Month: May 2014

UberXL Boston!

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I am a big Uber fan.

My opinion is that Uber is one of those companies whose service literally redefines our experience in the world.  Though we don’t take a ton of cabs, we have entirely replaced their use with Uber.  I love everything about the Uber experience: the way you don’t have to make a phone call or wait on hold, the way the drivers seem to have GPS and know their way around so I don’t have to navigate from the backseat, the incredible ease of the app’s use, the fact that I don’t have to pay cash or figure out a tip, and the tremendous value.

Grace and Whit are growing up in a world where “to uber” is a verb.  My very first Uber ride was with them, in fact.  We took an Uber to the airport when we went to the Galapagos.  It was much less expensive than a taxi, and it was more convenient and comfortable on a number of dimensions.

Sign. Me. Up.

I was really honored when Uber Boston reached out to let me know of a new, family-oriented service.

Today, Uber is launching uberXL, their newest offering.  Starting today, users in Boston can request an uberXL car type, which will seat up to six people.

This is perfect for families!  UberXL is ideal for transporting large groups with the convenience, safety, and ease of Uber at an affordable price.  I’m really happy to see Uber Boston working on products so specifically helpful for families.  I know people who have hesitated to use Uber for family purposes because they couldn’t fit all of their children in one car.  Now that is taken care of.  All you do is request the uberXL option via your app to be picked up in a vehicle that seats up to six people.

Anyone new to Uber will receive their first ride FREE up to $30.  Just use my unique promo code, “ADesignSoVast” when you register in the app.  That code is useable anytime.  You can also register here.

New to Uber?  Uber is an iPhone/Android/Blackberry app that allow you to request a ride at the tap of a button.  You can track your driver’s arrival on a map and will receive notification when they arrive.  There’s also no need to handle cash, as your fare – which includes tip – is automatically billed to your credit card.

I am sure you will love Uber as much as I, and Grace and Whit, do.  Sign up here.

Disclosure: I was compensated in Uber credit for this post.  All opinions expressed here are my own and my enthusiasm for the service is entirely genuine.

 
 

A Walk With Whit

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We awoke on Sunday morning to full, glorious spring sunshine.  Matt and Grace headed off to an early soccer game, and Whit and I had the morning together.  After a slow start to the day (Survivor, his current obsession, and an extended breakfast) we went for a walk.  As we strolled towards the library I thought about how many times I’ve walked these streets with Whit.  More than I can possibly count.  The first paragraph of the introduction to the memoir I decided not to write described walking past the park where I spent so many hours with my children.  Whit and I, hand in hand, walked past that same park and the lines rose in my head:

… I felt a pang so acute of all that was gone I had to stop and catch my breath. That time, when empty days unfurled in front of me, seems like another country. While my children still play on playgrounds, I know those days themselves are numbered.

I gripped Whit’s hand harder, wondered to myself when will he stop holding my hand?, shook my head to clear my eyes, and kept walking.  We walked past the bush whose sparrow population must number hundreds and stopped in front of it, listening.  We have been stopped in our tracks before by the birdsong emanating from this bush.

“This past week, Mummy, one morning, I was on my way to touch typing before school and I had to stop and sit and listen to the birds,” Whit offered.

“You did?”

“Yes.  It was just so beautiful.  I sat down on one of the stone walls by the building and listened.  I looked up at the sky.”

“Wow, Whit.  That’s great.”

“I felt like I didn’t have a choice.  I just wanted to take it in.”

We kept walking, my heart tumbling around in my chest.  Sometimes he dazzles me with his sensitivity and thoughtfulness, Whit does (rest assured he is far from perfect; he also drives me insane with his stubbornness).  I am fiercely familiar with the overwhelming need to sit, look, listen, to simply observe and in so doing worship the world.

Wstanding

As we walked Whit gave me a detailed account of the movie The Odd Life of Timothy Green (which he saw ages ago; I’m not sure why it was on his mind that day).  He described Timothy standing, arms outstretched soaking up the sun, and demonstrated it for me.  Then we walked by another bush full of sparrows and Whit’s mind hopscotched to Still, the bird who spent months living under the eaves of our porch.

“It feel like the hours of the day go so slowly but then you look back and it has been two years since Still lived at our house,” Whit observed, walking next to me.  I stared at him.  Yes, yes, it does, my dear.  I swallowed hard so that I didn’t start crying.

We walked on.  Whit pointed out a spray of magnolia petals across the sidewalk, the budding green on all the trees, the chirping of birds.  I watched him as he noticed the world around him, compelled to simply observe and, in so doing, to worship.

 

Pinky swear

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Labor Day Saturday, 2012

Labor Day weekend 2012.  Grace and I pulled two of the lounge chairs on my parents’ back porch into the shade and sat down to read.  She was utterly absorbed in Judy Blume’s Sheila the Great, and I was re-reading an old favorite, Anne Lamott’s Operating Instructions.   The sky above us was the saturated cornflower blue that I associate with late August, and once in a while I looked up from my book to watch a cloud skid across the sky.  The day felt elegaic, swollen with summer’s end, with awareness of earth’s turning towards autumn.

I put my book down on my lap and looked over at Grace.  I studied her, the planes and angles of her face as familiar as my own.  Though we were in the shade I could see the spiky shadows her eyelashes cast on her cheeks.  Her deep pink lips were pursed slightly as she concentrated on her book.  She must have sensed me looking at her because she turned to me with a quizzical look.  “What, Mummy?”

“Oh, nothing, G.  I was just looking at you.”  She smiled at me and leaned her head back against the headrest of the chair.  “Look at that blue sky.”

She looked up.  My children are both accustomed to my stopping in my tracks to look at the sky, and often to photograph it.  “Mmmm, yes.”  I heard her say under her breath as she gazed at the sky.  Something broke over me like a wave, nostalgia and sorrow and deep joy, and I mourned the loss of this moment even as I sat right in the middle of it.  Awareness of all that is already over tightened like a band around my chest, and I felt short of breath.

“Grace, I love you, you know.”

“Oh, Mum,” her eyes widened with surprise.  “I know!  I love you too.”

“Good.”  I blinked quickly, my vision suddenly spangled with tears.  “Do you promise you always will, even when you’re a teenager?”

“Yes, I promise.”  She nodded vigorously and studied me.  “I swear, Mum.  Pinky swear.”  She held out her pinky.  With her other hand, she reached out to lift my sunglasses off my face.

“Are you checking to see if I’m crying?” I smiled, thinking of all the times she’s sighed, resignedly, as I sit in tears in public at a school event.

“No.  I just wanted to see your beautiful eyes.”

Grace turned back to her book but I stared up at the sky, fighting my emotion and then, like slipping underneath something, gave into it.  They are not long, these days of sitting side by side and reading, these moments when she openly admires me, these moments of pinky swearing, tears, and overwhelming love (well, that part may stay).

Already this is a distant memory, but I am so, so glad I wrote it down at the time.

to condense all the chaos and mystery of the world

Ah, you say, this is all in your mind.  And you are right to be skeptical; I expect no less.  It is in my mind, which I have acknowledged from the beginning is a less than perfect instrument.  But this is what appears to be the purpose of my mind, and no doubt yours as well, its designated function beyond all mundane calculations: to condense all the chaos and mystery of the world into a palpable Other or Others, not necessarily because we love it, and certainly not out of any intention to “worship” it.  But because ultimately we may have no choice in this matter.  I have the impression, growing out of the experiences chronicled here, that it may be seeking us out.

– Barbara Ehrenreich, Living with a Wild God