cathleen's place

I've loved Kim all my life. I loved him before I even met him. And I knew the moment I saw him that he was the one I had dreamed of. He's been in my heart forever and will always be there.

photo by Donna Padowitz

I love him because he's kind and patient. I think I can be pretty obnoxious but Kim doesn't seem to be bothered -- he likes me the way I am, he loves me with all my warts. We've been married 13 years and he's lost his temper twice. That doesn't mean he isn't passionate, he just isn't an angry person. And he's never petty.

I love that he's so incredibly smart. Sometimes he shows me stuff about computers or math or astronomy and I'm just in awe. He understands a lot about the world and the universe and how things work. He loves to teach me new things; I know I can ask him anything and he'll know the answer or know where to find it.

Kim is creative and playful and intuitive. He has wonderful ideas about making a new life in Portland, what sort of house we'll build or make, the new skills we'll learn, like welding. He's constantly learning new things -- new programs, new tools, he just keeps growing smarter.
And he has much better taste than I do. I think he sees better than I do and I love looking through his eyes.

I love him because he's generous. He would do anything for me, give me anything I asked for. And he wants me to be happy. He gives me happy all the time. It just falls off of him, or beams out of his eyes. We don't argue (anymore). It's so fun to talk about something we feel differently about because we don't get upset when the other person disagrees. And once in a while, one of us is the proud owner of a new point of view, almost always a good thing.

Kim and I got married October 3, 1993. We had written out our vows, purchased rings, cut a boatload of roses from the neighborhood gardens (with permission) and we had some candles. It was just the two of us and after we'd said our vows, given the rings and lit the candles, we opened a couple of beers and giggled. A few years later, we went to a county courthouse and made it legal. A little while after that, we put together a small party for family and friends. It was very fun, very light, with good food, yummy champagne and a dark chocolate cake that said For Always on it.

And later that night, we danced.

I know that there are terrible drivers all over the country, but we live in Florida -- no, worse than that, we live in Clearwater -- so my stories about bad drivers are about Florida. Just like there are ugly houses in every state, but my ugly houses are in Florida. Kim and I decided the best way to convey the idiocy of the drivers here, is to write the driving manual to match the way people drive. Ready?

Florida Driver's Manual

Obeying traffic lights is optional. If you want to stop on red, that's okay. If you want to stay put when it turns green, that's okay too. And when you decide to go, you don't want to rush it. Take a moment to remember where you're going and why you're in your car.
Likewise, stop signs are negotiable. Don't worry that there is traffic coming, just ease out very slowly and carefully -- you'll be fine, they'll slow down to let you in.
Whenever you're on a two-lane road, be sure to match the speed of the car beside you. This is a traffic flow control method popular in the South. We call it the "rolling roadblock" and it's excellent for keeping speeders in check.
Multi-tasking is an important skill for all Floridians to have. Feel free, while you're driving, to apply your make-up, make and answer any calls, fix your coffee, yell at your kids, whatever.
Come to a complete stop before making a right turn.
When approaching a red light (that you're going to stop for) begin your stop at least a block before the light. That will give you ample room for creeping. You will be able to move a little at a time up to the place you actually want to stop. (See #8)
(These are the ones Kim reminded me about) If any little thing upsets you, or you get confused for any reason, or you think you might nod off, just slam on the brakes. Pay no attention to the traffic, the lights, the other drivers.
Drive very slowly -- slower than the speed limit would be good. Things can happen that are unexpected. So, be safe, go slowly.
Parking information: allow at least 4 ft. between your vehicle and the curb. Also, the yard is an excellent place to park, frees up the driveway for the plumber or UPS.

I was just rummaging through an old folder stuck in the back of yet another folder and lo! Look what I found.

A rose in New Orleans, May 2005.

Bamboo shoots, San Diego Zoo. I didn't use a tripod -- it was dark and I liked the blur.

Water and beer glasses, Quigs Restaurant in San Diego, the weekend Bruce and Celia visited.

Very old door, New Orleans, May 2005.

Ever write a letter and never ever hear anything back? Or send an email and wait and wait and wait and wait . . .? How about leave a message on someone's machine but it seems to have gotten lost in the ether? Maybe you didn't really write, send, speak. Maybe you only imagined that you did.

This is my worst nightmare: unanswered communication. I believe that lots of people share my feelings about it. I believe that waiting for replies, responses, return calls, rejoinders, ripostes, retorts, reactions accounts for all mental illness. This is the reason people talk to themselves, why they replay what they wrote or said, over and over again in their minds, trying helplessly and hopelessly to figure out what they said that caused the other person to ignore them. Some people, a very few, can live with unanswered letters, emails, phone calls. Some people can just go on about their business, knowing in their hearts, that an answer will come or not, and they are fine either way. I'M NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE.

I know some extraordinary women. Some I met when they were teenagers and are now grown women having amazing lives. Two are daughters. A few have passed into another realm, less physical than this one. There are friends, close to me in age and precious to me in their ability to love.

I'm grateful that I know them all. I appreciate their uniquenesses, I'm honored that any one of them would consider me a friend.
(Most of the photos get bigger when you click on them.)

Purple hair. Teenagers do that. And lots of piercings and maybe a few tattoos. Here is Liora. As of June '07, she was living in Hokkaido, Japan, teaching English and hiphop to the locals. But I know that she was planning on going for a Masters in Psychology sometime soon -- not in Japan, here in the U.S.

This is Melissa. She was a handful. But a very fun and fabulously intelligent handful. I wonder if she knew that her teachers tore their hair out because of her. A few years ago, I read her first published novel, Swollen. I'll be reading her second, Upstream, soon.

I stole this picture of Donna from her website. She was my first photography student. She loved it so much, she was willing to come to school at 7:30 a.m. and get NO credit for it. That's extremely unusual. She also passed up a pretty certain career in math (she was very gifted) in order to study commercial photography.

You've met Lorelei if you're a constant reader. If you're just meeting her now, go back and get acquainted with her.
What fun this teenager was!! A delight, a joy, a trip. And now she lives in Dublin, Ireland and is in love with lovable Roland.

This is Slayde. She is Kim's daughter and mine, not by marriage, but by choice. I don't know of any other stepmother who had it so good. Slayde (and her brother Abe) treated me with the utmost kindness and respect. Here she is with Ben, her very cool and very smart boyfriend. Slayde is a law student at Georgetown University Law School. I'm hoping she'll put polluters in jail.

Allison is my first daughter. She's sassy and funny and smart. She should write about traveling since she goes all over the place -- and at the drop of a hat.

My mom. I thought I would die of grief when she passed away. That was such a long time ago. My mother was truly extraordinary. She was a WASP, Women Airforce Service Pilot in WWII, the first women in history to fly US military aircraft. And after her husband (my father) died, she drove 4 kids and a german shepherd from Virginia to Arizona in a pink and black Nash Rambler. She was tough.

Evie was Kim's mother. Here's just one of her amazing and unbelievable stories: she taught at the American School in Tehran while the revolution was going on in 1979 -- the Shah was fleeing while the Ayatollah Khomeini was coming to power. Her friends said they hated Americans, but she was okay. Evie also taught in Paris and in Moshi, Tanzania. Remarkable. She taught ESL in Santa Barbara right up to the day her heart stopped. She was tough, too.

Yup, that's Lauri, queen of the north country. That's a baby halibut she's got there and she says "it's no big thrill." Whew, it would be for me. Lauri is steel wrapped in the softest lambskin.

Here's me and Lois and Elijah, her first grandson. Lois has the best sense of humor of anyone I've ever known. She can make me laugh anytime, anyplace. That is worth everything because without laughter, you're finished.

Belinda is the best high school drama teacher in the country. And the best friend. A therapist told me once that I should check into a mental hospital because I was in such bad shape. I went to Belinda's house instead, where I could get some real care. Whenever I woke up, she was there beside me, asking me what I needed, bringing me delicious muffins and coffee.

These women sustain me. They energize, inspire, comfort, entertain, amuse, and enlighten me. I would like to take this opportunity to say: thanks.

I can't believe I quit smoking. I didn't want to quit. I wanted to want to quit. I wished I wanted to quit. One day I just couldn't keep doing it any more. It's the weirdest thing: I can't bring myself to smoke even though I really really want to. Sometimes I get this strong urge to have a cigarette. STRONG. Know what I mean? Ever been addicted? That book (Easy Way to Stop Smoking) is spooky. I didn't even finish it. I knew there was something strange because I was only about a third of the way through it and I wasn't wanting to smoke very much. We took a trip to Portland and stayed in a hotel that didn't have any smoking rooms left and we had a non-smoking rental car. When I made the arrangements I was pissed -- I couldn't figure out how I was going to enjoy the trip. Once we got there (and I had read more of the book), it was no problem. It's just too weird. I don't understand it. I want to know what happened, how it works. How could I be a smoker one day, with no intention of quitting, and then wake up the next day and say "I'm not smoking ever again?" What is that?

Last November 10th the second annual Ironman 70.3 was held in Clearwater. What a hoot! Amazing athletes from all over the world came here to compete in this half Ironman. I think a full Ironman is nuts. Are you kidding me? It's a 2.4 mile swim, then a 112 mile bike ride and THEN A FULL MARATHON. A full marathon after swimming and biking. Jeez. These events are also called triathlons -- three things, get it?

Anyway, I found out in October that the Clearwater hosts were signing up volunteers to help with the event. Volunteers are always appreciated. Of course, free help, what's not to like? So I called the coordinator and said I had some free time, what did they need? Actually, I got to do something very fun -- sign in the athletes as they arrived for the event. It was awesome. I met some really fit, really buff men and women. A few of the athletes I signed in didn't speak English -- we did it all with sign language.

The other job I had was to time cyclists who got a penalty and had to stop in the penalty tent. If they got a general penalty, they only had to sign in at the tent, but if they were cited for drafting (catching a ride behind somebody else), they had to stay for 4 minutes. Ouch. We didn't get many people. I'm glad...they were unhappy to be there. It was more fun signing them in.

It helps me stay in the moment, instead of worrying about the past or the future.
It helps me see my life and what's important to it and in it.
I like writing -- this provides a non-threatening way to indulge myself.
I love the idea of chronicling, not only my life, but others' as well.
Telling about my life in a blog is the most transparent I've ever been. But I will admit that it almost doesn't count because I don't know if anyone is actually reading it. It's not like I've been listed in the Blogs of Note column and scores of people are flocking to my blog. So the thing is, if people are reading it and not leaving comments, then I have the same response I would have if no one was reading it. If they read it and leave a comment, then I have a completely different feeling about it. I know that someone has seen me and I experience being seen. This is getting way too philosophical and metaphysical. I will likely have to pick this part up later.
It provides a creative outlet -- arranging posts, photos, links, choosing colors, fonts, etc.
I feel connected to something cultural. I haven't had that since the '60s and I was too stoned to realize it then.

The first New Year's Eve that Allison was a little person who walked and talked, she misunderstood what we were saying to each other all through the evening. She would walk up to a new arrival and say "Happy new you!" with her big smile. Everyone loved it. Of course. It was actually closer to the sensibility of the moment than happy new year. The idea of new year's resolutions certainly has everything to do with making yourself over, doesn't it? On the eve of a new year, we can re-invent ourselves, become whatever we can imagine.

So Allison and Carl and me and Kim wish all of you a very HAPPY NEW YOU!

I found some old emails and discovered why they hadn't been deleted. Some of them are funny and some are touchy-feely good stuff.

Some 8 year olds were asked about the nature of love. Here are the responses:

When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth.

Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.

When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather did it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.

Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.

Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.

If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate.

When you tell someone something bad about yourself and you're scared they won't love you anymore. But then you get surprised because they love you even more.

Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.

Love is when mommy sees daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.

Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other for a really long time.

During my piano recital, I was on a stage and scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.

My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.

Love is when mommy gives daddy the best piece of chicken.

Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.

I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.

Love cards like Valentine's cards say stuff on them that we'd like to say ourselves, but we wouldn't be caught dead saying.

When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.

Love is when mommy sees daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross.

You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.

This room was a problem for us. Clearly, it's too skinny and to make matters worse, it's a main thoroughfare. A long time ago this was the patio of the original house and when it was turned into a room, they didn't make it any bigger, which was something it needed. We measured carefully (several times) and picked this lovely leather sofa and chair. There's not enough space between them for a "normal" coffee table. Kim and I scratched our heads and pondered what we could do for a table. We sketched out a couple of ideas. I truly admire how Kim solves a problem. He brings such creativity and playfulness to it. Then he competently executes it.

To solve the problem of the too skinny room, the table had to be very very thin at one end, so it would fit between the sofa and the chair. There was a little bit more room on the other end. His design is so elegant, so simple, and solves the problem so exactly rightly.

He wanted it to resemble a musical instrument. I think he succeeded, don't you?

This is the first video I've put on my blog -- I just learned how today. I'm thrilled to present for your enjoyment this incredible a cappella group Straight No Chaser.

P.S. This is for Lois and Cousin Waxx.

Isn't it precious? It just got delivered today -- it's Kim's new baby. He does love his computers. Oh, I don't blame him, they're fun and useful and ... and ... and ... and helpful. Yes, that's right. Computers can be helpful, that is to say, buying this computer can be helpful. It's a program called One Laptop Per Child and it's wonderful. If you want to participate, hurry, do it right now, time is running out. They have extended the program through December.

This is a reminder. In case I ever take myself seriously again, all I need to do is have a look at this photo.

I vacuum my backyard.

Yes. I do. While listening to tunes and sometimes dancing. Yup. That's me.

These are Lorelei's orchids. Lorelei doesn't garden particularly, but she's always liked having some greenery in her house. Some friends gave her this beautiful orchid plant as a house-warming gift when she and Roland moved into their place in Dublin. She told me she was worried about taking care of it and did I know what it needed. Ooo sorry, orchids don't tell me anything about what they want. So she did her best. And would you please just look at this incredible, fantastic display of gorgeous, outrageous blooms!?

I've known Lorelei since she was in high school -- that would make it about 14 years. She was one of my students and what a joy! Every teacher's dream -- a fun, excited, laughing out loud, full of life-type person. I don't think I've ever met anyone quite so out-going. She makes friends easy as pie and stays with that friend forever. I can't believe how many people she knows and how long she's known them.

This is Marsood and he is her godson. He's the child of one of Lorelei's very, very good friends. Marsood's parents are amazing people. They have six kids -- some are his from an earlier relationship, some are hers, some are theirs that they've adopted. And these guys were willing to take crack babies and give them love and a home and an education. They truly are remarkable.

Earlier this year, Lorelei decided to make one of her life-long dreams come true: she was moving to Ireland. She'd talked about it for years. And then, out of nowhere, she met this lovely Irish man. And Lorelei doesn't fall easily in love. In fact, in all the years I've known her, I don't think she ever had a boyfriend. She liked guys okay, but maybe there wasn't a lot of trust there. Her friends must have given her about a dozen different going away parties.

Probably the hardest person to say good-bye to was Marsood.

Roland is the lovely Irish man that Lorelei met, fell in love with, and moved to Ireland to live with. I haven't met him yet but from everything she's said, he's a sweetheart. I'm really, really, really happy for both of them. They go about Ireland pretty regularly, finding interesting hikes, walks, farms, pubs and....

That was quite a hike that day. They climbed Croagh Patrick Mountain. I think Croagh means Saint. Nice view, eh?

People make pilgrimages to Saint Patrick Church at the top of the mountain.

It makes me very happy to think of Lorelei dancing through the woods with her young man. That's the thing about caring for someone: you really want them to be happy in their life. I think she looks happy, don't you?

Lovely spot. I'll ask Lorelei where they were that day. When you go to Ireland, you can take this walk too and see this view.

Recently, Lorelei and Roland traveled to Belgium, where Lorelei's mom was born and where her maternal grandmother lives. As long as I've known Lorelei, she's told me wonderful stories about her bonnemammy. And of course she wanted Roland to meet her.

Naturally you don't travel all that way and skip seeing the sights. When Allison and I went to Europe after she graduated high school, we visited Mont St. Michel too.

I need to ask her about this one. What the hell is an anchor doing in the front yard of a castle, for crying out loud? Oh well.

So that brings us up to the present -- okay, this is a few weeks ago. Roland cooked Thanksgiving dinner while Lorelei

trimmed their tree. Isn't it beautiful?

It's kind of hard for me to really "get" that Lorelei lives in Dublin, in Ireland. That's weird, you know? It'll be more understandable when I go visit her. I do miss her, a lot.

A few weekends ago we went to the American Craft Show in Sarasota. These amazing shows are part of the work done by the American Craft Council. We saw such incredible things, such beautiful things, things you could easily and happily design an entire house around. Let me show you...

This lovely chair was made by T. Bayley Wharton who owns Furniture x DESIGN in Mount Airy, North Carolina. What we saw at the Sarasota show that isn't on his website, was a truly unique and exquisite platform bed. Absolutely gorgeous. And yes, I'd be thrilled to build a house around such a piece of furniture.

Then there were phenomenal pieces of glasswork, like this bowl with what might be little worlds resting in it. It would be like having your own universe sitting on your table, to be inspected any time you wanted. This was made by Geoff Beetem of Athens, Ohio. There were about 2 dozen glass artists and all the work was extraordinary. It was hard not to buy everything we loved.

Our house is full of ceramics. Kim's whole family -- his mom, brother Jeff, sister Susan, himself, and his daughter Slayde -- contributed graceful and handsome pieces. My brother Doug is also a potter and we have some of his work as well. I also collected pieces made by students when I worked at a high school. There were at least 30 ceramics booths at the show. We were awed, to say the least. This graceful piece was made by Gayle Pritchard of Social Circle, Georgia. I was sorely tempted to add this to our collection.

I really wanted to spend money on the elegant clothes. They were genuinely, unbelievably stunning. But I know that I don't wear clothes like that, I just admire the hell out of them and want to own them. Here's a divine jacket by Lynn Yarrington of New Haven, Vermont.

I typically don't spend any time looking at the jewelry booths since I don't wear any, other than my wedding band. I also wasn't drawn to the leather work. Normally, I wouldn't stop at musical instruments, but the booth called StrumSticks was amazing. Bob McNally of Rockaway, New Jersey has come up with a marvelous musical instrument that he claims anyone can play -- and never a wrong note. Check it out and decide for yourself.

I could go on and on. There were about 120 booths, an incredible array of handmade works of art. We talked about furnishing a house from an event like this, as opposed to Pier One or Target. What a different environment you'd create that way. Actually, our goal is to learn about making these kinds of things ourselves. We truly were deeply inspired.

All photos in this post came from the artists' websites. They are used without permission and will be removed at the artist's request.

I've been dreaming about smoking. It's so real -- it feels like I AM smoking. When I wake up, I feel guilty, but I also feel like I've satisfied any craving I had for a cigarette. It's weird. I expect to smell smoke in the room. I worry that I've actually started smoking again without knowing it. Can that happen? It's so X-files.