are you there, dog? It's me, kerensa

They are immersed in a conversation only feet from where she sits, and it is a dialogue in her own language, but she is unable to comprehend. They are speaking of the depths of the latest foreign film they have seen, and of the new exhibit at the modern art museum. They speak of their trips overseas, and of obscure Indian Food restaurants, and of communes and underground music. She scrambles to pick up after one baby, who has littered the floor with a mosaic of rice and beans. Another child is showing her their bubble blowing abilities in soda. She searches her brain for a piece of titillating gossip, news or random trivia she could bring to this table, but she is at a loss. She could speak of the new way the babies say thank you, or of the upcoming school year. She could recite Stand By Me word for word, and give a recipe for macaroni and cheese she stole from Paula Deen. An invisible mirror is suddenly before her and she sees an overweight girl with hair that actually looks frayed al

Friday, February 16, 2007 If you have watched the movie Titanic, you know what I am talking about when I say Titanic Love. I saw this movie when it first came out, Christmas of 1997. I has just had my heart broken and a great friend brought me to see it, and let me cry in the theater while Jack froze to death in the water. Titanic Love is a love that is destined to fail, to sink if you will, but is so worth the pain, you would go through it a thousand times. Jack and Rose had two days together before she was selfish enough to steal the door out from under him and let him die, but in that time, they felt true passion and romance that rocked her world for the next 80 decades. For many, Titanic Love is a dream. The idea of a soul mate is a dream. For those who have experienced it, you know that there are some things that surpass words and time. Your life is made up of moments. Some are trivial and forgettable. Some are momentous, like childbirth, your wedding vows, graduation. And

Friday, February 16, 2007 Valentine's Day/ Snow Day This morning, we awoke to six inches of powdery snow, and a snow day, and so began a glorious Valentine's Day. Chocolate Chip pancakes for breakfast, and chilly romp outside, a crackling fire, and homemade Valentines have all continued to make this the sweet day tradition says it should be. Many believe that valentine's Day is merely a holiday perpetuated by mass corporations like Hallmark, capitalizing on peoples' needs for passion and romance. It trounces on the lonely and heartbroken, and empties the pockets of the desperate in love. But does it have to be that way? I spent four and a half hours making homemade valentines cards for the kids classes, complete with ribbon, and gold embossing, only to meet with a disdainful Jake, wondering why I wasn't buying the 99 cent cartoon character cards at Wal Mart. But don't those cards go against everything that Valentine's Day should stand for? If we so e

I awoke this morning, feeling clean and empty but nervous. Because I had not eaten in more than 24 hours, the butterflies were given free reign in my empty stomach. Appropriately, my dad drove me in to Albany Memorial, and after the standard check in procedures and insurance rigamarole, I was laid on a bed in a private room. To one side was a large flat panel TV and a number of machines. I was told to lie on my side, revealing all that I own, as my threadbare gown made no attempt at modesty. Electrodes were fastened to my chest, an IV was inserted in my hand, and oxygen put in my nose. I pictured the ocean to calm my nerves, and that particular strategy may have been too successful, the alarm blared to notify the nurse that my heartbeat was too slow. The doctor came in, briefly squeezed my shoulder and ordered the "cocktail" of versed to be pushed through. As I began to doze, I heard the song "Baby, Come to Me" on the radio, and I remarked that it always reminded me

I was thirteen when I found out she had cancer. Amazing, how it was 19 years ago, and I still recall so vividly where I was standing when my mother told me. It was, in a way, similar to the stories we hear of when John F. Kennedy was assassinated...everyone remembers minute details normally forgotten by day's end. My grandmother was what I consider to this day to be the quintessential grandparent. She bought us new coloring books for each visit, fed us ice cream past bedtime, and nestled us in her bosom when we needed comfort. Her house always smelled like food, whether it was stew or spaghetti, and my grandpa always smelled like smoke. He was a volunteer firefighter, and would often come home at night to kiss us, enveloped in a smoky heroism I relished. They lived in probably a mere 1200 square feet, but as a child, it was a palace, with its patterned carpet, and cushy la-Z-boys. When we spent the night, she made sure to use the sheets bought specifically for me, white with pink r

On Saturday night, a family friend came for dinner, and as I cooked for him, I was reminded why one finds such comfort in the kitchen. For the past several months, the kitchen has lost its appeal, because the other adult with whom I share meals is absent, and while my children are open to many kinds of food, their palates are certainly not advanced enough to appreciate good cuisine. My own childhood was filled with such flavor. My mother was a self-taught cook, never afraid of experimenting beyond the pages of Betty Crocker, and while there was occasionally a misstep or two (anything containing raisins or curry will always be a misstep for me), dinner was a consistently pleasurable time for our family. Each member had their self assigned seats, and we spoke of our days over steaming platters of artichokes, or clams with melted garlic butter. I have many memories that still bring me laughter- my sister stuffing peas into her tiny nose like pistol bullets, my mother serving me detestable

It began 9 years ago, in the blistering wet heat of Florida. While the world slept, I watched the clock ease its way through the late night. I learned the joys of ebay at midnights, and reruns of Friends at 2am, and infomercials where I was promised a double order plus free shipping and handling if I.Just.Call.Right.Now! I watched Rhiannon asleep, still a baby, with sporadic phantom boob suckling. I was startled by Jake's sleepwalking/sleeptalking/sleepbasketball playing. I took showers stealthily in hopes it would trigger drowsiness, but to no avail. I cannot exactly tell you what would run through my mind as those minutes and hours dragged on. In retrospect, I assume I was suffering from postpartum, and my mind was whirling like an out of control carousel. Jake and I were planning our wedding, though in all honesty, Jake took more of a bystander role. With a limited budget, I hunted down guest books and veils from novice auction sellers, and panicked about paying DJs and photogra