The Wait of a Book

I Love to Read

Take the most avid reader you know and multiply them by ten and you have someone like me - except they don't read much.

I read more than anyone I have ever known. However, I don't want you to get confused thinking I read anything good for me. I seldom pick up a book to learn something new, to study history, art, or physiology. I'm not into the New York best sellers list. I read to relax, to escape, to occupy myself ... I read junk. (Or, according to Steve, I read porn.)

I've been an avid reader since elementary school. By sixth grade, the local library made me an honorary librarian - complete with certificate. In Junior High, the school gave me a pin and made me the first student librarian because I had read over 75% of the books. When the girls were small and I could only make it to the library once a week, I'd check out fifty to a hundred paper backs each time I went in.

I can actually remember reading three entire separate books in one day, on more than one occasion.

eReaders

When eReaders first began to come out I was not interested in owning one at all. They'd be bad for your eyes, have to be constantly recharged, could easily get broken, and they cost to much. It took several years before I begin to think I might enjoy one.

Then I got one for Christmas.

I am still amazed at how quickly I adapted to reading books on an eReader. I did lick my finger and try to turn the page a few times - but that's expected. And not going to the book store or the library was an adjustment too.

Overall, it's been great. My reader is lighter than a book, so it doesn't hurt my wrists. The font is adjustable in size and the contrast is adjustable for daytime or nighttime reading. It opens directly onto the last page of book I was reading before I turned it off - no more lost places or bookmarks.

The Heavy Book

When Tori blogged about a good book she had recently read, I asked her to lend it to me and she did. It's been sitting on my dining room table for six weeks collecting dust.

I'm interested in the book, but every time I walk by and see it I'm reminded that it's a book. It's heavy - it's a thick book. (I bet it hurts my wrists.) I'll have to flip pages. If I don't finish it soon, I'll have to stuff it in my purse or carry it around with me for days. So, I keep waiting, putting it off.

I stumble across it every two to three days and have a moment of guilt over not reading it yet. But feel no compulsion, what so ever, to pick it up and start.

At this point, I'm considering buying the electronic version of the story. Then I wouldn't have to wait to read it any longer.

The Non-Allergic List

I started feeding Linden baby foods this month. Two weeks into the experience and I realized I was doing something different than with my other children. I was only trying him on one new food at a time and trying if for several days to make sure he did not have an allergic reaction before introducing something else.

Then each time I would try something new, I'd recite the list in my head. A list of foods Linden was not allergic to. Not a bad practice, if your child has food allergies or if they run in your family. In ours, the only allergies you have to worry about are the seasonal ones.

As soon as I realized what I was doing, I was stumped. Why? Why go to the trouble of remembering every food introduced when none of my children had ever had a food allergy? What had changed so that I would totally treat the introduction of foods to Linden different than all my other children? It would definitely be a lot easier to just remember the items he reacted to; an allergy list.

It didn't take but a moment to realize it was the introduction of my BFF and her son, who has chronic allergies, into my life that acted as the basis for my unusual behavior. Watching their daily struggle to live a normal life with the many extreme allergies he has ... well, it's left an impression. A conscious one, and I guess, an unconscious one as well.

Lacking any true reason to continue my non-allergic list, I have dropped it. I've also started feeding Linden just like my other children; off the table, mixed foods, whatever he'll eat. He's not had a reaction to anything and I've stopped expecting him too.

I'm just reminded of how much are lives are changed by those we choose to associate with.

Stardust: Part 2 of Clubbing at 40

The Stardust is a club and billiard hall that is three miles from my house. The building is divided with a small stage and dance area on one side and fifteen pool tables in another room. Every night, except Friday, music is supplied via your contributions to a jukebox - get there early enough and with enough cash, and you can listen to whatever you want to.

There are two small pool tables that are coin operated in the dance area. When the girls and I go dancing, we tend to latch onto one of them early. We're all so bad at pool that a game might last half an hour, and we can leave the table to go dance if a song comes on we like.

Before eleven pm, the clientele on the dance side averages between 35-55 years of age. Most of them show up in what they wore all day and have a beer or two before heading home. It's a small town type of place until after eleven, then the kids come out and the DJ shows up to play songs most of my friends don't like (but I do).

Last Thursday, we hit the Stardust because SXSW was in Austin and no one wanted to mess with driving into town. Two of us showed up early to save a table, which wasn't necessary as the place was empty. When we walked in at 7:30 there were two people at the bar, a three some sitting between the pool and dance areas, and two pool tables occupied on the other side.

However, we hadn't even sit down when an Enabler came over to see if we wanted to join him and a set of Twinkies. We politely declined, letting them know we had friends coming. This did not prevent the Twinkies from attempting to engage us in conversation and act as sports broadcasters over every frame of our pool game. Nor did it stop the Enabler from giving us cash for the jukebox.

Other friends dribbled in over the next hour and we ended up with five women and one man at the table. For the first hour we mainly played pool and listened to music, as well as watched others trickle in.

I was pleased to see a four pack of women around are age show up and settle in for the evening. The Freak that was at their table started dancing right away, by herself. The Drunk sitting at the bar stumbled over and asked Ms. Independence, who was sporting a bruised cheek, to dance. She did. All incredibly entertaining.

At some point, the Enabler managed to lure a woman in her early thirties away from the pool tables and over to sit with the Twinkies. He bought the table a few rounds and headed on out. An hour later the lady (and I use the term loosely) left with the Twinkies.

By nine every one at our table was up dancing to every decent song that came on. The gentleman made a comment about it being the first time he'd ever danced with five women and we decided he had to have a photo to commemorate the event. Between the Drunk dancing into us, the Freak scaring everyone she got close too, and the bad lighting, it wasn't an easy photo to take.

While we were out on the floor, the Drunk stumbled over and introduced himself to all five ladies. Shaking our hands and informing us he had a ranch outside of town. "Always a good place to keep them," I say - I love messing with drunks.

"She's crazy," he mumbles, pointing at the Freak - like we needed clarification. She apparently took exception to his talking to us and dragged him off shortly afterwards.

Most of my friends left around ten as they worked the next morning, just leaving two of us to finish up the night. We played another round of pool and danced a few more dances. By this time the DJ was hooking up his equipment and a large Team came in.

This was a first, as the Team was an actual team who had just finished playing softball. Sixteen men and women in their mid-twenties who were still wearing dirty uniform tops and shorts. Several of them had painted black streaks across their faces. They pushed a few tables together right in front of us.

At this point, we're leaning back in our chairs and have our feet propped up on vacant seats. We're slowly polishing off our last drink and just people watching.

The Chairperson jumps up as a member of his Team approaches and moves toward our table to see if he can borrow a vacant chair - we had tons of them. I kicked one toward him and saved him a few steps. We repeated the process two more times. The last time, he catches it and pushes it back toward us and takes a seat. He introduces himself and spends a few minutes yakking, then we run out of things to say to each other. He sits around a few more minutes before grabbing his chair and headed back to his friends.

As soon as the Team arrives, Ms Independence, who looks to be in her early fifties, morphs into a Cougar and starts draping herself over the young men. A Babysitter in her group jumps up each time she does this and leads her back to their table. This cycle is repeated no less than six times before the Babysitter decides it's time to take the Cougar home. Getting her out the door took another half hour - every the Babysitter would let go of the Cougar, she'd be back over trying to sit in the lap of, or drape over, one of the guys. The guys were all good-natured about it, which just made it funnier.

A few minutes before the Cougar made it out the door, the Drunk was escorted out by his own Babysitter (and the Drunks Babysitter managed to get him out the door on the first try).

With most of the Usual Suspects gone, our people watching teetered off and we headed out about eleven thirty.

A little dancing, some drinking, a few games of pool, people watching and good company . . . not a bad night at all at the old Stardust.

The Usual Suspects - Part 1 of Clubbing in your 40s

I've been clubbing on a semi-regular basies for about two years now and I thought I'd share my perspective of what going out in your fourties is like.

Keep in mind: I'm out with a bunch of women my age, and we tend to go places where we're comfortable. The experience is probably totally different if you're younger.


THE USUAL SUSPECTS

I'm an avid people watcher and I've categorized many of the types of people I come across when clubbing.

Ms. Independence
This is most commonly a woman, but I have come across a man or two, who is newly out of a relationship and out to prove something. They drink too much, laugh way too loud, are very 'handy', and they will go home with ANYTHING. Don't dance to close to them, they'll take it as an invitation - and they are hard to get away from.

Twinkies
This is a set of two same-sex individuals that are incapable of acting without each other. They will go to the bathroom, bar, or dance, only at the same time. They can often be seen leaving at the same time with two (or one) person of the opposite sex. Don't bother asking one of them to dance unless you have a friend to take with you.

The Team
This is a bunch of individuals that are use to being together and not interested in interacting outside of their group. They may work together, be related, belong to the same social network, or play on a team sport together. While seeing groups of people together at clubs is not unusual, they are usually more open to interaction from others - not these guys. Save your breath and just ignore them.

The Chairman
This person is usually part of a group. He/she will jump up and make it their job to locate and drag over a chair for anyone who slows down when approaching their table. They're also known to grab extra napkins, glasses of water, and ash trays as needed. Nice to have in your group, but not worth asking to dance - they never have any time to call their own.

The Freak
Sadly, this is most often a woman. It is someone who isn't out to prove anything and doesn't need alcohol to scare the shit out of everyone. They dance by themselves, usually in a manner that is way over the top. They are also known to randomly draw unsuspecting people into conversation while on the dance floor then follow you back to the table and try to join the group. They also have no idea what words like 'that seat is taken', 'no thank you', 'could you leave now' mean. Some times the only option is for the entire group to get up and relocate, sans the Freak.

The Enabler
This is someone who drinks very little and never dances, but funds the activities for others. It's usually an older person who is living vicariously. They are prone to snagging people for their friends and bringing them back to the table. They're pretty harmless, and known to buy drinks for pretty much anyone.

The Rock Star
This is a woman that likes to dress scandalously (spandex pants, see through tops, etc.) and wear make up thick enough she looks ready to appear on stage. At our age, not a pretty picture. She's almost always alone and never joins another group. Since she looks easy, she gets asked to dance a lot. While she adores the attention - may even need it, she's most likely to leave alone.

The Drunk
This is usually a man. Most of the time, it's a normal old Tom, Dick, or Harry that has worked all week and just wants to have a good time. Desperately, wants to have a good time. They usually show up about three sheets to the wind and it goes down hill from there. They're generally nice, fun to talk to, a riot to watch, and if you catch them early enough, they'll dance with anyone that asks them. Just don't wait to ask them to long, or they'll step on your toes, spin you into poles, and trip on the way to the dance floor.

The Babysitter
This is the responsible one in a group. There isn't a Babysitter in every group, but most groups don't need them. The Babysitter is most noticeable when combined with a Drunk or Ms. Independence. Once someone in their group hits staggering stage, the Babysitter will start trying to convince them it's time to leave. For some reason, this always takes about thirty minutes. You can always tell how often a person plays this role, by how fast they can get their drunk friend out the door.

The Cougar
An older woman trying to pick up younger man to prove she's still attractive. Has many of the same traits as Ms. Independence, but they're more calculating and able to handle their liquor better. They are also mean and prone to defending their territory - perceived or otherwise. Stay clear of.

In conclusion
Once you've identified the usual suspects many fun hours can be filled with placing bets on who takes who home, how fast someone falls down, who gets asked to dance first, if those pants will rip while she dances, and so much more.

Catch Part 2 to read about my last girls night out and the appearance of the usual suspects.

Now, that's funny!

I was having breakfast with a friend when the subject of picking up litter came up. The prior weekend, my friend and her family had a picnic. They made a point of picking up litter around the area for fifteen minutes before leaving - to show their appreciation for the ability to access such a nice place.

I recalled how, when Will was three or four, I could only get him to go walking if we took a bucket and picked up trash along the way. It was shocking how much stuff we'd find in our residential area - beer caps, an occasional can, junk mail, and tons of cigarette butts.

Will, who had been mostly quite during our conversation, about fell out of the booth laughing. "Cigarette butts," he wheezed, as he beat upon the table top with one hand. "Now, that's funny."

Well, I thought that's what he said.

Will has a slight speech issue and some times I just assume he's saying what I expect to come out of his mouth.

"Yes," I replied with a wry grin, "You thought it was pretty funny back then too."

My friend and I shared a smile over boys and their odd sense of humor. After breakfast, I loaded the kids back into the car to head home.

"Cigarette butts," Will said with a smile as he climbed in.

Only, this time I was paying a little more attention. Something was off with how he was saying cigarette. "It's not 'rat'," I corrected. "It's 'ret'." Then I slowly pronounced cigarette so that he'd hear each syllable.

"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed. "I thought you said sewer rat butt."

Now, that's funny!

Finally Enough

I lost my drivers license about six weeks ago and just received my new one in the mail. I was more than a little surprised to find that I had no real objection to the photo taken by the Department of Transportation's clerk. I've never cared for a license before. In fact, I once kept the same photo for so long - just renewing online - that people began to question it was actually my license.

As I pondered this rare phenomenon - a license photo that was acceptable - I came to a surprising conclusion. I'm OK with the photo, because I'm OK with the person in the photo.

All of my life, I have qualified my value by one thing or another: my education (or lack of), my looks, my weight, my children, my participation in my children's lives, my job, my husband, my marriage, my relatives, my house, and so on.

And over my life, each and every thing I used to apply value to myself has failed me, leaving me floundering, with no concept of worth or idea of where to go from there.

And suddenly, at the ripe old age of 45, I'm OK. I'm accepting of all the women I've been, understanding of the choices, decisions, and consequences of each move made.

There will always be things I regret, but they no longer define me. Nor do the things I've yet to accomplish - or will never accomplish. I'm not the worse at anything. Nor am I the best at anything . . . except being Misty.

And oddly, that's finally enough.

That was fun ... NOT!

With the errands I had to run today, I knew I would not be near home at Linden's next feeding. So I packed a bottle and made plans to stop at a restaurant for lunch. I figured I'd get a little break, and I could feed him while my food was being prepared. A win, win.

Not!

As I make a habit of eating at the same places, at the same time, on the same days, I forget about the places I normally avoid with a baby. Places where babies, and those carrying them, are treated like leapers.

Seriously, in thirty minutes, three tables of people asked to be reseated once they realized a baby was in their section. They didn't even sit down. And Linden was being good; a few happy noises, some drool, a smile or two.

The restaurant was fast filling up, except for the immediate tables around us. You would have thought we were flinging food.

I became so self conscience I couldn't enjoy my lunch. I called for my check and left before someone decided to jump out a window to escape us.