pathetically for days. "It's gonna take a miracle to make me love someone new cause I'm crazy for you,” Laura Nyro sang, the song played over and over on the record player in the living room.

But he left anyway.

February 3rd is just another day. But for someone whose family doesn't exist anymore, Smartmom will always honor the beginning of something that later came to an end.

The New Place

Smartmom has been spending an awful lot of time at the new place.

There's been a lot to do. She and Hepcat have been figuring out how to use Typepad. He spent hours this evening learning how to post photos on there. Yesterday, they futzed with colors and other design issues. It's like fixing up a new house: painting, moving furniture around, putting up pictures. It's fun but it keeps ya real busy.

Spending time over at the new place makes Smartmom much clearer about the differences between the two blogs. Over there, she's been struggling to find her voice. She started by writing in the third person the way she does here and it just didn't work. Over here, the third person voice makes speaking about Smartmom's life very easy; it frees her up to say what she wants to say.

Over there, it's a whole new kettle of fish. At the new place, Smartmom has a more public persona: she's the all-eyes, all-ears observer of what's going on in Brooklyn. It's a chance to spread the word on events and issues that matter to her.

It's a fun little experiment. And it will be interesting to see if anyone actually reads it.

So the new place is keeping Smartmom busy. That in addition to her regular writing jobs, her personal writing projects, Learning Friends with Hanadi, meditation, and running (see More From Coach Kane) makes Smartmom one busy person.

Not to mention life with Hepcat, Teen Spirit and OSFO; cooking, cleaning, homework and all the rest. It's been a busy week and it's only Wednesday.

More from Coach Kane

Ladies & Gentlemen:

Great job yesterday. Almost everyone came close to an even split, and Anne (henceforth to be known as Curveblower) actually ran exactly the same time for each lap. Having a sense of your own pace is very valuable, and you guys are really coming along nicely. Despite the shortened training schedule, I'm confident that you'll be fine for the Brooklyn Half on March 19th (though LI is still an option for those of you who want it.)

Wednesday we'll run a counterclockwise loop at a comfortable pace and then do a hard mile from GAP to the first traffic light past Bartel Pritchard Square (15th St.). Aim for goal 1/2 marathon pace minus 15-30 seconds for that mile. Once again, the idea is for you to gain confidence in your ability to finish strong, and therefore not need to start too hard on race day. Once you're finished the hard mile, we'll do an easy jog back to GAP, though those of you who live on the way back are welcome to duck out of the park early as long as you do a cool down jog.

This week's long run will be up to 7.5 miles. We'll do 3x through a 1.25 mile out and back course. (I'll measure the exact distance this week and post the landmarks.) The goal this week will be to run each loop slightly faster than the previous. Once again, this will be a physical exercise, but also an exercise in discipline and knowing your body.

As usual, please give me a 4 mile run and a 3.5 mile run on your own.

Only the Blog goes Hollywood

Well not exactly. It's just that Smartmom is expanding. Here you will find the newly conceived Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn.

As you will see, Smartom's new site is not on blogger; it's on typepad, which will enable her to customize a bit more, in terms of design, colors, and added features.

However, she's NOT walking away from what she's started here. NO WAY. Smartmom remains passionately committed to this site and the friends she has made here.

THIS is her personal essay blog; her "Hers" column, if you will. It's the adventures of Smartmom, Hepcat, Teen Spirit and OSFO; the world according to Smartmom.

THIS will continue as before. And that's a PROMISE.

It remains to be seen what this new adventure needs and wants to be. The new OTBKB will try to be the all-eyes, all-ears, all-around-the-Slope interested busybody; a social anthropologist on Third Street.

Observing, being alert to the details, passing on important information, the new OTBKB will give you a wiff of the neighborhood zeitgeist, the mood that's in the air.

The new OTBKB will also include vital links to information about: schools, services, parking, retail, food, books, movies, local artisans, writers, artists, activists, friends and neighbors.

Down the line there will be announcements about stoop sales, school, community, and cultural events. Don't be surprised if you see shops and services advertised, as well: OTBKB needs to pay Typepad's fee (email her for advertising information).

The pieces will be shorter and there will be more or them each day. Plus regular departments like: POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE, a daily observation, NO WORDS, a daily photo by Hepcat, and BROOKLYN THINKERS, a space for spirited free expression about Brooklyn and the world beyond. Listings of events that Smartmom thinks sound cool will also be a daily feature.

Come visit Smartmom at the new place You're always welcome there.

Brooklyn Boy

Sunday night, Smartmom went to see "Brooklyn Boy," a play by Donald Marguiles that's in previews at the Biltmore Theater.

Big Smile, a good friend and avid reader of this blog, is the understudy for two of the female roles. That means she's in the theater for every show and knows both parts backwards and forwards, ready to go on anytime.

It also means she can get house seats. Last week during the blizzard, she called with seats and Hepcat went. This week, she had two more and Smartmom went with Groovy Aunt.

In this funny/sad play, Adam Arkin, the son of the great Alan Arkin, plays a novelist who has finally hit the big time. He has a bestselling book, #11 on the New York Times Bestseller list, about growing up in Brooklyns, soon be made into a major motion picture. In the midst of all this, he goes to visit his dying father in a Brooklyn hospital; forced to return to the borough of childhood, a place he has spent his whole life trying to escape from.

Hepcat loved the play and urged Smartmom to go see it. He said that it would "resonate" with Smartmom on five or six different levels. He wouldn't say what they were. "You'll figure it out," he said.

Smartmom felt like she was playing a game. She felt compelled to figure out the ways that Hepcat thought the play would resonate with her. The question really was: what struck Hepcat as issues that were near and dear to Smartmom's life? On your mark, get set, GO...

Actually, the play's themes did resonate with Smartmom in more than six ways:

1. Brooklyn
2. Brooklyn Jews
3. Judaism
4. Novel writing
5. Writing from life
5. Hollywood
6 Marital angst

But there was more...

7. Parent/child relationships
8. Rivalries between old friends
9. Holding onto/letting go of the past
10.Death

Smartmom wondered which were the five or six that Hepcat had identified and why. Was there a secret message from Hepcat to Smartmom in all this? It all felt deeply coded. And fun in a strange way.

Suffice it to say, the play is a winner, Adam Arkin is convincingly depressive and deep as the writer. His attempts to gain approval from his hard-to-please dad are funny and heart wrenching.

Later, Arkin meets an old friend in the hospital cafeteria; their lives are completely different now. The friend, an Orthodox Jew with four children, now owns his father's deli. He asks Arkin, "How did you know to aspire to something better? How did you know?"

Unbeknownst to his friend, Arkin's life is a mess. His wife, a less succesful writer, is divorcing him and we see their final key exchange in the very next scene. "This is what the end looks like," she says to him sadly.

The second act includes an uproarious scene in the office of the manic producer who is producing his movie. Seconds after praising the script he has just completed she asks: "But does it need to be so Jewish?"

If the play sounds like stuff you've seen before it is. But because it is so well-written and smart, it fits together in a ha ha funny / sad- enough-to make-you-cry kind of way. Smartmom found herself feeling a great deal for Arkin's character, as well as the father and the friend.

When she got home last night, Smartmom told Hepcat that she the play resonated with her on a lot of levels. "I knew it would," he said. She wanted to ask for his six but she decided to leave it at that. Sometimes you have to just let things be Smartmom has learned.

Smartmom is crossing her fingers that Polly Draper or Mimi Lieber get sick or go on vacation so that Big Smile can take a whack at the role of the wife or the producer. Smartmom will be standing by to get the word: "Polly is sick, I'm going to be in the show..."

And Smartmom will subway into Manhattan to see Big Smile become the character she's been waiting to play. It's a killer role and Big Smile will be fabulous, probably better than the star. Smartmom can't wait.

Lost in New Jersey

Smartmom and Co. arrived at R.'s Bat Mitzvah over an hour late. It was one of those mornings. They woke up late, left late, and had trouble getting the Volvo out of the parking space due to snow drifts. Stopping for coffee, orange juice and donuts at the Mojo didn't help. The fact that Teen Spirit accidentally squirted jelly donut jelly on his dress shirt also slowed them down.

And then the piece de resistance: they got lost in New Jersey. Truth is, they always seem to get lost in New Jersey. What is it about New Jersey? There are too many signs and too many New Jersey Turnpikes; it's confusing and so damn ugly. At least the part near the Newark Airport, which is industrial ugly, stinky ugly and downright depressing if you're not in the mood.

For a good ten minutes, Hepcat drove in the wrong direction on the Jersey Turnpike. Then they had to turn around and find the Garden State Parkway.

Hepcat did a lot of cursing. Navigational blunders make him a tad apoplectic. Understandably. Who likes getting lost in New Jersey? At one point, Hepcat said the F-word in rapid sucession. "Are we lost? Are we lost?" OSFO cried in a bit of a panic. Smartmom quickly calmed her down: "No we were just going in the wrong direction, nothing to worry about, dear."

And really, there wasn't much to worry about. Except the embarrassment of being late. Smartmom kept her cool knowing that Bat Mitzvah services are always long. Very long. Too long in Smartmom's opinion. She knew that whenever they got there there'd still be plenty of the service to see. And after that, the party would go on for hours.

And that turned out to be true. When they finally got to the synogogue, Smartmom found a side door into the sanctuary so their friends would not notice how late they were. R., the Bat Mitzvah girl, was making her speech; Smartmom was glad she didn't miss that. And she was really glad she didn't miss the speech by the Bat Mitzvah girl's mother: L., a former Park Sloper who Smartmom met when Teen Spirit and R. were two in a "Mommy and Me" movement class.

L. talked about R's will, her determination, and her perfectionism. She even alluded to the difficulties between them. Since babyhood, R. has been a handful. A really smart, intense, creative, and spirited handful. They love each other a lot, of course. But it isn't always easy to be her mother. And visa versa. Rarely has Smartmom heard a mother address these kinds of tensions in public staring lovingly into her daughters eyes. Especially at a Bat Mitzvah.

It was a very honest speech - not a bit of bull. And very loving. Smartmom was impressed.

After the service, it was time to PARTY at the local country club - a rather WASPY place in a rather WASPY town. R.'s dad made a joke about it being the first time many of his friends had ever been inside this "exclusive" country club.

The party had a nice feeling. There's a tradition of lighting 13 candles -- each one for a friend or family member. R. did it with an added twist: for each candle, she announced that she was making a donation to an appropriate charity in that person's name (charities included Cancer Care, Big Brother Big Sister, and the Fresh Air Fund). This display of generosity was a winning contrast to what can sometimes feel like the suburban excess of a Bat Mitzvah.

Smartmom and Hepcat were seated at what Hepcat called the Brooklyn Writers and Doctors table. There were two writers, a psychiatrist, an internist and Smartmom never found out what the other people did. Tabletalk included a comparison of the sex appeal of Keanu Reeves vs. Jack Nicholson, a discussion of the film, "The Hours," and blogging.

Teen Spirit's jelly-stained dress shirt covered by a too-small Brooks Brothers blazer, partied in partied in the separate kid's room. OSFO was dressed to the nines in a flowy floral dress, lavender tights and shiny purple ballet slippers. Because they didn't know anyone there except R. and her brother, they watched from the sidelines as the other kids did the hora, the "Thriller" dance, the "Stayin' Alive" dance and kareoke led by a guy hired to teach dance routines and keep the kids entertained (another recent Bat Mitzvah convention). OSFO did manage to collect an ungodly number of party favors.

As ususal, being at a Bat Mitzvah brought up deep questions for Smartmom. "What is my relationship to Judaism these days?" she asked herself. And then that old quandry: Should Teen Spirit and OSFO go to Hebrew school and have a Bar Mitzvah? It's a little late for TS but there's still time for OSFO.

And wouldn't you know it, The Judge made an appearance for few minutes. He was wearing a yamulke and drinking a Manhattan at the bar. "You made a big mistake not giving your boy a Bar Mitzvah. Even if his dad is a goy, TS is a Jew because of you," The Judge sneered with gobs of self-righteousness. "A Jewish boy should go through this important rite of passage."

Smartmom showed The Judge to the door. "Look Judge, I am very interested in Judaism and I feel very Jewish even if I do say "No" when the Lubavitch girls,in their long, dark skirts, ask me if I'm Jewish," she said in an angry whisper. The Judge was invisible to the other Bat Mitzvah guests. "You know we celebrate Yom Kippur, Hanukah and Passover..." Smartmom didn't know why she was getting so defensive. "...but I find Buddhist meditation to meet my spiritual needs in a way that Judaism never has."

The Judge drove off in the back of a rented limousine. He seemed completely uninterested in Smartmom's spiritual quest.

Unbelievably, the family got lost again on the way home. Hepcat stayed on the Garden State Parkway too long and they found themselves on the way to Asbury Park. It was not exactly where they wanted to spend the night. The F-word spewed continiously from Hepcat's mouth while he figured out how to turn around and get back on the turnpike going in the other direction. Fortunately OSFO was fast asleep and TS was watching "I am Sam" on his laptop.

Finally they got on the Goethals Bridge, which led to the Verrazano and beautiful Brooklyn. After a day twice-lost in New Jersey, they were glad to be home.


* The Judge is a recurring figment of Smartmom's imagination.

Park Slope Snapshot: Homeless Man

Smartmom is fascinated by the "homeless" man who stands in front of the Ace Grocery Store on the corner of Berkeley Place and Seventh Avenue. A tall, black man - maybe 50 years old - with a long, wrinkled face and a patient smile, he always says, "Can you spare something for me. I'd really appreciate it," in a soft voice, exerting no pressure at all.

He has been doing this for years. He doesn't hold a cup, never holds out his hand. He always smiles even when he gets nothing.

In an interview in Park Slope Paper, he said that he needs to earn twenty dollars a day in order to eat, and stay in a residential hotel in deeper Brooklyn where he keeps his things. He said he'd spent some time in the Brooklyn House of Detention; he was wrongly accused of a neighborhood rape. He got out after six months. He likes jazz music from the fifties: Theolonius Monk in particular. His albums and his portable record player were stolen years ago.

Smartmom gave him five dollars the other night on her way back from running in the park. "Wow, you're generous," said her neighbor, Ed. "Now I won't have to pay him for another few days," she replied.

She's usually in too big a rush, racing to whatever is the next thing she needs to do.

Park Slope Snapshot: Yeshiva Girls

Smartmom is fascinated by the Yeshiva girls in long, dark skirts who ask, "Are you Jewish?' on Friday afternoons. They come from Ocean Parkway or Midwood - one of those neighborhoods closer to Coney Island. They walk around in small groups, sometimes holding religious paraphernalia. Sometimes not.

When she says, "No," they seem to believe her and walk away. She wonders if they say to one another, "She's so obviously Jewish. Wonder why she said, 'No.'"

Smartmom wonders who puts them up to this -- their rebbe, their parents, their school. She wonders what would happen if she said, "Yes."

Smartmom feels guilty when she says, "No." It is a big lie and she hates to lie. She just doesn't want to be bothered by the Yeshiva girls.

She's in too big a rush. She doesn't want to say prayers on Seventh Avenue. She's not Jewish in the same way that they are and they know it. And that's why they want to change her.

Smartmom feels guilty when she says, "No." It is a big lie and she hates to lie. She just doesn't want to be bothered by the Yeshiva girls.

Dear Judge,

At 4:15 today Smartmom picked up Sweetie Boo in the auditorium of PS 321. Smartmom said to his teacher, "I'm the one who forgot him last week," and the teacher laughed.

Sweetie Boo was happy and relieved to see Smartmom and OSFO. He seemed to hold ABSOLUTELY no grudge against her for the "abandonment" (your word) of last week.

Smartmom thanks you for not dropping by today. If you were there - in some kind of strange disguise - she did not see you. Again, Smartmom remembered to get the boy. And Mrs. Cleavage (Sweetie Boo's mom) holds nothing, NOTHING against her for the little slip-up of last week.

And furthermore, Judge: Smartmom would appreciate if you would promise not to come around anymore. She's asked you this before but you never seem to take her seriously.

Well, take this seriously mister: Amscray! Get it? Scram, if you don't understand Pig Latin. It's time to leave Smartmom alone!

With no gratitude and no thanks,

Smartmom

Have Your Cake Knife

Smartmom bought a cake knife yesterday. It's one of those things she's always been without. Always. At birthday and dinner parties she usually has to cut the cake or pie with a regular old knife and then, with difficulty, lift the slice up with the knife, a spoon, or a spatula.

The slice of cake or pie is always a mess by the time it hits the plate. Always.

Smartmom dropped hints this year about a cake knife. She had fantasies of getting an old cake knife, a family heirloom from Hepcat's family. His materbal grandmother was a great giver of parties and collected plenty of silver, flatware and serving implements.

Smartmom half expected to find a cake knife under the Christmas tree. But she didn't. There and then Smartmom decided to take matters into her own hands. She was determined to buy herself her very own and special cake knife.

Smartmom loves to search for things like that. For a whole summer she searched flea markets, houseware shops and antique stores for the perfect cake plate. She finally found it at Sage Street Antiques in Sag Harbor. It was a great feeling of satisfaction when she got exactly what she was looking for.

(It's funny how so much revolves around cake. Hmmmm. Cake plate, cake knife. "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to...")

So, getting a cake knife was Smartmom's unspoken New Years resolution. "This year I will buy one," she said to herself a couple of week ago when she had a birthday party for Groovy Grandpa. That night, she served a beautiful chocolate cake with snowflakes in white icing from Two Little Red Hens Bakery and it sat on her very special antique cake plate from Sage Street Antiques.

But the whole effect was ruined when she had nothing, NOTHING appropriate to slice the cake with. And, as always, the delicious custard-filled cake was a mess when it hit the plate. Plop.

Well yesterday, when she and Hepcat and Teen Spirit were walking to the Apple Store on Prince Street after Teen Spirit's interview at a high school, they discovered a new store in Soho. It happened to be in a storefront that used to house Smartmom's beloved Agnes B. In the window of this new store called Carrol Boyes Smartmom saw lovely silver and pewter dishes and bowls displayed in the window.

Something beckoned her inside. It was the promise of her cake knife.

Turns out that Carrol Boyes is a South African designer of unusual cutlery, flatware, tableware and housewares. She uses a fusion of pewter, aluminium, and stainless steel. The pieces are handmade in Capetown and the company is very diverse and, according to the manager of the store, highly interested in women's empowerment. "Carrol's love of and for South Africa is boundless and evident in her work," is what it says in the store's brochure.

Smartmom was sold - the politics AND the artistry of Carol Boyes "fusion art" really grabbed her. Apparently Whoopi Goldberg was in the shop last week and bought like crazy. Anywho...

The store had about ten cake knives to choose from and it was hard to pick. But when Smartmom saw the one that had a women's body for a handle she said to Hepcat: "This is it!" Hepcat, who has discriminating tastes about all things loved it too. The credit card was removed from his wallet...

Smartmom's brand new cake knife is really special. Made of pewter and silver, it has a nice heft and balance. The handle is a tall skinny woman who incongruously doesn't look like she eats much cake. Her breasts are small curlicues. Boyes' work combines an African aesthetic with bold, modern design. It's very appealing.

Holding it now in her hands, Smartmom is very pleased to finally have a cake knife. And the fact that she picked it out herself makes her feel very grown up and accomplished. There comes a time in life when you really want to define yourself by the things you choose. It isn't enough to just take hand-me-downs.

It feels good to make choices. Real ones. And eat your cake too.

Penn does Dylan

Smartmom heard on the radio this morning that Sean Penn reads the audio version of Bob Dylan's memoir, "Chronicles."

Smartmom thinks she's gonna get the CD rather than buy the book. It just sounds so cool.

A Note from Coach Kane

Here's a letter from Smartmom's half-marathon coach. He's this really funny, slightly gruff, big hearted guy who wears a yellow glow-in-the-dark windbreaker, and knows everything about running. Just so you know: a loop of Prospect Park is 3.3 miles. That'll give you some idea how much the group is running.

Ladies & Gentlemen:

Nice job this week despite the less than ideal weather conditions. Here's the plan for the week.

On Wednesday we'll continue to build on our training by doing two extra trips up the hill. As before, we'll start out counterclockwise, stop at the yellow emergency phone near the top of the hill (about .10 mile before completing the loop), turn back around to the traffic light at the base of the hill (same spot as this week) and do two more times. The goal is to keep a steady tempo - don't race up the hill and walk down.

On Saturday, we're up to two laps - reversing direction after the first lap. Once again, I'm not looking for a fast pace, but I do want an even pace. This week there's even a special prize (OK, it's not so special - just a lousy T-shirt) for the runner with the most even splits. No watches allowed! The idea is that I want you to pay attention to your body and its cues. The more you tune into the message your body sends you, the more likely you are to get the most out of your physical ability on race day.

In addition to the two group runs, I'm looking for the same two runs as last week. One should be a single lap of the park, and the second should be 4 miles. (Treadmill equivalent is fine).

Lastly, if you guys need to contact me during a run, you can call me on my mobile. If you are forced to leave early due to illness or any other reason and can't tell one of the coaches, please give me a call.

See you Wednesday. As always, feel free to contact me if you need anything before then.

Reminder

Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.
Smartmom will not forget to pick up Sweetie Boo.

Playing Hooky

Yesterday Teen Spirit had an interview at Elisabeth Irwin, the only private high school he's applying to. He and Smartmom left the apartment early to get to the school in the West Village by 9 a.m.

The two rode the crowded rush hour subway to Manhattan. Smartmom tried to quiz TS giving him possible interview questions: What are your favorite books? Why do you want to go to this school? What is a leader? Who do you admire?

Teen Spirit had little patience for Smartmom's mock interview.

They talked about the Oscar nominations instead, which were announced on Tuesday. The Oscars are a big deal for the Smartmom clan. Oscar Night is one of the few times during the year that they watch television (theirs is a TV-less home except for Netflix DVDs.) And they make a party of it. Everyone stays up late and cheers for their favorite flicks. During the Oscar "party," Smartmom is usually in constant phone contact with Groovy Aunt and Eft to swoon and groan at Oscar speeches and wardrobe debacles.

Teen Spirit, the avid cineaste that he is, has seen most of the best picture nominees. The only films he hasn't seen are “Sideways” and “Million Dollar Baby.” He is rooting for Jamie Fox who was nominated in the best actor category AND the best supporting actor category for “Ray” and “Collateral” respectively. He also has high hopes for “The Incredibles” as best animated feature and best screenplay and "Lemony Snicket" for best costumes and art direction.

When they got to the school building on Charlton Street, Teen Spirit and Smartmom were impressed with the warm, welcoming atmosphere in the lobby. It happens to be the high school that Groovy Aunt went to. For a little nostalgia, Smartmom took Teen Spirit into the auditorium and told him about the musical revue Groovy Aunt was in.

TS's interview lasted a half hour or so. Then the Admissions Director spoke with Smartmom and Hepcat, who joined them after dropping off OSFO. She said that Teen Spirit told her that his favorite books are "Catch 22" and "Alice in Wonderland" and that he's interested in the history of the Mongol Empire (Slam Dunk, TS!) He also explained to her the actual meaning of a catch 22 in the context of the book (Way to go, Bro).

After their interviews, the three watched a group of students practice the song: "Let's do the Time Warp Again," from Rocky Horror Picture Show in the auditorium, which impressed Teen Spirit no end.

The three left the school and decided to play hooky. It's practically lunchtime, reasoned Smartmom. He'd only miss three classes. Besides, they were just blocks away from the Apple Store, one of their favorite places in Soho to browse and check e-mail. And “Sideways” was playing on West 23rd Street, just a hop, skip and jump away, at 12:30.

"Hookey? What kind of CRAZY idea is that? What a frivolous thing to do. How inappropriate it is for parents to even suggest such a thing. Especially when those so-called parents have writing to write, pictures to print, phone calls to make and rooms to organize.”

It was the voice of The Judge who was sitting on top of a snow covered car right outside the school building. Nobody saw, but Smartmom threw a huge snowball at him and he disappeared in an instant. Lke Dorothy throwing water on the Wicked Witch: Poof, he was gone.

On their walk down Prince Street, Smartmom kept looking backwards and sideways making sure that the Judge was not following her. Judge or no Judge, playing hooky in Manhattan in the snow was an inspired idea.

TS and Smartmom enjoyed the movie, a darkly comic story about an odd couple of guys caught in a mid-life muddle: a superficial actor on the verge of getting married and a recently divorced and depressed novelist.

Suprisingly, Hepcat didn’t like the movie. He found it annoying and visually uninspiring. Guess he didn’t like seeing a truer than true portrait of the way some men think. And it ain’t a pretty picture. Even the characters look at one another (and themselves) sideways and don’t like what they see.

The film traces their journey of discovery through the wine country near Santa Barbara. In a way, it’s a kinder, gentler version of Neil LaBute’s nasty, “In the Company of Men” blended with the old Odd Couple television show set against the backdrop of wine tasting, that most subtle and elevated art.

Chock full of wine metaphors, the screenwriters infused the dialogue with the language of wine tasting to convey insights about human nature. The best scene is a conversation between the neurotic novelist and a lovely, intelligent waitress. She asks him why he likes Pinot Noirs so much. “It's a hard grape to grow. It's thin-skinned, temperamental. It's not a survivor like Cabernet that can grow anywhere, and thrive even when neglected. Pinot needs constant care and attention.”

Using wine metaphors to explain human behavior may be nothing new. But the screenwriters do it with grace and intelligence. Lines like these made Smartmom crave a glass of Pinot Noir. It also helped her understand the appeal of onophilia.

For a movie without much plot, about a couple of middle aged-guys on a pre-wedding wine tasting trip, the film has a lot emotional action: it's all about the rhythms and rages of this pair of guys who know each other too well.

After the movie, the three had burgers (Hepcat: tuna; Smartmom: veggie; Teen Spirit: beef) at a new place called Better Burgers in groovy, gay Chelsea. They discussed the movie and listened politely to Hepcat’s objections. Their lunch put a perfect punctuation mark on a perfect day.

What could be better? Playing hooky in Manhattan.; throwing a snowball at the Judge; crossing off “Sideways” from their list of must-see Oscar movies.

Sometimes you gotta break the rules, JUDGE. Life is too boring if you don’t shake things up a little bit.

Hooky rocks. It really does.

Ten Ways to Say Snow

The headline of Smartmom's previous post: "In NY There Must be 40 Words for Depression" was a reference to a popular urban myth that people love to bandy about: the number of words in the Eskimo language for snow.

Well, it turns out that there aren't 40 words for snow in Eskimo. That little fictitious factoid was introduced in 1911 by anthropologist Franz Boas. According to a web site called everything2.org: "Boas references to the snow words were used as evidence of a link between language categories and thought."

Even if there are not 40 words, there are still a good many words for snow in Eskimo (Inuit to be exact). And here they are:

* 'ice' sikko
* 'bare ice' tingenek
* 'snow (in general)' aput
* 'snow (like salt)' pukak
* 'soft deep snow' mauja
* 'snowdrift' tipvigut
* 'soft snow' massak
* 'watery snow' mangokpok
* 'snow filled with water' massalerauvok
* 'soft snow' akkilokipok

Smartmom still thinks that there are probably 40 words for depression in New York City.

In NY There Must be 40 Words for Depression

Smartmom was intriqued by an article in Monday's New York Times about the mental health situation in Sri Lanka following the tsunami.

According to the Times, there wasn't even a word for depression in Sri Lanka until a few years ago. Not that they didn't need it. Doctors there say that people express their unhappiness by having pain, back aches, or difficulty sleeping. And by commiting suicide. Apparently, Sri Lanka has one of the hightest suicide rates in the world.

In New York there must be 40 words for depression. If not more.

Sri Lanka, with a population of 20 milliion people, has only about 30 psychiatrists. Very few of them speak the language of the Meulaboh region, which was badly hit. Needless to say, therapy is not a common activity in that part of the world. Unlike New York City, the Sri Lankans are not held together by the loving thread of trained therapists. Not to mention Zoloft.

There must be thousands of therapists in Brooklyn alone.

No, a stop at the shrink's office is not a weekly occurrence in Sri Lanka. How spoiled we are in New York City where the examination of one's navel is considered a necessity not a luxury. And yet, Smartmom believes that navel examination truly is a form of preventive health care. In so many ways, New Yorkers benefit from their weekly exploration of self. Without it, Lord help us: New York would be a whole lot more neurotic and/or psychotic than it already is.

Just imagine New York without therapy.

But in other parts of the world, there's just too much else to do -- like survival -- to have time for such things. Religious institutions probably do their part. Buddhist meditation is just one example of a spiritual practice that is, in its way, deeply psychological in nature.

The people of Sri Lanka are a stoic people with a strong belief in god's will, and a different (maybe better) relationship to death. Even in a crisis of this magnitude, they carry on. Call it denial, call it pragmatism, they are grieving quietly and privately while rebuilding their lives. What other option do they have?

And yet, grief and trauma can wreak havoc on people's lives. Experts have observed that " suicide rates drop in times of crisis but then bounce back up again - to higher levels than they were originally," writes Denise Grady in the New York Times.

Mental health experts the world have made offers of help. But the Sri Lankian government is asking them to stand back and respect the nature of the Sri Lankan culture. They believe that the deep religious beliefs of the Sri Lankans and their strong sense of community and family will help them through this tragedy. And, in most cases, they are probably right.

One Sri Lankan official quoted in the Times said that "too many irrelvant, inept, strange ideas from other countries could do disservice to tsunami victims." He was especially adamant that de-briefing, a technique where disaster victims are encouraged to talk about traumatic experiences after a disaster, would be especially harmful.

Smartmom is familiar with this argument. She has been working with the FDNY since December 2001 on a newsletter for the families of those who lost loved ones on September 11th. After the WTC disaster, firefighters were debriefed and urged to talk about the tragedy in great detail -- apparently it helped them a lot. They were also encouraged to partake of the free counseling services available 24 hours a day at the Counseling Service Unit.

After 9/11, many health care professional from around the world offered their services to the FDNY. Fairly quickly, the FDNY realized that mental health professionals without the proper understanding of the fire department culture could do more harm than good. Over time, the FDNY expanded its counseling staff in order to provide appropriate care for those who were suffering from various degrees of post-traumatic-stress and grief.

Firefighters are also a stoic lot with a strong sense of family and religious ties. For them, therapy helped them with the on-going grief and stress. At first it was hard to convince those who are used to helping others that they needed help. But many of them came around because they were suffering so much. And their recovery was fairly rapid once they went in for counseling. There's no telling how much alcoholism, drug addiction, spousal and child abuse, and suicide was avoided because of this.

So, Smartmom wonders how the Sri Lankans will fare emotionally. What of the parentless children, the parents who lost their little loved ones, those who saw whole communities die -- how will they get through this? Is it true that this community will be able to escape "post traumatic-stress" simply because of their cultural background?

There is no one-size fits all solution to recovery from tragedy. A person's mental health prior to the event, resilience and resourcefulness must all be taken into account. People are very unique in the ways that they heal; in how they like to take care of themselves.

Smartmom is grateful for her weekly trips to her therapist, her shamen, the man who helps her "see." Her problems are fairly minor compared to those of people in other parts of the world. But still, she believes in the value of self-examination way and is thankful that she has the option.

Everyone needs help from time to time.

Sunday in the Park with Snow

panorama
Originally uploaded by smartmom.

This photograph was taken by Real Fruit Jelly in Brooklyn's lovely Prospect Park.

No Snow Day

Teen Spirit held out hope until early this morning. Even Smartmom assumed that the city would, at the very least, delay the opening of school. But at 7 a.m. she typed nyc.gov on her keyboard and saw this:

"NYC public schools will be open on their regular schedule on Monday, January 24th. All after school programs and field trips are cancelled..."

Smartmom went into Teen Spirit's bedroom to deliver the word. Bare chested beneath layers of quilts and down, Teen Spirt was, as is typical, sleeping like a log. Smartmom, aka "Bringer of Bad News," shook him awake with the unpleasant news: "It's not a snow day." Teen Spirit stirred but then thought better of it. He pulled his covers over his dirty blonde bed-head. Smartmom whispered: "Time to get up. There's school today." Teen Spirit's eyes popped open and a look of virulent rage crossed his face: "Those MONSTERS. How could they open school today. MONSTERS. I hate that Mayor..."

Teen Spirit can be quite the indignant teen.

Snow plows ploughed through the night clearning Brooklyn streets for cars and buses. The sidewalks were even somewhat walkable. The crosswalks, however, were treacherous with three foot snowbanks making for quite the climbing adventure.

On Smartmom's morning walk to work, she saw bundled up Park Slopers with scowls on their faces. Stroller moms struggled to lift strollers and babies up the banks and across the street. Older people with canes walked stoically and carefully. The snow, a fun blast on the weekend, seemed like a big drag for a Monday work day. Even the dogs looked annoyed. Smartmom saw one with red booties on his paws.

The Assistant Principal didn't give out late passes this morning. He wandered around the lobby with nothing to do as dozens of students wandered in well past 8:30, including OSFO.

This No Snow Day is already getting on everyone's nerves. The weekend was a celebration of all those things we can't control as the snow filled Brooklyn like a huge cup of vanilla ice cream. We tasted of its delicious spirit of play.

Now it's time to be serious again. DARN.

Real Fruit Jelly Bobs Her Hair

Real Fruit Jelly wants to get a hair cut -- a dramatic, totally different kind of hair cut. She wants it really short like Annie Lennox, the female singer with the close cropped hair formerly one half of the Eurythmics. Like Lennox, RFJ wants that barely there hair look -- short, easy to take care of and stunning. Interestingly, Lennox's latest album is called "Bare."

Needless to say, a hair cut like this is a big decision. A real big one. And RFJ isn't one for making impulsive physical changes. She's only dyed her hair once and that was just to hide a couple of gray hairs. She's worn her thick, wavy hair long for a long time -- it falls just below her shoulders. When she's working or taking care of her daughter, she pulls it back in a pony tail with a scrunchie or small barettes.

But when she dresses up to attend a birthday party or a Bruce Springsteen concert -- she usually has it blown out at the local Aveeda Salon. That makes her look quite elegant, even glamorous with shades of Sandra Bullock.

Just the other day, RFJ told Smartmom that she'd been thinking about the Annie Lennox cut for a long time. Months ago she'd floated the idea past a good friend and didn't quite get the reaction she wanted. Her friend wondered if RFJ's face was symetrical enough for such a "severe" look. She studied the photo of Annie Lennox that RFJ had and delineated the differences between RFJ and Lennox's face.

RFJ was disappointed, even hurt that her friend didn't support her desire. She found herself retreating from the idea, feeling that it wasn't meant to be.

Smartmom had a very different reaction. As she listened to RFJ's story, she found herself hoping that RFJ would just do it. Who doesn't fantasize about hair experimentation? It's partly a make-over fantasy. But it's also a "make me who I really am" fantasy. It's the longing to truly bring out the essence of you.

In so many ways, Real Fruit Jelly is on her own journey right now; a journey of discovery. She's decided to take a "time out" from her chosen career to explore some other possibilities. She's thinking about decorating cakes, studying literature and learning to speak French. It's a exciting time -- full of exploration. She's really taking the time to figure out what she wants to do with her life and who she wants to be.

And that's where Annie Lennox comes in. RFJ has taken the bold step of imagining herself in a brand new way. She wants to clip those wavy locks and show her face to the world. Fearlessly. It's as if she's saying: this is who I am and I'm not hiding anymore.

Smartmom wonders whether RFJ will decide to do it. It is not, by any means, something she has to do. It's not like she has to prove that she's brave or anything - everyone knows that. Truly, it's perfectly fine to just toy with the idea.

And that's the point: to explore possibilities freely. That's where RFJ is at right now: thinking about a new hair cut, a new career, a new way of looking at herself and the world. Sweet dreams are made of this...

The Thrill is Gone

The tide has turned. After the enchantment of seeing what the snow had done to Brooklyn streets, trees, cars, window sills and roof tops during the night, EVERYONE got grumpy.

Sibling tensions flared when Teen Spirit sat in the big red comfy chair in the living room that OSFO thinks of as hers. Quite an altercation ensued: punches, tears, whining, yelling followed by lots of foot stomping down the hallway which makes Smartmom doubly crazy because of Persnickity's complaints.

Grrrrrr. Smartmom wanted to slaughter all of them. Persnickity included. He hasn't complained in exactly a week but the anticipatory anxiety of his next complaint is contant. Smartmom yelled at her offspring and gave herself a splitting headache.

Tensions between Hepcat and Smartmom also ebbed and flowed. Suffice it to say that yesterday's laundry experiment resulted in piles of clothing that still need to be folded and put away. Hepcat didn't seem to notice any of it. Smartmom has confirmed that doing laundry is way too aggravating a task for her delicate disposition. Rest assured, the Seriously Nice Equadorian Laundry on Sixth Avenue is at no risk of losing Smartmom and Co.'s business.

Finally, finally, Teen Spirit left to meet Best Buddy at the Third Street hill in Prospect Park for SLEDDING. He agreed to wear a few layers including a sweater underneath his leather jacket, and his Sorrel boots. He did, however, forget his gloves and hat and just called to see if Hepcat felt like taking a trip to the big hill to deliver said gloves and hat.

Hepcat and OSFO were already prepping for a photography and sledding expedition to the big Third Street hill. So they took Teen Spirit's winter gear and were on their way. OSFO, decked out in snow pants, a down jacket, a warm sweater and a pair of awesome snow boots, is so ready for winter FUN.

And Smartmom is so ready for some time alone. Alone, god damn it. Alone.

Sunday 8 a.m.

--It's still snowing
--There are snow drifts
--White blanket out there
--The wind looks fierce; the air is white
--They're predicting 18 inches on WNYC
--Only people walking their dogs
--or shovelling their sidewalks
--are out on the snow thick sidewalk
--Bare tree branches shake heavy with snow
--Brownstone rooftops look downy soft
--Smartmom's air conditioner, her window sills are snow platters
--Hepcat, Teen Spirit, OSFO are still sleeping
--Wait till they see what's happened

Blizzard in Brooklyn

--Brooklyn has a hushed beauty

--It was a great day to stay in the apartment, be cozy

--and do laundry in the laundry room in the basement

--The parked cars are covered in snow

--Teen Spirit and OSFO were disappointed because it snowed on a Saturday - what a waste of a snow day

--They're praying for a snow day on Monday

--so is Smartmom's neighbor who works as a teacher

--Met Food was packed with people shopping for provisions

--they will be open until midnight

--Community Books, Park Slope Kids Bookstore and Seventh Avenue Books are open

--for those who like to read when it's snowing

--Tarzian Hardware was sold out of plastic sleds

--Brownstone and coop owners shovel the sidewalks in front of their buildings

--they don't do a very good job

--Industrious kids shovel for money

--The apartment is overheated

--The kids upstairs went sledding on the Third Street Hill in Prospect Park

--OSFO was happy just playing outside the building

--Smartmom located all of last year's boots, gloves, mittens and hats

--Teen Spirit's old snow boots were too small

--He and Red and Best Buddy didn't wear hats

--they loved how the snow felt on their heads

--their faces got very red

--OSFO and Dynamic Blonde had a snowball fight

--they rode snowboards and sleds on the snow covered sidewalk

--The Sunday Times (which arrives at newstands Saturday night) may be a little late due to snow

--Pinos Pizza is packed full

--Some boys are playing a game of touch football in the middle of Third Street

--La Villa, Szechuan Delight and other local restaurants are delivering food like crazy

--Eastern Car Service is still running

--Cars drive slowly up and down Seventh Avenue

--so do the snow plows

--No one is annoyed with the snow yet - it's Saturday night, they have nowhere they have to be

--as most events have been cancelled

--although not all -- Best and Oldest and her husband walked to the Brooklyn Academy of Music in the snow to see "Twelfth Night" directed by Peter Hall with his daughter Rebecca Hall

--Hepcat is making a curried butternut squash soup

--there's half a bottle of Montepulciano red wine

--and lots of scotch

--Smartmom bought ice cream

--and a few magazines

--There's a great batch of Netflix to see

--Gods and Monsters, Y Tu Mama Tambien, Bend it like Beckham

--OSFO and Dynamic Blonde are playing soccer in the hallway

--Hepcat told her to stop because of Persnickity downstairs

--Now she's crying in her bedroom

--The night sky is purple

--OSFO has recovered from her pout

--The streetlights light the snow

--The girls are staring out the window

--It is soft focus white and snowy gorgeous outside

Ms. Measurement

Ms. Measurement joined Smartmom's running group. She was out there this morning at Grand Army Plaza in her winter running gear with a digital stop watch.

She is another one of Smartmom's "friends"; the one who keeps track of things. It's her hobby, really. She loves gadgets: calculators, scales, computers, yard sticks, and stopwatches. In another life she was an accountant. She's Smartmom's "worse than" or "better than" friend; the one who measures where Smartmom is in that amorphous pie chart in the sky.

Ms. Measurement ran right next to Smartmom. "You're the third slowest runner in the group," she whispered. "That puts you between the 10th and 15th percentile." Ms. Measurement is nothing if not precise. "Just make sure you don't let the others pass you. Then you'll be dead last!

Smartmom had a pretty good run considering it was 8 degrees. And considering that Ms. Measurement was nattering away the whole time. "Whoa, look at that lady's legs. They're at least twice as long as yours." she said at one point. Then later: "His strides are so very even," she commented. "He can really propel himself forward."

Smartmom did her best to ignore Ms. Measurement. It's not that she's mean or even incorrect. It's just that it can be annoying to hear her compare Smartmom to other people all the time.

She doesn't just do it during Smartmom's numerous athletic pursuits. No, no, no. She does it ALL the time. For instance, she goes to parties with Smartmom and compares her to the hosts: "Look at this spread. It ain't just chips and salsa." Sometimes she hits below the belt: "This place really has style. Not that" hand- me-down, thrift shop look you call decorating."

Or she makes Smartmom ultra aware of who's got what. She seems to have X-ray eyes into everyone's bank accounts, IRAs and 401Ks. "They are loaded, those two," she might say about a couple of friends. "They're going to retire in style."

Ms. Measurement is nothing if not in the know about the haves and the have nots among Smartmom's friends and aquaintances. She knows whose on their way up, and whose on their way down. Those who excel and those who fail.

You get the idea. All this comparative talk mades Smartmom a little crazy. So Smartmom tries not to listen -- she believes that there's more to life than a growth chart, a bell curve, a bank account, a body weight, a test score or a running time.

Too bad Ms. Measurement joined the runner's group. It's really hard to relax when she's around.

The Pathos of Blogging

Smartmom checks in with a few bloggers on a regular basis. She tries to limit this to a selective group as blogging can be time consuming, even addictive. But Smartmom has actually gotten quite attached to the special group of blogs that she visits.

On a daily basis, Smartmom stays connected to a small group of bloggers who are like family. Some are even family: Mamainwaiting, Oswegatchie, Udgewink, Laments of the Unfinished and 32 Poems.

Smartmom has even added some new blogs to her "check-in-daily-list": Travels in Booland and Cousin Lucy's Spoon, are, respectively, a mother and daughter each with her own unique blog. Helen of Sparta rants lovingly about her eleven year old sister and "her generation," while Unenchanted Rants comes from a young mother in Georgia who has a thing for Van Gogh.

But Smartmom has gotten to know another group of bloggers. These are bloggers that Smartmom appreciates in a quiet way. They don't know her from Adam and she never leaves comments -- she just reads what they have to say and finds their daily struggles quite compelling.

For example, there's the divorced mom of two in Colorado who writes: "Dedication to self has been and continues to be one of the hardest lessons for me to learn, because I'm always so wrapped up in taking care of others." And the lesbian who, with her partner, is waiting to adopt in the mid-west. There's a woman in San Francisco who is on the verge of buying an apartment and taking a trip around the world; her boyfriend just quit his job to write. And the "flaming gay guy" also in San Francisco who writes: Another Christmas, come and gone. My father departed, the tree taken down. Rufus Wainwright's "Memphis Skyline" set on repeat. Wishing I weren't quite so lonely in this enormous old house."

Smartmom has no intention of revealing the identities of these bloggers. Or even leaving comments. Sometimes she is tempted to say something but then she doesn't know what to say. She visits their sites in a very private, very quiet way. And just listens.

There is poignancy in their voices. Sometimes she feels their pain. Sometimes she roots for them. They have captured her empathy in a heartfelt way.

Like this pensive post from the mom in Colorado:

"Now, I'm alone and they (her kids) are off visiting other places as they sleep. The dishwasher is swishing, the computer is humming and the quick clickety clack of the keyboard as I type are all the sounds that keep me company. It's like a strange yet familiar song. It's a good time to take time for me. Thinking. Writing. Dreaming. "We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams." I just realized I'm smiling."

Smartmom can practically see this woman sitting at her desk. The kids are asleep and her music is playing; she's getting her thoughts down before bed. As she thinks, writes, and dreams, she is forging a connection between herself and those who read her words around the world.

Forgetting Sweetie Boo

Get this: Smartmom promised Mrs. Cleavage that she would pick Sweetie Boo up from afterschool today and she plum forgot.

Forgot!

Sweetie Boo had to wait in the principal's office until Smartmom and OSFO finally got him. He was sitting there for thirty minutes, the poor thing. THIRTY MINUTES. Needless to say, Smartmom felt like quite a cad.

Here's how it happened:

Last week Smartmom told Mrs. Cleavage that she'd be happy to pick up Sweetie Boo on Thursdays from afterschool. OSFO is in afterschool too. No problem at all. "I'll just swoop them both up and take them back to Third Street," said Smartmom sounding like the very model of a reliable friend. Mrs. Cleavage thanked Smartmom for her willingness to do it. And all was good.

Smartmom dutifully put "Pick up Sweetie Boo" on the calendar and made a mental note to herself. But then she put it out of her mind - misplaced that mental note. Completely.

Today was the first Thursday of their plan. It was also one of those days that kept taking unexpected twists and turns. Smartmom was all set to pick OSFO up at 4:15. But at 4 p.m. she, unexpectedly, had to wait around for a work-related phone call in her office. So she asked Beautiful Smile to walk over to the school to get OSFO. She never once said anything to Beautiful Smile about picking up the young lad.

Smartmom finally left her office at 4:30 and met up with OSFO and Beautiful Smile at the Mojo Cafe. Before she even said hello, OSFO blurted out: "Weren't we supposed to pick up Sweetie Boo?" At which point, Smartmom REMEMBERED!

"Oh my God," said Smartmom. She ran out the door of the Mojo and raced toward the school in a state of total panic. OSFO came running behind her. When they got to the door of the school, it was locked. A custodian was vacuuming the lobby floor. They banged on the glass door loudly. "Please let us in," they screamed. When she finally turned off the vacuume cleaner, she was able to hear them and opened the door. "We're here to pick up a child," The custodian looked at them funny as Smartmom and OSFO ran into the office.

And there he was sitting quietly on the chair looking uncomfortable with his coat and his backpack on. Sweetie Boo's afterschool teacher was in the office. She said that she'd tried to reach Mrs. Cleavage but there was no answer. Then she called Mrs. Kravitz who was now on her way to pick up Sweetie Boo.

The Judge was in the office too. Completely invisible to all but Smartmom, he was sitting at one of the Office Ladies' desks acting really smug: "How could you forget to pick up this child?" said The Judge. "Don't you write things down?"

Smartmom studiously avoided making eye contact with The Judge and thanked the incredibly nice teacher for watching after Sweetie Boo while he waited to be picked up.

Smartmom rubbed Sweetie Boo's back and asked him if he was scared. He looked sheepish and shy and nodded his head yes. "Did you think he was going to enjoy being abandoned?" The Judge asked, rubbing it in even more. She bit her lip and took Sweetie Boo's hand.

Smartmom, OSFO and Sweetie Boo ran into Mrs. Kravitz and Dynamic Duo turning the Third Street corner. At this point, Smartmom felt like such a terrible person that her need to make excuses went into overdrive. "It was one of those days" she said to Mrs. Kravitz. "I can't believe I forgot. He was in good hands in the office. The school is very good about things like this..."

Mrs. Kravitz seemed to understand.

The Judge didn't. He was sitting on the bench outside the Mojo nodding his head. "Everyone's gonna find out that you're completely irresponsible."

Smartmom saw Beautiful Smile, the Goddess of Stability and Unconditional Love, waiting in the Mojo. The Judge disappeared; he rarely shows up when Beautiful Smile is around. She has special powers.

"It was a good thing OSFO remembered when she did," Smartmom said to Beautiful Smile. "Otherwise Sweetie Boo would still be sitting in the office." Beautiful Smile gave Smartmom a nice big hug. As they walked together down Third Street Smartmom said, "Oh by the way, we're picking up Sweetie Boo. On Thursdays. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you."

Smartmom hasn't spoken to Mrs. Cleavage yet. She will. Tomorrow. She knows she'll understand. She'll probably still want Smartmom to pick up Sweetie Boo. Mrs. Cleavage is nothing if not a realist: What are the chances Smartmom will forget him again?

Not very likely. Not very likely at all.



Note: For those who are confused, The Judge is a figment of Smartom's mind. See the post: Cast of Characters (dated January 17. 2005).

Here Comes the Judge

The Judge was back again this morning.

Smartmom ignored the alarm at 6 a.m. sleeping right through until 7:30. "Shit," she said aloud to no-one. "We're late." Then she remembered that she had promised Teen Spirit pancakes. "Oh God," she sighed.

Smartmom went into the kitchen and took the brand new box of Aunt Jamima Complete Pancake Mix out of the cupboard. In her entire life she has never once used Aunt Jamima Complete - she has always used Original, the mix that requires an egg, milk and shortening - it has the remote aura of homemade. However, yesterday at the store, Smartmom couldn't reach the original box and had to settle for Complete.

And like an unwanted pantry moth, The Judge joined Smartmom in the kitchen: "Why'd you buy that? It's probably not as good as the other mix. Couldn't you have asked someone to reach the Original."

"Out of my way, Asshole," Smartmom barked as she prepared to laddle the pancake mix into the cast iron pan. She screamed toward the back bedrooms: "Get up everyone, we're late! Get up!"

At this point The Judge began to laugh. "I thought I told you yesterday that an earlier wake up would --" Smartmom didn't let him finish his sentence. "I heard what you said you arrogant fatso. Get out of my kitchen!"

As Teen Spirit and OSFO slowly dawdled and dressed, the first batch of pancakes stuck to the pan when Smartmom tried to spatula them up. Smartmom grabbed the box and realized that the Complete mix requires grease on the griddle (while Original requires none). The Judge sauntered in once again: "It's a good idea to read the instructions when you're doing something new." Smartmom scowled at the old bastard and scraped the screwed up pancakes off the pan and tossed them in the trash. She found another pan on the pot rack and poured a tiny bit of oil on the pan praying that she wouldn't have deep fried pancakes.

Hepcat took over the pancake cooking while Smartmom urged her offspring to move their buttocks. Teen Spirit feigned illness on the green couch while OSFO discovered her old Hamtaro plastic figures and started building a small boat for them (don't ask why).

Teen Spirit enjoyed the morning's hot breakfast - though it was lukewarm by the time he finally sat down to eat it. "You coulda heated them up in the microwave and let the boy experience a warm breakfast for once," The Judge whispered angrily when no-one was looking. OSFO shovelled Raisin Bran into her mouth, continuing to play with her Hamtaro figureines. "You really spend too much money on crap for that girl, you know," the Judge added and was on his way.

When Smartmom and OSFO got to the school, the officious Assistant Principal was at his special desk giving out late passes - a line of about 20 kids snaked out the front door. OSFO seemed non-plussed. Truth is, who cares if you're late in second grade, thought Smartmom. "But that's not the point," The Judge said reading Smartmom's mind. And there he was standing next to the Assistant Principal, a kindred spirit no doubt, giving out late passes to the first and second graders.

New Date Set for the Brooklyn Half-Marathon

The Brooklyn half-marathon is happening. Again. The NYC Road Runners Club has scheduled it for March 19th, which is OSFO's birthday. It's also much sooner than anyone expected. Surely no-one training in the Jack Rabbit Half-Marathon Group will be ready. Or will they? According to the coach's original plan, the group was aiming for a marathon in April.

Can it be done?

Sounds like the group is going to split in two. Those who want to try. Those who want to wait for the Half in Long Island on May 1.

Smartmom, Brooklyn booster and know-it-all that she is, had her heart set on the Brookly Half. The t-shirt alone was worth the price of entry. Sunrise on the Coney Island Boardwalk - it sounded too good to be true. But she's pretty sure she won't be be ready by March 19th.

First of all, there's lots to do on OSFO's birthday. Secondly, she probably won't be ready. Thirdly...

Wait, wait, wait just one minute. Part of her wants to try.

If the race is really early in the morning she won't miss OSFO's birthday by much. Also, if Smartmom is only ready to do ten miles then ten miles it is. That'll get her practically all the way to Park Slope. She might just have to miss the final 3.3 miles in Prospect Park.

A plan? A plan. She'll have to think about it and see where she's at when it's sign up time. By then, it should be pretty clear.

Coney Island or Long Island? Time will tell. Time will tell.

Running in the Snow

Tonight, Smartmom ran four miles in Prospect Park in the snow. "It's snow globe snow," said Theresa. And really it was. Somebody shook the park and let it snow continously on the runners as they ran slowly around the drive making sure not to slip on the ice.

The park was mostly empty except for the runners, members of the Jack Rabbit mini-marathon class. At least twenty of them showed up on this icy, cold night - and so did the three coaches; one on bicycle to keep track of everyone. It was, to say the least, a dedicated group. A crazy group. I mean, who goes running in the snow?

When you're training for an early Spring half-marathon you run in the snow.

Smartmom and Theresa took it nice and easy. They chatted a bit. "This is incredible!" one of them exclaimed. "It's memorable." I'm scared I might slip." "My feet are a bit cold but otherwise I'm hot."

Mostly they ran in silence. Letting the snow cool their faces, they listened to their breath and felt their hearts beat. They were sweating in the snow. Panting, turning red. Their exertion warmed them on the frigid night.

Near Wollman Rink is the Christmas tree recycling site for composting and clipping -- a big pile of mulch lay next to the road. The smell of pine filled the night air. Someone said it smelled like Chirstmas. Smartmom thought it smelled like heaven.

The park was an unknown quantity. All the usual landmarks looked different - even exotic - dressed in snow. The lake, the Grecian temple, the zoo, the meadow. Snow covered, they were mysterious and strange. Hiding in the snow, the park was full of surprises. Boo.

Snow globe snow. Someone shook the park and dots of snow fell from the sky. It covered the running shoes, the dark windbreakers, the sweaty faces of those who wanted to know what it felt like to run in the park in the snow.

Glorious. It did. It felt glorious.

Hanadi's Cinderella

Hanadi's Cinderella: a stick puppet play by Hanadi and Smartmom

Scene 1

Cat: Welcome to Hanadi’s Production of Cinderella. In the first scene we see Cinderella sweeping the living room of her stepmother’s house.

Her stepmother is mean, I mean really mean. And her stepsisters, Blondie and Misnavi, are always telling her what to do.

Poor Cinderella, she is not happy because all she does is clean, clean, clean. And work, work, work.

The curtain opens on the living room of the wicked stepmother’s house. Cinderella is sweeping the floor.

Cinderella: Ohhhh. I wish I was living the life of a princess and not here with my mean stepsisters and my wicked stepmother. Work, work, work. It’s all that I do. I wish I could dance at a ball and wear pretty dresses.

Blondie: Cinderella stop being lazy. Iron my clothes. I need you to iron my clothes NOW. I mean NOW!!!!

Misnavi: Cinderella, fix my room. Fold my clothes, polish my shoes. I’m in a rush Cinderella.. Do it NOW!

Cinderella: Whatever you say, Stepsisters.

Wicked Stepmother: Cinderella go down to the basement at once. It’s disgusting and dirty down there. I would never go down there. You must clean the grease and the soot.

Cinderella: (Starting to cry) Yes, Stepmother. I will do what you say.

Scene 2

Cat: As you can see, Cinderella leads a very unhappy life. Her stepsisters and stepmother are always bossing her around. Today, a special friend of the Prince comes to their house to invite all the girls in the village to the prince’s ball.

Prince’s friend comes to the door

Prince’s friend: Hello my fair ladies. I have wonderful news. The prince is having a ball tonight. He is inviting all the girls in the village. He wants to find himself a wife. He wants to find the most beautiful, the most interesting, and the most kind girl to be his princess. See you tonight.

The prince’s friend runs off.

Stepmother: Oh Cinderella, you have lots to do to get Blondie and Misnavi ready for the Prince’s ball tonight.

Blondie: Get my gown out of the closet. It needs to be cleaned and sewn and fixed. Get me my gown. I know the Prince will choose me.

Misnavi: Polish my fanciest shoes. The ones with the diamond straps. I know the Prince will choose me.

Stepmother: Come on girls, you need to get washed up, get your hair done, your nails polished, your toenails polished. You must have your faces made up and your hair curled. You must look fabulous for the prince.

Cat: So Cinderella spent the day helping Blondie and Misnavi get ready for the ball. At the end of the day she was very tired and sad. But she still had one question for her stepmother.

Cinderella: Stepmother, may I go to the ball? The Prince has invited all the girls in the village. And I am a girl in the village.

Stepmother: No. You have work to do. You are too dirty and tired. And besides, you have nothing to wear.

Cinderella: Couldn’t I borrow one of your gowns? You have so many.

Stepmother: Cinderella, you are a very silly girl. Say goodbye to my beautiful daughters. One of them will be the new princess.

To Be Continued....

The Judge

This morning, Smartmom ran into The Judge at the Mojo Cafe. The Judge is another "old friend" who comes around every now and again. Too ofen by Smartmom's estimation. He's a good friend of Fun House Mirror and a sometime member of the Fear Gang. Smartmom has known him for more years than she cares to admit.

Smartmom never knows when The Judge is going to show up. He doesn't call in advance to say, "Hey, let's have dinner." or "Do you wanna grab a drink?" Then, at least, she could decline or take a raincheck. Nope. The Judge is very impromptu -- and persistent. He's got a way of showing up at the darndest times. And he's really hard to shake.

Take this morning, Smartmom was sitting in the Mojo drinking coffee with OSFO, who was was eating Frosted Flakes. SM ordered a toasted bagel with butter for Teen Spirit who was running a little late.

Everything was fine. Even the fact that Smartmom forgot her money was no big deal. The morning crew at the Mojo knows Smartmom well. She can always pay them later.

But then The Judge decided to join them for breakfast. He scoffed at OSFO's sugary breakfast: "She should be eating a hot breakfast at home, dontcha think?" said the Judge with contempt in his voice. When Teen Spirit came in, The Judge looked at his watch: "Isn't he supposed to be at school by now." Noticing that Teen Spirit was just wearing his leather jacket, no hat, no gloves he said: "That boy will catch his death of a cold if his parents don't insist on a down jacket.

And when The Judge got wind of the fact that Smartmom had no money to pay for breakfast he snapped: "Get your act together, Smartmom. You can't always depend on the kindness of strangers."

Smartmom made a quick get-away with OSFO and arrived at school on time. "We beat the clock," Smartmom said to OSFO as she waved good bye. Smartmom walked out of the school building feeling mildly triumphant and saw The Judge standing in the playground. He shook his head judgementally, "An earlier wake up would make all of this so much easier."

Smartmom headed down Seventh Avenue to her office checking her back to make sure The Judge wasn't following her. If she could just get him to leave her alone everything would be so much better.

Cinderella in Stick Puppets

Smartmom and Hanadi are working on a stick puppet production of Cinderella. It started many weeks ago when Hanadi's teacher said that Hanadi needs to work on "sequencing." Creating a puppet show version of Cinderella seemed to Smartmom a great way to learn how to sequence a story. And Hanadi was very enthusiastic about the idea.

Every Wednesday at 10:15 when Smartmom works with Hanadi in the hallway outside of her classroom, SM sets up the supplies needed for their project.

Supplies:
Popsicle sticks
Paper
Scotch tape
Magic Markers
Sharpened Pencils
Scissors

They don't have a table so they do all of the art work on the linoleum floor. It would be so much easier if they had a table. Note to SM: arrange to get a table.

So far they've made all of the puppets. These puppets are, by no means, elaborate but they look great. They are just the face of the character taped to the top part of the popsicle stick. Puppets completed: wicked stepmother, 2 wicked stepsisters, cinderella as a maid, cinderella at the ball, the prince, the prince's friend, and the fairy godmother. There is also a cool-looking cat who is the narrator of the show.

In the last couple of Wednesdays, Hanadi and Smartmom worked on the scenery for the show. This is basically a piece of paper taped to the tile wall of the hallway. They've completed the living room of the wicked stepmother's house, Cinderella's room and the ballroom where she meets the prince. They've even made the pumpkin carriage that Cinderella rides to the ball and back.

The faces of the puppets are very expresive. The stepmother and sister look sufficiently wicked. And Cinderella and the Fairy Godmother are all rosy cheeked and pretty. Smartmom's favorite is cat who narrates the show.

Smartmom is walking Hanadi through the process of creating a show. Now that the puppets are done and the scenery is ready, it's time to write the play. Here's where Hanadi will really learn to tell a story in the proper order and with specific details. Thus far, the two have been improvising scenes holding the stick puppets and talking in character voices.

So far so good. Last week, they wrote the opening scene where the Cat gets up and welcomes the audience and introduces the characters. They also did the scene where Cinderella is miserably sweeping the floor while the stepsisters scream at her and tell her what to do.

It's amazing how writing dialogue can really bring out an imaginative voice in a child. Hanadi is really going to town creating wild lines for those nasty stepsisters.

Today, we'll be working on the scene where the Prince's friend comes to the house and invites all the girls of the house to the ball.

Hanadi and Smartmom are creating a very hip version of the classic fairy tale: It's Cinderella with attitude.

The Other Woman

On Saturday afternoon, Smartmom went to the newly enlarged Museum of Modern Art to see a screening of "The Other Woman" a German film written by Best & Oldest.

What a thrill to see her credit roll by in the dark theater.

And she is in excellent company. The film was directed by Margarethe von Trotta, who made "Marianne and Julianne," "Sisters," and "Rosa Luxemburg." "The Other Woman" stars another Park Slope luminary: the brilliant Barbara Sukowa, who played Rosa Luxemburg, as well as numerous Rainer Werner Fassbinder heroines.

As Best & Oldest describes it, "The Other Woman" is, on a certain level, "the story of one man and two women. The oldest story in the world." But with a post-war German twist. A wife's discovery that her husband, a member of the Stasi - the East German secret police - had another life with another woman as part of his job is at the heart of this human drama. The other woman, played by Barbara Sukowa, is now in jail serving a sentence for espionage. Her life in ruins, she invites the wife to prison and slowly reveals the truth -- and the lies -- about their duplicitous husband.

Apparently, these Stasi romances were quite common during the cold war. Women who worked for embassies and other government agencies were seduced by these Stasi "Romeos" who would romance them, wine them and dine them, marry them, even have children with them in order to steal state secrets. In the Stasi it was called: "Fucking for the Fatherland."

Best & Oldest, in an interview said, "The script is based on a true story, which is about the Stasi. They had a program in place called “Project Romeo.” The idea was as follows: they would seduce woman working for embassies and other organizations throughout West Germany, to steal their secrets, but what made it different was that by and large these relationships lasted for years, were phony marriages, others lived together and these women were told stories that you can’t possibly believe. And they were unique in spying for love in that they were all German. The men spoke their language and they knew the women’s culture. Some of them met, were seduced, fell in love, some of the women were overwhelmed by the communist ideology. Some of the men said they were scientists, that they were Danish. It offered a whole variety of stories. When the Wall came down, many of these people were caught. The men walked free, and the woman went to jail, many of them for up to six years."

"The Other Woman" is an incredibly engaging film. The prison scenes with Sukowa and Barbara Auer, who plays the wife, are intense verbal sparring matches. What transpires between them is an emotional and dangerous chess game. Expertly written with touches of Best & Oldest's characteristic humor, the film is accented with the black humor of real lives ruined by political predicaments and greed. The painful confrontations between the two duped women lead to painful revelations, rage and, finally, self-discovery." From the despicable husband, who is played with grace and human insight by Stefan Kurt, we hear the cowardly refrain: "It was my job, I had to do it."

Sound familiar?

Made for German television, "The Other Woman" deserves to have an American release because of the way it details this bizarre chapter in post-war German history. More than that, it is a metaphor for the difficulty of reconciliation between East and West Germany. What the Berlin Wall meant on a human level is absolutely vivid in this very insightful and tragic tale of two German women caught in a web of lies. It takes courage and verve for them to re-examine their pasts and move toward the future with moral dignity.

After the screening, a gang of Best & Oldest friends went out to a bar on West 56th Street to toast their friend, who was conspicuously absent. It was a case of nerves that kept her from attending the second New York screening of the film despite the enthusiastic response the film received at its first screening Wednesday night. Smartmom got Best & Oldest on her cell phone and the table of friends shouted words of congratulations and hurrahs.

Smartmom hopes, in the days to come, to see Best & Oldest face to face to share her impressions, have a glass of wine, and shower her with admiration and pride.

Cast of Characters

The following are the names and a brief description of the cast members of Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn. If she accidentally left anyone out: apologies and corrections to come.

FAMILY

Smartmom: Blogger who Knows Brooklyn

Hepcat: Husband of Smartmom. Photographer extradonaire

Teen Spirit: 13 year old son of Smartmom and Hepcat

The Oh So Feisty One (OSFO): 7 year old daughter of Smartmom and Hepcat

Groovy Aunt: Smartmom's identical twin sister

Bro-in-law: Husband of Smartmom's identical twin sister

Groovy Grandma: Smartmom's mother (divorced from Groovy Grandpa)

Groovy Grandpa: Smartmom's father (divorced from Groovy Grandma)

MiMa Cat: Stepmother of Smartmom. Wife of Groovy Grandpa. Nicknamed by OSFO at the age of 2 because of MiMa Cat's beloved cat, Rupert

Clever Grandma: Smartmom's mother-in-law and Hepcat's mother. She lives in California

Groovy Cousin: Smartmom's cousin on her mother's side

Beautiful Smile: Friend of Smartmom, Housekeeper and Caregiver of OSFO and Teen Spirit. Goddess of Stability and Unconditional Love

FRIENDS WHO ARE FAMILY

Red Eft (formerly Upstate Pal): Friend and daily confidante who lives in the Hudson Valley

Dadu: Friend, husband of Red Eft and soul mate of Hepcat

Real Fruit Jelly: Friend, office mate, and conversational co-hort

Best & Oldest: Friend since the first day of fifth grade

Warm & Funny: Friend and member of Smartmom's writer's group

Poetry Czar: Friend and co-hort on OSFO's school poetry magazine

Writer & Drinkers: Members of Smartmom's writer's group

Mrs. Kravitz: Friend, downstairs neighbor and mother of OSFO's best friend

Dynamic Blonde: OSFO's best friend and downstairs neighbor

Dynamic Blonde Duo: OSFO's best friend and her brother

Mrs. Cleavage: Friend, local entrepreneur and fellow blogger

Sweetie Boo: Son of Mrs. Cleavage

Best Buddy: Friend of Teen Spirit who lives a few blocks away

Red: Friend of Teen Spirit who lives down the street

Drama Tween: Friend of Teen Spirit

Former Upstairs Neighbors: Friends who used to live upstairs, they still live on Third Street

The Deserters: College and across the street friends who up and moved to Nyack

Tall and Lanky: Friend, they met during OSFO's pre-school days

Grammatical Genuis: Friend, sometime writing partner and creative co-hort

So Enthusiastic: Friend and Smartmom's fitness Trainer

FELLOW BLOGGERS AND FRIENDS (WHO ARE FAMILY)

Udge: The Blogger of Stuttgart

Laments of the Unfinished: Member of Smartmom's writer's group

Mrs. Cleavage: Friend and local entrepreneur

Helen of Sparta: Londoner and nice-sounding person

Jonsey: Mom and lover of Van Gogh from Georgia



NEITHER FRIEND NOR FOE NOR FAMILY

Persnickity: Downstair's neighbor who complains about noise : (

FIGMENTS OF SMARTMOM'S MIND:

Fun House Mirror: Smartmom's inner self on a bad hair and everything else day

Fear Gang: Smartmom's fearful self on any given day

The Judge: Smartmom's inner judge. He's around too much of the time

Celebrate

Smartmom has become very fond of happy occasions. They don't make her anxious anymore. A gathering of people to celebrate something good is itself a good thing.

It comes of getting older. Of knowing that there are other reasons why people gather in groups.

Birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, showers. Any excuse for a party is, to Smartmom's way of thinking, a way to savor the special people in her life; an opportunity to stop and recognize the beauty of what's here.

In that spirit, "Bring on the Good Times" is Smartmom's theme for 2005! Party down hearty in any way you can this year because it so much better than the alternative: dragging your feet feeling blue.

Dig it!

Smartmom loves Groovy Grandpa's birthday coming as it does in the middle of January. It is something to look forward to after the build up and then the let down of the holidays. It is the soft, warm glow in the middle of a sometimes bleak month.

The pressures of January are manifold. First, there's the getting back to whatever was going on before the new year. It's also the turn-a-new-leaf-month, the things-are-gonna-be-different-now time of year. It's a game of catch-up and reinvention all at once --and that can be exhausting.

And it's usually kinda cold.

Of all the ambitious plans that Smartmom has devised for the coming year, perhaps none is more important than her desire to celebrate and savor the good things that are going on; to converse and connect with those she loves.

Last night at 360 a restaurant on Van Brunt Street in Red Hook, Brooklyn, Smartmom made good on her vow. A particularly great group gathered to drink biodynamic wine, eat fantastic French food, drink more biodynamic wine and celebrate the man and his birthday.

The conversation was non-stop from 7:30 on. Moving around, stealing each other's chairs, every combination of people had the chance to talk, joke, catch up and laugh.

The prix-fixe dinner was also exceptional topped off by rice pudding the likes of which Smartmom has never tasted. 360 uses all organic ingredients and their produce is from an organic farm located in a nearby baseball field that was set up to help troubled youth.

Groovy Grandpa's gifts included "Los Alamos" a book of color photography by William Eggelston that he had already bought for himself -- the sign of a truly perfect gift. Smartmom bought it from Groovy Aunt who will find another perfect (but not too perfect) gift for GG. And now Smartmom and Hepcat have this book they'd been meaning to buy!

In front of the restaurant as everyone said their farewells, the revelers remarked what a great time they'd had and how good it was to be together. "It's a crime," someone said, "to let so much time pass."

Hear, hear, thought Smartmom. Great people, biodynamic wine, organic food. What better way to celebrate Groovy Grandpa's birthday and ring in the new year.

Svetlana

In this post, Groovy Aunt shares her joy at getting the photo of Svetlana from the adoption agency. While there is still the chance that Svetlana may not end up in Brooklyn, Groovy Aunt's community of family and friends can't contain their excitement about the well-swaddled infant.

The Photo

We received our baby's photo. Her birth name is Svetlana, she is 5 months old, and she is a cutie.

In the photo, she is swaddled within an inch of her life. In fact, you can't see her body at all because she is wrapped from the neck down. Apparently, swaddling - the wrapping of a baby in a receiving blanket - helps the child feel warm, protected and like she is still in the womb.

Svetlana has enormous cheeks and possibly red hair although in the documentation it is described as light brown. Her eyes are gray but it's hard to tell that from the picture because she's lying down. Thank you Real Fruit Jelly for suggesting that we turn the photo from vertical to horizontal.

Svetlana looks like she may have just awoken from a nap.

There is, however, the unfortunate possiblility that our first trip will be delayed because of new restrictions passed by the Russian Government effective December 30 2004. We may not be able to go to Perm for another 2 to 3 months. There will be more information next week. She was apparently relinquished by her birthmother, a 24-year- old resident of Pirm with one child already, at birth. There is practically no medical information about her except one typically Russian diagnosis that is mentioned on the documents of every baby born in Russia. Last evening I emailed her picture and the written information to Dr. Jane Aronson, the renowned "orphan doctor" who will evaluate the information thus far. We await her reply.

Receiving the photo has changed EVERYTHING. Suddenly, this experience feels all the more real. A lot of the fear and tredpidation have dissipated. Last night, I slept better than I have in weeks.

I dreamed I was pregnant and my stomach was protruding. In the dream, SM introduced me to her friend and pointed to my belly, but apparently the friend couldn't tell I was pregnant -- she had no idea what SM was pointing at. Then I went to a party and had some wine and suddenly remembered I was pregnant. I felt terribly guilty and remorseful, convincing myself that I had damaged my unborn child.

I woke up relieved that I had been dreaming. My stomach actually did feel full and protruding. I immediately picked up the picture by my bedside, and felt a wave of contentment and calm. There is a baby, and she is quite possibly mine.

Jen and Brad

What hope is there for the institution of marriage if Jen and Brad are calling it quits? If those pillars of tabloid journalism can't live happily ever after who can.

The recent demise of Jen and Brad is causing Smartmom to re-think her own marriage. How can she and Hepcat keep-on-keeping-on if those "have-it-alls" can't figure out how to be happy.

In a recent issue of "People Magazine," there were literally dozens of photos of the picture-perfect couple. At the beach, the Oscars, the Emmys, those former lovebirds are always holding hands or hugging. They do seem to have chemistry, alright—and it looks like the real thing.

So what gives? Was the marriage just a charade or are those "friends" just fickle as hell? That's the big question for the gossip journalists to figure out. In the meantime, Smartmom is doing a lot of thinking about the ordinary realities of her own relationship.

The Smartmom marriage is a good one. But it is, by no means, glamorous. Yes, she and Hepcat are unstoppably commited, but they rarely go to awards ceremonies or fancy beach resorts. No. Their marriage is a symphony of daily errands and logistics, worries, and things to nag about. But this Jen and Brad-thing is forcing Smartmom to re-consider: should she accept her marriage as is or, like Brad and Jen, strive for something "better."

Yeah, yeah, Smartmom knows that marriage is about so much more than gorgeous bodies, fancy houses and romantic vacations. And yet, what would be so bad about gorgeous bodies, fancy houses and romantic vacations? Not only that. Smartmom wouldn't mind being spoiled in just one of the ways that Jen and Brad have spoiled each other:

--Brad filled Jen's "Friends" dressing room with thousands of white roses for her birthday.
--Jen planned a romantic weekend get-away for architecture-buff Brad in a Califronia Arts and Crafts house by Greene and Greene
--Brad helped design their multi-million dollar home with special attention to the master bathroom suite

Talk about ungrateful. Smartmom would be happy to get a dozen roses from the Korean market on Garfield Place this Valentine's Day. What is wrong with these two unbelievably shallow idiots?

Maybe they need to see what ordinary life is like. Then they'll go running back to their "People Magazine" lives.

For 24 hours, Jen and Brad should try living Smartmom and Hepcat's Brooklyn life: working a shift at the Park Slope Park Food Coop, waiting in line to use the bathroom in their one-bathroom apartment, listening to the radiator whistle in their tiny Third Street bedroom, spending an hour looking for a parking space. Just try it Jen and Brad. TRY IT!

Maybe if they spent a few hours in Smartmom and Hepcat's shoes, they'd realize what golden lives they have.

Here's what Smartmom knows: While her life with Hepcat may not be glamorous, their wedding vows are like Super Glue. Commitment is just another word for making it work one day at a time. She thanks God for small marital favors: Hepcat is never boring, he makes Smartmom laugh and he cooks one hell of a risotto. His unbelievably annoying qualities are only unbeliveably annoying about half the time.

Maybe Brad and Jen should try to be a little bit more boring and a little bit more annoying. Then they wouldn't be looking for something better. They'd know they'd had it all along.

Resolution Redux

What do you do when one of your New Years resolutions is cancelled?

Well, that's what happened to Smartmom. And she is PISSED.

The Brooklyn half-marathon, a 13-mile race from the Coney Island Boardwalk to Prospect Park has been cancelled. Training for, running in AND completing the Brooklyn Half was Smartmom's #1 New Years resolutions this year. Smartmom got the bad news this morning during the Brooklyn Half-Marathon Class.

Smartmom was really excited about the Brooklyn Half. She thought it sounded so cool to start on the boardwalk and then past the Wonder Wheel, the Cyclone, the Aquarium. Running through Brighton Beach, on Ocean Parkway, and past the Orthodox Jewish synogogues and yeshivas, the race was going to end with a grueling three miles in Prospect Park.

But no go.

For reasons unknown, the race has been cancelled. The coach of the Brooklyn Half-Marathon Class is going to find another half-marathon for the group to run in. He mentioned something about a May 1, race in Long Island. So Smartmom will keep you posted.

What happens to a dream deferred? It gets transferred to Long Island.

Groovy Grandpa's Birthday

For some reason, stuff always happens on or around January 16th, which is Groovy Grandpa's birthday.

1. In 1989, Smartmom and Hepcat announced their engagement at Groovy Grandpa's 60th birthday party at Gotham Restaurant.

2. The first Gulf War started in 1991 while Smartmom, Hepcat, Groovy Grandpa, MiMa Cat and Groovy Aunt were celebrating his birthday in a restaurant on Spring Street. They raced home to watch the war on television. It was very scary and strange.

3. In 1998, at the precocious age of ten months, OSFO took her first steps on Groovy Grandpa's and MiMa Cat's sissal rug during a birthday bash.

4. In 2002, Hepcat was told by his manager that he was being laid off from Cisco Systems. At the time, Smartmom said to herself: it will be so easy to remember the date/

5. That same day, Smartmom's best friend from college gave birth to a little boy named Eli.

On this day, really great things and some not so great things have happened. But this year the co-ocurrance is of the really great variety. As Groovy Grandpa celebrates his 76th birthday, something very special is going on. Groovy Aunt and Bro-in-law received their adoption referral. In other words: they were sent an e-mail from the adoption agency with a picture of a little girl baby in Perm, Russia who they can adopt.

And she is beautiful.

She was born on August 12th 2004 and has light, almost reddish brown hair and gray eyes, fair skin tone and full cheeks. She looks like an ice cream cone in the picture because she is tightly swaddled with only her head sticking out.

Her Russian name is Svetlana but OSFO calls her "ducky" because there are pictures of ducks on the baby's receiving blanket.

Everyone is already very attached to this little girl on the other side of the world who will soon be part of their family. Now they just have to wait. In the meantime, Groovy Grandpa will be feted with dinner, gifts, birthday cake, champagne and generally festive behavior.

And while they're at it, they'll all say a toast to the adorable little girl who will be coming home to Brooklyn soon.

Ikea Day

Yesterday, Smartmom, Hepcat and Real Fruit Jelly ventured to Ikea. An inexpensive couch for Smartmom and Real Fruit Jelly's office was the main item on their shopping list. RFJ had the idea because she, on occasion, finds herself napping in the office. Usually she sleeps on the comfy chair in the corner by the window. But that chair is better for slouching than sleeping and really not all that comfy. Smartmom too falls asleep in the office from time to time. More often than she cares to admit. Sometimes she just sleeps on the floor or sitting in her office chair.

Ikea seemed like the ideal place to find an affordable couch. When Smartmom and RFJ made the plan, Hepcat decided to come too because he needed frames for his photographs. So off they went in hot pursuit of a couch and picture frames. In RFJ's Lexus SUV, the three crossed the Verrazano Bridge, drove across Staten Island and crossed the Goethals Bridge to New Jersey. From there's it's one exit on the Jersey Turnpike and VOILA. IKEA.

Unfortunately, they made a few navigational errors - the driver was distracted by the conversation - and had to do some backtracking. Not a problem. They arrived at Ikea with high hopes and high energy ready for adventure.

Mid-week, mid-day is an ideal time to land in Ikea. The store was quiet and not very crowded. There were even a few sales people around in the event of a question and/or an order. After a thorough review of all the couches in the couch department, SM and RFJ found The Karlanda, a blue upholstered bench that looked great for sitting and perfect for sleeping. They plan to put it against the wall and throw some throw pillows on it.

Mission accomplished. Except for one itsy, bitsy problem.

They were out of stock. Sigh, sigh, groan. A sales person did take RFJ's information and promised to call when it comes in.

After that disappointment, the three wandered the floor. At first Smartmom was all eyes and energy, taking everything in. Ooooh, what a nice cabinet, look at that table, nice storage unit, cool dresser, handy desk, a table for the printer...

Oooooh.

A trip to Ikea inspires a complete re-evaluation of one's abode. Storage bins and closets look like instant solutions to everything that ails the urban apartment dweller. Clutter: that great monster can be controlled with just a few items from the Swedish furniture giant. It all looks so clean and simple. The solution to life's chaos...

Smartmom found herself fantaszing about throwing her furniture away. She wanted to start all over again -- new everything. Even Hepcat kept grabbing things he thought they needed -- a duvet cover, towels, a collander, garlic press, pillows. Their blue plastic Ikea shoulder bags were packed with things they were convinced would improve their quality of life.

And then the fatigue set in. but they couldn't stop.

Hepcat started showing signs of fatigue-induced mania early on. He became obsessed with the Swedish names for the merchandise finding them all quite hilarious: the Krabb mirror, the Expedit, the Billy Bookcase and the Ivar, a line for furnishing the garage. In the lighting department, he found the Dunkar floor lamp, the Non, the Aftonstund, the Morker, the Limbo, the Not lamp, and the Duno lamp.

Hee hee hee. He was losing it in the lighting department.

"Hey, come look," he said. "The Dipodi Lamp -- for the bathroom, maybe?" He pointed out the Lock and the Rigor ceiling lamps. The funniest were the Fartg lamp and the Sextol bedside lamp. There was even a group of cocktail shakers and trays called the Grogy.

You get the idea.

Hepcat is convinced that they are fake Swedish words, jokes on English for the Americans.

Later, Hepcat grabbed a blue teddy bear for OSFO even though Smartmom begged him to put it back. "She doesn't need another stuffed animal!" But Hepcat insisted on bringing what he called "this gorgeous blue bear" home to his daughter. By then, it was abundantly clear that he was really far gone.

The three took a much-needed rest in the cafeteria and ate an inexpensive feast of Swedish meatballs and gravilax, an Ikea tradition. The windows of the airy and attractive cafeteria face Newark Airport and the Jersey Turnpike -- truly one of the most engaging vistas around. As they watched planes landing in the fog, the group's feet were aching, their big yellow plastic Ikea bags waiting on the chairs beside them.

By the time they reached the check-out, they'd spent more money than they'd wanted to and had to figure out how to pack it all into RFJ's SUV.

Smartmom and RFJ still don't have a couch for napping in the office. But that's okay. When they do get that call about the Karlanda bench they'll be crossing the Verrazano again, Ikea bound.

A Blog is as Good as Ten Mothers

To rip off the title of Les Blank's 1980 documentary about garlic, a blog really is as good as ten mothers.

Last week when Smartmom was seriously under the weather, she was buoyed by the support she received from the readers of her blog. Their comments went a long way toward alleviating the guilt she felt about spending the entire week in bed.

They were her chicken soup, her Vitamin C, the gentle admonishments when she strayed from her bed. They helped her believe in the deep healing powers of rest.

Her guilt turned to obligation as she recognized the necessity of taking good care of herself. If she is not well, she can't do any of the many things she needs and wants to do. She won't be good for anyone. Most especially herself.

The readers of this blog nurture Smartmom with the close attention they pay. They read her and take in the meaning. And for that she is eternally grateful.

She thanks her readers -- those who comment and those who do not --for helping her heal.

From Udge:
Shakespeare in Love" is one fine painkiller, I know people who relate to it as Meg Ryan's character in "Sleepless in Seattle" did to "An Affair to Remember". Actually, stay in bed another day and watch all three ;-)

From Real Fruit Jelly:
I second Ugde's motion for another day of rest. Stay home, stay warm and stay cozy. You deserve it, Pioneer Woman! You can do more sewing on Wednesday. Goodnight. RFJ

From Red Eft:
Dear, dear Smartmom, how we love you.
And we want you to hibernate and give your powerful voice a rest. It always comes back stronger. You are still speaking, and we are listening.

The best medicine of all is this communication and connection through the written word. Smartmom appreciates that she being read by those who understand.

Fun House Mirror.

Smartmom has a love/hate relationship with her old friend, Fun House Mirror. To be truthful, it's mostly hate/hate. But they've been friends for a long time and Smartmom is nothing if not loyal. Too loyal some would say.

Fun House Mirror prides herself on being truthful. She never minces words -- always tells it like it is. "What are friends for?" she says, half expecting Smartmom to agree. Needless to say, she's not the easiest person to be around.

Just yesterday, Smartmom left the house feeling pretty good. But then she ran into Fun House Mirror on the street and BAM: "You look like you just got out of bed," she said. "You should really do something about your hair."

Fun House Mirror calls it honesty. But her comments are really quite insulting. And she never says, "I'm sorry." As far as she's concerned, she's speaking the truth. If it hurts -- so be it.

Running into Smartmom on the street, Fun House Mirror is all smooches and hugs: "Dahling, it's been too long," she exclaims, air kissing Smartmom's cheek. "Your shirt is too tight," she whispers into Smartmom's ear. "Leave a little bit to the imagination."

One time, she told Smartmom that she looked tired and old. "My goodness, there are big, black rings under your eyes," Fun House Mirror exclaimed. "You should take care of yourself -- you're over 40, my dear."

Every year, Smartmom resolves to weed Fun House Mirror out of her life. Every year she gets more and more fed up with this person who calls herself a friend. This has been going on long enough, Smartmom thinks.

And yet, the "friendship" endures. Some of you may wonder why Smartmom doesn't just give her a piece of her mind. Well, she did. And when Smartmom said to her: "Shut up, you bitch!" Fun House Mirror just puts her hands over her ears and cried, "I'm not listening. I'm not listening." over and over.

And that is that. FHM willed herself not to hear a thing.

Smartmom has known Fun House Mirror since junior high school. Back then she told Smartmom to wear big sweaters and baggy pants. "Better to keep covered up," she'd say. "Hides the imperfections." She always helped Smartmom with her hair, dropping in whenever she was having a haircut. "Keep it long, otherwise your face will look fat," Fun House Mirror would say.

Whenever Smartmom goes shopping, there she is. "Maybe you should try that in a larger size. That one's way too small." Fun House Mirror is always quick to advise. "You don't want horizontal stripes, trust me." or "That pattern is way too busy, you'll look like a lampshade."

And in the summer, Fun House Mirror always finds Smartmom at the beach. Wearing a floral mumu and holding a large parasol, Fun House Mirror invariably calls out: "You looked like a beached whale -- better get back in the water!" It's her idea of a joke -- she actually thinks that she's funny. But boy, is she good at ruining Smartmom's day.

Even when Smartmom is in the bathroom washing her face, Fun House Mirror thinks nothing of barging in. "Your skin is breaking out. What are those black marks on your face?"

Even when Smartmom is alone, Fun House Mirror thinks nothing of barging in...

Sometimes friendships go on way too long. Inertia, fear -- who know's what it is. But this one has definitely gone on long enough. Smartmom vows to sweep Fun House Mirror out of her life soon. She knows it ain't gonna be easy -- it never is. But this year, Smartmom is really going to try.

With friends like Fun House Mirror, who needs enemies?

Gang of Fear

Smartmom used to hang out with a bad crowd. A bunch of thugs, really: a gang called Fear. They still come around every now and again. Especially when she's feeling low. Old, old "friends"—she's known them longer than she cares to remember. She actually used to like them and thought they were so cool in their black leather jackets, motorcycle boots, and fancy tattoos that said: "Fear Everything."

But now she hates them and wants them far away. They hold her back and keep her from doing new things, "Nah, don't go there," they say. "Stay here with us where it's cozy and familiar."

The Fear Gang keeps her from making positive changes. "No, no, no," they say. "Stay just the way you are" Then they take her hands and squeeze tight. "We love you just the way you are."

The Fear Gang tries to prevent her from taking risks: "That's a bad idea," they'll say. "That's a scary thing to do." Stay with us, we'll keep you from harm!"

The Fear Gang always shows up when Smartmom is doing something important like sending out her resume, submitting her writing, trying to scare up an agent. "You've got to be kidding," the Fear Gang will say, "Why, there are so many people more talented than you!" Then they try to make it up to her: "But we like you. We really do."

Smartmom has been trying to escape the Fear Gang for years. But to no avail. They follow her wherever she goes, whatever she does. Sometimes she manages to avoid them for weeks, even months at a time. And when they do find her, she tries her best to ignore them, to look the other way. That's a hard thing to do because they're so BIG. And they always seem to show up at the worst possible times.

Like the day after the first session of the Beginner's Running Group. "We saw you yesterday in Prospect Park," they said. "You're too old to go running, you know. You're just gonna get hurt!" Smartmom slammed the door and vowed never to see them again. And she did continue running and finished a 10K race in June.

They dropped by recently when she was submitting some work to a literary journal. "We just read some really great work by another writer—a really good writer. Would you like to see it?" they said. "Get the hell out of here," Smartmom screamed.

Without fail, the Fear Gang comes by just as she begins to write. The last time, they sang, "Words, words, words. What really do you have to say?" Smartmom tried to ignore them as she pressed her fingers to the keyboard. "You have no right to call yourself a writer," they taunted, wresting her away from her desk.

When she finally managed to get up off the floor she screamed, "Don't come around here anymore!" Eventually, they rode off on their bikes, leaving a spray of exhaust in their wake. Smartmom got back to her writing eventually. But the altercation really took its toll.

Smartmom is trying to learn how to live in the same world as the Fear Gang. She knows they're not going away but she doesn't want to be stymied by them anymore. So what if they taunt her, or say mean things.

So what?

She can turn up the volume on her music, use ear plugs, believe in herself more and more. This year Smartmom is making a really big effort to eradicate the Fear Gang from her world. Whatever it takes. With some vigilence she should be able to rid her life of those rats.

They're really dangerous to have around.

Fear of Flying

Smartmom broke up with her fear of flying. It's over.

Her fear of flying accompanied her on all of her travels. It would begin a week or more before a trip. Like free-floating anxiety, it permeated everything she did in preparation for the trip and make her feel dark and vulnerable for days.

She hated every aspect of the flying: the car ride to the plane, checking in, waiting to board, boarding, take off, flight meals, using the bathroom, landing, even retrieving her luggage (although that wasn't too hard since she was, thankfully, on the ground again).

Her fear of flying was a bad relationship that went on way too long. So long, in fact, that she can't even remember when it started. It definitely got worse after September 11th when it converged with her fear of terrorism making for one heck of a fun ride. During her first few flights after September 11th, she got so crazed she inwardly suspected fellow passengers of being terrorists. But even then, Smartmom knew her fear of flying was stronger and more intense than her fear of the plane being smashed into a tall building.

For years, Smartmom sat with her fear on the plane, clutching it like an overstuffed toy bear. She could think of nothing else. A small bottle of vodka mixed with a can of Virgin Mary did little to keep it at bay. She and her fear were hypervigilent to every sound: the pilot's voice, the behavior of the flight crew, the hum of the engine. She was constantly worried that something would go wrong, that something was going wrong.

Are we going down? Is everything alright?

Every bump, every turbulent rumble, made her stomach clench, her heart flutter. She was all eyes, all ears, all emotion through the entire flight, never resting, never relaxing for even a moment.

Flying with the kids made her fear even worse. She worried what she would do if, god forbid, the plane should go down. She imagined what she would say to comfort them as the plane went down. What would her last loving words to them be? She wondered if she would be able to figure out how to use the oxygen masks, the life jacket (in the unlikely event of a water landing), the safety exit (she could never bring herself to listen to the emergency instructions).

She couldn't bear the idea of dying with her children on a plane. It was her greatest fear.

Like a friendship that slowly erodes, Smartmom's relationship didn't end with a nosiy fight or a nasty phone call. It just sort of went away. Sometimes she even misses it—they'd been through so much together. But mostly it is a relief not to be weighted down by it anymore. Without the dread, everything is so much easier now: every aspect of travel isn't imbued with dark emotion and morbidity. Packing is easier too, as is saying good bye to family and friends.

So what happened between Smartmom and her fear. Why'd they call it quits after so long?

Boredom. For one thing, Smartmom just got sick and tired of it. She couldn't bear to go on one more flight and think about morbid things. BORING! What a waste of time. Life is too short to spend it clenched in anxiety on an airplane.

Meditation. Smartmom learned how to meditate and tries to do it everyday. She started to do deep breathing before and during take-off, which was always the most difficult part of the trip. She finds that it makes her feel relaxed, almost sleepy. Concentrating on her breath keeps her mind off of her old friend. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out. She breathes her way up to 35,000 feet, cruising altitude.

Jet Blue. Smartmom has been flying Jet Blue for three years now and it makes all the difference. They seem to have gotten all the nasty kinks out of airplane travel. Check in is a breeze, they're usually on time, the flight crew is great, pilots are nice (and they were the first to have locked cockpit doors), there are no airline meals (you bring your own), and they don't clog up the aisles with those stupid beverage carts. Plus the 30 channels of television are mighty distracting.

God. Smartmom hasn't become more Jewish or anything. It's just that through her meditation she's connected with something spiritual she can't define but knows that she needs. She still fears death but she's a little more comfortable with it now.

Transitional Objects: Now that she's let go of fear, that old, overstuffed toy bear, she still like to hold on to something dear from home. Her Tibetan bead necklaces works well as a TO: nice to finger or suck in her mouth. Like a security blanket or a pacifier, it keeps her calm.

Flying. Soaring above the earth, Smartmom loves the view. It's not like she's Superwoman now. It's just that she's begun to enjoy the idea of flying because it means going places, exploring the world, making the most of life.

Sometimes Smartmom wonder what her fear is doing these days. Has it taken up with someone new? Sometimes she misses it even though she knows it was bad for her -- you don't give up destructive habits easily that's for sure. But so far, there hasn't been too much back sliding. And that's a good thing. Smartmom needed to move on.

Flying brave, flying bold, she's reaching her cruising altitude.

Fear

Starting to come out from under the cover of her cold, Smartmom joined OSFO in her classroom for "Parents as Reading Partners," a once-monthly chance for parents to visit the classroom and read with their children.

OSFO's teacher, a lovely and talented first-timer, spoke to Smartmom about the upcoming Reading Marathon Fundraiser for tsunami victims that the school is sponsoring (info to come).

While the children made wampum bead necklaces, OSFO's teacher told Smartmom that she's nervous about discussing the tsunami with the class because she doesn't want to upset them. She also revealed that tsunamis and earthquakes absolutely terrify her. Since childhood she's had nightmares about them. The last thing she wants to do is plant this fear in the children.

Smartmom sensed that the young teacher was quite upset about the recent disaster and would probably choose to avoid the discussion altogether if she could. But she has no choice: the school has provided a classroom guide for discussion. OSFO's teacher hasn't had the nerve to look at it yet but she plans to.

How difficult it must be to teach something that scares the bejesus out of you.

Smartmom told the teacher that she just needs to reassure the children and make them feel safe. She was thinking of the advice Fred Rogers, television's Mr. Rogers, gave to parents during the Iraq War:

"Children need to know that they are safe and that that their parents or guardians will take care of their needs. We each have our own ways of reassuring our children. One director of a day care center told us she could feel comfortable saying to the children, "I'm sad about the war, and I'm worried, but I love you, and I am here for you." Sometimes just a hug is enough. We can also do our best to keep things as normal as possible. Knowing what to expect comforts children: continuing familiar routines can go a long way towards providing a feeling of security."

It is also important to show children the good in a bad situation—and there are good things to point to: the first responders, rescuers, doctors, nurses and medical technicians that are helping from all over the world. Governments are sending unprecedented sums of money, as are individuals -- including children.

OSFO's teacher said that as a child she feared the sudden, inexplicable nature of earthquakes and tsunamis -- that was a terrifying thing to accept as a child. Despite her own fears, the teacher must allay her student’s fears by reassuring them them that the likelihood of a Tsunami is fairly remote in this part of the world.

Maybe in doing so she will feel safer herself.

Obviously, the kids will be grappling with difficult questions. Many have probably heard that a great many of the victims were children. This will confuse and frighten them. Children often know much more than you think and want to know more.

The young teacher is also grappling with the same big questions. How could this thave happened? And babies?

For the sake of the children, she needs to appear strong and solid even if she doesn't feel that way herself. "Kids need all the strength, reassurance, and calm we can muster,"writes Jim Greenman in "What Happened to the World," a booklet designed to help children cope in turbulent times.

There's a certain amount of acting that goes on in parenting and teaching. It's not insincerity exactly. But most of the time, parents must wear their most confident hat. When appropriate, they can reveal their own fears but never at the expense of a child's sense of security.

Smartmom was impressed with the way OSFO's teacher shared what she was feeling. She is obviously a very sensitive person with the ability to remember herself as a child—something Smartmom believes is vital for compassionate parenting and teaching.

Emerging

Like a butterfly emerging from her chrysalis, Smartmom left the apartment today to get some air. After tea (and a couple of gigundo antibiotics) with Groovy Aunt at the Second Street Cafe, she ventured onto Seventh Avenue in the rain.

Probably not the wisest thing. At times it seemed that she had bitten off more than she could chew. But she did deposit a check at the bank, go to the pharmacy and buy much needed food and supplies.

It had to be done.

Energized by the rain, by the cool air, by the stimulation of a low-key urban Main Street, she decided to go to her office just to see it after all these weeks. And it looked grand. The place she most likes to be in the world: her office is her sanctuary, her cozy spot, her ROOM OF ONE'S OWN (thank you Virginia).

It's her haven in the hood.

Smartmom sat there for, well, four hours. She actually got some work done. Played Madeleine Peyroux, Rufus, Nina Natasia. Mellow stuff—slowly-getting-back-into-the-swing-of-things-stuff. Paid some bills, read the mail, got a little organized.

The longer she was there the more she felt like herself again. Even if she did nearly fall asleep in her chair. Solitiude hog that she is, she savored her quiet time alone with her books, her CDs, her pictures, her things (not to mention Real Fruit Jelly's simpatico stuff).

It was an elixir of sorts, a healing potion, a beginning to getting well. Sitting in that office. Today. Alone.

Resolution # 4

Get published.

Garden State

On New Year's Eve, Smartmom and Teen Spirit watched half of "Garden State." Teen Spirit had just purchased the DVD, which was released on December 28th. When Hepcat asked, "Why don't you just rent it from Netflix?" Teen Spirit replied: "This one's a keeper, Dad. This one's a keeper."

Smartmom knows exactly what he means.

"Garden State" is now officially Teen Spirit's second favorite movie. After "Blazing Saddles," that is. He went to see it at the Park Slope Pavillion with Best Buddy. It was the first movie he'd ever gone to alone with a friend. And what a great first movie to see without parents! The two guys must've been exhilarated by this dark comedy with the great soundtrack and characters just a little bit older than they are.

The film grabs you from the start and doesn't let go. It's funny, it's smart and it really goes deep. Much of the credit must go to Zach Braff who wrote, directed and stars. Braff plays Andrew, a sad, lost 20-something whose been sleepwalking though his over-medicated life. With unbelievably expressive eyes, Braff underacts through the movie creating a funny and honest character on the verge of self-discovery.

The film co-stars Smartmom's new favorite actor, Peter Sarsgaard. His bedroom eyes were a highlight of the recent "Kinsey." In this one he plays the cool, dark stoner guy from high school who still lives at home and works as a grave digger.

Natalie Portman is totally believable as a suburban teen from New Jersey. As the girl who helps Andrew feel again, her wacky mannerisms and funny personality really make the movie.

Mother and son watched the movie on the tiny screen of Teen Spirit's iBook. He kept asking Smartmom if she was enjoying the movie. Teen Spirit loves to show his favorite films often pausing the disk to ask, "Did you get that? Did you get that?"

On New Year's Eve, they only got up to the "burying the hamster" scene. It was late and Smartmom was tired (Teen Spirit is almost never tired).

Last night, when Smartmom's insomnia forced her out of bed at 2 a.m., she decided to watch the film from the hamster scene on. And she wasn't disappointed—the film really delivers on the promise of its first half.

As she watched, Smartmom found herself watching the film as two people: as herself and as her son. For her, "Garden State" is "The Graduate" for generation Z. Like that now classic dramedy, it is a film about the quest for identity, love, and meaning with humor, sex, and great music.

For Teen Spirit, Smartmom imagines that "Garden State" must confirm his sense that there is more to life than what your parents tell you, what you learn in school.

Clearly, he is just beginning develop his identity, to figure out who he wants to be.
And this film is packed with interesting characters who are trying to figure that stuff out too - with humor, attitude and a hefty dose of poignancy.

There's a scene near the end of the movie when Andrew screams out loud in the rain (he and his friends are wearing black plastic garbage bags). As he screams, it's as if he is letting go of all the negative things he's come to believe about himself. He isn't numb anymore, he isn't sleepwalking, he doesn't need the meds: he wants to feel his feelings and reach for love.

Not that he knows how to do it. And that's okay. That's even the point.

Smartmom shed a tear imagining what the next few years will be like for Teen Spirit. She wondered if he will move with ease from one stage to the next or will his journey will be riddled with pain and confusion (hope not). Will he accept help from his parents or want to go it alone? She hopes he doesn't experience as many missteps and mistakes as she has. But she can't protect him from the exploration that lies ahead. That's all part of the process of becoming a person - what it means to be alive.

Resolution #3

In 2005, Smartmom vows to put her CDs back in their CD cases after she's done playing them.

Note: Yes, the old fashioned Smartmom is still buying CDs. When will she learn? But she still loves reading lyrics, liner notes, musician's names, and especially thank yous from the artist. Can you do that with i-tunes?

Hiding Out

Being sick, Smartmom feels like she's hiding out. Like she's in some kind of witness protection program. Like she's lost touch with Brooklyn. She hasn't set foot onto Third Street in well over 24 hours, didn't even walk OSFO to school this morning (Groovy Aunt picked her up at the door).

People must be talking. Or not.

Smartmom thought she thought of everything. She sent OSFO to school with letters for Hanadi and Hanadi's teacher saying she couldn't do "Learning Friends." She e-mailed her trainer to cancel her weekly session. But when B. at the Food Coop called at 11:30 to say, "Where are you?" Smartmom realized she hadn't thought of everything. Actually B. said, "You sound terrible! Now I know why you're not here." B. is a most wonderful coop supervisor.

Smartmom plum forgot about their Food Coop shift. Hepcat who thought he might be coming down with the dreaded "Smartmom Bug" was sleeping. He did, however, rise to the occasion and hustled over to Union Street to fulfill his duties in the infamous coin rolling room. Alone.

Smartmom felt intermittently better/lousy and needed to stay near her bed. She was cheered by the arrival of Beautiful Smile after noon and they had tea together and some giggles about the kinds of thing they giggle about.

The days inside pass in a haze of sleep, reading of whatever is near the bed, cups of tea, and peeks at the computer. The voice seems to return for a cameo and then it goes away. Sometimes it's squeaky, sometimes it's froggy, and sometimes it's got that deep, sexy Debra Winger sound. When she talks on the phone, the voice wears out and retreats into nothingness for a spell.

The rest is silence.

OSFO came home and said she's had one of those "Today was the worstest days in my whole entire life. I hate everybody" days. Her teacher yelled at her: "OSFO, for the 100th time stop talking!"She hurt her finger in the classroom, a couple of kids were downright mean, and someone pushed her!

The indignities of second grade could break a smart mom's heart.

Needless to say, she needed to ventilate her feelings quite a bit and a cup of hot chocolate and Smartmom's special grilled cheese went some distance in consoling her. Soon, OSFO felt recovered enough to invited Dynamic Blonde up for some fun.

The girls played and played and played while Smartmom slept. The tiredness just doesn't seem to pass. Smartmom wonders if she'll ever step out onto Third Street again.

Hepcat came home from the city with a really professional looking strobe light - he's got a photo job on Friday!! After hearing the price of the new purchase Teen Spirit said, "Are you planning to earn money with your photography, Dad?" Hepcat, a tad flustered said, "You expect me to take pictures in the dark?" Teen Spirit thought for a second and said, "Okay, Dad. Okay."

Hiding out these first days of 2005 isn't such a bad thing. Taking it slow, quiet, listening, and not talking all the time, Smartmom's new year is getting a mighty slow start.

And maybe, just maybe, that's a good thing.

Dadu in the News

Smartmom's friend, Dadu, was featured in a Village Voice article by Elizabeth Zimmer about Echo (echonyc.com), the web community that's been around since 1989. She asked a variety of "Echoids" about their New Year's resolutions. The following is Dadu's interview:


On Echo since 1991. Echo means a lot to me. I found my wife there, for one thing, but I also went to lots of fun parties, ran the Echo gopher service, participated in art shows, and even got a job or two. I got to know at least 50 of the people behind the handles.

Your New Year's resolutions for 2004:

To use my considerable unemployed time to branch out artistically and try to make some money at it.

Did you follow them?

Yes and no!

Results?

I set up a new website, jhhl.net, specifically to present my artistic works and philosophy. I went to a few seminars about setting myself up as an artist. I probably need more of them. My wife and I created a number of multimedia works together and presented them at an evening at Deep Listening Space in Kingston, New York. Now we're submitting the animation we did to various film festivals. So, the art part is progressing, but the money part isn't.

Resolutions for 2005:

Keep trying to establish an artistic life, further clarify what I really want, gain the ability to express those needs, and, uh, get a job.

To read the rest of the article go to: http://www.villagevoice.com/nyclife/0501,zimmer2,59758,15.html

Resolution # 2

Smartmom will enter and complete the Brooklyn Half Marathon in April, a 13 mile race from the boardwalk on Coney Island to Prospect Park.

Laryngitis

It's a bitch to spell. Even worse to endure. For Smartmom, not being able to talk is a fate worse than dying.

But she can still write!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She can still use her fingers to express what she has to say.

THANK GOD.

Really though. Not being able to talk is just a nightmare for Smartmom. She feels invisble, like she's left the building, or is trapped inside her own skin. She's a brain without a voice. It's really...

...awful.

On the plus side, it quieter than usual around here. Maybe even a tad calmer. Actually, it is very calm. The children are whispering. So very hushed. Shhh. Nice.

Good for sleeping.

Hepcat isn't exactly verbose. Teen Spirit has lots to say but he's given up because a one-sided conversation with Smartmom just isn't much fun: too many questions, no answers. OSFO is downstairs playing with her friend (which partly explains why it's so quiet here).


Smartmom went to see her lovely neighborhood doctor. He prescribed antibiotics for an ear infection. The cough, the laryngitis, the throat pain are viral. Not much to do but wait it out with tea, vitamins, salt water, steam...

Any suggestions?

Smartmom found her singing bowl which makes a perfect gong. Great for notifying family members that she needs something. Great for getting Hepcat's attention when he looks away or is kidnapped by newsprint. Gong! Hey there! Helloooooooo! Smartmom needs something! Hey you! Hey! Help! Help meeeeeeeeeeeeee! Gong!

Sometimes it works.

Back to bed now. Smartmom is not used to feeling this awful. But she'll get through this with Ricola Swiss Herb Throat Drops, her family, Beautiful Smile, a pad of paper and pen, and her trusty little singing bowl.

Gong! Hey there! Helloooooooo! Smartmom needs something! Hey you! Hey! Help! Help meeeeeeeeeeeeee! Gong!

Resolution # 1

Smartmom has decided that this, from Sontag, is her New Year's Resolution:

Do stuff. Be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration's shove or society's kiss on your forehead.

Rest

It's the first official day of 2005 and Smartmom is learning how to rest --she's barely been out of bed all day. She did escort OSFO to school but she came right home and dove into her soft, warm bed.

Blessed rest.

Teen Spirit came home mid-day from school with a phlemy cough. He's in bed too feeling pretty lousy. Smartmom thinks she's getting better but is still having difficulty doing anything but sleep. Hepcat says that he too may be coming down with something. OSFO, for the time being, seems to have been spared.

Beautiful Smile is here, which means that all is right with the world. She instantly brought order to the apartment and told Smartmom not to worry about a thing. "Just stay in bed," she said. "I'll take care of everything."

Ahhhh.

Smartmom loves being taken care of by Beautiful Smile - it feels so good to be taken care of every now and then.

GOD BLESS YOU BEAUTIFUL SMILE.

Smartmom's cold has been a moveable feast of symptoms, as well as an opportunity to rest her weary bones and savor the sensation of doing nothing at all.

The cold started quite casually with a dry, itchy cough, which later became a more phlemy one. But when she woke up Friday feeling like the room had turned into a merry-go-round -- she knew it was getting serious.

Dizzy Smartmom spent the day feeling like she was on a boat in choppy seas. She could barely walk without falling down and had to stay in bed. She finally took some Dayquil and her throat felt better immediately, the dizziness subsided.

She was even able to ring in the New Year with her family.

On the flight to New York, Smartmom really started to feel bad. BAD. Her throat started to burn painfully. And during the landing she felt like her ears were exploding and she could barely hear when she got off the plane. She spent most of Sunday watching "Shakespeare in Love" and sleeping in her bed.

As someone who rarely gets sick, it's an experience to just rest. Her throat hurts, she's bone tired. Sleeping for hours at a time really feels good.

Rest. What a concept

Re-entry

On New Year's Day, Smartmom and Co. boarded the "red-eye" in Oakland at 9:15 p.m. The flight met all criteria for a good Jet Blue flying experience:

--A nice pilot, who actually addressed passengers standing in front of the plane with a microphone, which was interesting if a little bit strange

--Nice, friendly crew

--Little or no turbulence

--Decent programs on one or two of the 30 channels of television Jet Blue offers - Smartmom watched "I Heart Huckabees," an existential comedy with Dustin Hoffman, Lily Tomlin and Isabel Huppert, which was diverting to say the least.

--VH1 had the top 40 music videos of 2004, which gave Smartmom a chance to catch up on all the music videos she'd never seen.

--Three of four members of the family sat together

--OSFO slept all the way across the country

--The flight was a speedy four hours and thirty seven minutes

Because of their colds, the landing was excruciatingly painful for Teen Spirit and Smartmom. Their ears felt like they were exploding as the plane descended into Kennedy Airport. When they de-planed they could barely hear. Luckily, Teen Spirit was able to get his hearing back by holding his nose and breathing out his mouth. It took Smartmom a while longer to not feel like she was inside a bottle.

Hepcat and Teen Spirit got the Volvo from the long term-parking lot while Smartmom and OSFO retrieved their many bags at the baggage claim. Everyone but Hepcat, the driver, slept from the airport to Third Street. The entire family immediately went to sleep for five hours as soon as they got to the apartment.

Relatives of their neighbors spent the week in the apartment and they left it spick and span. OSFO found yellow rubber gloves in the bathroom, as well as two bottles of disinfectant, alcohol and new sponges. The visitor's also left a very thoughtful thank you note that said, "If your travels ever bring you to the Phillipines do, do please look us up." A good looking bottle of Medoc and a lovely flower arrangement were on the dining room table

Smartmom's cold and sore throat continued to escalate as the day wore on and she took to her bed for much of the afternoon and evening. OSFO was a good companion to her sick mom, though she was a intermittently peeved when Smartmom lacked the energy for multiple rounds of Yahtzee.

Throughout the day family called to see how everyone was doing. Teen Spirit was up and out of the apartment soon after he woke up at 2:30 to re-connect with Best Buddy and Red. He didn't return until well after 8 p.m.

Hepcat journeyed out to Rite-Aid to find Smartmom the cold medicine that had proved so effective in California.

There is still mail to read, bags to unpack, phone messages to be returned. That's for tomorrow when "real life" begins - school, the high school conumdrum, work, photography, et al.

It's a new year. Bring it on.

Things to Like About 2004

Here is a list of some of the ordinary things that were so special in 2004 (in no particular order).

--Running in Prospect Park

--Meditating

--Celebrating Groovy Grandpa's 75th Birthday at Lupa Restaurant in the West Village.

--Lunch with Groovy Grandma on Fridays

--Getting that out-of-the-blue phone call from the small web design company that led to lots of work.

--Shopping with Groovy Aunt for things to take to the orphanage in Russia

--Reading the "All of a Kind Family" books to OSFO

--Writer's Group

--Brooklyn Superhero Supply Store

--The Matisse birthday cake Jollybee Bakery created for Groovy Grandpa

--Howard Dean

--Signing up for the Women's Beginner Running Workshop


--Going to the members opening night at MOMA with Hepcat, Clever Grandma and Groovy Aunt

--Math homework with OSFO

--America Coming Together fundraiser at B.A.M. Organized by the Women Who Run Park Slope

--Hepcat's snazzy new bicycle

--Gathering at Al Di La with Warm & Funny and friends the night of September 11th

--Running the 10K in Central Park on Teen Spirit's birthday

--St. Marks Poetry Marathon during the Republican National Convention

--OSFO's first and second grade teachers

--Labor Day weekend in Washington County with Groovy Grandpa and MiMa Cat

--OSFO learning to ride a two-wheeler

--Bro-in-law's french toast

--Swimming at the Marriott with OSFO

--Spending time with Hepcat's sister and her husband in California

--Family bike rides around Prospect Park

--Sharing the office with Real Fruit Jelly

--Hanukah at Groovy Aunt's and Bro-in-laws

--Trips to the American Girl Doll Store with OSFO, Groovy Grandma and Groovy Grandma

--Smartmom's birthday dinner at Chez Panisse

--Laments of the Unfinished

--Bike ride with Teen Spirit and Hepcat to Shelter Island

--The Link

--Netflix

--Mrs. Cleaver's Diary

--Reading "Charlotte's Web" with OSFO and Teen Spirit

--Celebrating Beautiful Smile's Birthday at La Villa

--Teen Spirit's blog

--Writing "Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn"

--Reading all of the Lemony Snicket books with OSFO and Teen Spirit

--Sky Thai

--A baby girl for Former Upstair's Neighbors

--Completing National Novel Writing Month (NANO WRIMO)

--Singing showtunes at the player piano with Upstate Pal and Dadu

--Going to the Noguchi Museum with Clever Grandma

--Ducks from MiMa Cat

--Swimming in the ocean at Atlantic Beach, Amagansett

--Week in Sag Harbor with Hepcat, Teen Spirit, OSFO, Groovy Aunt, Groovy Grandma, Bro-in-Law, and Beautiful Smile

--August on the farm

--Teen Spirit's comics

--Mamainwaiting's blog

--MiMa Cat's birthday at Inside

--Going to the Yehoshua reading in Queens with Best & Oldest

--Phone calls with Upstate Pal

--Running in the walnut orchard

--Patty Griffin

--The "Mom's Dinners"

--Tutoring Hanadi

--Hepcat's Putanesca-style pasta sauce

--The whole entire weekend spent in San Francisco for cousin Sarah's wedding

--Teen Spirit's drawing notebook

--Elliott Smith

--The day the printer delivered Pandamonium

--That short story in the New Yorker by Nicole Kraus

--Hepcat's photography

--Teen Spirit and Best Buddy doing bits from "Avenue Q"

--Udgewink's blog

--OSFO's unicorn birthday party

--Madeline Peyroux

--Teen Spirit's new wardrobe

--Watching/listening to OSFO and Dynamic Blonde play

--Hepcat's risotto

--Reading "Herzog" by Saul Bellow

--Thanksgiving on Third Street

--Blogspot

--Having lattes with Groovy Aunt at Cousin John's after OSFO's school drop off

--Cards and letters from OSFO

--Upstate Pal and Dadu's performance at Deep Listening Space

--Teen Spirit's Comics and Writing class

--Picking peaches in the peach orchard

--Teen Spirit's school art show

--Working out with a trainer

--Talking long-distance to Groovy Grandma, Groovy Aunt, Groovy Grandpa, MiMa Cat and Bro-in-law on New Year's Eve

--Watching "Garden Sate" with Teen Spirit on New Years Eve

--Monday trips to Eleventh Street

Good Bye 2004

The last day of 2004 and we're well rid of that one. It was a year, alright, quite a year. Just read the letter from Aaron in yesterday's blog to ponder some of the pain and suffering this year has seen. Natural disaster, human suffering of unfathomable proportions, war, political disaster, tragedy, human cruelty...

And yet daily life goes on. The clock ticks, the internet connection hums, the children need lunch, there is work to be done. The dailiness of things keeps us going when nothing else does. It's the ordinary things that pull us through.

There's a lot of talk right now about the absence of God, the existence of God in the first place, the reality that bad things happen to good people often, unremittingly, all the time, a lot. Too much.

There are a lot of people who are very angry at their God right now. And there are many whose belief in their God will pull them through. Those without a belief in God are also in a quandry. No matter what kind of God or no God you've got, you're probably struggling to understand the breadth of this tragedy.

There is also the unpleasant feeling of uselessness. At this distance, other than contributing money, there is nothing to do but watch and cry. With this comes a kind of survivor's guilt - guilt for the fact that our lives are (thankfully) untouched by this kind of pain and suffering. Guilt for our abundance, guilt for the superficiality of what ails us right now.

And then there's the fear, a deep, penetrating one: what happens if and when our lives are touched by such terribleness. What would we do?

When bad things happen, Fred Rogers, that dapper genuis of children's television, used to say, "Look for the good." Even in the worst of times, he'd say, there is good to be found.

In this case, one has only to look at the faces of the survivors who are burying the dead, beginning to clean up, helping one another heal. Good people the world over are also flocking there to help: Doctors Without Borders, the International Red Cross, and other local and international organziations are pitching in. There is good to be found.

For the moment, the world's focus is on this tragedy -- everyone is grieving for the missing, praying for the survivors, and trying to help in some small way.

Wouldn't it be amazing if this shared moment could change the course of history? Wouldn't it be amazing if the world came together and recognized the importance of daily life, the power of the ordinary, the simple things that everyone holds dear?

Wouldn't that be amazing?

E-mail from Sri Lanka

Smartmom got this e-mail this morning from, Alesandra, a Park Slope friend who now lives in Sacramento. She received this from someone else (maybe the writer in Sri Lanka). Smartmom doesn't really know. Standing in the Apple Store in San Francisco, Smartmom has barely had a chance to read it, but she thought it would be important to post it here. It's very upsetting.

Date: Tue, 28 Dec 2004 08:51:36 -0800 (PST)
>>From: Aaron Peak
>>Subject: To Dave, Sue and Kelly from Aaron
>>To: Dave Purchase
>>
>>Dear Dave, Sue and Kelly,
>>
>>I heard from Nick and my Mom that you were trying
>>to get a hold of me. We just got back our
>>electricity and thus our phone and email is now
>>working again.
>>
>>It has been a horrific few days here. Sunday
>>started off ok... beautiful day - but the
>>electricity went off, "oh well this is Asia!"
>>Jean decided to off for a bike ride and exchange
>>her books in Unawatuna at one of the beach guest
>>houses. I then got a call from her cousin in
>>Australia asking if we were ok? (the phone was
>>still working, as we have a battery, which does
>>not last very long).
>>
>>I was then concerned for Jean and my very good
>>friends that have a restraunt on the beach in
>>Unawatuna..... I started walking..... It took me
>>30 minutes to reach the beach from our house and
>>it was like walking into another world, actually
>>it started before I could even see the beach!
>>
>>Parts of houses, broken sinks, clothes, other
>>unidentifiable objects and of course bodies. As
>>I started up the main road that links all the
>>coastal towns together it kept getting worse and
>>I was haveing to scale electic poles, walls, cars
>>and trucks.
>>
>>I finally made it to Unawatuna and basically
>>nothing was left - a wall here or there with tons
>>of trees, TVs, stuff from shops.
>>
>>My friends restraunt was not there only a 1/4 of
>>the kitchen and his Grandmothers house was for
>>the most part gone. Sri Lankans and tourist was
>>wondering aimlessly around looking for family and friends....more dead
>>bodies, which were being lined up so people could ID them.
>>
>>Finally I found someone who knew the family and
>>said that Grandmother was dead, Roshan's mother,
>>auntie and sister in hospital and Roshan was
>>there to ID his grandmother.
>>
>>I then went to the resort where I use to stay and
>>there were tons of tourist with remains from
>>their suitcases or sitting there motionless.
>>
>>I had lugged a lot of clean water from my house
>>so I was passing it around thinking I should be
>>doing more. Anyway, I finally ran into Roshan
>>and he was a wreck but kept on taking care of
>>business. We went back to his Grandmothers house
>>and slogged around in the wreckage to see what we
>>could slavage. We did find one of her cabinets
>>and managed to get some of her gold and money but
>>most was gone. We were then told to leave, as
>>everybody though another set of waves were
>>coming. It was dusk by then and you could see
>>the looters starting to search the houses.
>>
>>He had to go back to the hospital and I ended up
>>walking home.
>>
>>The next day I went to his other aunts house -
>>not by the beach - as they were burying his
>>grandmother. They had to do it fast, as the
>>hospital did not have any materials to embalm
>>her. At there house was a family of 4 British
>>tourist who had no where to go so Roshan's
>>brother brought them back to the house. They had
>>lost their 2 month old baby boy and were
>>devistated. I ended up taking them back to our
>>house for a shower, food and sleep.
>>
>>They told me that they were at a beach restruant
>>- with tables on the sand - eating... The first
>>wave just appeared and swept them though the
>>restraunt, which collasped. The father just
>>happend to grab the baby and was holding them and
>>they went through another building - out the back
>>wall and ended up slammed againt a electric pole.
>> A bed then came flying by and crushed the babies
>>head and the fathers ribs. Meanwhile the mother
>>was swept into a shop and out the back into the
>>jungle. Their dauther was pretty much the same
>>but had a run-in with a barbed wire fence and the
>>son had a head-on with a motorcycle that was
>>surfing the wave.
>>
>>They were pretty battered, both physically and
>>mentally. It took a long time to dress all there
>>wounds - some of which should have had stitches
>>but that was not an option at this point.
>>
>>Fortunately for us our electricity came on -
>>seeing we were far enough away from the beach and
>>thus our power source was from a different area -
>>in land. We then started with calling the
>>British High Commission to try and get them to
>>Colombo, with the body, so they could go back to
>>England. This took a while and had to find
>>transport - with was another nightmare as there
>>was now no fuel for any vehicles, motorbikes
>>which still worked or was not damaged. We
>>finally got one - for a price - and they went off
>>to the hospital to get baby Charlie, who was on
>>ice, and brought him back to the house where we
>>made a makeshift casket for him. By that time
>>the High Commission got back with us and said the
>>British Government were going to hire helecopter
>>to transport people from a military airstrip not
>>far from our house. We again got the same
>>transport - for an even bigger price - and they
>>were off to the airport.
>>
>>Jean and I sat back - reassessed - and I remember
>>that Roshan's mother said she went to the
>>doctor/hospital to get all her wounds taken care
>>of but they had nothing to give her - only that
>>purple stuff they put on cuts. They had run out
>>of all medications and bandages the day before.
>>Anyway, I collected what was left over from the 4
>>and took it to her - luckly Aunties house was
>>only a couple of kilometers away.
>>
>>She then told me about her "experience" with the
>>waves. She was setting up the tables in the
>>restruant and the next thing she knew she and the
>>boy that was helping her were up in the rafters.
>>The building collasped and they were taken out to
>>sea. The second wave threw then on a roof, which
>>also collasped and the third wave rammed then
>>though the jewelery shop across the lane where
>>they ended up in the jungle.
>>
>>Meanwhile Grandmother was in her house (behind
>>the jewelery shop) and she happened to see the
>>first wave and ran into the house an woke up
>>Roshan's other auntie and sister. Just at that
>>moment the second wave came and all three were up
>>in the rafters. The house collasped and sister
>>went to the right - through the neighbors house
>>and auntie went down the lane and into a hotel.
>>Grandmother was crushed by the beam.
>>
>>Raju who works at the restruant was swept out
>>between the houses into the jungle and managed to
>>ride the wave back towards the sea and grab the
>>sister and hold onto a tree. Another person
>>managed to get the auntie out but she was not
>>breathing. Fortunately they managed to revive
>>her - just - .
>>
>>Since then I have heard so many of the same
>>stories. Another person I know was at the end of
>>the lane holding his dead daughter (7 years old)
>>and his mother laying at his feet. He was
>>sobbing and I didn't want to disturbe him and
>>have not seen him since. A family that live down
>>the road from us was on that train that got
>>sucked into the ocean - no one has seen any of
>>the family since. It is weird to walk by their
>>house - no one in sight.
>>
>>Jean and I were just talking about what else we
>>can do. Some people from Colombo just stopped by
>>to give us a care packet, which was very nice, as
>>we are almost out of food and there is none to be
>>found - at any price! They also asked up to
>>distribute some antibiotics - huge bottles fulls
>>- which we will do tomorrow.
>>
>>We both feel fortunate and grieve for so many. I
>>am trying to mobiles funds so that we can help
>>Roshan and his family to rebuild the restruant
>>and house since they have no savings or
>>insurance. Roshan will continue to work for me
>>as my property manager and his Uncle
>>(grandmother's son) will continue to keep the
>>garden.... of course after they can pull
>>themselves together and help the remaining family
>>members mend.
>>
>>Well that is about it for now. Do keep in touch.
>> I am planning to stick around and help do what I
>>can do here in Talpe/Unawatuna or in Galle town.
>>
>>Bye for now,
>>
>>Aaron

Solitude

Smartmom has discovered that she is a solitude hog.

Much as she loves being with her family, she has really come to appreciate the 6 to 8 hours she spends in her office each day working and writing. And in what little spare time she has, she enjoys other solitary activities: meditating, running in Prospect Park, reading and thinking. Because of that, it's been a little hard to adjust to vacation togetherness. Which isn't to say that Smartmom hasn't enjoyed every minute with Hepcat, Teen Spirit and OSFO.

Really she has.

But if she hears any more squabbling from Teen Spirit and OSFO - she is going to go out of her mind.

She may even SMACK them.

Truth is, the family really benefits from spending 6 to 8 hours apart every day. Yes, that's an awful thing to say. But maybe it's not so bad.

OSFO and Teen Spirit would probably kill each other if they were together all day, every day. It's not that they bicker all the time. No, not at all. It's more like a constant roller coaster from great fun to fury and back again. Whether it's playing 20 questions, wrestling, jumping on the bed, or playing Yahtzee, what begins as a picture of sibling synchronicity can become sibling rivalry in ten seconds flat. And visa versa.

It's a good thing that they are out of each other's hair so much of the time. Because when they are together in Brooklyn it is so much more mellow and loving.

Which is nice -- for a thirteen year old boy and a seven year old girl, they get along quite well.

As for Smartmom and Hepcat, they'd get mighty sick of each other if Smartmom didn't have an office to go to every day. Since Hepcat's layoff from Cisco, he's been working in the living room. What began as a temporary landing pad is turning into a permanent work space. And that's not the best thing for marital harmony.

Smartmom deserves credit for not hassling Hepcat too much for turning the living room into an unsightly office. She's even been pretty cool about not bugging him about getting more photo jobs. Smartmom is trying to be very Zen. That is, trying to give Hepcat the (psychic) space he needs to figure out things for himself. It goes like this: She gives him his space, he give her hers. A two-way gift, an act of love.

Family life is so much richer when every one has time to do what they need to do, time to be who they need to be. Without those hours alone - to think, to work, to be creative, to be alone -- Smartmom wouldn't be much good to anyone. Not her family. Not herself.

And it makes her love her family all the more.

Empathy

Smartmom remembers what it felt like on 9/11 and the days and weeks after. Close to 3000 New Yorkers were dead and no-one knew what was going to happen next. Speaking to friends and family in other places, Smartmom knew they couldn't possibly understand how desparate and sad it felt to be a New Yorker then. They just didn't get it -- even if they were incessantly watching the news or listening to NPR.

We were traumatized, we were scared, we were enduring something entirely new.

How then must it feel to be a survivor of this disaster that has claimed close to 100,000 lives? That is an unthinkable number -- entire villages, families, communities, towns. And as the survivors grieve, they must worry about the aftermath. Aside from the risk of disease, how will they rebuild their lives, rebuild their communities, rebuild themselves after this trauma?

Smartmom remembers how it felt with her 3000 gone, with her buildings reduced to white dust, rescue workers searching for remains day after day, night after night.

One cannot compare disasters, one cannot compare pain. Every life lost is huge.

But the magnitude of this tragedy makes one stop still and contemplate what it means to be alive when one's life can be extinguished in a matter of seconds.

Smartmom remembers how her tragedy felt three years ago. And now, at this distance, she knows she can barely imagine what it must feel like to be a mother trying to comfort and care for a child or a child searching for her parents, or a parent grieving for her lost little one.

That is her empathy: that she cannot even begin to know, to understand.

Susan Sontag

Susan Sontag, with her skunklike streak of white hair, died Monday of Leukemia. She was 71 years old.

Sontag wrote "Illness as Metaphor," probably her most famous essay, when she had breast cancer in the 1970's. In it she describes the way that language (and culture) demonizes those who are ill. This morning, Smartmom heard some old interviews with Sontag and was struck not only by her intelligence but also by her honest, compassionate nature. She said that her illness changed her -- that it was even a good thing -- because it helped her to understand her need for intimacy and love. It made her recognize the importance of sharing her feelings with the people in her life - something she had been afraid to do since childhood.

It's time to take her books off the shelf - the ones we've read, the one's we haven't. Her death moves us to take another look at the words of this brilliant and brave woman.

Groovy Cousin sent this in an e-mail this morning. It's transcribed from a speech Sontag gave to Vassar graduates in 2002:

"Despise violence. Despise national vanity and self-love. Protect the territory of conscience.

Try to imagine at least once a day that you are not an American. Go even further: try to imagine at least once a day that you belong to the vast, the overwhelming majority of people on this planet who don't have passports, don't live in dwellings equipped with refrigerators and telephones, who have never even once flown on a plane.


Be extremely skeptical of all claims made by your government. Remember, it may not be the best thing for America or for the world for the president of the United States to be the president of the planet. Be just as skeptical of other governments, too.

It's hard not to be afraid. Be less afraid.


It's good to laugh a lot, as long as it doesn't mean you're trying to kill your feelings.

Don't allow yourself to be patronized, condescended to -- which, if you happen to be a woman, happens and will continue to happen all the time.

Do stuff. Be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration's shove or society's kiss on your forehead.

Pay attention. It's all about paying attention. It's all about taking in as much of what's out there as you can, and not letting the excuses and the dreariness of some of the obligations you'll soon be taking on narrow your lives. Attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager.

You'll notice that I haven't talked about love. Or about happiness. I've talked about becoming the person who can be happy a lot of the time without thinking that being happy is what it's all about. It's not. It's about becoming the largest, most inclusive, most responsive person you can be."

Sewing

NPR keeps Smartmom connected to the outside world and news of the rising death toll