Bored Meetings

What a day. This one goes down in the annuls. Crazy. Frustrating. Total and utter waste of time. Boring. Mind numbingly so. Zoned out. Way out. Nanoo nanoo. Scotty, beam me up. Up up and away.

Yikes. Meeting after meeting sucking the life out of the team. No one wanted the talking stick. Going nowhere. Policy votes needed. Infrastructure for this dysfunctional nonprofit required. Mandated by IRS, state law and Sarbanes-Oxley. Trying to fit a tight rubber ring over an amorphous, wiggling Silly Putty of a meeting. Herding ducks. Ooozed diplomacy. Fakely (if that is a word). Treacly sweet. Just to move off center.

Frustrations high. Volunteer committee. Community business professionals. Clock ticking incessantly. Nothing happening. The chief staff honcha paranoid. Her Twinkie-fed body blocking progress ... and the door. Stuck. Endless cycling. Nowheresville.

Ha! You get what you pay for! My letter of resignation safely in my draft folder waiting. Freshly penned. Just want to get it in before my other three comrades push SEND.

Tonight the martinis are flowing ... cheers!

Changing Closets

Lump in my throat. During the 90 minute drive home this afternoon. All the way from Cambridge up I-95. Snizzle wetting the windshield. Tears in my eyes. It's almost over. An era drawing to an end. Happy-sad. My boy is growing up. My darling Charlie.

Wasn't it just last week that his long graceful yet still chubby fingers wrapped tightly around mine as he nervously clutched his yellow plastic lunch box in the other hand? A teensy navy and green backpack monogrammed of course held an extra pair of undies and Madison ... just in case. First day of school. He was two. One day a week. Mondays. Mothers' Day Out. For me - Mothers' Day In - For a few weeks I waited the several hours as he dealt with the separation. First on the comfy bench outside his classroom. Graduating to the sofa in the director's office. Until finally I could go do some errands before picking him up after lunch. We both managed beautifully. The days have melted into one another. Years zipping by, smiling. Laughing. Learning. Experiencing.

Yesterday he finished the eighty-eight page draft of his honors thesis on the decolonization of Hong Kong. 88. Double infinity. An auspicious number for the Chinese. Symbolizing fortune and wealth. The luckiest of all numbers. The year of his birth. The month of his birth. His first night sleeping in his crib yellow and white chintz, Madison and Monkey Doodles at his side, at home. 8/8/88. The sun shines on my baby. He is blessed. The fortunate one. It has been a most delicious dream dripping love. Discoveries. Adventures. The most profound pleasure ... these past two decades. The 'dynamic duo' imagining the possibilities.

He graduates from college in May. So today marks the end of our annual ritual. Switching closets from winter corduroys, wool cable knit sweaters, scarves and boots to the pastels of spring. Since he schools away from home, and has for six years, this is not your typical up to the attic or down to the basement. Uh-uh. It involves me, my station wagon, many LL Bean bags and a 90 minute trek down I-95. The mid-March drive to Massachusetts. Back of my Volvo filled to the brim with Charlie's spring clothes and warm weather gear on the way down; winter woolens and down parkas on the way home.

Next year he might be in Hong Kong or Singapore. No need for seasonal changes of clothes. Summer year round. Or in Moscow. Yes. There he'll need to switch from winter warm and cozy to summer lights. Or in London. But the Volvo won't be making the trek. No longer. C'est fini. Obsolescence. The mama needs. My sweet boy will be changing before someone else's eyes. All grown up and out in the world. Rooted. Loved. Cherished. No matter the season.

Cheers to my heart ... his journey ... and him knowing I am always here at the ready. Always!

Yo-yo

I am a yo-yo dieter. A green Duncan Imperial with teensy flecks of silver glitter embedded within its plastic core. My loop-d-loops and walk the dog sparkle. A virtual spinning queen. My twirls amaze me. Up. Down. Circles. Thrown downwards I descend toward that elusive goal. Then by seemingly by inertia gravity is defied and the climb winds up until the yo-yo is grabbed, ready to be thrown again.

Repeat. Toss. Unravel. Spring back up. Finish line beyond grasp. Clothes getting tight again. Then oh so much better. But wait. Even daily walks don't keep the demons at bay. The familiar chrome yellow bag of peanut M&Ms at the checkout counter. The urge to bake for friends, board meetings, hostess gifts. Truth be told because I like to lick the bowl. Temptations lurk. Everywhere. Up. Down. Up. Down.

It is nearly half a decade and I know where it is. My yo-yo. Can go to it blind. Safely nestled in the lidless plastic Tupperware container that has divided the art supplies from my memorabilia in the bottom drawer of my cherry Queen Anne slant top desk in the bedroom. Right next to the red and scratched silver metal kazoo from my All Girls Kazoo band on tour in 1971 Santa Fe.

Not a real girls group, mind you. We just needed a gig so we could dazzle the hippie patrons of that smoke filled coffee house near the plaza where local Navajos spread colorful blankets along the sidewalks of the pueblo-inspired buildings selling turquoise bracelets and concho belts. Sophomore intersession. Eight long limbed, long haired young women studying the effects of multiculturalism on the legislation New Mexico at the time of Cesar Chavez and striking itinerant farmers from south of the border. Pass/fail, of course.

God, I'm off track. Very. Yo-yos. Fluctuations. Up. Down. Around. Embarrassing really. In the span of 59 days I have been almost two-thirds there. The finish line in the cross hairs. Twice. Shed 9 pounds two times since champagne corks popped a few months ago. Gained it back in a matter of moments. And the trip to southern California for Izzy's big day is next week. Need to fit slimmingly into my clothes. It is after all Oscar week. Time to take my Duncan for a spin. It's either that or Spanxx. Four more to go. Again!

Cheers ... this time to success. Yo-yo, be damned!

Rest Stop

Everyone needs a day off. Everyone! Me included. I slowed down from moving too fast and spent today looking for fun and feeling groovy. Join me out in the sunshine. And whatever you do, enjoy skipping out on ... whatever.

Cheers! Until tomorrow.

Chinglish

As promised. This morning I jump-started research on the CELTA program in Hanoi for their fall sessions. Several options for this intensive month long training.

Also, snuck a peek at options in China. With one billion people and the party's ruling that all Chinese under 50 must learn standard Mandarin and English in addition to their ethnic tongue. So the entire country is desperate for teachers. So is South Korea and southeast Asia. Fierce competition to train ESL staff. Lured by their willingness to provide room, board, transportation costs ... plus sign up/contract bonuses to stay in-country. Caveat: You get what you pay for. Literally.

Trepidation seeps through my soul that I am even considering being at the mercy of a non-Western Communist government. You WILL like it here. No complaints. Off with her head, the Red Queen screeched.

Know the drill only too well. The lack of 'stars' on student housing. Sub-par for Americans of a certain age! Food? They love scorpion satay! But, what really is the deal breaker, the breaking point, are the freakish salles de bains pour les femmes. Holes in the floor. Watch your step. Squatters we are not. My hair, however, will be well treated. That I already know. You do too.

China needs fluent English speakers. We all know that. English is the way of the world. Business especially. Tours are offered in two languages: Mandarin and English. Translators for translators required for those unfortunate tourists not fluent in my mother tongue. Too bad for the Poles, the Ruskies, the Brazilians ... anyone who doesn't know either.

Two truisms re China: (1) Not only are they overtaking the global economy, but (2) their signs are hilarious. Younger, English speaking Chinese know how to translate. But the whole face saving aspect makes them reluctant to correct their managers.

The results are hysterical:

• A road sign on Beijing's Avenue of Eternal Peace warns of a dangerous pavement with the words: "To Take Notice of Safe; The Slippery are Very Crafty".
• Emergency exits at Beijing airport read "No entry on peacetime".
• The Ethnic Minorities Park is named "Racist Park".
• At one of the bigger train stations a huge sign which states simply "Question Authority". Eeeks. What is this incredibly heavily controlled officially Communist state saying? LOL ... the sign points to the Information Booth.
• Menus frequently list items such as "Corrugated iron beef", "Government abuse chicken" and "Chop the strange fish". But the one that really gets to me: worm pig stomach. Now you understand about my free board issue!

Thumbs up to teaching English in a foreign land ... and god help me for not knowing their language! Cheers!