Yesterday, I giddily cleaned out my handy-dandy laptop attaché. I get a certain visceral satisfaction out of keeping things clean and orderly. Organizing and then reorganizing to squeeze out a little more efficiency of my work or daily routine simply makes me tingle.
Except when I forget to refill.
There are a few items I must have in my bag every morning before I walk out the back door. Emphasis is on "few," because unlike most women I know, who simply add a bag to their daily luggage when they can't find something in the land of the lost, i.e. their very own portable black hole-slash-time machine where everything is thrown and lost to frazzled moments in everyday history and the unsolved mysteries that their men are usually to blame for "Well, you wouldn't have to wait if you remembered where you put my hair brush."
Like I was saying, unlike others, the few items I port each day are essential to my daily routine: my company dog tags (ID), my wallet with just credit cards, license, and train pass (no three year old receipts or coupons for "25% off your next purchase at Ann Taylor"), my round-robin of keys, a pen or two, my iPhone, a pack of gum, a mini-umbrella (only if the forecast suggests one ) and some tissue.
Alas, I forgot to refill on the tissue last night. Granted, I don't need them every morning, but on occasion I will have, presumably, allergy-prompted sinus build-up that requires draining. Without my usually dependable store of Kleenex or Starbucks napkins though - I'm screwed.
The train seats are simply too close for comfort to desperately rely on shirt sleeves, the loose ends of crusty old used tissues or a stiff page from the PowerPoint presentation I printed out to review during the commute home; it's too uncouth and embarrassing to execute, which usually means I have to resort to those annoying sniffles that get stronger as we get closer to our final destination because you've got to put the vacuum in reverse and then simply swallow or store the build-up. Ugh, simply not a pretty process.
Oh, but don't worry, I'll spare you the slimy details of the expulsion, because this little diddy actually has a happy ending.
Once seated and right after we picked up the overweight Indian dude at Cortlandt Station who apologetically wanted to squeeze into the seat next to me, so that his big ass and arm would overhang into my space the rest of the ride (sorry, apologies not accepted), I remembered.
I remembered that indeed I had remembered to refill. Except I hadn't replenished with one of those compact drug store packages, nor did I replace with a scrunch of coffeehouse brown tearsheets.
Rather, to my pleasant surprise, as I assessed what were my essential items while composing this lament-cum-exhortation, I found the almost-done roll of toilet paper in the side powercord-charger pocket of my bag. Hallelujah!
And so it is. It pays to be routinely organized, because than you're on rote-control, so that if you forget you actually probably really haven't forgotten, but just forgot whether you did or not.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Ep. 41: This, Our Daily Bread
Olivia Luz, our little princess was born two weeks ago tomorrow.
She is merely one of my many daily blessings.
Lately, almost all of my one hour of "free" time has been spent playing semi-mindless WWF during my daily commute to work.
I'd word-whittle my time away on the return trip too, but these days I'm almost always the guy with a little drool sliding down the side of my snore-hole.
The first true love of my life, writing, has had to take a back seat to juggling two babies, a manor-of-a-home, a happy marriage, a blended family made of rambunctious boys, and my evolving 9-to-5 (i.e., there is no such thing as job security anymore, adapt to the culture of "constant improvement" and reorgs, or - be ready to fill that cardboard box).
I'm writing now because this catharsis is long overdue. No complaints apart from the fact that I don't have time to pen my thoughts, share my observations and express my appreciation for all the wonderful little things that fulfill my days.
As I told Margarita yesterday whilst shoveling in my last scoop of her heavenly Posole, "As veces, estoy en la oficina y me pregunto 'Porque estoy aquí?' Entonces regreso a casa, a mi familia y cenas maravillosas como esta-y recuerdo."
"Sometimes, I'm in the office and I ask myself 'Why am I here?' Then I return to my home and family, and wonderful meals like this and I remember."
Monday, July 1, 2013
Ep. 40: Eureka all over again
Milo and I went for a walk around the block early Saturday morning, while the whole hood seemed to still be in bed. During our stroll he reminded me of an invaluable lesson: less is more.
It is a lesson I've been learning all my life, one which I must be reminded of all too often.
For I've learned that much of the stress and anxiety we contend with in life is simply a consequence of pursuing more and ending up with less.
At first glance, our routine struggles may seem purely in the name of something better, when most often we are merely maintaining the status quo.
However, if we dig beneath the surface often you'll find a disconnect between our pursuit of luxury and a basic foundation for happiness.
Most of us have far more than we really need to be happy. Much of our limited time is wasted either simply storing stuff for nothing, never to be used again, or in the vacuous pursuit of being entertained; when with very little effort we can either entertain ourselves, or better yet, each other.
That's what Milo reminded me of when we took our little stroll about the block. Every walkway was a detour; every driveway was a beginning to a new adventure.
The treasures we found along the way were precious, the value of each piece punctuated with a genuine quizzical inspection and a declaration of pure elation and discovery, as if every infantile "Unh!" was Eureka all over again.
Our trove was priceless and included a flower, one dead and shriveled-up worm, un palito, three rocks, a Popsicle stick, a loose wad of dried grass and a whole lot of curiosity and appreciation for the little things.
It is a lesson I've been learning all my life, one which I must be reminded of all too often.
For I've learned that much of the stress and anxiety we contend with in life is simply a consequence of pursuing more and ending up with less.
At first glance, our routine struggles may seem purely in the name of something better, when most often we are merely maintaining the status quo.
However, if we dig beneath the surface often you'll find a disconnect between our pursuit of luxury and a basic foundation for happiness.
Most of us have far more than we really need to be happy. Much of our limited time is wasted either simply storing stuff for nothing, never to be used again, or in the vacuous pursuit of being entertained; when with very little effort we can either entertain ourselves, or better yet, each other.
That's what Milo reminded me of when we took our little stroll about the block. Every walkway was a detour; every driveway was a beginning to a new adventure.
The treasures we found along the way were precious, the value of each piece punctuated with a genuine quizzical inspection and a declaration of pure elation and discovery, as if every infantile "Unh!" was Eureka all over again.
Our trove was priceless and included a flower, one dead and shriveled-up worm, un palito, three rocks, a Popsicle stick, a loose wad of dried grass and a whole lot of curiosity and appreciation for the little things.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Ep. 39: Fodder for a novel
(Sigh)
Oh my gosh.
Ugh.
These have been some of most truly trying and stressful weeks of my life.
Hence, the Peekskill Commuter's prolonged and pronounced absence.
'Nough said. Someday over that rainbow I will have to write a novel.
Life is never dull.
Oh my gosh.
Ugh.
These have been some of most truly trying and stressful weeks of my life.
Hence, the Peekskill Commuter's prolonged and pronounced absence.
'Nough said. Someday over that rainbow I will have to write a novel.
Life is never dull.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Ep 38: Vale la Pena
Thursday, May 22
Tonight, the train was a conduit to a mass exodus of tourists and New Yorkers heading north for the long weekend. Rather than having to endure the dreaded traffic of tomorrow many seemingly had smartly chosen to leave early, lugging their luggage and babies along with them.
In a way, by living in Peekskill I feel like I'm on permanent vacation.
Well, sort of. I still have to get up early every morning to either go to work or get Milo; I still have to work for a living; and I still don't feel like we're completely settled in enough, to relax and feel like there is something on the long list of house repairs (we desperately need a new attic fan) or seasonal changes (30+ window screens) that I should be working on otherwise.
We're getting there though.
Initially, I had figured the end of May, but that's a week away and there's at least a summer's worth of changes that need to be made.
I'd try to do them late at night, but after taking care of Milo for an hour, dinner, a bath and a little prep for the next day, I'm kaput.
Plus, by Thursday morn I'm ready for the weekend.
Wednesdays are not merely hump days for me they are literally ones where I must go over a mountain.
Yesterday began at six AM when I drove into the city to barely beat the traffic. It only took a little over an hour, as opposed to the three hours it took last week when I left at 6:45.
Then, after work, I drive an hour into to Bloomfield to have dinner with the Boys; except this time Enzo had a middle school spring concert that began at 7 and after 7th grade orchestra, girl's chorus, boy's chorus and then band; you had the four equivalents for 8th grade. Ugh. Over the two hours Enzo only performed in one of those eight sessions.
When it finally ended at nine, I took the boys over to Subway for some sandwiches.
At 9:35 I was on the road again.
After stopping for gas, then a large espresso at the first Dunkin' off the Parkway, I went over Bear Mountain and finally arrived home around 10:30.
I was pooped even after the triple shot of caffeine, not only because of the long haul through this weekly journey around the world and back, but also because the last stretch of the journey, right after crossing the Bear Mountain Bridge, is Route 202, an ugly and utterly treacherous and twisting 4-mile trek in the dark along a cliff. I swear traversing this road is solely responsible for taking a day of my life away each week.
Nonetheless and allthemore, I do it, if only because I love my kids and need to endure despite the imminent danger and subsequent duress.
In Spanish we would say, "Vale la pena" - it's simply worth it, regardless of the pain and trouble.
(UPDATE: I was wrong, all these extra passengers are due to the West Point graduation happening this weekend. Just overheard two guys from down south chatting and chumming over their common destination up and right across the river from Peekskill.)
Photo Caption: Each trek along this 4 mile stretch each week takes a day off my life
Tonight, the train was a conduit to a mass exodus of tourists and New Yorkers heading north for the long weekend. Rather than having to endure the dreaded traffic of tomorrow many seemingly had smartly chosen to leave early, lugging their luggage and babies along with them.
In a way, by living in Peekskill I feel like I'm on permanent vacation.
Well, sort of. I still have to get up early every morning to either go to work or get Milo; I still have to work for a living; and I still don't feel like we're completely settled in enough, to relax and feel like there is something on the long list of house repairs (we desperately need a new attic fan) or seasonal changes (30+ window screens) that I should be working on otherwise.
We're getting there though.
Initially, I had figured the end of May, but that's a week away and there's at least a summer's worth of changes that need to be made.
I'd try to do them late at night, but after taking care of Milo for an hour, dinner, a bath and a little prep for the next day, I'm kaput.
Plus, by Thursday morn I'm ready for the weekend.
Wednesdays are not merely hump days for me they are literally ones where I must go over a mountain.
Yesterday began at six AM when I drove into the city to barely beat the traffic. It only took a little over an hour, as opposed to the three hours it took last week when I left at 6:45.
Then, after work, I drive an hour into to Bloomfield to have dinner with the Boys; except this time Enzo had a middle school spring concert that began at 7 and after 7th grade orchestra, girl's chorus, boy's chorus and then band; you had the four equivalents for 8th grade. Ugh. Over the two hours Enzo only performed in one of those eight sessions.
When it finally ended at nine, I took the boys over to Subway for some sandwiches.
At 9:35 I was on the road again.
After stopping for gas, then a large espresso at the first Dunkin' off the Parkway, I went over Bear Mountain and finally arrived home around 10:30.
I was pooped even after the triple shot of caffeine, not only because of the long haul through this weekly journey around the world and back, but also because the last stretch of the journey, right after crossing the Bear Mountain Bridge, is Route 202, an ugly and utterly treacherous and twisting 4-mile trek in the dark along a cliff. I swear traversing this road is solely responsible for taking a day of my life away each week.
Nonetheless and allthemore, I do it, if only because I love my kids and need to endure despite the imminent danger and subsequent duress.
In Spanish we would say, "Vale la pena" - it's simply worth it, regardless of the pain and trouble.
(UPDATE: I was wrong, all these extra passengers are due to the West Point graduation happening this weekend. Just overheard two guys from down south chatting and chumming over their common destination up and right across the river from Peekskill.)
Photo Caption: Each trek along this 4 mile stretch each week takes a day off my life
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Ep 37: The Son Also Worries
Mom's texted photo of her giant showboat cocktail,
evidence that she would be even less anxious to get to a shelter,
did not reassure me.
Tuesday, May 21
Milo continues to teeth, so I was up at 2:45 for an hour trying to sooth him. Poor Chelsea had to leave at 4 for work this morning, so she barely got five hours of sleep, if that, considering Olivia has been kicking and hiccuping a lot more lately.
When I arrived to the track around 7:45 there was barely a soul, maybe half a dozen, waiting on the platform. This was in stark contrast to the 7:32, which always has dozens upon dozens already waiting by 7:20 or so.
At 7:50 the droves descended upon the surrounding parking lots and the drones finally filed in. The mass entry was like a refugee scene from an apocalypse or pandemic film; or rather, more like a zombie movie.
The rush of the AC helped mute the distant chatting of three women at the front of the car, so the ride was fairly tranquil. With the haze of a hot day in the making hanging over the Hudson, the ride in was also uneventful - no derailings, no tornados.
Alas, looming disaster is not too far away considering Mom is on vacation in Branson, Missouri this week. The weather channel warns "Tornado Risk Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Missouri," with severe thunderstorms likely to hit this area on Wednesday.
At first chance I texted Mom and asked her to find the nearest shelter. She informed me that she was on a show boat on the Swanee River somewhere.
I promptly replied, "Please stay safe Mom. I know showboats don't have shelters. Remember, The Wizard of Oz was just a movie, and Dorothy was simply dreaming, whereas tornados are all too real."
She reassured me that after the show she was going straight back to her condo at the timeshare complex and that she now knows where the shelter is.
Hmmm, her casual, unconcerned reply was not that helpful. I still worried and wondered if she would actually make the effort to go to the shelter at the first sign of a twister.
Ugh, oh the worries of a doting son.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Ep 36: Tranquilo, Lorenzo
Maybe, YOU need to take a chill pill Pops!
It was a tough morning on the train.
The woman sitting next to me was a nervous wreck. She kept fidgeting and fiddling with all her toys including a laptop which she could not get to connect to the ether; an iPhone in a sequined case; a reading tablet; a green leather laptop bag; a fancy patent white leather handbag, and her eye glasses.
She kept shifting and adjusting and waiting for something to happen throughout the ride.
Dyed platinum blonde with a black leather motorcycle jacket, she looked like she was in her early fifties, desperately clinging to the first half of her life by throttling anxiously forward, attempting to make meaning through meaningless busy work.
It was hard to ignore her. Unlike most of our fellow passengers, who were either sleeping, quietly reading or simply pondering the day ahead, this hot potato was constantly moving, but seemingly accomplishing little. Ugh.
After the first couple of minutes of her spasms I wanted to tell her, "You sure are nervous," but decided it would probably make things worse or, at minimum, make things awkward for the next hour.
As we rolled into the mile-long tunnel into Grand Central she got ready to jump out of her seat. Poised, her knees began bouncing her bags and things as she tried to sit still, anxiously wondering when I would move out of my seat, so she could pass me.
Blondie sat up stiff and straight in her seat and was like a sentinel scrutinizing each person that was ahead of us, calculating and mentally pushing the lit elevator button. I could almost hear her mind pushing, "Come on everybody, move."
Meanwhile, I sat still and steady through the ride and slow inching into the station. The only things moving for me were my thumb composing this post and my eyes shifting occasionally to my left to catch a glimpse of what this lady was doing now.
A few minutes later, while I was walking down Park, a barely twenty-something version of Nelly stepped up to the curb next to me.
Taking the green light, she strode ahead of me and I noticed she wore practically the same exact outfit as the thorn who was at my side just ten minutes earlier: a short leather jacket, a cotton tee that hung past the dangling waist straps of her jacket and lithely covered her ass, tight black jeans, and the same ankle high leather boots. It was probably the same outfit that they both saw in last month's edition of whatever-fashion-magazine this girl was carrying.
The only difference were the models and how they wore their retro 80s outfit: the one without crow feet was a natural brunette, who wore her hair up in a sloppy bun and her boots untied, with tongue and laces dangling wild and free; her jacket was also unzipped and she seemed genuinely unconcerned about anything.
Perhaps, there is no good and positive or valid point with my scathing observation. All I really know was that I was annoyed, and writing about her simply makes me feel some sort of visceral redemption.
Perhaps, it is really I who needs to take a chill pill.
Tranquilo, Lorenzo
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