Tag Archives: Decemberists

its all i want, is to fall apart with you . . .

Drinking coffee, eating breakfast, listening to music, reading the paper with my drew on Saturday morning. Tonight we are going to see Alejandro Escovedo and the Sensitive Boys at the Bell House in Brooklyn. We’ve never been to the Bell House and the tickets are general admission. I don’t know if there is seating.

Every time we go to a concert and we have to stand I say to Drew, “That’s it. I’m not going to another concert unless there are seats.”  But sometimes you just don’t know.

A while back, Hannah and Drew were going to the Wellmont Theater to see the Decemberists. I was staying home because it was general admission. Then hours before they left I saw online that there were seats upstairs and I bought one ticket. I don’t mind sitting alone at the concert. We would have plenty of family time together while sitting in rush hour traffic driving to New Jersey. We walked into the theater and there were seats in the main area after all. (I snuck in and sat with my honeys.) 

So when Drew said, “What should we do? I know you don’t like to stand but I can’t figure out if there are seats or not,”  I responded by saying, “That’s okay, I don’t want to be too old to go to a concert. I’ll take an Aleve and wear my comfortable sneakers ,” (and Drew will take cotton for his ears) and we will make it work. There is always room on the floor. I can rest and then text Drew to come and  help me off the floor — slowly, carefully — in a way that doesn’t hurt his back. Or we can leave early.

And so Saturday morning, Drew played Alejandro Escovedo’s new album, Street Songs of Love. And the following lyrics caught my attention:

its all she wants/ is to fall apart with me/

all i want/ is to fall apart with you/

My thoughts exactly!!!!!

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Filed under Baby boomer, Empty nesting, Music, Real life

Breakfast with Drew

It’s snowing again. I’m sipping my coffee, drinking my banana peanut butter milkshake, and reading Ask Amy. Drew is sitting across from me delicately eating his freshly-made-by-me-with-love cottage cheese and veggies sprinkled with just the right amount of sea salt and ground pepper, and he’s reading the paper. He looks up at me with loving eyes, a curd of cottage cheese hanging from the tip of his darling nose, he smiles and blurts out, “Somebody tried to give you their seat last night.”

I KNOW. I KNOW!” Did he really need to remind me of this. Totally unnecessary. We were coming home from the Decemberists concert at the Beacon. Subway was packed and I was getting squished. And when I get squished I make squishy faces. I heard this voice, look down, and realized that this woman was saying something to me. “Would you like a seat?” OMG, I was horrified. Me? Was she talking to me? Drew was giggling and I couldn’t get my arm free to hit him. I smiled and politely declined. . . all the while burning up inside. I spent so much money at the Clinique counter a few months ago. Two different face creams and an eye cream, not to mention the facial cleansers that I  use every day in the shower. Did the saleslady really mean it when she said to use it in the morning and evening? I thought it was a ploy to get me to use it up twice as fast. Damn that subway lighting! Damn Clinique! Damn that sagging skin!

I see how I have to give you tasks. You didn’t mention in your blog that I told you to do this years ago. Your task today is to go online and find us a place in Sedona. Call up some realtors,  find someone you feel comfortable with and yada, yada, yada.” Drew has seen too many episodes of The Apprentice. He said something like, “You better watch out, this could catch on. I can give you a task every day maybe even daily . . . ” Oops, sorry that is when I zoned out to my very special place —  like when I’m listening to the radio or listening to the lyrics of a song — and I realize I didn’t hear a thing — I forget to listen.

How long should this be? Should I write about my aches and pains. I’m feeling fine today but only a few days ago I woke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and feeling queasy. My heart was beating fast. I sat in the bathroom feeling just awful and all the while thinking about what I had read online about heart attack symptoms and how they are different for men and women. No pain in the left arm, that could be a guy thing. Sweating, heart racing . . . I sat for a while. It passed and I went to bed. Maybe it was the overload of meat (chicken and ribs) I ate that weekend (after months of barely any) or the two shots of tequila I had during the Jets game on sunday. I felt I had to drink the tequila because the week before I had three shots and they won. I guess I blew it because I passed on the third shot the other day and they lost! Is it really all about me?

This morning Hannah sent me a text,  “You should put an about me on. ” I send one back, “About you?” At this point I am thinking she felt left out and I should be writing something about her. “About you,” she responds. Oh, ME. Well, I think that is harder than writing this blog. I’ve thought about me and I’m not sure what to write. How do I define myself. Certainly not by my employment. What career path have I chosen? Where did the time go? Who am I?

Let’s tackle the important things: today I will fold the laundry that’s been sitting in the dryer since yesterday and shovel snow. Oh, and dinner tonight is broccoli peanut soup, cajun style catfish with broccoli and brussel sprouts. More tomorrow.


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Filed under Empty nesting, Everyday Woman, Food, Long Island Living