Hummingbird Mind

Huh? The Lipstick Ain't Helpin'

What the hell is she saying? Anybody understand it? If so, please leave a comment:

Sweet Things

Take a look at six of my favorite people.  My niece entitled this picture "Twin Cousins," a reference to her father and my ex, who are fraternal twins.  The five young ladies in the group are, of course, the cousins.

 

From left to right, Rachel (my eldest) holds Delaney (my granddaughter). She's flanked by Kathryn (my BiL's youngest daughter), Jane (my youngest), Christina (my BiL's eldest daughter), and Sharon (my middle child). Missing is Marie Louise (my BiL's middle one) who had returned to Harvard Medical School, when this was taken. It is amazing to me when I remember these girls as infants and toddlers. We have some special memories. 

From left to right, Rachel works part-time and is a mom. Kathryn is a senior at Colgate. Jane is a junior at West Virginia University. Christina passed the bar recently and works as an attorney in New York City. And, Sharon graduates this spring and will begin work as a professional social worker. Marie Louise is in her second year at Harvard Medical.

They are smart, funny, and beautiful. And, they are loved.

Ninja Cat With Thanks to David

Found this on David Feldman's Imponderables site.  Thanks, David.  Cat lovers everywhere have to love the supernatural powers of this kitty.  My cat Devon never moves unless she hears a can open... she can jump from the couch to my kitchen counter in 1 second flat.  And, she's a really fat cat.  Here's the ninja:

Sarah and Hillary

If you missed it... here it is "Live From New York":

They both deserve an Emmy.

Italy: The What and The When

Note: Third in a series of posts, which begins with Hello, My Name is Sybil and I'm Going to Italy.

When you plan a journey for over a decade you narrow down "the what" of it pretty well.  Debora and I know exactly what we want to do. Here's the plan:

• Savor Tuscany
• Eat authentic Italian food
• Drink Italian wine
• Get up close and personal with Italian culture
• See plenty of art
• Meander
• Walk
• Bicycle
• Take the train everywhere
• Relax
• Sleep

We will spend the next couple of weeks making individual lists of all the possible places and things we'd like to see.  Then we'll compare our lists, see where they intersect and narrow down from there based on distance, travel time, and energy.  We only have seven days.

Of course, we have a few parameters, which are always a good idea. If it turns out that we never leave the city we're staying in to travel all over Tuscany, that's okay. If one of us or both of us decides to never leave the apartment, that's okay.  (Stupid, but okay.) If we don't want to spend every single minute together, that's okay.  Everything is okay.

I fly from Dulles, and she flies from Madison, to New York on Thursday, the day before we leave for Italy.  If we're lucky, we might be able to grab dinner that night with friends. We plan a leisurely day of sightseeing since we don't leave until late Friday.

Then it's 7 days in Italy.  Where?  You'll have to tune in for my next installment.

There Are No Words

I purposefully avoided media coverage of the many 9/11 ceremonies last week.  It wasn't that I didn't care. Far from it. For some reason, I just couldn't bring myself to go there, except to pay tribute in a very private and solitary way.  Maybe it was the politics (and the politicians) that shadowed all the events.

Tonight, however, as I was channel surfing, I happened upon C-Span and a rebroadcast of the Pentagon ceremony and the dedication of the memorial there.  I was lucky enough to hear Kitty Donohoe sing her composition "There Are No Words." 

I can't figure out how to embed the music, but you can find it on her Web site or on iTunes.  

Thought I'd share. 

Italy: The Who

Note: "I thought you knew!" was my response to everyone who e-mailed and called after reading Hello, My Name is Sybil and I'm Going to Italy.  In the interest of efficiency (yes, I am interested in efficiency, sometimes) I want to answer all questions. It also occurred to me that should something happen (God forbid) this series of posts will give you almost anything you need to know to figure out where I am. 

Let's start with the "First W" (not the president -- note the little p), as one does in reporting:

My traveling companion is Debora, a good friend and classmate from Georgetown University.  We met in a class called "Values in Conflict," as I remember, she came up to me as people were forming work groups for their final presentation and said something like, "I think we're kindred spirits."  We were. Our group was the only non "talking heads" presentation. We wrote vignettes about modern day value conflicts (in the home, at work, in politics), convinced, cajoled and directed our teammates to act them out, and then engaged the class with lively discussions about them. We got an A.  

I stuck with Debora after that, and we took several seminars together. This was during my raging feminist stage (yes, I'm still raging but, I'm tired now) where I'd rant on about Herodotus totally ignoring women. She'd respond by rolling her eyes and saying something like, "Get over it, he lived about 15 centuries ago. Things have changed for the better since then."  

She was around through the births of my two youngest daughters. I lived through her engagement, wedding (I made the dress, yes I did) and the dissolution of her marriage. Then she lived through the dissolution of mine. 

She moved to San Francisco and then on to Madison, Wisconsin. We've kept in touch over the years by phone, e-mail and quick meet-ups when she comes to town for business. When we meet in New York it will be the first time we've seen one another in over five years.  Won't matter.  We'll pick up right where we left off.  

 

Up next:  Italy: The What and The When 

Hello, My Name is Sybil and I'm Going to Italy

   St. Clairmarie called the other night, "You didn't tell me you were going to Italy!"

"Yes, I did, " I responded in disbelief. "Are you crazy?"

"You've talked about going for years, but you never told me you were actually, finally going. Maybe you thought one of your other personalities told me."

If you don't know this about me, you should know that two of my best friends (St. Clairmarie and Bonnie, both therapists... do you see a trend here?) have referred to me as Sybil for years.

St. Clair's reference has to do with the many AIM screen names I use (for work purposes).  "Sybil, is that you?" is her greeting when she pings me.  Bonnie's reasons for calling me Sybil are more clinical.  I am the APA DSM's poster child for compartmentalization.  This could be a defense mechanism, (my, looking at that list, I'm a master of the defense mechanism) a survival skill or both.  I'm too lazy to look up one more Wikipedia entry. Maybe my other therapist friend, Jer, will clarify. Anyway, I choose to think that I'm just confused. 

Not as confused as Crazy Clare though.  Obviously, I told her I was going because she keeps calling to say, "Are you in Italy?"  She's been doing this for six months.

So, to make certain ALL my friends know:

I'm going to Italy the last week in October, 2008.

My ferocious "guard cat" Devon and my combat veteran brother and father will be patrolling my property. Cricket is going to Ms. Sharon's for a spa week.

In order to make sure that you have all the info you need (and to integrate all the fragments of my many realities), following entries will cover the Italy trip.

Wish you were here.  Love, Sybil.

For details on the upcoming trip to Italy begin with: Italy: The Who

We Have a Generation Gap And It's My Issue

My middle child called today just to talk.  We discussed a lot of things, but during the discussion she indicated that she didn't understand my reference to an important American cultural icon.  Here, let me explain:

I told her about my continued struggle to hang pictures and mirrors at the right level.  I reported on this in an earlier post.  I shared how I was hanging everything too high, based on the advice of my youngest daughter (the Art History/Curatorial Studies major). "Hang 'em five feet from the floor, Mom. That's what we do."

"Sure," said my ex when I told him.  "If you live in the National Gallery."

Anyway, I told my daughter that when I look in one of the mirrors I hung, I can only see from my nose and eyes up.  "Like Gilroy."

"Like who?"

"Like Gilroy. You know... Gilroy."

"Gilroy?" she repeated.

"Are you kidding me?  You don't know Gilroy.  The World War II graffiti... the little guy looking over the wall or fence? 'Gilroy was here.' I can't believe this.'"

"Uh, Mom.  You mean Kilroy?"

Yes.  Yes, that's exaclty who I meant.  See for yourself.  Here's what I look like in the mirror.

  

They warned my kids that my mind was going.  Doesn't make closing the gap any easier.

Lovely Day

Spent the morning reading and on long and wonderful telephone conversations with good friends.  Spent the afternoon cleaning house and readying myself for the week.  Dad came over for a roasted chicken dinner. We drank Cabernet (not much), reminisced about my Mom -- laughing a lot -- and touched on politics (unlike my brother and me, he and I are able to have rationa discussionsl, we just don't agree).  He said, "It's nice that you're living here."

And then.  I got this new picture of two of the four favorite girls in my life.