More With the Sad
A couple of posts ago, I wrote about Ron's friend who has terminal cancer. Ron and a group of his friends went to visit this friend this past weekend. All the guys were pretty nervous about it, because none would it, but this was essentially a visit to say goodbye while Bob was still well enough to be at home and have a beer.
The situation with Bob has clearly gotten to Ron. I mean, he's avoided it. Avoided talking about it. Avoided dealing with it. So, I was really proud of him for going to visit Bob because I wasn't sure he would. Although, I was sure he'd regret NOT visiting him. Just like he regrets not checking in on
Battle, even though he didn't actually know Battle was dying.
As part of Ron's job, he deals with death all the time (okay, maybe not
all the time, but often enough to be pretty much unphased by it), but as one might imagine, it's different when the person dying is someone you know. Someone who used to be your drinking buddy. Someone your age.
Bob had a frank, sidebar conversation with Ron, presumably because he thought Ron could handle--more so than the other friends--the topic of death. Ron said he seems at peace with all but two things: that his nearly-three year old son will forget him and that his wife (who is younger than me) will allow this to define the rest of her life and won't pursue new happiness.
I just can't imagine.
Labels: friends, random
No One Cares What I Did This Weekend
But I went to Baltimore. It was lovely. And HOT. Like really hot. We combated the heat with buckets of beer. We stayed at the Marriott on the waterfront, the first time we had stayed at that particular hotel and had a great view of the harbor. I'd definitely recommend it. Our friends Deidre and Frank made the trip with us and the four of us had a great time.
This year, the Italian Festival was a lot smaller than usual and at first I attributed it to the heat, but at the garlic bread stand, Ron got the scoop from one of the nuns: Good ol' Fr. Mike, who had organized the event for years, was recently ousted from the Church (I'll give you one guess why) and the thing just fell apart without him.
Labels: friends, vacation
Walking
Thank you to those who donated to the March of Dimes walk. The rain held out, and although it's heavily debated whether the walk was, in fact, five miles, we all felt like we got a work out. Among the team walkers were my best friend and Ron's best friend and I think that speaks to the kind of people we are lucky to have around us.
Going back to June 2006....they didn't have a private room for us, so when Matthew was taken off life support, the nurses closed the curtains around his crib for privacy and clipped a picture of a white flower on a black background to the curtains so we wouldn't be disturbed. Or rather, so those who were entering the area would
know and would employ Sensitivity and Compassion.
One of his doctors, the one I regularly mocked because he used long pauses when he spoke and it drove me crazy and also, I mocked him because we needed something to laugh at, he came into our area that morning and he said to my sister-in-law, slowly, "It was a privilege taking care of Matthew." And I loved him in that moment because you could tell he
did think it was a privilege and that sounded so much more sincere than the usual "I'm sorry for your loss."
It was a privilege walking on Saturday.
Labels: baby, friends, Living
Field House
On Saturday, Ron and I dumped the kid off at Ron's parents' house and we went to the
Auto Show with Deidre and Frank. Everybody seemed to find their dream car and for me, apparently it was a
Ford Edge. Well, not really. I like looking at cars, but strangely none ever totally appeal to me. Sedans generally speaking are not my thing.
I do like the Ford Edge, but as far as cars go, high-end, it is not. And if you're going to the Auto Show, you're looking for fancy. So I tried to be in love with BMWs. I love them from the outside and the interior leather was like butter, but the design of the dashboard irked me. The cupholders were chintzy. I know that cupholders are not an essential design element and that frankly, BMW probably cringes at having to incorporate them at all, but for $50k, it think they should be somewhat substantial.
I did enjoy the
Range Rover Sport I also like the look of the BMW SUV, but I've long held that it's ridiculous to get a luxury SUV. And again, the dash was probably annoying.
Anyway, we all had a ridiculously good time and afterwards, we went to
Field House, a new restaurant in the space previously occupied by Independence Brew Pub. Other than adding small TVs to every booth, Field Day changed virtually nothing from the Independence Bew Pub (IBP) design. I was definitely wary about going. Although IBP had a good location, their food was...meh. Plus, we were originally supposed to have our rehearsal dinner there, but last minute logistical problems caused by the IBP manager forced us to change the venue. Regardless, I was willing to give it a try.
The menu looked decent and I felt much better when I realized that this place was owned by the same folks as
Public House and
The Mission Grill. Not that I've been to either of those places either (well, I did have a beer once at Public House), but at least I knew that Field Day was not owned by the same folks as IBP.
Anyway, as the name suggests, Field Day is definitely a sports bar that just happens to serve food. We got the crab articoke dip which was quite thick, but pretty yummy. We also got an appetizer of fries with cheese and Old Bay seasoning. I'm not big on larger cut fries, which is what these were. Ron and I got the turkey club sandwiches on a pretzel roll. I love a pretzel roll. Turns out I wasn't much in the mood for turkey, but I think otherwise it would be a good sandwich. It had this mustard sauce, that was quite tasty. Deidre and Frank got burgers, which were huge, and they came with larger cut fries as well.
One appetizer that we didn't get (and should have) was the soft pretzels with a cheese dipping sauce. Seriously, how great is that as bar food? So all in all, I think Field Day is good place to watch a game, or to meet for a beer, particularly if beer is specifically what you're looking for. As a restaurant, it's okay for a casual meal, but nothing spetacular.
Labels: food, friends
A Little Hollow in My Heart
I do not particularly enjoy feeling disappointed in myself. But that's kind of what I've got going on here right now.
It's funny how people waltz in and out of your life. There are very few that I've ever cut out completely or on purpose. I feel like relationships can be very fluid, times when they are intense, and times when they are more relaxed. I always assume that I'll eventually get back in touch with those I have not spoken with.
I don't mean for that to make it sound like I'm a lazy friend. There are the solid friendships I have, the ones I work on, people that I speak with regularly--or somewhat regularly. But there are others, that because of distance, changes in circumstance, or any other in a host of reasons, I just don't speak to. I think destiny plays a hand in this. I haven't spoken to my friend, Captain Dan in...gosh, over 4 years now. And I think that's the way it's supposed to be. There was no fight, nothing weird happened...we just lost touch. I have not reached out to him; nor has he to me. But if he popped back up into my life, I'd give him a hug and say "Good to see you." Then I'd probably smack him upside the head. He'd likely do the same for me. Such was our way.
Anyway, there was a friend of mine that was not invited to my wedding. I wrote this post on my wedding blog back in 2005:
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
She Deserves Better Than This Okay folks, I'm going to be straight with you. My actual issue with weddings has less to do with the overall absurbity of wedding planning and more to do with a personal problem of mine. For years I have dreaded the thought of my own wedding. Honestly dreaded it. Made myself sick over it. Cried about it. I had a feeling that the day would inevitably come when there would be a ceremony, a reception, a big, white dress. And it the thought of it was devastating. Who knows for sure, but I might have been inclined to marry younger had it not been for one thing.
My Friend.
My Friend and I have been friends for years. To make a long, long, long story short, I had a falling out awhile back with my folks and My Friend was involved. Consequently, my folks won't stand for being in the same room as My Friend. I mean really, they won't. It might be ridiculous but that's the way it is. That's the way it's been for the last 12 years. And to give you perspective my relationship with my parentals isn't that great either, hovering on the point of estrangement at all times. We're civil, though.
I decided some time ago, that my wedding, should I ever get married would be a family event. I could use it to bring my folks back into the fold. I wanted that, I wanted to do right by them. It isn't a matter of who's right and who's wrong. It's a matter of family and I'm trying to bring mine back together a little bit. It's important to me.
Hence the issue with my wedding. No doubt My Friend should in my bridal party. I was just in hers. We've been friends for 15 years and have weathered a lot together. But there's the whole can't-be-in-the-same-room problem. So my choice that I had to make, no compromises, was between My Friend and my family. I chose my family. My Friend made it easy on me by understanding completely, telling me that for years she had assumed that she wouldn't be at my wedding. That's the kind of person she is, she makes things easier on those around her. It broke my heart, but her understanding allowed a tremendous weight to drop off my shoulders. I never wanted a large bridal party, just a few of my closest friends. All of whom I've been friends with since at least college, if not high school. All but one of them is a bridemaid.
So there you have it: one of my best friends isn't even invited to my wedding.
At her suggestion, I've spoken with her about wedding plans as though there was nothing weird about her not coming. I told her about the hunt for a dress. I told her about the on-going debate about where to have the reception. I sent her a picture of my dress after the World Tour was over. And maybe I did start to get a little excited about my wedding.
This weekend I learned, from her mother, that My Friend is actually completely devastated by not being involved, not even invited. She knows that she said it was okay. She understands it. She's just having a much harder time about it than she thought she would. And she's hiding that from me in the name of friendship. I'm sure me being involved in her wedding made it harder. I'm sure as I helped her arrange flowers, and tie ribbons, and apply makeup and fluff dresses, I'm sure she thought, "Wow, this isn't going to be reciprocal."
Now My Friend is honeymooning, but she'll be back and I'll know how upset she is. I can talk to her about it, but when push comes to shove, I can't change how things are, how things have to be. Each person has to make some hard decisions in life and this is one of them.
So now you know. I'm excited about my marriage. It's the wedding day that breaks my heart.She and I stopped speaking in January 2006, two months before my wedding. In the flurry of last-minute planning I'm ashamed to admit that I barely even noticed. After my wedding, I assumed some time would go by, let the wounds heal and we'd eventually get back in touch.
I had recently learned some news about her and thought it was time to reach out to her. So I did, and she politely refused any offers of friendship, like one might decline having a cup a coffee after dinner. I knew immediately that what I had fooled myself into thinking was a break in our friendship, actually was the end of our friendship.
I should have expected this, of course, but still, it saddened me. I think mostly because I know I have hurt her, and I wish things could have played out differently. But even now, I know that as it related to my wedding, I would have made the same decisions all over again. But still.
If I'm really honest about it, the wedding was just the straw that broke the camel's back. There were other things. She and I had become two different people since high school, so different that if we met now for the first time, I'm not entirely sure we'd like each other. The interesting part is that she is largely responsible for who I am, for that different person I became. She and her family had afforded me the opportunity to become a stronger person, a better person. So somehow, I'm left with the vague feeling that I used her and then moved on...although you have to believe me that it wasn't like that at all at the time.
There are a couple of occasions that stand out in my mind in which I am truly ashamed of my performance as a friend. I think I am a good friend--I'm not looking for any reassurances here. But I don't coddle my friends, telling them what I think they need to hear if it isn't true. I try to be gentle with their hearts, but I also dole out a good dose of tough love when I think that's what they need. And all that is not what I'm talking about here. The instances where I think I've failed as a friend are larger than any bit of tough love.
So I'm lumping this situation with my old friend in with those other instances of failure. I'm going to stew in this for awhile, but I think I know that from this I'm learning to be a better friend. I'm a big advocate for accepting responsibility not only for the decisions you make in your life and their consequences, but also for the out-of-your-control situations life may throw your way. You take them in, even the hard and crappy ones, accept them and they can, if you let them, make you a better person.
Labels: friends
Superbowl
Did I mention we're having a Superbowl party? You're totally invited!
Ron had the foresight to arrange this so that he couldn't really do much prep work. He's working today and tonight overnight, leaving me and Rolo to handle the cooking and cleaning. So far, Rolo is pretty much slacking off.
On the menu:
baked ziti
roast pork sandwiches with horshradish and provolone
wings
pigs in a blanket
cheese and crachers
plus an assortment of dips: guacamole, onion dip, ranch with veggies.
Gotta run, there's vacuuming to be done with
my new love.
Labels: friends, Living
Dolce
On Wednesday might, I went to
Dolce with my friends, Christy, Star and Meg. Like my
visit to FARMiCia, this was part of Restaurant Week. Star posted
a review of the restaurant as well, and I agree with a lot of her sentiments. I think the food was all okay, some of it good even, but I wasn't bowled over. The filet mignon was good, but unimpressive. The ribeye I had at FARMiCia was more tasty and....really, the filet should have been better. I will say that the veggies that accompanied the steak were very good. Vibrant color, good crunch and flavor. But I noticed they were the same veggies that were served with Star's chicken marsala. Not that that's a problem per se, it just seemed a little lazy. Perhaps I'm overthinking this.
Anyway, the decor in Dolce is very modern and while that's nice, I think I've realized that I like my Italian restaurants to be the old-fashioned variety with red-and-white checked tablecloths. My Italian restaurant doesn't need to have a floor that lights up (I kept on having "Billy Jean" flashbacks).
One highlight, other than the fabulous company, was the Dolce martini. It involved pineapple juice and cinnanmon and while that might sound gross, I thought it was great.
All in all it was okay, and as Star indicated, probably better when it's not Restaurant Week. I wouldn't make a point of going there again, but I wouldn't avoid it entirely either.
Labels: food, friends
The Last Goodbye
It's a sad day around here in Casa de DJ Heavy. We got a call last night that one of Ron's friends, who we all call Battle, passed away over the weekend from kidney failure.
He'd be sick for years, we all knew this by looking at him. We didn't know what it was, and he refused to talk about it. Ron thought it might be HIV, but I asked Battle once and he just said that it was something but it wasn't that and something about the way he said it made me believe him.
I met Battle at a happy hour the same night I met Ron. He and Ron went to college together, and honestly I've never met a greater character than Battle. He was always up for a party, or a road trip, or a night of general debauchery. He slept on my floor or couch many a night after we'd wrestle his car keys away from him. He was a funny drunk, even when he eventually got to the point of being belligerent. He was fond of telling people to "Go to hell" or "You suck" when he had had a few too many and you'd have to know Battle to find this part of his personality endearing. But it was.
What I find somewhat interesting is that Battle chose to die. He could have done dialysis, which isn't an ideal way to live but would have saved his life, but his sister says he chose not to. I'm not sure whether he was a candidate for a kidney transplant. In the end though, he chose to move home with his mother to die. I can't imagine what brought him to that decision. He knew he was going to die and also chose not to let any of his friends know that.
Ron and Battle were friends for nearly 20 years. I've only known both of them for the last five, so I'm not sure what their history was like before then (although I've heard some great stories), but over the last few years we'd see Battle in spurts. Sometimes we'd see him almost every weekend for awhile. Then we might go the better part of a year without seeing him. During those times, Ron would inevitably say something to the effect of "I better call Battle and make sure he's still alive." It was a joke, then, of course and eventually he and Battle would get in touch with each other. But I know Ron feels pretty badly that he's been so wrapped up in the baby that he hadn't realized how much time had passed since the last time he heard from Battle. That he'll never again have to check in.
Labels: friends
Someone Get Me a Cocktail
So far, for the past two mornings I've managed to shower, put on lotion, dressed in normal clothes AND put on make-up. You hear so many horror stories of new mothers who forego showering for days and I've never understood that. I mean the kid does sleep, right? You can't sneak in a quick shower then?
Anyway, I'm proud of my little accomplishments. So far, you know, it's not so bad. Of course, I didn't leave the house yesterday. In fact, with just a few exceptions, I haven't left the house in the last week and a half. Which, if you know me, you know is weird. I like being on the go. I'm not really a veg-on-the-couch kind of girl.
Today, I'm going to try to be more ambitious. I need to go to my church to pick up forms for Rolo's baptism. Oh, did I not tell you I named the baby Rolo? Well, actually, I didn't, but a friend of mine came up with that nickname due to some confusion about his real name. So I figure he needs a name on this blog, so why not Rolo?
So, since it's a bit cooler today, I'm going to try to make it to the rectory today. This prospect fills me with a good bit of anxiety. First, because it's a 13 block walk out there. And what they don't really tell you? Is how freakin' winded and depleted
walking will make you post-delivery. It's ridiculous. Then once I get there, there are three or four stairs up to the rectory door, but they're not really deep stairs, so I can't take the stroller up with me (sidenote, the Bugaboo with the bassinet seat is ridiculously long--it's like driving a Lincoln towncar. I can't wait until he's old enough for the other seat). Right, so I'm going to have to leave the stroller on the sidewalk, run up the stairs, ring the bell and then run back to the stroller. Which will take all of 2 seconds. But still being separated from the stroller that long will make me nervous. I could take Rolo out of the stroller, up the stairs with me, and I may do that, depending on what the situation on the sidewalk is like when I get there.
Then, assuming someone answers the door, I'll need to drag the stroller and baby up the stairs into the rectory. I'm the type of person who stresses about logistics. Like I need to get to the bus stop 15 minutes before the bus is scheduled to arrive so that I make sure I don't miss it. I like to streamline things. It's impossible with a baby. And I'm not so good at manuveuring the 'Boo yet...and there's the whole complete depletion of strength thing too.
Then there's trying to time this outing--ideally for when Rolo just eaten and had a diaper changed. Because if he starts wailing in the middle of this walk, I'm not really sure what to do. I mean obviously, I'd feed/change him, but where? A Starbucks? See? I get lost in the logistics.
So I'm going to try this, because I do need to learn how to get around the city with a baby. This is my life now. But it's entirely possible I might get to the rectory, decide that the walk was an excursion enough, and turn around for home before getting the forms.
In addition to this little task, my other goal is to write out some thank you notes. Ron and I have some of the best friends EVER. Everyone has been super-generous with gifts for Rolo and just about everyone who's come to visit has brought food with them. The thoughtfulness of our friends really brings me to tears. Which, come to think of it, isn't hard to do these days. But, the point is, Ron and I are very lucky.
Labels: baby, friends
And All Sorts of Inappropriate Conversation Ensued
Last night I met Christy, Michelle and Meg at El Fuego and we had the best time. I don't think I've laughed as much in awhile. I love hanging out with my ladies. It was the exact break I needed from unpacking. Because seriously? I spent about 7 hours yesterday organizing clothes. That ain't right, yo.
Anyway, we all moved on to Starbucks after our Mexican feast and I recounted my story of grabbing Wendy's for a bite to eat earlier in the week. One can always expect absymal customer service at fast food joints in Philadelphia. Which was exemplified when Ron asked for a packet of barbeque sauce for his chicken sandwich and the response he got was:
"You ain't got no nugget."
Indeed.
Labels: friends, society
