So I’m at my sister’s place in Tampa, Florida, listening to her put together her new office chair that our dad got her at Target today. She has this very nice cordless drill she’s using. I love a girl with her own drill. She’s also graduating tomorrow. I love a girl with a B.A.
I flew into Miami Wednesday night and managed not to tear out most of my hair trying to do my damn knitting on the plane. I know one stitch. The knit stich. Knit knit knit knit knit. For my first project I’m making either a very long and thin scarf or a long and thick bookmark. I’ll let you know, don’t worry. Anyway, I’ve been trying to get knitting advice on MATH+1 but I can’t understand what anyone’s saying so I have to do the online forum equivalent of a nod with pursed lips and drawn brows, as if I totally get it. I don’t. I only know the knit stitch. Knit knit knit knit knit knit knit.
Anyway, got in Wednesday night, slept in my old room, and then spent Thursday morning with Mom before we went to her work…which coincedentally is my old kindergarden. I don’t love a lot of things about Miami, I’m sorry to inform you, but one thing I do like is the sense of connectedness I have right smack in the middle of all the feelings of bewilderment I have every time I go home. I went to the school, where my mom teaches and where Key Girl Marah also happens to teach (I was spiriting her away for the rest of the day) and went in to visit Miss Debbie, who used to be my teacher and who is now Directress (which is Montessori-speak for Principal). I was all dropping names in the front office…”Oh, yeah, “ I said, as if the women who teach at this school are famous or something, “I’m Miss Stephanie’s daughter and I’m friends with Miss Marah and Miss Debbie used to be my teacher.” Everyone was suitably impressed, I’m happy to report. I got to see my mom’s classroom (she has some baby chickies in there) and Marah’s classroom (she has a bunny in there) and then we hopped in the Acura and went out for lunch before heading out to Kendall to visit My Friend Manya and The New Baby.
Did I tell you guys my sweet Marah is expecting a baby in December? It’s public knowledge now, so I think I can share. Anyway, what with her being pregnant and Manya pretty recently pregnant, you can imagine the content of the discussion for most of the day. Since I just wrote an entry about babies, I’ll spare you the point-by-point breakdown of our conversations. Suffice it to say that Manya’s baby is extremely lucky to have Manya as a mom, and that Marah’s baby is extremely lucky to have her as a mom. I enjoyed meeting little Landon very much (he was a very good and mellow baby for me while I was there, which I gather is not always the case…although he did spit up on me twice) and I look forward to meeting Marah’s little one this Christmas as well. We had such a good time. The only thing missing was the missing Key Girl Ashley. However, since a gathering of all four Key Girls all in one place at once is really rare, I was satisfied, mostly, with two out of three. I love these women so much, have I ever told you that? It’s such a pleasure to be with them, my sweet friends. I have been blessed so many times in so many situations with good people to be with.
Gushing aside, this morning I hopped into the car with Mom and drove up here to Tampa. In the car we played a game called “Okay, You Can Have Any Kind of House Anywhere You Want, With Any Amenities. Money Is No Object. Describe, and Please Be Specific, Especially Concerning The Closet Space.” I’ve been playing this game a lot lately. We just played it at dinner with my dad too. Yeah. My dad is here for my sister’s graduation as well. I didn’t know he was coming to be here until Monday, so I had to kind of adjust my expectations of the weekend. More on that later. Anyway, we talked about houses and where we’d like to live (Mom decided on a double lot…a lot and a half for the garden and half a lot for the house) and I saw five alligators on the side of the highway as we sped past. At a distance, and behind a big fence, but still, alligators. I saw Adaptation last weekend at the dollar theater and then re-read The Orchid Thief last week, so I’d been thinking about how weird Florida is, and so it was nice to have that confirmed. Alligators! By the side of the road! Woo!
But here’s the thing. My mom and dad don’t speak or see each other, for about ten years now, so things like graduations are a little rough, as you might imagine. Not so much emotionally, because they can decide not to see each other if they want and it’s not like we had one of those divorces where Daddy Just Didn’t Come Home One Night. No, the real difficulty is in the logistics. Okay, so they don’t see each other, so whoever’s graduating has to book them separate hotels, and then plan two separate graduation dinners (preferably not on the same night). Whoever’s not graduating has to choose with which parent to sit, and has to run interference with the graduator. “Okay, you be back here in fifteen minutes with Mom for pictures, and I’m going to escort Dad to his car the back way.” This time, Dad is with his girlfriend and Mom is with her mom and brother, so no one has to sit alone or anything, which is very nice. I think our parents could handle glimpsing each other across a crowded stadium, but I think it would be too crazy for everyone else. Which is, of course, why we resort to such antics. Anyway.
So we just got back from dinner at a Middle Eastern place, where the food was very good and there was, of course, a belly dancer.
Q: “Why, Chiara, aren’t you a belly dancer yourself? Did you get up and dance with here when she came over to your table and exhorted you, oh-so-tittilatingly, to do so, shaking her bugle beads in your face?”
A: “No.”
I feel, actually, really uncomfortable with restaurant bellydancers, the kind where you have to stuff a single into their belt. It’s not the kind of dancing I do, okay? I don’t wear spangles or a tight skirt. I wear tasselled belts and a turban and four or five layers. (I do show my belly, just to keep it honest and you know, true to the art). When I’ve been to bellydance performances, I feel completely comfortable watching the dancers really closely and applauding for good techniques and watching bodies really closely. This sort of thing makes me squirm a little though. Part of it’s the money aspect, and part of it’s the feeling that she’s not really dancing for herself, and that people are ogling her but simultaneously not really paying attention to her but wanting to get back to their baba ghanoush. If you really study her you’re leering but if you ignore her she comes and shimmies in your face. Sigh. Also it was really loud and the finger cymbals (otherwise known as zils, but I didn’t want to intimidate you with my vast stores of bellydance jargon or anything) are very piercing and all in all I was glad when it was over and I could pay attention to my yummy food and to asking my family about what kind of house they’d like to live in. Man. Bellydancers. Ruin everything.
So here I am. I just checked my email and it’s one of those nights where the inbox has only journal notifies in it, so I thought I’d check in on my sister’s nice new iBook and tell you I’m in Florida for the weekend. My friends are moms now. My mom is still my mom. My sister is going to graduate after a lot of effort, with honors. And now I’m going to bed.