Would You Take a Bullet For A Math Test?

Posted on October 12, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Seems a quirky thought, but not so. Day after day, I struggle with my 16 year old to get him to do his homework. In our home, education is a given. It’s never been if you go to college, but where will you go to college. We argue constantly about school: his grades, assignments due, academic expectations. I cajole and demand about getting up each morning to go to school. If he could stay home and sleep in, he would. Most days. Did you check the (math teacher’s) web page? I ask daily. “Yeah! I know!” He snarls in return. Did you read Huck Finn and take your notes? I push. “OK Mom! Geez!” He growls. Did anyone threaten to shoot you for going to school today? Are you worrying about me being beheaded for making you go? I asked today. It threw him for a loop. He looked at me sidelong, waiting for a catch. Well? Anyone put a gun to your head?  “Don’t be ridiculous. What are you talking about?” Not quite a snarl, but he’s pretty sure I’ve finally lost the last tie to sanity.

Girl, activist, blogger, Malala Yousafzai
image: parknews.pk

I’m talking about teen blogger and activist Malala Yousufzai, 14 who was gunned down this week for… going to school.  When I read the story, Wednesday, of the shooting that has left her in critical condition, from gunshot wounds to the head and neck, I was truly shaken. I remember reading about her a few years ago, when she first came into a small, but stunning spotlight. Malala is no stranger to the risks and threats of getting an education: she has been fighting the Taliban since she was 11 years old (probably before),  for the right to attend school in her small village of Mingora, in NW Pakistan.  In 2009, the Taliban had taken hold of their region, moving into the small school for girls that her father had built and run. He was determined to see young Pakistani girls get an education, his own included. His daughter embraced that idea early on, and was passionate about academics, saying that she wanted to be a doctor. She studied hard, and attended classes despite Taliban edicts that forbade girls to be educated. At the time, her father was threatened with beheading for sending her to school; she received death threats, and the entire family lived in fear of reprisals on a constant basis.

Later in 2009, the Pakistani military came into Swat District and pushed out the Taliban, in a battle for control of the area. After the school reopened, Yousafzai, not just content to get an education, took up the cause of Pakistani girls and their right to an education. She began blogging about the situation, an open challenge to the Taliban, despite threats to her safety.  In December 2011 she was awarded Pakistan’s first National Peace Prize, for person’s under 18. She has had schools named after her, and met with President Obama’s special representative to Pakistan, about the situation regarding girls and education in her country. This girl kicks serious butt, when it comes to courage and determination!  All in the name of something that so many kids here take for granted.

It takes true cowardice to shoot a child.
Image: Huffingtonpost.co.uk

In what I believe to be the ultimate in cowardice, Wednesday a group of Taliban soldiers stopped the bus that Malala Yousafzai was traveling home from school on. They demanded that Malala be identified, or they promised to shoot all of the girls. When the other girls pointed her out (imagine the terror they felt), the cowards shot this 14 year old once in the head and once in the neck. Two other girls were injured as well, one critically. Thankfully the bus driver, sped away, perhaps preventing further terror.  Malala was rushed to the hospital and later air lifted to a larger military hospital in Rawalpindi. The Government is making sure that she receives intense security, as well as covering all medical costs. The Taliban immediately claimed responsibility for the attempted assassination of this 14 year old girl, and stated that if she survives, they will kill her later. They further maintain that they oppose Malala, and sought to carry out Islamic law/ Shariah (death), not because she wants to go to school, which they state is propaganda by the media, but because she promotes secularism and modern ideas. It is a twisted faith, in my eyes. How do these men sleep at night? How can they look at their own children and not feel enormous shame? My mind spins the news around and around. 

Pakistan stands united.
image: csmonitor.com

Those questions, I know, are mute. These are people who hold to values that I do not and never will understand. It is not a matter of religion, or faith, despite what they claim. It is the position of extremist religion. Much of the Islamic world stands in support of Malala, as she fights for her life; they do not celebrate her fall. Malala’s father has promised to remain in Pakistan and continue to fight for the freedom of other girls to be educated, despite what has happened to his daughter, and the increased risk to himself. “We wouldn’t leave our country if my daughter survives or not. We have an ideology that advocates peace. The Taliban cannot stop all independent voices through the force of bullets.” (International Business Times) This catches my breath.  The girls at her school have stood up to say: “Every girl in Swat is Malala. We will educate ourselves. We will win. They can’t defeat us.”  (NYTimes) This brings tears to my eyes. All around Pakistan candlelight vigils are being held, and people are showing their solidarity with this brave girl. I stand with them.

While I blog in the comfort and safety of my home, putting out posts on everything from Malala Yousafzai to our chiweenie Gracie, Malala chose to use social media and blog as a means to share her experience with the world and educate others.  Each time she posted, she knew that she risked her life. Yet, she believes that the right of girls to be educated in the world is bigger than her own singular desires. It is chilling to me. Stirring beyond words. Her posts reflect the normal fears of a girl her age (11 at the time she started), as well as far more disturbing dreams and concerns about beheadings and violence in her small district of Swat. She paints a vivid, powerful picture of her cause and her life, in the posts she’s made. While we enjoy the freedom to prattle on about whatever we think will get us noticed:  for the sake of publication, readership, blog recognition, etc, Malala’s sole purpose for writing was to bring freedom to herself and others.

While I argue with my son to study for an exam that he has, Malala has a passion, a drive to study, and has lived under the constant threat of death, to herself, her father, and her family. Each day that she attends school, she faces that threat, but chooses to do so: literally, a gun to her head. Her father has long been an activist in his own right, running a school for girls is something that put a bull’s eye on him, long before his daughter took up the cause. He believes that girls have the the right to an education, just as boys do, in a country that is fighting to overcome the rule and influence of the Taliban, which adheres to strict and (I believe) twisted interpretation of the Holy Koran.

These girls want to study. That’s what Malala Yousafzai stands for.
image: heraldsun.com.au

It is impossible for my son to understand just how fortunate he is to live in a place where he is free to go to school. Where not only are the girls around him free to be there as well, they are equally likely to succeed. Taking a math test is a privilege he cannot appreciate; and I get that. I too take it for granted; most of us do. It is difficult to imagine that in other parts of the world, the most basic of freedoms are not a given. It is difficult to imagine a group of men pulling a bus over and shooting a young girl in the head, for wanting to go to school. But these things are happening and I believe we owe it Malala and all the girls like her, who struggle to be heard and treated fairly, to speak of this. To tell our own children that checking the math web site is a privilege, not just a task. While they may not get it, and they may not agree, perhaps they will stop a moment to think about those who can’t do it.

In the meantime, my sincere hopes are that this girl, Malala Yousafzai, does not become a martyr for “the cause.” That she does not need to die, for others to pay attention. I hope that she has a full recovery, and lives (safely) to study more, and become whatever she dreams of being. No doubt, her determination and convictions will serve her well as she struggles to recover. Please take a moment and leave a comment here. Share your thoughts.  Share this story with others; we should all take a minute to think about Malala Yousafzai.

If you are interested in reading more about Malala Yousafzai, check out the following links:  Diary of a Pakistani School Girl (BBC); Pakistani girl airlifted to hospital (NYTimes); Pakistani teen Bloggers shooting a ‘wake-up call’… (CNN); Malala in serious condition (Today’s newspaper); Malala Yousafzai (Wikipedia); We Can Do More To Fight Gender Inequality (; My Conversations with Malala Yousafzai (Christian Science Monitor); M.Y. Portrait of The Girl Blogger (BBC); **The Malalas You’ll Never Meet (Gail Lemmon, featured on CNN); read Half The Sky, Nicholas Kristoff and Sheryl Wu Dunn; check out and consider donating to Half The Sky foundation or any organization that focuses on education for girls and women.

Posted in 9/11, Awareness, Blog, Blogging, bullying, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Life, News, Tales From the Motherland, Teens, Women, Women's issues, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 36 Comments

The Middle: The Teeny, Tiny Land of Disney

Posted on October 10, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Spoiler: If you are planning to go to Disneyland anytime between now and Halloween, this may be a spoiler. Further, I am taking Disney down a notch here. Don’t read this post, if you don’t want to have your World of Magic sullied a little. Just call me Grumpy.

This past week I flew to California to visit my 20 year old son, Middle Man, and bring his dog Gracie home (Read previous post, The Things We Do For Love). He couldn’t keep her in the dorms; I agreed to come get her. There are plenty of folks who will think it odd that I would fly down to get a dog, and I know that not everyone can do it. I appreciate that I am lucky to have the option.  A visit with my boy was icing; and I like icing on the cake I have, and get to eat too.  I flew down early Wednesday and was returning  Saturday. Middle Man had classes Wednesday and Thursday, and one evening with his dorm was already planned, so we agreed that we’d have dinner alone on Wednesday; I’d take him and a group of friends out for dinner on Friday, to meet his friends and hang out with them; and, we’d spend all of Friday together, as he had no classes that day.  I don’t just want to hang out on campus all day though, I told him. “Me either,” he agreed. You want to go to Disney Land? I asked, thinking he’d nix the idea. “I was thinking the same thing!” He answered. Oh, my Mom heart skipped a beat.

Disney World, spring 2012. Me, Denmark, China and Little Man.
Now THAT’S a castle!

<– This image of the Disney World castle doesn’t even show how big it is. This was taken from a distance.

We don’t go to Disney much anymore. Our kids are nearly grown. We went last spring, when we had two exchange students living with us, and who wouldn’t take exchange students to see Disney? It’s just so American.  My husband, Smart Guy, doesn’t like Disney, however. He doesn’t like Disney World, which we’ve visited countless times over the years; and he has no desire to visit Disney Land. Smart Guy doesn’t like Disney. Period.  (I know; right?)  I love Disney! I especially adore the world that Disney creates in their parks. I appreciate that for a few hours it seems like big Goofy dogs are real, and a Mouse is a rock star. I love it all.  All of that flies directly in the face of my usual, snarky, sarcastic, somewhat cynical self; and I love Disney for that as well. L-O-V-E Disney.

So when Middle Man said yes, I was thrilled. How often do you get a day alone with your nearly grown children? And how often do you get to spend it at Disney Land? This was a first for me. I was practically giddy. I had only been to Disney Land once, when I was five and a half. We lived in northern California in 1968, and my little sister had just been born. The delivery hadn’t gone well, leaving my mother very sick. My three year old brother stayed with our (paternal) grandparents and my Mom’s mother, my grandmother, flew out from Boston with my aunt (only five years older than me) to help. Grandma took both my aunt and I to Disney Land.  It was the thrill of a lifetime for my five year old self! I still remember that trip clearly, and was excited to see it all again.

<— Middle Man and I on Main St. with the Castle in the background. What? You can’t see the castle? It’s that tiny thing right over my head.

They say you can’t go back, and in this case that turned out to be very true. I had built up Disney Land in my mind. Built it way up. Big up. Having visited Disney World many times, I figured they’d be very similar, and I’d also have all kinds of wonderful little kid memories of my previous visit, so long ago. Only part two was true. The very first thing that struck both Middle Man and I was how very teeny, tiny the Land is, versus the World. They look a lot alike, many of the same attractions and rides, but Disney Land is shrunk way down in size… way down! We entered the gates, and I took Middle Man’s hand and swung our arms in excitement! Remember when you were little? This will be so much fun! I crowed. He grinned his nearly man grin, but I saw a sparkle in his eyes. He was excited too. As we headed down Main Street Disney; everything looked the same. Then, we saw the castle. The teeny, tiny, that-can’t-be-the-castle-Castle! I guessed it was about 1/3 of the size of the castle in Disney World, maybe smaller? Neither of us could believe it! I felt the air go out of my Disney balloon instantly. Pfssst. What! Is this really it? I moaned. “I can’t believe it! It’s so… small.” Middle Man stared incredulously. We took a picture, to show everyone how small it was, not because I actually believed Tinker Bell, or Sleeping Beauty, or any Disney character would choose to live in it. They all live in the Disney World Castle, I can assure you.

Halloween Disney

The rest of the park was the same way. Small. I had been too scared to go on the Matterhorn when I was a kid, so I pulled Middle Man along and insisted that we do that first! It looked big, and I was going to overcome my fears, 40+ years later. It was a baby ride! Seriously. I suppose it feels like what an actual bobsled might feel like, but slower and smaller. Fear in check. The park was entirely decked out for Halloween and that was fun. Space Mountain, my favorite ride and seemingly a bit more thrilling at Land versus World, had all kinds of ghouls and images to scare you, instead of the usual space lights and scenes, in honor of Halloween. We found a glitch in the Fast Pass system and rode back to back. It was the biggest thrill of the day, and Middle Man and I laughed like giddy kids, as we bypassed the 50 minute line.  We whooped and screamed, with our hands in the air on both rides. Disney Magic.

The Castle, in all its teeny splendor. Not much bigger than Walt’s statue, in this photo.

Walking from one end of the park to the other at Disney Land is not the schlep it is at Disney World. It can take a long time to cross the World, but it’s a quick jaunt in the Land. Teeny. Tiny. There were pumpkins everywhere, and lots of kids and adults dressed in costumes, especially near the end of the day. The park was closing early for a Halloween party, and the costumes kicked Disney butt. I saw one R rated Disney costume (I know, right?), but most were really fantastic efforts to be all Magical World again. Being there at Halloween time was definitely a bonus!

We ate lots of bad food (but the best chocolate-covered, frozen banana ever!); we rode every ride we could, and just when we were leaving, the Magic happened. Mickey Mouse! Minnie! I shrieked, five and half again. Right there, in front of us. Both of them, greeting the crowd and shaking hands (“No autographs please”). Look! It’s Micky!  I’m pretty sure I actually jumped up and down.  Middle Man snapped a couple of pictures to post to Facebook, and we both left grinning ear to ear.  I can’t fight it; I’m a Disney girl at heart. I love the clean, colorful, plastic, perfect world that these parks create. I love that Magic seems real when I’m there. This was a bit disappointing because I’ve come to like that Magic on a grander, bigger scale. Nonetheless, it was a fun day with my boy, and I’m glad we went; but from now on I won’t settle for less than the World!                                                                                                                           (Here’s the real Magic: M-I-C-K-E-Y!  And some Costumed party goers, not employees.)

   

(For the record, I checked: Disney World castle is 189 ft tall, Disney Land is 77 ft tall- Not to mention the other dimensions!)

Have you been to Disney Land or Disney World? Both? What did you think? Is this a place that makes you sing happy little songs, or cringe? Share your thoughts!

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Posted in Adventure, Blog, Blogging, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Teens, travel, Women, Women's issues, Wonderful Things, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

The Things We Do For Love… Dog Love.

Posted on October 8, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

This is a very different story than the one I wrote about our beloved dog Callie, who died two years ago at 15 (read This Is Not Just a Tail, But a True Love Story). This is a love story that’s just starting. We are in the dating and mad about each other stage, but it seems like a love that will last. Gracie, is a love at first sight kind of dog. Gracie is hard not to love. She gets to almost everyone who meets her.  If they don’t melt under her big brown-eyed gaze, they’re sure to surrender to her playful dances, or her tenacious determination. She’s my son, Middle Man’s dog. I didn’t want to love her, but as I said: Gracie gets to almost everyone.

A very cute Chiweenie

I should start with all the reasons I was sure that I would not like Gracie. First and foremost, she’s a small dog. Very small. Nine pounds small. I like my dogs big. Gracie is a Chiweenie. You read that right: a Chihuahua and a mini Dachshund (“wiener dog”) mixed. Two breeds I do not like. Sorry. If you own one of those breeds, please don’t take offense or write and tell me what I’m missing. I don’t like them. As a child, my grandparents had a Dachshund and I remember a yippy, nippy dog that scared me. I remember my mother being bitten (not serious, but a bite), and I was sure I was next. Chihuahuas… well they are generally little, bug-eyed, fragile looking dogs. A breed that only reminds me of tacos… fast food tacos. So, putting the two breeds together was not a cocktail I anticipated falling for. That was before Gracie. For the record, she is much cuter than many of the Chiweenie’s I saw on Google.

Despite all that, I’ve fallen hard. I’ve become that small dog person who talks in syrupy sweet voices, swoops their dog up in cuddly hugs and thinks everything she does is clever and full of “character.” Suddenly, I’m one of those small dog people who thinks everything their dog does is cute. She curls up in a little ball to sleep, and I smile. She skips along on her walk (and she does in fact skip) and I grin. I am one of those small dog people, after years of being a stable, solid, big dog lover… I don’t talk in a baby voice to big dogs. I don’t cuddle our big dog; I pat and scratch his neck and back, vigorously… because he likes it, and he can take it. He’s a big, studley dog. She is a sweet, cuddle dog. Oh, I can’t stand people like me.

Gracie came to us via Middle Man, my 20 year old son. Last year he found her on Craig’s list and adopted her. When I first heard that he’d gotten her from Craig’s list, all kinds of bells went off. What kind of person gets rid of their dog on Craig’s list? She was bound to be damaged goods, I thought superiorly. Middle Man would be home #4 for Gracie. Ding, ding, ding!  Don’t ask how he kept a dog in the dorms at his college; it was never “legal.” Middle Man just has a way of making things happen, even if they’re not allowed to happen. His enthusiasm is infectious. “Let’s get a dog,” becomes something an entire dorm can cheer on.  So Gracie moved into the men’s dorm at school, and lived happily for part of last year. Never mind that it was against the rules; the entire dorm kept her under cover, because everyone loves Gracie. Over the summer, she came to live at our house and we all were crazy about her right away… Well, everyone but Luke, our wonderful yellow lab.

You can see that she’s threatening him.

Luke saw through her cute factor right away. He’s easy going, but he hated the way she just usurped his bed, and much of our attention. Suddenly he realized that humans sometimes talk in much higher pitched voices with dogs, and he wanted that too. He hated when I played fetch with Gracie. Luke has never been a fetch dog. He runs for the stick/ball/toy and then drops it. Gracie chases her toys: her little body hopping like a rabbit across the kitchen floor/lawn/ground, and then sprinting back with the toy, to play tug-o-war. Who wouldn’t fall in love with that? She smiles and grins, she charms; we melted. Gracie stands on her two hind legs when she wants her food, doing a combination of a little pirouettes and mad dashes to her dish; while Luke waits patiently to be fed and then eats in a dignified way. He did not fall for Gracie’s cute factor. Luke is the one person who didn’t love Gracie.

Luke became a lap dog for a while. He needs a lot of lap!

Gracie however saw that she had us wrapped around her delicate little paws. China and Denmark, who were still living with us when Gracie first arrived last May, fell in love with her. Even China started using a “cute voice” with her. We bought her toys to play with, because she loves toys. What’s cuter than a tiny dog with a giant bumble bee in it’s mouth? (I hate people like me!) Luke was jealous. I’d play toss with her across the kitchen floor each morning and Luke would nudge my hand first, thenstand between Gracie and me, or finally just flop down in my lap, demanding the attention back. He’d never been a lap dog in his life! But he stepped right out of his big dog persona, when that little thing arrived. And Gracie milked it. She took his bed, and when he refused to budge, she boldly stared him down and barked once, to tell him to move. Big, affable Luke moved. She watched his dog bowl like a hawk. If he didn’t eat his food right away, she was all over it. Literally. He learned to eat when I put the food out. Though we all fell under her spell, Luke was not happy to have Gracie living with us. All summer we had a sulky lab and a bossy Chiweenie, who demanded loved to be held and cuddled.

Ready for a road trip, she left us.

At the end of the summer, when Middle Man packed his stuff and got ready to go back to school, I suggested that maybe Gracie would be better off with us. I had taught her to sit, and stay, over the summer. She loved walking on the Interurban with me. She was getting used to the dog park, and she seemed happy with us. I had gotten accustomed to her excited little face each morning, as I headed for the dog food bin. Middle Man loves Gracie however, and he had no intention of leaving her here. So off they drove in mid-August, Gracie’s little head poking out the window, and we all felt sad. Even Luke, who suddenly realized that he too maybe liked Gracie. He sulked for weeks. I missed her far more than I anticipated.

Fast forward to late September. Gracie was happy in the new dorm, where Middle Man and a band of good friends and similarly minded guys had given her run of the sixth floor. She roamed from room to room as he pleased. She was prone to digging through garbage bins, some better than others. She slept where she wanted; was played with often; and had a constant source of laps to snuggle in. Gracie was Queen of the floor. Until one day Maintenance came to call. Gracie doesn’t like men with hats. I am convinced she was was abused in one of her 3 (pre-Middle Man) former homes. The fact that she’s as sweet natured as she is after several homes, is a testament to why we all love her, but Gracie barks at guys more than women, and if you have a hat on, she barks, and barks and barks. Maintenance was not happy. They reported Gracie. While it was no secret to anyone in the dorms that she lived there (girls wandered up to visit her on the 6th floor, guys kept her hidden), once it was officially out, they could not keep her. Doing so would have put the Resident Advisor, who lived on the 6th floor, in danger of losing his job. The guys have ethics, and they were not going to let their friend go down, to hide Gracie. So she was moved to an apartment off campus. Home number 5.

So Middle Man called me, Mom. Frankly, I had wondered how it lasted as long as it did. I had certain images of what a dorm full of college age guys were like. Caring properly for a little dog was not on the list, in my mind. I was sure that I could love and care for Gracie better, and I hated that she was in yet another home (being ruined). From the moment I got that call, I was determined to go get her back. But this love story had some twists in store for me.

Dorm poster of Gracie
image: Cameron Ruby

I flew there, and then drove a long way to get that dog, sure that it was all for the better. When I arrived on the 6th floor, it was all that I expected… and not at all. There was a keg. There was left over food in plastic or paper containers, sitting around. The floor was sticky and the fabric on the chairs felt dirty. There was a big flat screen TV and video games. There was everything this a mother expected to find in her boy’s dorm lounge. But there above the TV, in a place of true prominence was a poster of Gracie. One of the young women on another floor had taken the picture and my son had it blown up. It popped off the wall bigger than anything else anyone would notice in the room, and I started to realize that maybe I’d had it all wrong.

And the guys pointed it out. “Isn’t she adorable?” One coo’ed.  “Oh my God, we miss her so much!” Another one told me. One by one, these college guys… these keg drinking, bocce playing, party going, swagger-aged boys, all had a love story to tell me about Gracie. They all loved her, and they all were broken up about losing her. They all knew I was there to take her with me, and they shared the things she likes, and little details about her personality that they thought I might need to know. Their sadness at losing her was palpable. I was totally shocked. A big, fat Boy did I have that wrong to swallow, as I listened to each (and I mean every) guy that I met over the weekend, tell me something about why they’d miss Gracie.

But in the end, it was my own boy’s loss that really rocked me. I knew he really cared about Gracie, but I thought he was a bit more blase than was true. I know he has a tender heart, but it’s surrounded by a hard shell sometimes. I figured Gracie was fun to have; a dog that he enjoyed, but when push comes to shove… he’d give up. Wrong! I was wrong about every single thing I thought I knew about Gracie and her boys. Middle Man was so sincerely sad about sending her off, that I spent my final two days with a big lump in my throat. I felt guilty bringing her home to our “stable home,” when she’d be missing all the energy and affection, all the fun and love, that she’d had with Middle Man and his friends. They were all going to miss her so much, and I had not really expected that.

We all agreed that she should spend her last night in the dorms. It would have been much easier for me to keep her at my hotel- both were forbidden.- and just get in the car in the morning, for my 1.5 hour drive to the airport. But the guys all wanted her with them for one last night. I took a bunch of them out for dinner that last night and assured them all that I would take very good care of Gracie, and I swear I saw on their faces the very look I had arrived with: You won’t care for her as well as we (I) can. You won’t love her as much as we (I) do. My bleeding heart skipped a few beats and I felt such affection for those boys.  I had gotten it all wrong, and the proof was in every mushy comment made and every unguarded, adoring look they gave that dog.

The next morning when I went to pick her up, it was hard to watch my boy hold his dog. He buried his face in her little neck and hugged her goodbye, and I just about burst into tears. He would have smirked at me, but not Gracie. I am happy that he trusts me, his Mom, enough to take her home and love her, as well as he does. He ran through all over her food needs (“She needs more fiber, Mom”); he handed me the tiny nail clippers he’d gotten for her. She settled into her bed on the front passenger seat, and as we drove away, she watched out the window, excited for a car trip.

Friends at last? Sharing the bed, the toy and my attention.

Gracie didn’t like flying. She wasn’t happy in the little carrier I got to put under the seat in front of me. She could still stand up; she’s that small, but she didn’t like it. When we arrived back in our small town, she skipped across the parking lot to our car, thrilled to be out of the carrier. She jumped up and excitedly watched out the window for the twenty minute ride home. When she got out in our garage, she paused; she sniffed for a second and then ran to her favorite place to go “potty” just outside and did her business, then ran to the kitchen door. When I through it open, Luke was there with his big-dog-exuberant welcome home: leaping and happy to see me. He paused for a minute when he saw that Gracie was back, and then he wagged his tail and licked her. I let them out the door and they spent fifteen minutes chasing each other in giddy circles around the yard.

Even Luke is happy to have Gracie back. She has surrendered his bed to him and he has offered it to her. She brings her toy to me first thing in the morning, and he sits beside me as I pat his back and she chases her toy. We are all in the falling in love stage with Gracie, but it’s clear that she has enough love for all of us.

Take a minute. If you liked this post, then click on the title. When it opens in its own window, go ahead and hit the Like at the bottom. Leave a comment. Tell me what you liked, and what didn’t. Share your thoughts, then Share this post. There’s a button for that too. And if you find that what I write makes you laugh, or makes you think, or makes you cry, or makes you hungry, just do us both a favor and Subscribe.  That button is up at the top of my posts, on the right. I promise you won’t get ads or coupons or spam sent to you, just my posts… which might have ads, or coupons or spam, but it will be mine. Check out the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page and hit Like there too. You can find all of my posts there, and a few treats in between. This concludes the brazenly self-promoting portion of this post.

Posted in Awareness, Blog, Blogging, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, My world, Parenting, Personal change, travel, Wonderful Things, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

The Madonna MDNA Concert-Aging Quiz

Posted on October 5, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

I went to see Madonna in Seattle on Tuesday night and I’m still recovering. Recovering from the late hour that attending involved, the night before flying out to see Middle Man at college. Recovering from sensory stimulation and overdose that I had no idea was possible outside of say, India. And as I keep assessing my recovery, I realized that attending concerts has become an examination of the aging process. I refuse to tell you my score; don’t ask. But there is no doubt… I’m getting older. (Here are some pre-show Madonna fans. My camera’s broken, so thanks EF for these)

    

The Madonna MDNA Concert, Aging Quiz (choose one answer only)

1)   You attend the Madonna Concert and all day before the concert you have the following song in your head:

a)    Like a Virgin (Like a Virgin)- I still am one, and she really gets it, or Who ever was one? But she really gets it! I can’t wait to dance, dance, dance at her concert!

b)   Like a Prayer (Like a Prayer)- That Madonna really understands my need for independence, and she makes Jesus look so sexy!

c)    Live to Tell (- Wow! That chick can actually sing, and sing beautifully. (And I’ll say it here:  the lyrics “If I ran away, I’d never have the strength to go very far, how would they hear the beating of my heart,” are words that hit right to the core. Truly gorgeous lines.)

d)   Ray of Light (Ray of Light)- Love the way I just want to zip around when I hear it, and I get the whole life angle she’s singing about… not to mention that performance at the MTV music awards when it came out!

e)    Music (Confessions From The Dance Floor)- I totally love the grooves and it makes me want to go clubbing right now!

f)     Gang Bang (MDNA)- What the hell is that? Killing people because they piss you off? Isn’t there enough violence in this society?

g)    All of the above

2)   You attend the Madonna concert and as you walk around the arena pre-concert, you think:

a)    Wow! Everyone looks so cool! I’m so glad my lace gloves and cone tits fit in. I hope they stay on while I dance, dance, dance!

b)   Glad I wore a little glitter, and this tight dress.

c)    Hmm, interesting. Maybe next time I’ll wear a bride’s dress too.

d)   Oh my God! These people are crazy!

e)    I’m so glad I have these Easy Spirits on.  I wonder if I can get a coffee for the drive home, but let’s leave before the last song, and beat the rush.

f)     All of the above, but I don’t own Easy Spirits. I wear Toms.

3)   While waiting for the concert, you think or say the following:

a)    Wow! The energy is incredible! I just want to dance, dance, dance!

b)   I think I’ll have a beer, while we wait… but just one.

c)    I’m dying of thirst, but I hate to pay $4 a bottle, and they don’t let us keep the tops (they’re possible “weapons”) and that’s a bummer.

d)   Oh, she’s not wearing underwear, as you pull up your Spanx.  Is that a man or a woman?  Whoa! They are so wasted; I hope they’re not driving! This DJ is ok, but I hope he’s not going to play much longer.  This music is so loud; my ears are totally blown. When the hell will Madonna come out, it’s already 9:30…10:15… Damn! It’s 10:30 already!

e)    This is ridiculous! I’m not staying any longer. Let’s go home.

f)     All of the above.

4)   Listening to the warm-up for MDNA concert, DJ Daniel Solveig, you say or think:

a)    This guy is amazing! The beat is sooo cool!  Hey, sorry my cones/veil/big hair bow, giant cross hit you, while I dance, dance, dance!

b)   This is pretty good, I think I’ll stand up and move around a little.

c)    I hope this isn’t going to go on much longer and I wish Dawn would stop dancing in front of us.

d)   Geez! Is the DJ going to play all of Madonna’s old stuff, and that’s it?

e)    Hell, it’s already 9:40; she’s not coming on until after 10 for sure!

f)     All of the above

5)   While Madonna performs Gang Bang, you think or say:

a)    This is f^*#ing amazing! I want to dance, dance, dance!

b)   This is really artistic and the music is great too!

c)    Uh, I think she’s trying to make a commentary on women not taking sh^t from cheating men anymore, but I’m not sure I like it.

d)    Holy cow! This is so violent! I just don’t see why Madonna needs to add to the violence in our society. Isn’t it bad enough that people are afraid of being shot in a movie theater, without worrying about the person they see in concert spraying blood all over a stage screen? I don’t like this.

e)    Get me the hell out of here! This is not the Madonna I paid to see.

f)     All of the above.

6)   Throughout the concert you:

a)    Dance, dance, dance and scream Madonna I Loooove you!

b)   Stand up and dance for a good part of the show, yell when she sings your favorite songs, but sit when things get a little artsier.

c)    Stand up occasionally and move from side to side, but prefer your seat. You throw in an occasional fist bump to show you’re into Madonna.

d)   Think it’s getting really late. How late will this go? I wish Dawn would sit down.

e)    Dance? I’ve already passed out from too many beers or exhaustion.

f)     All of the above.

7)   When the concert is over, you think or say:

a)    That was f^*#ing amazing! We should go out and dance, dance, dance!

b)   Wow! She blew me away! I want to go buy more of her albums and listen to them all over again.

c)    Walk with your friends to exits and excitedly discuss all the things you liked and didn’t like, while singing Madonna songs in your head. Those Drummers were amazing!

d)   That was pretty great, but I’m tired now and we’d better try and beat some of this traffic.

e)    Geez! I can’t believe she went until 12:30!! I can’t do this sh^t anymore. Now I have to drive home; and I’ll be a mess tomorrow. I should have had a coffee.

f)     All of the above.

8)   You go home and you:

a)    Play all of your Madonna CDs and dance, dance, dance!

b)   Listen to several Madonna songs; and wish you could be seduced by the guy that tightened her corset during the concert. Man, he was hot!

c)    Listen to several Madonna songs and remember how incredibly cool those suspended drummers were.

d)   Finding yourself humming some Madonna songs, check Madonna off your concert bucket list, but get back to business.

e)    Take any medication that will help your headache. Tell anyone who will listen: I went to Madonna last night, but she didn’t even start until 10:30 and I’m a mess today! Feel really bitchy when you have to make dinner, because you’re exhausted from the Madonna concert.

f)     All of the above.

9)   The next day you do the following:

a)    Wake up and dance, dance, dance, yelling Madonna rocks!

b)   Wake up and feel really excited about the concert last night. Sing “Bang bang shot you dead, shot my lover in the head,” while you do all the things that you have to do anyway.

c)    Wake up and read all the reviews of the concert, while listening to a few tracks from MDNA

d)   Get up while it’s dark (three hours after you went to bed), humming Madonna songs in your head. Get your suitcase closed and upstairs. Get your Little Man son up and make sure his school stuff is all ready. Race to the airport and fly to California to visit Middle Man your other son. It’s 52 degrees when you take off, and 103 when you land. You drive from Palm Springs to Claremont, with Madonna songs in your head. Eat at In and Out Burgers. Go back to your hotel to clean up and write a blog post, that’s “due.” Listen to some of the Presidential debate, while you get ready for dinner. Hum a  little more Madonna. Put on a little cover up to cover the very dark circles under your eyes (as if your son will notice either way). Have amazing sushi with your son, for dinner. Go shopping for a pet carrier after dinner, to transport your son’s dog home with you. Get back to your hotel and read your book, to try and get rid of the Madonna songs in your head. Get to sleep at midnight, even though you were going to go to bed early. Drift off to sleep… No Madonna playing.

e)    Wake up and swear you will NEVER do that again! Drink very strong coffee to get you going. Rehash all the reasons that Madonna just wasn’t worth how crappy you feel today. Wish you hadn’t gone, but tell your friends it was a pretty amazing concert.

f)     All of the above.

***  To score:  a) 5 pts  b) 4 pts  C) 3 pts  d) 2 pts  e) 1 pt    All of the above- if you hit all of the above on any question, score yourself a star only.

Results:  42-45 pts:  You are a young thang no doubt! A hip, Madonna loving baby (be you man or woman) who has way more energy than me most of us. You spent some money on your costume outfit for the concert and you know Madonna is gonna see you in the audience and really love you. You are her biggest fan.  So what if I had to sleep with a few people to get into the dance pit. Woot, woot! I love Madonna!       30-36 pts: You are still young and hip. You really like Madonna because you remember her early stuff, Confessions from the Dance Floor (2005); and you like her new music too. You don’t wear panties because they leave a line under your tasteful, but very tight dress. (If you’re a guy, you wore the Hipster equivalent). You drink and have fun, but don’t really make a fool of yourself.  The tickets were pricey, so you maybe had to go with someone you won’t be seeing much longer, or you passed on the new Jimmy Choos at Nordstrom’s Rack.   25-35 pts: You’re aging, but aging well. You know how to have fun, but you’re practical too. You had some drinks before dinner, because you’ll be driving later but appreciate the festive occasion. You remember Madonna back when Like A Virgin had everyone dancing (but you’re sick of it now), and appreciate her “older” music a bit more but can still dance to the new music. The tickets were expensive, but you’ve worked hard and it’s worth it, to see Madonna live.   19-24 pts: Let’s face it, you’re getting a little old for Madonna Concerts, and might do better at say, the Eagles or Reunion tours (everyone from the 70s and 80s who’s still alive is doing a reunion tour: Flock of Seagulls anyone?). You had a drink or two, but wish you hadn’t because the concert is loud and now your head hurts. You don’t like all the artsy stuff in Madonna’s show: “Just play my favorite songs” you quietly wish. You resent like crazy that she comes on so late (who the hell does Madonna think she is?), but you paid a fortune for these tickets and you’re staying until she plays Like a Prayer.       0-18 pts: Um, I don’t know how to break this to you, but there isn’t great walker access to Madonna concerts. You hate drunk people making fools of themselves. You thought cone bras were stupid when Madonna wore them in the 80s, but they look ridiculous now (and Is that a man!); and you believe a wedding gown should be reserved for the sanctity of that holiest of vows. And all these girls with no underwear? Nice now, but that won’t work when bladder control becomes an issue. The music is too loud; you abhor violence and will never support Madonna again for playing with guns on stage. You’re terrified that the suspended drummers will fall; someone could die doing that! You can’t believe you paid a fortune for this bullshit and you’re pissed!   Mostly stars: Well, this is tricky. You have some issues, putting it nicely. Multiple personality disorder? Old but trying to fit into lycra still? Or maybe you just wish you still felt like A, B, or C, but you mostly feel like D or E. Either way, you’re probably better off staying home and watching this stuff on TV. Definitely stay away from bridal gowns.

Are you a Madonna fan? What’s your favorite song or album? Have you seen her in concert? What did you think? What is your ultimate concert bucket list performance, that you’d still love to see? (Preferably alive an still performing). Share your thoughts!

For you Madonna fans, check out these links as well: The 100 Greatest Madonna Songs; Gang Bang video from current tour (YouTube); MDNA tour, Suspended Drummers (Amazing! Be patient with video. Our view was MUCH better of the drummers!)

This post just about did me in… or was it the concert? I’m terrible with numbers (you try and figure out the numbers on a quiz) and it took ages. If I were back in school, I’d expect a big, fat gold star for this.  So Please:  take a minute (cause this post took many, many minutes!) and Like, Share, Subscribe, and Comment!

Posted in Aging, Awareness, Blog, Blogging, Daily Observations, Freshly Pressed, Humor, Life | Tagged , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Middle: Introducing Tangerine Tango!

Posted on October 3, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Tangerine Tango
image: Amazon.com

If you were paying attention, I slipped this bit of news into my post Extra! Extra! on Monday:  I am now, officially, a (paid) published author!  I feel incredibly lucky to be part of what has turned out to be a very lovely little book. However, before I gloat further… I have a confession: I was a snotty skeptic about this project for a while. When Lisa Winkler of Cyclingrandma, who has kindly supported and followed my blog for ages, approached me about a book idea, I was interested. She proposed putting together a collection of posts written by women. It was something I’d been thinking about myself, so the ideas sat well with me initially. However, as it progressed… I got snotty. That in turn led to me being taught a big, fat lesson: trust, let go, and don’t cut off your nose to spite your face!

When Lisa diligently began to put writers together and ask us for stories; I was still willing and in the game… but just the teeniest bit of snotty attitude had moved in. I began to question the very thing that’s been driving me nuts about my own novel: how can a self-published book, really turn out professionally and be a good project? I’ve been tripping over that one, personally, for months now. When the book project that would be come Tangerine Tango started, I found myself applying those same concerns to Lisa’s project and assuming things would not go well.  For the record, boy was I wrong!

As things moved along, Lisa certainly had tenacity and she seemed to be talking about all the right things, but I remained skeptical.  Then she began lining up all the appropriate ingredients: cover artists, editor(s), layout person, etc.  Despite all that, I had it in my head that this just couldn’t be a professional, good book, that I would be proud to be included in… and that then made me wary about including the stories that Lisa was asking for. I was anxious about handing over my work, not knowing where it would really end up, or how it would be represented. Lisa and I only knew each other through our blog comments, and that was tenuous in my mind. As doubts began to feed my arrogance (I know better, and My stories should only go somewhere I believe would be a worthwhile landing pad…), my snotty got snottier.

Snotty, snotty me… Fool.
image: blog.manhag.org

Lisa had me send her stories and she wanted edits. There were things she wanted changed that I refused to change. In my defense, some of the changes would have altered the very character of some of the posts, and I wasn’t willing to do that; while other suggestions were fairly reasonable, but snotty me got in the way and threw up road blocks. Lisa remained tenacious despite that. She pushed for more stories and she encouraged me, with her enthusiasm and positive vision. Not enough for me to drop my snotty however… So, in the end I gave her two stories and frankly, wasn’t all that sure the book would pan out. There were a few glitches and a lot of work to do and I figured maybe something would come out of it, maybe it wouldn’t. I sat back and stayed snotty, while quietly Lisa worked… and worked… and worked!

One day she started emailing us all that the book was actually coming together. I found out that she had a very talented young woman who was managing the cover, layout and “artwork” (details on the pages, not illustrations, that make the chapter headings look really top notch, etc). Foolish, doubting me. I found out that things were being edited, and re-edited.  Hmm, I began to think. This may just work out. Maybe I should have included a few more stories…?  Lisa totally blew me away with her unrelenting dedication and timing! She worked constantly and that book came together before I could say, Wait! I was a snotty fool, I have more stories for you!  And in the end, the book has been released with only two of my stories, and man is it beautiful!

Introducing Tangerine Tango, Women Writers Share Slices of Life, the brain child and baby of Lisa Winkler, with the contributions from some really wonderful women writers who I am now getting to know, and am honored to share pages with. This is a small book that you can slip in your purse, or your pocket, which is currently available on Amazon.com and Create Space.  I have to admit, for the first two days, I kept going back to Amazon’s page, just to see my name on there, I was so excited! It’s a short ode to a range of things mostly focused around family, with stories that range from funny to tender, sad to uplifting. Eleven women share their blog posts with readers, with proceeds from all of the Amazon sales (only) going to support the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA), a cause that is near and dear to me and my family. I can’t thank Lisa enough for that extra kind gesture.

So in the end this girl learned a big lesson about trusting others and letting go, and thanks to a cool group of women and the creative, tenacious and very determined Lisa Winkler, I am a published author, in a book that I hope you will all consider buying!

Posted in Adventure, Blog, Ego, getting published, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Huntington's Disease, Musings, My world, Women, Women's issues, Wonderful Things, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 24 Comments

Extra! Extra! In Today’s News…

Posted on October 1, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

This week as I perused the news stories that are highlighted on various sites, I was struck by a lot of human interest stories, and a few “biggies” that got me thinking. How many of them were really noticed by the general public. What catches our eye and holds it? I admit, I get so mired down in the political news that I barely read it anymore. I check for general political updates/trends (polls), or the big ones that get splashed all over the place (Mitt, do you see that little camera? Or was that plastic plant just too distracting?), but then I scan the rest. I read a lot of blogs, and I find out a surprising amount about what’s happening in farther corners of the world from that community. A lot of it doesn’t seem to make the big headlines here. These are some of the stories that grabbed me this week, and stuck in my head.

If you know where this man is, fergetaboutit!
Image: inothernewz.com

I’m gonna start with Hoffa. That’s right, who? Jimmy Hoffa. If you’re a certain age, then you certainly know the name; if you’re younger this means nothing. Some of us know that he was a mobster, who vanished. But what else do you really know, and do you care? That’s what I kept wondering as all the major news sources carried an update in the nearly 40 year old case. Apparently he probably isn’t may be buried under a sidewalk in Michigan. While CNN insisted that Jimmy still fascinates after all this time, I wondered why. He was a criminal; he apparently did a lot of very bad things, and he disappeared. There is little doubt he is dead, and they don’t know where his body is. So what? This is what comes of very bad people doing bad things, and I don’t get why the government and crime agencies continue to spend enormous amounts of money to dig up locations and find his remains. I especially find it troubling that in the stories I read, investigators admit that they doubted that they’d find anything or that the “new tip” was credible… So why all the digging? Why all the spending? Do we really need to find this man’s body? Would it serve any purpose other than closure for his family? I dont’ think so. Could that money be used for so many other things… like say: education, crime victims/prevention, feeding the hungry, a thousand other things? But Jimmy Hoffa was in the news this week anyway.

This photo rocks!
Image: facebook.com

The tales of two teens were in the news. Both of these kids felt hopeless. In both of these stories there was bullying occurring or implied, but with extremely different outcomes. Their stories both touched me deeply and then stuck in my head all week. About a year ago, there seemed to be a rash of teen suicides with a focus on homosexuality, or sexual identity. Gay teens were committing suicide, after being bullied or publicly humiliated and it seemed that there was a cluster of headlines last fall. I wrote Call Me Gay, Call Me A Fag after one too many of those stories had me sleepless, tearful and feeling hopeless, that our society still doesn’t get it, and young kids are losing their lives because of it. A year later, it’s been reported that suicide now tops automobile crashes as the leading cause of injury-related death, with young people very high in those statistics. We are all very accustomed to telling our kids that the number one cause of death is car accidents, Drive safely honey. How often do we talk about suicide? Each time I read one of these stories, I feel such a clenching in my heart, a racing in my head… to imagine the families of these kids and the horrible fear, hopelessness, immaturity (because with time, most of us do see things differently) and desperation that led each of them to think that death was really a better solution. These two stories end very differently, and that’s what really struck me. If only more kids could see what Whitney Kropp learned, and come out on the other side with a new sense of: hope and faith, in life, in friendship, in the knowledge that It Does Get Better, that suicide is never the answer…), wouldn’t the news be better. For Cade Poulos, there will be no chance to see that things can change. Sadly, hings turned out very differently for him. Both of these kids were in my thoughts this week, but you may have missed their stories.  (Click their names to read their stories.) Check out the Facebook page that was started to support Whitney Kropps, and which has become a magnet for other bullied kids. I believe that the fact that bullying has become so pervasive, and that so many kids have lost their lives to it, is truly a blight on our entire society.

Also in the news: more young people doing really dumb things, with horrible consequences. Maybe it’s because I trained as therapist specializing in kids and teens, maybe it’s because I’m a mother who has three teens/young adults, maybe because my bleeding heart just gravitates to theses stories, but I noticed way too many stories recently about young people doing crazy things to get a rush, to get high, to prove something… and dying. It’s unbearable: the horrific loss of your child for a few minutes of immature foolishness. Oh, to stop time and rewind. The what ifs, the whys, the loss forever. As in the suicides, above, these circumstances leave such enormous walls of grief… Hard not to read the stories and breath in deeply: that it is not your child, and exhale: knowing there but for the grace… Each of these kids seems to have been “good kids,” who made critically bad decisions, and lost their lives. It’s not a new; kids have been dying from accidental over-doses, alcohol poisoning, hazing, thrill seeking for as long as there have been teens. But the ante seems to just keep upping. In the case of Alexander Broughton, drinking was taken to a shocking new level with the use of alcohol enemas. I found the very idea that a bunch of kids believe using enemas in public, is an acceptable way to get drunk, so beyond me that the story packed many emotional punches. I’ll spare the details; I believe most people know what an enema entails. But really? This is fun? A bunch of guys in a frat thought this was a good idea? In the case of David Nuno, a “freak accident,” which resulted while playing another thrill “game,” lead to the death of this 15 year old boy.  The “pass out game” (David used method 2) is one more thing for parents to watch out for… And that’s impossible folks!  If kids want to do these things (things they too often find on YouTube!), they will!  The best we can do is talk about these things and hope our kids listen. The horror for David’s father:  who witnessed his son’s death, the true helplessness of all involved, once things went awry, is unimaginable. A friend of David’s said: “It was his choice,” as if to make it all seem somehow explainable. No dear boy, it was not his choice. He was a child, like you, and he made an impulsive, foolish decision, and he has died. Think about that.  His brain cells had not developed enough to know that the outcome could be so tragically final; he was just having fun. The idea that the need for a thrill, the brief moments of foolish thinking, ended all that might have been for these two young men (and countless others each year) is every parent’s worst nightmare, and a very sad commentary on youth. As one of David’s friends noted, ‘this moment of poor decision making shouldn’t be the only way that he is remembered,’ but sadly, both young men that is the inevitable legacy they leave behind.

image: zimbio.com

Crazy rioting and police brutality in Madrid, Spain was in the news this week. You didn’t see it? Really? Well maybe because it was pretty much invisible in U.S. news coverage, despite incredible clashes between citizens and police. Even as YouTube was full of videos, some proclaiming that “Europe was falling,” I did not see it on any of our major news sources. A blogging friend Pink Agendist has become a remarkable source for the entire event, as it’s been unfolding. He lives in Spain, he has reason to care, but so should we all. In his initial post, he explained what was happening and shared a truly remarkable video that was taken as things dissolved several nights ago. That post is well worth reading, then check out Pink’s other updates. What is happening there is shocking and is sure to be in the news in the weeks ahead.

A bat crazy dad in Hong Kong is offering $64 million to any man who will marry his gay daughter. That’s right, Gigi Chao’s father is willing to pay to see her married and made “normal.” That she is an incredibly articulate, beautiful and clearly well educated young woman was extra amusing to me. That her father is doing this, is “amusing” to Gigi. I suppose it’s fun news, but man this world is upside down when this is  bigger news than the problems in Spain. By the way, Gigi is already married… to her gay partner… Though, you guessed it, gay marriage is not legal in China either. Surprise, surprise.

Maybe if we saw more of this, there would be less of it?
Image: CBSnews.com

Pfc Isaac Lawrence Young, 22, was killed this week. He was drinking and watching football with two other soldiers, when he go the hiccups. His buddy thought that a good way to stop them was to scare him… with a gun. The gun discharged, shooting Young in the face and killing him. Horrible story, on all levels. Very young man, serving his country, dead… under ridiculous circumstances. However, it’s hard to find the statistic of how many soldiers died in combat. The total number of US Military deaths in Iraq and Afghanistan, in the eleven (11) years of combat topped 2,000 this week, it was reported today. Their faces are rarely seen in the news, but the Washington Post has done just that in Faces of the Fallen.  And few people know that suicide is the leading cause of death in our soldiers, currently at one per day. But in the news last week, a soldier killed another young soldier, to cure his hiccups.

Update this morning in the Hoffa story–  Soil studies may be available later today, to say whether a body was in fact buried under that sidewalk in Michigan. There were no remains. Gee, 40 years later, go figure. But results will not tell us if it was Hoffa! Kaching! Kaching! Suicide prevention in the military, benefits for soldiers, books for schools…?

There were a lot of these stories. Maybe you missed them because they didn’t interest you. Maybe they were buried under bigger headlines. They caught my eye, and kept me thinking. I believe we should all be thinking a lot more about bullying and the consequences. We should be thinking a lot more about teen suicide and the depression and suicide rates amongst those who serve in the military. It’s great to wave flags and say that we support our troupes when they’re in harm’s way, but what if harm’s way is when they get home? In their troubled minds? We should probably be looking at what’s happening in Europe, because it’s bound to bite us in the ass sooner or later. News is what other decide we should care about… and that’s what we’re given. Unless we read further.

Tangerine Tango!

Breaking news! I am proud to announce the release of Tangerine Tango, Women Writers Share Slices of Life, now available on Amazon and Create Space.  This is a wonderful collection of stories about parents and parenting, letting go and moving on, food, faith and fun. The stories range from sad or nostalgic to humorous and uplifting. Lisa Winkler has put together bloggers from various backgrounds and I am honored to be included. All proceeds from books purchased off of Amazon or Create Space (only) will go to charity:  The Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA), an organization near and dear to me and my family. We hope to have it available on Kindle and Nook soon, as well.

Check this out!
Image: herewomantalk.com

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Posted in Blog, blogs, bullying, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Sarcasm, Wonderful Things, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Hearts That Bleed

Posted on September 29, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

If there’s one thing I do appreciate about aging is the perspective that comes with time. Try as I might, I am forever noticing that there are things I still need to work on and areas that I wish would just shift a little easier. Change is hard. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks? For so many years I thought that actually referred to dogs. But my 12 year old lab Luke seems to learn new things quite easily. Give him a piece of bacon and he’ll do practically anything. I love bacon too, but somehow even bacon can’t drill some things in. They just come when you’re really ready to get it. One thing I got a long time ago is that I have a bleeding heart: it trickles; it drips, and from time to time it just bleeds out regardless of any wisdom I have or perspective I’ve gained.

What you see, is what you get.
Image: istockphoto.com

My heart bleeds each time I realize that I’m not going to be invited to Bunco, or a book group, or a party that looked really fun, with people I know and like. The car pools that I’m not included in and the social scenes that buzz around me, but not with me. Grow up! I remind myself in those moments when my heart squeezes and leaks a tiny bit. You don’t even like Bunco. You can’t remember the rules, or lack of. I tell myself.  You  have great friends, and who cares about the rest…  It’s not even logic much of the time. It’s that old bleeding heart, with its utter lack of reason. Some days it points out to me that high school seems to go on far longer than I would have expected. It’s played out in all kinds of areas of adulthood as well. And I wasn’t that kid who took high school lightly. It punched the shit out of me. It was not easy. I do not ache to replay those Glory Days. Those moments that take me back to that time seem more like PTSD than a wistful longing. Drip, drip.

I appreciate that I’m much better equipped to get through those moments now and see them for what they are, more often than I don’t. As I get older I’m much better at talking myself out of a funk and applying pressure to the bleeding. You can’t play with everyone and not every party is for you. I know this. But I still lose track some days. In a week that found me hanging out with several new people, who I haven’t spent much time with before, this topic came up more than once. It was really interesting to go back and forth with sharp women, a couple of them my age and a couple of them several years older, and examine the mine fields of youth and aging, cliques, and social agendas, how those things are reflected back to us as we watch our own kids, parenting, empty nests and life as it changes. Some of these women are bleeders like me and a couple are not, and the different perspectives made the conversations and miles walked that much more compelling.

I’ve always admired those people who are so able to see what is theirs to take on and what is not. Grounded women, I admire you. I admire grounded men as well, just to be clear, but the rest of this seems to be female territory.  Boundaries, a tough area for some of us and easy peasy for others. It’s another part about aging that I really do enjoy: peeling back layers and moving through things. Seeing them differently and learning to integrate pieces from various mind sets. I hate that it taken so long to get to some of this, I tell one of these women. “Ah, but that’s the journey, right?” She points out, wisely. Yes, but I wish I’d gotten more of it in say my 30s, and could have been that much further along by now. I say half joking. Trickle, trickle. “It just doesn’t work that way my dear.” She laughed, and I noted for the umpteenth time recently that she’s right and I’m being hard on myself again. I’m always surprised to learn that what I experienced as angst, was normal all along. I smiled back and meant it.

I probably fell into my politics and many of the things I believe in because I knew early on that my heart bled and if one side was bleeding heart, that’s where I fit in. Admittedly, I’m not that person who understands all of the policies and agendas. I fall for the side that makes me bleed. I believe in good intentions and root for that side. In life that’s a little harder. There are other agendas, and subtexts to what goes on socially that I miss too often. I set myself up for the fall, and then wonder how it happened. Until that moment of clarity hits me again and I move forward, staunch the bleeding again. Talk myself through my own self doubts, or criticisms. My bleeding is all about my passion, and that runs good and it runs hard. I feel it big, and I then I figure out what to do with it. What works best? I write it down. I put it out there. It makes myself more vulnerable it might appear to others, but it’s where I find strength and the clarity, not vulnerability. I write it, and often let it go.

Life tends to shine a big light on all kinds of things!
Original image: lasoccerboy.blogspot.com, enhanced by me

I don’t “pour my soul” into my writing, as one person reflected back to me recently. I get that it appears that way from the outside, but it isn’t how I experience it. Writing is cathartic. It is clarifying and soothing.  It’s how I process things and work them through. My soul stays right where it should be, but the thoughts make their way to the page.

The last “heart” post I wrote, Nursing My Broken Heart, is one of those pour your soul moments. It was also a clarity and calming moment for me. Such big feelings needed a place to go, and that post was in the moment. I need to write. The days I don’t, I regret it; something feels missing. On that day, I had dropped my 22 year old daughter, Principessa, at the airport knowing that she would be gone to Israel for at least a year. It was not just the literal distance, or the saying goodbye again, or all of the obvious sending your kids off things that may pop into minds… It was the reminder of what has already passed, what is still to come, what the time away may lead to for either of us, and then of course… yes, just knowing your child will be very far away.  As my two oldest kids have each left home, and as they move further and further down their own paths, their journey also shines a big klieg light onto all of the issues that I am grappling with, and sorting through.  Process. Drip. Growth. Drip. It’s how I’m wired: I bleed. And then I grow.

This same heart fills to brimming as I watch my boy, Little Man, push himself toward the finish in his Cross Country race. It bleeds a little for the boy who was trying so hard and had to drop out. It fills back up as I head out to the Farmer’s Market and take in all the color and sound and beauty. It drips and leaks when my girl tells me she’s still living in a youth hostel, two weeks after arriving in Israel. Take my girl in, it whines. It is a heart that drips, and leaks, and aches, and surges, and sings, and heals. It’s a big heart with a lot of scars and a lot of laugh lines. But bleed it will. And that’s ok.

Are you a bleeder or a practical heart? Do you feel things big, or take the moderation route? Share your thoughts and tell me what resonated.

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Take a minute. If you liked this post, then click on the title. When it opens in its own window, go ahead an hit the Like at the bottom. Leave a comment. Tell me what touched you, and what didn’t. Share your thoughts, then Share this post. There’s a button for that too. And if you find that what I write makes you laugh, or makes you think, or makes you cry, or makes you hungry, just do us both a favor and Subscribe.  That button is up at the top of my posts, on the right. I promise you won’t get ads or coupons or spam sent to you, just my posts… which might have ads, or coupons or spam, but it will be mine. Check out the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page and hit Like there too. You can find all of my posts there, and a few treats in between. This concludes the brazenly self-promoting portion of this post.

Posted in Aging, Awareness, Blog, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Personal change, Women, Women's issues, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Middle: Atonement…

Posted on September 26, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

image: chabadstanford.org

Tonight marks the start of Yom Kippur, the day of Atonement.  It follows Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which started last week. These are the High Holy days, the holiest days of the Jewish calendar. Our family is Jewish, though I never converted. That has caused all kinds of issues over the years, some that I’ve come to terms with and others that still ruffle my feathers. The fact that our daughter recently made a formal conversion to Orthodox Judaism is directly related to the fact that I chose not to convert, 26 years ago. When I chose to marry Smart Guy, I also agreed to take the 16 week conversion course, that was intended to lead to my conversion. I studied Hebrew, I studied Jewish laws, and the basics of the faith. I studied everything that might lead to becoming Jewish, but chose in the end not to convert. It was a difficult decision that did not sit well with my then soon to be in-laws, and has impacted my life in many ways since.

That decision is long in the past, and I have been a Jewish mother raising Jewish children for twenty-two years. I’ve done a good job, but it hasn’t always been easy. There were many times when I felt lost trying to figure out the right way to give my kids a spiritual and religious education and life that I did not have myself. There were times when I reconsidered and wondered if I might not convert after all. Judaism is a beautiful faith that I feel very close to and would consider embracing fully. That said, I have not converted and that means that my children are not technically Jewish, as Judaism is passed through the mother.  My boys both identify themselves as Jews and do not struggle with these issues. However, to immigrate to Israel as our daughter would like to do, or to be seen as fully Jewish within the extended Jewish community (Conservative and Orthodox, not just Reform), they too would need to convert. It is a deeply personal choice and having not done it myself, I fully understood my daughter’s desire to do so. I may not have liked the steps along the way, but deeply respect her right to choose and her convictions. While I have struggled with her decision and the impact on our relationship, we’ve both come a long way in the past two years. I’ve come a long way in my own Jewish journey.

image: paulocoelhoblog.com

And so it is Yom Kippur and Smart Guy is at services right now, as are so many other Jews. I have backed off of this holiday, officially. I joke that I do enough atoning on a daily basis that I don’t need to go do it formally. However, it is not that simple. I am looking for some middle ground at this point in my life, in the issue of faith and my place in it. Don’t send me any comments about inviting Christ into my heart, that’s not the path I’m on for sure. I honor and respect those who are, but it is a path I left long ago. While I am not fully Jewish either, I know my place in the Jewish faith regardless of how others label me. So while I do not attend Yom Kippur services (I do attend Rosh Hashanah) I see the value in looking within and offering atonement for the things I sincerely regret. So, despite my post of yesterday, I am offering atonement for the things I feel regret for, or wish to change:

I am sorry for those I may have hurt in this past year, knowingly or unconsciously. I am sorry for the times I spoke without thinking and said things that caused pain, or insult. I could say that I didn’t mean it, but in moments of anger I know I have. In other moments I have perhaps hurt when I didn’t intend to. I offer atonement.

To my daughter, I am sorry that my choices so early in my life led to such difficulties for you. I cannot say that I would change those choices, as we each choose our own paths, and  learn from that. However, I’ve often wondered if I would do it differently, had I known the hurt and struggle it would one day cause one of the lights of my life. I know you will grow from your own journey, and that you are a strong and determined woman, with deep convictions. I simply offer atonement for the role I played in your struggle, though I also smile in knowing how you have grown.

I am sorry for the times that I have not been honest: with myself, with others, in my heart or my thoughts. I want to do better with this. I believe in honesty and I offer atonement for the times I did not remember that.

I am sorry for the times I have judged others harshly, including myself. I struggle with this, but offer atonement as I work to improve this way of thinking.

I’m sorry for my dining room table. It’s getting better… but. I offer atonement for clutter.

I am sorry for not being close to my brother. There is little hope of changing that, but it is with me each and every day.

I am sorry for the distance between my sister and I. We do not make enough effort to be there for each other, and I hope to continue working toward changing that. I offer atonement for the many times I have let frustration and distance sit between us.

I am sorry for things that I’ve held onto, that have long passed. I hope to let them go over this next year and truly make peace with them. I offer atonement for the ways in which my holding on has held me back.

I am sorry that a dear friend and I have let distance sit. I will change this, in whatever way I am responsible for. I offer atonement and hope for healing.

I am sorry that I feel alienation with my mother’s family. Not all of them, but too many. I accept that I can’t change how others feel, but I offer atonement for the role I’ve played in any estrangement.

I am sorry for the times I should have just said I’m sorry, and didn’t.  Letting go of the need to be right, that may take a while.

I am so very sorry for all the times I didn’t really listen to my mother and what she wanted. I am sorry for the times I belittled her, or judged her because of her disease. I regret the impatience and shortness I showed. I love her, and miss her and I offer atonement for the times I forgot that…

I am sorry for the times I have fallen short with my children. I will continue to work on personal change, and know that they love me and see that. All the same, for the times that my inadequacies got in the way, I offer atonement.

Next year, I hope to say I …
image: ceca.cc

This is not a glib post. Nor is it me falling back on the many things I just addressed in For The Record (the post prior to this). I am not saying that I am not  a good friend/mentor/ volunteer/mother/sister/cousin/aunt/niece… I am doing my best, most of the time. But I know that right now, for Yom Kippur, there is more that I can do. I hope to remember that more often in the year ahead and work on the things I’ve mentioned here, while remembering to forgive myself as well. Overall, I’m a good egg doing my best.

What do you regret from the last year? Are there things you wish you could change? Could you? Do you believe in atonement? Think about that.

Other posts about this:  Ode to Girl Interrupted or My Jewish Identity Crisis, and here is a very cool Shofar blowing, at Sunrise in Israel. Truly stirring to know my girl is there during this amazing time.

Posted in Awareness, Blog, blogs, Daily Observations, Holidays, Honest observations on many things, Jewish, Judaism, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Personal change, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

For The Record…

Posted on September 25, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Anyone who’s been reading this blog for more than one post, knows that I say for the record, all the time. Pretty much every post in fact. And anyone who knows me for real, knows that I say that a lot too… probably as much as I post it, if truth be told. And truth be told is what this post is about. Setting the record straight. Truth being told. Clearing some misconceptions…. you get the idea.

image: 123greetings.com

It’s the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, (L’Shanah Tovah to all of you who celebrate) and this week is Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Since falling into the Woody Allen  movie that I live in (aka: all the Jewish cliche’s that Mr. Allen uses, viewed by a non-Jew like myself, tyring to keep up with the action), nearly 30 years ago, I’ve definitely come to feel that this is the new year for me. Having attended public schools and then college and grad school for nearly half my life, September was always the start of the school year, and a fresh start for:  making new friends, achieving goals, carving out my life… so to speak. Marrying a Jewish man and raising Jewish children, it makes even more sense each year when Rosh Hashanah comes around and all of our Jewish friends are wishing us all a Happy New Year. Yom Kippur is a time for apologies and owning stuff, and Rosh Hashanah offers an opportunity to start fresh. The High Holidays bring out my desire to improve things, to work on issues or clean up messes, to clear away the clutter.  For the record, that does not really apply to my dining room table. As I wrote in This Is My Brain On The Dining Room Table, I’m working on clearing my head. I’m really trying to not rush and just put the stuff away or clear the mess, but get to the root of the mess. Run with that metaphor, you’re free to read into it whatever you like! That said, the table has been slowly clearing. Some days it’s 2 steps forward and three back.

I’ll start with a big misconception: I am not depressed. I am not sitting at home licking my wounds day after day, or feeling all melancholy baby. Yes, there are moments when the past year (a sucker punch of events for sure) grab me by, well if I had them, and I feel a bit oh-woe-is-me-ish, but not that often. Definitely not as often as my writing might suggest. I write what I’m feeling or thinking about in the moment. So, the week of my mother’s birthday and the Huntington’s walk with my sister made for some bigger than usual moments for wound licking. Hell, it was a tough week. I feel pretty confident that my responses were fairly normal and grounded, it’s just that I write about it… which gives others the impression that that’s all I was feeling that week. Not so. I was thinking a lot about fruit flies frankly, but that makes me look like a pretty uncaring daughter/sister… and I managed to slip in the whole Barry White fruit fly love making (for the record, I have watched this too many times), which pretty much qualifies me as ungrounded.

Here I go, tooting my own horn!
Image: iamgratefulhowareyou.wordpress.com

Another big misconception, which seems to go hand in hand with the depression one is that I feel like a bad sister, mother, daughter… person. Ok, as part of my personal growth plan I can acknowledge that I am my own worst enemy, as so many of you have so astutely noted. I can be very hard on myself. Noted. However, I am not nearly as self-loathing or self-pittying as I seem to come across. Trust me, I appreciate each and every lovely comment and private email sent my way that seems aimed at boosting my moral, lifting me up. Some of you are simply the Wind Beneath My Wings (take it away Bette!) with all the loving.  I appreciate it all, but I guess it also points out that I’m not writing as well as I’d like, if that point is coming across so strongly. The reality is that I think I’ve been an amazing daughter, seriously top notch. I think I am a kick ass sister. I slay it as an aunt, and the fact that my teenage boy nephews love to play lexulous on line with me, to chat, is truly a crown I wear proudly. I’m a really good niece too. I’m a very good dog owner and Luke adores me. Finally, I’m as good of a mom as I can be and I know my kids love me, and appreciate me. I have been done the best with what I had available, which adds up to some very stellar moments and a few I could improve on. But overall, Good Mother. There, I said it all. Sounds a little arrogant does’t it, when said like that… Toot, toot!

So, let me clarify why it comes off so differently sometimes in writing. I have said it before, I did not come from the stablest of backgrounds. I didn’t have a good road map for these roles and I do feel like I’ve been flailing around for the most part. I got a Masters in Social Work, and that helps. I studied child development, adolescent psych, and I practiced them… on other people’s kids and families. I was good at it. I got very good jobs in my field and gold stars when they were handed out. But, raising your own family is different. I have definitely been bumping around in the dark for that part. I think I’ve done pretty well considering, but I admit that I’d like to have done many things differently, and mostly better. That doesn’t mean that I think I’m a bad mother. As a daughter, same thing. I was working with a pretty difficult set of manuals. I was much more of partner, even spouse at times, for my mother than a daughter… That’s just how the chips fell. As a sister and brother, that made me a parent at 9 and that role has been hard to shake. It also makes for some tricky moments when my sister just wants a sister, or visa versa. So, I sound self-deprecating about those roles because it really has been shots in the dark for the most part, and I can’t help but assess things and wish I’d done some it a little differently, better, stronger, thoughtfully… all those things that make it sound like I don’t give myself any credit for what I did get right. But be assured, I do know that I got a lot of it right… as right as it could be, with the tools available. (Ah, love the psycho-social terminology we have at our fingertips!)

For the record, Smart Guy and a few others hate when I say for the record. They hate that I always italicize it. It has been pointed out to me that it sounds like I’m being bossier or more self-righteous than I should be. Well, hmm… get over it. It’s just a phrase. I like it. It doesn’t mean any of those things, it’s just a talking point: Hey, note this! I mean this one! And sometimes, it is just poking fun at my own self-righteousness. So, I use it and will continue to use it.

Yeah, yeah, I trek too! I didn’t get airlifted to this spot at 15,000+ feet! I trekked there baby!

I admit the self-deprecating humor gets in the way, and isn’t always accurate. Smart Guy pointed out that at a dinner party recently I should not have been so self-deprecating about my lack of athletic skills. Yeah, but those people were unreal! I whine argue. They all do Iron Man races; or Cycle across the globe (seriously, very close!); trek in Nepal like it’s a walk on the Interurban, my main source of any exercise; and half the table had been Ski Patrol or Instructors. I barely manage some blue runs. Feh! I felt like the token couch potato. All true points, for the record.  But Smart Guy is nothing, if not very smart. “Ok, they were all pretty amazing, but all those jokes just draws more attention to it and set you up as more different than you are. You are very active, just not in the same ways. And not everyone could have done that trek in Peru you just did…” With a torn meniscus, I throw in. “Right. So why make yourself sound lame when you’re not?” Damned Smart Guy, being all smart and stuff. I guess I just grew up in a pretty sarcastic home. I also learned early to wear Teflon whenever possible and I just automatically deflect compliments. Admittedly, I could work on this.

It hasn’t been all serious and sad, for the record.  I had a lot of fun with fruit flies (even if the word Fu@#ing assured that it would never be Freshly Pressed), even if they are still driving me nuts in real life. I had a hypothetically great time as a Cougar… and you can just think whatever you want about that. It was goooood.  I provided some light reading with my Read Me post… There have been lots of laughs as well. I am not depressed.

To clarify a big one: I am not sitting around my house mourning my mother every day or missing my daughter. Really, I’m not. I’ve written plenty about Huntington’s and my Mom, so I shouldn’t need to clarify those details… but the bottom line is that they are issues that just don’t really go away. My mother’s death is still pretty recent and raw at times, but I have much more closure around it than it may appear. Mourning, is a process. It doesn’t just clear up after a set amount of time. When complicated by her illness which will continue on in our family, the topic pops back up pretty regularly. That said: I miss Mom. Fall is a reminder of last year when everything went downhill faster than I could stand, and some days that’s just what’s on my mind. My daughter… that’s a tad more complicated. I have always been very good about my kids going out in the world and spreading their wings. I’m not the mother who hoped any of them would stay very close by. If they had, I’d enjoy seeing them, but I was totally cool with them flying. That said: Principessa chose a very far away place, where there is a lot of political and military instability (not necessarily in Israel, but all around it) and that just makes a Mom a wee bit uneasy. I think, that also makes me normal… for the moment. I do miss her, I do think about her welfare and wish we weren’t nine hours time difference apart, but I am not sitting at home wistfully thinking of my Mom and my daughter each and every minute of each day. I’m thinking about fruit flies much more often.

For the record, I am indeed working on my novel; it is real. I got it back from the Chicago editor in late July and I’m finally working on it. There is not a lot to fix, but there are some things. The slippery slope is that writers tend to edit and edit and edit… an it never ends. I’m trying not to do too much of that. If I spent the time I spend writing these posts, on the manuscript, I’d be kicking a$$ right now.  I am hoping to self-publish, after much debate, self-flagellation, and strong advice from some well respected authors and publishers… I will self-publish and simultaneously market it to “real” publishing houses starting sometime between now and the first of the year. I’m working on building my

This is it… my manuscript.

“platform,” which is all that stuff that makes me marketable. The more subscribers to my blog, the more hits and comments, the better for my book platform… hence the steady stream of self-promotion. Not easy for a girl who is prone to self-deprecating remarks and self-flagellation… for the record.  In the meantime, I am excited to say that I will be featured in another book that will be out before the holidays. That’s all I can (“contractually”) say for now, but I’ve seen the layout and PDF and the book looks wonderful! I’m very excited and honored and will blatantly self-promote it as soon as I can.yes, my posts tend to be long. I get it. I do see that for myself. I try and I try to avoid it, but I just write too much… consistently. It’s been suggested by some other sharp bloggers that I cut them up and write “to be continued…”  I haven’t found that to be as easy to do as it sounds. There have been a few record short ones recently (Therapy, Read Me, etc), but I will continue to try and shorten them overall.  I will try not to be so hard on myself in my writing, and I’ll try to assure you all that I’m not actually perched on a ledge. I’m much tougher than I sound. So thanks for reading, thanks for all the good feedback, thanks for all the encouragement and kind words… Even if I don’t need them as much as it seems, I am enormously grateful.

image: historyteacherinandalusia.wordpress.com

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Posted in Awareness, Blog, Daily Observations, Freshly Pressed, Honest observations on many things, how blogs work, Humor, Huntington's Disease, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Sarcasm, Women, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Cougars and Other People’s Dogs

Posted on September 21, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Waring: No pictures in this one. No names. Definitely not for the kids, so kids read something else. This could get… awkward. As for the rest of you, well I guess I’ll have to take my chances. I’ve said this before: some of you are bound to judge me, but keep it to yourself and we can both pretend. The people who matter in this tale, have already been warned (remember that, dear sweet friend—). This tale may not even be true. I may be making this entire thing up… And if you are related to any of the delightful young men in this post, then this is definitely fiction.

Hypothetically:  I was given an opportunity this past August to house sit for friends, who would be away for 2.5 weeks. It came at a perfect time: I needed to get out of my own house. If me needing to get away, is beginning to sound like a trend, perhaps it is (read Searching For The Groove and I Ate His Balls For Dinner. Hell read the entire series from last July. The Yellowstone posts are worth reading). I haven’t pretended to be anyone other than who I am; it’s just complicated. I’m complicated; and that makes for some tricky times. So when I started feeling like I might lose it again this summer: kids home from college, butting of heads, kosher kitchens, restlessness that I couldn’t seem to sooth with a grapefruit cocktail, the idea of getting out of Dodge for a little while seemed very appealing (read Peru, The Outtakes for the back story). Yellowstone was out this time, and house sitting allowed me to stay much closer and be available for all the things that tie me to the name “Mom.”  I was grateful for the gig because it got me out of the maelstrom for a little while, and offered a chance to clear my head. Their big, affable lab needed tending, and I needed to get away; it all seemed like a fortuitous fit… until things got interesting.

As the gig date got closer, a little glitch popped up:  I found out that my friends nephew would be staying at the house too. “He won’t be around much at all…” my friend glossed over assured me. “He’ll be camping and visiting friends. You’ll hardly see him.”  Good! I’m looking for solitude, not Jersey Shores, I thought. Then two days before the escape, I learned that the nephew would be bringing a friend, and since said nephew had just had ankle surgery (something my friend had forgotten), he might be around “a little more than originally expected.”  This friend is beyond a good egg, she is too good for me. Truly. She might sugar coat, a teeny, tiny bit sometimes.  “They’re great guys…  you’ll hardly notice them,” she said to my incredulous stare. I was invested enough in my getaway by then, that I didn’t just hand the job over to someone else. I could have. I still held out hope that the “boys” would be busy and I’d be alone, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I arrived at the house wary.

I also arrived with a suitcase full of all the things I thought I’d need, to spend that much time away from home. My goal was to not be running back to my house every day for things. I wanted to not get drawn into the dramas over dishes that might need doing, messes, chores and squabbles. If this is a true story, I was taking a brief break as wife and mother, as much as that was possible, and I brought all the necessary stuff:  Clothes, personal care itmes; snacks; book; computer; shoes; Cheez Its, my stuff.  I arrived mid-day the first Saturday, to settle in and as soon as I walked in I heard the “boys” in the kitchen. Great! Hardly notice them, right… way to start.

Quick back up: I’d come over a day or two before to get the lay of things, and had met both of the guys then. That day, they had been like two puppies in the kitchen: chest butting, making pancakes and eggs, high fiving and offering to feed anyone who was there… shirtless and in pajama bottoms.  I certainly noticed all this, and my friend saw my wide eyed panic consternation.  She said, in that super sweet voice of hers: “They’re just excited to go boating today. Aren’t they fun?”  So the ice was at least broken when I arrived, but I wasn’t exactly excited to see them.

As I entered the kitchen, there stood two beautiful hunks (an antiquated, but so dead on description) guys, in. their. boxer. briefs! Making breakfast! (If you are criticising my punctuation or grammar right now, you are not getting this picture.)  Uh, err, um, eh. All clever comments evaporated from my brain. “Hey welcome! Want some eggs?” They piped up, in their puppy like enthusiasm, camouflaged by six pack abs and, well… Every ounce of motherly instinct went right out the window and, enter Cougar. (I want to be very clear here: most of the descriptions for Cougar, in the Urban dictionary link provided, do not apply to me- perhaps the “has her shit together,” and maybe “hottie,” but then all of this may be made up anyway. I have provided the link, only to clarify that I am not talking about a “large American wild cat with tawny coat,”… Well, probably not.)

My head swirled in the thump of hip hop playing, the smell of good food, and the surreal moment of  two barely clothed guys offering me brunch.  If this is fiction, I could add that one of these studmuffins happened to have missed this summer’s Olympics by one spot. Yes, really. That he’s a nationally ranked athlete who looks every bit the part, makes for good storytelling, but I’ll leave out the sport lest you try to find his hypothetical name.  Missing the Olympics also made for lots of jokes about all the sex he was missing at the Olympic village (read Golden Hook Ups). The other muffin? Well… beauty attracts beauty; that’s a fact Jack. It can only up the ante to say that the other muffin is Navy Seal material, but I believe that’s one of those confidential things… Can you understand why a woman might go weak in the knees? Fantasies don’t get much better than this!  As I stood there all tongue tied (Me! Tongue tied!) and twitterpated, it it struck me that truth is indeed stranger than Disney fiction sometimes.  And lest you judge too harshly, no one in that room was under age and all studmuffins were older than my own kids.  Principles mean something to me.

Anyway, sexy men in the kitchen… That was how my 10 days of studmuffin magic started. Bang! Any preconceived anxiety I had about annoying guys and lack of solitude disappeared pretty quickly in a blur of boxer briefs and blazing smiles. I did suggest pants, I’m not completely devoid of scruples. Any and all other worries disappeared pretty quickly however. We were having too much fun:  joking (notes to me were addressed “Cougar…”), throwing wild parties, dealing with a high maintenance lab who feigns mellowness, me oggling said studmuffins, working out (yeah, you read that right), discussing Tolkien and Existentialism, studmuffins cooking and me venturing into the world of breakfast (baby steps), and a nearly constant stream of witty repartee– Some, or all, or none of this may be fiction.  It’s my story, and these studmuffins were very clever,  bright and articulate (non-fiction). They handled my sarcasm and dished it back in spades. Both discussed literature, music, and underwear, equally well–hypothetically.

There was also the issue of who would feed the snake. If you read any of the Amazon posts (Is That a Snake… and A Is For Amazon, S Is For Snake), you know I do not like snakes. At all. Not even a little. Yeah, that’s another thing my friend left out: the snake. Their pet snake required feeding and watering. It required “fuzzies.” Suffice it to say, that snake is only alive today because there were two studly guys sharing the digs with me and the snake. I managed to pour water in its dish, but that ruined me for an hour. The idea that it might get loose prompted me to put large sneakers and heavy water bottles on top of the cage, just in case. I never confirmed what “fuzzies” were, as the muffins bought and fed them to said snake. “Man you should have seen it D! That snake went crazy for those little…” Stop! Don’t say another word!  My muffins found this quite amusing…  and yes that sentence is provocative at the least…

Anyway, back to shirtless hunks and hot summer days… And believe you me, it’s my story, and those hunks were shirtless pretty much all the time, and it was hot. What was I to do? Pretend I wasn’t surrounded by beauty? Look, you can’t be a Cougar if you don’t oggle… and since this is my story, I’ll paint it the way I want. I don’t kid myself folks. These fun, handsome, outrageously clever guys were not interested in me. They had plenty of studmuffinettes to spend time with. And they did. Dancing is another thing they apparently do very well, according to at least one witness. But, the Cougar-Boy Toy humor got plenty of play. I was well matched in the sarcasm and clever come backs departments, and we worked that program hard. As Olympic boy did flips on the trampoline one morning, yes in briefs, I had to just get in my car and leave… hello? “Hey D!” he called out to me, as I made a dash for my car. I am not looking at you! I called back. There is only so much a woman of my age can handle. He laughed, so sure I was  joking. Ha, ha, ha. Not. My very healthy low blood pressure served me well those 10 days.

For balance, the dog brought as much drooling, whining, running off and making me chase him, pooping where he shouldn’t, begging to sleep in my room and snoring, panting and big brown-eyed stares, as any one dog should be capable of.  Other people’s dogs never seem as wonderful as your own, that’s just the way it is. If there was a chance to run off, and say poop in a neighbors yard, while the neighbor was standing there, and make me chase him, and clean up his mess… say in my pajamas, he did it.  He shedded like crazy and drooled on anything and anyone in his path. It was in fact hot, he drooled a lot. He stole a bag of almonds and ate every one… only to leave them redeposited right in front of a Ranger, up at Mt. Baker. But, he is a big old baby and impossible to stay mad at with his big brown eyes and smile. He was the grounding factor. It couldn’t be all sexy guys and hypothetically outrageous times. Right? So I’m throwing in a big crazy lab for balance.

I had to put up window coverings on my temporary bedroom, to help with the direct view into the kitchen… where studmuffins congregate.  It’s not enough to have to have to watch them stretch and work out on the deck outside my room each morning (seriously), but impossible to sleep restfully when you’re forced to look at said muffins just before sleeping. “Hey, want to take a break from all that writing and join us in the hot tub,” Olympic muffin asks, one afternoon. Uh, err, um, eh. I stammer.  I think I’ll pass, I’m pretty sure I definitely couldn’t handle that, I tell him. He laughed. Not a joke fly boy. It may be my story, but there’s no way I was getting into a hot tub with two gorgeous, if not incredibly courteous, guys… It would just be too much for them to bear; and I’m thoughtuful, if nothing else.

So we made it through our ten days together, and admittedly it went very differently than I had begrudgingly anticipated.  Clearly I need to run away in the summer, and I somehow I’m destined to find stud muffins wherever I land (read The Joy of The Saddle and Buckle Bunnies). For the record, Olympic studmuffin had far more clever things to say than the one witty quote about his genitals, that I promised not to include… if I were to make up this story. Navy Seal muffin was a perfect gentleman, but that doesn’t stop a Cougar from looking. In fairness, we had a heat wave that week, that practically required that said  muffins not wear shirts all of the time, and for that I can only smile. The dog was cared for, the snake didn’t die, no lines were crossed… pretty much… I think. Depends on who defines lines.  I’m sure there were times when I was just too much woman for either of them. And there were times when I could have gone blind… It was the kind of week that made me forget all about Yellowstone for a while. It was whatever I dare to say here, because it’s my story.

And if I were to make a story up, the guys just might look this good…

Purrr!

And this would be an Olympic calibre muffin, hypothetically.

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