Almost an entire day off line…imagine that. Here in Pennsylvania, we had a major ice storm on top of about 8 inches of what was white fluffy stuff, now coated with frosting that would make Cake Boss Buddy Valastro proud. Haven’t stepped foot outside; instead gazing contentedly from inside my cozy house at the trees that are laced with crystalline lace, bent down as if in worship, to the ground. My son Adam managed to get out early this morning to his job at Manhattan Bagel where he and his co-workers served others who braved the weather. I was fortunate to be able to work from home….until I realized that the internet was down. A momentary disappointment and then a revelation that I had the time to read and actually for pleasure. I picked up the strawberry color covered book called The Jennifers which was written by my friend Jenny G. Perry. It is a romping, rollicking chick lit treat. At first I rolled my eyes at the stereotypical Jersey shore characters all with the first name of Jennifer, thinking that I wouldn’t want to hang out with most of them, except maybe the one nicknamed Crystal who is into the same kind of ‘cosmic foo foo’ stuff I enjoy. As I dove into the story, they became more fully fleshed out as observed through the eyes of the narrator with the sobriquet of Pink whose louse of an abusive husband Sal inclines her to seek and accept a better life for herself and her children. Each of her friends rally around her as she takes out of the box steps toward her freedom.
I then moved on to compiling chapters for an e-book I am writing, taking a trip down memory lane as I often do when I re-read words that came through me as far back as a year ago. “Who really wrote that?” I pondered. I occasionally call myself ‘God’s Typist’ as I take dictation.
One of my joys was playing with the oh so adorable 3 year old Collin who is the son of my son Adam’s girlfriend Rochelle. Since Christmas, I have ‘graduated’ from being called “Adam-mom!”, said with enthusiasm to official ‘Grandmom’. My son teasingly calls me ‘Bubbe’ which is what I called my Russian immigrant grandmother. Like my mother, I choose not to be referred to by that honorific.
Roaring dinosaurs, making scary and then ’handsome faces’, putting together puzzles, coloring, playing with blue Barrel of Monkeys, pretending we were going to the beach, playing with Jedi light sabers…he tells me that he is going to tire me out before I can tire him out. Neither of us had a nap today, although he did crawl under the blanket with me that covered my legs, as we sprawled out in the living room. On the beach, he assures me that he will wear sunglasses, but doesn’t need a hat.
As evening has fallen, I am still p.j.-clad and nearly ready for a shower and bed. Hard to believe that this Type-A gotta get it done, go-giver actually spent the better part of 12 hours, off line, unplugged, just playing. Not as much of an internet junkie as I feared.