Weekend Pirates

My sons are playing pirate this weekend.  The three of them left on our sailboat this morning with food and drink for two days.  While loading the boat, one of them asked if the pillows were on board yet and the other two laughed at him.

“We’re not bringing pillows on this trip.  We’re roughing it,” said my oldest boy.  But when the youngest one came out with his fluffy pillow under his arm, the other two reluctantly  called out, “Oh, alright; get ours too!”

I stood on the dock going through a mental checklist asking, “Do you have the bug spray?- yes -  Do you have the sunblock? -yes -  Water? -yes - Matches?”

“Mom, we know what we’re doing.  You don’t have to ask us if we packed everything.”

It’s true.  I don’t have to do that every time my boys go off somewhere, but I can’t help myself.  Besides, I can’t tell you how many times I asked an obvious question like, “Do you have your dorm room key? your wallet? your license?" and got a blank stare as an answer, followed by the boy running off to his room for the missing object.

As the boat pulled away from the dock, I cupped my hands around my mouth to make a bullhorn and yelled, “Where are your hats and sunglasses?!”

They looked at each other with that blank stare and turned the boat around. My husband ran inside to get three baseball caps, and as I threw a line out for them to grab, I asked, again, “Are you sure you have the sunblock?”

“Yes, mom!” my son said, rolling his eyes, “it’s on the boat already.”

“You really have to stop doing that,” my husband told me as we watched the boat take off again.  “They are grown men.”

“Grown men who forget their hats,” I replied.

As the temperature reached into the 90's, I found myself wondering if they were applying sunblock regularly, or if they remembered to put it on at all. I knew they wouldn’t be spreading sunblock on each other’s backs.  Pirates don’t do those things.

 One of my sons was on a medication this week that required him to remain out of the sun.  How would that be possible on a bright hot summer’s day at the beach?  Was he going to stay down in the cabin all day?  They forgot to pack an umbrella.  But then, again, pirates don’t pack umbrellas.

I worried about the rip tides we were having this weekend.  I warned them to beware, but would that be enough?  Pirates don’t listen to their mothers.  They swig rum and dare each other to walk the plank, or some such thing.

At 3:00 PM the phone rang.  It was my youngest son calling to see if we would be coming down to the beach to join them. Odd, I thought.  Pirates calling for parental companionship? I was perfectly content under our shady tree, reading a book, so I told my husband to go ahead without me.

“I’ll just be there a little while,” he told me.  “I have to bring them some things.”

“Oh? What things?”

“They forgot the wood for the fire, and I’ll bring an umbrella so Paul can get out of the sun… And the sunblock," he mumbled. "They forgot the sunblock.”

The Lawnmower

I went for a walk this morning at the John Burns Park in Massapequa. That's where I saw five men - employees of the park -  hovering over a lawn mower.  One was poking it, touching and prodding like a doctor would do to a patient on his examining table.  One was kneeling next to the lawn mower, hand on the base.  And the other three were standing in a circle around the lawnmower, just observing.

A walk around the park is marked in tenths of a mile, for a total of one half mile total.  It takes me about ten minutes to walk a complete round.  My first round brought me back to the starting point and the five men, still hovering over the lawnmower...ten minutes.

As I approached the completion of my second round, there were now four men standing around the machine, arms crossed, as the fifth man hopped into a golf cart type vehicle to fly off somewhere.  Was he going for help?  One guy shuffled around and kicked some stones into the path.  They were obviously very concerned about the lawnmower.  No one wanted to leave it alone for a moment.  One man kept his hand firmly on the handle offering comfort to the ailing mower.

I was listening to a great song on my iphone so I contemplated another walk around, another ten minutes.  Nah, I thought, better get home and get ready for work.  Besides, my legs were starting to get tired and I was starting to sweat.  I hate sweat.

I did some stretches to stall for a few moments so I could finish the song.  The guy on the golf cart cruised back weaving the cart in a playful pattern over the roadway, then parked up on the sidewalk next to the lawnmower.  He remained seated under the cart's awning, out of the sun, observing the other four meandering listlessly around the lawnmower.

I couldn't wait any longer.  I had to leave.  But I'm wondering how the lawnmower is doing.  It must be pretty serious - to have five grown men so concerned.  I wonder if they are all still standing there trying to figure out what to do.

Giving Up Coffee - The End?

It has been a difficult journey.  Coffee is everywhere.  People are either drinking coffee or offering you a cup of coffee. It is the social drink of choice and to refuse a friendly offer of a cup of coffee seems to suggest that one's social skills need polishing. "I would love a glass of ice water," just doesn't cut it.

I remember a Valentine card I once bought for my husband.  The illustration on the card was of two steaming cups of coffee on a cozy kitchen table.  I can't imagine the same illustration with one steaming cup of coffee and a tall glass of ice water.  What would the message say inside? "You're hot; I'm cold.  Be my valentine"  I don't think so.

It's funny how we link associations to a cup of coffee. Coffee is a friendly drink.  It bonds people. It makes us warm and cozy. Just the smell of coffee makes people perk up and smile with anticipated pleasure.  How many times, I remember, enduring a bad cup of coffee, and when I was done saying something like, "Ah!  That hit the spot."  I believed that, even if it tasted like tar infused engine oil, coffee just made me feel better. It's what I went for when I was tired, depressed, bored,  relaxing, or making a pit stop on a long road trip. I drank it to wake up, wind down, warm up or calm down.

I just finished reading the three books by Stieg Larsson:  The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Fire and The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest.  What amazed me, while reading those books, was how often the characters were drinking coffee.  In almost every scene - except the ones where someone was being chased on foot - someone was either offering coffee, brewing a pot of coffee, or sitting in a cafe drinking coffee.  Coffee, coffee, coffee!  I think that's what helped me commit to giving up the stuff.  I would find myself sighing with impatience every time a character would start brewing another pot of coffee.  Why were they sitting around drinking coffee when they should have been chasing the bad guys? Why, he probably could have condensed all three books into one if there weren't so many coffee breaks in between the action.

So how do I go from the person I was when I wrote my blog, The Coffee Party on March 29th of this year to the decaffeinated dud that I am now?  Not by choice, I can tell you that.  I loved coffee.  Coffee was my friend.  But like anything that doesn't agree with you anymore, or a friend that turns out to be a jerk, you have to painfully admit that it is time to end the relationship. 

Sure, I still have fond memories and I still have weak moments when I think about my old friend and contemplate a brief encounter.  Who would know?  I could sneak into any one of the thousand Starbucks on every street corner.  I would blend in with the crowd and no one would know that I was cheating.  I could make a 12-cup pot at home, when I'm alone, and spend the afternoon dancing on the tables and singing opera at the top of my lungs (with the windows shut, of course).  Who would know?

Who would know?

Giving Up Coffee: Day Three

My third day without coffee started with an upset stomach that, to put it nicely, turned into a "cleansing" of sorts. When that was over, I realized that I no longer had the headache, but the brain fog wasn't letting up and all my joints were aching. Was I getting sick, or was this part of the detoxing, I wondered. I popped two extra strength Tylenol and jumped into the shower to prepare for a long day in the city. My son was graduating from Pratt at 11:00 AM and my body had to be on the train in the next hour, with or without my headache and aching joints. With my stomach still rumbling, I also took a Lomotil pill - a prescription drug that stops stomach cramping and calms the digestive tract. It also makes me very drowsy, but given the alternative, I decided I would rather sleep on the train than be running between cars to look for an unoccupied toilet.

When I think back to that day, I realize that I spent most of it in a mild stupor. Sure, I saw my son walk on stage and receive his diploma. I hooted and hollered when his name was called and then I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. The auditorium was dark; I needed no other explanation.

About midway through the day, my other son, who had met us in the city to share in the festivities, asked me what was wrong with me.

"Mom, you seem a little zonked. Are you O.K. today?" he asked.

"This is my third day without any caffeine."

"What?! Why?!" he asked.

"I gave it up."

"No way! Why?!"

"Because the doctor said it would help my acid reflux. And for the first time in two months, I'm sleeping through the night."

"But you're also sleeping through the day," he observed. "What kind of life is that?"

"It won't be like this forever," I told him. And I believed that. I had to have hope that it would get better.

Walking through the streets of Manhattan, on our way to the restaurant where we had reservations for lunch, I noticed that sounds in the street seemed excessively loud. Honking horns sounded like they were aimed directly at my ears. Sirens were piercing my head and the light of day was hurting my eyes. I started getting hot flashes and my stomach felt queasy. I knew the symptoms very well now, and, sure enough, by 2:00 PM the migraine headache began again with a vengeance.

But I was still optimistic. After all, it was 2:00 PM. I had made it almost halfway through the day. Perhaps tomorrow, the headache would show up later in the day, and maybe one day, it would not be there at all.

I began to get angry at my body's dependence on this socially accepted drug and I prepared to do battle. I was determined to win this fight and swore never to drink another cup of coffee again. Problem was, at that very moment, all I could notice were the coffee wagons and Starbucks stores on almost every corner and I wanted a cup, or maybe just a sip.  I would even settle for a sniff of steam from a cup.

When the waiter came to our table to ask if we wanted a drink to start before our meal, everyone ordered an alcoholic beverage but me. My son suggested I order a cup of coffee.

The waiter asked, "cup of coffee for the lady?" smiling and writing on his pad.

"No thanks," I replied, "I'll stick with the water."

"Just the water?" he asked, clearly disappointed.

"Yes, just the water," I repeated and tried to muster a half smile.

He crossed out the coffee with an emphatic slash across his pad and repeated, "Just the water." So now, I wondered, would he drop my food on the floor before he served it to me? I was that person. The one who says, "just water for me" in restaurants and disappoints the waitstaff.

To be continued...

Giving Up Coffee: Day Two

The next day was a Sunday and all I can remember is the non-stop headache which was immune to Tylenol, Advil and Aleve. I slept most of the day while my husband worked around the yard, planting the flowers we had purchased the day before.

I remember passing by the window from time to time, watching him work, hoping he wouldn't ask me to help him. Whenever I heard the back door opening, I would get up and start folding laundry or pick up a broom to fool him into thinking that I was already so busy with my own chores. When the door closed, I returned to the recliner to doze.

My recliner was my new friend. It cradled me and held me gently while I slept through my caffeine withdrawal. It demanded nothing of me and was always there waiting for me when I needed the comfort of a silent support system.

I also remember turning to drink of another sort that day - water. The more water I drank, the more energy I had and I could sense a slight relief in my headache. I slept a little less that second day.

"How's your headache?" my husband asked as I swallowed some Aleve.

"Better!" I told him. "Someone pulled the axe out."

"Great!"

"Yeah, now I have a vice wrapped around my temples." But, I reasoned, a vice was an improvement, a step up. The headache was no longer debilitating and painful. It was just annoying. Annoying I could deal with. And tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

The next day we were going into Manhattan for our son's graduation at Radio City Music Hall. Just the thought of trains and subways and hot crowded streets made the vice tighten. How would I get through the long day tomorrow feeling like this?


To be continued...

Giving Up Coffee: Day One

I planned to start my caffeine free life on a Saturday. I didn’t have a bookkeeping job until Tuesday afternoon. Three days should be enough time to detox myself from the effects of caffeine, I reasoned.

To be honest, I don’t remember much of the events of that first day. The headache started around 9:30 AM, dull at first, but ever present. By 10:30 AM, my ears had clogged up and my head felt like it was filling up with water.

My husband asked if I wanted to go to the nursery that morning to pick out some flowers to plant. I asked him to repeat the question because, although I heard the words, my brain hadn’t connected the dots; the fog building up in my head was getting thicker by the minute. I think I said yes, because next thing I realized I was sitting in the front seat of the car. We were moving in slow motion – like a dream.

I know I was walking through the nursery, but I felt like I was swimming underwater. Sounds were muffled, the sun was burning my eyes – even with sunglasses on; the colors of the flowers were too intense to look at directly. My husband kept asking me, “how’s this?” and “maybe these?”

“Yes, fine, anything,” I mumbled. Just get me out of here. At one point, I felt like I could fall asleep standing up – like horses do, so I held on tightly to the wagon and pushed with my arms, dragging my feet behind in a slow-mo shuffle. “Are we done yet?” I kept asking, like some four year old child.

“Wow!” my husband exclaimed on the way home. “Those plants were expensive; don’t you think?”

I heard the question, but my lips wouldn’t move. The part of the brain that controls speech was already asleep, the rest of my body would soon follow. I floated through the front door, not feeling my feet on the ground, and dumped my body into the recliner. My head was buzzing now, the headache was of migraine intensity, my eyes were pin holes trying to focus, there was a slight feeling of nausea in the pit of my stomach and sweat beads were building up around my forehead and upper lip. I gave up, too weak to hunt for the Tylenol, and closed my eyes.

I woke up a few hours later, drool dripping down the side of my mouth, stomach burning from hunger. “Is there an axe stuck in my head?” I asked my husband.

“What?!”

“That’s what it feels like,” I told him. “I feel like there is an axe stuck right through my head.” He ran upstairs to get the Extra-Strength Tylenol and handed me two. I ate lunch and returned to the recliner to sleep away the remainder of Day One off of caffeine. It had to get better tomorrow, I thought.

To Be Continued…

Giving Up Coffee :(

I guess what I miss most about giving up coffee is the morning ritual. Crazy as this may sound, I liked thinking that my day couldn’t start until I had at least 2 cups of coffee. Some mornings, the thought of a fresh hot cup of coffee was the only thing that got me out of bed. In the winter chill, huddled over the steaming cup, I would write in my journal in the wee hours of the morning. In the summer, I would go out on the deck with my mug of coffee and inhale the fragrant salt air blowing in from the Great South Bay. Salty air and coffee – it doesn’t get sweeter than that.

When my children were young and wanted to go to the park or the beach before they even ate breakfast, I told them, “Don’t bother me until I’ve had my coffee.” They understood that, and as long as I still had that cup in my hand, they kept busy by themselves for awhile. Sometimes I walked around with an empty cup just to stall them a little longer.

It is an excuse I’ve heard and even used myself at work when someone comes into my office before I’ve had a chance to take my coat off and settle in. “Can we hold off on this,” I tell them, “until I’ve finished my coffee? My neurons haven’t fully connected yet.” We share a knowing chuckle and the annoying person disappears for awhile.

I don’t know if it was psychological or true that coffee in the morning made it easier to deal with things. With a steaming cup next to my calculator, my sewing machine, or my laptop, I knew I could do anything. Coffee was a ritual, a habit, a comfort, my friend.

Recently I developed a condition called GERD, short for Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease. It’s the medical term for heartburn, or, agitta, as my father calls it. I lost sleep at night for a month, forcing me to drink more coffee during the day, which exacerbated the problem further. I developed a slow constant burn in my stomach, and whenever I fed it, a fire roared up. I wasn’t digesting my meals, no matter what I ate.

An upper endoscopy revealed everything was normal, but the doctor gave me a list of foods to avoid:
Coffee and caffeinated beverages (my friend)
Chocolate (my lover)
Carbonated Beverages (seltzer with lemon – my drink of choice)
Peppermint and peppermint tea (my favorite tea after dinner, Mentos!)
Citrus Fruits and Juices (love my navel oranges! And lemon ices!!)
Tomato Products (I’m Italian. Need I say more?)
Pepper (Put pepper on my toast in the morning. Love hot stuff.)
Fatty or fried foods (don’t care about these)
Alcoholic beverages (don’t drink ‘em)

“What’s left to eat?” I cried in disbelief on the ride home.

“I’m sure you can have coffee,” my husband said. “Just limit it to one cup a day.”

Was he kidding, or what? May as well give it up altogether, I thought. Besides, I reasoned, if I had to give up my favorite foods, I may as well suffer the full blunt of the blow and say farewell to my longtime friend and companion – my coffee.

…To be continued