Last month, I discovered a way to get as close as you can get to trying on someone's life: Housesitting. I was in Dallas for the month with the kids to both work and visit family/friends. My stepmother had made it clear to my dad that she did not relish the idea of us occupying their guest room... which upset my dad so was causing a problem. My mom was happy to have us, but she had turned the guest room into an art room. That meant a month of sleeping on the couch. A hotel was way too expensive.
That's when Mom got the idea of us housesitting for a couple of different friends who were out of town.
The first home was a couple with a little girl. It is lovely sprawling home on the edge of Dallas and Richardson. Very different from mine back in here in suburban DC. It was a ranch style with a courtyard in the center. The family room, living room and master bedroom wrap around that courtyard with a playground and grill/patio area in the rear. Now, the neighborhood is like mine in the typical suburban chain businesses and there is a wooded walking path that winds it way through it.
Also, the wife shares my passion for cooking so had a well stocked and well equipped kitchen. It was a pleasure to cook in that kitchen. And she must love to entertain as her dining room/living room is set up so perfectly for it. It is designed for comfort and conversation. The couple of dinner parties we hosted went wonderfully.
She also has dogs who are clearly attached to her as they quickly became attached to me, another dog lover. And if our shared interests, tastes and motherhood weren't enough common ground, it turns out we're in the same industry! Though, she still works for an agency whereas I went out on my own.
But I think it was walking her dogs in her neighborhood talking to her neighbors that was the most surreal. Effortlessly, I blended right in as I would have chosen nearly every thing in her world myself. In fact, I found myself wondering if this would be my life had I chosen to move back to Dallas rather than DC all those years ago?
After we left that house, we moved into a young musician slash lawyer's home in the Lakewood area... walking distance to White Rock Lake. He was getting married then off to his honeymoon. He had all the grown up boy's toys in this fabulously decorated home. But he clearly was no chef and rarely entertained. Which is probably why it is up for sale. (The happy couple is moving into her home.)
The home was luxurious but felt lonely to me. But maybe it was peaceful for a man with a very busy life. What I loved about it though was that I'm 99% sure his mother decorated. He had a few photos of her about as well as there being some distinctive touches in this Man-Land that felt like a Mother's Touch. This charmed me.
It was also very interesting to have scary dogs. He owned a pair of large, broad-chested boxers. When I'd walk those dogs, even though they were well trained, you could see people scattering with wary looks. It gave me a certain thrill actually. A sense of power... one that possibly created a swagger in my stride.
It made me curious about the owner. Is that why he had these scary dogs? Was he seeking as a sense of power?
I peeked in his closet to check out his clothing and shoe size... sure enough, he is a smaller man. I'd put him around 5 foot 7. Did his dogs do for him what they did for me? I relished it.
So there you go... I got to experience a path not taken as well as the thrill of being intimidating.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Savoring the Meeting of a Challenge
This weekend I met a personal goal that turned out to be more challenging than first anticipated. It was to hike the entire Bull Run Occoquan Trail, which is about 18 miles. It was a test of endurance for me as I knew it would take at least seven hours (including lunch break). Luckily, my hiking partner, Rebecca, is just like me. She doesn’t require a lot of breaks and walks the same pace that I do.
We miscalculated the effect the heavy spring rains would have on the trail as well as the time it would take to deal with those effects. It ended up taking nine hours thanks to flooded creek/stream crossings as well as trails covered in mud so slippery it was like walking on ice at times.
Now I had expected some of the water would be more than ankle deep which is why I had thrown some sandals in my pack for such crossings.
Uh, try hip (for me) and waist (for petite Rebecca) deep water. The first crossing at mile 10 was made easier by a strapping college boy. He gallantly offered to wade in to see just how deep the streaming water went when he and his dad came across the two of us pondering that question. Then he took his boy scout duty to a new level in terms of helping “old ladies” in crossings. He provided a steady hand as we walked with the other hand holding our boots and packs aloft. My fear of snakes must have been all over my face as the boy offered more than once during the crossing if I wanted a piggy back ride. I declined as I refused to be a bigger wimp than I was already being. But I did consider it.
Second crossing around mile 15 was tad trickier as we had no clue as to the depth because of all the mud in water. Plus it was totally still which made me fear water moccasins even more. We found a fallen tree not too far off the trail that served as a bridge across the 30 feet or so of water. But between our fatigue and muddy boots, we feared we’d slip and tumble into the water if we did the balance beam walk.
I straddled that tree like you would a horse and inched my way across. I hugged the sides of that tree so hard my inner thighs got a little chaffed along with a massive wedgie! Thankfully Rebecca did NOT have her camera as I’m sure I looked ridiculous.
And when I triumphantly stood on the other side, feeling such a sense of relief... I slid down that steep, slippery bank back towards the water. As luck would have it, in that mud was a few tree roots that I caught during the slide down that stopped me from plunging into those murky depths.
By the time we reached the end, I was covered in mud and exhausted. Plus I had brushed up against some poison oak so my lower calf had some ever so lovely red blotchy marks. It wasn’t until I got out of the car, that I felt like I’d been hit by a train. Every muscle ached as I dragged my self up to the shower.
But I am so pleased with myself. General George Patton was right. "Accept the challenges so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory.”
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Home Sweet Home
Apparently, you can take the girl out of Texas, but you can't take Texas out of the girl. It has been close to 20 years since I had an address in Texas and my speech has pretty much lost the twang of my youth. So it amazes me whenever someone is able to identify that is where I'm from. But it would seem that it has more to do with my mannerisms, not speech.
It had been my second visit that day to a rural Virginia gas station. First time had been to go the bathroom before hitting the trail we'd planned on hiking. Second had been to fill up the tank for the two hour trip back home. Plus, I was dying for a Dr. Pepper. I was joking with the guy behind the counter who had remembered me from that morning about how I couldn't bear to leave the area without spending more time in this particular establishment.
He had asked where is home to which I replied the DC area. His head shook then stated, "No that is not home to you. You're a Texas girl, right?"
How on earth did he guess that?
Looking quite pleased with himself, Sherlock explained it wasn't the "ya'll" I let slip out but the choice of soda on top of a friendly, laid back manner that tipped him off.
This little exchange popped into my head after I finished booking the flights for myself and kids for a month long "working vacation" to Dallas. After I had hit the "confirm" button, locking in the schedule, I felt such a rush of relief.
As much as I adore DC, and I really do, Dallas is home. Not only does my entire extended family (parents/siblings/aunts/cousins) all live there, there is a vibe there that is not here in DC. But the biggest thing is that feeling of relief that comes with basking in the familiarity of landscape and people.
Everything from being able to get a good glass of iced tea in a restaurant to the rush of heat that surrounds you when you step out of an air conditioned building feels "right".
I'm home. Well, come, June that is.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
A Streetcar Named Spring
Winter and me always begin our romance with a bang, probably helped greatly by the joy of the holidays. The change in scenery, the very starkness is such a pleasant change to the clutter of all those fallen leaves. Ice and snow are merely sparkle. Who can resist that? Yes indeedy, I'm smitten every December.
My passion is rather short-lived. You know how that tall, dark and brooding man can only capture your attention for so long? Then you realize that there is nothing behind that pretty facade. In fact, its akin to realizing your lover isn't Rhett Butler, but instead, Stanley Kowalksi.
Just like Stella, I'm stuck with this harsh and moody man. But unlike Stella, I don't love him. By end of January, there is no sparkle just lifeless ice and I can't wait to ditch him. I'm just marking time while he blusters about my life. Some days, while I know on an intellectual level that winter is going to end, emotionally, I don't always feel it.
It is a challenge not to give into the despair. Towards the end of this year's particular siege, I found myself outdoors nearly every day, searching for signs that spring will come once again. Seeing buds start to form followed by spikes of green felt like a miracle. Those first crocus flowers with their bursts of purple and yellow make me want to sink to my knees and give thanks as I know Stanley is packing his bags now. He may have a final outburst just to prove he can, but he's leaving.
Lately, I've been thinking about people who lived in a time before science and technology. Winter wasn't passed wearing Gortex lined everything. No warm homes filled with a variety of fresh food from the grocery store down the street. There were no books to read let alone museums, theaters or even television in which to help pass the time.
To them, knowing spring would eventually arrive wasn't an understanding of science, but an act of faith.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
You Know That Crazy Lady on the Corner?
She's the woman who will step out onto the crosswalk with a look that just dares you not to stop for her and her children. As you catch glimpse of her in your rear-view mirror as you sped by, you see her throwing her hands up in disgust and mouthing "idiot." Fury etched across her face. If you could read her mind, she's actually thinking "You stupid, self-absorbed idiot!"
"Self absorbed" because you obviously live in this residential neighborhood and you not only missed the sidewalk markings but also the warning sign several yards prior. The one with that makes it clear it is a crosswalk for children. "Stupid" because it is state law that if someone is in the crosswalk, you must stop.
You probably guessed how I know this... that crazy lady is me. There was once a scene in The World According to Garp that I so can clearly relate. Some guy is speeding through a suburban neighborhood, ignoring all the traffic signs as well as children at play. Garp, played by Robin Williams, finally has enough of this. He chases the truck and commences to beat it with a crow bar.
This could be me. Luckily, there is no way for me to catch the car.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Love, With a Capital L
Recently, I read something that truly resonated with me. The author divided love into two categories. There is love (lower case) and then there is Love (upper case).
The lower case love is marked by conditions and limitations. If either changes, so does the level of love felt. This is still a genuine type of love that goes beyond mere infatuation.
On the other hand, “Love, provides space, endurance, acceptance, patience and comprehension. It does so in a way which is limitless, timeless, neverending, everlasting and continuous.”
Personally, I have given and received both Love and love. However, it is when you’re able to feel Love for another person, that is an amazing gift to yourself. You are filled with a positive energy that just makes life sweeter — regardless if it is returned. Needing the love returned in order to feel it, is indeed a condition. Which makes it love, rather than Love.
I remember the first time I felt Love for a non-family member. The object of my affection and my paths crossed in first grade on the first day of school, standing in a school cafeteria line for the first time as well. Given all those firsts, I was both nervous and excited with my little tray. Determined to make sure I did everything exactly the way the teacher explained.
My concentration was broken when the boy behind me flicked some peas on to the ground. The teacher sternly asked, “Who just threw those peas?”
To my horror, the boy pointed his finger at me and said I had done it. My face grew hot, my chest constricted so tightly, I couldn’t get out the words of denial. That’s when my angel came to the rescue. With one hand on her hip and the other pointing at the true offender, Amy said with such authority, “She didn’t do it, that boy did it.”
Right then and there, I was smitten. Amy and I were the closest of friends for the next five years. Monday through Friday, we sat next to each other in class and at lunch. We’d passed each other notes in class, played together at recess and walk home together after school. We were in complete agreement that Fonzie from Happy Days would make the perfect boyfriend when we were old enough to have boyfriends. (Little did we know the better choice was Richie Cunningham!) We both loved Donny Osmond and wore purple socks to show our devotion. We co-authored songs for him. This cemented my Love for her.
At the end of fifth grade, my mother’s fiancé decided to open up a car dealership in his hometown in Ohio. She figured it would be best to have us switch schools during the summer break. Unfortunately, my step-father got cold feet and dumped her before the summer ended. (He later regretted it and a couple of years later, they reconciled and married.)
As sad as my mother was, I was thrilled to be going back to Dallas. Not only because my dad lived there but also because of Amy. Unfortunately, Mom couldn’t get her job back at the same suburban newspaper, but her boss was able to get her a position at another suburban daily. However, it was on the other side of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Which meant in terms of my relationship with Amy, I might as well have still lived in Ohio.
My sixth grade year was minus a best friend as all the girls in my new elementary school were all paired up. Luckily, when we made the jump to middle school, the dynamic changed and I had a brand new best friend. I did not Love her, but was very fond. Rachel and I bonded, among other things, over our mutual crush on the 8th grade history teacher and football coach. (He was dreamy.)
Because of this crush, we went to every football game. And it was during the play-offs that Rachel and I loyally attended to support our oblivious crush that I ran into Amy again. Our school was playing her school. Rachel and I were giggling about how cute boys’ butts look in the football tights as we walked to the concession stand. Right there in line was Amy with her friends.
I was filled with joy. At long last, my beloved friend! And how fitting that our reunion was once again while we were both waiting in line for food?
I excitedly ran up to her, thrilled with the coincidence and convinced that this meant we’d pick up where we left off. I’d have TWO best friends. Instead of meeting a happy smile, there was only a blank stare. Apparently, three semesters and two summer breaks wiped our bond from her memory. For a split second I wonder if I had the wrong girl. But when she confirmed she was Amy, I was even more confused. How can this be?
A couple more times in high school, when we were both doing the pep squad thing, our paths would cross. But I didn’t bother to do more than smile. Of course, it stung to realize that what I had felt hadn’t been returned. But it didn’t diminish the Love I felt. It was a heartfelt smile of joy to see her every time. I just recognized that that was all it was now.
And it truly doesn't matter... the warm wave of Love I feel when I recall her is glorious. That is the real power of Love. The relationship may not last forever, but the good feelings do.
Friday, March 6, 2009
The Dream of One Fickle-Hearted Woman
For years now, my pretend husband has been Ze Frank. He’s cute. He’s funny and insightful. He knows how to make cool stuff to play with on the computer.
I even got my kids onboard with him being their pretend father with such gems as Sing-Along Songs for Children with Short Attention Spans. It was a happy pretend family for many years.
Then last summer I found myself at an art show in Santa Fe. I was unexpectedly and completely mesmerized by The Confession by Vladimir Kush. That’s the image included with this post. Not sure if it has the same stunning effect as it does in person. It was so beautiful in such a haunting way to me. He’s a surrealist by strict definition, but he defines his work as metaphorical realism. For a split second, I considered raiding the kids college funds so I could own this piece of art. I created a love story on the spot between those two leaves. It ends with the declaration of undying love even in the face of their now leaving this earthly realm.
I floated throughout the rest of his collection—torn between the desire to possess his work or magically jump into it. Then... I saw him. Hubba, hubba. Bonus: RUSSIAN ACCENT.
I was smitten. Yes indeedy I was.
But what about my pretend husband Ze? I still adored him, but something about Vladimir called to me. I had to break the news to the kids that they would now have a new pretend daddy. They were a little hesitant... They liked the art and all, but he wasn’t nearly as fun as Ze.
Which should have been a sign.
Vladimir and I embarked upon a passionate pretend affair for several months. It was just like his paintings... Dramatic, magical and awe-inspiring. But he couldn’t make me laugh the way my beloved Ze could.
I think it was missing Ze’s silliness is what ultimately led to that little pretend flirtation with Jonathan Coulton. Jonathan was a musician who wrote and sang his own quirky lyrics that both made me giggle as well as touch me. The man wrote a song about a lonely squid who recognizes this is his fate as he “crushes everything”. Of course I couldn't be anything but utterly charmed.
What pickle my fickle heart put me in! But being the ever creative woman who has ultimate control over my pretend love life... Ze became a pretend homosexual and my new best pretend friend. His pretend life partner is now Jonathan who is also a pretend homosexual.
My new pretend husband Vladimir still paints beautiful paintings by day and makes mad passionate pretend love to me at night. And he speaks Russian while doing so because I think it is hot. And several times a week, Ze and Jonathan come over for Tea or Brunch... making me laugh and laugh.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Happily Ever After
Last spring, I read Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Many friends had recommended it as this book outlined one woman’s passion for dining, spiritual growth and romantic love. Three topics near and dear to my own heart.
I devoured the “Eat” section and focused my culinary pursuits in the direction of Italy.
I sighed through the “Love” section, making all sorts of personal wishes.
But it was so hard to get through the “Pray” section, despite my love of Eastern philosophy and religions.
Ironically, it is a quote from that tedious section that has stuck with me, a year later. The main character was lamenting the loss of a lover from her life. She was convinced he was The One. Her soul mate. Another character’s response startled me. He said:
"He probably was. Your problem is you don't understand what that word means. People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that's holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you will ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. "
This made me reassess just what a “soul mate” truly was. And if this character was correct, it made me sad to recognize that your soul mate isn’t supposed to be a life partner. You experience both the giddy high of finding him... Then the profound low of losing him.
Indeed, this is the total opposite of what we learn growing up. The happily ever after doesn’t result in marching off into the sunset with The One.
It happens when you march off alone.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Macabre Coincidence
Feb 2009
It was another unusually warm and blustery day yesterday. While out walking, I realized the nearby airport must have changed the approach patterns because of the wind. Planes were now roaring over my neighborhood. I could see landing-gear dropping at times.
Which, being the lover of “something new” that I am… I actually enjoyed as I got out and about throughout the day. As my weird brain is apt to do, I started wondering where a pilot would try to put his plane down should it malfunction during take-off or landing. Could it avoid the houses? It is a pretty densely populated area.
Every single time I beat the pavement somewhere, which was several times yesterday, a fragment of that pondering popped into my head. I found myself wondering who else was considering this thought today.
This morning, the very first news headline I see: “Fiery Plane Crash in Upstate New York Kills 49 People.”
Apparently, a plane crashed into house last night. Nothing to do with winds or anything, it was ice on the wings and fog. But still. How creepy is that?
Oh. And may the 49 people who lost their lives rest in peace. My heart goes out to all their loved ones. No matter how intrigued I am by this coincidence, I can't imagine what they are going through at this moment.
It was another unusually warm and blustery day yesterday. While out walking, I realized the nearby airport must have changed the approach patterns because of the wind. Planes were now roaring over my neighborhood. I could see landing-gear dropping at times.
Which, being the lover of “something new” that I am… I actually enjoyed as I got out and about throughout the day. As my weird brain is apt to do, I started wondering where a pilot would try to put his plane down should it malfunction during take-off or landing. Could it avoid the houses? It is a pretty densely populated area.
Every single time I beat the pavement somewhere, which was several times yesterday, a fragment of that pondering popped into my head. I found myself wondering who else was considering this thought today.
This morning, the very first news headline I see: “Fiery Plane Crash in Upstate New York Kills 49 People.”
Apparently, a plane crashed into house last night. Nothing to do with winds or anything, it was ice on the wings and fog. But still. How creepy is that?
Oh. And may the 49 people who lost their lives rest in peace. My heart goes out to all their loved ones. No matter how intrigued I am by this coincidence, I can't imagine what they are going through at this moment.
Be My Valentine, Charlie Brown
Out of all the Charlie Brown Holiday Specials, "Be My Valentine, Charlie Brown" has always been the one that touched me the most.
Yes, I felt for Linus in his steadfast belief in the Great Pumpkin and that pitiful little Christmas tree. But nothing beat the watching of Charlie Brown's expectations build, then crash to the ground.
If you recall, no one gives him a single valentine of Valentine's Day. During the class party, somehow, every classmate forgot him. None of his friends send one to his home. You'd think Peppermint Patty would have remembered.
He is so disappointed. It breaks my heart every single time. The next day, some girls feel guilty and offer a used valentine. Schroeder berates them for being too late.
When Charlie Brown gladly accepts their guilt-motivated offering... I feel even sadder. To this day, I wish I was his friend. I would have cut out a big red heart out of construction paper and pasted in on white lace paper doily. Spelled out in glue and glitter: "Be My Valentine". Below that, a row of x's and o's.
Bird Poop in Produce
Jan
Whenever I need a winter pick-me-up, I head to Whole Foods. The store I go to is a mega-store style. They have a wine bar, and a sushi, BBQ, and gelato “bar” where everything was prepared on-site on top of an extensive bakery and seafood section.
But it is their big floral and produce department that draws me this time of year. All the bright colors and fresh scents dazzle my senses. Yes, many of those products are overpriced* but I’m paying for the experience. Plus, if I time it right, the entire store has enough samples scattered throughout that I can make a meal out of it. It always brightens my day to pay a visit.
However, I may have ruined the experience for young mother. She had her lovely toddler daughter in the front of the carriage with fresh fruits and vegetables, all organic I’m sure, piled up in the back. We were both waiting for a sample of freshly squeezed pineapple juice.
That’s when I heard the birds singing. I took my earphones out to listen. I asked her if she heard it too. She smiled widely and pointed to a pair of birds singing on the exposed ceiling rafters that seem to be all the interior design rage of many stores and restaurants these days. And she said to her adorable daughter, “see the birdies honey?”
Now. What would come to your mind about having birds in a grocery store?
If you were like me, you’d wonder how on earth they keep the bird droppings off the food!
So I mused about this out loud and the woman’s face fell. She looked at her basket of goodies with grave concern. I tried to make her feel better by saying birds and all sorts of wildlife had access when it was growing. That’s why we wash it.
She didn’t seem to cheer up at that fact; instead, I may have ruined her experience with a dose of unwelcome reality.
*Did you know that a 1,000 calories of pure junk food costs $1.76 whereas a 1,000 calories that are nutrient dense, organic, etc can cost $18.16? No wonder “the rich can never be too thin!”
Whenever I need a winter pick-me-up, I head to Whole Foods. The store I go to is a mega-store style. They have a wine bar, and a sushi, BBQ, and gelato “bar” where everything was prepared on-site on top of an extensive bakery and seafood section.
But it is their big floral and produce department that draws me this time of year. All the bright colors and fresh scents dazzle my senses. Yes, many of those products are overpriced* but I’m paying for the experience. Plus, if I time it right, the entire store has enough samples scattered throughout that I can make a meal out of it. It always brightens my day to pay a visit.
However, I may have ruined the experience for young mother. She had her lovely toddler daughter in the front of the carriage with fresh fruits and vegetables, all organic I’m sure, piled up in the back. We were both waiting for a sample of freshly squeezed pineapple juice.
That’s when I heard the birds singing. I took my earphones out to listen. I asked her if she heard it too. She smiled widely and pointed to a pair of birds singing on the exposed ceiling rafters that seem to be all the interior design rage of many stores and restaurants these days. And she said to her adorable daughter, “see the birdies honey?”
Now. What would come to your mind about having birds in a grocery store?
If you were like me, you’d wonder how on earth they keep the bird droppings off the food!
So I mused about this out loud and the woman’s face fell. She looked at her basket of goodies with grave concern. I tried to make her feel better by saying birds and all sorts of wildlife had access when it was growing. That’s why we wash it.
She didn’t seem to cheer up at that fact; instead, I may have ruined her experience with a dose of unwelcome reality.
*Did you know that a 1,000 calories of pure junk food costs $1.76 whereas a 1,000 calories that are nutrient dense, organic, etc can cost $18.16? No wonder “the rich can never be too thin!”
Picture Perfect Snow
Jan 09
We got a few inches of snow today, the first real accumulation this winter. While I shoveled the sidewalks and driveway, the kids did what kids do in this stuff. Pure joy for them. The cold and wet doesn't bother them. Which will always mystify me as I didn't grow up with the stuff. At most, we'd get an inch of the stuff once in a blue moon... which would be melted by noon.
But given my kids' reaction to it, it must be great fun.
As I stood at the end of my driveway, surveying the neighborhood, I noticed all the lawns that had multiple paths of foot prints looping throughout their yard. Those are the homes with children. Then there were the homes that had no foot prints, looking like a perfect holiday card picture.
I'm so grateful for my not so pretty snow covered lawn. And I will be sad the day that it does stay picture perfect.
We got a few inches of snow today, the first real accumulation this winter. While I shoveled the sidewalks and driveway, the kids did what kids do in this stuff. Pure joy for them. The cold and wet doesn't bother them. Which will always mystify me as I didn't grow up with the stuff. At most, we'd get an inch of the stuff once in a blue moon... which would be melted by noon.
But given my kids' reaction to it, it must be great fun.
As I stood at the end of my driveway, surveying the neighborhood, I noticed all the lawns that had multiple paths of foot prints looping throughout their yard. Those are the homes with children. Then there were the homes that had no foot prints, looking like a perfect holiday card picture.
I'm so grateful for my not so pretty snow covered lawn. And I will be sad the day that it does stay picture perfect.
Book Recommendation
Jan 2009
I devoured Wally Lamb's latest: The First Hour I Believed on vacation.
The main character is a middle-aged man, who after reconciling with his wife, they start over in Littleton, Colorado. He teaches and she is the school nurse at Columbine High School. The story evolves to the idea of the victims of other victims. He also begins a personal quest for meaning and faith. As the book jacket states, it becomes a "mythic journey."
If you have any interest in the work of Joseph Campbell or Viktor Frankle... the various themes explored in this novel will be quite enjoyable. And if you weren't familiar with those writers, after reading this novel, check them out.
It was also intriguing how he intertwined the actual events and people of the Columbine tragedy. And the story about his great grandmother was almost as arresting as his.
I devoured Wally Lamb's latest: The First Hour I Believed on vacation.
The main character is a middle-aged man, who after reconciling with his wife, they start over in Littleton, Colorado. He teaches and she is the school nurse at Columbine High School. The story evolves to the idea of the victims of other victims. He also begins a personal quest for meaning and faith. As the book jacket states, it becomes a "mythic journey."
If you have any interest in the work of Joseph Campbell or Viktor Frankle... the various themes explored in this novel will be quite enjoyable. And if you weren't familiar with those writers, after reading this novel, check them out.
It was also intriguing how he intertwined the actual events and people of the Columbine tragedy. And the story about his great grandmother was almost as arresting as his.
In the Blink of an Eye
Jan 2009
On my very, very messy desk sits one of my favorite photos. It was snapped on my four-year-old daughter’s first day of pre-school as we arrived by the teacher. I’m behind her, bent down so my face is on same level with hers, with my right arm around her middle. My other hand holds the hand of her two-year-old brother.
She and I are grinning, complete with our matching dimples. She is wearing this pretty little blue dress covered in flowers with white socks folded at ankles. It’s the proud smile and twinkle in her eye that I adore. My little extrovert was just starting to emerge. She was so excited to meet new friends.
My son, well, he clearly doesn’t know what to make of all of this. His huge blue eyes look into the camera. He’s not scared but I can see a little apprehension. He is also clutching this cardboard book about a fire engine that he loved. I’d read that book to him several times a day and it went everywhere with him for a few months. He’s nervous, but between holding me and that book, he’s OK.
I have it in prominent position so as I can look at it often. Its not just a momentary flash back into time that I enjoy… but to remember life is made up of moments that are fleeting.
To quote my teen movie hero, Ferris Bueller:
“Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
On my very, very messy desk sits one of my favorite photos. It was snapped on my four-year-old daughter’s first day of pre-school as we arrived by the teacher. I’m behind her, bent down so my face is on same level with hers, with my right arm around her middle. My other hand holds the hand of her two-year-old brother.
She and I are grinning, complete with our matching dimples. She is wearing this pretty little blue dress covered in flowers with white socks folded at ankles. It’s the proud smile and twinkle in her eye that I adore. My little extrovert was just starting to emerge. She was so excited to meet new friends.
My son, well, he clearly doesn’t know what to make of all of this. His huge blue eyes look into the camera. He’s not scared but I can see a little apprehension. He is also clutching this cardboard book about a fire engine that he loved. I’d read that book to him several times a day and it went everywhere with him for a few months. He’s nervous, but between holding me and that book, he’s OK.
I have it in prominent position so as I can look at it often. Its not just a momentary flash back into time that I enjoy… but to remember life is made up of moments that are fleeting.
To quote my teen movie hero, Ferris Bueller:
“Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
The Bored Lizard
The kids’ dad gave them a pair of snakes with legs, or lizards to be precise. I don’t “do” snakes or lizards, so all was warned if they wished these creatures to live, kids must provide all care. I didn’t even want to know their names.
Surprisingly, they’ve lived for a couple of years now. And even more shocking to me, they’ve not had heart attacks. You see, my daughter’s cat’s favorite perch is on top of the tank. It’s a mesh cover that not only supports her weight, but it also allows her to peer intently into their world for hours on end. Because the tank sits in front of window with a tree full of birds on the other side, she is entertained even more. She’ll make these weird “clucking” sounds at the birds. Its like she is calling them to her.
“Come close, I just want to play with you. Don’t mind my teeth or claws, I’ll be gentle.”
At first, whenever I saw her there, I’d feel some pity for the lizards and remove her. But then I realized they simply ignored her.
However, recently, I noticed one of them had climbed to the top of the crisscrossing logs against the side of the tank up towards her. Remarkably, the little thing was balancing on just three legs with his front leg stretched out rather beseechingly to her.
She was beside herself with joy.
But what the f*ck? Don’t animals have some built-in radar about predators? Don’t they know instinctually just what she’d do if that mesh cover was removed? She’s left enough dead baby bunnies, chipmunks and mice on the back porch for me to conclude it’s not to cuddle with them.
Or has life in a smallish tank become so boring, it’s a suicide attempt? I’ve always had this belief that pets that spend their lives in tanks or cages are terribly depressed. Sure, the kids give them some juicy live crickets, which provide a challenge to capture and consume. But still. I can’t imagine being confined to my house, let alone just one room in it.
So I’m half-expecting one day to look in the tank and see his head submerged in the water dish. Next to his lifeless body, scratched in the sand is: “Goodbye cruel world.”
Oh. And the delusional and/or depressed lizard’s name is Jacques. After thinking about it, I wanted to know. Now I hear his goodbye note with a French accent in my mind.
Surprisingly, they’ve lived for a couple of years now. And even more shocking to me, they’ve not had heart attacks. You see, my daughter’s cat’s favorite perch is on top of the tank. It’s a mesh cover that not only supports her weight, but it also allows her to peer intently into their world for hours on end. Because the tank sits in front of window with a tree full of birds on the other side, she is entertained even more. She’ll make these weird “clucking” sounds at the birds. Its like she is calling them to her.
“Come close, I just want to play with you. Don’t mind my teeth or claws, I’ll be gentle.”
At first, whenever I saw her there, I’d feel some pity for the lizards and remove her. But then I realized they simply ignored her.
However, recently, I noticed one of them had climbed to the top of the crisscrossing logs against the side of the tank up towards her. Remarkably, the little thing was balancing on just three legs with his front leg stretched out rather beseechingly to her.
She was beside herself with joy.
But what the f*ck? Don’t animals have some built-in radar about predators? Don’t they know instinctually just what she’d do if that mesh cover was removed? She’s left enough dead baby bunnies, chipmunks and mice on the back porch for me to conclude it’s not to cuddle with them.
Or has life in a smallish tank become so boring, it’s a suicide attempt? I’ve always had this belief that pets that spend their lives in tanks or cages are terribly depressed. Sure, the kids give them some juicy live crickets, which provide a challenge to capture and consume. But still. I can’t imagine being confined to my house, let alone just one room in it.
So I’m half-expecting one day to look in the tank and see his head submerged in the water dish. Next to his lifeless body, scratched in the sand is: “Goodbye cruel world.”
Oh. And the delusional and/or depressed lizard’s name is Jacques. After thinking about it, I wanted to know. Now I hear his goodbye note with a French accent in my mind.
The Trick is to Have Low Expectations AND High Standards
December 2008
Sounds like an oxymoron.... but I'm convinced that if you are able to lower expectations in life without lowering your standards as well... that's the path to personal satisfaction.
Sounds like an oxymoron.... but I'm convinced that if you are able to lower expectations in life without lowering your standards as well... that's the path to personal satisfaction.
Teenage Drinking
Dec 2008
Tis the season so I'm doing the holiday party thing every weekend this month. Last night's shin-ding was kid inclusive. The kids are older so the adults are past the time of needing to make sure no one leaves a cocktail in reach of a toddler or pre-schooler.
However, I learned last night that when there are children around the age 14, you need to keep your eye on the bar now.
All the adults had migrated into the dining and living rooms to talk and laugh. The younger kids were running around in different parts of the house. A popular game last night, which was new to me, is "Sardine." Its a reverse of "Hide and Go Seek" of sorts. Only ONE kid hides while all the others count to 30 or so. Then they seek the one kid, and as they find them, they join them in the hiding spot, often squeezing into tight spots.
I make my way into the kitchen to get a drink and the two teenage girls around the kitchen island that is laden with snacks and the booze. Immediately, I noticed one girl cover a mug that was in front of her with her hand and both of their body language became guarded. But they gave themselves away when I turned my back to fill my glass with water and the mug moved to the far side of the counter next to the other girl.
Ah-ha. They too had seen that I had noticed the mug and hand covering. A game of cat and mouse ensued. Instead of rejoining the adults, I chatted with the girls. They were friendly polite girls, which I'd expect as I know their parents very well. Another mom, who wasn't either of their mothers, wandered in a moment later. Our eyes met and I knew her Mom Senses had kicked on and was staying in that kitchen for same reason.
I didn't torture them too long with having to politely talk their parents' friends nor did I bust them for trying to sneak booze. However, given they are only 14 years old, and as cool as I think I am, they're too young to be drinking. Its one thing for a parent to hand their teenager a glass of champagne... but I'd have to turn in my Good Mother Club Membership if I let them drink.
I toyed with them for awhile by "tidying up the kitchen" while continuing the small talk. Along with the empty glasses, plates and platters... I also picked up that small collection of full glasses of wine and cocktails left on the island. I'm sure some were indeed unfinished drinks of adult guests who had left.
Then I went ahead and ended the game when I picked up their mug, peered into it before dumping the wine into the sink. By the time I had turned back around, the girls were outta there. The other mom and I didn't say a word, just a raised eyebrow and smile said it all.
This morning, I'm on the fence about how to tell their parents. Their daughters are obviously curious and experimenting. This time, they tried it in a safe place... next time... something awful could happen. But its so hard to find the right words that won't cause an over-reaction.
Tis the season so I'm doing the holiday party thing every weekend this month. Last night's shin-ding was kid inclusive. The kids are older so the adults are past the time of needing to make sure no one leaves a cocktail in reach of a toddler or pre-schooler.
However, I learned last night that when there are children around the age 14, you need to keep your eye on the bar now.
All the adults had migrated into the dining and living rooms to talk and laugh. The younger kids were running around in different parts of the house. A popular game last night, which was new to me, is "Sardine." Its a reverse of "Hide and Go Seek" of sorts. Only ONE kid hides while all the others count to 30 or so. Then they seek the one kid, and as they find them, they join them in the hiding spot, often squeezing into tight spots.
I make my way into the kitchen to get a drink and the two teenage girls around the kitchen island that is laden with snacks and the booze. Immediately, I noticed one girl cover a mug that was in front of her with her hand and both of their body language became guarded. But they gave themselves away when I turned my back to fill my glass with water and the mug moved to the far side of the counter next to the other girl.
Ah-ha. They too had seen that I had noticed the mug and hand covering. A game of cat and mouse ensued. Instead of rejoining the adults, I chatted with the girls. They were friendly polite girls, which I'd expect as I know their parents very well. Another mom, who wasn't either of their mothers, wandered in a moment later. Our eyes met and I knew her Mom Senses had kicked on and was staying in that kitchen for same reason.
I didn't torture them too long with having to politely talk their parents' friends nor did I bust them for trying to sneak booze. However, given they are only 14 years old, and as cool as I think I am, they're too young to be drinking. Its one thing for a parent to hand their teenager a glass of champagne... but I'd have to turn in my Good Mother Club Membership if I let them drink.
I toyed with them for awhile by "tidying up the kitchen" while continuing the small talk. Along with the empty glasses, plates and platters... I also picked up that small collection of full glasses of wine and cocktails left on the island. I'm sure some were indeed unfinished drinks of adult guests who had left.
Then I went ahead and ended the game when I picked up their mug, peered into it before dumping the wine into the sink. By the time I had turned back around, the girls were outta there. The other mom and I didn't say a word, just a raised eyebrow and smile said it all.
This morning, I'm on the fence about how to tell their parents. Their daughters are obviously curious and experimenting. This time, they tried it in a safe place... next time... something awful could happen. But its so hard to find the right words that won't cause an over-reaction.
Christmas Tree Ornaments
Dec 2008
I've got one of those Christmas Trees that if you know the story behind every ornament, you would know a great deal about my personal history. Every time I hang a particular moment, I flash back to the girl I was the first time it hung from my tree.
There's the set of ornaments my mother's best friend made for our family when I was eight or so. We had just left Daddy and somehow he'd gotten (and tossed) the main box of Christmas ornaments. Those ornaments were such a loving gesture to our little fractured family.
Because of my birthday being so close to Christmas, I've got several birthday gift ones. People would buy because something about that ornament reminded them of me. Mom bought me several when I first left home that bring back those first Christmases that I was proudly "on my own."
There's a series from the trees I shared with my first love in that little apartment in upstate New York. We had made those... we took matchboxes and wrapped them up with leftover wrapping paper and ribbons. We also collected a bunch of pine cones along a trail the spray-painted them gold. Only a few of these are left but they make it up every year while I remember just how merry he used to make Christmas for me.
For years, my best friend, who now lives in Minnesota, and I would make ornaments as hostess gifts. Some turned out really great but its the goofy ones that I smile at the most as I think about how much I miss her.
Of course, there's the collection of "Baby's First Christmas" and school made ornaments that make me marvel out fast time really is flying.
The hardest ornaments to hang though are the ones collected with the kids' dad when we were first married. They are absolutely beautiful ones we purchased on our many travels with the idea of always remembering how wonderful that trip was.
Its been a few years since I purchased or made a new ornament. I've been thinking about why. I suspect its tied to my feelings that my ornament collection represents my desire to have an object that symbolizes where I am in my life... and for the last couple of Christmases have not been joyful like they were in the past. And there could be a part of me that didn't want to archive the woman I've been those holidays. Or maybe I felt like I didn't know how to... who knows.
But today, after school, the kids and I are going to go pick us out a couple of new ornaments. Its time the collection was expanded.
It's time that I embrace where I am in my life. Its time to find joy in it again.
I've got one of those Christmas Trees that if you know the story behind every ornament, you would know a great deal about my personal history. Every time I hang a particular moment, I flash back to the girl I was the first time it hung from my tree.
There's the set of ornaments my mother's best friend made for our family when I was eight or so. We had just left Daddy and somehow he'd gotten (and tossed) the main box of Christmas ornaments. Those ornaments were such a loving gesture to our little fractured family.
Because of my birthday being so close to Christmas, I've got several birthday gift ones. People would buy because something about that ornament reminded them of me. Mom bought me several when I first left home that bring back those first Christmases that I was proudly "on my own."
There's a series from the trees I shared with my first love in that little apartment in upstate New York. We had made those... we took matchboxes and wrapped them up with leftover wrapping paper and ribbons. We also collected a bunch of pine cones along a trail the spray-painted them gold. Only a few of these are left but they make it up every year while I remember just how merry he used to make Christmas for me.
For years, my best friend, who now lives in Minnesota, and I would make ornaments as hostess gifts. Some turned out really great but its the goofy ones that I smile at the most as I think about how much I miss her.
Of course, there's the collection of "Baby's First Christmas" and school made ornaments that make me marvel out fast time really is flying.
The hardest ornaments to hang though are the ones collected with the kids' dad when we were first married. They are absolutely beautiful ones we purchased on our many travels with the idea of always remembering how wonderful that trip was.
Its been a few years since I purchased or made a new ornament. I've been thinking about why. I suspect its tied to my feelings that my ornament collection represents my desire to have an object that symbolizes where I am in my life... and for the last couple of Christmases have not been joyful like they were in the past. And there could be a part of me that didn't want to archive the woman I've been those holidays. Or maybe I felt like I didn't know how to... who knows.
But today, after school, the kids and I are going to go pick us out a couple of new ornaments. Its time the collection was expanded.
It's time that I embrace where I am in my life. Its time to find joy in it again.
Tea for Me
Nov 2008
In the warmer months, like almost every Texas-raised person, I live on iced tea. I'll make pitcher after pitcher, flavoring it with pure cranberry, pomegranate or blueberry is relatively new healthy addition. However, once there is a chill in the air, that stops.
Then, then my British-Canadian roots take over. My mother's family is so British, all of them had portraits of the queen hanging in their farm houses back New Brunswick. Now my mother didn't go that far when she relocated Great State of Texas, but she did impart the love of a good cup of tea.
I suspect part of keeping the afternoon tea tradition was due to the tea-cup collection that is now in my custody. I had started throwing holiday tea parties as well as having a daughter. My mother thought the collection would get used rather more often than sitting on a shelf in her home. She had promised her mother the collection would be used. So I had to make the same promise. And I surely have.
Mum's family (yes I've got to be only kid in Texas that would say "Y'all come meet my mum") were very modest people. However one luxury they would indulge upon was this fine china. A new beautiful cup and saucer that the lady of the house would grant herself once ever so often, so collection grew. Then was separated when their were two daughters. To this day, I delight in recognizing in a cousin's collection one of my cups.
So what I have now is a hodge podge. The only common factor is the quality. Since the collection became mine 10 years ago, I've added two cups and saucers that just struck my fancy as time has passed.
Let me tell you, tea DOES taste differently in fine china tea cup as opposed to a ceramic mug. There's also another commonality in each cups... they've all got pretty spring/summer flowers or other bright/shiny designs.
Which is especially appreciated by this sunshine and flower loving woman. As the plants and trees die for a few months and days are shorter, I need bursts of light and warmth to ward off the blues.
What I cherish the most when drinking from these cups though is reflecting about the women, that save one, I never knew personally who are a part of me. They had dreams just like I do for themselves and their daughters. With this small group of women, I share the bond of DNA... traditions... and tea cups.
When the time comes, I will pass along the collection, telling my daughter which ones chosen by Great-Great-Great Grammy all the way down to me. And tell her these are not meant for just show but to use. Perhaps she'll muse as I do about these women and feel the same sense of connection. I hope so.
In the warmer months, like almost every Texas-raised person, I live on iced tea. I'll make pitcher after pitcher, flavoring it with pure cranberry, pomegranate or blueberry is relatively new healthy addition. However, once there is a chill in the air, that stops.
Then, then my British-Canadian roots take over. My mother's family is so British, all of them had portraits of the queen hanging in their farm houses back New Brunswick. Now my mother didn't go that far when she relocated Great State of Texas, but she did impart the love of a good cup of tea.
I suspect part of keeping the afternoon tea tradition was due to the tea-cup collection that is now in my custody. I had started throwing holiday tea parties as well as having a daughter. My mother thought the collection would get used rather more often than sitting on a shelf in her home. She had promised her mother the collection would be used. So I had to make the same promise. And I surely have.
Mum's family (yes I've got to be only kid in Texas that would say "Y'all come meet my mum") were very modest people. However one luxury they would indulge upon was this fine china. A new beautiful cup and saucer that the lady of the house would grant herself once ever so often, so collection grew. Then was separated when their were two daughters. To this day, I delight in recognizing in a cousin's collection one of my cups.
So what I have now is a hodge podge. The only common factor is the quality. Since the collection became mine 10 years ago, I've added two cups and saucers that just struck my fancy as time has passed.
Let me tell you, tea DOES taste differently in fine china tea cup as opposed to a ceramic mug. There's also another commonality in each cups... they've all got pretty spring/summer flowers or other bright/shiny designs.
Which is especially appreciated by this sunshine and flower loving woman. As the plants and trees die for a few months and days are shorter, I need bursts of light and warmth to ward off the blues.
What I cherish the most when drinking from these cups though is reflecting about the women, that save one, I never knew personally who are a part of me. They had dreams just like I do for themselves and their daughters. With this small group of women, I share the bond of DNA... traditions... and tea cups.
When the time comes, I will pass along the collection, telling my daughter which ones chosen by Great-Great-Great Grammy all the way down to me. And tell her these are not meant for just show but to use. Perhaps she'll muse as I do about these women and feel the same sense of connection. I hope so.
Can Mama Buy You A Car?
Thanksgiving 2008
Dinner isn't until 3PM, but I'm bustling around the house getting ready for it. I walk by the table and remark out loud what a lovely job the kids did in selecting and arranging the flowers for the centerpiece. We also decided to go with the white and gold tableware as well.
I announce to the effect that we're certainly going to have a very pretty table this year.
My 9 year old son chimes in with, "Yes we will since you're sitting at the table. You're the prettiest thing in our house."
I had to put down the table cloth and go hug that boy. And offer him a car.
Dinner isn't until 3PM, but I'm bustling around the house getting ready for it. I walk by the table and remark out loud what a lovely job the kids did in selecting and arranging the flowers for the centerpiece. We also decided to go with the white and gold tableware as well.
I announce to the effect that we're certainly going to have a very pretty table this year.
My 9 year old son chimes in with, "Yes we will since you're sitting at the table. You're the prettiest thing in our house."
I had to put down the table cloth and go hug that boy. And offer him a car.
Halloween, The Good News, The Bad News
Oct 2008
Good news: Managed to get out of the house all but half of one bag from the 8 bags of candy purchased earlier this week rather than consume it.
Bad news: Kids managed to score easily three times amount of candy I was relieved to no longer be a temptation. Turns out the boy did the best as a few houses in the neighborhood were Dallas Cowboy fans. The person handing out the candy would cheer and empty half the bowl into his bag.
Not sure who was more thrilled with that happening... my son or his uncle and grandfather back in Dallas.
New Mantra: Bad Mommies Raid Their Kids Candy Stash. Bad. Bad. Bad Ones.
Good news: Managed to get out of the house all but half of one bag from the 8 bags of candy purchased earlier this week rather than consume it.
Bad news: Kids managed to score easily three times amount of candy I was relieved to no longer be a temptation. Turns out the boy did the best as a few houses in the neighborhood were Dallas Cowboy fans. The person handing out the candy would cheer and empty half the bowl into his bag.
Not sure who was more thrilled with that happening... my son or his uncle and grandfather back in Dallas.
New Mantra: Bad Mommies Raid Their Kids Candy Stash. Bad. Bad. Bad Ones.
The Big Show: Son In Play-Offs
November 08
My little boy’s team made it to the playoffs this season. They did quite well and this past weekend it was down to the final game for first place in the league.
The league went all out for this big game. They played on a field that had the official scoreboards that also tracked balls, strikes and innings. There was an announcer who on loudspeaker first introduced each team, player by player before the game started. Then he’d comment during the game as well as name each player before they go up to bat. Music was played between innings. At the end of the game, there was a little ceremony where each player was handed a first or second place medal while their coach said a little word about them over the loudspeaker.
As far as the boys go, they’d made it to the Big Show. Watching the little men swagger about the field was utterly delightful to me. They knew this was special and were basking in it. Only two teams got to play on this field this year.
Unfortunately, the other team played better and won the game. And my son, aka Speedy Gonzales, experienced for first time an unsuccessful base steal. I know how proud he is of his ability to steal bases so it was hard watching the shock and disappointment on his face when he got tagged “out”.
But he was still overall thrilled with playing in that game, regardless of the outcome. He proudly marched up to take his medal. I think this is in part to my reaction to his getting second place (So its been over 2 decades since I shook my pom-poms but I still know how to cheer!) but also his coach. We (and I say “we” because I see coaches as an extension of my parenting) got lucky. He is not only good at teaching them the game but focused on sportsmanship.
I insisted that we go directly to a popular family restaurant with him still in his uniform wearing the medal around his neck for dinner. Other little boys and parents recognized he was a champion with a smile or even a thumbs up. Again, little basking never hurt anyone.
Not sure who was basking more though...
My little boy’s team made it to the playoffs this season. They did quite well and this past weekend it was down to the final game for first place in the league.
The league went all out for this big game. They played on a field that had the official scoreboards that also tracked balls, strikes and innings. There was an announcer who on loudspeaker first introduced each team, player by player before the game started. Then he’d comment during the game as well as name each player before they go up to bat. Music was played between innings. At the end of the game, there was a little ceremony where each player was handed a first or second place medal while their coach said a little word about them over the loudspeaker.
As far as the boys go, they’d made it to the Big Show. Watching the little men swagger about the field was utterly delightful to me. They knew this was special and were basking in it. Only two teams got to play on this field this year.
Unfortunately, the other team played better and won the game. And my son, aka Speedy Gonzales, experienced for first time an unsuccessful base steal. I know how proud he is of his ability to steal bases so it was hard watching the shock and disappointment on his face when he got tagged “out”.
But he was still overall thrilled with playing in that game, regardless of the outcome. He proudly marched up to take his medal. I think this is in part to my reaction to his getting second place (So its been over 2 decades since I shook my pom-poms but I still know how to cheer!) but also his coach. We (and I say “we” because I see coaches as an extension of my parenting) got lucky. He is not only good at teaching them the game but focused on sportsmanship.
I insisted that we go directly to a popular family restaurant with him still in his uniform wearing the medal around his neck for dinner. Other little boys and parents recognized he was a champion with a smile or even a thumbs up. Again, little basking never hurt anyone.
Not sure who was basking more though...
Election Night: Victory Regardless
Nov 08
For those who know me, you know I believe that an Obama administration is the best one for the majority of people over the McCain one. My choice is made from both an intellectual and emotional place. Its also an intuitive belief too. You know what I mean, that FEELING that its the right one on so many different levels.
Also, I am one of those people who believes that you should always hope for the best but prepared for the worst.
One of the morning shows had a sociologist who commented that regardless of who gets the actual job... Its been a remarkable victory in that as a society. For the first time ever, we had the choice to vote for a potential leader based solely on his qualifications rather than his skin color.
It wasn't that long ago that black people were often disenfranchised period despite having the right to vote.
As a mother, I am happy for those mothers of children of color. They knew that life wasn't fair to them because of that extra pigment, curlier hair, etc. Their little boy or little girl could be smarter and work harder... but in the end, in certain circles, it really didn't matter. My kids don't have to face that kind of unfairness. And hopefully, more of their kids' won't either.
We've got a long way to go to a truly level playing field... but today is a sign that we are that much closer to achieving it.
For those who know me, you know I believe that an Obama administration is the best one for the majority of people over the McCain one. My choice is made from both an intellectual and emotional place. Its also an intuitive belief too. You know what I mean, that FEELING that its the right one on so many different levels.
Also, I am one of those people who believes that you should always hope for the best but prepared for the worst.
One of the morning shows had a sociologist who commented that regardless of who gets the actual job... Its been a remarkable victory in that as a society. For the first time ever, we had the choice to vote for a potential leader based solely on his qualifications rather than his skin color.
It wasn't that long ago that black people were often disenfranchised period despite having the right to vote.
As a mother, I am happy for those mothers of children of color. They knew that life wasn't fair to them because of that extra pigment, curlier hair, etc. Their little boy or little girl could be smarter and work harder... but in the end, in certain circles, it really didn't matter. My kids don't have to face that kind of unfairness. And hopefully, more of their kids' won't either.
We've got a long way to go to a truly level playing field... but today is a sign that we are that much closer to achieving it.
So Very Pleased Obama Won
November 08
A good thing happened last night. A very good thing indeed. I feel it in my bones Obama is the right person... just hearing the reaction around the world underscores my opinion. I've traveled internationally the past 8 years, America had become a joke.
What seriously impressed me was Senator McCain's conciliatory speech. The class and grace he displayed speaks volumes of his character. Never did I doubt he was a good man who puts his country first.
I understand change is hard and comes with a price... but today, today I'm going to celebrate that hope is alive again. And I celebrate with all those other mothers of color who now can tell their children they can grow up and be anything they want.
A good thing happened last night. A very good thing indeed. I feel it in my bones Obama is the right person... just hearing the reaction around the world underscores my opinion. I've traveled internationally the past 8 years, America had become a joke.
What seriously impressed me was Senator McCain's conciliatory speech. The class and grace he displayed speaks volumes of his character. Never did I doubt he was a good man who puts his country first.
I understand change is hard and comes with a price... but today, today I'm going to celebrate that hope is alive again. And I celebrate with all those other mothers of color who now can tell their children they can grow up and be anything they want.
Please, Don't Be Afraid
November 08
I’ve read so many posts here and on other message boards that are expressions of fear. Sometimes, people gripped by this fear, resort to being angry or bitter. The saddest expressions are the ones that let their fear turn to hate. Spewed hate creates more fear and everything just gets worse.
Barack Obama is not the anti-Christ whose being elected is the sign that the world is now coming to an end. He’s not a Muslim who is on a secret jihad. He’s not a socialist or communist any more than Franklin Roosevelt was.
I’m inclined to believe that those who are going off the deep end with fear… the ones coming up with the predictions and most outlandish statements that aren’t based on fact or logic… those folks are stuck in the same type of fear cycle experienced throughout our history.
When we first decided to declare our independence from Great Britain, the “Loyalists” thought we were going to hell in a hand basket. Some because they believed the monarchy was a result of God’s will. Serving God and King were pretty much the same. Then there were others that had found a nice comfort zone in status quo. They and their family were well off with the current system, why screw with that?
I think that same fear happened again when the slaves were freed, women given the right to vote and segregation was abolished. Each time people flipped out and said this was the beginning of the end. A grand scale mistake had been made.
Did our country face the dire consequences predicted at the time? Nope!
In fact, some of the most amazing things have happened. We stopped TRUE evil of Hitler’s Germany and Japanese Aggression during WW2. We put a man on the moon. We won the Cold War. We’ve got technology and medicine that improves the lives of millions.
November 4th, we made a giant leap forward as a society. For once, the majority of people didn’t dismiss a person’s intelligence, character or vision because he had some more pigment in his skin than most Americans.
Even if you totally disagree with every idea he has for domestic and foreign policy, that leap alone bodes well for us as a people. Call it karma. Call it divine will. Call it an inevitable result an evolved and educated society. Good things happen every time we step away from selfish and/or ignorant beliefs.
Please, don’t be afraid.
I’ve read so many posts here and on other message boards that are expressions of fear. Sometimes, people gripped by this fear, resort to being angry or bitter. The saddest expressions are the ones that let their fear turn to hate. Spewed hate creates more fear and everything just gets worse.
Barack Obama is not the anti-Christ whose being elected is the sign that the world is now coming to an end. He’s not a Muslim who is on a secret jihad. He’s not a socialist or communist any more than Franklin Roosevelt was.
I’m inclined to believe that those who are going off the deep end with fear… the ones coming up with the predictions and most outlandish statements that aren’t based on fact or logic… those folks are stuck in the same type of fear cycle experienced throughout our history.
When we first decided to declare our independence from Great Britain, the “Loyalists” thought we were going to hell in a hand basket. Some because they believed the monarchy was a result of God’s will. Serving God and King were pretty much the same. Then there were others that had found a nice comfort zone in status quo. They and their family were well off with the current system, why screw with that?
I think that same fear happened again when the slaves were freed, women given the right to vote and segregation was abolished. Each time people flipped out and said this was the beginning of the end. A grand scale mistake had been made.
Did our country face the dire consequences predicted at the time? Nope!
In fact, some of the most amazing things have happened. We stopped TRUE evil of Hitler’s Germany and Japanese Aggression during WW2. We put a man on the moon. We won the Cold War. We’ve got technology and medicine that improves the lives of millions.
November 4th, we made a giant leap forward as a society. For once, the majority of people didn’t dismiss a person’s intelligence, character or vision because he had some more pigment in his skin than most Americans.
Even if you totally disagree with every idea he has for domestic and foreign policy, that leap alone bodes well for us as a people. Call it karma. Call it divine will. Call it an inevitable result an evolved and educated society. Good things happen every time we step away from selfish and/or ignorant beliefs.
Please, don’t be afraid.
Lessons Along the Trail
This weekend found me again along a trail in the Shenandoah Mountains. It may have been my last hike of the 2008 season as I'm not good on wet or icy rocks. Who knows what the rest of the weekends look like between now and spring. Which made me a bit more reflective as I walked.
What a wonderful season it has been, this was the first year that I included the kids on most of my hikes. It literally has been years that I've waited to do more than nature walks with them. Finally, this spring, I realized at 8 years old, my youngest had the endurance to handle not just the "easy" trails but the "moderately difficult" trails and a few "strenuous" ones if we took all day long and include lots and lots of breaks.
I wanted to not only share this pleasure with them as they are indeed my favorite people on the face of the earth but because I wanted them to learn certain things.
Appreciation and respect for nature is one of them. So many artists try to capture beauty and/or feelings evoked when in "God's Cathedral", whether it be with words or images. My little suburban dwelling children need that piece of the puzzle to fully understand what they are reading or gazing upon in a museum or art book.
And with the above also comes ecological responsibility and accountability. The concept of not disturbing what you are experiencing now makes sense.
Then there is the idea that accomplishment and success doesn't always come in the form of applause, trophies or any kind of prize. You don't need those to know you have achieved something sitting at the summit, looking DOWN at hawks soaring. You know you pushed yourself physically and mentally to get there.
Looking over at their faces quietly taking in the view, I can see the pride on their faces that they made it.
I've always had the mindset that if a kid has the capacity to ask a certain question, they have the capacity to hear the entire answer. Problem is that often I don't have time to properly answer it and/or take follow up questions. With two hours in the car and four-five hours on the trail, we covered a lot of subjects quite thoroughly the last seven months.
Probably the best lesson was one that I learned personally. And that is indeed, hiking does give me joy and peace. Like other known activities that make me happy, 2007 marked the first year I'd totally abandoned it. While I got to experience some very interesting new adventures and develop some beautiful friendships, overall, it was not a good year. This past year, I re-introduced to my life the activities/pursuits that had slowly made their way out of my life the last couple of years.
And I think I'm falling in love with my own life again. I know it sounds really corny, but often my mood is similar to the time the cutest boy in the school asked me to dance.
What a wonderful season it has been, this was the first year that I included the kids on most of my hikes. It literally has been years that I've waited to do more than nature walks with them. Finally, this spring, I realized at 8 years old, my youngest had the endurance to handle not just the "easy" trails but the "moderately difficult" trails and a few "strenuous" ones if we took all day long and include lots and lots of breaks.
I wanted to not only share this pleasure with them as they are indeed my favorite people on the face of the earth but because I wanted them to learn certain things.
Appreciation and respect for nature is one of them. So many artists try to capture beauty and/or feelings evoked when in "God's Cathedral", whether it be with words or images. My little suburban dwelling children need that piece of the puzzle to fully understand what they are reading or gazing upon in a museum or art book.
And with the above also comes ecological responsibility and accountability. The concept of not disturbing what you are experiencing now makes sense.
Then there is the idea that accomplishment and success doesn't always come in the form of applause, trophies or any kind of prize. You don't need those to know you have achieved something sitting at the summit, looking DOWN at hawks soaring. You know you pushed yourself physically and mentally to get there.
Looking over at their faces quietly taking in the view, I can see the pride on their faces that they made it.
I've always had the mindset that if a kid has the capacity to ask a certain question, they have the capacity to hear the entire answer. Problem is that often I don't have time to properly answer it and/or take follow up questions. With two hours in the car and four-five hours on the trail, we covered a lot of subjects quite thoroughly the last seven months.
Probably the best lesson was one that I learned personally. And that is indeed, hiking does give me joy and peace. Like other known activities that make me happy, 2007 marked the first year I'd totally abandoned it. While I got to experience some very interesting new adventures and develop some beautiful friendships, overall, it was not a good year. This past year, I re-introduced to my life the activities/pursuits that had slowly made their way out of my life the last couple of years.
And I think I'm falling in love with my own life again. I know it sounds really corny, but often my mood is similar to the time the cutest boy in the school asked me to dance.
Who Are You and What Have You Done with My Mother?
Nov 08
This past weekend I got to see my daughter's official theatrical debut. Better yet, I got to witness a love being born. Its a very small role but she is so happy on stage and being part of cast who are mostly college students with a few older folks.
She is so like me, I had a feeling that this might be a passion for her. My fingers had been crossed because I want her to go into puberty having an activity that makes her feel a part of something and is personally rewarding. She is so creative but doesn't like sports and is an average student.
When she took her bows with the rest of the cast, I knew for sure she had the bug. I hope she not only sees it as an outlet the rest of her academic life, but if she feels she can make a career in this field... that she goes for it.
I will say this though. My mother totally cracked me up. She called to congratulate my daughter's first performance via speaker phone. I nearly choked when she started talking about how much she hopes my daughter becomes a famous actress.
This was the same woman who declared that my pursuing professional theater was a huge mistake, acting was a terrible career path. That it is as much luck as it is talent needed to be successful. And its foolish to let fate decide your success.
How I remember all those lectures!!!
I think my mom is indeed a pod person.
This past weekend I got to see my daughter's official theatrical debut. Better yet, I got to witness a love being born. Its a very small role but she is so happy on stage and being part of cast who are mostly college students with a few older folks.
She is so like me, I had a feeling that this might be a passion for her. My fingers had been crossed because I want her to go into puberty having an activity that makes her feel a part of something and is personally rewarding. She is so creative but doesn't like sports and is an average student.
When she took her bows with the rest of the cast, I knew for sure she had the bug. I hope she not only sees it as an outlet the rest of her academic life, but if she feels she can make a career in this field... that she goes for it.
I will say this though. My mother totally cracked me up. She called to congratulate my daughter's first performance via speaker phone. I nearly choked when she started talking about how much she hopes my daughter becomes a famous actress.
This was the same woman who declared that my pursuing professional theater was a huge mistake, acting was a terrible career path. That it is as much luck as it is talent needed to be successful. And its foolish to let fate decide your success.
How I remember all those lectures!!!
I think my mom is indeed a pod person.
Worth the Price
Nov 2008
The other day while driving an old familiar Eagles song started playing. Its a song I've heard so many times that I no longer listen to the words even though I'm singing along at the top of my lungs. (Remember, if you can't sing well, sing loud.)
It was "Lying Eyes", you know, that sad song about a woman who decided to marry for security but ends up lonely. She ends up cheating on her husband. Anyway, it was this line that I don't believe I ever really understood:
"I guess every form of refuge has its price."
Such a true statement on so many levels if I think about it. The immediate thought that came to my mind is the safe place I created for myself and my children. They have a security I never had as a child. I can't imagine trying to mother them in the circumstances in which I was mothered. But there is indeed a price I pay for this refuge.
Now I'm lucky, when it comes to motherhood, it is a price I can afford and I value the worth I get in return.
On the other hand, I remember my kids' paternal grandmother, may she rest in peace. She greatly resented what she paid for her safe place. To hear her talk, the price she paid was too great and the value too little.
Until the day she died, she would talk about how life had ripped her off. Bitterness was her ruling emotion. In fact, I believe she went and sabotaged her refuge with it. It was no longer a safe place for her children. Her sons are all good men, but every last one is damaged one way or another.
What I never understood was how come she didn't realize that there was actually a return policy? Of course, it might not have been full credit. And what she wanted might come at a greater price, but it was always a choice. She just couldn't see it and felt trapped and miserable.
The other day while driving an old familiar Eagles song started playing. Its a song I've heard so many times that I no longer listen to the words even though I'm singing along at the top of my lungs. (Remember, if you can't sing well, sing loud.)
It was "Lying Eyes", you know, that sad song about a woman who decided to marry for security but ends up lonely. She ends up cheating on her husband. Anyway, it was this line that I don't believe I ever really understood:
"I guess every form of refuge has its price."
Such a true statement on so many levels if I think about it. The immediate thought that came to my mind is the safe place I created for myself and my children. They have a security I never had as a child. I can't imagine trying to mother them in the circumstances in which I was mothered. But there is indeed a price I pay for this refuge.
Now I'm lucky, when it comes to motherhood, it is a price I can afford and I value the worth I get in return.
On the other hand, I remember my kids' paternal grandmother, may she rest in peace. She greatly resented what she paid for her safe place. To hear her talk, the price she paid was too great and the value too little.
Until the day she died, she would talk about how life had ripped her off. Bitterness was her ruling emotion. In fact, I believe she went and sabotaged her refuge with it. It was no longer a safe place for her children. Her sons are all good men, but every last one is damaged one way or another.
What I never understood was how come she didn't realize that there was actually a return policy? Of course, it might not have been full credit. And what she wanted might come at a greater price, but it was always a choice. She just couldn't see it and felt trapped and miserable.
Little Boys and Sports
Oct 08
As I sit here sipping and typing, on the floor on a pile of pillows sits my football helmet clad son playing video football. I asked.... "So what's up with wearing the helmet to play a video game."
Without taking eyes off screen or game controls, he states, "I'm not sure, it makes the game more fun though." I will say it makes it more fun to look at him.
Today is the Big Game. He's baseball team has made it to play-offs. Since the weather has turned cold around here in the evenings, I've frozen my ass off sitting in the stands the last few games. But I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world.
Early in his little league career, watching the game itself is akin to watching paint dry as the boys throw more "balls" than hittable ones. Many balls aren't caught or thrown to right person. The kids have gotten much better with time and practice.
However, that's not why I love watching them play.
The first part has to do with just how friggin cute it is to see a bunch of 8-9 year old boys taking a game so seriously. I love them all dressed in their uniforms, some of them have even mastered the swagger of older players as they move about the field.
Their earnestness and enthusiasm makes me smile the most. They love the game and are trying so hard. The rare kid that strikes out (rare in that a pitcher was able to throw three balls in the strike zone!)... the kid's shoulders just slump over as he goes back to the dugout. Parents are calling out "good swing" and "next time."
The second part is about watching my own dear boy in action. Whenever he makes a good play that results in a run or getting the other team out... I can feel his pride and joy.
He's now at the age that he won't do a "happy dance" and wave to me when he does something good. Instead, he'll steal a glance towards the stands, suppress a smile and walk a little taller. In those moments, my frozen ass is completely warmed as I shout out an acceptable cheer with acceptable enthusiasm. What I'm wanting to do is yell out how proud I am and how much I love my little boy while jumping up and down. Call him the pet names I've had since he was a baby. Rush the field and hug him like crazy.
He'd simply die if I did that. So I don't.
The fun thing, the other moms in the stand will look my way and smile during those moments. Never the dads. Its because I think every last one of them do the exact same type of containment when their boy has just made a great play.
And we're watching our little boys become little men right before our eyes.
As I sit here sipping and typing, on the floor on a pile of pillows sits my football helmet clad son playing video football. I asked.... "So what's up with wearing the helmet to play a video game."
Without taking eyes off screen or game controls, he states, "I'm not sure, it makes the game more fun though." I will say it makes it more fun to look at him.
Today is the Big Game. He's baseball team has made it to play-offs. Since the weather has turned cold around here in the evenings, I've frozen my ass off sitting in the stands the last few games. But I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world.
Early in his little league career, watching the game itself is akin to watching paint dry as the boys throw more "balls" than hittable ones. Many balls aren't caught or thrown to right person. The kids have gotten much better with time and practice.
However, that's not why I love watching them play.
The first part has to do with just how friggin cute it is to see a bunch of 8-9 year old boys taking a game so seriously. I love them all dressed in their uniforms, some of them have even mastered the swagger of older players as they move about the field.
Their earnestness and enthusiasm makes me smile the most. They love the game and are trying so hard. The rare kid that strikes out (rare in that a pitcher was able to throw three balls in the strike zone!)... the kid's shoulders just slump over as he goes back to the dugout. Parents are calling out "good swing" and "next time."
The second part is about watching my own dear boy in action. Whenever he makes a good play that results in a run or getting the other team out... I can feel his pride and joy.
He's now at the age that he won't do a "happy dance" and wave to me when he does something good. Instead, he'll steal a glance towards the stands, suppress a smile and walk a little taller. In those moments, my frozen ass is completely warmed as I shout out an acceptable cheer with acceptable enthusiasm. What I'm wanting to do is yell out how proud I am and how much I love my little boy while jumping up and down. Call him the pet names I've had since he was a baby. Rush the field and hug him like crazy.
He'd simply die if I did that. So I don't.
The fun thing, the other moms in the stand will look my way and smile during those moments. Never the dads. Its because I think every last one of them do the exact same type of containment when their boy has just made a great play.
And we're watching our little boys become little men right before our eyes.
One of the Best Gifts Ever
Often, my dad wasn't able to be the kind of father I wanted and needed in my childhood. But he could always be counted on to be a thoughtful listener with some insight that was usually right on target. And he was the King of Christmas and Birthdays.
He was the dad who always got you EXACTLY what you were wanting. My mother's practical nature was such the perfect foil... she'd have us believing what we were longing for was indeed too much. So it was always a wonderful surprise that Daddy, once again, came through.
He also loved coming through for other things that you thought you'd never get. One example: I had just moved to a small town in upstate New York for school. This Dallas girl was in complete culture shock. I was used to pretty (as in stylish, well-groomed) and friendly people... let alone "winters" that lasted maybe two months and consisted of maybe a dusting of show or ice that was usually melted by the afternoon.
(No offense at all intended to those who live in small upstate New York towns. This was the perception in the late 80s of an 18 year old girl used to her contemporaries calling other adults ma'am and sir, going out of your way to be nice to a new face... and, of course, wearing big hair and designer labels.)
However, I was thrilled to be invited a Fancy Big Event at school as I loved to get dressed up... but so dismayed when I went shopping in the local mall for a dress. The mall's anchors were Sears and a Sear's clone. Shops included Barbara Moss and other offerings of really cheap knock-offs of last year's trends. What was worse, was there seemed to be about 6 dresses repeated in store to store... I hated the idea of showing up wearing something another girl would be wearing.
Now I wasn't so excited and told my parents.
My mother thought it was good that I not be so superficial and make do with what was available.
Daddy, on the other hand... well, he flew me back down to Dallas for the weekend so he could take me shopping. I found this beautiful ice-blue, off the shoulder number. I remember looking at the price tag and thinking it was much too much. I started to put the dress back, but my dad had seen my face when I first saw it. He insisted I try it on... and buying it for me.
And how I loved wearing that dress! It was not crazy expensive (we weren't wealthy, Daddy worked for an airline) but it was beautifully made and I felt so pretty wearing it. The Fancy Big Event wasn't nearly as exciting as I had expected, but I will always remember how my father's gift made me feel so special.
Daddy is still coming through for me... but now by doing the same sort of thing for my children. My son is a huge Dallas Cowboy fan (I took a vow when I left Dallas to live in DC area that any children I had would NOT be raised Redskin fans).
For Halloween, he wanted to be a Dallas Cowboy... being deep in Redskin Territory, no costumes around here. So I asked my brother if he had seen any in Dallas. He did earlier this month but they were now gone. He saw my dad that night for dinner and mentioned it to him how he was bummed that he couldn't find a Cowboy costume for my son for me.
Yesterday, a package arrived from Grandpy. It was not only a miniature Dallas Cowboy uniform, but my son's favorite player... Tony Romo. The kid was so excited, he wore the helmet doing his homework.
That gift beats any gift he's ever given me... my own beloved boy's moment of joy opening that box.
(The photo is what I snapped with my phone-cam to send my Dad before calling to thank him.)
He was the dad who always got you EXACTLY what you were wanting. My mother's practical nature was such the perfect foil... she'd have us believing what we were longing for was indeed too much. So it was always a wonderful surprise that Daddy, once again, came through.
He also loved coming through for other things that you thought you'd never get. One example: I had just moved to a small town in upstate New York for school. This Dallas girl was in complete culture shock. I was used to pretty (as in stylish, well-groomed) and friendly people... let alone "winters" that lasted maybe two months and consisted of maybe a dusting of show or ice that was usually melted by the afternoon.
(No offense at all intended to those who live in small upstate New York towns. This was the perception in the late 80s of an 18 year old girl used to her contemporaries calling other adults ma'am and sir, going out of your way to be nice to a new face... and, of course, wearing big hair and designer labels.)
However, I was thrilled to be invited a Fancy Big Event at school as I loved to get dressed up... but so dismayed when I went shopping in the local mall for a dress. The mall's anchors were Sears and a Sear's clone. Shops included Barbara Moss and other offerings of really cheap knock-offs of last year's trends. What was worse, was there seemed to be about 6 dresses repeated in store to store... I hated the idea of showing up wearing something another girl would be wearing.
Now I wasn't so excited and told my parents.
My mother thought it was good that I not be so superficial and make do with what was available.
Daddy, on the other hand... well, he flew me back down to Dallas for the weekend so he could take me shopping. I found this beautiful ice-blue, off the shoulder number. I remember looking at the price tag and thinking it was much too much. I started to put the dress back, but my dad had seen my face when I first saw it. He insisted I try it on... and buying it for me.
And how I loved wearing that dress! It was not crazy expensive (we weren't wealthy, Daddy worked for an airline) but it was beautifully made and I felt so pretty wearing it. The Fancy Big Event wasn't nearly as exciting as I had expected, but I will always remember how my father's gift made me feel so special.
Daddy is still coming through for me... but now by doing the same sort of thing for my children. My son is a huge Dallas Cowboy fan (I took a vow when I left Dallas to live in DC area that any children I had would NOT be raised Redskin fans).
For Halloween, he wanted to be a Dallas Cowboy... being deep in Redskin Territory, no costumes around here. So I asked my brother if he had seen any in Dallas. He did earlier this month but they were now gone. He saw my dad that night for dinner and mentioned it to him how he was bummed that he couldn't find a Cowboy costume for my son for me.
Yesterday, a package arrived from Grandpy. It was not only a miniature Dallas Cowboy uniform, but my son's favorite player... Tony Romo. The kid was so excited, he wore the helmet doing his homework.
That gift beats any gift he's ever given me... my own beloved boy's moment of joy opening that box.
(The photo is what I snapped with my phone-cam to send my Dad before calling to thank him.)
Who's In Charge Anyway?
Sept 08
About once a week, while strolling to my neighborhood grocery store, I'll pass, what appears like a dog walking his owner. I say this because the dog is not just leading, but has the leash in his mouth despite it also being around his neck too. It always makes me smile.
I suspect the habit is some sort of oral thing. But perhaps it is also some sort of need to feel like he's in control too? Or at the very least feel like they are walking each other?
For sure, it creates a metaphorical question for me. When it comes to life... are you the one holding the leash? Or are you the one obediently being led? Or are you being led but you are just fooling yourself into thinking its you who is in charge?
About once a week, while strolling to my neighborhood grocery store, I'll pass, what appears like a dog walking his owner. I say this because the dog is not just leading, but has the leash in his mouth despite it also being around his neck too. It always makes me smile.
I suspect the habit is some sort of oral thing. But perhaps it is also some sort of need to feel like he's in control too? Or at the very least feel like they are walking each other?
For sure, it creates a metaphorical question for me. When it comes to life... are you the one holding the leash? Or are you the one obediently being led? Or are you being led but you are just fooling yourself into thinking its you who is in charge?
Ageless Beauty
Sept 08
The other day my son brought me a framed photo that had slipped behind some books in our library. It is one of my mother... one taken when I was a teenager. It was at the height of my declared war on her.
But the picture was snapped on a day of truce. For that day, we were our usual selves again. Gone was the controlling mother who was fearing I wasn't prepared for the real world. No where in sight was the sullen daughter resentful of the above on top of a new manipulative stepfather.
Mom is just being silly. When I went left home a couple of years later, can't recall who framed the photo, but its been with me for over 20 years now.
Here's the funny thing. My son didn't recognize the woman in the photo. He thought it might be Grandma. When I confirmed it, he replied "Wow, she sure does look a lot different."
No way! She looks the same.
But upon looking at it more closely and thinking about it... she does look different now. She's now in her early 60s instead her late 30s. Time, albeit very slowly and far less than some thanks to the oily skin gene, brought lines and wrinkles. She's also about 25 pounds heavier and her jaw-line has softened considerably. Her hair is now mostly gray but she's doing that creative dye job thing. So her rich reddish brown hues are gone and what replaced it (varies from year to year) never really looks natural to me. I can see why my son didn't quite recognize her in that photo.
That said though, the woman in the photo is indeed the one I actually see. Will there come a day when that woman is gone, replaced by a frail elderly lady? Is it some sort of denial of the inevitable truth that I'm doing? With old age, comes death. If I don't see the signs of age, I'm not thinking that some day, Mom won't be there.
Or is it just pure love? She was truly a beautiful woman in her youth for sure. Time may have changed some of her physical beauty but because of my love for her, the inner beauty wipes out those changes for me.
Perhaps its a combination of both...
The other day my son brought me a framed photo that had slipped behind some books in our library. It is one of my mother... one taken when I was a teenager. It was at the height of my declared war on her.
But the picture was snapped on a day of truce. For that day, we were our usual selves again. Gone was the controlling mother who was fearing I wasn't prepared for the real world. No where in sight was the sullen daughter resentful of the above on top of a new manipulative stepfather.
Mom is just being silly. When I went left home a couple of years later, can't recall who framed the photo, but its been with me for over 20 years now.
Here's the funny thing. My son didn't recognize the woman in the photo. He thought it might be Grandma. When I confirmed it, he replied "Wow, she sure does look a lot different."
No way! She looks the same.
But upon looking at it more closely and thinking about it... she does look different now. She's now in her early 60s instead her late 30s. Time, albeit very slowly and far less than some thanks to the oily skin gene, brought lines and wrinkles. She's also about 25 pounds heavier and her jaw-line has softened considerably. Her hair is now mostly gray but she's doing that creative dye job thing. So her rich reddish brown hues are gone and what replaced it (varies from year to year) never really looks natural to me. I can see why my son didn't quite recognize her in that photo.
That said though, the woman in the photo is indeed the one I actually see. Will there come a day when that woman is gone, replaced by a frail elderly lady? Is it some sort of denial of the inevitable truth that I'm doing? With old age, comes death. If I don't see the signs of age, I'm not thinking that some day, Mom won't be there.
Or is it just pure love? She was truly a beautiful woman in her youth for sure. Time may have changed some of her physical beauty but because of my love for her, the inner beauty wipes out those changes for me.
Perhaps its a combination of both...
Preparing Your Daughter
Sept 08
It was quite the exciting morning in my little household, its the first day of school.
My daughter wanted me to arrange her hair using these little pony tail holders she had found that apparently she felt were Quite The Thing. She probably has no idea how much I love that she still looks to me to "make her pretty."
She will turning 12 years old at the end of the month. She is now 5 foot two... shoe size an 8 (thinking she's going to be tall like me). She still has those same little girl freckles and dimples... but every day, I see a bit more of the woman she's going to become.
I'm a little concerned that she has a male teacher this year. I can tell that physically her period is going to start any day now. And I was her age when I got my first period.
In addition to being a man, he's also a young man, just a few years out of college. So should her period begin during school hours can make it a highly embarrassing event rather than a cool rite of passage that I see it being.
So in addition to packing her lunch, I included a little "emergency kit" in the bottom of back pack... the little mini-pads, panties and clean pants. I've always been incredibly open with my children about how the human body works, including the reproduction process. If they have the words to ask a specific question, they are ready to grasp the answer.
She will not panic and think something is wrong if blood appears on toilet paper or her panties. She knows what to do with the little pad I packed... I even had her practice fastening it to her panties.
Hopefully, she will smile with the secret knowledge she's now joined a different sisterhood of sorts... one her mother, grandmother and other female mentors in her life (my best friends basically) are in.
But the monkey wrench in my preparing her is that male teacher. If, God forbid, she doesn't discover it herself but another kid notices the red spot on her pants or skirt, will he know how to minimize any teasing? Will he know how to ease her embarrassment?
I know bumps in the road are a part of life. You will be embarrassed at times... possibly humiliated. Still holding your head high is what you need to be able to do.
Hopefully I'm teaching both my children this skill.
It was quite the exciting morning in my little household, its the first day of school.
My daughter wanted me to arrange her hair using these little pony tail holders she had found that apparently she felt were Quite The Thing. She probably has no idea how much I love that she still looks to me to "make her pretty."
She will turning 12 years old at the end of the month. She is now 5 foot two... shoe size an 8 (thinking she's going to be tall like me). She still has those same little girl freckles and dimples... but every day, I see a bit more of the woman she's going to become.
I'm a little concerned that she has a male teacher this year. I can tell that physically her period is going to start any day now. And I was her age when I got my first period.
In addition to being a man, he's also a young man, just a few years out of college. So should her period begin during school hours can make it a highly embarrassing event rather than a cool rite of passage that I see it being.
So in addition to packing her lunch, I included a little "emergency kit" in the bottom of back pack... the little mini-pads, panties and clean pants. I've always been incredibly open with my children about how the human body works, including the reproduction process. If they have the words to ask a specific question, they are ready to grasp the answer.
She will not panic and think something is wrong if blood appears on toilet paper or her panties. She knows what to do with the little pad I packed... I even had her practice fastening it to her panties.
Hopefully, she will smile with the secret knowledge she's now joined a different sisterhood of sorts... one her mother, grandmother and other female mentors in her life (my best friends basically) are in.
But the monkey wrench in my preparing her is that male teacher. If, God forbid, she doesn't discover it herself but another kid notices the red spot on her pants or skirt, will he know how to minimize any teasing? Will he know how to ease her embarrassment?
I know bumps in the road are a part of life. You will be embarrassed at times... possibly humiliated. Still holding your head high is what you need to be able to do.
Hopefully I'm teaching both my children this skill.
To Be or Not To Be Pretty
Sept 08
So I'm in that school morning mode. I've already been up for awhile working, but now kids are starting their day. I'm in the kitchen whipping up breakfast, packing up lunches and, of course, bopping to my music.
My nearly 12 year old daughter makes a rather sullen entrance. (I know, I know, preteen angst.) She had had a hard time with her morning alarm is the problem. After she mumbles something to my "Good morning Angel", I notice she's wearing with a cute pair of navy blue shorts, an old BLACK souvenir t-shirt that I know is of no particular sentimental value. The whole dark look just emphasizes that that sparkle that is usually in her eyes is gone.
The easier question is asked... "What happened to those new shirts we picked out? Is there a reason you're wearing something you've told me you don't think is pretty?"
Her reply... "I don't feel pretty this morning. I'm tired."
Being both my mother's daughter and raised in Dallas, Texas (where there are more beauty salons and spas than Starbucks per block), I stop what I'm doing.
"Ah! I understand. I'm going to show you a little trick for days where you wake up not feeling pretty."
So we marched back upstairs to her room where her bed looked like a wrestling match between angry monkeys had taken place. On the floor were all the discarded clothing options (she is so my daughter!).
First of all, we scooped up all the clothing and put it back. Then we made the bed up... with the usual arranging of stuffed animals "just so."
"There, now look how pretty your room is again? That's the first part of the trick, make your space pretty."
Then we decided on a bright tie-dyed shirt... I explained "Happy colors always are pretty."
Finally, I get out a brush and her hair notions. A few strokes and one butterfly clip later... a pretty hairstyle. And as my daughter is admiring herself in the mirror, I notice the sparkle has returned.
My mother was right. Pretty is as Pretty Does.
So I'm in that school morning mode. I've already been up for awhile working, but now kids are starting their day. I'm in the kitchen whipping up breakfast, packing up lunches and, of course, bopping to my music.
My nearly 12 year old daughter makes a rather sullen entrance. (I know, I know, preteen angst.) She had had a hard time with her morning alarm is the problem. After she mumbles something to my "Good morning Angel", I notice she's wearing with a cute pair of navy blue shorts, an old BLACK souvenir t-shirt that I know is of no particular sentimental value. The whole dark look just emphasizes that that sparkle that is usually in her eyes is gone.
The easier question is asked... "What happened to those new shirts we picked out? Is there a reason you're wearing something you've told me you don't think is pretty?"
Her reply... "I don't feel pretty this morning. I'm tired."
Being both my mother's daughter and raised in Dallas, Texas (where there are more beauty salons and spas than Starbucks per block), I stop what I'm doing.
"Ah! I understand. I'm going to show you a little trick for days where you wake up not feeling pretty."
So we marched back upstairs to her room where her bed looked like a wrestling match between angry monkeys had taken place. On the floor were all the discarded clothing options (she is so my daughter!).
First of all, we scooped up all the clothing and put it back. Then we made the bed up... with the usual arranging of stuffed animals "just so."
"There, now look how pretty your room is again? That's the first part of the trick, make your space pretty."
Then we decided on a bright tie-dyed shirt... I explained "Happy colors always are pretty."
Finally, I get out a brush and her hair notions. A few strokes and one butterfly clip later... a pretty hairstyle. And as my daughter is admiring herself in the mirror, I notice the sparkle has returned.
My mother was right. Pretty is as Pretty Does.
Burn Baby Burn
Sept 08
So he tells me he had lunch recently with a woman he's considering as a mistress.
Not sure why I was surprised by the lunch, but I was.
I've known that after 14 years of marriage he's reached the end of his rope. After dealing with an already low sex drive, his wife stopped wanting sex altogether with him. She explained that she's not "in love" with him. She feels brotherly love but no sexual desire. She's not sure if she really did or if she could feel it for anyone. She does use a vibrator to get off alone though.
Divorce is not an option to either of them because of the children and their feelings that marriage is a commitment.
He's also still in love with her.
They saw a counselor but sessions stopped when the recommendation was individual therapy. She wouldn't do it.
At age 40, the idea of never, ever being sexually desired by a woman again fills him with such sadness. He's been struggling with depression ever since he found out.
He also said she hinted that she would be ok if he had a girlfriend. Hence, his lunch on Friday. He's sharing how he didn't feel any chemistry despite the woman being beautiful and was unsure how to tell her.
Wait a second. Let's go back a bit.
"Did you have a specific conversation with [insert wife's name] about the idea of an open marriage? You know, just put it out there... if she has no desire to, uhm, play tennis AT ALL with you, and you both agree its not crazy for you to want to play tennis, that you just find a new tennis partner. Assuming nothing needs to be done at home, you have the freedom to play tennis whenever its convenient for you both to get away."
Nope.
"Well why not? If you guys agree there is love and respect in your relationship that is a good foundation for a marriage, why damage that by lying? That's the ultimate sign of disrespect don't you think? Hey... Is this your way of paying her back for not wanting you? You're going to hurt her back by lying since she doesn't care if you have a girlfriend?"
Silence.
"Or do you want her to think you are sacrificing so she feels guilty as punishment for not wanting you?"
More silence.
"Is it to do with the fact you feel so rejected? That if she is indeed totally ok, that's one more slap in the face she doesn't want you? You'd rather pretend she'd be so upset because she still loves you?"
The silence is becoming deafening but I have to ask one more thing...
"Do you not bring it up because you HOPED she was hinting? Are you afraid to find out that actually her expectation is that you both masturbate alone for most part coming together once every two months or so? If that's the case, you'll either have to scrap the plan OR move forward blatantly deceiving her?"
The answer surprises me.
Its because he doesn't want her to take that as her cue to explore if maybe she can feel love/passion for another man. An open marriage goes both ways. He describes it would be pure hell watching her get ready to go out with another man. Wondering if indeed it was really him that wasn't good enough.
He sees the double-standard. But he feels he must move forward with finding what he's missing the way he is.
I'm thinking he's about to jump from the frying pan and into the fire. I guess I'll stand by with a fire extinguisher and hope he does get too badly burned.
So he tells me he had lunch recently with a woman he's considering as a mistress.
Not sure why I was surprised by the lunch, but I was.
I've known that after 14 years of marriage he's reached the end of his rope. After dealing with an already low sex drive, his wife stopped wanting sex altogether with him. She explained that she's not "in love" with him. She feels brotherly love but no sexual desire. She's not sure if she really did or if she could feel it for anyone. She does use a vibrator to get off alone though.
Divorce is not an option to either of them because of the children and their feelings that marriage is a commitment.
He's also still in love with her.
They saw a counselor but sessions stopped when the recommendation was individual therapy. She wouldn't do it.
At age 40, the idea of never, ever being sexually desired by a woman again fills him with such sadness. He's been struggling with depression ever since he found out.
He also said she hinted that she would be ok if he had a girlfriend. Hence, his lunch on Friday. He's sharing how he didn't feel any chemistry despite the woman being beautiful and was unsure how to tell her.
Wait a second. Let's go back a bit.
"Did you have a specific conversation with [insert wife's name] about the idea of an open marriage? You know, just put it out there... if she has no desire to, uhm, play tennis AT ALL with you, and you both agree its not crazy for you to want to play tennis, that you just find a new tennis partner. Assuming nothing needs to be done at home, you have the freedom to play tennis whenever its convenient for you both to get away."
Nope.
"Well why not? If you guys agree there is love and respect in your relationship that is a good foundation for a marriage, why damage that by lying? That's the ultimate sign of disrespect don't you think? Hey... Is this your way of paying her back for not wanting you? You're going to hurt her back by lying since she doesn't care if you have a girlfriend?"
Silence.
"Or do you want her to think you are sacrificing so she feels guilty as punishment for not wanting you?"
More silence.
"Is it to do with the fact you feel so rejected? That if she is indeed totally ok, that's one more slap in the face she doesn't want you? You'd rather pretend she'd be so upset because she still loves you?"
The silence is becoming deafening but I have to ask one more thing...
"Do you not bring it up because you HOPED she was hinting? Are you afraid to find out that actually her expectation is that you both masturbate alone for most part coming together once every two months or so? If that's the case, you'll either have to scrap the plan OR move forward blatantly deceiving her?"
The answer surprises me.
Its because he doesn't want her to take that as her cue to explore if maybe she can feel love/passion for another man. An open marriage goes both ways. He describes it would be pure hell watching her get ready to go out with another man. Wondering if indeed it was really him that wasn't good enough.
He sees the double-standard. But he feels he must move forward with finding what he's missing the way he is.
I'm thinking he's about to jump from the frying pan and into the fire. I guess I'll stand by with a fire extinguisher and hope he does get too badly burned.
What Does He See When Looking at My Face
July 08
Sometimes I wonder, when he is looking into my eyes... is he really looking at his own reflection? His watching my face intently is to measure my reaction to his words and gestures, to know how I view him.
Or does he want to know who I am and what I feel?
Sometimes I wonder, when he is looking into my eyes... is he really looking at his own reflection? His watching my face intently is to measure my reaction to his words and gestures, to know how I view him.
Or does he want to know who I am and what I feel?
New Job Opportunity
From August 08
" 'Your job is to focus on my personal happiness, she said. And I've got big plans, so break time is over.' " — Brian Andreas, Storypeople.
I cracked up the first time I read that. I think many of us, both genders, sometimes actually think this, but never articulate it. Not even to themselves, but the expectation is still there.
It is the epitome of being self absorbed. But then again, isn't that just one job one takes on when one becomes someone's lover? Making that person's happiness a priority to them?
Trick is, if you apply for that job with someone, if they aren't applying for that job with you, know to turn it down.
" 'Your job is to focus on my personal happiness, she said. And I've got big plans, so break time is over.' " — Brian Andreas, Storypeople.
I cracked up the first time I read that. I think many of us, both genders, sometimes actually think this, but never articulate it. Not even to themselves, but the expectation is still there.
It is the epitome of being self absorbed. But then again, isn't that just one job one takes on when one becomes someone's lover? Making that person's happiness a priority to them?
Trick is, if you apply for that job with someone, if they aren't applying for that job with you, know to turn it down.
A Run for My Life
from August 08
Earlier this month, I was visiting my father who lives in one of Dallas's many suburbs. He lives in the same city he first moved to with my mother. After they divorced, my mother initially lived there with us as well. But then she declared the city was On the Decline.
Which to her meant the schools will soon suffer and it no longer be safe. So we moved to a "better" city that was not just thriving but growing.
Looking around my dad's neighborhood, I have to agree, it all changed from when I was an 8 year old girl. Majority of houses are now run-down. The local shopping centers are seedy ... none of the familiar franchises exist.
Don't get me wrong, there are a few homes like my father's. Where people bought their house 30 years ago. Its been long paid off... the lawns are well tended. Inside, many rooms have been remodeled so its very nice. You'll see these 65-70 year old men on their lawnmowers (usually these homes are on an half or full acre) wearing their cowboy hats.
One of my favorite things to do when visiting my father is to power walk in his neighborhood. With my tunes playing in my ears, I'll explore all the old streets of my younger days, waving to these men. Or noting the changes that have happened either because the homeowner got too old to take care of their property, rented it out to someone who doesn't care because they don't own it, or are an immigrant.
Daddy's neighborhood has a large number of Mexican immigrants who settled there. Their yards won't have the lush grass, shrubs and flowers ... they'll try to duplicate the landscaping of their former home. But Dallas is too far East and North for that kind of vegetation to thrive. Maybe if their yard sat in direct sun all day, they could pull it off.
There's been new trend that seems to have taken off in recent years. In the front yard, these elaborate water fountains sit. Fountains that are so big and ornate, they dominate the yard and dwarf the small modest style ranch house behind it. It looks as if they are competing to see who can get the gaudiest and biggest one.
I suspect its a status symbol in their culture. I've never seen one actually have water flowing so I'm intrigued by why a struggling family would bother with this. I say struggling because the car in the driveway is clearly not running (up on cinder blocks) and screens appear to be broken, etc.
But I so enjoy my walking and pondering. That is until The Incident.
I had just started down yet another street and noticed one of those cowboy hat wearing old men adjusting his sprinkler. He shuffled to his backyard gate with two dogs trotting behind him.
Oddly enough, he closed the gate, but with the dogs OUTSIDE still. Just as I'm wondering if he's a bit senile now as I pass the house, the dogs notice me and start barking.
I'm a tad uneasy, but I tell myself they're doing typical dog behavior and as I'm across the street, i.e. not on THEIR sidewalk, they'll just bark at me.
Much to my surprise, the run across the street towards me... I start to walk faster to get out more quickly out of their territory.
They follow. I start to run and they are in pursuit.
Now I actually am in a full blown panic and scream. Hoping the owner will hear it and call his dogs back. No such luck... I'm now several houses away and running as fast I as I can run. I look back to see how close they are to me.
And that's when I trip. I fall to the ground, rolling a bit. I scramble to my feet and run even faster. Finally, I must have crossed the boundary these dogs consider theirs.
My heart is thumping like crazy and I'm looking at the street sign as I'm not exactly sure where I am. I squint at it because its too blurry.
Oh shit. Its blurry because I am not wearing my glasses. They must have fallen off when I hit the ground. I look back down the street, I think the dogs are now laying down in front of that back gate where their owner had first left them. But I can't be sure as its such a blur at that distance for me.
I debate if I go back, as I fell several houses down from them, maybe they won't go berserk again. But I'm too scared.
So I call my Daddy. He'll know what to do. (Funny how that instinct never goes away!) He tells me to wait right there, he's on his way.
While I wait, I get a little annoyed. If you have aggressive dogs, you don't let them off your leash. I have a feeling its because he's an old man but decide to call animal control anyway. What if those dogs are still out when school lets out? I know children live in the neighborhood and will walk down the same street.
Plus, its just not right.
Daddy arrives... I hop in and he drives down the street. He spots my glasses and pulls over and grabs them for me. He wants to see the house where the dogs live because if he knows the owner he wants to have a talk with him.
I point out the house, and no, he doesn't know who lives there. I see the dogs are still laying by the gate so I point them out too.
Daddy looks at me funny. "Those are the dogs that chased you?"
I look again... and I see why he is confused.
They're basically two footballs with a head, tail and little legs. I could have easily just kicked them to resolve the issue. But never did that occur to me.
Truly, I was running for my life. From fu-fu dogs. Oy.
Earlier this month, I was visiting my father who lives in one of Dallas's many suburbs. He lives in the same city he first moved to with my mother. After they divorced, my mother initially lived there with us as well. But then she declared the city was On the Decline.
Which to her meant the schools will soon suffer and it no longer be safe. So we moved to a "better" city that was not just thriving but growing.
Looking around my dad's neighborhood, I have to agree, it all changed from when I was an 8 year old girl. Majority of houses are now run-down. The local shopping centers are seedy ... none of the familiar franchises exist.
Don't get me wrong, there are a few homes like my father's. Where people bought their house 30 years ago. Its been long paid off... the lawns are well tended. Inside, many rooms have been remodeled so its very nice. You'll see these 65-70 year old men on their lawnmowers (usually these homes are on an half or full acre) wearing their cowboy hats.
One of my favorite things to do when visiting my father is to power walk in his neighborhood. With my tunes playing in my ears, I'll explore all the old streets of my younger days, waving to these men. Or noting the changes that have happened either because the homeowner got too old to take care of their property, rented it out to someone who doesn't care because they don't own it, or are an immigrant.
Daddy's neighborhood has a large number of Mexican immigrants who settled there. Their yards won't have the lush grass, shrubs and flowers ... they'll try to duplicate the landscaping of their former home. But Dallas is too far East and North for that kind of vegetation to thrive. Maybe if their yard sat in direct sun all day, they could pull it off.
There's been new trend that seems to have taken off in recent years. In the front yard, these elaborate water fountains sit. Fountains that are so big and ornate, they dominate the yard and dwarf the small modest style ranch house behind it. It looks as if they are competing to see who can get the gaudiest and biggest one.
I suspect its a status symbol in their culture. I've never seen one actually have water flowing so I'm intrigued by why a struggling family would bother with this. I say struggling because the car in the driveway is clearly not running (up on cinder blocks) and screens appear to be broken, etc.
But I so enjoy my walking and pondering. That is until The Incident.
I had just started down yet another street and noticed one of those cowboy hat wearing old men adjusting his sprinkler. He shuffled to his backyard gate with two dogs trotting behind him.
Oddly enough, he closed the gate, but with the dogs OUTSIDE still. Just as I'm wondering if he's a bit senile now as I pass the house, the dogs notice me and start barking.
I'm a tad uneasy, but I tell myself they're doing typical dog behavior and as I'm across the street, i.e. not on THEIR sidewalk, they'll just bark at me.
Much to my surprise, the run across the street towards me... I start to walk faster to get out more quickly out of their territory.
They follow. I start to run and they are in pursuit.
Now I actually am in a full blown panic and scream. Hoping the owner will hear it and call his dogs back. No such luck... I'm now several houses away and running as fast I as I can run. I look back to see how close they are to me.
And that's when I trip. I fall to the ground, rolling a bit. I scramble to my feet and run even faster. Finally, I must have crossed the boundary these dogs consider theirs.
My heart is thumping like crazy and I'm looking at the street sign as I'm not exactly sure where I am. I squint at it because its too blurry.
Oh shit. Its blurry because I am not wearing my glasses. They must have fallen off when I hit the ground. I look back down the street, I think the dogs are now laying down in front of that back gate where their owner had first left them. But I can't be sure as its such a blur at that distance for me.
I debate if I go back, as I fell several houses down from them, maybe they won't go berserk again. But I'm too scared.
So I call my Daddy. He'll know what to do. (Funny how that instinct never goes away!) He tells me to wait right there, he's on his way.
While I wait, I get a little annoyed. If you have aggressive dogs, you don't let them off your leash. I have a feeling its because he's an old man but decide to call animal control anyway. What if those dogs are still out when school lets out? I know children live in the neighborhood and will walk down the same street.
Plus, its just not right.
Daddy arrives... I hop in and he drives down the street. He spots my glasses and pulls over and grabs them for me. He wants to see the house where the dogs live because if he knows the owner he wants to have a talk with him.
I point out the house, and no, he doesn't know who lives there. I see the dogs are still laying by the gate so I point them out too.
Daddy looks at me funny. "Those are the dogs that chased you?"
I look again... and I see why he is confused.
They're basically two footballs with a head, tail and little legs. I could have easily just kicked them to resolve the issue. But never did that occur to me.
Truly, I was running for my life. From fu-fu dogs. Oy.
LIfestreaming
August 08
It is interesting to me how Internet and cell phone technology keeps evolving. There is a group of folks (including myself) who enjoy "Lifestreaming".
This new buzzword refers to the idea that keeping close friends and family aware of any meaningful or funny action. This not for the very private individuals, more for the "open book" types who thrive on feeling connected to loved ones even 1000s of miles between you.
This is possible thanks to technology. It keeps getting better! Email has replaced the slow delivery of your traditional mail. Aand then there's the social networking sites like myspace or facebook that allows you to blog, post pictures, even video. But that's something you need to go back to your home/office or wherever your computer is connected to the internet to share.
For the "this is what I'm doing right now" they came up with microblogging which you can send it from your cell phone and it gets posted to your page or for those who subscribed can get it via IM, email or text message. This is far more spontaneous and fits my friend/family communication style more than carefully composed messages. And I can convey it to more than one family member or friend in one click.
The newest thing I signed up for is a site that is a central location for all those pictures you take when mobile. That beautiful sunset you are seeing... Your kid's beaming face as he hits his first homerun... Anything meaningful you would want to share with someone who cares about you and vice versa. You snap that picture via cam phone and hit "send" and up it goes to a page that ONLY your family/friends have access to.
A cool feature allows you to embed this photo-blog into your myspace or facebook site too. How much easier can it be to keep those you care about in the loop of what you are up to?!?
The site is radardotnet. My mom, dad, brother, aunt, cousins and closest friends are in my circle. We've been having a grand time posting those funny random images of life you miss when you live in different parts of the country.
That's the social side that has captured my interest.
Then there is a commercial side to it that even interests me more. Specifically how could this be used in advertising/public relations. My career has seen my industry first evole with desktop publishing... Then the Internet. I'm seeing I'm again on the cusp of a new shift and that so excites me.
It is interesting to me how Internet and cell phone technology keeps evolving. There is a group of folks (including myself) who enjoy "Lifestreaming".
This new buzzword refers to the idea that keeping close friends and family aware of any meaningful or funny action. This not for the very private individuals, more for the "open book" types who thrive on feeling connected to loved ones even 1000s of miles between you.
This is possible thanks to technology. It keeps getting better! Email has replaced the slow delivery of your traditional mail. Aand then there's the social networking sites like myspace or facebook that allows you to blog, post pictures, even video. But that's something you need to go back to your home/office or wherever your computer is connected to the internet to share.
For the "this is what I'm doing right now" they came up with microblogging which you can send it from your cell phone and it gets posted to your page or for those who subscribed can get it via IM, email or text message. This is far more spontaneous and fits my friend/family communication style more than carefully composed messages. And I can convey it to more than one family member or friend in one click.
The newest thing I signed up for is a site that is a central location for all those pictures you take when mobile. That beautiful sunset you are seeing... Your kid's beaming face as he hits his first homerun... Anything meaningful you would want to share with someone who cares about you and vice versa. You snap that picture via cam phone and hit "send" and up it goes to a page that ONLY your family/friends have access to.
A cool feature allows you to embed this photo-blog into your myspace or facebook site too. How much easier can it be to keep those you care about in the loop of what you are up to?!?
The site is radardotnet. My mom, dad, brother, aunt, cousins and closest friends are in my circle. We've been having a grand time posting those funny random images of life you miss when you live in different parts of the country.
That's the social side that has captured my interest.
Then there is a commercial side to it that even interests me more. Specifically how could this be used in advertising/public relations. My career has seen my industry first evole with desktop publishing... Then the Internet. I'm seeing I'm again on the cusp of a new shift and that so excites me.
Knock-Knock
Ok... maybe perhaps its because I'm missing my kids... but this little joke has had me giggling ever since I told it to them.
Me: Knock-Knock?
You: Who's There?
Me: Smellmop.
You: Smellmop who?
At this point, I'm snickering as I clearly have a juvenile sense of humor.
(You have to actually say it out loud to understand why its funny. Better yet, tell the joke to someone else so they say it out loud.)
To cheer myself up, I called my mom today and put her on speaker phone. Several hours later, I am still grinning hearing her first say it then her, "Oh Holli!"
Me: Knock-Knock?
You: Who's There?
Me: Smellmop.
You: Smellmop who?
At this point, I'm snickering as I clearly have a juvenile sense of humor.
(You have to actually say it out loud to understand why its funny. Better yet, tell the joke to someone else so they say it out loud.)
To cheer myself up, I called my mom today and put her on speaker phone. Several hours later, I am still grinning hearing her first say it then her, "Oh Holli!"
The Daughter of the Prodigal Son
August 08
My daddy has lived in Dallas so long, I forget sometimes he was actually born and raised in about as far north as you can get in Maine. Listening to his Texas twang, you'd never know where he's from.
He had left Maine about a month or so after I was born. And rarely goes back, despite the fact he works for an airline that provides free airline tickets for him and his immediate family.
But I do have such fond memories of those rare trips we did make. They would always welcome us back with open arms. And it was always so interesting to me, who looks just like my father, to see my features on various family members.
This weekend I'm visiting my kids at summer camp, which also happens to be in Maine as well. I decided that given its been 10 years since my last visit, I should.
I arrived late last night to a wonderful dinner and was brought up to speed on the dozen or so cousins of my generation. Which I'm embarrassed to admit, I don't always remember their names. This morning, my aunt (Daddy's sister) brought me coffee on their deck. I was watching the sun rise over the lake.
The thing I appreciate about my family (both sides) is that there is indeed this connection. I'm immediately comfortable and at ease. I love listening to the stories of my dad from their point of view. All of his siblings that are still living called to say "welcome to Maine" last night.
Today I'll be picking up my kids and bringing them back here to spend the day. (It's my son's birthday too). We're cooking out and enjoying their boat.
Truly, its the feeling loved by people that I confess to barely knowing that is so lovely. They really don't know the woman, I'm loved because I'm their baby brother's baby.
But, I'll take it. And gladly return the love to the people that are my daddy's big sisters/brothers.
My daddy has lived in Dallas so long, I forget sometimes he was actually born and raised in about as far north as you can get in Maine. Listening to his Texas twang, you'd never know where he's from.
He had left Maine about a month or so after I was born. And rarely goes back, despite the fact he works for an airline that provides free airline tickets for him and his immediate family.
But I do have such fond memories of those rare trips we did make. They would always welcome us back with open arms. And it was always so interesting to me, who looks just like my father, to see my features on various family members.
This weekend I'm visiting my kids at summer camp, which also happens to be in Maine as well. I decided that given its been 10 years since my last visit, I should.
I arrived late last night to a wonderful dinner and was brought up to speed on the dozen or so cousins of my generation. Which I'm embarrassed to admit, I don't always remember their names. This morning, my aunt (Daddy's sister) brought me coffee on their deck. I was watching the sun rise over the lake.
The thing I appreciate about my family (both sides) is that there is indeed this connection. I'm immediately comfortable and at ease. I love listening to the stories of my dad from their point of view. All of his siblings that are still living called to say "welcome to Maine" last night.
Today I'll be picking up my kids and bringing them back here to spend the day. (It's my son's birthday too). We're cooking out and enjoying their boat.
Truly, its the feeling loved by people that I confess to barely knowing that is so lovely. They really don't know the woman, I'm loved because I'm their baby brother's baby.
But, I'll take it. And gladly return the love to the people that are my daddy's big sisters/brothers.
Farewell To My Pink Hiking Boots
August 2008
It was a great hike yesterday with the exception of my footwear.
You see, I've had for years the most sturdy and comfortable hiking boots. Best part, they were hot pink. Friends would tease me that if I ever got lost in the woods, I'd always eventually be found because of those boots.
But they were literally falling apart which isn't safe. (I'm already clutzy enough on my own.)
So yesterday I wore my new pair. I had searched and searched for another "fun" color on a good boot. But no luck. Had to settle for a good boot but boring brown. There's a bit of a baby blue on the ankle collar but its on the back and I can't see it.
I loved walking along the trail and looking down at those ridiculous and out of place colored boots. Made me smile. Then when I had gotten a pink iPod to match, loved that too.
No more. Big sad face.
It was a great hike yesterday with the exception of my footwear.
You see, I've had for years the most sturdy and comfortable hiking boots. Best part, they were hot pink. Friends would tease me that if I ever got lost in the woods, I'd always eventually be found because of those boots.
But they were literally falling apart which isn't safe. (I'm already clutzy enough on my own.)
So yesterday I wore my new pair. I had searched and searched for another "fun" color on a good boot. But no luck. Had to settle for a good boot but boring brown. There's a bit of a baby blue on the ankle collar but its on the back and I can't see it.
I loved walking along the trail and looking down at those ridiculous and out of place colored boots. Made me smile. Then when I had gotten a pink iPod to match, loved that too.
No more. Big sad face.
Crazy Gas Prices Good in the End?
August 2008
Like many people, I'm gnashing my teeth whenever I fill up my tank lately then read that gasoline companies are having record profits and getting government subsidies to find new oil reserves. I know we live in a capitalistic society where supply and demand are the key components, but still pisses me off.
I chose to not pay more for gas by decreasing my demand for it by changing around my personal and professional habits. I walk more than I drive now. I'm lucky in that I live in a place that has sidewalks that take me in either 5 minute to 15 minutes where I need to go. I also have the freedom to not only work from home but arrange my schedule that all my face to face meetings take place on one day. Often, I can take the train so I only drive to the station.
This made sense to me too in terms of not wanting to be a part of the problem when it comes to our environment.
Then today, as I was reading yet another story on how obesity in this country is a life-threatening problem to too many... how we all feel the burden too when it comes to insurance raising rates to cover the rising costs of caring for people with illnesses/diseases traced to that extra weight. And how we're now facing that for the first time in many, many generations, our children may have a SHORTER average life span than their parents because of the rampant childhood obesity.
I wondered... maybe this crisis is also our salvation as a society?
Maybe if we started walking more and more places rather than driving (and our children, partners and friends joining us on those walks) we'll be improving the environment AND physical health?
Like many people, I'm gnashing my teeth whenever I fill up my tank lately then read that gasoline companies are having record profits and getting government subsidies to find new oil reserves. I know we live in a capitalistic society where supply and demand are the key components, but still pisses me off.
I chose to not pay more for gas by decreasing my demand for it by changing around my personal and professional habits. I walk more than I drive now. I'm lucky in that I live in a place that has sidewalks that take me in either 5 minute to 15 minutes where I need to go. I also have the freedom to not only work from home but arrange my schedule that all my face to face meetings take place on one day. Often, I can take the train so I only drive to the station.
This made sense to me too in terms of not wanting to be a part of the problem when it comes to our environment.
Then today, as I was reading yet another story on how obesity in this country is a life-threatening problem to too many... how we all feel the burden too when it comes to insurance raising rates to cover the rising costs of caring for people with illnesses/diseases traced to that extra weight. And how we're now facing that for the first time in many, many generations, our children may have a SHORTER average life span than their parents because of the rampant childhood obesity.
I wondered... maybe this crisis is also our salvation as a society?
Maybe if we started walking more and more places rather than driving (and our children, partners and friends joining us on those walks) we'll be improving the environment AND physical health?
The Sailor Next Day... A Story
From Aug 08
When I was in my early 20s and living with a boyfriend in New York, next door lived a sailor, probably 18 or 19. We shared a balcony. No, it was more like a ledge with a railing. The very door leading to it was half the size in width. You had turn sideways to get out there.
We had nothing in common so a friendship never evolved beyond hello's in the hall or "excuse me, didn't realize you were on the balcony".
Until the one very early morning, I opened up the little door and before I could get my "excuse me" out, I realized something was very wrong. He sat on the ground with a head hung low. The pain radiated off that boy nearly knocked me on butt.
Then I saw what he was holding in his hand was a razor. His other wrist was bleeding from a scratch. Apparently, he had just cut himself but not deep enough to sever the necessary artery for death. Beer cans were scattered about his feet. Was he just being drunk and stupid? I knew this was one of those Big Life Moments that you either get right or fuck it up.
I calmly ask, "What are you doing with that razor, ---?"
He looks at me with the deadest eyes. I don't remember the exact words but those eyes I'll never forget. He confirmed what I feared.
Never had I had any kind of experience with this kind of thing. If I ran and got help and he slashed his wrist, would it be too late before it arrived? Didn't in movies the deal was never to leave the person alone?
"Are you sure?" He nodded. My mind raced with what I should say. What came out:
"Did you leave a note saying goodbye to your family." He shook his head.
"Oh, ---, you must leave a note. Come inside, I have some stationery."
He stumbled in behind me, thankfully putting the razor on the coffee table. I sat him at the kitchen table and gave him paper and pencil. I told him I was going to make some eggs and toast now.
He was in middle of writing when my boyfriend walked into the kitchen. He and I were very close so with just a look on my face and a gesture, he didn't start asking what the hell was going on.
The sailor finished his note and sealed in envelope. I asked if there was anyone at work I needed to contact for him? He wrote down a name and number.
All three of us ate in silence. Frankly, I was still so unsure what the heck I should say or do. When we were done, he got up and slowly headed toward the living room and I whispered to my boyfriend quickly what was going on.
My boyfriend took the paper with the name and number of his boss and went into the bedroom, where we had a phone.
I quickly followed the sailor out again. He was nearly to the table with razor when I called out his name. I held out my arms and said, you didn't say goodbye to me. "Please, come here ---."
He fell into my arms. He started to pull away and hugged tighter, "Not yet." Then he began to shake. And at last, tears started to fall from those dead eyes. I'd never held a sobbing person in my life.
Then I took his face in both of my hands and turned it so our eyes could meet. "This is the part where I beg you not to leave me. Please, please ---. Don't leave me. Stay with me. I couldn't bear it if you did."
He sighed and asked me the question I had asked on the balcony. "Are you sure?"
I nodded and moved us toward the couch. I sat next to him with my head on his shoulder while he just cried. I held both his hands in mine. No idea how long we sat like that.
My boyfriend had walked into room and wordlessly picked up the razor and sat on a nearby chair. Not too much later, there was a knock at the door. It was some people in uniforms I didn't recognize.
One man began talking to the sailor in such soothing tones, telling him he needs to come with him so they can make sure he is okay. I hadn't realized that my head was still on his shoulder until he stood up to go.
A few days later, there was a knock again at my door and another sailor stood there holding this plant. He told me that my neighbor was being hospitalized and he specifically asked that I take care of this little plant for him until he gets home. It was maybe 8 inches tall. It was in a container that made it obvious it was some sort of gift... I'm betting a woman.
That sailor never came back. And I never stopped taking care of that plant. It was repotted many times and survived several moves on my part. Now it sits in my living room in front of the big picture window. It has thrived for so long, reaching 5 feet in height.
I'd like to think that my sailor did too after getting the help he needed. That he grew and is now a strong man. He went on to marry and have children and is content with his life.
After the internet was invented, I've thought about looking him up and offering back his plant on more than one occasion.
But the sad truth, I am now too attached to the "happily ever after" I created for him in my mind that crosses it from time to time when I water that plant.
When I was in my early 20s and living with a boyfriend in New York, next door lived a sailor, probably 18 or 19. We shared a balcony. No, it was more like a ledge with a railing. The very door leading to it was half the size in width. You had turn sideways to get out there.
We had nothing in common so a friendship never evolved beyond hello's in the hall or "excuse me, didn't realize you were on the balcony".
Until the one very early morning, I opened up the little door and before I could get my "excuse me" out, I realized something was very wrong. He sat on the ground with a head hung low. The pain radiated off that boy nearly knocked me on butt.
Then I saw what he was holding in his hand was a razor. His other wrist was bleeding from a scratch. Apparently, he had just cut himself but not deep enough to sever the necessary artery for death. Beer cans were scattered about his feet. Was he just being drunk and stupid? I knew this was one of those Big Life Moments that you either get right or fuck it up.
I calmly ask, "What are you doing with that razor, ---?"
He looks at me with the deadest eyes. I don't remember the exact words but those eyes I'll never forget. He confirmed what I feared.
Never had I had any kind of experience with this kind of thing. If I ran and got help and he slashed his wrist, would it be too late before it arrived? Didn't in movies the deal was never to leave the person alone?
"Are you sure?" He nodded. My mind raced with what I should say. What came out:
"Did you leave a note saying goodbye to your family." He shook his head.
"Oh, ---, you must leave a note. Come inside, I have some stationery."
He stumbled in behind me, thankfully putting the razor on the coffee table. I sat him at the kitchen table and gave him paper and pencil. I told him I was going to make some eggs and toast now.
He was in middle of writing when my boyfriend walked into the kitchen. He and I were very close so with just a look on my face and a gesture, he didn't start asking what the hell was going on.
The sailor finished his note and sealed in envelope. I asked if there was anyone at work I needed to contact for him? He wrote down a name and number.
All three of us ate in silence. Frankly, I was still so unsure what the heck I should say or do. When we were done, he got up and slowly headed toward the living room and I whispered to my boyfriend quickly what was going on.
My boyfriend took the paper with the name and number of his boss and went into the bedroom, where we had a phone.
I quickly followed the sailor out again. He was nearly to the table with razor when I called out his name. I held out my arms and said, you didn't say goodbye to me. "Please, come here ---."
He fell into my arms. He started to pull away and hugged tighter, "Not yet." Then he began to shake. And at last, tears started to fall from those dead eyes. I'd never held a sobbing person in my life.
Then I took his face in both of my hands and turned it so our eyes could meet. "This is the part where I beg you not to leave me. Please, please ---. Don't leave me. Stay with me. I couldn't bear it if you did."
He sighed and asked me the question I had asked on the balcony. "Are you sure?"
I nodded and moved us toward the couch. I sat next to him with my head on his shoulder while he just cried. I held both his hands in mine. No idea how long we sat like that.
My boyfriend had walked into room and wordlessly picked up the razor and sat on a nearby chair. Not too much later, there was a knock at the door. It was some people in uniforms I didn't recognize.
One man began talking to the sailor in such soothing tones, telling him he needs to come with him so they can make sure he is okay. I hadn't realized that my head was still on his shoulder until he stood up to go.
A few days later, there was a knock again at my door and another sailor stood there holding this plant. He told me that my neighbor was being hospitalized and he specifically asked that I take care of this little plant for him until he gets home. It was maybe 8 inches tall. It was in a container that made it obvious it was some sort of gift... I'm betting a woman.
That sailor never came back. And I never stopped taking care of that plant. It was repotted many times and survived several moves on my part. Now it sits in my living room in front of the big picture window. It has thrived for so long, reaching 5 feet in height.
I'd like to think that my sailor did too after getting the help he needed. That he grew and is now a strong man. He went on to marry and have children and is content with his life.
After the internet was invented, I've thought about looking him up and offering back his plant on more than one occasion.
But the sad truth, I am now too attached to the "happily ever after" I created for him in my mind that crosses it from time to time when I water that plant.
Voices from Childhood
From July 08:
Last night was "movie night" in my house... which is always tricky with kids. Most of the age appropriate movies for them are dreadfully boring for me. So I often pick several classic movies for them to choose from, even ones I've seen before are better than what is on the kid shelf at Blockbuster.
Their pick was "To Kill a Mockingbird." Nice choice. Mama likey Gregory Peck and the story. It also provided some illustrative background to explain exactly why Barack Obama being the democratic nominee is so important to our entire society. To go one more step toward erasing once and for all that skin color does not determine a person's intelligence and integrity.
At 8 and 11 years old, living in an upper-middle class and often over-educated suburb of Washington, DC... they've never really seen any kind of racism.
It is also always soothing to me to hear southern accents. Lost most of mine years ago between going to a college in New York and majoring in theater for a spell, but those are the accents and phrases from my childhood.
I also understand when I hear them again why my southern accent back then was incorrectly regarded at a yankee school as a sign of ignorance.
But... it was still delightful to hear again the "yes'm", dropped g's and goofy phrases to describe something .
When Dill (the neighbor's 6 year old visiting nephew) exclaimed why they should go to the courthouse, "Come on. I bet they got chains and instruments of torture down there,", I burst out laughing. It was the combination of the enthusiasm, words and accent coming out of a little boy that did it for me.
I'm really ready for a visit home. Thankfully, a nice one is coming up.
Last night was "movie night" in my house... which is always tricky with kids. Most of the age appropriate movies for them are dreadfully boring for me. So I often pick several classic movies for them to choose from, even ones I've seen before are better than what is on the kid shelf at Blockbuster.
Their pick was "To Kill a Mockingbird." Nice choice. Mama likey Gregory Peck and the story. It also provided some illustrative background to explain exactly why Barack Obama being the democratic nominee is so important to our entire society. To go one more step toward erasing once and for all that skin color does not determine a person's intelligence and integrity.
At 8 and 11 years old, living in an upper-middle class and often over-educated suburb of Washington, DC... they've never really seen any kind of racism.
It is also always soothing to me to hear southern accents. Lost most of mine years ago between going to a college in New York and majoring in theater for a spell, but those are the accents and phrases from my childhood.
I also understand when I hear them again why my southern accent back then was incorrectly regarded at a yankee school as a sign of ignorance.
But... it was still delightful to hear again the "yes'm", dropped g's and goofy phrases to describe something .
When Dill (the neighbor's 6 year old visiting nephew) exclaimed why they should go to the courthouse, "Come on. I bet they got chains and instruments of torture down there,", I burst out laughing. It was the combination of the enthusiasm, words and accent coming out of a little boy that did it for me.
I'm really ready for a visit home. Thankfully, a nice one is coming up.
Erasing All Memories of a Former Love
From July 08
If you could, would you totally erase from your memory a former lover who broke your heart? It would truly be as if it never happened. If you saw them on the street, you'd think they were a stranger.
That's what the movie, "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" is about. It stars Jim Carrey (way toned down) and Kate Winslet. It was written by the same guy who did "Being John Malkovich" and since I really enjoyed that movie, I was excited to see this one.
Its one of those twisted romance movies that explores the labyrinth of the mind. It goes to places that make you smile and wince at same time.
And guess what?! Its on hulu.com which means if you have NOT seen it, you can for free! (What can I say, I'm a cheap date.)
To answer my own question, I would never want to forget. And its for the most narcissistic reasons of all too. My experiences shape who I am. They make me who I am. If I erased them, I'd not be me. And while there's many things I dislike about myself... overall, I don't want to be anyone but me.
Would you erase anything from your memory if you could?
If you could, would you totally erase from your memory a former lover who broke your heart? It would truly be as if it never happened. If you saw them on the street, you'd think they were a stranger.
That's what the movie, "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" is about. It stars Jim Carrey (way toned down) and Kate Winslet. It was written by the same guy who did "Being John Malkovich" and since I really enjoyed that movie, I was excited to see this one.
Its one of those twisted romance movies that explores the labyrinth of the mind. It goes to places that make you smile and wince at same time.
And guess what?! Its on hulu.com which means if you have NOT seen it, you can for free! (What can I say, I'm a cheap date.)
To answer my own question, I would never want to forget. And its for the most narcissistic reasons of all too. My experiences shape who I am. They make me who I am. If I erased them, I'd not be me. And while there's many things I dislike about myself... overall, I don't want to be anyone but me.
Would you erase anything from your memory if you could?
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