Could you describe the ruckus, sir?

The Year of Big Life Events, a summary, including THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE, and some other stuff

2013-10-07T18:30:00.001-07:00

I should call it The Year, in caps, the one that began and ended in a tutu, the one that was so full of Big Life Events that writing seemed awfully trivial in its face.

I should do that.

But instead I will just own up to having been distracted, and lazy, and stuck. I will apologize and move on, and forgive myself, because this life stuff is still happening, so much of it, and I don't want to miss one little bit by fretting over my lazy distracted self.

So here it is, The Year of Big Life Events, encapsulated in one post, one that seems necessary in order for me to move on to writing ALL the other things I want to write! Bear with me, if you don't want to read about my year just skip this one-- this one is for me. So I'll have it here, always.

The first time I wore the tutu was for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer which I did in NYC last October. I walked 26 miles and raised more than $2,000. Two things I'll always remember: walking across the Brooklyn Bridge (I just knew I was going to love that), and the unexpected, profound loneliness at the end, when I reached tent city and I knew no one in that enormous crowd.

The second time I wore the tutu was for the Color Run, which I did in Philadelphia last July. This run is billed as "the happiest 5k on the planet" and it isn't hyperbole. I have never had a happier run, and though I did it alone I didn't feel lonely-- I was enveloped in a happy crowd, running, dancing, laughing and getting more colorful by the minute. If there is a color run near you I highly recommend it. It is not a timed run-- so it is an excellent "starter race"-- wonderful for beginning runners and families. Music, popsicles, frisbees and dancing afterward make it a party.

And between these two bucket list events were a few other bucket list events, and some Big Life Events, and also THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE, which was when David and Alia got married.

Here we are, just after the wedding. They were married in January, in New Orleans, on a streetcar. There were altogether about 20 people. Us, Alia's parents, and some of their friends. Perfect.

I had my husband and my kids together in my favorite city and one of them was marrying the love of his life and it just does not get any better than that.

So now I have a collection of 5 BEST DAYS and this is the only one that did not involve hospitals, or seating chart stress.

We spent a few extra days and made more wonderful memories of NOLA; here we are exploring the French Quarter neighborhood where our firstborn lived for a year when his company was doing restoration work after Katrina.

We toured the cemeteries, ate lots of seafood, and one early morning I went for a run along the Missippi. So much fog you could just make out what was directly in front of you. I could hear music playing, a couple of instruments, some singing. As I came closer the musicians smiled and waved. On my way back I became part of their song-- "Can we get a 'Hey'", they said. So I said "Hey". They said it again. I answered again, and the song followed me as I ran.

On the last day, after the kids had left for the 3 different states they called home, Jim and I went to the Audubon Aquarium . There is an exhibit called Parakeet Pointe, an enclosed area containing hundreds of the colorful birds. Attracted to my shiny gold wristlet, a blue bird climbed all the way into the bag and pulled out a $10.00 bill. Then she handed it off to a green/yellow bird while she climbed out. You can't tell by this photo, but there was a crowd around me. Everyone had moved to the front of me to watch the birds attempt to steal my money. When the blue one tried to fly away with it, the bill fell and we got it back. After that I zipped up the bag. Now we understood why the signs said to check your bags and backpacks before leaving the exhibit!

That was January. In May we traveled again, not so far this time, just to a dorm room in Georgetown University, Washington DC. I'd never had the chance to live in a dorm before, but now for two nights Georgetown allowed Jim and I to stay in one, living the dream. I liked having him for a room-mate. We watched t.v. on our laptop, ate take-out, and flashed our (temporary) ID's to the desk guy whenever we came in. I went for a run along the Potomac, too. But we were there to witness our wonderful daughter-in-law receive her Law degree. She'd worked so hard, and got married in the middle of it. Did I mention her fb status during the wedding? "brb, getting married". I LOVE this girl! So, congratulations, Alia! (also yay! I have a lawyer!) Pictured here with Alia is her lovely mom, Julie, and the flowers her parents brought for her. So thoughtful-- I never think of those details! But this is one of my favorite photos- it was a lucky shot for me!

Just a few weeks later Jim and I were traveling again-- Do you remember I said this was The Year, in caps, because of how full it was of Big Life Events? I wasn't kidding. This time we were headed to Los Angeles. Well, Pasadena, really, to witness yet another graduation. But first we were going to...San Francisco.

Why San Francisco? Because, one, it's where Monk lived. Two, it's where the best movie documentary I've ever seen was filmed, three, City Lights Bookstore lives there, and four, it's home to the crooked street!

We walked up Telegraph hill. I saw one of the wild parakeets, the subject of the documentary mentioned above. We went to Alcatraz and Fisherman's Wharf and Chinatown and to where the sea lions are. We rode the streetcars- so much fun hanging on when they're full- flying downhill with traffic whipping past you and you just keep your grip on the pole while gravity tries to pull you out. Wheeee!

But I think Alcatraz was Jim's favorite thing, and I admit I found it way more fun and interesting then I'd expected.

I think we'd agree, though, that our best day was when we rented bicycles and took a ride across the Golden Gate and into Sausalito. The view from the bridge was beautiful, although the bridge itself wasn't as wide or pretty as I thought it would be, after seeing the Brooklyn Bridge. It wasn't half as crowded either, so that was a plus.
But then coming off the bridge we entered a long winding downhill path, where every turn offered another breathtaking view of the San Francisco Bay. The sun and the sailboats-- it's so gorgeous- like a story- I was stunned. Never expected that. Another place I long to see again.

Then on to Pasadena, for the last of The Year's Big Life Events, the Caltech graduation of our daughter Addison. We spent a couple of days exploring Pasadena. We tried going up into the San Gabriel Mountains, but it's all scrub instead of trees and I'm a backseat coward on a bare, mountainous road. Halfway up my anxiety got the best of me (omg STOP! We're going to FALL OFF!), and I asked Jim to please pull over. I got out of the car, picked up a rock, and got back in. We decided to go see the rose-bowl instead. But I had my rock from the San Gabriel Mountains.

We also went to the Norton Simon Museum, which houses a terrific art collection plus sculptures by Rodin and others, worth a visit. And with Addie's help we were able to eat abundantly and cheaply--the opposite of San Francisco-- because college students always know the best places. One that I remember is Zankou Chicken , which we had on the eve of my birthday. I liked it enough to buy their tee-shirt.

The graduation was lovely, with typically perfect June weather for the outdoor ceremony, and we were so happy and I thought I was ready, and then.
There she was-- all grown up.

My girl, the graduate, the one with the crazy long degree, something about Science and Engineering and Geology. The one who went 3,000 miles away to college, who lived for two months on her own in Switzerland, who traveled by herself around India, who spent a summer living in Manhattan, working at Columbia. That girl. The fearless one. My daughter, the geologist. My hero. All. Grown. Up.

And so we're at more or less the end of The Year of Big Life Events. I'd stop here, but since I summed up a little about my girl I think I'll add just a little bit for my boys, too.

My firstborn is one of my best friends, a supportive cheerleader, someone I can ask opinions of and get good advice from. He's a computer guy and an amazing musician, a writer and a reader. He's playful and funny, he's just a good guy, and I'm so proud of him and so lucky to have him as a son and a friend in my life.

My middle guy is wicked smart, a software engineer, who is also playful and funny, he's sweet and sentimental and stubborn and opinionated and always, always interesting. He never hesitates to be helpful and he is always helpful. He makes me happy every single time I talk to him. He is fiercely loyal and he treasures his family. We've grown to be friends too, and I am so very proud of him and so very grateful to have him.

I am like the lottery winner of best sons. And daughters. And daughters-in-law.

And now maybe I can get back to writing about things other than my family.

Like the Zombie walk, post to follow...

I'm going to be a mother-in-law! (for Alia)

2012-08-10T11:40:00.000-07:00

You are smart, lovely, funny, easily pleased, highly opinionated, heartbreakingly insecure, thoughtfully fashionable, hilariously disorganized, brutally honest, and a perfectly lovable future daughter-in-law.

Alia, we adore you. We are lucky to have had real time to get to know you, to see who it is- deeply, and truly-- that had our David walking on air, whistling at breakfast and grinning through dinner all that winter when you and he met.

And then you spent some time with us, disarming and charming and laughing your way into our hearts. Your laughter comes easily and often and it's what I remember best and love most-- hearing it from everywhere in the house- you laughing, David laughing, the two of you in delight of each other and of being young and in love and together.

I watched you work out compromise, stand up to each other and also back down- a dance you seemed to practice instinctively and well. I watched you be thoughtful to each other, and also not so thoughtful, and then thoughtful again. I noticed you seeing qualities in each other that you seemed to miss in yourselves, and I noticed you finding the best parts of each other to nurture.

I worried some, too, because you are both such strong and sometimes stubborn personalities-- but then you told David he was being insufferable that time, and he grinned (he actually grinned!) and so I stopped worrying. You can hold your own (and so can he).

As much as we miss having you here I have to also admit I don't miss the unending mess in the kitchen, the tripping over laptops and cell phones, or the mounds of laundry on the couch. It's your laughter I miss; it's you I miss (and David, too). It's seeing you convince Jim to put in the ceiling fan I've wanted for 10 years. It's listening to you and Addie (your future sister-in-law) talk science at the dinner table and being so grateful that you have each other and have both science and a love for travel and an appreciation of all things sparkly in common. (or maybe the sparkly things is me, not Addie). It's having you ask my opinion on something, or seeing you work the crossword with Jim, or hearing you admit you get a little selfish when you're tired (who doesn't?).

I hope it is apparent how much we appreciate the depth and scope of your place in our hearts.

Alia, you have wonderful parents who set a great example, and I like to think that Jim and I did a pretty fair job for David too- and I see in you both an ability to love and share and to work out conflict in ways that benefit you each individually and also as a couple. I see success in your future, and lots of love and happiness, and so much laughter.

So, David- thank you. Daddy and I, and Chris and Addie, are very glad to be welcoming Alia to our family, and we think you are a very lucky guy.

Slayer Training For Losers

2012-04-22T20:08:00.000-07:00

Some of you may know that I'm about 15 days into a 6 week long fitness challenge, part of a team-"Buncha Losers"-competing with other teams for a cash prize and bragging rights. The team that loses the most collective weight wins the pot, which works out to a nice sum of $500 each.

I suspect most of us aren't in it for the money so much as the chance to develop healthier habits and, hopefully, a healthier body. In that, of course, we will all finish as winners. No matter where we were when we started, our trainers are seeing to it that we'll finish stronger, more fit, and having developed a new set of habits with which to continue.

This week, Brian, head honcho over at Inspire Fitness, asked team participants to consider their goals and, for extra team points, write essays describing our own personal "ultimate" selves. Brian's kinda big on the idea of setting goals, visualizing where you want to be and then living into your vision.

But here's the thing. I'm nearly 52 and I still don't have a freaking clue who I want to be. I mean, I used to. I did. A long time ago. A long time ago I wanted to be a certain kind of mom. I wanted to be the kind of mom who raised kids that were happy and playful and intellectually curious and fearless and strong and kind and good hearted and interesting to be with.

And, against the odds, I was. I was that kind of mom, with those kinds of kids. And the lion's share of credit goes to the kids themselves, of course, along with a fair amount of luck, and the rest owing to chance and fate and a tiny little bit to my husband and me, and that only for doing a good job of holding our breath while the universe worked its magic and our amazing children grew up. And left me with my heart overflowing with gratitude.

But. Then.

Boom. I was done. DONE. The road ended; the gate came crashing down. It's a familiar theme- you've heard it before- but empty-nesting while menopausing? Nothing prepares you for that shit-- no amount of being psychologically minded, of having things to do or meaningful work or hobbies or a grown up social life-- nothing- nothing prepares you to be done with the day-to-day, on-your-toes, problem-solving busy-ness of active parenting.

It is, literally, depressing. AND IT'S NOT MY FAULT. I didn't forget to get a hobby. I just reached a turn in the road that I thought might be interesting but which, it turns out, I find absolutely AWFUL.

Soooo. So I spent some time licking my wounds and playing Spider Solitaire and wishing I could fall down a rabbit hole. Then I took my husband on a Zombie Walk. Then I licked my wounds some more. Finally I went for a physical which revealed low vitamin D levels and high cholesterol. So... I started walking and running a little more, like I used to, taking some supplements, and feeling a little better. Still clueless about who I wanted to be, but the fog at least was beginning to lift. When I learned about the fitness challenge it seemed like just the right thing at just the right time.

My ultimate self? Ask me again in a couple of years. For now, I'm happy to be putting one foot in front of the other, to be getting stronger and healthier. I want to have a body that will carry me into my future, one that will afford me the time I'll need for figuring out how to make my second 50 as fun and interesting a trip as my first 50 have been. I don't know where my path will lead me; travel, writing, art, teaching, ?

What I do know is that I won't be sitting around waiting to find out- I'm going to be out there somewhere, actively meeting the future in front of me.

But there is one other thing--I call the boot camp classes "Slayer Training" for a reason. I want to be sure that if the Zombies and Vampires arrive, or if the Capitol takes over-- I will be ready.

You Don't Mess With My Heart (Komen et al)

2012-02-10T11:30:00.000-08:00

This post is in part about the Komen debacle; if you aren't familiar with it, start here. Otherwise read on:

See this? This is my heart. My HEART.

Although this is just one of my three children, for the sake of this post, it doesn't matter which. Let this baby stand for them all. My children, my heart.

I have been spitting mad since I first heard about Komen's disastrous decision, and, like many others on hearing the news, I went promptly to Planned Parenthood's fundraising page to make a donation. In concert with so many, our swift and decisive actions made a difference. Komen is well aware of the magnitude of its mistake; I've nothing to add to that.

But I can't let it go- I'm seething- and maybe, maybe, I can help shed some light on the depth and breadth of furious response to the Komen decision to defund Planned Parenthood. Because I am a woman of a certain age. And I suspect that a great number of the Planned Parenthood defenders came of age, as I did, in the 1970's.

We were young during a pre-HIV, post Sexual-Revolution decade. Our parents weren't ready to provide education and contraceptives, so Planned Parenthood became our place to go. We trusted them and we counted on them. And they were there for us.

At first, we went in groups- five or six at a time. We went for contraception, mostly, but we got so much more. We were 14, 15, 16 years old, and here was a place where we were treated with dignity and compassion. Here was a place we could get truthful answers and straightforward advice. Any teenager will tell you that in the world of adults, to be treated in this way is rare.

We got pap smears and breast exams, condoms and the pill. We got information and advice, hand-holding and occasional scoldings. We got abortions, and we got pre-natal care. Planned Parenthood was our primary caregiver well into our twenties or later, until (or if) we graduated to jobs (or marriages) with medical insurance.

I was 20 years old and uninsured when my first baby was born. My healthy pregnancy and delivery was due in part to the affordable pre-natal care I received at Planned Parenthood. Long after I stopped using P.P. for my own medical care I counted on them to be there for my younger friends and relatives, and those who were uninsured. I assumed they would be there for my own children and my children's children too.

I'm 51 years old now and my children, my heart, are all grown up. It's been a lot of years since I've needed P.P., but I'll always be grateful for the good start they gave to me, my friends, and our families. Planned Parenthood, we will ALWAYS support you.

Lately there have been near daily attacks on our reproductive freedom, our access to health-care, to safe abortions, and to affordable and effective contraception. It is incomprehensible. If we have been taking what we have of these things for granted, we will no longer. Let the Komen debacle remind us of our strength, our numbers, and of what we have to lose.

It was heartening to see women of all ages stand up for Planned Parenthood; to know that there are many more of us than there are of those misguided fanatics- religious and political- who would have us bear children we couldn't afford to feed or face a payday choice between groceries and contraception.

I have good health insurance these days and am grateful that I can go to the doctor whenever the need arises. Grateful enough that I've decided to make a donation to a fund that benefits women each time I use my insurance. Today I had a routine yearly physical. And I will make a donation to Planned Parenthood. I am on the lookout for a cancer-specific fund to replace Komen on my list of favored charities, and am considering the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. (If anyone can give me a yay or nay on this one I'd appreciate it).

I'm also on the lookout for a good political organization. I'd like to donate where my money will be used effectively to help shape policy which benefits women and children. Please leave your suggestions here.

I'm grateful to my brilliant children and the brilliant and beautiful people they have brought into my life; all of them (ALL of them) give me hope and a sense of calm amid so much turmoil, amid the public disagreements and vehement disrespect rampant among our so called leaders. I feel like a child living with parents who don't get along; it leaves me with a near-constant stomach ache. Or heartache, perhaps. It's stressful. I don't need it.

Implicit in the job of parenting is the promise, the responsibility even, to leave the world a better place for our children. Oh, my hearts, I'm trying!

I think it is inevitable that the uber right who are trying to make or keep bad policy, or to prevent good, will eventually stupid themselves off the radar. My hope is that we can hurry the process up a bit. Maybe spitting mad is exactly where I need to be.

Fuck you Chris Christie (in defense of New Jersey)

2012-01-06T08:49:00.000-08:00

You and your "Jersey style" rants don't fool us. Intimidation is the tool of a bully, and everyone knows the truth about bullies. You think you're big and powerful? You get a rush out of threatening people? Despite your obvious efforts to be otherwise, in truth you are a little, little man.

This power trip you're on? It won't last longer than last nights pudgy little hard-on. Yeah, I'm pissed. I thought about taking the high road, but you know what? I'm from Jersey too. Difference is, I don't run around threatening people. I'm not ever going to run for office. I'm not a politician. I don't pretend to be important to anyone outside my family and a small circle of friends.

You, on the other hand, seem to think you're going somewhere. Get over it. You have no class, no style, no intellect, and no manners. Successful politicians will dust you from their shoulders the minute they've used up what few crumbs you offer.

NJ is a wonderful state filled with all kinds of people, most of them kind, caring, and compassionate. You do the state an injustice by pretending otherwise. I'm sure you've been told by your "handlers" to drop the bully act. Problem is, it isn't an act. You, sir, are a bully.

And we all know the truth about bullies.

Rejoining the Land of the Living (and spending a day undead)

2011-10-26T09:11:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to rejoin the land of the living after a long, unproductive, unwelcome, unintentional withdrawal. The adjustments required by an empty nest, aging parents, and impending work and retirement choices are, for some, No Big Deal. But for me, and presumably others, it is a sea change requiring major reinvention and the questioning of Every Single Thing I've Ever Done.

Our sold van; the end of an era

This past year is the first that we've had with no kids at home, not even over the summer. We sold the van. We cleaned out some closets. We were just beginning to appreciate some of the small differences- ordering one pizza, leaving our door open, an empty sink at the end of the day- when Grandma moved in.

Now we have an ugly wooden calendar hanging in our kitchen and a stuffed pink Laz-e-boy in the living room. The electrified chair comes with an "Eject" button from which G'ma springs forth when she's finished watching the Joy Behar show. Also, the wall fell down.

The Wall that Stole my 51st Summer

It was a necessary retaining wall, and estimates to have it replaced were well out of our reach. So we had to build it ourselves. In June and July. During a heat wave. I call it The Wall that Stole my 51st Summer, and I figure the wall owes me a year. Building that wall was the hardest sustained physical work I've ever done, but it turned out great, and I know I should be proud of it. But I am only resentful.

With an empty nest, a husband scheduled to retire soon, and no real ties to my local community, I had hoped to move. Somewhere far. Somewhere interesting. Somewhere G'ma would also like. Somewhere Cheap, most of all. Start a new chapter. Figure out what I want to be, besides a parent. But I haven't a clue where we can go or even whether it will be possible.

And so I've spent the summer, and most of the fall, in a funk, a pit, a sleepy drowning-ish, gloomy gray space lacking joy, with no real desire to do anything at all. I recognize depression, I've been friends with it before. I suppose as it goes mine is a mild case, but still.


Asbury Park NJ Zombie Walk 2011

It's so easy to know what to do (get out! get active! spend time with people!), and so hard to actually do it. But I'm making some progress. I finally wrote this post, for one. I went with Jim to my first (awesome) Zombie Walk. I'm taking an exercise class. I'm looking into other paid work. And I'm in the market for a friend or two. Who live nearby, because I am very, very lazy. Also, if anyone knows the meaning of my life (beyond raising the best 3 kids on earth), please let me know. I'm quite interested. And if you live in an Interesting and Cheap place, I'd like to hear about that, too.

I'm a shitty writer, and a crappy artist.

2011-05-25T11:18:00.000-07:00

Or maybe it was crappy writer and shitty artist.

Either way, the truth is debatable, but that's what one of my "friends" said in a comment on my facebook page. To her credit the comment disappeared a moment later, replaced by an edited version- still insulting but somewhat less so.

Baby Spewing Stars (mama with the blue hair)

This "friend" was someone I'd met years ago on the now defunct Ebay blogs ( a misnomer, as these "blogs" functioned more like a forum). Many of us spent a fair amount of time together in this online venue, sharing our lives, our successes, our heartbreaks, and most of all laughter. So when Ebay did away with the blogs a bunch of us came together again on Facebook. I estimate a quarter of my 300 or so facebook "friends" are from the old Ebay blog days, and there are maybe a dozen of those that I feel I know and like well enough to invite to my home should they ever be in my neighborhood.

But some, like the one referenced above, are less known to me. Until the other day, anyway. When I expressed my honest opinion regarding a recent event. There were some to concurred and some who felt differently. I expected that. What I didn't expect, nor deserve, was the hatred and cursing and personal insults spewed on my "wall" from this one individual who had rarely, if ever, spoken to me prior to this day.

It would have been easy to delete her comments and to block her from posting on my wall, but I didn't do that. I left it alone, in part, I realized later, because I needed to experience and explore my feelings about the discomfort I felt at her venomous attack. It surprised me- the degree of upset I felt- and I realized that I had to allow it. Kind of like falling- it hurts a lot more if you fight it, you end up breaking a leg instead of temporarily losing your dignity.

So I let the ugly post live. Eventually the ranter got tired of ranting, and- I thought this was funny- ended it by blocking me.

Here is what I learned:

I do not need to be liked by everyone. In fact, since I wear my opinions on my sleeve, I will not be liked by everyone.

If I am to write, and create art, I willingly open myself to criticism, both constructive and psychotic in nature.

Que sera, sera.

I am secure in the knowledge that I am a better writer than most of the people I know, and not half as good as any of those I read. And that's okay with me.

As for my art? Well, she may have been right about that. But I don't pretend to make beautiful (or good) art; I create because the act of creating fulfills me. And, even here, I have my admirers.

Here is my question for you- Do you put yourself "out there"? Do you worry about critics? Do you find that you are more or less willing to be vulnerable as you get older? Are your feelings hurt by "friends" on Facebook or other social media, and if so, how do you deal?

Um, dude? "We trounced your asses" ? Are you f**king kidding me?

2010-11-04T10:22:00.000-07:00

Some days are like that. This is one of them. Got up in the middle of the night (ok, 5:30 am, but it was dark) in order to make it on time to a breakfast meeting for a business group with which I have an affiliation. As I am especially morning challenged I did the sniff test on clothes at the top of the pile, threw on some random items, and decided I was doing great when I left the house only 10 minutes later than planned.

But it was raining, and dark, and my old van's headlights are so dim, and my night vision so poor, I could barely find the road. My semi-rural area is winding and hilly, streetlights are scarce and deer are plentiful. I did 35mph for a few miles in a 50mph zone...... stayed on the road, hit no deer and surely pissed off the guy behind me. Then I noticed my fuel warning light was on- aw shit- I tried calculating how many miles I'd gone since it read "empty", and pulled into the only gas station for miles- an Exxon. I have not bought gas at Exxon since the Valdez. Ah, well. Just this once. I had no money and had to get $3.00 worth of gas- on a credit card. But I made it to the meeting, more or less on time.
And it was ok. Good, if fact. Meetings aren't really my thing, but this one involves food, and ketchup, and coffee, and that surely helps. There were some fun moments, some educational moments, some necessary housekeeping type moments and a manageable amount of socializing (for an introvert).

Until the end. When, for reasons I'm not quite sure I understand (though it may have something to do with my hamper-clothing), I found myself cornered by someone who decided it was somehow important to let me know that "we trounced your asses" (in the recent mid-term election).
What?
Dude.
Really?
I don't even know how to respond to that. "We trounced your asses" is not a part of my vocabulary.
I can't even watch high school football games because I find the language of the folks in the stands to be unnecessarily violent and appalling.
To me this person's phrase was rude, unfriendly, mean-spirited and uncalled for (and did I mention it was morning?).
In essence I was being told in an offensive, gloating, insulting way that this person believed I was a loser. Because S/he "trounced" my "ass". It was supposedly about politics- a subject in which I am well-informed- yet this person spoke in a way that most would reserve for a game of team beer-pong. I suppose this person may have played some violent sport in high school and retained the unfortunate vocabulary. And I find it sad that bully language is so often used by politicians and celebrity political wannabes, but I was caught by surprise here because this group affiliation is made up of professionals and business owners, whom, presumably, are there to represent the service they provide and put their best foot forward.
I may wear hamper clothes, but I conduct myself in an appropriate manner and behave respectfully toward others.
One thing I have learned- you can dress in expensive clothes, have all the "right" credentials and initials after your name- and still behave like an ass.
I am perfectly willing to concede that yes, one party received more votes than the other this time around. The meaning of that and the reasons and the implications are far too complex to be summed up in a few paragraphs however, and certainly a gloating "We trounced your asses" trivializes the entire process and brings nothing useful to the discussion.
I ended up leaving the meeting feeling badly, wondering if this was acceptable behavior and something I was expected to endure.
The rain, the gas, the bully.

I suppose we will always have bullies, even those dressed up in suits and ties, or wearing dresses and scarves. But I personally have always preferred co-operative, rather than competitive, games. So please, if you can't play nice, kindly pack up your marbles and go home.

The mess I make

2010-10-25T16:37:00.000-07:00

First, a warning. This post lacks wisdom and is quite literally about the mess I make. I'm working on honesty here, and honestly, my house is a mess. The truth is I don't usually care.
Except that two things happened. One, someone came over (that never happens). Two, I've been reading more blogs and find that- astonishingly- people frequently post pics of their homes. From the inside.
And they look like pictures in a magazine.
Who lives like that?

Apparently lots of people.
So between having the inside of my home accidentally observed, and a nagging case of blog pic envy, I was moved to clean. I got as far as my bedroom closet. Here it is after I'd been working on it for 3 hours.

I thought I'd clean the other rooms too, but I only got as far as picture taking. I'm posting the pics here in hopes that I'll be shamed into actual cleaning, though I suspect my lack of housekeeping skills may win out .

The chalkboard-painted area in my kitchen says "Happy Birthday Mommy". My birthday was in June. The upper cabinets are missing the hardware because I took it off to prime and paint... 9 years ago. The colorful tile backsplash is not tile, it's paint. A "temporary" fix for the ugly white paperboard that was there when we bought the house.

Below is the dining room. The piano is no longer in use. I was planning on having a "piano-on-the-lawn-sledgehammer-demolition-day" until someone warned me that the strings could snap and take out an eye. Too bad; I think it would have been a fun time.

Below is the living room, which we don't actually use because, well, because it's a mess. We hang out downstairs in the family room, which is a bigger, more comfortable mess, but not pictured here.

I should admit that I haven't actually cleaned anything besides daily dishes since the last of the kids left in August. I think in spite of the abundance of kid clutter the house was actually neater when they were all here, and smaller. These days I find I'm too busy running, hiking, reading, thinking, sewing, painting or gluing something to worry about cleaning the house. And since there's no one here but Jim and me to see it...

And anyway February is such a good month for cleaning, why waste a nice October?

P.S. If you are one of the house-beautiful people, and appalled, I apologize for the distress my pics must have caused. On the other hand, if you are one of the house-messy people, please let me know. I fear I am alone.

And now for something completely different...

2010-10-09T15:31:00.000-07:00

I promise you I will never win any Mother of the Year awards. Some of you already know that my post of October 1st went wildly, unexpectedly viral, and generated hundreds of comments plus phone calls, emails and facebook messages. Many of the messages complimented my parenting skills. It's all very flattering, but...

My gang.

The post, if you haven't seen it yet, was actually a letter to my 19 year old daughter in college. It began as a quick email, sent because I missed her but also because there were a couple of things I wanted to tell her. Shortly after I sent it off I posted it in my blog, thinking it would be read by the 15 or 20 friends and family members that had been following since I started blogging in July.

Then the post went viral. As of today (10/09/2010), it has been seen by more than 250,000 readers, and continues to spread through the U.S., Canada, Asia, South America, the Middle East, Australia, Europe, and Africa. I promise you, if I had known, I would have cleaned it up a bit. I reread it now and cringe at a few of the more awkward sentences. I might have clarified a couple of points in more detail. But who knew?

And how do you follow that?
With something completely different.

Because I am really not Ms. Mommy Wisdom, and truthfully a little uncomfortable in the role. My children (2 boys, 1 girl, & one son's gf) have told me that they think I'm a great mom. That makes me happy, and I believe it is true in the way that all loving moms are great moms. But I need to keep it real here. I'm as flawed as anyone, and if I had to choose a mommy hero it wouldn't be the lady with her act together and 5 great kids, it would be someone more like Anne Lamott, former alcoholic, single mom, and refreshingly honest writer. Lamott is not a cupcake-making kind of mom, and is unapologetic about it. Because I have sometimes felt cornered into metaphorical cupcake-making- I feel like she's my Norma Rae. We less-than-perfect Moms need someone to hold up the UNION sign, only it let it say HUMAN instead.

I want to tell you about a couple of her essays, which I recount here from memory because I'm too lazy to trudge upstairs and find the books. In one essay Lamott recounts the Christian story of Mary and Joseph, their extended family and fellow villagers making the long trek back home from Jerusalem when Jesus is about 12 years old. They'd been traveling 3 days when they realize Jesus is missing. In the large traveling crowd Mary and Joseph assumed he'd been hanging out with his cousins and the other young people. So they are worried and not too happy to have to trek back 3 days to find him. And when they do, he's gets smart mouthy with them the way boys that age can. And Mary? First, relief. Then, in Lamotts wonderful vision, she starts fingering some rocks in her pocket...

In another essay Lamott relays a personal story about a time when she and her young son are traveling, and her car stalls and blocks an intersection. As she tried to start it up again she became flustered by all the horn honking and angry words of nearby drivers. So she asked her son to take a minute and pray with her. But it's noisy, so trying to be helpful, he rolled down his window and yelled to the honking drivers "Would you shut the fuck up? We're trying to pray here!"

If Anne Lamott is my mommy-hero, it is because she is heart-breakingly real, and has the courage to be brutally honest about her experience of life and of parenthood. Most of us just cannot go all the way there. Yet here is someone who has met her shadow, befriended it, brought it into light, and survived. Her gift to the rest of us is to say- look, what you are thinking, what you are feeling,- it's normal, it's human. You can love your child to pieces- you could be Mary, and still have moments you want to throw rocks at him, or worse.

Her memoir of the first year of her son's life, "Operating Instructions", should be required reading for all pregnant women and their partners. Let us all step off the pedestal, please.

Unlike Lamott, I'm not ready to go all out honest. It takes too much courage and energy, and I'm just not there yet. But I can confess one small thing. I lied about the cookies. Often.

I've included a musical video for those of you who'd like to listen to the sound I'll always associate with a change of form......

Letter to my daughter (with an update 9/16/13)

2010-10-01T10:14:00.000-07:00

Hello my girl,
I wanted to say hi and tell you how much I miss you and that I hope your classes are going well and that you are having fun too.
But I also have to have a mommy moment- bear with me here. I won't take long, and I won't be saying anything I haven't already said in one form or another, but it is important.

You may or may not have heard about the NJ college student who killed himself last week because his room-mate had posted videotape of him having sex with another guy. A terrible, senseless tragedy.

My mommy job requires that I remind you of two essential things:
One:
Nothing ruins your life forever. NOTHING.
Two:
Nothing ruins your life forever. NOTHING.

If that young man had only waited a couple of weeks nobody would have cared- he'd have gotten past it. People have short memories- life would have gotten better, much better. His parents and friends? They loved him prior to the tape- they would have loved him afterward too. A few awkward moments and then life goes on.

But when you are young you don't know that even the awkward moments are fleeting. On this, you just have to trust the old people. Remember when you were really small and cried and cried over something? Well, it didn't last. That's kind of what it's like- awful things happen, you feel like there's a rock in the pit of your stomach, somehow time goes by and it gets better. I promise you, it ALWAYS gets better.

The students, a girl and boy, who were involved in the taping and posting-- they are being charged with bias crime, invasion of privacy and possibly other things. Their college life is over. They will have to live with this death the rest of their lives-- and their families are devastated. What they did was so wrong- but also so kid-stupid. Not to mention mean. And so their lives will be different forever- but even so- their families will love them and they will have time enough to hopefully live in such a way as to make meaning from their mistake.

So, my beautiful girl, never, ever think something is unfixable. NOTHING you do will ever keep us from loving you. NOTHING you do could be so awful you can't get past it.

And if someone is mean to you, and it isn't something you can ignore-- seek out people to talk to about it. Surround yourself with people who are supportive. If you ever need help and don't know how to ask- try writing a letter instead. And right now- before you might need such help- think about who you would talk to if needed. In the midst of turmoil sometimes we don't always think as clearly- having a plan makes it easier to find help in crisis. And remember there are always alternatives. Always.

Finally, don't be mean. Don't let other people be mean.
Stand up for the underdog, protect those who aren't as smart or confident or easygoing as yourself.
Treat people's feelings like fragile little puppies- if you play with them- be gentle.

I love you so much and I know you really don't need me to tell you this stuff.... but it's my job.
Love and hugs,
Mommy

Addendum 9/16/13

It's been nearly 3 years since this letter was published, went viral, reached a global audience, and ended up permanently linked from multiple websites including Ellen Degenere's. Some wonderful students even made it into an anti-bullying video. (I've included links below).

I am humbled and grateful to all those who reached out to tell me what my letter meant to them-- thank you. I am so glad that the letter continues to reach a wide audience.

There has been some positive news- teen pregnancy is down, gay marriage approval is increased and there are more successful anti-bully programs then ever. New Jersey passed new statewide rules which prohibit public school athletes, coaches and even fans from using language against the gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, religion or disability of an athlete. When I was young it was common in sports to hear words like "pussy", "faggot", and "retard". Today it will get you kicked out of the game or out of the stands. So there is progress.

Unfortunately a quick look at some statistics indicates a disturbing increase in suicide rates among young people this year (2013). I leave it to the experts to speculate on the causes, but clearly there is still work to be done so that our children can grow up feeling hopeful and supported.

On a lighter note, I am delighted to report that the original reader of this letter, my daughter, graduated last June and is currently happily employed in the field of her choosing. She and her siblings are all out of the nest and doing well, for which I am very, very grateful.

http://www.ellentv.com/2010/10/14/a-touching-letter-to-a-daughter/

http://youtu.be/zs8f-bPdya

Paddle with your left to go right

2010-09-12T18:24:00.000-07:00

On labor day Monday, I conquered the Delaware. Well, first my brother Joe from Pa invited Jim and I to come up and go kayaking. It would be us, he said, and Marybeth (my sister-in-law), and a friend of theirs.
Now Jim has gone kayaking a number of times with our daughter, Addie, and they've always enjoyed it. In fact, last summer Jim was pleased and honored when Addie had wanted to spend her last weekend before college with him, kayaking on the Delaware.
But me? I have never gone, and I have never been tempted. A little plastic boat? Paddles? Um, no thanks. Except. This is my 50th year, and I made a vow to do new things in honor of that milestone. I'm making an effort to move out of my comfort zone, attempt things I've never done, say yes more often than no. I want to do 50 new things, and I'm a little behind. So, I took a deep breath and said "Sure, Joe, we'd love to go kayaking". Ugh.
2 hours later we're at the Delaware river, somewhere in Matamoras (I think). We've each got our kayaks, paddles, life-jackets, water, and whatever other gear we think necessary (for Jim, trail mix, for me, my cell). Then come the instructions:
Keep it straight- you don't want to go into the rapids sideways.
okay, makes sense.
Paddle with your left to go right.
what?
Paddle with your right to go left.
what?
Keep the water-shieldy things on the outside of your hands.
okay, what was that about left and right?
If you get stuck on a rock, push off slowly.
right, what?
just stay with us, and stay right under the bridge, then left.
left, right. your side, or my side? wait, which left? what?
There I am with everyone telling me what to do and all I could think was "oh jeez I'm gonna be going in circles". Let me say this- I am not afraid of the river. I am not afraid of water. I have a healthy respect for it, having grown up around the ocean, but I am not afraid of it. I had my life jacket on, and I wasn't worried about getting hurt.
So here is my secret:
I am afraid, horribly horribly scared- of making a fool of myself. I am self-conscious gone viral. I am hopelessly mired up in how I might look to others. So when I'm thinking "Oh jeez I'm gonna be going in circles" I'm not worried about being stuck in one place. I'm worried that people will laugh at me. That I will be the only one who can't figure out how to make the damn boat move.
And this is why my daughter has so often been my hero and always an inspiration- because she does not have one single self-conscious bone in her body. She just does stuff, and who cares how it looks. And she dives into life fully and courageously and with buckets full of joy.
So. I did my best to channel my brave adventurous unselfconscious daughter and go. Just go.

Then I went. And it was fun. I didn't go in circles. In fact, it only took a minute to feel comfortable, competitive even. And I managed to keep my kayak straight through the rapids without much trouble.
Floating slowly could be a little boring, but then the rapids appear and those were lots of fun. I got splashed and the weather was wonderful and the day turned out to be a perfect goodbye to summer. We even had a small bit of kayak-losing, shoe-floating, never-happened-before-drama among our party (not me) which added some flavor to the day.
Here is what I learned:
When you tell me to go left or right I will just look at you completely stupid while I try to translate that idea to my muscles, which, given the further confusion of the paddles working in opposite directions, what would you expect? However- when you tell me to keep the kayak straight with the waves knocking it this way and that- well- I just do it, with no problem at all, because my muscles get it.
Am I glad I went?
Absolutely. And I would do it again, and I would prefer the rapids be bigger even.
It was a very wonderful day, a new adventure, a new memory, and one fewer thing I have to do this year..... because

I am fifty years old, and I have conquered the Delaware.

Alice, Harriet, and Fried Green Tomatoes

2010-09-05T13:02:00.000-07:00

Some of you know that Jim and I have a newly emptied nest, with our youngest at school in California, our middle guy off starting his life in Washington, DC, and our eldest having been on his own for some years now, living and working elsewhere in NJ.
So what do you do with an empty nest?
You fill it.
With birds.
Meet Alice and Harriet, more formally known as Alice and Harriet II. The original Alice and Harriet were our daughter's pets when she was 7 or 8 years old, named for Alice-in-Wonderland and Harriet-the-Spy. In hindsight we guess they were not particularly healthy, as they died just a few weeks after we brought them home. We had a proper funeral, which Addie, our daughter, remembers. It was raining and dreary and one of her brothers played taps on his trumpet as we laid the birds to rest in a corner of our garden.

We are pleased to say that the new Alice and Harriet appear to be healthy and full of personality and very much serving the purpose of adding life and noise into our little home.
Alice, blue, is the curious one (fancy that) but Harriet, green, is the more brave.

And I nearly killed them today.

I'd stopped at a farm stand for locally grown fruit and vegetables, and decided I would finally try making some fried green tomatoes- which I've been talking about doing ever since reading the book "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe" by Fannie Flagg many years ago. (You may remember the movie, made in 1991, called simply "Fried Green Tomatoes", starring 4 excellent actresses- Jessica Tandy, Kathy Bates, Mary-Louise Parker, and Mary Stuart Masterson. If you haven't seen it, invite some friends and indulge. It's a wonderful movie filled with great performances.)

So, as this is my 50th year and I am working hard to actually do things rather than merely talk about doing them, it was time to try frying green tomatoes.

I found a recipe online which was pretty simple- cut the tomato into thick, 1/2 inch slices, season with salt and pepper, dip in milk, then flour, then egg, then breadcrumbs, and fry in olive oil for 4 to 6 minutes on each side.
I sliced and they looked delicious already.
I coated and I was getting hungry.
I fried- 4 minutes- and burned. Scorched. Blackened. Crisped.
Ugh.
And then....... the smoke.
Dense thick smoke filled the whole floor and all I could think was "Respiratory systems! Birds have teeny little respiratory systems! They can't breathe; they're gonna dieee!"
And I ran and opened every window and door and yelled for Jim to bring me a fan, then grabbed the smoking pan and took it outside, where it continued cooking for a few minutes while I wondered if the neighbors were watching and if I was a bird murderer and how would I break the news to Addie.

Well- the jury is out. The smoke has cleared, the birds appear to be ok, but if they die in the next day or two we'll all know the quilty party. Fortunately, as Jim pointed out, they are under warrenty for another 13 days. And if we do have to get another pair, I'll be soliciting some new name ideas.

As for the fried green tomatoes? I can't believe I hadn't tried them sooner. Burned as they were, they were delicious. I will surely make them again, but with the heat set a bit lower, and a fan in the room at the ready.

Menopause cured my bug phobia

2010-07-27T05:07:00.000-07:00

I have been phobic about bugs all my life. I can remember wearing my mother's high heels around the house because I wanted to be as far off the floor as possible just in case something was crawling. I wore long sleeves, long pants, and a hat one hot summer so nothing would land on my skin. When I had my first apartment I made my Dad drive across town to kill a spider in my shower. I once spent a day on my porch because there was a dead moth on a wall and no one around to get rid of it. I kept bug spray with me in the house at all times, two cans- one that sprayed wide in the air and one that shot a targeted stream. Jim (my husband) joked that he was going to make me a holster. I once made a painting of a cicada as a kind of self-therapy, though it helped a little the effects lasted only about as long as it took to paint. I screamed and shook and panicked if something crawled on me. Twice I had to go to the emergency room because the panic was so intense. And it seemed that no matter where I was, I could always spot a bug when no one else could see it. My shrink said it was because I was in the habit of "scanning the environment for danger". This was no- "ew, a bug" phobia- this was the real thing. But no more. I began noticing about a year or so ago that my panic seemed to have gone from a roar to a rumble. I became increasingly calm. I watched, in awe and wonder, as a spider walked across my dining room ceiling during dinner one night, and I had no desire to flee, or to even stop eating. My wonder was at my physical response, or lack of one. This, I remember thinking, is how normal people respond to a spider on the ceiling. Lately I find myself ignoring the crawly creatures when I can, or removing them without so much as a shudder. And the only thing to which I can attribute this relatively sudden and complete 360 is the hormonal changes of a post menopausal body. I cannot explain it otherwise- which to my mind confirms my long-held belief that we are much more influenced by and at the mercy of our physicality than many of us would like to think. We humans go to great lengths to convince ourselves that we are in control; that if we have "lost it" we are mentally weak or lazy and simply need to "get a grip". But science has again and again confirmed my suspicion that, unnerving as it is, much of who we are is simply beyond conscious control, impervious to mindful manipulation. Ultimately, we really are what we eat. And what we secrete. And the unique and particular combination of organic materials with which we are born.

Celebrating my 50th all year long

2010-07-26T07:18:00.000-07:00

Last month was my 50th birthday, and I promised myself I'd create and maintain a blog through my 50th year. It's a little late, but here we are.
I also set a goal of doing 50 things this year- things which were either interesting or fun, creative or hard, challenging or odd, outside of my comfort zone or simply something I hadn't done before. Naturally, I am way behind, and needing to do much before the year is out.
Some of what I've done so far is to take a cross country trip, see the desert, ride a train in a sleeper car, attend my high school class' 50th birthday bash, run to the top of Sparta mountain (a hill really, but I'm counting it!).
I also opened a brick and mortar retail paint store, and an online Etsy shop. I've started my blog, and in November I am going to be "best man" at my friend Charlie's wedding (yes, I'm a woman, and no, Charlie's not gay. He and I are close friends; it just made sense, and I am honored to be part of his and Jane's wedding day). Other things: I walked the Chelsea highline, took specific, positive steps for my health, learned to solder, ran a 5k, went to Mardi Gras, tried shrimp (eww), and learned to drive to Dover (NJ). Some may seem ordinary, and they are, but not for me. So I have made a start. But I still have many things to do to reach my 50th year celebration goal. And though I have some ideas, some hopes, and some mad desires, I have very little money and am open to suggestions. Oh, and, welcome to my blog.