Birthday

Yesterday my mother called me at work at 9:30 all excited and said "it's the last day of your thirties!!". And then I was rude to her because who calls someone at work to say that. Plus, what exactly is the appropriate response? And then I felt really bad that I was rude, but seriously, wtf.

And while we are on the subject of my mother, I am at a complete loss to understand why she has no boundaries when it comes to work. She calls, she drops by, she comes into my office and uncrates the dog. Can you imagine your mother dropping in unexpectedly to your workplace once every couple of weeks? Even after living in New England for more than a year, she still doesn't get why it stresses us out.

Anyway.

Many weeks ago Rachel and Mark secretly discussed THE PLAN for my birthday - having my friends meet us at the MFA, going to an exhibit and then going to dinner. Mark said "great!" and left it all in her very capable party planning hands.

She proceeded to make very elaborate and secret preparations and Mark, assuming THE PLAN was exactly as they discussed, was a good sport and played right along. I started receiving letters in the mail telling me to do this and that, reserve this date and time, etc all very mysterious and exciting.

It's incredible to me, but somehow Mark never once checked in with her. Meanwhile, she knows him pretty well but it never occurred to her that he wouldn't be able to cope with a happy surprise - something she thought would be great fun.

So what she did was instead of planning a party (she figured been there, done that) she decided as a surprise to book us a romantic weekend for two in Boston. She would get us to our destination and then leave the fine details up to us - we could to do as much or as little as we liked.

She booked a room at the 4 Seasons that came with champagne, chocolate and breakfast, plus tickets to an exhibit at the MFA on Sunday afternoon. Dinner cash with taxi fare was provided (courtesy of my brother) and suggestions were given but the choice was left up to us.

Great! Fun! The only issue is, Mark can't roll like that.

He always needs a plan from the moment he gets out of bed in the morning until he goes to bed at night. Allll planned. On a regular day to day basis he juggles constantly - calls, questions, drop ins, but all on his turf. Take him away from his comfort zone and he can rarely can keep it together if anything unexpected pops up. If he forgets the GPS and gets lost, if the plane is delayed, if the car is low on gas, if airport parking is full, if he forgets his cell charger, you name it, it doesn't take much, he completely and usually inappropriately loses it.

In this case, neither of us knew exactly where we were going (we had an address and directions) and we were sent into the heart of the city, negotiating traffic and pedestrians. Then, suddenly we arrived at the address we were given and 4 valets leaped from the curb, opening our doors, helping with the bags, welcoming us, asking for the room reservation name, needing to be tipped, holding the lobby doors open and all that was before we got into the building. Right about then, I opened the next envelope and he learned that there was no plan, no dinner reservations, no friends coming and he was just supposed to relax. Result: plan change and instant epic meltdown.

So, the weekend didn't go as planned but I suppose my reminder is my life never does. It the end, it was a really lovely thought but next time we will let Mark stay at work and it will just be a girls weekend.

Post Thanksgiving wrap up

Well, I survived. I was thinking this year would be zero fun because I have never attended a Thanksgiving with only 4 people, let alone hosted such a small party. But the lack of people turned out to be deceiving - my mom and sister stayed over the night before, Ann came for dinner, Jack dropped by with chocolates and just when I was ready for bed (around 7) Rach and Bob came back and we all watched movies until late. Fun!!

Dinner was awful, but that's what happens when you only cook once a year. At least the turkey was perfect. We looked at it as practice for Christmas when we're going all out - ham, turkey, the works - everything I can think of.

This is the first year I have been really sad not to go home to Pennsylvania. I hate the drive, but there's something so nice about Christmas there. It's different. It's neighborly - people bring Christmas cookies to each other. So many plates of cookies show up, no one family could possibly eat them all. Churches ring their bells and play carols on loudspeakers; there are always carolers. We are invited to lots of gatherings, there's lots of family to try and get around to and sometimes we even have time to see our high school friends.

We just don't have that up here. We have lived in this house for 9 years and most of our neighbors have never introduced themselves, let alone bring us cookies. There's an older lady that walks by every morning that I wave to and she never waves back. I was brought up to wave to everybody, wasn't everyone??

Yes, I know, I could start something, send a couple of plates around and see how it goes but it just doesn't seem like it's something normal up here. Or am I wrong - do your neighbors have you in? Bring you cookies? Carol at your house? Do tell.

We are pretty anti-social in general, so perhaps that's it. And it's something else too - we don't have kids and our neighborhood is filled with them. Parallel to that thought, Mark doesn't hang with his extended family much and that always makes the holidays odder. I find them to be very nice people and very artsy crafty - the men are into all kinds of sports and the women are knitters, quilters, cross stitchers, etc. however, Mark is different and it isn't that he has his own personal library of car books in order by marque. Of all the cousins, Mark is pretty much the only one without at least one little kid. Mark's mom keeps inviting us to do things, most recently a trip to Arizona in May for a big extended family vacation but she keeps forgetting we don't have little kids. People who don't have little kids are not positioned well to be able to add to a discussion about hand-me-downs, toilet training, school photos and Storyland expansion. I'm not pooping on school pictures or Storyland but right now, I feel very out of place around his cousins with all their little people and diaper bags and it's another reason why I wish I was heading home to my old 'hood for a big box of holiday nostalgia.

Hopefully, in another year my Dad will still be there and we can head back and breathe in deeply of everything that lets you know you're back where you came from and life is all special and Christmasy.

Trying to be thankful

We watched this WWII show the other night about the art collected/stolen/taken by the Nazis during the war. It was very interesting, where they hid it, who found it, etc. But part of the story was the Siege of Lenningrad. I think because of the cold war, I somehow tuned out this little piece of history when studying WWII. A million civilians died from starvation and cold that winter. That would be like one in 5 in Boston. It made me feel very thankful.

However, at the same time the last year has been terribly unhappy and it all started last Thanksgiving. We were moving to the new shop and Mark's dad was diagnosed with cancer. Uncle Charlie had a stroke in December and died two weeks later. The kicker there was the funeral service on the 23rd and I remember traveling on the 24th to come home to an undecorated tree, unwrapped presents and both fathers MIA. Mark's dad was in intensive care and my dad just went home, completely devastated from the loss of his only brother.

It never got better. We had three weeks to get the GTB done and it was low point in my life.There was tremendous fighting and anger and rage which continued right on through the end of the month.

We did take a nice vacation in early February. The guys rented bikes and rode off and Rachel and I just hung out quietly in Naples. Mark became obsessed with having a new Harley and customizing it. He got rid of his "old" bike in March that had 1,500 miles and bought a new one that he worked out exhaustively and wasn't finished until July. In the meantime, we had a Pebble beach project and the customer didn't pick the paint color until June. It was one of the worst weather summers on record in New England. We didn't stay at camp more than a handful of times and when we did, we didn't do anything. Mark didn't want to see anyone because he was too tired.

I am struggling with this Thanksgiving. Is it the beginning of a new and better year or is this just going to be more of the same and if so, what am I prepared to do about it.

Haddock!!

Every Friday Mark and I eat at Century House in Danvers. Friday is incredibly busy there but the special is Haddock au Gratin and we look forward to it's cheesy deliciousness all week.

It was a good day. Got a little depressed about the 9*5*9 job because the parts number came back high plus a bunch of really important stuff isn't available. It all adds up to the fact that don't think we are getting that job after all. It makes me REALLY sad, but I guess the fat lady hasn't sung yet and there's still a 25-33% chance. It would really help but on the other hand, we don't need another job for the body shop.

Haddock. Why I can't I leave now.

I totally forgot about the GTI.

I get to work this morning and what is the Intercity driver unloading today? A famous Ferarri? A racing Porsche? A one-off Nardi? Nope, a little black 1984 Volkswagon GTI with a red interior EXACTLY like the one that I used to have! Oh my word the nostalgia.

Steve bought it right after he graduated in 1988. One day we were standing out in front of Wood with Tim and noticed the Chevette had rotted an unbelieveable hole more than 3/4 around the shock mount in the front. We were seriously lucky not to die.

Chris - speaking of Wood - I remember sitting with you outside of Wood in Levon. Levon was some super funky early Toyota maybe? What was that thing?

I loved that car (back to the GTI). It was fast and super fun to drive. Steve took it on this stupid ski rally with Stan Winston and they so severely dented the gas tank it only ever took $2.50 in gas after that. It was never the same. I always wanted to know what they drove over but he never said. Gas was only about a $1 a gallon in those olden days but I still had to fill up twice a day. Memories.

It's good I'm in this business because I completely see why people have to have the car they had when they were kids.

Frank bought for his son to play with and paid (get this) $2,300!!! Plus another $800 bucks to have it delivered here from North Carolina!! That's INSANE money and we all laughed at him but I was so happy to see it.

Puppy

Today one of our customers came in to pick out leather and carpet for the interior in his Iso. To my delight and surprise the customer brought his wife. She's great and just chatting with her would have made for a nice morning but lo and behold, she had her brand new 8 week old golden retriever puppy, Teddy with her. Of course he was ridiculously gorgeous - a very pale coat, calm and tail going the moment you touched him. She said she hadn't had a puppy in 15 years and had forgotten how much you laugh when you have one. Totally made my day.

Has anything weird happened to you lately?

This year I learned the G*T-4*0 world is full of some really odd people. (stars intentional, can't have these nut jobs googleing this)

The people we have met have been so out there, it was funny until I started to worry that I was one of them.

They are kind of people that need a preface. "Mark is really nice guy once you get to know him, but you might notice he's a little high strung". Or, "Carrie is fun but don't ask about her family".

Recently, the leading USA '40 restorer visited our shop with his wife. She sat quietly and patiently in our conference room reading a book for an entire day while the rest of us did our thing. I was amazed. I couldn't have sat quietly for 8 hours in a room with a rental car at my disposal in any location for any reason. She even refused lunch. Maybe New England isn't as interesting or pretty as I think it is but damm, I offered the woman OUTLET SHOPPING.

Anyway.

It is standard operating procedure to take overnight shop visitors out to dinner and we almost always find the Cow a winner. A Monday night in the late fall is ideal - nice table near the ocean, soft lighting, roaring fire, linen napkins, fresh bread, good wine list, good menu, attentive service. Nice.

Something worth noting is that Mark and I are both freakishly shy and it's a kind of torture for us to offer dinner with total strangers in the first place. We are workaholics who speak a weird automotive language and surround ourselves with people that either are part of that world or love us in spite of it. As business owners we are daily called upon to act extroverted and charming and interesting and knowledgeable. It's exhausting and you get the tiniest of glimmer of what it must be like to live in the public eye.

Back to dinner.

The company is appreciative and complimentary of the lovely ambiance. So far so good - it's going well. Just as we are about to order, in front of the waitress, the wife whips out individually wrapped handi-wipes and hands them all around the table.

So is it me or is that something that happens all the time?

Other than realizing that I was still thinking about the handi-wipe incident, it was a good day.

Yesterday

Just because I want to remember what happened and today was totally boring, I'll post about yesterday.

Yesterday was Monday. You know those Mondays where you sort of drag yourself to work by 11? There were reasons and unfortunately not the very best one, which would be I decided not to get out from under the puff.

Some backstory.

I had a tree removed from my yard about a month ago. The tree looked ok but at some point I realized I could see right through it and started to worry some night it was going to fall and crush the house. Unlike most of the things I have profound stress about, it turned out it was a well founded fear. It was completely and profoundly rotted, I took pictures of the stump because I was so amazed it was still standing.

Now they did a super job on taking down the tree but they managed to obliterate a window in my living room in the process. How long could it take to get the glass replaced in a broken window you might ask?

Well, turns out you can't replace the glass in a thermal pane window, you have to replace the whole part that goes up and down, which is called the sash. As my Dad would say, you learn something new every day but what he failed to mention is that at my age, I also forget something new every day, so it's just a wash.

Well go figure, it turns out that we have custom windows.

Custom (d.) = screwed

It was a Pella. I (I being Jessica) sadly took over my custom broken window and had the guys at the local Pella store order up a new window. They tell me three weeks until I get it and I am not thrilled at all, let me tell you. Nothing says classy during the holidays like a trash bag over your living room window.

Finally, my new custom window comes in - I was SO happy. Right up until when my carpenter unwrapped it and found that a giant window-shaped piece of french toast would have been better than what they sent us.

Instead of having a window that moved up and down, we were holding a custom made left to righter. Note that all the people do at the Pella store is order windows, it's not like I went to Lowe's or tried to get a window from Outback Steakhouse.

That's why I was late. I had to return the window and reorder the new one so with any luck, when my mother in law comes over on Christmas, she won't be greeted by a hefty bag.

Meanwhile at work, people showed up to do a photo shoot on a car that wasn't done yet.
The best part it - we didn't know they were coming!!
Then, our biggest customer, the one that owns the car? showed up to watch the photo shoot and stayed alllll day.

Ohhh baby - what could have made a more excellent Monday.
Wait - did I mention that Mark had taken the red-eye home from California the night before?
Good times, people. Good times.

Blog Name

So I named the blog for something I have been feeling a lot of lately.

There's this new song out and one of the lines is "am I more than you bargained for" and I think the other is "is this more than you bargained for".

The thing is, I think life is always more than you think it's going to be. It's not really a glass half empty or half full thing, it's just that things are always way more complicated than they first appear. Or am I just way more complicated or do I make things more complicated?

Have to think about that one.

Dave's Birthday

So Dave didn't want to celebrate his birthday either but I figured, hey the least we could do was catch dinner. I sometimes forget that I eat out almost every night. It always amazes me when someone says no to eating out, where's the downside?

We both wanted to exercise in the morning and Dave really wasn't looking forward to birthdaying. I went over around 2. We were headed to the MOMA Boston. I hadn't been to an art musuem since King Tut was born, so I was actually kind of excited, even thought I don't a thing about modern art.

We went up to the 4th floor.

Noted: other people were all dressed urban and arty and cool. Dave looked urban and cool. I looked like a refugee from 2nd grade in jeans, a t-shirt and a cardigan.

We then proceeded to view some art. A video with oil with sugar being poured over it. Terrible photographs. The leaning tower of Pisa as a charm on one story wooden necklace. Red light on the floor in an empty room. The same portrait 3 times with crumpled paper on the floor.

I felt giggly. It was my worst case modern art scenario.

It wasn't without bright spots - a hilarious video of a guy shooting stuff in grocery store with a bow and arrow. A suspended "fire" on strings, a beautiful mirrored hand blown glass display.

We walked out of the gallery discussing what made something art and who got to say what was art because it was mostly crap in a beautiful building.

Then, the next exhibit blew our mind. It was Tara Donovan, an artist exactly our age that worked in regular objects, styrofoam cups, toothpicks, pins, but most amazing, the wall of straws.

It was awesome. We surreptitiously photographed ourselves among her pieces with our iphones because photos weren't allowed. We happily bought the book on her stuff at the gift shop and then went over to that Boston icon, Pier 4. We sat at the bar and drank tiny individual bottles of champagne and ate stale ritz crackers with cheese spread.

Fortified, we returned to the car in what had turned into a wildly windy evening and dealth with a Mark airline rescheduling emergency. He was in Long Beach at NLP 13. I told him he was never going to make the 1pm flight because he was picking up parts with Shaugnessy. I was right and changed it for the second time that day.

We made our way over to the Moroccan place in Charlestown.

Noted: we were the only people in the place without a kid.

It was freezing in there and although I told them it was a special occasion, they didn't give us a cool table with two couches.
They were out of the first 5 kinds of wine we asked for, no lie.
They had no beef.
We were puzzled until we overheard this was the last night they would be open before renovations and suddenly it all made sense and they were forgiven.

We ate an amazing tuna appetizer and lamb with figs and drank red wine. We had a great time but felt ripped off because I had asked specifically about belly dancers. Maybe we were to early.

Dave then requested dessert at Friendly's because that's where his family always went to celebrate. After reflection, I did have to agree that a little food fanciness usually goes a long way. Hotel fanciness is an altogether different animal, never too much in my opinion.

Mark got home at 6am, I was awake all night long looking at the clock. I hate that.

I got up at 7 and met Jess at the gym.
Working out makes me feel so much better you would think I would be able to give it top priority.

Forty

I need to get it down because my short term memory is so shot at this point, I have to write on my hand to remember what I need to do when I get back to my desk.

This is logbook, not a journal.