Family Weekends

It is 'family weekend' time again and it reminded me of a time, some three years ago, when I experienced the family weekend thing.......
That September I had had enough.
My seven year old princess was driving me mad with wardrobe crises every morning and homework crises every night. The level of anxiety generally radiating from my high school senior was wearing me down. I needed to escape. My husband offered spas, a trip home to England or a visit to a big city but rather pathetically I could only consider leaving one half of my family to visit the other half. I would enjoy a weekend with my oldest child, I would be killing two birds with one stone if I went and experienced the Family Weekend at his college on the Hudson River. I could enjoy a couple of classes, talk to other adults and enjoy the fall in New England.
Son number one was thrilled, he even suggested that I stayed in his apartment using his bed whle he slept on the coach. Friends were skeptical about how desirable student accomodation and beds were but I figured such a sincere offer could not be turned down and I had never heard of anyone dying of dirty sheets.
I was all set. I packed carefullybeing undecided about whether I was going to dress to fit in with the student body (ripped jeans with muddy raggedy bottoms and sunglasses), the professors (a lot of Cordroy and very dark sunglasses) or the other parents (rather expensive cordroy with very sleek overcoats and designer sunglasses). I looked like I normally do with dark glasses.
On the Friday morning I packed the children off to school left loads of notes and drove to the airport. It was great. I had allowed a good three hours to find the gate thus reducing the stress level that descends on me when travelling with my airport savvy husband who likes to leave everything until the last minute. I could read in the departure lounge and have a serious listen to other people's conversations. I hired a little car and drove off into the beautiful fall of New England.
I drove along sun dappled lanes, passed wooden houses decorated for Hallowe'en with pumpkins, witches flying into trees and plastic tombstones. I loved it all. Back in Atlanta the skeletons and tombstones don't look as good in the harsh sunshine and browning lawns. The fallen leaves and muddy puddles seemed to create a better setting. In all those frightening films don't the graves spring open from under a scattering of fallen leaves?
Matthew was right where he should have been looking suitably student-like with just the right amount of books under his arm. Memories of high school and spelling lists were disappearing fast. I was the parent of a college student all set for the afternoon reception, to mingle and chat with wise professors, my son's friends and alumni who just wanted my money. I hung out with the French Department who said amazing things about Matthew and were generally very pleasant. I was so impressed that I found myself agreeing to take a French class the following morning.
We then followed the dark glasses crowd to the film school to watch a very famous Japanese film introduced by a famous Japanese film critic. It was all lost on me so we left early and went out for a nice meal. I slept in Matthew's bed while he partied up the road and I got up ready to tackle the french class. Matthew lives in a little village that seems to have evolved along a path that makes it a natural neighbor for the very liberal college next door. The main street offers a tattoo parlor, a sushi bar, a pub, a coffeee shop, an erotic arts gallery that I once took the Princess to by mistake and a launderama called 'The Lost Sock". We avoided the tatto parlor resisted the pull of the piercer and hit the coffee bar for breakfast promising ourselves sushi later on and a drink in the infamous Black Swan.
I was intimidated and very impressed with the French Class. The purpose of the class was to show parents just what an intensive language course is and why our children could become fluent in a language after just one semester.
There were about sixteen of us all sitting around a large table wearing sleek outer garments, sunglasses and name tags. We started with a bang; the teacher firing questions at us. He only spoke French asking us our names repeating his and making us join in all the time. You could not let your attention wander for a minute, I was doing well. I had asked the lady next door her name, I had told her mine and that I was very well. Iwas feeling very Parisienne until I lost it all when I was drawn into French conversation by the couple sitting the other side of me. Their surname was 'Gluick' - this made me sit up. It was a little different from Smith or Jones. But what really did it was when I learnt that their fershman son was called Zoltan. Had they named him after the mechanical fortune teller in the film 'Big'? My mind would not take in anything else, I was lost to the French Class as I pondered this name - Zoltan Gluick. Only at a very liberal college in New England could there be someone with that name. I had to find my own Matthew Evans to learn more about Zoltan.
I day dreamed and marveled all the way through the video part of the lesson. We were shown films of Jaques and Michelle who were bright young things living in a french city. I could have learnt about where they lived and how they got to work or school but I chose instead to dwell on Zoltan. When I was at school in the sixties I took French but we were not introduced to anyone as bright as Jaques. We met the Domesnil Family. Monsieur Domesnil smoked a pie and read the newspaper. They had a cat called Minou and ate bread but that's as far as I got. I can only think that I would have been better at languages if the hero had been called Zoltan Gluick.
Matthew was unwilling to spend the rest of the weekend in search of Zoltan Gluick. he claimed that I had misheard the name and had not been paying attention. I had been paying attention until I heard the name. We went and listened to the very liberal president ofthe very liberal college. He praised the faculty said too little about the students and didn't even mention Zoltan Gluick.
We went and toured the new film school and attended the opening ceremony. There were a lot of very dark glasses to be seen- also some very odd hair-dos.
It was time to head back to the village next door and eat very good sushi. Everyone else in the small restaurant were parties made up of parents and students. The Gluick family did not make an appearance.
We went back to the Film school and watched somevery short films made by Bard students. The films were very arty - not a lot of storyline, some handpainted, some jerky and all of it lost on me. A party atmosphere prevailed and the head of the film school invited everyone for a glass of wine in the corridor. It was nice and spontaineous, we stayed long enough to note that most people had taken off their dark glasses.
My energy level was going down fast. This had been a big day for me. I managed a glass of chardonnay at The Black Swan and then took to Matthew's bed. He went partying down the road.
On Sunday we decided to leave college life behind and do some sight seeing, the day was a little dismal but we set off in the little hird car for the magical town of Woodstock. I know I am admitting appalling ignorance but I had always believed the biggest rock festival of all time had been held in California. I found it hard to believe that all those legends descended on this little town in the Hudson Valley. My knowledgeable son pointed out that the town was also (and had been before the sixties) home to a school 0f world renowned artists. This wasn't nearly as exciting as being the venue for a pop festival. It was a pretty town with cobbled streets and an attractive village square. We were not the only people there trying to make our way back to the garden. Woodstock had become a bit of a tourist trap, you had to pay a lot of money to park the car, there was a visitor's center and no shop sold anything you would need in the course of a normal week. If you lived in Woodstock you had to go elsewhere for your groceries. I would imagine the manufacturers of plug-in airfreshners did not do well in Woodstock as most people would still use joss sticks. There were lots of clothes stores but if you don't look good in tye-dye forget it. The inhabitants of Woodstock all appeared to have been left there from the festival, everyone was a hippie and quite old. It would be interesting tolook at pictures of the main street with people going about their business before the festival and then a picture in the same location a month or so after the festival. I wouldn't mind betting that in the before shot we see people without beards and in plain tee shirts but in the after shot we see beards, headbands and tye dye. We ate in one of those eateries that are very basic and tatty but very expensive, we were cold though so we needed warm things. In fact, we were so cold I persuaded Matthew to wear one of those funny Tibetan woolly hat hings.
All too soon it was time to go. I needed to get to the airport, spend time at the gate and catch up with the rest of my family. I almost missed them. I left Matthew exactly where I'd first seen him, with books under one arm, on his way to the library. I took off my dark glasses and headed for Atlanta.
My husband and High schooler claimed to love the tie dye. Alex looked up Zoltan Gluick on the web and found that more than one were listed. I promised the princess never to leave her again and gave her the Hilary Duff Cheetah print hair dryer for which she had been desperate.
Life has settled into the same old. same old. The tie dye tee shirts have disappeared into the back of closets although the Hilary Duff hairdryer can be heard every morning. Next year David is going to tackle the Parent Weekend.

Ten things I am going to do (or not do) when I grow up

At the age of 52 with no desire to go back to college whatsoever - because I know everything already- I don't think I will be starting a new career but if I was going to 'try again' these are some of the things I might consider and alternatvely many jobs I would not touch with a barge pole.

1. This one might be top of the list which is rather strange considering I have developed an aversion to continuing my own education. I would like to be an admissions officer for a good liberal arts college. This institution would be good in a non-showey way and it would be located in a small New England town that had benefitted from the college's prestige and amenities. I would be able to walk to work and divide my time between welcoming groups of potential students to the college and organizing their tours. I would also have to sort through applications helping to make the all important decision involving whether to accept the student or turn them down. I would probably wear some stylish tweed skirts and carry my few papers in a shopping basket. The other side of me could be seen mixing with young people on campus in some tight jeans and neat little jackets.

2. I think it might be rather nice to name paint colors. The names of paint colors are pretty fantastic - dark blue, light blue and royal blue just don't cut it anymore. In my house alone I have burnt pecan walls in the kitchen - dark orange; priarie wheat in the living room - dull yellow and stormy sea in the dining room. My white trim is not even white it is serenity or it could be linen. I would spend my days in the paint factory looking through National Geographic magazines and a thesorus. I realize there is a bit of psychology attached to all this soI would probably have to spend some time wearing a white coat (unbuttoned, over tailored blackslacks and a cashmere sweater of muted hues) running tests on members of the public who would be looking at screens of colors and having their heart rate measured or pupils dilated.
As a side line to this job I would also work part -time for The Yankee Candle Company naming scented candles.

3. I would not like to be one of those people who hold up the 'stop' and 'slow' signs used tocontrol traffic whilst road repairs go on. I think you would get very dirty doing this no matter what you wear. The only slight distraction might be if you made a mistake and showed 'slow' when you really meant 'stop'. You would only be allowed to do this once.

4. I would not like to read the news. How can you read through all those stories without offering a comment or a the very least pulling a face?

5. I would like to arrange exhibitions of art. I would do this for a small, successful gallery in New York and I would spend my days collecting the various pieces together and then arranging them so that they can be seen in the best possible light. My wardrobe would be extensive and stylish as people would want tosee me as well as my art. My hair would be groomed and sprayed so that it could not moved.

6. I could not be a truck driver. The frustration from sitting in traffic jams would drive me insane, although I do like those wrap-around mirrored sunglasses.

7. I am undecided about this one..... I could plan parties and weddings; spending other people's money on extravagant affairs. What makes me undecided about this career is having to deal with the stress generated by the people you are working for. All big occassions tatter nerves.

8. I would not like to sell cars. This seems very cut-throat and more than a little boring.

9. I would like to raise and cultivate new plants for eating and looking at. I would have a team of experts who could do all the polination and botany stuff but I could decide what was needed and ,of course what the plant would be called. I would spend sometime travelling to exotic places to look at what was already grown but then I would return home to miles of greenhouses and beautiful walled gardens. I would prbably wear cordroy trousers and rubber boots at home but travel in some rather stylish out of Africa outfits.

I seem to have quite a thing about naming things. I would have made a useful homesteader or pilgrim as Icould have come up with a few more original names for new towns in a new country.
I would also consider naming ski paths in new resorts or new rides in theme parks.
Perhaps in the not too distant future when more aspects of our lives are much more controlled by a government I could be employed to name everyone's babies which would be accommodated in state run institutions. I would walk amongst the rows of cots in a Mao -like suit that fitted better than those worn in the sixties using names from every culture. Very few would be called Britany or Cody and I would be strict about those names reserved for boys and those used for girls.