Look. Let’s just both hit the appetizers and forget the chit chat?

I hate small talk.

It’s a colossal waste of time. And I suck at it. I just don’t care enough to pretend to follow along. Especially with people that, in all probability, you won’t necessarily ever see again. (Yes, I know. Following that philosophy then I will miss out on a chance to chit chat with Ralph Fiennes should we ever bump into each other at the Taco Bell… but there are exceptions to every rule.) Small talk requires actually listening to (and digesting) useless information about which has no bearing on my life or survival. I’m terrible at pretending to care. I get bored.

I dread parties where I have to small talk with people. It’s one of my lesser levels of Hell. It’s easier to meet people while you are working side by side on something.

And not ever to imply that all my conversations with people are deep and meaningful… Tonight, for instance, I had a very long conversation with our friend Nat about which show would be a tougher experience–Survivor or Big Brother. I won’t tell you what we came up with because you probably don’t care enough to hear the answer.

True Confessions #923

Sometimes at work I wear headphones.
It makes people hush. They think they are disturbing me so they walk around me more quietly and they keep their voices down.
Sometimes, in my headphones, I listen to a mixed CD that has Harry Connick, Jr singing the Mary Poppin’s song “Stay Awake” and Sting walking in “Fields of Gold.”

But usually I’m not listening to anything at all.

Miss Maryland was robbed…

We went up North this weekend.

It was crisp and cool and wonderfully September like. Robby and his Dad took out the rest of the dock and pulled in the furnace. I slept a lot and read my book (The Road to Nab End) and knitted a large section on to my scarf. We had a lot of our favorite foods this weekend– a carmely torte from the local bakery, Lady’s spaghetti, and Robby’s favorite breakfast. For one meal we ate out at a local place that serves up large platters. Mostly though we just enjoyed the fire and the lack of responsibility.

The Miss America Pageant was on this weekend and we heartily mocked the contestants and their lack of talent. This is a tradition now for us… Robby and Padre moaning about “having to watch” while Lady, Nat, and I hunker in for the night with our opinions. Our girls didn’t win. We liked Maryland and Wisconsin… Oh well.

In any event it brings us closer to feeling almost normal again. Not quite– but close.

He is 10 minutes away from me blasting Patsy Cline. For the Love of Everything Holy stop that racket!

The neighbor kid practices skateboard manuevers constantly when he is at home. Scrape. Thunk thunk. Kerchunk. Scrape. At night, when it gets too dark he goes inside. We know this because just at the point where our minds register that the scapethunkthunkkerchunchscrape tattoo has stopped we are treated to the subwoofing bass of whatever music it is he listens to. We can’t begin to guess (though I suspect that it might be that terrible Euro Techo stuff that plays in the background of most video games) all we hear is the bass. He’s a good kid though so we don’t say anything. We don’t notice it so much unless we’re especially tired or cross.

I play my music very loud sometimes, too, but it’s when I am in the car all by myself. On my CD changer now is the usual suspects:
Once More With Feeling:The Musical from Buffy the Vampire Slayer series. I miss the show. But that’s another entry.
Terri’s Road Trip burned for me by my mother-in-law… it’s filled with songs like “I will Survive” by Miss Gloria Gaynor and “Midnight Train to Georgia” as well as “It’s Not Easy Being Green,” “Cocacobana,” “On the Road Again,” and “Up a Lazy River.” I almost drove a grown man insane with it when we drove around Virginia on a film shoot.
U2’s All That You Can’t Leave Behind. I love Bono. And, in my head, he loves me, too. We’re very happy. You should come out for a Sunday barbeque, we’d love to have you.
Aengus Finnian compilation disc that pal Ericka burned for me. She and Aengus are as sweetly happy as Bono and I. The four of us summer in Ireland together…
And in the revolving wild card slots:
Our cousin Jeff’s latest band’s demo cd, Andy’s Automatics. Robby’s older cousin has played in bands for as long as I’ve known him– and I usually really like the music though it’s changed quite a lot over the years. His song “Little Lesbian Girls” used to be an anthem for my best pal Melle and I. We were not lesbians but we used to play it loudly when we would drive past the house of Robby’s then girlfriend. She wasn’t a lesbian either. She was mean though. And our glee over the song used to tick her off so it was all good. (C’mon. We were 16. We also used to wear neon shirts and lace hair bows.)
Ghost in the Machine featuring James Marsters (“Spike” on Buffy…He’s pretty). It’s not a great CD but it’s fun… One of his songs has him noting that “I can never be David Letterman”… it’s a hard fact of life we all must face Spike.

Just for the record though I don’t skateboard. And in the house I keep the music at a pretty respectable level.

BTW UR not either a QT

I’ve spent a lot of time searching on the Internet these past few weeks… first when we were pregnant and then when we weren’t… Al Gore’s little superhighway (and yes, that WAS dripping with sarcasm) is a Pandora’s box of medical information and anecdotes. Robby and I found that, with his optimism and my realism/pessimism we could read the same informative blurb and come away with wildly different opinions.
He tended to see hope where I saw failure.
It’s not so terribly shocking. We swap these roles frequently. (On the matter of our roof I play bad cop while he stirs his coffee, nibbles a donut and says, “It’s not that bad…” And yet, on the matter of the piled up laundry I size up the actual number of loads and say, “It can wait till tomorrow…”)

So the really appalling thing about the entries on all the message boards that we both pored over is the utterly abysmal spelling and punctuation.

I’m no saint. (One day me talk pretty…) And I abhor spell check– you’ll notice, if you read through the archive here that I don’t correct my spelling… (I don’t trust Spell check. It’s too regimented. Occasionally I like the British English spelling of something…. And I always feel like I’m cheating when I use Spell check, so I keep a dictionary on my desk and if I need to check something I do it the old fashioned way.) Message boards are filled with stupid abbreviations and emoticons and inane little code phrases… It is 6th grade all over again without the slumber parties.

I can’t look anymore at them. It’s a shame. Some of the anecdotes made us feel almost normal… But I had to swallow too much of my first instinct which was to hit “Reply to Post” and carefully correct their posting.

Now we’re all wallowing in ignorance. Great.

It’s tuna you idiot

Thank goodness for Mtv’s The Newlyweds– it’s been the kindest television/balm. That Jessica Simpson is a looker but boy is she dumb.
“Is this tuna or chicken what I have?” (The term ‘chicken of the sea’ threw her…)

And last night, Conan O’Brien’s 10th Anniversary Special yielded a skit that had Mother Theresa trashing her hotel room in retaliation for not getting her wake-up call… I laughed out loud, waking up a dozing Robby.

Favorite Places to Haunt While Out East with My Pal Sue

There’s a film shoot this weekend. Normally I’d be on my way out East with my pal Sue riding shotgun, both of us chattering all the way through Ohio and on the rim of Pennsylvania about our lives and loves and the work ahead. But Sue’s on the road without me today– not just because of all the stuff that’s happened to me lately, but because there is a family wedding on Saturday. Sue’s calling me every few hours with updates of her travel… She misses me and I miss her. We are very good travel companions. Anyway… it has me pining for “All Things East” and that’s why you’re getting another list.

10. Rita’s Custard stand in Gettysburg or the funny little Frozen Custard stand on the divided highway outside of Winchester, VA (sorry… those directions make sense to me…) Deeelishous. I love frozen custard very much. As much as some extended family members. Add in some colorful sprinkles and I’m in a state of bliss.

9. The lovely green field in Manassas, VA. Sue and I went there once on my birthday and toured the battlefield. It’s the greenest area I’ve ever seen outside of the Isle of Man. There’s a photo from that day in my office. It’s just crazy, crazy green.

8. Alexandria, VA One of our trips East is now legendary in it’s unbelievable string of opportunities. While strolling through Alexandria (stalking the traceable paths of my dear W. H. Withington) we got a cellphone call from Juanita Leisch (that name means everything if you are into civil war era clothing) who directed us to an estate sale in Arlington that resulted in a wealth of finds including an 1850s waistcoat and 1830s gown.

7. The Piper Swale on the Antietam National Battlefield. (It’s nearer and dearer to me than it is to Sue but she understands my attachment to it so I’m including it on a Sue & Terri list.) Reached by walking up a red clay, root plaited little lane, lined with trees and cow droppings, the reward is at the summit where a deep valley cuts through in an unexpectedly open way. At the bottom, in the swale, there is a copse of trees that provides rare shade and huge boulders a place to rest against or sit up on with your legs swinging. The picture in my office, on the top of my computer monitor, does not do it justice. It’s a flat little image without the hidden little dips and turns, but it’s a lovely place. Once I hiked up there for a sunrise by myself, hopping the cattle fencing and covering my boots with thick dew. Settled against a cold little rock in the dark I watched a panoramic view of the dawn. It’s where I go when the dentist drill is biting or the meeting is acidic with office politics or lately in general.

6. Battleview Market in Sharpsburg, MD. Sue erronously calls it “Battleside” which has become it’s second name. It’s one of our favorite breakfast stops. (Our long standing order used to be “frenchtoastwithcrispybaconkeeptheextrasyrupandbutterlargecoffeewithridiculousamountsofcream, westernomeletwithasugarycoffeeandagrapefruityjuiceblend, and chippedbeefontoastorbiscuitswithaYoohooand7up, please”) All heaven opened up to us the day we discovered that they also make the world’s greatest fried chicken. We’ve gone hours out of our way for this place.

5. Burnside’s Bridge, Antietam National Battlefield. One of our most favorite places to eat breakfast in the world. I’ve had the good fortune not only to walk across the bridge but to wade underneath it, too (and that at a time when I was still blissfully unaware of the local snake population…) We’ve filmed it from nearly every angle and enjoyed it in the still, quiet yellow mornings of Maryland when the cicadas have started their noisy humming by 7 a.m. We sit here and munch our breakfasts out of their styrofoam boxes and listen to the running commentaries of dear friends’ history lessons. Also dear is The Clara Barton Monument . It’s a typical monolithic memorial with the sweetest addition of bricks from her childhood home creating a red cross on it. We’ve picknicked there and used it as a beacon on late night walks. Our other picknicking place is the observation tower on the battlefield.

4. Little Round Top overlooking Devil’s Den on the Gettysburg National Battlefield. We’ve seen many sunsets from this point… all under the squirrely feeling that the NPS guys will chase us out at dusk… But one year, on the eve of my birthday, we sat on the flat boulders and watched a glorious sunset. It was a fun trip, that weekend, filled with our usual antics and fun, but that night we were quiet and grateful to see such a beautiful sight.

3. “Shepherdstown Chinese” (The China Kitchen, Shepherdstown, West VA) Hands down the best darn Mongolian Beef in the continental US. Piling in at the end of a day, we are dirty and dusty and tired and slaphappy… Sometimes the group is small and numbers 3 seats, at other times we’ve darn near taken over the place… but the rules are the same– everybody orders something different and everybody passes their dish. For me it’s agony of hoping that I can order first and get my favorite dish. They’re also very generous with their “nuclear pink sauce” and crunchy fried noodles… The sweetest thing about SC is that Sue hates Chinese food. Most people would never know her own private horror when we wonder “can we fit in SC three times on this shoot?” I understand that she’s sacrificing for the good and wellbeing of the rest of us. (And, over time, she’s discovered a few dishes that she can pick at unobtrusively.) Once we ended up with two plates of Mongolian Beef and ended up with a tiny carton of left overs… we snuck down to the farm grill late at night and heated it up using our Leatherman tools as cooking utensils and licking our sticky fingers in the black night. I’ve always hated chinese food leftovers… but that night ranks among the best things I’ve ever had.

2. The Lincoln and Avenue Diners in Gettysburg, PA. Sue will attest to the crispy bacon that both places serve. But for me it is the cherry malts and feta-cheese omelets of the former and the corned beef hash of the latter that have won me over. (That and the happy memories of my Eastern pals crowding into the long booths or rearranging tables to fit our ever growing group.)

1.Middlekauf Farm, Sharpsburg, MD. Not on the public map (unless you can get your hands on one of Hotchkiss’) but on the main pike and marked with a white mailbox. We’ve stayed here for the bulk of our film shoots– in an 18th century building constantly under promise of future restoration… no doors, no walls, no electricity or water… but one of the dearest places in the world. The farm encompasses a mass of rock jutted hills and a steep climb to a series of fields and pastures that sneak up to the Poffenberger fields. Nearly every inch of the place is familiar to us. We’ve cried and laughed here more than any other place on earth… and no bed has been as welcoming as our little army cots at the end of a long, shadeless Maryland day.

10 good things

1. Our first foray out of my coccoon and into the shiny happy world of Target. The Swell! line sheets I’ve coveted since Easter are now on sale. We splurge and get the matching duvet cover, too.

2. The crossword puzzle in the evening paper.

3. Philbin Puppy’s goofy little noises to get our attention.

4. The Joe Schmoe Show, Big Brother 4, F/X’s 9 a.m. BH90210 reruns, and the old ERs on TBS. Thank goodness for television.

5. Ironing. Out of a basket of chaos, order is restored. Yay for me.

6. Pals that know just what to say.

7. Raw cake dough.

8. Robby. He’s been beyond sweet lately.

9. A deep rooted sense of humor. At the hospital, all the nurses and orderlies were very kind– with the exception of Nurse Ruth. She of the thick, Dr. Magoo glasses that asked me cheerfully, “So, what are you in for today?” and then proceeded to wonder whether or not a urine test would be needed since it would still indicate pregnancy hormones… I mouthed, “Are you kidding me?” to Robby and we both experienced a tiny shred of hope that, buried underneath all this misery, we were still us. Later, Rob and Trish found their own humors uncovered in the presence of the two doddering surgical waiting room volunteers that had no record of me existing… and a package of m&ms off the snack cart (another volunteer) that dated back to the millenium (“What is the half-life of an m&m?,” wondered Robby).

10. Chocolate. Chocolates. Chocolate syruped milk. Chocolate chips. Chocolate chunk cookies. Chocolate Toblerone peaks. Chocolate….

Nothing in common

A couple of weeks ago– before we knew that we were pregnant, someone we knew had a miscarriage. I didn’t know her well enough to approach her and, frankly, I didn’t know what to say anyway. A lot of people, I suppose, would argue that it’s not even a death necessarily. It’s a “disappointment” it’s “very common” it’s “nature’s way…” it’s a “loss”– but it’s not a death. The girl that we know’s baby was also only 7 weeks “along”– so I imagine that she’s read the same books and the same pamphlets and the same internet searches and would have imagined this ridiculously small creature that was the size of a grain of rice without a face or fingers or a gender. Our sonogram showed the wee-est little shape that (despite all our fingersqueezing desperation) had no beating heart. I don’t know if she had such a visit– or a tech that quietly cried, too?

I hope that she had as many kind gestures as we have had. What we would have done without my sister and mother this weekend I do not know. At the hospital while I was shunted around from one kind nurse to another my sister sat with Rob distracting him with her effortless humor and a turkey sandwich. Pals from work plied us with bath salts and chai tea and chocolates. We’ve holed up in our house this weekend playing endless rounds of two handed Gin Rummy and with the movies Office Space and My Big Fat Greek Wedding. And, of course, our sweet puppy dropping his toys at our feet.

It creeps up on you. During a winning hand or a funny movie or in the morning while you are still stretching your toes into the cool part of the sheets. You remember. And while your head knows all the statistics and the probabilities and platitudes– your heart scrunches up into the back of your throat and lingers there. Because it doesn’t matter what the math is– in your heart and in your head this was part of your family. (Robby said last night, “If your house burned down would it really matter if you’d lived there for a month or ten years? Wouldn’t it still suck?”)

So anyway. I didn’t say anything to the girl we know. We were at a lovely party and I didn’t know what to say. And the weird thing now is that I still wouldn’t know what to say other than I’m very sorry. I’m sorry that of the many things you lost you lost all rights to that wonderful ignorance that things like this can happen. I’m sorry that you will forever hold your breath and count weeks until you feel some measure of safety. I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything.

A moment of silence. And sorrow.

If you have been following this blog, you will be saddened to know that Terri and Rob recently lost the baby they were expecting and about which she wrote with such joy.

I wrote recently on my blog (thedaysman.com) about the color of grief. But I can only imagine here the size of their grief. It’s overwhelming in its enormity, I’m sure. And beyond understanding.

Please take a moment to pray for them both. For grace in this great grief. And for healing in this great pain.

Wally