Opening Day

Suburban Wasteland


This past year finds me transplanted from a very colorful casual California Berg to a Bedroom Community Suburb of New York City.

In California I could push my baby in stroller to a comfortable coffee shop. There, I could hang out with my mom friends my art friends and make new friends. Discover that we have friends in common that we didn’t know about. This coffee shop was my creative inspiration. The board room where planning and scheming meetings happened planned and unplanned.

The neighborhood was colorful socio-economically and racially. I actually miss the clinkity clink sound of the homeless people collecting cans and bottles on trash day.

Longing overtakes me at times for the memories of making lemonade from the lemon tree in our backyard, sitting in the hot-tub in the middle of a foggy winter morning watching the squirrels and birds and neighborhood cats do their morning rounds,

My Dad calls California the land of sticks and twigs, fruits and nuts. He’s referring to the people. I miss all of those fruits and nuts.

Now, I live in a town that is so small it’s called a Borough. The town amazingly enough is about the same size as the neighborhood that I left. However, I can only guess at that as I have not done any census or demographic research on it. All I can really comment on is my personal experience. The home we decided to purchase, a four bedroom center hall colonial feels gaping at times to me. Our children have a safe quiet neighborhood street to play around. We are walking distance from the elementary school. It’s all very Beaver Cleaver” or “My Three Sons”. Although we only have two children, a girl who at this writing is 7 years old and a son, one and a half years old.

The days have begun to blend together for me. The passage of time marked only by the rhythms of the day. Husband awake at 5 am to begin his daily ritual to catch the bus on time. The school bus horn at 8:08 am, at 8:10 am begin getting the kids into their winter coats. 8:15 to 8:25 walk to school. 8:30 am nurse the baby. The rest of the day can consist of any combination of activities, house cleaning, errands, email, following my toddler around to clean up his latest mess. There is also the watching of the toddler to make sure that as he explores his physical world I am near by to consol the bumps and bruises of body and ego. Then at 3:00 pm it’s time to pick up my first grader Izabella at school and begin the afternoon routine of getting homework done, cooking dinner, bath time, bed time. Then there are the occasional bellydance classes for me. Actually, it’s my obsession. My religion is to get out on Monday nights and move my body. It’s a 1 hour period when I really am in the moment and not thinking about any schedule.

After the kids are in bed, Eric, he’s the Dear Husband (DH) is working on his masters thesis and whatever he does on the computer.

There are three toilets to clean. Five loads of laundry every four days and still many boxes to unpack in the basement. If only we had the money to convert all of our closets to the perfection of organization that is being sold everywhere on the TV.


This Suburban Wasteland that we’ve moved to gives me the feeling of being in a dessert where the tumbleweeds roam. This blog I suppose is the discovery and naming of the tumble weeds. The dried up balls of plants that used to be full of life, just drifting on the wind. This morning my heart is aching for what? The answer remains to be seen. My mind is full of the image of tumble weeds blowing through the “hood”, full of big homes with no-one around to notice them.

I am not much into westerns, cowboys and Indians anymore. When I was a kid I identified more with the Indians. The imagery of wasteland and tumbleweeds came to me lying in bed one morning between the half awake and half dream state.

If and when I can get out of this house and past my street………

My inspiration to begin a blog has been the constant prodding of my friend Lecram. I’ve had many false starts. Then the thought of, my life on a blog?! My life is really pretty mundane. Who would even want to read it? It was after reading an entry of his that something resonated in me.
“Actually it's strange and wonderful how through blogging we connect as deeply as we do. It's one of the aspects of blogging that I quite enjoy... being connected. That a circle is developed and created outside of my physical social circle who I actually give a damn about. I have learned much about many individuals through reading their blogs.”

So here I am. Throwing my life into the ring. The web-ring of blogging.