L U N A T A L K with Eva Moon

Patchwork

Families are pieced together in different ways, some harmonious, some in vivid contrast. Often the seams are strained to breaking, but hopefully the stitches hold fast.

I’ve been fortunate, both in my own family and in the family I married into. We may not see them often, but when we do it’s good, though with far, far, far too many tortilla chips. We were down in California last week to celebrate my mother-in-law’s 80th birthday and continue doing our part to keep America’s corn growers afloat in this troubled economy. I hope I’m half as sharp and witty when I’m 80 as she is. Happy birthday, Kathi!

Like many modern families, I don’t have just one mother-in-law, but two. We took a day to drive up the coast from Oxnard to charming San Luis Obispo to see MIL#2. In the past, we’ve mostly visited in the summer and I’ve always had a soft spot for the way coastal California looks then: rolling hillsides swathed in pale gold grass, dotted with dusty green live oaks. In March Hwy 101 weaves between rolling blue ocean and green, green and more green. The miles swept by and before we knew it we were sailing past the ever-expanding kitchiness of  Madonna Inn and off the freeway into town.

MIL#2, Barbara, is a quilter. Though that’s a little like saying Eric Clapton plays guitar. One never need worry about tripping and falling in her house - you’re sure to land on something soft. Her work is meticulous, creative, beautiful and prolific. And at 79, it’s keeping her young and as vibrant as her quilts. She’s just completed a project that’s kept her busy for years: Making wedding quilts for all her grandchildren. None of the grandkids is close to matrimony yet. But my boys got to see their quilts.

Years ago my father-in-law advised me to make plans for the future. It’s not critical to follow the plan, he said. Just having it gives a shape to the future and makes your place in it seem real and solid. That advice led to a couple of poor real estate investments, but no regrets. These quilts did the same thing. Suddenly, a vague and amorphous future had wives and homes and quilts in it. Colorful threads sew scattered pieces of family into something that will do to keep you warm. Quite nicely.

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Snarkfree Sailing

I’ve been trying to think of the wry angle on this, but I don’t think it’s susceptible to snark. This was just one of those bucket list experiences you want to soak up and remember for the rest of your life. I’ll save the snark for something else and let the pictures do most of the talking.

We flew down to southern California to celebrate my mother-in-law’s 80th birthday at my sister-in-law’s beach house. By chance, a friend, Steven Van Hook, lives an easy kayak paddle up the marina from where were staying and he volunteered to take us sailing. Twice!

I’ve never been on a sailboat in my life, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. One thing I found out was that sails are more like wings than parachutes. I also found out that Bonine works for me, thank god!

Conditions were perfect with light winds, calm waters and brilliant sunshine. Our boat “Imagine” is 33-feet long and very pretty. We got the basic “five H’s” spiel from Skipper Steve (hands, head, heeling, help and, of course, hurling) and then motored out of Channel Islands Harbor and set sail towards the islands. (And now the phrase “set sail” actually means something to me. So does “taking a different tack.” Who knew?)

Early on we saw a whale spout in the distance but never got close enough to see more than spume. Then magic happened. We came across a huge pod of dolphins. They swam with us, cavorting with the boat, leaping out of the water. I could even hear them sounding under water - something I hadn’t expected. I got dolphin snot on my sunglasses. After a while they swam off, but we caught up with them again on the way back and this time they stayed with us much longer.

I could have stayed out there all day, but the boys were starting to turn a little green so we turned toward harbor. Steve let me have a turn at the wheel, which was a blast. I was completely surprised at how sensitive the steering is.

Final surprise of the day: I’d only been standing on a small boat all afternoon, but I could hardly keep my head up through dinner.

Thank you, Cap’n Hook!

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

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South and West

On the road again. I could try to make a full blog devoted to whining about air travel but it would get tiresome. We flew Southwest Airlines, which is somewhat famous for its humorous flight attendant announcements. We were treated to a hysterical one several years ago that included the information that the smoking section was out on the wing where they were showing the movie “Gone With the Wind.” Sadly, neither leg of our flight yesterday featured stand-up comedy, but we did get free peanuts (Peanuts! Are they mad?) and sodas. Don’t get me started on rental car agencies, though!

More

Looking back at my posts of the last few days, I just have to say that I think “My Favorite Nipple” and “Fugitive Pubes” would be awesome band names.

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It was like a car wreck

I couldn’t look away. I’ve been gagging over the photoblog “This is Why You’re Fat” all morning and there seems to be no end to the horrors people are willing to unleash on their gastrointestinal systems

We tend to think that massive quantities of bad food wolfed down on the go is a recent development, but it’s a tradition with a long history. Alexis de Tocqueville wrote about it in his book America, historical statistic, and descriptive published in 1841:

The [breakfast] is generally a substantial one, a variety of dishes being placed on the table, and few persons breakfasting without partaking of some description of animal food ; but the rapidity with which it is despatched is its most remarkable feature, the longest time taken by the slowest being never more than 15 minutes, some of the quickest getting through the meal in 5 minutes, andthe average number occupying about 10.

In the busy cities, the reason assigned for this haste is the keen pursuit, of business, and the eager desire to get to the countinghouse or store ; but here, with the entire day before them, and nothing whatever to do, they eat with just the same haste as at other places. The contest for the dishes is a perfect scramble ; the noise and clatter of the waiters and their wares are absolutely deafening ; no one gets precisely what he wants, though every one is searching after something. The quiet elegance of an English breakfast is as great a contrast to the noisy rudeness of an American meal as can well be conceived, even when both are taken in public hotels like these. Elegance of manners in such a scene as this is quite out of the question. People eat as if they were afraid that their plates were about to be snatched from them before they had done ; mastication may be said to be almost entirely omitted ; and in nine cases out of ten, persons do not remain in their chairs to finish the meal, short as it is, but rise with the last mouthful still unswallowed, and dispose of it gradually as they walk along.

… [at dinner] The hurry and bustle of the breakfast scene are again repeated, with little of table enjoyment to reconcile the parties to the heat and noise of the room. The fare is what in England would be called coarse and bad, the dishes few in number, and wretchedly cooked, besides being all lukewarm ; and the miserable sprinkling of bad vegetables being almost as cold as if they had been dressed on the preceding day … The escape from this is almost as rapid as from the breakfast, and 15 minutes may be regarded as the average time occupied
in it ; though a few may sit, perhaps, from 20 to 25 minutes, but none for half an hour.

It may be tradition, but that doesn’t make it right.

Especially not this.

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Fugitive Pubes

The government apparently doesn’t think we have the wits to be allowed free access to our own genitalia. In New Jersey, the State Board of Cosmetology is moving toward a ban on Brazilian waxing. They may have a point about the general state of American wits, but this is an intrusion into forbidden territory. Our law system is already a tangled jungle of overregulation. We need to rip away some of it - not add more. How are they going to enforce this law? Stiff fines, presumably. Rise up against this outrageous penetration into our rights!

They can have my wax when they pull it from my cold, dead crotch.

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My Favorite Nipple

Dave Barry said it best: “Probably nothing wrong” is the leading cause of health care in America today.”

I don’t like to complain. Well, OK, I do. But I am thankful for good health and good insurance. Blah blah blah. However there are certain events that toss one in the grinding maw of health care and once the jaws descend into your tender hide, you’re in for a chew until you come out the other end. So to speak.

It started in the shower. If you’re a woman, you’ve been exhorted since your teens to do a monthly breast self-exam. There may even be a little mildew-spotted card hanging from the shower head since the late 90s with the January and February dots punched out.

I gave up years ago when my doctor found a “thickening” the resulted in hours of palpitations, crushings, scannings and ultimately a doctor straddling my chest and hammering a needle into my tit. I never, ever felt what it was they were going after, even when they put my fingers on the exact spot. Eventually they decided everything was fine. Tell that to my breast.

So if my fingers are blind to the little buggers, why bother?

This one was no challenge though. A tiny lentil of a bump, but just below the skin and just north of the left nip. My favorite one! No! I couldn’t miss it. I could see it in the mirror from across the room. I had been vaguely aware of it for a few days but now I poked and prodded. Then I took the step that would seal my passage through the bowels of the system. I called the doctor.

I love my doctor. She’s reasonable, patient and even listens to my crazy ideas. But she’s trapped by the same molars. Grind grind grind. She confessed to me that in her heart of hearts she felt there was probably nothing wrong. Grind grind grind. In my heart of hearts I also felt there was probably nothing wrong. But she couldn’t say that officially. Officially, I had endure health care.

I was offered a biopsy, as if it was the special on today’s menu.

No thank you. I’m not that hungry. I’ll just have the mammogram salad please.

Would you like a little fresh ultrasound with it?

Orders were sent. Grind grind. Appoinments scheduled. Tit pancaked, buttered and syruped. And… there was nothing wrong. Just a little cyst. They come, they go.

ptoo! I pop back out into the world, precisely the same as when I went in. Except without that little nagging what if.

I’d be very much relieved if this reminded you to check. There’s probably nothing wrong. But you never know.

And please don’t try to tell me you don’t have a favorite nipple! Likely story.

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Surviving the Recession Through Denial

Obama and crew have dumped a great, steaming heap of a stimulus package on a bewildered nation. Will it work? Who knows? There may be a pony in there somewhere, but most of us are unwilling to don the mucking boots and dig. If they want me to swallow it, it’s going to take a pretty special shovel. As if I have a choice.

What they need, my boy, is an infographic. Other government agencies have done admirable jobs of reducing the essentials of a complicated plan to a brainless infographic. One need look no further than our own U.S.D.A. for a stellar example: the Food Pyramid. And to get the ball rolling, here is my own humble plan for dealing with the recession.

Here is a PDF version of the pyramid.

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