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“Sam! You wanna see Toy Story 3 wiff me?!” Tyler’s bigger-than-he-is voice once again being carried across the patch of grass and landing on my somewhat startled ears. I got up from the couch and could just make out his tiny frame behind the screen door directly across from mine, and there the two of us in our morning lounge wear, (read jammies) made plans to go see Toy Story when it came out. We had some scheduling issues but through his mother’s diligent research we came up with a date and a venue, I was going to see to see Toy Story 3…in 3D at an IMAX theatre, with a four year old that is somewhat obsessed with Buzz Lightyear, dude.
Out earlier than I would normally have been on a day off but I confess that I was so freaking excited. It had been almost fifteen years since I had been to a cartoon movie with a little one, got to be there when they were overtaken by the screen, the way they look over at you when something “really cool” happens, watching them be awed, and the magic feeling that seems to radiate off of them. Too long, it had been too long and I simply could not wait. We got to the theatre super early assuming it would be packed, got our tickets, our big yellow plastic 3D glasses and had time to get a bite before the show started. I had to laugh at the way the ladies at The Yard House cooed at Tyler in his Buzz Lightyear T-shirt and light up shoes. He charmed them of course so I have to admit to feeling very special as we made our way back to a table and his giant voice proclaimed, “I wanna sit wiff Sam!” not that this was ever in question mind you, but seeing as we were not in our regular eating spot he had to make sure. Yes he is a tad retentive but it is just one more adorably sweet thing that makes him Tyler.
Getting this four year old to eat before seeing the movie was a bit of a stretch, he asked me no fewer than three times if I would be sitting next to him at the movies and was this hilarious bundle of nerves and energy. I found myself falling into that place that I often do with him, feeling comfortable letting my silly side loose. Leaning in and letting him whisper, (this too cracks me up as he does it all wrong. He leans in, gets close to my ear and instead of cupping his hand over his mouth and my ear he places his pudgy little hand between my ear and his mouth…kills me) the secrets of four year old friends. “Poop” or “Butt” these are the funniest things he can think of and when he shares them with me, no matter how many times he shares them with me, he jerks his head back, eyes big as saucers, slaps his hand across his mouth and starts giggling which of course gets me laughing too. After threat of separation both at lunch and for the movie Tyler ate some of his lunch and we were on our way.
Tyler’s dad took him to get our seats, mom and Call-o hit up the concession stand and I took my, “damn I drink too much water” self to the restroom as I did not want to miss a thing. Met up with the snack retrievers and Tyler’s mom gave me his little kid’s box of goodies, “you can be the hero” she said with a grin. A few minutes later I was tucked in beside my little boyfriend, his Buzz Lightyear light up shoes just barely dangling off the of the theatre seat, big plastic glasses taking up half of his adorable face. In all the years I have been stalking/adoring my wee buddy I have never seen him so still or heard him so quiet, captivated, he was captivated….we both were.
So I don’t want to be a spoiler but I am guessing that few of you are really aching to see Toy Story 3 so I will say that the theme is very Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh….eventually Christopher no longer needs Pooh. He grows up and while he will forever remember the time he spent with his beloved friend that chapter is over and everyone has to move on. Toy Story 3 has that same message as the kid in the movie is going off to college, no longer needing his toys to keep him company. I sat there next to Tyler the last five minutes on our date, he spellbound behind his big yellow glasses and me, well I was crying behind mine.
Over seven months, it has been over seven months since I was able to wrap my arms around my son. Able to take in his smell, hear him laugh, look over and see the face that kept me strong, kept me fighting, the wide brow that I covered with millions of tiny kisses and brown eyes that taught me everything I know about true love. The gentle and loving soul that I so badly wanted to protect that I was willing to take hit after painful hit and hide it from everyone. I would not cave, would not buckle and would never let that kind of evil near him. A face that never knew how terrified I was, scared that I might not be strong enough to take one more blow….even more afraid that one day I would be forced to either run or watch as it drove off in a car that had time and time again tried to run me off the road. A face that to this day wears the kind of pride, admiration and adoration….for me, that has more than once had me slinking off to my dark bedroom, in tears and allowing myself to feel something I have never been comfortable with…proud of myself.
So this Sunday I board a plane, on my way to another date. This time the date is with my sweet and lifesaving son, long overdue and as I sit here typing this with tears streaming down my face, so very needed. Watching the cartoon mom in the movie cry as she packed up her son’s toys brought back the memories of packing Jeremy up and moving him to what might have well as been a million miles away. The way I smiled and was beaming with pride that I had raised a young man that was so confident that he could leave us all behind, but inside feeling more like Winnie the Pooh, my Christopher Robin leaving, no longer needing me, and wondering if I were even real without him.
Sunday I board a plane to the south where at the other end I will be able to do something I have never done before, buy a drink for the man that saved my life, made me the woman I am and makes me feel more proud than I ever thought possible. Proud of the man he has become and proud that I had something to do with that. Thank him, I will be able to buy him a drink and thank him for everything he has done for me. My baby is turning 21 and this teary eyed woman will be there, clinking glasses and basking in the glow of that face….
Jeremy,
I say this to you now and I mean it as much as I did the first time I took you in my arms, held your tiny little fingers and brushed my lips across your sweaty little hairline, I love you more than I have ever loved anyone, ever. You have been my whole world for half of my life and no matter how far apart we are you sir will forever be the greatest love of my life. I say this not to discount any other love I have but to assure you that years apart has not diminished even one ounce of that love. In your heart I have found a place to feel like the most important, beautiful, strong and admired person in the world, in your heart is where I will forever live and shine. I know that you cannot yet understand what an amazing gift that is, but one day you will and I will be there giving you a knowing nod, our nod…the one we give each other when we are in on our own little secret, yeah that one. I will be smiling and watching as you find a home in someone else’s heart. You will know it when it happens and in that moment I know with all that I am, you will feel me, remember this note and fully understand the magnitude of what I am telling you. Understand what it is you have given me and I hope, just for a brief second in that moment that you are able to feel proud of what it was that you gave your mother.
When we met I was a mess. An 18 year old girl so fractured and confused that I didn’t have a clue what to do. You did not announce your, “presence” until you had been there five months and you didn’t give me much time to figure out what to do what with being born two months early and all but….when I thought about your tiny three pound body emerging from mine, heart not beating and lungs not taking in the breath they needed, the way you struggled to survive…well kid, you inspired me. Your fight brought on mine and in those first couple weeks of our life together I drew upon your strength and will. You fought to save my life so I will forever fight to save yours.
You and I have something truly special Jeremy, we both know it, have always known it and I cannot think of anything that would change that. No years apart, no miles apart…you are forever with me and I hope you know that I am always with you. So while I see similarities between Toy Story 3 and Winnie the Pooh, I never feel like you don’t need me, I know you do and maybe this time apart has made me even stronger, more capable to love you the way you need me to. I know meeting you made me a better person and I honestly believe loving you opened something inside me that would never have been touched without you. I would not be the woman I am without you and there is simply no way for me to repay you for that.
I can however promise to be your box in the attic, the keeper of your memories, your stories. I can hold them tight and safe while you begin building new ones. I will dust off, “Falcon Man”…our first shared drink, a glass of Champagne when you were ten to celebrate New Years. You running up and down the hall with your favorite Christmas gift, night vision goggles. Body all buzzy from a few sips of Champagne and you standing in the dark hallway, hands on your hips, green lights blaring from your buggy looking goggles, belting out your best super hero voice, “Falcon Man!”. I will polish off the Jeremy that used to cry every time another baby would, the sympathetic little one that would push out his bottom lip at the mere sight of someone in tears. Chuckle as I unwrap the Jeremy that first saw pubic hair on a man, the way you came screaming from the public restroom, eyes wild with panic as you told me, “He has a hairy China”….really laugh as I remember that you used to call our, “area” a “China”. All your stories are here with me Jeremy, each one safe and protected, shrouded by a heart that you helped build. One strong enough to stand any test of time and distance.
I love you very much baby and I could not be more proud of the man that you are. I simply cannot wait to take you in my arms, hold you tight and welcome this next chapter of our life, of your life. I’m packing some Champagne…got your goggles?
Forever
And a day,
Da Momma
I am sitting here alone tonight. Feeling more alone than I have in a very long time, the voices that normally fill this space….my space, either out of town or simply silent as they are attending to whichever parts of their lives need them more than I do. Finally looking at having a couple days off after a crushing six day week complete with finger almost sniffing and a rather disgusting battle with the brownie like textured goo that affixes itself to the underside of our drain covers. We have these covers, (that don’t come off by the way) that have holes just a touch larger than the ones in my shower head….cannot get anything down there, well aside from disgusting bits of softened cheese, bread and the chunky bits, (gagging) of backwashed wine. Somehow this crud builds up so I have to take a bamboo skewer, poke it in the holes to dislodge it and then keep poking and picking until it finally washes down the drain. This is a vile task and I do in fact gag a few times while doing it. Once completed I feel great, accomplished and like I did good for the store, yesterday was no different. I was admiring my work, watching as the water raced cleanly down the drain. No water filling up the sink, it was awesome, I was all, “Check me out” that was until I noticed that I could not hear the water dumping into the floor drain….fuck. I turned around to see water overflowing all over the kitchen floor. So yeah, I successfully dislodged the goo….and sent it in a big nasty blob right into the drain of the floor sink. Lots of gagging, wet knees and loads of frustration later I cleaned up the mess I made while cleaning and was on my way home.
Walked through the door, no wait…unlocked and then walked through the door. This almost never happens when you have a husband that works from home, the door is always just open and walking up to a closed front door was just another reminder that I was on my own. The next reminder was dinner, it was a non-issue. No conversations about what to have, no shopping lists, nothing, just me. Standing in front of the fridge grabbing this cheese, that cured pork bit slice and a jar of olives. I am a food freak, shocking I know…I mean have you seen me?! I love food and food plans. I am one of those people that will stand in line for Korean BBQ tacos…..from a truck no less, and take the 10:30 reservation at Mozza, (Mario Batali’s joint here in LA) on a Monday night. I adore the scene, the passion and while I cannot put away as much food as my tiny friends, well I love picking and tasting, but when I’m alone after a long ass week….I can literally live on crackers, olives, cheese and salty pork products.
Handful of crackers and chewing on a pickled carrot I flipped open my laptop to check my email. Dammit. Two facebook notifications alerting me that two people I don’t know made a comment on the post of someone I barely know. Alone. So blaringly silent. I opted to just enjoy the quiet, let myself be silent as well….no talking, no typing, no I love yous. Just still and feeding my bone weary self on shit television and salty snacks. Listened as my white trash neighbor cooed her love song to her more-absent-than-there, jailhouse tattooed, droopy, shirt off, beer drinking while smoking a “grette” with the same hand, husband…”Johnnie, if you are going to go out please tell me! I woke up, (which means emerged from passing out) and you were gone, my heart fell out of my butthole!” now that’s love people and I had to listen to this while sitting alone. Sigh….
The more screaming the silence, (after the lovebirds went inside) the more I was back in my goddamn head. Fuck I hate that. Poured myself a long, deep glass of Domaine de la Fouquette Cotes de Provence Rose, one of my favorites from our Saturday tasting. The aggressive aromatics, sharp and damn-near snarky…lime rind, fresh herbs and a touch of that white tangy, wet, crunchy bit from a slice of watermelon. The wine possessing just enough “stuff” to pull my head out of my….errr, head and making me feel what it is I was longing to, attention. It wasn’t that I needed attention to be paid to me, I was looking for a place to rest my attention and this wine was able to handle me. Took me in line and pulled me along with each deep and soulfully satisfying sip. It was to be my lover for the evening and I was more than ready to shed my bullshit and simply give myself over to it.
As I emptied the last little drops into my feed-me-more glass I wondered if it was wrong for me to drain a bottle of wine alone like that. To let my mood influence me, let lonely move my wrist and pour another sip. Amazingly I found the answer in that last glass of wine. The answer came to me as the last few drops spilled upon my waiting palate. Nope. Not wrong at all….
Is It Wrong….
That I refused my husband’s many requests to have me fly out and join him on his Vegas convention trip?
Nope because you see, had I gone I would not be making love to this wine right now. Would not be here talking caked sinks, gagging and Rose with all 14 of you.
Is It Wrong….
That I ached for time alone but feel pangs of lonely when it is given to me?
Nope because you see, that is part of the “crazy” that is me. I am here and now I’m fucking rhyming…damn you pink wine and silence. Damn you.
Is It Wrong….
That I pontificate about fancy food, how important it is to eat local and fresh but find myself falling into the “easy” and noshing on like Chex Mix for dinner?
Nope because you see, to love and truly appreciate anything is to know and taste it all. To fully understand how brilliant a meal is you must dip your toes in the…other stuff. To truly appreciate how lovely it is to share a meal, well you must eat a few alone.
Is It Wrong…..
That I shit talk on wines that are too sweet but have been known to suck back a few glasses of Plum Wine at my favorite Chinese restaurant?
Nope because you see, these glasses are often a gift from the house….a thank you for being a good customer. The kind of customer that is remembered and watched, The kind of customer that is brought a tiny tea cup full of water after the place is closed, and told, “We know you smoke, please enjoy your cigarette and your wine”. The kind of customer that will remember this and be back over and over again.
Is It Wrong…..
That I talk openly about sex and sensuality? The way everything from words to wine can begin the purring, the soft spine….the deep, chest filling breaths while keeping my “body count” below ten in the twenty-seven years I have been, um…partaking?
Nope because you see, I find real humor in how seriously people take themselves. Their wants and desires are not that set apart from what the rest of us want, long for, ache for but for some reason everyone gets their crunders in a twist when you speak of slippery, pulling, pulsating…mouth watering. Wine, food, sex all things that when fed properly…will have you coming back for more. When, “fed” the right way, the natural unpolished and unpretentious way, from any of the above…I giggle. I chuckle when someone plunges a piece of perfect food between my lips. I laugh when a wine slips inside me and I can feel its fingertips bubbling beneath my skin and the other…well, a deep guttural, raspy giggle will let you know…I am pleased.
Is It Wrong….
That I let the sensual part of wine be my guide? Let the feeling, the texture and the stories surrounding the estate move me?
Nope because you see, without lust and passion it is just a product. Wine is and deserves to be so much more than a product. The sore backs, the cracked and dirty fingernails of the winemaker, the sweetly shy way they take our praise, all of these things should be at the table with you. In the glass as you open your lips and take their works in. They made something…grew and molded something, for you. Let yourself feel it, taste it, be lit up and buzzy by it…but remember there is someone, somewhere hoping against hope that you are enjoying it…damn, how sexy is that?
If any of this is wrong, well I want to meet the judge and jury. See if they can sway me. Change my mind…make me see it any other way, because as I sit….right now all buzzy on my Rose, listening as it fills in my missing pieces, soothes my crazy days….fuck I just want to wrap my fingers and palate around another glass. Scraping goo, sniffing fingers and being alone, all made tolerable, laughable and desirable when there is something vibrating between my lips….
So sometime last year I wrote a quick post about a woman that was looking for a specific wine glass. She was a housekeeper and had broken one of her employers Riedel glasses and came in to replace it. The problem was she had no idea which line and even worse, which style of glass it was that she had demolished while trying to clean. We went round and round and then she popped on the phone to try and get more information from her boss. I heard her over in the glassware area talking and started to get nervous when she started with the, “Okay. Okay. Hold on” and started walking up to me.
So I have a little, “thing” about talking on a stranger’s cell phone. Just kind of grosses me out, the oily skin residue, the makeup, the dried stranger spittle and hours of breath…ewe. I try to avoid it as much as possible, doing the talk-you-through-it dance trying to keep the phone owner in between me and that spittle coated, face oil contraption, and this almost always works….well either it works or they can sense the “Oh God don’t make me do it” vibe that I am tossing off along the with little bits of terror sweat. It’s just one of my many quirky behaviors….there are many I assure you.
So as much as I tried to avoid and deflect this woman was just hell bent on getting me on her cell phone to talk to her boss. I wanted to help her so I just had to suck it up and flinch as I pictured the layer of ewe that was about to touch my face. Yeah so I damn near lost my shit when she pulls a piece…..out of her ear and plops it in my palm. Call me a freak but asking me to shove a piece of anything that just came out of any of your orifices into my own….well that’s just kind of a lot to ask of anyone let alone a perfect stranger working in a wine shop.
I had thought that was one of the most awkward personal space issues I had been involved in for a while at the shop. Sure I have the folks that finally work up the nerve to touch me, (I don’t throw off a terribly warm, come cuddle me kind of vibe) and it seems that once they jump that hurdle they can’t stop….petting me, (shudder). I’m just not built that way and when these, (and there are only a couple of them) people start rubbing me I flash on Of Mice and Men and fear one of them is going to have a Lenny moment. I tolerate it, never want to make anyone feel uncomfortable but it is a bit of an issue for me when I see someone’s paw slowly moving towards me, feel my shoulders get a little stiff as I feel their unwelcomed meat mittens rubbing my back and arms….like I said, I’m just not a snuggly person so strangers rubbing me, I assume in an effort to comfort me….well it has the total opposite effect.
For the most part I have been very lucky in that there have been very few people that have asked me to do something that was, in my opinion, a little out of the scope of what I am willing to do for my job. Oh they say and suggest plenty of shit that causes me to step back but on the whole talking front, well I can kind of hold my own there. No problem what so ever shooting down the, “You guys should use the Hooters business model” and the, “Sam if you guys set up a free kiss with each bottle purchased, I would buy a case a week”….gotta love buzzy dudes, but what happened yesterday, well that one might just take the cake.
“Smell my finger” I stood there my neck elongated, head jerking backwards, eyes wide and fighting the mass of eyebrow that was scrunching down upon them, looking at this woman standing in my French department with her arm extended…two fingers being offered for me to take a sniff of. Now even with the people I love this might be a bit much to ask, I would likely do it but, “Smell my finger” from a stranger?! C’mon dude. I must have looked like someone just gave me a Brazilian because this woman’s husband appeared like Superman just as she started to bring her fingers to my “is this really happening?” face. “Honey don’t make her smell your fingers!” he said sharply but with a bit of a chuckle in his tone, he’s lucky I am not a touchy person because I may have had my very own Lenny moment trying to express my gratitude.
The woman wanted me to pick a wine to go with the marinade she had just made, the marinade that was clearly still on her hands and she thought it would help me to smell it rather than just hear what was in it. Not a bad idea I guess but there are just certain things you simply cannot expect people to do and….smell my finger is pretty high on that list. I picked a beautiful little Cotes du Rhone to go with the assembled in my head and not sniffed from her fingers marinade and went back to helping others on the floor. A few minutes later I could see the finger lady and her husband standing at the register ready to check out.
I rounded the corner of the counter and was met with a very red-faced woman. “I’m sorry I asked you to sniff my finger” she said with a nervous giggle. Turns out this woman was born in another country and whatever civil place that might be seemed to miss out on the smell-my-finger playground antics. She and her hubby were in full fits of giggles as I rang up and bagged their wines which in turn had me in giggles too. “Sorry again” she shouted as she headed for the door, “Oh don’t worry about it, least you gave me the best story of the day”.
Thank you....16th titleThank you for feeding my needThe hours of passionThe hours of painLove....I love and so needed this2010 NBA Champions Oh and no wretched Rombauer
Oh that was just painful
It sucked
My team sucked
And if you wanna play like that then
You deserve to lose...
Dammit
Charlie My Love is there any other Chardonnay you would prefer I drink...please?!
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