Sorry seems to be the hardest word

image: http://4.bp.blogspot.com/

Last week my boy crossed the line and said a couple of really mean things to me.  I was quite rocked by his lashing out and am expecting an apology. Looks like it might be a while.

During these days of waiting, I’ve been puzzling over his inability to offer a simple “I’m sorry.”  As a mom, I can only assume I failed to convey some fundamental component of character to him.  I can’t imagine that he doesn’t understand how hurt my feelings were by his words, especially since I’ve mentioned a number of times how hurt my feelings were by his words.  I can only conclude that he must not know how to properly apologize.

After arriving at this conclusion, I’ve made several attempts to help him formulate an apology.  My initial bid was quietly direct and went something like this: “You know I deserve and expect an apology from you, right?”  Response: nothing.

I continued to treat him to my cold shoulder, a technique which I find most males struggle to get beyond, until I took another crack at it prompted by his request to host a sleepover at our house.  When I refused to allow him to have a friend spend the night (using a minimum of words, of course), he asked if I would change my mind if he apologized.  I told him I wasn’t negotiating with him and gave him an excerpt from Randy Pausch’s The Last Lecture to absorb read. The topic of the chapter was perfect – it was a discussion about how an insincere apology is more offensive than no apology.  End result: nothing.

My most recent foray in eliciting an apology was an appeal to his adolescent need to be popular.  I asked him how he thought his friends and their parents would feel about him if they knew the things he had said to me.  His response: nothing.

I don’t think my son is a bad kid, nor do I think he truly thinks I am a not-too-smart-female-dog, but I do believe we’re at an impasse.  I don’t often dig my heels in because I think parenting is the ultimate pick your battles kind of job, but I know this is a critical lesson he needs to learn and, for that, I’m not apologizing.

Any suggestions or similar experiences you might want to share?

4, 3, 2…

The “jam” in Mountain Jam must be code
for mud, right?

Four of us attended Mountain Jam for what was consecutive year number three and I learned two very important things… the first had something to do with knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything will be fine because your oldest friends always have your back.  The second was equally practical but involved mud, and boots that no longer kept the mud out.  The ultimate message was the friends are for forever and the boots can be replaced.  End of story.

One last thing – the crowd at this event was fantastic – peaceful, friendly, fun and colorful as hell.  Getting these shots was a joy!

Taking a break from the Lillys…

to focus on the beautiful Iris of spring!  Lilac season  has passed and the current floral fragrance scenting my evening run is lily of the valley, but what’s really feeding my visual senses are irises.

The irises this year – they have been spectacular!  Maybe it is just because mine are finally doing something after settling in for the past 2 years in my parking strip flower patch, but I don’t remember ever seeing such a glorious array of iris varieties as I have noticed this spring.

The rain is kind of beating these beauties down a bit, but I console myself by cutting the ones I find lying horizontal and bringing them into the house to admire.  Here they are for you to enjoy -

Happy Friday!

Everything I know about Troy, I learned from Mary Panza

A flower grows in South Troy

Ok, maybe that isn’t 100% true, but she really did get me started on my Troy education.  When I first moved to Albany almost 25 years ago, I received some advice from a childhood friend regarding Troy.  He said, and I quote, “Troy is the armpit of the Universe.” I was uncertain exactly what that meant, but seeing as how I didn’t have a car, Troy wasn’t an area that I planned to explore with any haste anyway.  No problem.

But, then I met Mary Panza, South Troy denizen extraordinaire, and began venturing across the river.  We generally ended up at her sister’s house, where we consumed fantastic quantities of eggplant and pasta, all bathed in the senior Mary Panza’s fabulous red sauce.  My personal opinion began to form about the collar city – Troy was ok with me.

Since that time, I’ve been pulled to Troy for their superior Farmer’s Market, beer and music venues, restaurants and unique shops.  I learned to never move a folding chair left in the street and to maintain a sense of the river’s location to navigate the grid of one-way streets.  I like Troy – there, I said it.

Last night I intensified my like of Troy to a level of affectionate love.  Granted, the company I was in was a definite factor, but the charm of Troy is strong and it has never looked better. Speaking of looking, our evening began at the beautiful and historic St. Agnes Cemetery in Menands. Photographer and TU blogger, Chuck Miller, had an event to celebrate the opening of his stellar photo exhibit.  The images he captures are primarily local and demonstrate a keen eye for both lighthearted humor and thoughtful observation.  Cool venue, great show, get there before it’s all gone.

Plenty for two – with leftovers for lunch!

Our next stop was DeFazio’s in Troy for some real pizza.  Everything about this joint charms me – the almost magical way the simple ingredients combine for a pizza that is the best I’ve ever had outside of NYC, the politeness of every person who helped to take care of us, the black and white tiled floor, and the red convertible the delivery guy drives.  Everything!  We went with an antipasto and a small pizza with olives and prosciutto.  The antipasto is substantial (served with crunchy garlic bread) and the small pizza was the perfect size for 2.  I think we may need to try the pasta next time because we witnessed a plate of it being served and were practically in need of restraints.  Have any of you ever had their pasta?

The pizza is all that.

We ended the evening with a visit to the Charles F. Lucas Confectionary around the corner from Monument Square, in downtown Troy.  I would feel guilty about not getting to this place sooner, but I believe last night was the first time I’ve been in Troy since this fantastic place opened.  I have to say, it isn’t as if I’ve been missed, because the joint was positively jumping!  The waves of guests entering and departing during our 90 minutes there, was impressive.  We had a tour of the space by the owner, Vic Christopher, and I can’t say enough about the vision he and his wife, Heather, made into a dreamy reality for us all to share.  Wow.  Our bellies were full of pizza and cappicola, but the beautiful glass of Cote du Rhone rose’ Vic brought my way was exactly the crowning touch to a memorable May evening.  I am incredibly enthusiastic about this project. the additional related grocery store business in the preliminary works and the new-to-me term “reclamation construction.”  Troy is a lucky city to have landed such super smart and cool entrepreneurs and I imagine myself finding my way to the Collar City with previously unimagined frequency.

Armpit of the universe?  Au contraire – more like the heart of the Capital District.  Let’s hope our next Albany mayor fosters the kind of growth Troy is now experiencing – and that Mary invites me over for eggplant really soon.

What I now know about pressure cookers…

image: http://www2.worldpub.net

They scare me.
I’ve always considered the pressure cooker to be the most menacing piece of kitchen equipment.  I understand the appeal of cooking something super fast, rather than leaving it to braise for hours upon hours, but I was always intimidated by their mystery.  This past week has only confirmed my fears.

They continue to make a contribution to contemporary life.
Last Monday’s events at the Boston Marathon added the verbalized request from my youngest child of “Please don’t get killed at your race on Sunday” to the terrorism dialogue I have had with my children over the years.  The opening statement in this conversation came in the form of question in September of 2001: “Why do the buildings keep falling down?” I don’t like having to revisit these acts of violence with my boys, and I am resentfully heartbroken about the necessity of these talks.  It sucks.

They boggle me with their capabilities.
I don’t understand a lot of what happened last week.  I can’t grasp that so much carnage can come from ball bearings, nails and other bits of metal.  I will never accept that an elected official could make a statement like this, and while I’m not beyond a bit of suspicion when it comes to my government (weapons of mass destruction,  anyone?), I really don’t believe there is any type of conspiracy theory worthy activity here, either.

They work quickly, but not necessarily reliably.
The media coverage was at least as explosive as an overheated pressure cooker.  The unsubstantiated information circulated was alarming and it was difficult to look away from my Twitter feed.  When those pictures of the two suspects were “broadcast,” it became impossible to ignore the immediacy of current news technology.  It was breathtaking.

I don’t ever want one in my home.

Family, familiar, first time

Those are the three words which most sum up my recent trip to Europe.  I’ve been back a week now and finally feel myself getting my mojo back to begin resuming my frenetic intense schedule of boys, jobs, chores and miles.  I imagine I’ll be writing a series of posts to share some of the trip highlights, so stay tuned.

If you recall, when I left for the trip I didn’t really have much lined up in the way of formal plans.  Our first few days were spent in the Titisee-Neustadt area, outside of Freiburg.  They were very much having a spring similar to the one we are experiencing here in Albany, that is to say, nonexistent.  I really didn’t mind because the dusting of snow which welcomed us each morning was beautiful and I feel as if I now have an inkling of what winter must look like in the Black Forest.

Liam and I took a train into Freiburg, primarily to experience the mode of travel, and were thrilled to join (for a brief time) the enthusiastic crowds heading into the city for a soccer football match featuring the local team.  Their chants, cheers and clanking bottles were an excellent soundtrack to accompany the train’s winding through the mountains.  I was able to remember the precise spot where the stag leaped over the abyss to escape hunters, and snapped a picture to keep forever.

Hirschsprung

We spent an afternoon walking around Freiburg, a city with medieval roots and contemporary ideas about living green and education.  One of the things which most struck me was the apparently seamless manner in which the modern and the historic are merged.  For instance, there are numerous remnants of the original stone wall which encircled the city centuries ago.  These relics are treated with respect, yet are incorporated into the current city in a way that is practical – we saw one piece which has been put to use as an interior wall in an ethnic restaurant.  Another is part of the structure of a parking garage.  I admire the utilitarian approach and wish we Americans did a better job of retaining old edifices and appreciating their contributions to our culture and our communities.

The original city wall now part of a parking garage!

If you’ve never visited Freiburg, I highly recommend it.  The market surrounding the cathedral is wonderful and the city bustles with students, residents and tourists.  Below are a few more photos – I only wish you could have smelled the wursts grilling, viewed the gorgeous early spring produce and sampled the flavors of this lovely little city.  If you ever make it there, be sure to check out the awesome Markthalle or Food Court.  Don’t forget to have a beer for me!

Farmers’ market offerings in the Munsterplatz

The stunning age of the homes.

Um, so when did Christopher Columbus sail the ocean blue? Yeah, after this house was built.

An exercise in acceptance

Sadly enough, I did not run when I was in Europe.  Nope (or should I say “nein?), not even once.  I did get some quality exercise walking good distances nearly every day, but my greatest exercise may have come from pacing myself when it came to beer and wine consumption.  I wrote about getting exercise while on the road here.