Potty Talk

Did you ever have something happen to you that was so embarrassing that you couldn't help but laugh as it was happening to you? Yesterday Boy #2 had a baseball game at a local park. I was sitting at the top of the bleachers, with my two best friends--my tote bag and my cup of Diet Cherry Coke. My tote bag was filled with all sorts of stuff--magazines, sunscreen, a book,my camera, my phone, my datebook, the school directory, my purse, some gum, well, you get the idea. I'm the kind of person people love to make fun of but they love having me around when they need some dental floss, a tweezer, or someone's phone number. I also have this plastic Big Gulp cup from a long-ago visit to 7-11 that I use for my 4:00 pick-me-up can of Diet Cherry Coke. Some people have their blankies, some have their Starbucks, and I have my grungy old 7-11 cup. And my tote bag. And a few other things. Anyway, I was at the game and I had finished about half of my DCC, my toes in their flip-flops were getting a little cold, and to be honest, I really had to pee. So I gathered my cup and my bag and carefully manuevered down from the top of the bleachers. I thought I would make a pitstop in the bathroom and then go see if I had another pair of shoes in my car or at least a blanket. I thought maybe I would sit in my car for a few minutes and then go back to the game.

I went into the bathroom and entered the stall. I was annoyed to see that there was no hook anywhere in the stall. I've noticed this lately. It seems to be a disturbing trend. And you don't want to put your purse on the floor....so it becomes a balancing act. I perched my Big Gulp cup on the giant round toilet paper dispenser and adjusted my tote bag on my shoulder. I grabbed a seat protector and put it on the seat. As I started to sit down, I turned my head and noticed that the seat cover had fallen into the toilet. I didn't want to have to readjust my tote bag and get another one, so I decided to.....squat. Yes, my dear readers, squat. This is actually something I am usually pretty good at, but I don't have a lot of experience WITH a tote bag on my shoulder. Let me tell you, it's not easy. I'm going to say right now that the tote bag surely affected my balance because.....I can barely get the words out.....stay with me here....I'm trying to figure out how to say this delicately. OK, there's no ladylike way to say it. I peed all over my underwear and the back of my jeans. Yes, I did. And don't act like this has never happened to you. We all know it has. So as it's happening I can't do anything, because to salvage the situation, and my jeans, just a bit, I'd have to toss my tote bag on the floor and I don't want to do that. I can at least wash the jeans. I stand up and in the process knock my cherished 7-11 cup on the floor and spill Diet Coke everywhere. And here's the clincher. The giant toilet paper dispenser...? Empty. Of course it was. Icing on the cake. Luckily, seat covers have multiple uses.

I exited the scene of the crime, and raced to my car, hoping I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. I had my cover story ready--about how I had spilled a bottle of water all over myself and was running home to change clothes. Luckily the coast was clear and I hurried home, changed clothes, and came back to watch Boy #2's team win their game.

There are so many lessons to be learned from this story I don't even know where to begin...

1. Always carry an extra pair of underwear with you.
2. And some toilet paper.
3. And maybe an extra pair of jeans.
4. Don't drink Diet Cherry Coke.
5. Don't bring your cup with you to the bathroom.
6. Leave your tote bag in the car.
7. Thank God for leather car seats.
8. Any more? Your thoughts?

Just Another Starry Saturday Night

Last night we went to a Christmas party given by the brother and wife of a friend of Mr. Minivan. I told Mr. Minivan I was bringing a book. "Oh no you're not!" he said. "What if I get bored?" I asked. We drove up to the guard house of this gated community and once the list was checked, got clearance to go to the house. The massive massive house in a neighborhood of massive massive houses. We deposited the car with the valet and walked toward the front door. The first people I saw when I walked in were Dr. Phil and Robin, and their son and his beautiful blond triplet wife. Oh, and Barry Bonds. But I didn't actually know it was Barry Bonds until someone told me. At that point, one minute into the party, I admitted to Mr. Minivan that I was glad I had left my book at home. The house was huge and beautiful, decorated with Christmas decorations and family photos. Entertainment consisted of a psychic, a DJ, an ice skater--yes, on the ice rink that had been constructed on the lawn next to the pool, and, strangely enough, a group of Medievally-dressed singers that were like the low talker on Seinfeld--low singers, maybe? I assume they were singing Christmas carols but I couldn't really hear them. They looked great, though. Security men in suits all over. I kept watching them to see if they were speaking into their wrists, but they weren't. I also kept seeing guys that looked familiar--maybe I went to college or high school with them--no, I've seen them on TV, that's it. Many of the doctors from Dr. 90210 were there, too. Rumor was that Britney would be there later. I thought it would be the perfect time for an intervention with Dr. Phil but Brit-Brit never showed. I met Joe Pesci (without Angie Everhart--heard later they are no longer together) and yes, every other word out of his mouth IS "f-ing"--WITHOUT the dash. Also met Barry Bonds, Wesley Snipes, Gloria Allred (victims' rights attorney--was Amber Frey's lawyer), Robert Shapiro (was OJ's lawyer), Linda Thompson Jenner (was Elvis' girlfriend, was Bruce Jenner's wife, is mom of Brody Jenner, Hills star and tabloid darling)--everybody was very nice and very friendly. Oh, I forgot to mention I also met Paris Hilton. She was there with Britney's cousin Allie and Sam Lutfi. Yes, that Paris Hilton. She is very pretty, was dripping in diamonds, and was lovely to talk to. She is smart, very charismatic, and is a master manipulator. Oh, and my new best friend. She asked me if her lipstick was OK--it was bright red and she felt it was too red but it was the only one she had. "It's fine," I said, "it's the holidays..,,you can wear red." Yep, one day I am giving makeup advice to Paris Hilton and the next day I am folding laundry. Happy Holidays everyone!!

Parents, Ladies, and Celebrities Who Lunch

My parents came to visit for Thanksgiving and it was great! We cooked, ate, brined, talked, ping-ponged, Rummikubed, shopped, and just hung out. My dad is a big pizza aficionado and the newest, most-talked about restaurant in L.A. is Pizzeria Mozza, so we went. I made a lunch reservation--this is one of those places where you have to make a dinner reservation a month in advance unless you want to "dine" at 4:30 or 10:45. When we got there I realized why reservations are so tough to come by. I had thought it would be one of those big "sceney" places, but it was tiny. There were maybe 13 tables and about 20 seats total at the pizza bar and regular bar. We were seated--the three of us--at what I would consider a table for 2. My mom and I were on one side and my dad on the other. But it was fine. The service was excellent and the food divine. Things not to miss if you dine at Mozza: the brussels sprouts antipasto, any bruschetta, the chopped salad, and the fennel sausage pizza. The much talked-about fried squash blossoms were quite forgettable. All three of us said we would definitely go back. A few minutes after we had been seated I noticed 2 men approaching the table next to us. "That guy looks a lot like Ray Romano," I thought to myself. Of course, it WAS Ray Romano--being seated at the next table right next to my dad. Ray and his friend also ordered the brussels sprouts although Ray didn't want to because he said he didn't like them. I restrained myself from joining the conversation and raving about the sprouts. The tables there are so close together that I could have reached over and salted his food. But, of course, being jaded about all the celebrities here, why would I? I discreetly whispered to my mom that he was at the next table. But I couldn't lean over and tell my dad because his hearing is not what it used to be and I knew he would say loudly, "WHO? Ray Who?" So I had to wait til we left the restaurant to tell him of his celebrity non-sighting. Maybe it was a celebrity seating?

Don't They Have People to Shop for Them?

The streets here.....are littered. With celebrities. I'm starting to think they're stalking ME. I can't even do the most mundane task anymore without bumping into one. Today, after a school yearbook meeting and many, many errands....returning library books, picking up dry cleaning, returning the pack of card stock that wasn't used when Boy #1 made campaign buttons for his student council run, making a quick drugstore run, and so much more, I stopped by the grocery store that sells the best grapes. And the best watermelon. And where Sidney Poitier and I like to buy our apples. I was buying a few impulse items when I saw a woman who looked like Reba McEntire. Only smaller. I glanced at her and then away and she disappeared. I finished shopping and got into a checkout line. I couldn't see who was checking out in front of me at first because of the way the checkout station is configured. When I could see the customer ahead of me I saw that it was indeed Reba McEntire. The clerk asked her if she wanted help out to her car and she said "No, that's OK." I saw my opening. "We don't need help there," I said. "We need help at home putting it away. We need help unloading our dishwashers and putting our laundry away." My new friend Reba chuckled, "That's right," she said, "Come and help us at home." We're just two women laughing together about all the stuff we have to do. As if SHE doesn't have people to do that stuff. Maybe she doesn't. After all, she WAS buying her own groceries. And she did return her shopping cart to the cart corral after she loaded the grocery bags into her car. Reba and I have so much in common. We speak the same language. Dishwashers, laundry, groceries. If only my friend Sidney had been there.

Brentwood Stars Come Out at Night

I am on such a roll. Saturday night. Dinner at a diner in Brentwood with the kids. Decided to go across the street to the Halloween store on the corner because, of course, Halloween is in 4 days and if we don't, Boys #1 and 2 will be a Cubs fan and a football player. Again. The store was filled with scary masks and overpriced Halloween stuff and desperate adult shoppers. I decided to step outside while the boys decided which scary masks to buy that they will surely end up taking off in order to actually SEE while trick or treating. I sat on a ledge outside the store and looked toward the street and who did I see? Jake and Reese. Gyllenhaal and Witherspoon. Yep, the Brokeback guy and the Legally Blonde girl. Holding hands. And walking toward the Halloween store. Even celebs get into the Halloween spirit, I guess. As Reese walked toward the store, she adjusted her baseball cap, pulling it lower on her head. Jake had no hat, just a beard and a puffy vest. She is verrrry tiny and very pretty. They were holding hands and leaning into each other. There were no paparazzi in sight, so If they're not REALLY a couple they were doing a great impression of one. Of course I walked back into the store after they did. He picked out a very oversized brown cowboy hat and I didn't see what she got. I was too busy trying not to look like I was staring at them. In the checkout line she leaned back into him as his hand caressed her back and even lower!!! (This is a family blog, you know.) I really need to start carrying my camera with me.

Sidney Poitier, Jake and Reese. My sightings are getting better and better. It's mostly all Oscar winners now. Can Brangelina be far behind?

Guess Who's Coming to the Grocery Store

Sometimes I get a little obsessed with the strangest things. For the last few years, it has been the honey crisp apple. I discovered them several years ago at the grocery store and have been spreading the word ever since. Some people preach religion. I preach the honey crisp. They are sweet, tangy, crisp (of course), and delicious. They have become quite popular recently--in fact, a few weeks ago the Chicago Tribune had an article about them entitled "One Sexy Apple." Over the weekend we went out to dinner at one of my new favorite LA restaurants, and I had my new favorite side dish, roasted brussels sprouts with pancetta and fuji apple. I think it also had some fresh thyme gently sprinkled in. It was fabulous. In fact, I have been thinking about it ever since. Perhaps brussels sprouts are the new honey crisp. I went to the grocery store today to buy the ingredients, because with the temperature here in the 90's and the state burning, somehow my thoughts turned to roasting. It IS October, after all. I was in the produce section, looking for the fujis, when I looked across the aisle and saw Sidney Poitier picking out apples. So of course, I walked over to his apple bin and, conveniently, the sign indicating what kind of apples they were was missing. "They're fujis," he said. (If that's not karma, I don't know what is) "Oh, " I said, gazing into his eyes. I'm not your typical fan, you know--anyone can say, "I really love your work, Mr. Poitier." Not me. "Have you tried the honey crisps? They are fabulous. They're life-changing." "Really?" he asked. "Where are they?" I, having been raised right, was very happy to help the man out. So we walked over to the honey crisp section together. The. Very. Elegant. Mr. Poitier. and I. He picked out a few apples. "You're going to love them," I said. "Next time I see you I'll let you know how they were," he said. Simply charming. We encountered each other in the store a few more times before we checked out at different lanes. I walked out a few feet in front of him and watched as he got into his black Mercedes. Then I got into my minivan and went home to real life.

Forecast: Hot and Sunny

It has been very hot here for the last couple of days. 90 plus degrees hot. I never believed that heat and humidity stuff before but it is really true. It's not so much the heat as it is the humidity. 95 and humid in Chicago is just nasty. Steamy, sticky, sweaty, sucky. 95 and not humid in LA is....just plain hot. Verrrry hot. I know I feel much more at home here than I did a year ago but not completely because I still find myself thinking about "them" and how "they" do things here. I guess when I start thinking "we" instead of "they" the transformation will be complete. Anyway, it is very hot here. And here's what I've seen people wearing: Sweatshirts, long-sleeved shirts, jeans, and......Uggs. Yes. Uggs. Uggs and shorts on a 95 degree day. I had to restrain myself from going up to an Ugg-clad girl and asking her what her thought process was as she was getting dressed. I mean--what could it possibly be? "I'll wear my jean cut-offs and my flip-flops--no--too beachy. Maybe my wedge sandals---no---too dressy. I know, I'll wear my Uggs!!! They'll be perfect." I've also seen many many people carrying open umbrellas to shield them from the sun. I guess applying sunscreen is too much trouble. Another thing I've noticed that is different here than in Chicago is that people go to the movies on a beautiful day here. That doesn't happen in Chicago. I guess it is because every day is beautiful here. I am trying to think of things people do in Chicago that would seem strange to a newcomer but I can't think of any. Maybe that when there is a threat of a snowstorm people head for the grocery store to stock up as if they might be trapped in their houses for days. Can you think of anything a newcomer to your area might find strange?

Doctor 90210

Just kidding. Went to the doctor today for a complete physical. EKG, the little hammer, bloodwork, "say ahhhh", the whole works. What a nice man. Completely normal. Didn't try to sell me a new nose or any strange devices to insert inside myself. He spent a lot of time with me, answered my questions, and has a lovely and very reassuring manner. He told me my heart is fine. My children will be happy to know I actually have one. I don't remember why, but he mentioned blogs and I told him I have one. I gave him the address and he said he would check it out. If you read this, Doc, it was great to meet you, but as I tell all the repairmen who come to my house, I hope I don't see you for quite a while! By the way, do you have a dentist you can refer me to?.....

Dentist 90210

I had a real L.A. moment today. A freaky, creepy moment. Maybe I'm too old. Maybe I'm too midwestern. Or maybe it's just..I dunno...that I'm normal? I was at the dentist's office. My new dentist. My new L.A. dentist. I had gotten a referral from my Chicago dentist for a dentist here. Unfortunately, between the time I got the referral and the time I called him, he had passed away. His wife was nice enough to call me back and refer me to the dentist she was going to be using. So I filled out all the forms, had x-rays taken, and was sitting in the chair when the dentist came in. We exchanged pleasantries and he said, "now I'm going to put my hands in your mouth." My first thought was "without even buying me dinner first?" but I was soon distracted by what he said next. "Have you heard about the "blah-blah lift" we offer here? A non-invasive face lift?" "Please!" I stopped him. "Don't depress me." "Maybe for a friend, or your mother," he backtracked. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall had he had my mother in the chair. "Look," he went on. "Here's my face with the lift." Then he covered his mouth and two clear plastic curved things emerged from his mouth. "Here's my face without. It takes off about 5 years." "I think you look great either way," I managed to say. Honestly, I didn't see much of a difference. I didn't say what I wanted to say. After all, he has a drill and he knows how to use it. What I wanted to say was, "Are you f-ing kidding me? Just clean my teeth and let me outta here." You walk around holding plastic in your mouth and who knows where else all day and only go back to 2002? You'd get my attention if you said 1997, but 2002? Come on. The rest of the exam concluded uneventfully, except for encouraging me to get Invisalign, a 3/4 reverse crown or some such mumbo-jumbo, and a sealant for my wisdom teeth. In the good old days a dentist would have lulled you into a false sense of security and postponed the hard-sell til the second visit. Everything moves faster now, I guess. Especially the cost of office space in 90210. I feel lucky to have gotten out of there with my wallet, my 2007 face, and my midwestern brain intact.

We're walking....we're walking....

My friend emailed me to ask me if I wanted to go walking in one of the canyons here this morning. No matter that my last walk with her included tripping three times and falling face first on the sidewalk . I'm an optimist. I'll keep trying. Her next email included instructions for me. "Wear sweat pants or comfortable pants. Don't wear jeans. Bring water and kleenex in case you have to pee in the bushes. It IS rattlesnake season." OK, now I'm a little worried. I KNOW to wear sweats, not jeans--I have exercised before, believe it or not. And bring kleenex for WHAT?????!! How long are we going to be walking for? And rattlesnakes? This is sounding less and less like a fun hike with a girlfriend and more and more like some bizarre urban game of Survivor. But I followed instructions. Except for the kleenex.

It all kind of reminded of me of a time about 20 or so years ago when a friend of mine was in town and we wanted to go out for fondue (calm down--it was the 80's!!) on a Saturday night. I called my brother and invited him and his wife to join us. "Don't wear jeans", I told him, "dress a little nicer." A few minutes later I called him back. "They don't take reservations and there will probably be a long wait so you might want to eat a little something before you go." "Let me get this straight," he said. "We're going out to dinner, I can't wear jeans, I have to cook my own food, and I have to eat before I go." "Pretty much", I said. But --back to the hike.
So we headed out toward the canyon, me with my long, rattlesnake repelling sweats and a t-shirt, and she with her scarf tied over her layers of shirts. We both carried water bottles. I didn't ask if she had kleenex hidden somewhere. I sort of didn't want to know.

The hike up the canyon was one of those experiences where you think you are going to die during it and once you get to the top you are glad you survived. The whole hike took about 45 minutes and included beautiful views of L.A. On a clear day, my friend told me, you can see the ocean and Catalina Island. As usual, though, it wasn't clear. We saw mansions perched on hills, the Hollywood sign, and many other walkers, most with dogs. I survived the hike and felt great after a shower at home. I can't wait to do it again. I embarrassed my friend a little by saying a friendly "good morning" to many fellow hikers. "It's L.A.," she said, "they'll think you want something from them." I can't think of anything anyone would think I needed from them in the canyon. Except possibly some kleenex.

One Year Later...

Exactly one year ago today we were in a limo on the way to the airport. With one way tickets. On the way to California. Mr. Minivan and Boy #1 were looking out the front window. Boy #2 and I were looking out the rear window, tears rolling down our faces. We were moving. Now it's a year later and we've all pretty much adjusted. Mr. Minivan still works a lot but is home a lot more, too. He is coaching Boy #2's basketball team. The team has a lot of potential, I'll say that. Boy #1 has made some really nice friends and is currently playing basketball and tennis. Boy #2 also has made some good friends and is playing basketball and baseball. I know where to go to get shoes repaired and to get a picture framed. I know which grocery store always has good grapes and which one has the yogurt I like. I rarely have to use my GPS anymore and almost never get lost. I have even started bumping into people I know. I have made several friends and one very good friend, thankfully. They say what a difference a day makes or a year makes, but the truth is--what a difference a friend makes.

They're Taking Over My Brain

I fear that I am becoming one of them. It seems to be happening slowly, almost without my realizing it. Yet I think that's how it works out here. The other day it was 67 degrees outside and I put on a long-sleeved t shirt. Yes. A. Long. Sleeved. T. Shirt. And the thing is, I didn't even realize what was happening until I put it together with a few other clues. I spoke with a friend from Chicago and she told me it was 44 and cold and rainy. And what went through my mind was "Yuck. Who would want to live somewhere where it is 44 and cold and rainy in the middle of May?" OMG!!! I have only been here for a couple of months. My blood is actually starting to thin. But what is even worse is what's happening in my head. Is it possible that there is something in the water here? But here is how I know for sure that something funny is going on. I drove up La Cienega the other day and gazed toward the hills and toward Sunset, the scene of my nightmare come to life, and I thought, "that doesn't look so steep after all." I've got to do something before it's too late to save myself. But I have to run out first. Let me just go grab a sweatshirt to take with me--after all, it is only going to be 70 today.

Driving Myself Crazy

My parents were here last week for a visit. They drove out to Las Vegas from Chicago in February for a couple of months and then came to spend a few days with us. My mom wanted to get the oil changed in her Lexus, so I called the local Lexus dealer and asked for the service department. "How much is an oil change?" I asked. "$74.95" was the answer. Um, no. We Midwesterners think a $74.95 oil change better include a pedicure at the very least. So the oil change would wait. We had a lot of fun, went to Santa Monica, the Farmers Market--my new favorite place in L.A.-- and had lunch with a friend of my dad's at Mel's Drive-In, a retro-y diner. I plugged the address into the GPS in my car, and we were off. The friendly voice of the GPS directed us up La Cienega. I could see the street getting steeper as it approached the hills in the distance. Have I ever mentioned that I have a recurring anxiety dream where I'm driving up a hill and it gets steeper and steeper and my car starts rolling backward? Anyway, we are driving up La Cienega and I can see that there is a stop light almost at the top of the hill--just where we have to make a left turn onto Sunset. Of course, I am the first car that is stopped at the light, still headed uphill, having to make a left turn when the light changes. And there is a big truck in back of me. My heart is pounding. My dream has become my reality. The light turns green. I take my foot off the brake and put it on the gas. In the few seconds between those two actions, my car starts to roll backwards a few inches. Now my heart is really pounding. I step on the gas and thankfully, start going forward and make the turn. I hope this lunch is good, because I'm never going back to this place again. My dad's friend gets there and my heart has returned to a semi-normal rhythm. I ask him if all the streets leading to Sunset are that steep. "No," he says, "that's pretty much the worst one. I usually try to avoid that one." Now he tells me.

Some observations

I have realized why I go to the grocery store every day. Not only is it a break from unpacking, but it is a little bit of face-to-face human contact other than my own family. I find myself chatting up everyone from the deli lady to the produce guy to the checkers. And they have to be nice to me because I'm a customer. I have also noticed that whenever a service person comes to the house I switch into hostess mode. "Would you like a Coke or a bottle of water?" I ask the phone guy and the cable installer. I am days away from offering them cheese and crackers, I fear.

A couple of days ago was Boy #2's first baseball game. A very serious league, this one is. Lots of rules. A real dugout, a real umpire, and a real scoreboard. It was about 68 degrees and I had been running around all day. Besides, I'm from Chicago. That's practically a summer day back home. I wore a tank top. I walked up to the bleachers and saw the other mothers. In. Scarves. And. Fleece. Can you believe it? Actually the temperature did drop soon after I got to the game and I put on my sweatshirt, but really, scarves and 68 degrees? Fragile people. And they all told me I'll be just like they are soon.

The unpacking continues. More observations as they occur.

Welcome to the Neighborhood?

In some communities, when someone new moves in, the Welcome Wagon visits. Sometimes the neighbors come to introduce themselves, usually bearing cookies or maybe even a bundt cake. L.A. is such a fast-paced city that I didn't really expect the Welcome Wagon, but what I got was so much more.

Last Saturday, as Mr. Minivan was putting yet more trash bags and moving boxes out in the alley to be picked up, he found a smouldering mattress. Yes, that's right, a mattress had been set on fire and then left to smoulder outside our back gate. Maybe it's a local custom involving marshmellows and graham crackers, but since none of those, nor any Welcome Wagon, was to be found, he poured water on it and continued taking out the trash.

Right after that we went to the Little League opening night festivities. Quite the event, with giant inflatable slides, a raffle (I later found out I won a Curt Schilling autographed jersey, but I digress), a silent auction, and lots of food for sale--the local fireman were even grilling hamburgers and hot dogs. Very small-town in the middle of the big city. We told the fireman what had happened in the alley and they told us we shouldn't hesitate to call the police or fire departments about something like that. But it was over and we enjoyed the rest of the evening.

Yesterday I was out in front getting the mail and a fully-uniformed fireman walked up the driveway, saying "Hi." How nice, I thought, he's here to welcome us--what a nice surprise even without the bundt cake. But, not exactly. He told me that there were a bunch of fireman out in the back putting out a smouldering mattress and that there was also a burned-out couch back there. He asked if, since we were new here, we were putting extra furniture out in the alley. I was horrified. I explained what had happened on Saturday. The neighbor next door was out in the alley, too, giving me dirty looks. She never did introduce herself. I guess I too would be a little crabby if new neighbors moved in and furniture started spontaneously combusting all in the same week. So, anyway, the policemen took my name as the "reporting party" since the neighbor was too busy glaring at me to get her ID. I told them I didn't want to see my name in the local paper. And now along with unpacking and trying to find my way around, I also have to keep an eye out for my local pyromaniac. All in all, I'd rather have the bundt cake.

First Celebrity Sightings

Who knew Little League was a great place to spot celebrities? I was talking to one of guys who produced "Glory Road" and over his wife's shoulder I spotted someone who looked a lot like Sela Ward (from Once & Again, Sisters, and House). So I asked his wife and, sure enough, it was Sela Ward. You know, me and Sela Ward, Little League moms. We have so much in common. Once I start drinking coffee I'm sure we'll go grab many lattes together. Then I spotted a bearded man who looked like an older Danny Bonaduce (think Partridge Family) and of course it turned out that he was Danny Bonaduce. I also learned that Tom Cruise turns up at a lot of soccer games, but soccer season is a long way off. More sightings as they occur....

We're here.......

Several hundred boxes, many tears, a lot of dinners out, and many good-byes later, we are in La-La Land. It's beautiful here but a bit strange. These people are freaked out by rain. It was raining the day we went to register the boys at their new school. At 10 in the morning there was a flurry of activity in the office. Several teachers came in to tell the administrator that it was raining and that "we might have to go to the rainy day schedule." An announcement to that effect was made, and I asked what the rainy day schedule was. "Well, the kids don't go outside and they have recess and gym inside." Kind of what is called "indoor recess" at our school back home, where that decision is made 10 minutes before lunch, I guess. And then a little while later the rain stopped and there was yet another big discussion on whether to go off the "rainy day schedule." I also heard a woman on a cell phone at the grocery store assure someone that she was, indeed, "warm and dry." These Californians are very fragile, it seems.

At another grocery store I was behind a woman at the deli counter and she asked to see the ingredients in the turkey. I remember hoping it was an allergy-related request. Then in the produce department I noticed that California-grown avocados were $2.89 each. I asked the produce guy why I paid 99 cents for them in Illinois and they were more than double that in the state where they were grown. "Because this is where all the rich people live," he answered. I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.

I've had no celebrity sightings yet. I think I will start drinking coffee because it seems that coffee shops are a sure bet for celebrity sightings. Just look thru any issue of People magazine. That, along with unpacking the hundreds of boxes, will be my project for next week.

You'd better sit down for this one.

I had to. Well, I don't know how to say this exactly, but I'm just going to go ahead and say it. We're moving. Yes, you heard that right. We're moving. I know--I still can't believe it myself. The possibility has been out there for the last couple of years, but you know how when you hear about something for a long time and it doesn't happen, you sort of don't believe it ever will? That's how this has been. Mr. Minivan has been telling me (and anyone who will listen to him) that this was in the future, and now the future seems to have arrived.

His business needs to relocate. We are headed west to the city of angels. La-La Land. Los Angeles. Which, I might add, is a fun place to visit--but to actually live there? Don't those people get bored by all that sun? Here in the Midwest we actually appreciate a nice day.

For the last few weeks I have been very busy getting rid of some of the crap in my house--I mean donating some of my gently used items to charity, and throwing out some less than gently used items. My garage is so clean you could eat off the floor. Well, not really. And my house is such a vision of cleanliness and organization that my children think they're in the wrong house. The "For Sale" sign is up on the front yard. I guess it's really happening. People I barely know are telling me they are going to miss me--my mailman and the dry cleaner. My cleaning lady of 13 years started crying the other day because she's upset I'm leaving. People I do know want to spend time with me--"let's go for coffee"--or in my case, a Diet Coke. I have now become a reason to throw a party. My parents are putting up a brave face and are trying to avoid the reality of all this by going on a Hawaiian cruise. It's very sad and very exciting all at the same time.