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Expired

13 Jun

There are several “markers” in my life which present themselves in such a way as to remind me of the fact the past five or so years have resembled that of a vortex, a whirling mass of something.  For instance, tonight I grabbed my ‘chili oil’ from the pantry to use in my dinner dish only to notice the expiration date was fall of 2007 (mind you I have used it several times since then).  Last month I began to wonder why my antiperspirant/deodorant was looking odd.  Upon closer inspection, “expired December 2010”; the probable cause of the yellowish hue and perhaps my new found “scent”.  Vitamins for Cole, expired November 2011.  ‘Get the Red Out’ eye-drops, expiration date of 2006–is that why it stung?.  I do believe I can even produce some well intended makeup which was purchased several years back when the inspiration to “do something about it” was a fresh idea…probably inspired by a glamorously airbrushed Vogue photo shoot.  Hidden Valley Ranch salad dressing, out of date over a year ago.  And do you know what happens to yogurt when it is allowed to extend its shelf life several years?  How about lemon curd?  …let’s just leave those two alone because smelling the chili oil was bad enough!

Now when I come across such ‘expired’ items as the ones mentioned above, they serve to remind me that I have had cause, since about the beginning of 2007, to loose a bit of the hold on life that I once thought I had.  Now whether I did, or whether I didn’t could be discussed philosophically for hours…but that, my friends, would be a moot point.  And boring to say the least.  But if you take my word for it, you might come to understand–with a bit more clarity–how and why I could possibly be in possession of so many items which are used, and still useful, though quite past their guaranteed shelf life.  Just take a look at my week past, project the chaos of the days backward and forward and voilà, here I am.

The gist of the past several days went something like this:

Friday, June 8th–  Pick up car rental and head for northern California.  Get situated in the rental for the 6 hour drive to the bay area for the high school graduation of my nephew.  (Being the projected arrival was due to occur simultaneous to the processional, my long time friend planned to give us a dinner of salmon and flank steak to hold our position in the area of the school so we could meet up with the family afterwards).

1:00p.m. traffic on the 5 freeway north came to a halt.  We sat in one location for two hours; the perfect conditions for my ever loving husband to present to myself and our daughter the evils of marijuana smoking and his disdain for recreational drug use.  A “public speaking announcement” brought forth from his experience in the men’s bathroom just moments before at the Carls Jr. where we stopped for a moments relief and where he received more than his fair share of second-hand smoke.

3:00p.m. we were escorted off the freeway as the wildfire, which prevented our progress, continued to rage.  We were now faced with alternative routes.  Thanks to our friends in Bakersfield, we took a very long, though pleasurable, drive around the grapevine and ended up at their house for dinner somewhere close to 6(ish)p.m.  Tacos, friends, and a warm place to lay our heads…sorry to say goodbye to the salmon and flank, but glad to be so well received on such short notice with a hospitality that made the 7hour drive worth the while (it is normally a 3 hour drive tops, to Bakersfield from where we live).

Saturday, we finally made it to our original destination, Livermore, CA.  The house of my brother and the barbeque celebration of my nephew’s milestone.  We enjoyed the afternoon with family and then headed to the east bay for another party–a surprise birthday for my godmother.  We celebrated into the night and were part of the clean-up crew which continued the next day into the afternoon.  We had intended to leave for home on Sunday but were quite tired from the previous days events and two nights of intermittent sleep (no fault of our hosts, just the way it goes sometimes).  So it was decided, between the three of us, that we would stay another night in the bay area and then head home along the coast and take a couple of days for a leisurely Highway 1 adventure.  I was even willing to sleep overnight in the car if we couldn’t find a hotel along the way…the call of spontaneity was beckoning to me.

Monday morning, I awoke with a sore throat and we received a call from our son Cole.  Cole had intended to make the trek up north with us but hadn’t been feeling well a few days leading up to the trip and so opted out in order to rest.  His symptoms had continued to present themselves and he felt a visit with the doctor was in order.  Our friend (and neighbor) agreed to take Cole to the doctor at 10 that morning.  The doctor, alarmed by her assessment and Cole’s medical history, sent him directly to the ER for further testing.  And though we were on our way to the coast, via the 101 freeway, we instead took the Pacheco Pass (152) over to the 5 freeway and arrived at the hospital by 7(ish) p.m., in time to take our newly discharged, though not expired, son home.  After having a blood panel drawn and a CT scan with contrast, it seemed his symptoms are result of his brain tumor location.  And though we do our best to manage his diet for optimum health, the involuntary actions of the gastrointestinal system are under the mismanagement of a trauma induced malfunction.  We made it home, the four of us (our neighbor having spent his entire day with Cole, headed home upon our arrival at the hospital), Cole in need of drink and food and me, by this time, in need of my own personal box of Kleenex.

Tuesday (yesterday), it became apparent I had caught a flu bug of some sort which kept me in bed with a fever and my trusted box of tissues.  But even a day of illness could not stop the chaos…Esther called from the shoulder of the freeway, broken down on her way to work.  And after the car was towed home, Brian, while out test driving the car after making adjustments to it, was broken down and in need of a ride to the auto parts store.  Cole needed me to pick up a stool sample kit from the VA clinic and I just needed to sleep!

So you see, when I do grab something off of a shelf or out of a cabinet that in its ‘hey day’ provided a useful function of some sort but is now debunked by the outing of a date stamp, I am reminded that it is all Okay….yep, all of it.  I truly appreciate the notice of expiration because it validates the tourbillion of the past several years, and I wish each one of you were here with me as I toss the spoiled item, into the trash, and laugh at the ironic, but precious, reminder.  Ironic because I continued using the product as if it were fresh and viable while unknowingly its potency had been long exhausted.  And it is there, in its ‘invalidation’ that I find my own, ‘validation’.  Thank you FDA…

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Bless-Sed

17 May

First off, I would like to thank each of you who complimented me in such a way as to make me feel like “Super Mom”.  You all gave me a lovely gift, and I am grateful.

Secondly, I have to say that both of my children are very good at blessing me.  They stayed back from church on Sunday and worked on making the house (dogs bedecked with bows included) festive and beautiful for when I returned.  I was greeted at the door by two very happy, colorful canines and when I turned the corner into the dining area, I was further greeted with a bouquet of 40 multi-colored tulips (my wedding flower) which were sitting next to a lovely tropical arrangement courtesy my friend, Nora, and Bodega chocolates from my Candymoto.  Chocolate covered strawberries were in the mix, and a flourless chocolate cake made especially for me by my daughter (I am still living the ‘gluten-free’ regimen I began a while back) was wafting its dark decadence my way.  They even had my favorite Brazilian music playing in the background.  And because it was lunch time, they were both ready and awaiting the go ahead from me to order my favorite ‘gluten-free’ pizza which they picked up, payed for, and delivered to our backyard Shangri La…the one which I requested spend the rest of the day basking in.  In fact, that was my one request; for mother’s day I had hopes of sitting by the pool reading, playing cards, or just visiting with my children and husband.  Others were welcome as long as I didn’t have to wear my ‘happy hostess’ chapeau and could lounge until I was all lounged out.  Turns out it was just us four until Esther had to leave for work and then it was three.  🙂

Now a couple of comedic errors–well ironic really– occurred during time I was enjoying my blessing shower.  One, I received two Happy Mother’s Day cards from the two women who served as my maternal coaches.  The only problem was that I was so focused on my needing the day to do whatever it was (or wasn’t) I wanted that I forgot I had two very special women deserving of my time and energy.  Thus in the course of my forgetfulness and self focused mind, I failed to send them a reminder of their special place within my heart and life leaving them only to chomp upon the bitter pill of a phone call from me.  My other ironic chastisement came when I read a 2012 daily devotional for the date of ‘Dia de Madres’, for from it I learned of the proverbial wife and mother referred to by the name of, ” The Proverbs 31 Woman”.  She is not necessarily new to me for I had heard of her ways and means some years back, though I confess to have cast the lesson she portrays to the side for I have no interest in rising before dawn and working in the fields.  But here I was, once again, facing the lesson of this particular female as recorded in scripture many years past.  And by again learning of this selfLESS female from long ago, I concurred I am most definitely not her…just ask my two moms!

Even so, this past Wednesday I again enjoyed the gift of my children, the gift of our home, the gift of time, the gift of rest, and the gift of laughter.  All of which was unexpected, but superbly fulfilling just the same.  Cole, Esther, and I laughed our heads off in the morning as we dipped all kinds of foods in chocolate and ate till our stomachs refused another morsel.  I baked muffins and they both entertained me in the kitchen.  We lay by the pool, we napped, and we swam.  We listened to music and shouted absurdities at each other with such mirth we had to take pause only to reclaim the air to our lungs so we could carry on some more.  And the only reason our soiree came to an end was because Esther had to get herself off to her job–leaving Cole and I to wrap up the good time without her.  Which we did (with Brian who returned home from work and joined us poolside), until the makings of our evening meal required my attention and the ‘norm’ of the familial routine resumed.

While I know I am not a “Proverbs 31 Woman”  (nor do I have the slightest aspiration to be so for my stamina forbids it), I am a blessed mother and wife just the same.  I am graced with thoughtful and kind children and a loving and dynamic husband.  Besides, the daily devotional was written by a man; what could he possibly know about being a wife and mother? 🙂

So, do you know what I want to be when I grow up?  I already am what I would choose to be.

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Crystallized

8 May

Through the generosity of an anonymous source, Brian and I (Cole, Esther, and friends that came to visit while we were there), had the privilege of spending a few days at Crystal Cove state park in Laguna Beach–a couple weeks back.  Crystal Cove is a place fond to all of my maiden and Bent family.  Essentially, “the Cove”, as we call it, took part in molding and shaping each of my siblings and I into who we were, are, and will be.  I was born in 1970, the true year my family began (my humble estimation of course), but I am told my parents and the elder siblings ventured to our private coastal get away in the years preceding me.  As a child of the Cove, we had freedom that sadly my own children have not had the opportunity to experience.  It was a private beach and to ensure the privacy of its residents, Alan (and his little mutt of a dog “Ocious”–short for ferocious), patrolled the beach, the road, and the homes on foot (and bike) with a shotgun under his arm or slung over his shoulder.  I don’t remember having boundaries of any sort while there.  I’m sure, in my infancy and toddler-hood, I was more closely watched.  But as a child I had the uninhibited ability to roam the coast and tide-pools at my leisure…as did us all.  As an adolescent, the roaming continued even though the beach had lost its “privacy status” as it was traded from the Irvine family and given over to the state of California in 1979.  Even so, our mindset was that it was ours.  And Alan continued his antics though now the state park rangers had something to say about his shotgun totting ways.

Throughout my 42 years I have experienced love at the Cove, loss at the Cove, joy, sadness, adventure, little green men, perverse men fondling themselves in the crevices of the cliff, starfish, abalone, shells, dolphins, whales, sea lions, seagulls, pelicans, lobster traps, skunks, movie stars, common folk, driftwood, sea life, tar, splinters, stickers from plants, etc.

I have had every kind of holiday, through out the years, at the Cove.  Had sibling fights, watched siblings break things, like a foot and glass, jammed my toes on the boardwalk more times than necessary, fell in love, fell out of love, fell in love again.  Attended one, two, three–(whose counting?)–weddings.  Had parties, played volleyball, rode horses, lit fireworks, learned about drugs and the city of Newport jail, learned about chorizo and eggs, and had my first fruit smoothie in the Benson house.  I would go on, but at this point I am truly only indulging myself with the memories, and if I continue,  I will get lost and unable to find my way back to the point of this post!

Nowadays the homes are called cottages, and they are for rent to the general public.  So to treat my weary soul, my anonymous donor sent me and my family off to the Cove and we basked in the serenity of the sea life and the slow pace required to do “nothing”.  I confess that one day, when Brian and I were alone, we both felt awkward.  Mostly because we were both accustomed to having friends (whom we considered like family) to interact with, either at their home or on the beach.  So we found ourselves a bit uneasy, until the evening when several of the former residents had come to the Cove to celebrate the birthday of a mutual friend.  Finally, the hustle and bustle of catching up with friends and having people in and out made us calm down and rest–as was the intent of our being there.  And when the patriarch of the “Yacht Club” rustled the feathers of the park ranger, as was his custom when living there, I knew I was home.  But then the party was over and the group packed up and left.  Thankfully Esther and two friends showed up for a sleepover, so when we all awoke in the morning the house was full of life and interaction…just as I remember.

Which brings me to a place where I need to wrap up this writing.  I honestly don’t remember the original intent of my starting it.  Did I want to impart something profound about rest?  Was I going to simply share the experience?  Did I have a comedic angle?  …questions that will linger unanswered;  for life has again resumed at a rate too great for me to keep hold of.  So instead of conveying drops of wisdom or truth, I will simply leave with a photo collage of our few days respite at Crystal Cove State Park.  The locale of my formative years, and the locale my ashes will receive upon my departure from this world.  …it has served me well.

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