The Po Show

Snapshots

You know how sometimes you get brief looks into other people's human dramas? When, just for a minute or a second or a millisecond, you get a glimpse of an event that undoubtedly is huge in that person's life, but you don't see what comes next and you never know what ultimately happened. It can be incredibly poignant.

This morning as I was driving home by myself from the mall, I passed the Women's Health Center (yes, they perform abortions there). Standing in front of the door, at the bottom of some steps, was a young woman, late teens or very early 20s. Her eyes were downcast and she was half-turned away from the door, which faced the street. At the top of the steps, separated from the woman by a railing, with her back to me and the street, was a middle-aged woman who appeared to be talking to the young woman, but naturally I couldn't hear what she was saying.

And then I drove past.

Was the young woman going in for an abortion? Was the middle-aged woman there to try and talk her out of it? Or to offer support? Or is this a total fabrication on my part and the young woman was just going in for a pap smear?

Something about the look on her face makes me wonder.

There Ought to be Warning Labels

There ought to be a warning of some kind on the eBay website: "WARNING: Hurriedly preparing 50+ auctions of your daughter's used clothing, right after returning from a long vacation, and while suffering from jet lag and from late nights catching up on all the shows that Tivo'ed during that long vacation, may result in your head exploding."

Because that's what it feels like is about to happen.

Never ever again will I wait till after our summer trip to CA to scrutinize every item for stains, organize them into groupings, take pictures, photoshop said pictures, write up auction descriptions, and set up the auctions to post. I will do all this prep work while the kids are in school, before the end of their school year, so I don't have to snarl at them for bothering me on top of all the other hassle of getting this all done.

I know I'm going to be loving the hundreds of dollars all these clothes will bring in, but right now I'm ready to throw them all in a dumpster :p.

Back

and tired. That sure was a quick-moving 6 weeks, filled with lots of great stuff. Some tough stuff too, but overall it was a great summer.

Unfortunately the capper to the trip was our flight home. We got to the airport over two hours before departure, checked in easily at the curb (a good thing since we had two huge, heavy, unwieldy bags and no one to help us), breezed through security, then got to the gate and realized that the flight was slightly delayed. No problem, let's get lunch. Then as I was speaking to Ross on the phone about the delay, we both realized (he was looking online) simultaneously that the flight was delayed by an additional hour. Well, this was going to be interesting, since we only had 42 minutes between flights to make our connection in Chicago. Well, maybe the connection flight would be delayed too? (Hope, hope.) Or maybe there'd be a later flight (unlikely, since we were flying into our little county airport and arriving at around midnight)?

Things got really ominous when the United desk guy got on the PA and told us that anyone who was delayed, and thus missed their connecting flights, would get a hotel voucher. So I felt I had to tell the kids that we might have to spend the night in Chicago. As was to be expected, Matthew was very upset to hear that, and Tessa delightedly said, "It'll be a great adventure, and I can tell everyone about it when school starts!" I tried to find out if there was a flight out of Chicago to JFK or La Guardia or *anyplace* in the area, but there were none.

So we finally got on the plane, and that pilot *hauled ass* to Chicago. I have never experienced a landing with the pilot coming in that fast; he *slammed* the brakes on that plane. But once we were on the ground, I called Ross and found that our next plane had already left its gate, 12 minutes EARLY. So that was that. At least we didn't have to hurry, since we were already screwed. It would have really sucked to dash from one terminal to the next (and O'Hare has some *major* distances between terminals!) only to find we still missed the connection.

Matthew was really pissed at this point, and when I saw the mile-long line at "customer service" (in quotes because the level of service was woefully inadequate), so was I. There I was, the only person in line with children, with no other adult to help me, with a son who was obviously very upset, and none of the United agents standing around offered me any kind of special assistance. We just inched along, with dozens of other people who'd had their flights delayed or cancelled. About half-way through our wait, a stranded passenger left the counter in a very pissed off state. On his way out of the area, he whacked his water bottle into a free-standing sign, making a loud noise. The United counter guy charged after him, and confronted him. The passenger scoffed at him and walked away. The counter guy proceeded to get on the phone to security and never went back to helping people in line. He waited till security showed up, then went to talk to them. So it was more important to him to bitch about some dude who hit a SIGN with a water bottle than to help dozens of stranded passengers?

We finally made it to the front of the line and the counter woman just put her hand out for our boarding passes. No "How can I help you?" or "We're sorry we fucked up your life." The guy being helped next to me asked about meal vouchers in addition to his hotel voucher and was told that that was no problem. I asked if we could get meal vouchers too and the woman told me, "I'm already printing them out for you." I asked about our luggage (which we'd already been told we could not get that night, so we were without ANYTHING, no clothes, no toothbrushes) and she said she'd have them transferred to our flight the next morning, which was at 7:00AM.

The kids and I then schlepped *forever* to the shuttle center and caught the shuttle to the hotel. As I was checking in, I realized that in the packet I'd been given, there were no meal vouchers. I asked the desk clerk if the hotel voucher included meals and he said no, they're separate documents. I said the woman at the United counter must have forgotten to give them to us, and he smirked and said, "Oh, she knew what she was doing. It's United." So I guess they are infamous for their sucky customer service.

We then went to the bar (nothing else was open at 10:00PM) and had dinner, then went up to our room. It didn't seem to make sense bathing, since we'd just have to put our sweaty clothes back on. We brushed our teeth with the toothbrushes and paste I bought at the airport ($13.75, thank you very much) and tried to go to sleep. Tessa fell asleep at around midnight and I fell asleep soon after. I woke at 1:20 to the sound of Matthew still being up. He finally fell asleep about 2:30, and I never did fall back asleep. So I got a grand total of one hour of sleep, before forcing them up at 5:10 so we could catch the 5:30 shuttle back to the airport. We got on our flight without incident, which was certainly a nice change of pace.

We got into White Plains and Ross was there to pick us up. We watched as the luggage went around and around on the carousel, and only one of our bags came down. I spent another eternity at the ticket counter, filling out forms. Then the counter woman decided to go and look in the back, and lo and behold, our suitcase was locked up back there. How did it end up in the back, instead of going with the rest of the flight's luggage?

Anyway, obviously I'm still pissed about the whole experience, having just typed it out in excruciating detail :p. I fired off a complaint to United, saying I'm never flying with them ever again. "Friendly skies" my ass.

Alma Mater on the Ground

They've razed my high school. It was a weird feeling to see it completely demolished, just rubble on the ground, waiting to be hauled away.

It's been a long time coming, actually, since they moved all classes to the newly built high school about 10 years ago. And prior to that, it had literally been falling apart for years, and so overcrowded that they had to house a large number of classes in portable buildings. I graduated in 1984, and that was at the tail end of the time before it really deteriorated.

Today I was driving by on my way to return some books at the public library, and saw that the only shell of a building still standing was the "multi-purpose room," which had served as the practice and performance room for chorus and drama. Most of the best moments of my high school years occurred in that building. I discovered singing and acting and while I shone as a student academically, I was happiest as a performer. In that room, I had stood in flowing black and sang "Rhiannon," backed by my friends on drums and guitar, and my favorite teacher on the bass. I played Alma in "Bus Stop," and when a reporter from the local paper came by to see it, he came up to me afterwards and said, "You're going to be a great actress someday."

I was sort of lost in high school, secretly wanting to be a cheerleader and homecoming queen, but knowing I never could be. Girls were smart or pretty in that time and place, and I was smart. But in the multi-purpose room, I felt glamorous, and accomplished, and pretty.

RIP, Oxnard High v.1.

Good, Good Eleven

Anyone else remember the Schoolhouse Rock song ("Good, good, good, good eleven. Never gave me any trouble till after nine...")?

My sweet baby boy (the one who is over five feet tall and has feet bigger than my own) is eleven years old today. Yesterday we were driving through the valley, past the hospital where Matthew finally emerged into the world. It was 11AM, and I said to Ross, "Well, 11 years ago we were there. And it won't be till 5:00 tomorrow evening that he was born."

Obviously he has been challenging from the beginning (before the beginning, really, as it took four years to conceive my miracle baby), all through no fault of his own. Things just don't come easy for or with this brilliant, funny, tempestuous child. He seems both much older and much younger than eleven, depending on the moment. He giggles and chatters like a five year old (and tantrums like one too), but he also discusses astrophysics and computer components like he's researching a dissertation.

One thing that's happened since he went off his meds is that he's started to talk, a lot. It's a little manic, and that's been a bit worrisome, but it's incredibly interesting to hear him talk at great length about his current passions (astrophysics and computer components, as well as Greek mythology :)). It's like he can't *wait* to tell you about it all, like the words can't tumble out of his mouth fast enough to suit him, in incredible detail. People are flabbergasted that he remembers so much; they tell me, "He is *so* freaking smart!"

He is my child prodigy, the baby who lifted his head when he was two days old, who said "Mama" at five months, who ran as soon as he could walk at nine months, who memorized the entire walkthrough of Donkey Kong when he was five years old (despite the fact that he couldn't read), who overcame a severe processing disorder and somehow learned to read. And now can't stop reading, when he's so into a book that he can't put it down. Earlier this week, he read a 312 page novel in less than a day.

He still kisses me, hugs me, loves me and appreciates me. It's stunning to me that he really and truly empathizes with me, his Mom, in a way that is so very difficult for Aspies. He is my sunshine, and he makes my heart lift higher than the stars.

Here's to a good year, the year of eleven.