TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND

The Middle: One Hour of Therapy.

Posted on September 19, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

It’s been a time of lots of transition and life changes recently, and some days are harder than others… as many of you have read. That said, I want to thank many of you for the kind words and support recently. I also want to clarify something: I am not as critical of myself as it may simply come out in some posts. I am indeed my own worst critic, and a harsh one many times, but many of the observations and emotions around Huntington’s and my mother’s death are not to say that I think I wasn’t a good daughter or sister… that I didn’t do enough. I was/am, and I did. I know that. However, being there for those we love is not always pretty or altruistic. There are those times when I resent the whole thing. I don’t feel like the loving daughter/sister/mother/whatever, that I’d like to be… even if I know that in the big picture, I’m doing a pretty good job with a really lousy situation. Around Mom’s birthday this weekend, I was just sucked into the depressing and distinctly overwhelming reality of Huntington’s: there is not an end in sight. For each person I love, who suffers from it, there is then their kids (people I love so enormously, I can hardly bare the thought) to wait and watch with. There is the constant knowledge that the witnessing, the caregiving, did not end with my mother. That horrible 50/50 always looms in Huntington’s families, and it’s hard to not always be wary of the next shoe that you know will drop. There is potentially a very long line of this disease, that I feel tied to. I am tied because I love them, and I would be nowhere else. But some days it is really an awful lot to accept and deal with. So thank you for reading those posts and offering kind words, but be assured that I am as ok as one can be, living in the Huntington’s world.

And so I went for a walk:

It’s amazing what can go through your head in one hour. On my walk recently, it seemed that so many of the people and things I passed sent flashpoint thoughts to my brain. Most were quick observations, brief ponderings. I didn’t linger on any one thought more than ten minutes, and most no more than two, no matter how deep or how shallow. It was good to walk briskly, take things in and let them go. Remain silent.

Choices. Options. The path.

Transition. Change.

There but for the grace of goodness… And yet, I couldn’t help but think that this homeless man is resting on a beautiful little beach, with the sound of the waves to sooth him.

Take chances. Weigh options. Test limits. Use caution sometimes.

Boundaries. How do I mark mine? Who/what do I welcome in, and who/what do I keep out? Boundaries. (For the record, Luke’s marks his constantly!)

Youth. Fresh starts. Love. Longevity.

Beauty. Continuity. Patterns. Constant change.

Where do you go to think? Do you prefer to talk it out, or think it out? Which scenes make you think? Share your thoughts in the comment section. Hit like and make my day.

Posted in Aging, Awareness, Beautiful places, Beauty, Blog, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Huntington's Disease, Life, Musings, Nature, Personal change, Writing | Tagged Beauty, HDSA, Huntington's Disease, Meditation, Musings, nature, self-awareness, Tales from the Motherland | 9 Comments

Some Drunk Thoughts… Does This Mean I Have a Problem?

Posted on September 16, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Warning: KQM/KPM and RM- Don’t read this one. Just don’t.

Drunk is probably an exaggertion, but don’t send me any comments about typos or things that don’t add up. I’ve had just enough to not care… and tomorrow, when I do care, I’d prefer not to know, and don’t intend to edit. A stream of consciousness? More alcohol to bring up stuff I’d rather keep down? You may recall that I’ve done this before (read tht post here) on another tough day. Does this mean I have a problem? Possibly.

Today was Mom’s birthday, the first since she died in December, and it was a very strange day all around. I went down to a fundraiser walk for Huntington’s Disease, the ~~bitch~~ disease that killed my Mom, my 49 year old aunt and my grandmotehr. I went because it’s Mom’s birthday and my sister was participating, so it seemed like a perfect way to support my sister and honor my mom. However, I realized something while I was there: I’m not cut out for these events. I want to be! I really do. I want to find strength in numbers, feel part of a movement… but I don’t. It only freaked me out, to be honest.

I drove an hour and a half to be there. I listened to good music and any little anxieties that came up, I pushed ~~down~~ aside. I wanted to go and just be there with my sister. She has Huntington’s too, and while we don’t talk about it much, it’s always there. Like the disease, it is insidious. There is no cure for the HD, there is no cure for the anxiety it causes in the those (like me) who watch people we love get sick and die of it. And frankly, being at an event where I was surrounded by that, was not the way to celebrate my Mom. She hated this disease, and she had every right to. I hate it. And while I get that you can’t fight it, that you need to accept life and just work through things, this is not one of those things that I feel good about facing. It SUCKS! I am angry and bitter about it. I’m not hopeful.

Just the same, I drove down to Seattle and planning to attend the event and be a part of it all. Instead, I arrived and had the wind knocked out of me right off the bat. I was waiting in the bathroom, looking out at the crowd and already, silently assessing who did and didn’t have Huntington’s, who looked like a caregiver and who looked like a patient, trying to find an invisible marker on each and every f’ing person there, when I saw my sister in the crowd. At first my heart did a little “Aha! There she is…,” but then I noticed something. I noticed that the way she was standing: the way her body was moving, was the way our mother, and our grandmother before that, moved… and I suddenly saw some tiny choreas that I haven’t seen before. It wasn’t as dramatic as Mom or Grandma, it was still subtle, but I saw it. I saw Huntington’s right there… with my sister. A crowd of people and she was one of them. And I couldn’t bear to look.

I went to the bathroom stall and tried to calm myslef. I tried to pretend it was just nothing… something I’d seen in the sun’s glare, something I’d seen because I was looking for it? Something that I saw because I’ve spent more than twenty years watching for signs, and adding up symptoms? But it wasn’t that; it was there. I came out and we hugged. She and her husband were happy I’d come and they greeted me warmly, as I tried not to look at her funny, as I tried to manage my own shit. Impossible. She wanted to introduce me to so many of the people there who she knows… support group members, people she’s met because she’s strong and she’s been in there getting involved for a long time. She has a huge heart and she’s willing to share it with those people. Not me. I wanted to run from minute one. I could barely stand it.

The theme of the day… for others

But I stayed. I schmoozed. I said hello and was unsure of what else to say. I did the walk, which was short and more symbolic than anything. We walked through a playground and around a field. I saw some young children pointing at us all and laughing… At what? I saw mothers at the playground watch us all, in our matching Team Hope t-shirts (I didn’t have one, I didn’t register ahead), and I saw them trying to figure out what it was. What was passing by their kids? Was it contagious? Should they say something? Should they look away? They just watched us and stared. At what you fools? I wanted to run over and shake them, and say: Do you know that many of these people are sick? That they will get sicker, and they will die? Do you know that my sister is one of them? Do you know that I love her more than you can understand and I will lose her… too? Stop staring and do something! I just marched on. I tried to have normal conversation and pretend that none of that was registering with me. I tried to smile at all the people… all the people who are sick, or will get sick, or are in my shoes: losing someone they love. Another someone.

It was nothing like the cancer walks I’ve done, where everyone in the crowd, everyone cheering on is there to support. We all know someone who’s had cancer. We all empathize. We’ve been educated to support and get it… we don’t move aaway worried tht maybe we’ll get it too. That was true 30 years ago, but not today. Millions of people where yellow bands on their wrists and we all know what Livestrong is. But watching a group of people in Team Hope t-shirts, with a word: Huntington’s Disease on it… that one one knows the meaning of, only drew blank or concerned stares from the people we passed. I found myself drawn to those expressions, as I tried to hold my head up and walk with conviction: that we will find a cure, that one day my nieces and nephew won’t face this. If you didn’t know: if your parent has it, you then have a 50/50 chance of having it too. Crap odds. So each of my nieces and nephews face this, and I can barely face that. So walking around that park, around the crowded athletic fields, I just kept noticing all the people who didn’t know what to say or do.

Walking with hope.

I just can’t do it. It came out of my mouth without any thought… just popped out when my sister and I were sitting in the shade, after the walk, waiting for the raffle. I can’t do this again, I told her. I’m not cut out for this. And I’m not. I fundraise. I am there for each of my family members who has Huntington’s and needs support. I’m truly there. But, I can not be in a crowd of people who also have it, and assess each face, each person and wonder who has it, who does not, and how they are all coping. A young man, J, being pushed around the route in a wheelchair. He was clearly in his 20s, so young! His head flopped to the side, the person pushing him talking about him as if he was part of the event, part of the discussion, when J gave no sign of really hearing or being involved, his disease very advanced. “J’s a real Nascar fan,” his caretaker told us. We cheered J on, but I only felt sad. Later, I saw his brother, also in his twenties, walking with the clear chorea ladened gate of someone with HD. It is these involuntary movements that so often make people assume that people with HD are drunk or wasted. Two sons? Two sons! How did their mother bear it? How do their sisters bear it? I could barely be around it.

The wheel chairs lined up in the shade, for those who are further progressed. I needed shade, but I couldn’t stand there. Just couldn’t stand close. I can’t do this again, I told my sister. “What? Why?” She asks. It is just too much. It’s too much to know that Mom lost everything to this disease. I think, before answering. This is Mom’s birthday and she should be here. If she had gotten lung cancer, after 50 years of smoking, I’d get it, but this? It isn’t fair! That runs through my head too, but I say: It’s enough to watch the people I love most go through this. It’s enough to worry about each of my nephews and nieces, to watch you. I can’t watch all these strangers too. I tell my sister this and she’s quiet. We touch, briefly, our hands… seeking each other for comfort, but not continuing he conversation. I have become tearful and we both know that it’s too much, here.

Neither of us gets the other… entirely. We want to, but how can we? I don’t have it, and she does. Not fair, but the way it is. Neither of us can truly understand the other side. God? Is there a God who truly finds some logic in all of this? And what about Alzheimers, Parkinsons, all the others? Is there logic for all of it? A divine reason? I can’t swallow that. So, that just makes it that much more senseless and cruel. All these people, and this is a fairly small turn out. So many people, and this is not even one of the big diseases (Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, MS) that people know about… but it’s huge to us. It’s huge to every person here.

When I’d had more than I could take, I left. I bought a raffle ticket, but didn’t stay to see if I’d won. I’ve already lost. I didn’t collect pamphlets or try to make connections. I’ve got enough connections with this bitch to last the rest of my life. I don’t need anymore. I drove home and tried to listen to music. Every song, every song reminded me of something. The silence was worse. I kept the radio on. I’m not in a self-pitying spiral. Really, I’m not. I know it sounds that way though. It’s just too much. I’ve already lost three people I love to this, how can there be more? It’s just too much. And how am I entitled to these feelings when it’s my sister, and other family members who actually face the disease? Aren’t I the lucky one? I don’t have it. My children can’t have it. Aren’t I the lucky one? It’s just too much to think about. Being at an event where EVERY SINGLE PERSON reminds me of all of this, it’s just too much.

I drove home and I listened to my music. I went out to dinner with Little Man and Smart Guy. We went to Mom’s favorite place and I ordered her/our, favorite drink. It was just too much. We always split it. It comes in a big shaker and it’s a bit too much for one person. I tried telling Smart Guy and Little Man about today. I tried telling them all of this, what it felt like, what I thought being there… but it was jut too much, and I got tearful again, at the table. Little Man held my arm gently. I saw him take it all in, with those thoughtful eyes of his. He is much deeper than he seems, with his silly, puppy-dog antics. Smart Guy rubbed my back and tried to sooth me. But I just kept thinking about a year ago, when Mom was there for dinner and I was annoyed that she wouldn’t wear a nicer shirt. I kept thinking about all those faces today… they are etched in my brain now. I kept thinking about my sister, and my brother… and all the others. It’s just too much.

Want to know more? Watch these:

This video: Pier’s Story Part I (This is my mother’s doctor, a Seattle story) To continue: part II, and III We have been through these same tests and check ups. We’ve met these same people…

And this, on Sunday Morning, on the story of Carol Carr– Who killed her two sons who had HD.

IF you Google Huntington’s Disease documentary, there are many of these brief videos. Warning: Hard to watch.

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Posted in Aging, Awareness, Blog, Daily Observations, Death, Death of parent, Honest observations on many things, Huntington's Disease, Life, Mothers, Musings, Writing | Tagged Alzheimer's disease, death of a parent, Genetic Diseases, grief, grieving, HDSA, Huntington's Disease, loss, Tales from the Motherland | 18 Comments

365 Regrets, Blessings, Lessons.

Posted on September 14, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

All week I’ve found myself tearing up as I drive past the road that leads to the nursing home where my mother lived. I pass the road to Hospice House, where she died December 31, 2011, far more often and rarely think of it. Yet each time I pass the road to where she lived, my eyes burn and my thoughts swirl. It’s incredible to believe that one year ago, 365 days, we were celebrating her 68th birthday. I wrote the post Ode To Birthdays Missed last year, as I struggled with the progression of her Huntington’s Disease and the inequities I saw in her life and my life with her. When I wrote that post, I had no idea that two weeks later she would fall and break her elbow, end up in hospice and die two+ months later. A broken elbow was not how I imagined it would go. One year ago, I was frustrated by her inability to do things the way I wanted. I was tired of her needs and her disabilities. I knew I should appreciate her hugs, but I didn’t always. I was sure she would be around for a year or two more at least… and frankly, couldn’t imagine it really ending. One year ago, everything felt different.

A year ago, Mom didn’t care much about appearances. Clearly.

Today as I face Mom’s birthday without her, I would give anything to see her dress in one of those crappy outfits she loved and take her to dinner. If I knew then, what I know now: that it would all end and I’d miss all the things that bugged me so much 365 days ago, I would linger longer and listen to her silence. I would be more patient as she struggled with the seat belt or tried to read the menu. I’d wait to order dinner, and be more grateful for the opportunity to be with her. One year ago, fall was edging in as it is now and I was annoyed by the expectation that I must spend time with Mom, that I should be at a nursing home on a nice afternoon, or make time to bring her over for dinner when I had three busy high school students to take care of. One year ago, China and Denmark had just arrived, and I found myself explaining my mother’s appearance to them, helping them feel comfortable with her and her condition, when I could barely stand it some days myself.

My favorite: when Mom had a Monopoly on fun. 1999.

One year later, 365 days: There are so many things I regret. There are so many blessings I count. When I re-read the post Ode To Birthdays Missed, I read it with the hindsight I knew would come after. I had no idea then, that it would come so quickly. A year ago, I was too busy resenting all the time I had to spend helping Mom. I was too busy feeling guilty for all the times I didn’t spend with her, or the times I spent resenting. I knew this would come, but it was impossible, in the moment, to stop and remember that. We had fallen into a predictable struggle, my mother and I. We had our good days, but many days were a familiar routine of me pushing her buttons and her pushing mine. Her coordination may have been shot, but she could still push a button! I tried, so often, to put my shit aside and be present with her. And many times I was. There were times that I took her for her pedicure, or shopping for new clothes… clothes that she would never wear, because she fell and never got dressed properly again. I took her to look at the foliage, just days before that last fall, when I knew she was feeling down: frustrated with her failing body, frustrated with her lack of freedom. We drove around the lake and watched the season changing. She loved autumn. She loved to go for drives. It felt good that we were able to enjoy that drive, without the usual tension and expectations, and just enjoy the beauty and moment instead.

Mom, when she felt her shiny best. 1989’ish.

One year ago, I didn’t get her any real birthday presents because I had just taken her shopping and she didn’t need anything else. She had lost her appreciation for fine things; she had lost her desire for a lot of things that she once liked. I brought her flowers, something she loved, and we took her out to dinner, the other thing she still loved. The restaurant was loud but she liked it there. The waiter knew her a little and was always kind to her, always respectful. That night he bought her a second drink for her birthday, after I said two drinks were not a good idea (always worried about falls). She raised the glass and smiled at us all as she drank that second cocktail. “Happy Birthday dear,” the waiter said to her, and I knew she felt normal for a few minutes. She didn’t notice that he said “dear,” or that he probably thought she was older than she was. Mom was grateful for his playful flirtation, and she was happy to have a drink and forget a little. As much as I worried about her falls, in the end I truly understood that part. Trapped in a body that failed her on the most basic of levels, and stumbling around in a mind that vacillated between sharp, fuzzy and full-blown dementia, depending on the day and time, Mom had every reason to want to escape.

In the end, some of the moments spent in this hospice bed with her were the sweetest of all.

One year ago I already understood that I would face a lot of mixed emotions in her passing, but I absolutely believed that I had at least 365 days more before I’d have to face that. The greatest injustice in a slow decline is the miscalculations that come. The end always seems near, but not here. Though I frequently thought that death would be a blessing for her, I did not anticipate it anytime soon. We all felt sure, at the time, that we had a few more years of struggle ahead. The decline felt endless, so an end remained nebulous. We all wished for it at one time or another. The agony of watching her deteriorate was often too much to bear, and we each had moments when we wished for the suffering to end. Her suffering and ours. We each struggled with our own demons as we watched her lose pieces of herself. I knew that all of the issues that she and I had left unresolved were still simmering somewhere below the surface… for both of us. I was not caught unprepared; I’d told myself countless times that the end would bring it all to the surface. However, I didn’t fully understand that all of the clichés of grief might be true for me as well. In the end, I was merely throwing punches in the air. I was fighting old battles that truly didn’t matter anymore. I would never resolve things the way I might have wanted, for so long. As I sat alone with her in the Hospice room on December 31st 2011, and watched her draw her last breaths, I felt so many of the things that I’d felt bound to for so long, just dissipate as she left me. It hadn’t occurred to me that the battle might end that easily.

365 days ago, Mom was happy to say cheers.

In the 365 days since her last birthday, since that other post, I have had so many kind and thoughtful people reach out to me. I have had so many of you say that you’ve struggled with the same issues, similar losses. I have come to know that many of the people I smile at and pass have parents with dementia, parents who need care. I see that so differently now and feel such compassion for a path that can be so similar and yet entirely different for each of us. I have been blessed with a lot of support and a lot of kindness. I am grateful for each one, and all the more for how unexpected some of them were. In the 365 days since Mom’s last birthday I have gained a much broader understanding and acceptance of things between us. I have come to miss her much more than I anticipated, but the letting go of so many things has made for lightness I never foresaw. What a difference a year makes. 365: It’s not just a number. Happy Birthday Mom.

Are your parents still alive? Do you appreciate them, do you struggle with carrying for them, or are you still working through issues that seem to never end? Share your thoughts in the comment section; I’d love to hear from you. Take a moment and hit the Like button if you enjoyed this piece.

Posted in Aging, Awareness, Beauty, Blog, Daily Observations, Death, Death of parent, Dying, Foreign exchange students, Honest observations on many things, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Women, Women's issues, Writing | Tagged aging parents, death of a parent, dementia, family, Huntington's Disease, loss, Musings, parents, passage of time, Tales from the Motherland | 21 Comments

The Middle: If You’re Fu@#ing All The Time, You Must Be A…

Posted on September 12, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

A Fruit fly!

Note: It’s the perfect time to bring this one back. I’ve updated some things; so be sure to watch the hilarious fruit fly sex tape! These little guys are driving me nuts right now, as they always do from August through fall. I am setting wine glass traps, and smacking them all over my kitchen! But a little humor helps anything. Even fruit flies.

Warning: This may gross you out. It may make your skin crawl. So many insects, so much sex.

I am losing my mind. Before you assume I’m talking about my dining room table still, I’m not. It’s fruit flies that are driving me mad this week, not the mess on my table. Those tiny little insects that appear every year around the end of summer, and then procreate like crazy all over my beautiful, fresh produce. Those infuriating dots that fly up in little clouds when I come into my kitchen, from about late August to mid-September, when the cold finally puts an end to their siege. Northern varieties actually hibernate, which seems cute in bears, but disgusting in fruit flies. However, while they’re around, they seem to multiply by the hour! At my writing group last night, they began to congregate around the wine glasses and before the meeting was through, we all swore they had doubled in numbers! The little guys are fu@#ing all the time!

Surprisingly, there’s a lot to learn about about these insidious little ~~sex addicts~~ flies:

The fruit fly, of the species Drosophila: which includes D. Melanogaster, D. Immigrans, and D. Simmulans… includes approximately 1,500 verities in total. The melanogaster is widely used in scientific studies, especially genetic studies. In fact, this little household nuisance is a labratory super star! Because they actually replicate many of the same genetic make-ups found in humans, they can be used for studies in all kinds of areas, inexpensively and without harm to humans or other animals. They’re especially popular because their chromosomes are quite large and thus easy to see under a microscope. Thomas Hunt Morgan studied fruit flies, and won the Nobel Prize in 1933 for identifying chromosomes as the “vector for the inheritance of genes.” Fruit flies are not just studied in genetics, but are in fact, the most studied and researched bug in the world! They have a short life cycle (1-6 wks, depending on the variety. The local/Pacific NW variety live about 8-10 days), interesting genetics, they’re easy to breed, and let’s face it, I’d rather see them do scientific testing on fruit flies than other animals. Gives you a slightly different perspective when you find them swarming around your juice, eh?

That’s right folks, fruit fly porn! It’s all over the internet!
image: imp.ac.at

Sex and fruit flies? Seriously, these guys are putting humans to shame. Males in the drosophila group are known to have the longest sperm cells of any organism on earth (300x longer than human sperms), and they are wired to use those sperm. These guys go on, and on… When you see them congregating around your bananas, your ripe peaches, anything in your kitchen, they are there for a quick bite, and to score with female fruit flies and create little baby fruit flies. They are not there to drink your wine. They are doing the big nasty all over your kitchen people! Seriously. Rated R: Mature audiences only for this video:

I’ve already caught 6!

Fruit flies are not that smart. Ok, this one surprised me frankly. I’d always heard that they were, but apparently not. Fruit flies are focused on eating and ~~fu@#ing~~ reproducing, and can be trapped fairly easily. Wine, overripe fruit or cider vinegar make for best baits, and any container with a small funnel-shaped opening in its top works. The little guys follow the scent and once inside, generally can’t figure out how to get back out. Duh. I set up a cider vinegar trap today, and it seems to really works. I did write: “For a good time–>” on the glass, in tiny fruit fly print. I am currently also on a stealth mission, when I’m home: I sneak into my kitchen at irregular intervals, and hitt them with a sharp snap of a dish towel. My aim is good, the flies are stupid.

Did you know that fruit flies sleep. For real. They stop what they’re doing, close their little eyes and rest for a while. They’ve been used in numerous sleep studies, with applications for humans.

No matter what I do, there’s a party going on on my compost bin 24/7.

These guys are drawn to any fruit that is edging toward the overripe stage. If it’s brown, bruised, oozing, soft- use it or get rid of it. Females like to lay their eggs (up to 500) in rotting fruit. So,when it’s fruit fly season… saving those bananas for baking may also mean fruit fly eggs/maggots/babies in your banana bread. Gross, but true. If you have a compost bin (bravo for you, but), keep it emptied and keep it spotlessly clean. Ours sits on the kitchen counter and has become the main ~~brothel~~ hang out for the flies that taunt me. When I walk into my kitchen, I can practically hear them calling to each other: “Hey baby!” “Looking for a good time?” It’s almost enough to force my hand on the compost issue altogether. Almost. I will not be brought down by tiny fornicators. For now I’ll just plan to leave the windows open from time to time, let the kitchen cool way down and hope they freeze their libidos off.

Still want to read more about fruit flies (really?), check out these sites: Science in Society, Wikipedia/Drosophila, About.Com Insects (fruit fly trap), The Bug Squad-Pest Control (Very cool site)

Posted in Blog, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Nature, Summer | Tagged Compost, Drosophilia melanogaster, Fruit flies, Fruit Fly, Fruit fly traps, Genetics, Humor, Insects and sex, Musings, Science and fruit flies, Tales from the Motherland | 21 Comments

This Is Your Brain on Drugs; This is My Brain on The Dining Room Table.

Posted on September 10, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

One man’s drug… is another girl’s breakfast.
image: ifood.tv

If you’re old enough, you remember those clever anti-drug commercials where a guy held up an egg, and said: “This is your brain.” (The idea, clearly, that your brain is a delicate thing held inside a fragile shell.) Then, showing the viewer a hot frying pan: “This is drugs.” And finally, he’d cracked the egg into the pan and say: “This is your brain on drugs. Any questions?” (The message then, as you watched the egg fry up: Drugs fry your brain.) I always found that ad so clever and graphic. How could you not get the message? It was so clear.

There’s an explanation for each thing here… but that’s the scary part.

My brain is not so obvious. Every friend who has been over to my house in the past few weeks has seen one thing clearly: my dining room table is a disaster area. Total mess. There have been a lot of raised eyebrows and questions. I give good excuses: There’s been so much happening around here; I’m going to get to it, but have been overwhelmed; My head’s in another placeS; I’m treading water, these messes will wait. The list is as convoluted as the mess on my dining room table. The bottom line: That table represents my brain right now. Even though the clutter crept up on me, I did see it coming. I let it happen, and quietly ignored it for a while. I have chosen to let it ride for a while as I lick my wounds, work on pulling up my boot straps and try to figure out what mess to clean up first.

Oh how I love these clean, clear paths…

If you’re still with me, you’re doing a decent job of reading between the lines and the metaphors. I’m being vague on purpose; not everything needs to be spelled out. The messes on the table represent messes in life, my life, or “stuff” that I need to get on top of. The rest of my house is really clutter free and clean (Ok, except for my office, which if you remember my Houston, I Have a Problem post, has been marinating for a good long while: my ultimate barometer). It’s all on the dining room table right now… Boxing me in and reminding me each day that there’s a big ass list of things to work on. Amazingly, each bit of clutter does seem to represent a specific area that I’m working on right now. My reasoning: I’m not in any rush to clean it up, because each mess will be addressed as I work on the issue.

Or, even the paths with smaller, more manageable piles…

Smart Guy walks by and says: “Uh, can I help you put some of this away” (Translation: what the hell is going on here?!). I’ve adamantly requested that he leave it to me. The boxes are simple. They are deliveries that have come, and as I figure out which things I’m keeping, I break the boxes down and put them in recycling. Simple issues, simple clutter. The piles of papers? Well piles and I have a long and twisted history. More complicated, they may take a little longer. There are piles of school supplies that represent me trying not to be that mother who didn’t get her kid’s school supplies in time. Oh that wicked self-esteem thing. I bought them early, before we got the class lists and now I need to figure out which things Little Man needs, and which I can return. For the first time ever, I got those book covers before the stores ran out, and of course, this year he doesn’t need any. Teaches me… what? Not to be organized? Not to try and be the kind of Mom I’m inherently not? Not to compare myself? That book covers are over rated?

I just need to clear some room, and combine the two.
image: Mercedes

My head is full to capacity and so is the table. It’s a good visual cue to not take on any more messes. And as I begin to clear the table, it will be a cue to me that my brain is clearing. When the dining room table and my office are clean… Well, let’s not get ahead of myself.

I plan to post picture of the dining room table, as I clear it. You can find the pictures on my Tales From the Motherland Facebook page. If you haven’t already, click the link and like the page, then you can live vicariously through my twisted rationals about clutter. Also, tell me what represents your mental status? Do you have things you let pile up, or do you keep it all together? Is fall a cathartic time when you reflect on changes you want to make, new rituals, etc, or are you a steady as she goes person? Click on the title of this post and share a comment. While you’re at it, click the like and make me smile, and boost my self esteem: twoferone deal! (For anyone who worries that I actually need those likes to feel good about myself, I jest. However, if it gets you to boost my Word Press visibility, think of it as a good samaritan gesture.)

Posted in Awareness, Blog, Daily Observations, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Personal change, Sarcasm, Women's issues | Tagged challenges, change, Clutter, family, Humor, Musings, Organization, Psychology, sarcasm, Tales from the Motherland, women, Word Press | 18 Comments

What We Don’t Tell You In Our Blogs: Peru… The Outtakes.

Posted on September 8, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

There’s an art to sunny side up: it’s called omission.
image: kk.wikipedia.org

I’ve been noticing in the Facebook statuses my friends and I post, in many of the blogs I read, that we all tend to show the sunny side of things. We post the happy vacation pictures and the happy status changes: “Engaged!” “Eating at …” (insert favorite restaurant). “Fun day with …” (insert happy friends). “Ran a marathon!” “My kid just (insert accolades). Etc. I get it; I’m guilty of doing it too. Who wants to hear that you woke up cranky? That you drank to much last night? (I might have) That your marriage isn’t going quite the way you think it should be going… despite the happy anniversary status update? That it’s the first day of school, but your kid was snarky on his way out, or that you argued with your husband over breakfast (none of this happened… today)? Really. We all put the sunny side up; not just in eggs. We want our lives to look as good as we hope they can be, sometimes as happy as we wish they were.

Yet that leads to all kinds of misinterpretations and misguided beliefs: Man, she has a lot more friends than me… They go on much nicer vacations than us… Her blessings are much better than mine… Their kids are smarter/more adventurous/more successful… (insert other platitude that leads you to compare). Here kids let her snap first day of school photos, and she’s so organized that she did it. She’s always with other people. There’s always a better vacation, a thinner friend, a better marriage, a happier life, that is being posted somewhere. And still we generally post our status updates and in my case, my blog posts, in the best possible light. I write what I’m feeling or what’s happening and I try not to filter it too much, as I’ve said in previous posts. However, there are plenty of things I leave out, and I have come to believe that there is plenty of sugar coating going on on Facebook and in general.

If you read the Peru series, then you know we had one of THE best vacations ever! No sugar coating. You know that I overcame enormous anxiety and did a three day trek that kicked me around, but did not kick me down. The first day alone was huge (No Pain…)! I managed to get through that and enjoy an amazing trek (Santa Teresa…), adopted a dog for a couple of days (Machu, The Inca Dog), and eventually got to Machu Picchu. We saw lots of spectacular history and landscape in the Sacred Valley (It’s All Old in Peru…) and attended a very special wedding (Weddings and Animal Parts). Just when we thought we couldn’t be more impressed, or more blow away by Peru, we headed to The Amazon (A is for Amazing…) and got a heaping dose of Wow! We saw snakes (Is That A Snake In Your Pocket…) and I fell hopelessly in love and decided I want to adopt… a sloth (Call Me Kristen Bell). Aside from blatantly pushing my posts (in case you were busy doing summer stuff, and missed any?), I bring this all up to remind you of the distinctly sunny and upbeat tone to those posts.

It was an amazing trip, however, there is plenty that I left out. While it was the best vacation our family has ever had together, there were good and bad moments. There were times when I wanted to get on a plane and fly home, and times when I wanted to stay longer. In writing the initial blog posts, I was focused on the high points, the good stuff. These are the outtakes: a post where the details are less shiny.

The players: Principessa (P)-22 yr old daughter, just out of college (this trip was to celebrate her graduation); Middle Man (MM)-20 yr old Jr in college; Little Man (LM)- just 16, a Jr in high school; Smart Guy (SG)- the super organized, Type-A dad; and Me (in italics)… the writer of this blog and distorter of reality. So, the Peru trip… What I didn’t post:

We worked very hard to make arrangements with a group that promised to arrange kosher food for our daughter, and make sure that her Conservative (Jewish) religious needs would be met. This was all left in the hands of Smart Guy, who (to his credit) arranged pretty much all of the trip. Principessa was anxious about this, as she was worried about maintaining her religious needs, while trekking in the wilds of Peru. Well founded concerns I should note, but again, in the name of not sugar coating, she did push our buttons in the planning stages. “I’m not sure I should go… I don’t think you can really make sure things are kosher there… You don’t really understand how important x, y, or z is…” Frankly, the lists of details was mind numbing, and while we tried to be supportive parents, concerned for her needs, it drove me (I won’t speak for SG) ~~a little~~ crazy.

More than once, each of us felt like this mannequin in Cusco.

On our very first night in Peru, Smart Guy called the tour director and as we all listened (and threw out groans and comments) from the back seat, it became very clear that ~~very little~~ NONE of the things we thought we’d paid for were actually done! No kosher meals arranged, no guides who were aware of Shabbat and special travel needs, no pots/dishes/etc that were safe for cooking kosher meals… Nada. I’d love to write that we managed this with compassion and understanding, but we didn’t. We immediately jumped all over Smart Guy! “Are you kidding! What am I supposed to eat?” Principessa jumped in immediately. “I thought it was all set up…” Smart Guy responded, clearly upset. What! Thought? I thought you arranged all of this? Great! I commented snarkily and sanctimoniously (not a hint of compassion). “Really Dad, you did say this was covered…” Middle Man threw in, in case Dad wasn’t already feeling badly enough. And then we deteriorated into back and forth bickering about how Smart Guy could let this happen (How did you pick this tour company? “What did they tell you?” “Did you ask specifically about kosher?” “Now what are we going to do?” etc)… all of us completely ignoring the fact that he was feeling just as let down as anyone else in that van, probably worse. We hissed at each other, we lowered our voices… as if the Guide, sitting beside Smart Guy couldn’t hear us. This was our first night. Sunny.

Not a happy a happy face in the crowd (though Little Man will always try). Hot, tired, hungry and arguing about what to do next…

I did admit in the post No Pain, No gain that I was resentful of having been duped into a trek that was much harder than I would ever agree to, and a trek that I had very clearly said I did not want to do. I left out the weeks of BS that led up to that. The cajoling on SG’s part, the bending of truths and then the out and out ignoring what I said and booking the trek when I’d said no. I left out how I behaved from the time I found out he’d booked it until we left. I was pretty bitchy about the whole thing. Initially, I took no responsibility for the fact that I could have put my foot down and just not gone. Instead, I passively-aggressively went along, knowing it would be all his fault if I was miserable. I was far too focused on how it would not work, than what I could do to make it work. Whiny and bitchy: I wore it ~~out~~ well for a few weeks. I managed to pull it together and get it, about a mile and a half into the trek, but I was certainly not a good bunk mate the night before.

Smart Guy is not good at going with the flow. He needs a decisive plan of action. Flow is not really in his bag of tricks. He is absolutely an Order Muppet: Bert to the enth. Nearly every meal or outing went something like this: Smart Guy: “So, where do you want to eat tonight?” I don’t know. I’ve been reading the guide and this one sounds pretty good (read Lonely Planet entry). “I don’t think I want to go all the way over there.” Ok, how about this one ____? This could be decent. “I’m not really in the mood for a nice restaurant.” MM: “Dad, why do you ask? You don’t like any of the suggestions.” LM: “I really want to try cuy (guinea pig) tonight.” MM: “Yeah, you say you want cuy, but I don’t see you ordering it when we’re out.” LM: “I haven’t seen it on the menu! I do want to try it!” MM: “Doesn’t seem like you’re that determined…” It’s really none of your business– LM: “Shut up Middle Man! You don’t know what I’m trying to do…” SG: “Stop it! Let’s go to dinner. Just stop arguing!” MM: “So where are we going?” SG: “I saw a place by the square. Where do you want to go (speaking to me)?” Let’s try this one in the book. The menu looks good and they have music. SG: The music will probably be loud, let’s just go to the one by the square that I saw.” So why even ask me? SG: “Don’t be like that…” And so it went, pretty much every night… except when it was a buffet in The Amazon.

Pretty much every day there was some version of “Shut up!” “Mind your own business!” “Whatever.” “Please don’t speak to ____ that way.” And a few expletives. There were siblings taunting one another and ribbing each other, parents barking at each other, ~~adult~~ mostly grown-kids and parents arguing over control of anything and everything. “I’m 22, 20, 16! I can handle it myself.”

In the Sacred Valley, things got pretty un-sacred. Fighting between Middle Man and Little Man was endless. While Principessa and MM managed to forge new bonds this trip, brothers found new ways to insult and harass each other, culminating in the blow up of blow ups and a minor chipped tooth. Lots of hurt feelings on all sides, mean things said and apologies rejected. It was a true low for the vacation, a true low in brotherly love.

After a few days, there were just lots of scabs and some bandaged fingers.

Not every adventure went smoothly. There were a few bumps and bruises, and Smart Guy had his requisite bike crash, during his day of Mountain biking with Middle Man. To his credit, Smart Guy doesn’t whine much about scrapes and cuts, but the rest of us gave him plenty of lip about why he should give up cycling.

When we finally got Principessa’s food all sorted out and found a Kosher caterer to prepare her meals for The Amazon, we were thrilled. During the trek, it had been a hit or miss debacle, as meals were prepared in the wrong pots, non-kosher food was added to kosher and our wonderful guides floundered under the requirements of preparing a kosher meal. I’ve left out the numerous disappointed grimaces or snarky comments that came about over meals. The wonderful guides who felt guilty and disappointed every time the prepared a meal for Principessa, putting in a good effort, only to hear that it wasn’t kosher. Principessa had gone hungry a lot, eating too many power bars, and was not always in the best of spirits because of it. So we were thrilled to find this woman who promised to prepare 4 days worth of food, “pack it in dry ice for our flight and boats up The Amazon,” so that it would all be good when we arrived. We paid a ~~small~~ fortune for those meals. However when we arrived to Explorama Lodge and opened the large styrofoam cooler: No dry ice, no wet ice, nothing but poorly closed containers that had been without refrigeration for about 12 hours. A soup container had opened all over the cooler and the contents were everywhere. I’d love to say that Principessa dealt with all of this with grace, but she did not. “Sh^t! I can’t believe this!” The look of confusion and horror on the Peruvian guides was priceless. Some of the food was salvageable, but much of it was thrown away… flush. Oh, right, no flush toilets.

This was the 3rd go at cleaning my socks

You can’t smell us in these wonderful vacation photos. We smell really bad. We were so dirty that some of our clothes may never be clean! I wrung my socks out in the sink… socks that smelled so bad I offended myself… but they were dirty the entire trip. That doesn’t show in the picture. We all look much cleaner than we are. We smile when someone holds up a camera and no matter what else is going on in the scene, we look happy but be glad there’s not a scratch and sniff option.

In my Mother Of The Year close-up, I’m caught red handed laughing at others’ misery. Poor form Mom.

On the Canopy Tour, I hinted that Little Man’s siblings may have behaved less than stellar, but the sugar free version: Mean, mean, mean! Little Man was terrified. It was a distinctly ugly scared. Lots of horrified faces, some tears and plenty of complaining. A really good family would have lent lots of support in helping him through his fears. Not us. I tried not to laugh at his terror, but I’ve owned it before: I laugh at others’ discomfort. Running from a bee? I’m wetting my pants. So I tried not to laugh. I truly didn’t think it was funny. But I did laugh. And when Middle Man caught it on film and called me on it (while defending his extremely bad behavior…), I lied and said I was laughing at my own anxiety. Nope, I was laughing at my poor Little Man who was nearly paralyzed 100 feet up. Add to his horror: Middle Man taunted him mercilessly. Shook the bridges, jumped on them behind Middle Man (making them rock and shake). He made frequent comments like: “Wow, that support looks really loose…” It was ugly. Principessa laughed along. She threw out occasional comments like: “Oh come on Little Man, this is ridiculous.” She took photos. Really incriminating photos, of Little Man’s fear. I deleted those photos when we got home… just in case you thought I might actually post them here. And where was Smart Guy in all of this? He was busy being embarrassed. “Stop that Little Man! Quiet down, people can hear you!” For this brutal record: I was right there saying the same things. Family unity and support… ‘aint it sweet?

Seriously? Again? Take the picture!

What you don’t hear when you see all those wonderful photos are the comments. “It’s so hot!” “It’s so cold!” “Let’s go!” “These mosquitoes are miserable!” “I’m starving.” “I can’t stand you.” “You’re a jerk.” “Shut up!” “Let’s go!” “My legs, feet, back, shoulders, hurt.” “Baby.” “Let’s get going here!” “Great! Now look where we are… great map reading.” “Stop whining!” “Hurry up and take the picture.” “Let’s Go! Seriously!” “I’m starving!” “How much further is it?” “Is it much further?” “When will we be there?”

There was me asking for a sip of Middle Man’s water, and him refusing… to teach me a lesson and make a point. I was very thirsty and really needed that water. It was about Mile 10 of the 13 hour trek day. I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t share his water, and this elephant will not soon forget. Some day, he will need some water…

There were arguments and cutting remarks most days. There were times when each of us felt hurt or disappointed, times when each of us was really angry. There were also the sunny faces you see in the previous posts. We are a family that laughs a lot and we all have fairly quick, sharp senses of humor. That saved many a bad day, or tough moment. Not all of them. There were a few moments, when I really did think a flight home would be better. But in the end: it was the best vacation we ever took. No sugar coating.

Stop! Take a second and read this too—-> If you enjoyed this post, please take a moment and hit the Like icon at the end of the post (click on the title of the post, and it’s at the bottom). I’m actively seeking your approval, throw me a bone. If you really liked it, consider Sharing the post and if you’re thinking: “Wow, I jut can’t get enough of this,” make both of our days and subscribe to future posts. No spam, no extra emails, just Tales From the Motherland, each time I post. Thanks for reading along!

Posted in Adventure, Awareness, Blog, Blogging, bullying, how blogs work, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, summer vacation, travel, Writing | Tagged blogs, Facebook, family vacations, Honest Blogs, Honesty, Humor, Machu Picchu, Peru, Tales from the Motherland, the Amazon, travel, writing | 23 Comments

The Middle… Read Me.

Posted on September 5, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

I’ve had this post sitting on ice for a while, thinking that I’d finish a few more books before summer’s end, only to realize that school starts in two days and while summer technically ends in a few weeks, the start of school is the start of my year. The Jews have that one right in my book: Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year falls in early September generally, just about when all of us parents feel like a new year has come. January is just a time for drinking and partying… everything new starts in September, for those of us who still have kids in school. So, here are my summer reads:

One of the most wonderful gifts my Mom ever gave me. My daughter loved reading it too.

This summer was a bit sparse compared to other summers. I read a bit less, or I read more of one book and less of others. I admit it: I’m totally addicted to the Game of Thrones Series by George, R. R. Martin- A very close friend warned me last fall: “If you start this series, be prepared to give up everything else for a while. I didn’t even pick up (her daughter) from school for three days, while I finished it.” Coming from a Masters in Literature diva, who always suggests great reads, no fluff, I had to stop and reconsider my ~~snotty~~ mistaken beliefs about the books. I believe that most fantasy of this genre is a pale rip off of Tolkien’s Lord of The Ring trilogy, which for the record: I read (in its entirety) three times before graduating high school (including The Hobbit twice). Love it. I have a leather bound edition of The Hobbit and the Trilogy, that my mom gave me when I was fifteen. However, it’s permanently colored my view of books that seem anything like it. They never really measure up.

image: shewolfreads.com

The Game of Thrones series does not really measure up either. However, they are really, really good, and addictive like Cheez Its, or Haagen Dass coffee ice cream (or, name your own poison). I got hooked on the HBO series first, after telling Little Man and Smart Guy that there was No Way I’d watch with them. Go ahead, watch the first three episodes and then write and tell me how addicted you are. So, I decided to skip book one of the Martin books. I started with Clash of Kings (book 2) in late spring, and could not put it down. It took me into the start of summer, and though I intended to read something else in between, I launched right into book three, Storm of Swords. Oh my, that book just dragged me around! I carried it to Peru and read every chance I got. It was with me in the hammock each siesta and I kept Smart Guy awake at night with my: Oh no! Ahhh! I can’t believe this! NO! I finished it in mid July and I’m still stewing about things that happened in the book, and waiting for Little Man to get to the critical point, so he can kvetch with me. Great fun, fantastic characters, lots of action and drama… but be prepared to disappear for a while.

image: kpbs.org

Traveling with Pomegranates: a Mother-Daughter Story– Sue Monk Kidd & Ann Kidd Taylor. Sue Monk Kidd is the author of The Secret Life of Bees, another book I really enjoyed, a few years ago. This book was given to me by a dear friend, who told me I might really enjoy it and see some of Principessa and I in it. I liked the idea, but honestly it landed in my “will read this eventually pile.” For a while there, the last thing I wanted to do was read about my daughter and I. So it sat there for many months, until one night (when there was enough distance) I just needed a new book and picked it up. Voila! Wonderful read that I am still reading. It is a book to be savored, in my opinion. The chapters go back and forth between Sue’s (mother) perspective and Ann’s, as they travel to sacred sites in France and Greece, over a two year period. The differences in how they view things, and what they think the other is thinking really shines a light on the dynamics of mother-daughter issues. I continue to pick it up and read new chapters as I read other books, though it’s a small book and could probably be read in one good rainy afternoon, by a quick reader. A real gem.

image from barnesandnoble.com

The Night Circus, Erin Morgenstern- Who hasn’t heard about this book? And if you’re not reading it, you should be! It’s fantastic and totally the right book if you just want to slip away into the pages of a magical, richly described story. Set in Victorian London, the story follows a circus comprised of all that Morgenstern’s colorful imagination could possibly devise: Tents filled with clouds, where patrons float and drift but never fall; trees with leaves that are wishes; contortionists and fortune tellers; magicians who really do magic… Set against a duel to the death between two powerful magicians, who fall in love. Can they create a solution? Will the players all play along? Will the unsuspecting patrons be caught up in the magic? This story is fantastic on so many levels, I could not put it down. This one is a must read, for those who love a well written, beautiful story that challenges the mind. Interestingly, while it still lingers at the top of all book sales lists, there is already a movie trailer… So read the book, then plan to see the movie.

The Good Earth, Pearl S. Buck- Don’t say it; I’ve heard it every time I mention this book: everyone I know seems to have read it in High School. Well, despite Mr. Nord’s Honor’s English class and four years in a good high school, this one slipped past me. I’ve heard references to this 1932 Pulitzer winner for years, and finally picked it up Just before school started. I’m not finished, but close and have really enjoyed this simple, quick read. Pearl S. Buck, who was also awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1938, lived in China and writes this gritty story of Wang Lu, a humble peasant, who marries a slave girl from a wealthy family. The story, is part of a trilogy but stands well as a single read. It follows their family life (pre-WWII) as they gain success and lose it, fleeing for a while to the city to survive, and their journey back to the land. The straightforward style and simple story structure can be slow at times, but that same simplicity makes the book equally compelling. A nice read, if you don’t mind being seen reading a “high school” book.

Unlike so many of my friends, I don’t keep track of the newest books published or the hottest ones. I rarely know what’s on the NYTimes book list; I tend to be drawn to a cover, and then if the outline on the back holds my attention, I’m in. I read what my friends recommend and I note reviews that I happen to see. There’s a stack of books waiting for me, but leave a comment and tell me what your favorite summer read was. Which one couldn’t you put down, and which one put you to sleep? I’d love some suggestions! Or just leave me a comment telling me what you like to read in these posts and what bores you. I can take it. Bring it on!

–>If you enjoyed this post, please hit the title and then the Like button at the bottom of the page. It makes me do a ~~narcissis~~t happy dance! Be sure to get all these posts delivered to your email inbox by hitting the Subscribe button. No spam, nothing but Tales From the Motherland posts. Thanks for taking the time to read this post!

Posted in Awareness, Blog, Blogging, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Life, Musings, My world, Writing | Tagged Book lists, Books, Erin Morgenstern, Game of Thrones, George R. R. Martin, J. R.R. Tolkien, reading, Sue Monk Kidd, Summer reads, Tales from the Motherland, The Good Earth, The Night Circus | 4 Comments

Finally a Diagnosis! (Living as an Ernie in a Bert world)

Posted on September 3, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

A friend posted a wonderful article today that really touched a chord for me. Finally, some answers. And be sure to click on some of these links for some real Muppet high jinx and fun.

Voila! C’est moi!
Copyright Disney

After years of trying to figure out what makes me so… well… crazy, the verdict is in: I’m a Chaos Muppet. Based on Dahlia Lithwick’s wonderful article, (read this now:) Chaos Theory: A Unified Theory of Muppet Types (in Slate), there is finally a brilliant, scientific explanation for all the things that make me so nuts, that I can really embrace. I’m an Ernie living with Bert. I’m the Swedish Chef cooking for Big Bird (a tall, affable Order Muppet if I ever knew one). I’m Miss Piggy lovin’ on her Kermit, and producing a mixed-Muppet brood (Principessa and Middle Man are pretty clearly Order Muppets, with some genetic Chaos, and Little Man is 100% Chaos). I can now see that I’ve been running into ABC-123-cookie crumbling-beaker exploding-walls for far too long. I just didn’t know that I’m simply a Chaos Muppet, admiring and aspiring to fit in with all the Order Muppets I watch from the sidelines. It explains pretty much everything that has kerfluffled me for so long.

The Order Muppet moms always seem to have their kids’ schedules worked out, carpools organized, the right book covers/pens/notebooks/calculators (before they’re sold out), their kids’ social networks in line with their family ties, and they generally look good whenever I see them. They know when the early release dates are, and have them on their calendars, before school starts in the fall. Chaos moi is baffled each time my baby Elmos come home early, inevitably on a day I have plans. My kids are forever getting reminders to get their text books covered, while I try to remember or Google the perfect method for covering a book, something that my Order Muppet classmates figured out when we were in junior high and high school. My mother was a Chaos Muppet too. So while I admired and expired to be like the mother’s who had it all down, I have long been a Chaos girl who tries to be an Order Muppet.

Perfect hangers and color co-ordinated sections… but in all else chaos reigns.

I love Order. Those who know me would agree that I certainly aspire to a certain level of it. My linen closet is always neat and organized, until my kids come home in the summer. I love to see things in clear, air-tight containers in my pantry. My closet is filled with matching hangers that don’t leave shoulder indents and from which my clothes can’t slide off. It took me years to find the right hangers and convert my closet over to them. In a rare departure from our genetic make-ups, Smart Guy is satisfied with plastic and dry cleaner wire, so our closet halves don’t match. I like all of my towels folded a very specific way and my earrings hung up, not thrown in a bin. Is this not Order? Doesn’t that sound a wee bit Kermit to you? A teeny bit Bert?

But then there’s my office: a beacon of disorderly chaos. I don’t even let people in. The piles of papers that gather on counter tops and tables, while I try to figure out what I want to do with them, are endless. No, don’t just throw that in recycling! I cry out to Smart Guy (who would put every scrap of mail in recycling the minute it arrives), I want to look at it. He shakes his head and adds it to a pile, and I throw it in recycling a few weeks later, when I still haven’t gotten to it. No! Don’t just throw away that sleeping bag (from 1979), I tell Smart Guy, after he explains that it isn’t even warm anymore. I will take it to the Homeless Camp out behind Fred Meyers. Someone could at least sit on it. (I will do that.) To his credit, my Kermit puts it in the donation pile with minimal argument, as we work on balance. (This video is a perfect example of how we work together.)

I am perpetually creating more chaos, in my ~~misguided~~ desire to be more Kermit like. I

wallstickeroutlet.com

adore my aunt, who is the ultimate Order Muppet. There is no place I can think of that is more calming and nurturing, or ultra orderly, than her home. Nothing out of place, everything labeled and tidy. Yet as much as I admire it, my Chaos genes are too strong, and the Elmo in me comes wiggling out the minute–> I get home. My suitcase remains unpacked for weeks, conceivably until I’m traveling again; my dirty clothes remain in a pile at the base of my dresser, until I put them all in the hamper… Despite the orderly hangers looking on in disgust.

It’s the balance that makes Muppet Theory work and that’s the part I need to embrace and work on. So my kids don’t always have book covers; they have all gone to good colleges (so far) and are remarkable, interesting people. My office is a nightmare, but I’m a good and loyal friend, who is bound to hug you firmly and drag you out for some mischief. My counters may have piles, but my colorful walls are covered with bold artwork and my house is inviting and comfortable (if you ignore the piles or projects that need doing). My kitchen may be a mess, but the meal I make will taste damned good, because I love to cook. I was never the orderly cook who wiped her counters as she went along, or who put the mess directly in the sink or dishwasher. I’m the shove-one-mess- over-so-I-can-create-another on the counter Muppet… but again, it will taste great!

I admit to wanting more Order in my life, and struggling to fit into a world that admires Order over Chaos. People tend to think the Elmos, Ernies, Grovers (my personal favorite Chaos dude), Cookie Monsters and Miss Piggies of the world are funny, amusing, cute even… but it’s the Big Birds, the Berts, the Sams and ultimately: the Kermits- the logical, calm and reasonable Muppets, that people really listen to. Those are the Muppets that we believe make sense, while the others- the Chaos Muppets are just silly entertainment. Though that balance in my life is an on-going challenge that I struggle to make peace with, perhaps it really is the Chaos and the Order, side by side that works.

usmagazine.com

Perhaps if I was better at seeing the Ernie in Smart Guy, or better yet the Kermit, I would be less likely to feel so frustrated? So annoyed? I’d know that it’s not easy being green, and I might be less quick to those other emotions. If he could see the Ernie, the Elmo, The Cookie Monster and Miss Piggy in me, he might laugh at my crazy, determined, chaotic ways? Seems to me that Muppet Theory could add a whole lot of warm and fuzzy perspective to the issues that trouble me most. Principessa recently told me that I was “the most outrageous, inappropriate person she knows.” It should be noted that she said this with a smile, but I knew that she meant every word. I wasn’t sure whether to celebrate or hang my head in shame. It also made me question who she spends her time with… I’m of the (prejudiced) mindset that she definitely needs a bit more Cookie in her life… and I’m not talking about the gluten free variety. Considering her comment in relation to this important new psychological profiling, if I’m a combination of Elmo and Miss Piggy, her pronouncement makes a lot more sense. If I’m just unstable and provocative, it’s a bit more troubling.

It’s so much clearer to me now, why I never really got Bert, Oscar, Skooter, or Sam the Eagle. They bored me. Though I certainly understood them, I mostly wanted to ruffle their feathers and see them let loose a little. Big Bird was always cute, but not exciting enough; he didn’t hold my attention. That said, I totally enjoy Elmo, but he gets on my nerves… as I do with the Order Muppets in my life. Cookie is so obviously over the top, but who doesn’t want to shove all the cookies in their mouths sometimes? The Count may epitomize Order and sensibility as he counts and categorizes his world, but I always connected with his maniacal laugh and loss of control, when he finally hit that final number. The counting itself bored me: only a means to crazy end. And what about Kermit? He’s a whole other Muppet. Who doesn’t love Kermit? Seriously. I may have wanted to shake him up, but undoubtedly, Kermit charms me every time. That may be why I Miss Piggy keeps plugging along with ~~Smart Guy~~ Kermit. He’s attractive for the Order he brings, and irresistible because he almost always loses it a little… keeping me Miss Piggy on her toes, and in balance.

The whole gang; Chaos and Order all together.
Copyright: Muppet Studios, LLC

The Muppet Theory also explains the attraction to certain friends and friendships. As a Chaos girl, I need the balance of my Kermit, Bert, Sam friends, but would lose my mind without my fellow Ernie, Elmo, Cookie, Miss Piggy pals. We shake things up, while the others bring order back to the disheveled mess we create. Balance, it’s critical. As much as I need to embrace a little more Order in my life, I would feel flat and lost without the Chaos. It would keep me from breaking out and singing opera when I’m being silly, or belly dancing when I shouldn’t be. I probably wouldn’t say some of the outrageous things I do, if I was an Order Muppet. The little voice of Kermit reason would warn me to zip it more often. I might be more even, more status quo, but I’d probably lose some of the edge that makes me me. Again, balance: it’s critical. I’ll continue to work towards bringing a little more Order to my life, while encouraging some playful Chaos in those around me. I’ll work to clean that office and sort the piles, but I’m probably going to keep shoveling cookies (or Cheez Its) in my mouth for years to come. I’m just that kind of Muppet.

What kind of Muppet are you? And how is that working for you? Which is your favorite Muppet and why? What kind of Muppet is your partner? Does it work? Share your thoughts in the comment section. Then take your Muppet fingers and hit the Like button at the bottom of this post, and I’ll do a happy little Elmo dance. (One more time: click on the title of this post, and the comments will be at the bottom, along with Like/Share)

Posted in Awareness, Blog, Blogging, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Sarcasm, Women's issues, Writing | 11 Comments

Nursing My Broken Heart…

Posted on August 30, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

If you’ve read this blog long enough, you know I’m unstable. You would have predicted this post, and you can now gloat. It was inevitable. I am supposed to be shopping: enjoying a solo day in the city, time to myself after months of none. I was suppose to see a friend today, and finally get to meet her delicious new baby girl, who has become three months old, without me seeing her. I woke with a sore throat and chills, so no babies for me today. Sitting here, I think it’s for the best: I’m not sure I could spend time today with another mom and her sweet, little girl… it might be too much. None of what I anticipated today is happening, because I’ve got a lump in my throat and I tear up at the merest effort to move from this spot. So, I’m sitting in a Starbucks to try and type a tourniquet around my bleeding heart.

This heart is weak; it bleeds easily. There are fissures and scars across its surface, to attest to the many times I’ve sat just like this… slowly bleeding out. My girl, Principessa, left today; Again. I just can’t fully wrap my head around all the emotions that are battering this heart right now. Didn’t I practically wish for this all summer? I believe I even posted it here. I certainly said it out loud more than once. She drove me crazy. I drove her crazy. Until it was time for her to leave. Then we found our sweet spot again and there were cuddles, tender moments, dancing, singing in harmony, hugs… and tears at the airport. A long, long, lingering goodbye. I smelled her sweet neck, and buried my face in her hair. She hugged me back. I didn’t want to let go. I knew that when I did let go, she’d be gone… far away, for far longer than I want to think about. Back to the land that beckons her. Israel.

All roads lead here.

If you have the time, and the inclination, you can go back and read Ode To Girl Interrupted, for the long and complicated history of Principessa’s love affair with Israel, her faith, and our rocky road. It’s probably worth it, and there are all of the photos you won’t find in this one… of my cute girl when she was little and just strong willed, before she became a young woman and had convictions. If you read Drunk Blogging… On A Very Big Day (written while proverbially “3 sheets,” upon her college graduation in May), or remember it, then you know that my girl tends to bring up these emotions in me. Each time however, I seem to get blindsided. I see it coming and think I’m prepared. I think to myself I’ll be fine this time, I know what to expect… and then I come around the bend at SEATAC, see the line of airline names and as I say to her, You’re on Jet Blue, right? I begin to cry again. Not the borderline, isolated tear running down your cheek cry, but the big old lump in your throat, voice cracking, don’t-be-wearing-mascara-when-it-comes cry. And that’s exactly what happened this morning.

The summer was not easy. It hasn’t been for the last couple of years, since my two oldest kids went off to college and thought they could come home and tell me everything I’m doing wrong: “Why does it matter if my dishes sit here all day? You know I’ll put them away later; what does it matter?” “It makes more sense to keep the x, y, z here, not there.” “Yeah, I’ll do it later. Mom, it doesn’t matter.” “Why do you care?” Why indeed. Oh the list is long. And equally long is the list they might give you of the unreasonable expectations I have. There would probably be a kernel of merit to their lists, if I were willing to look at them. If. But it was not an easy summer, and Principessa and I butted heads so many times that I really thought I might not feel sad to see her go. There were moments when I distinctly thought: I can’t wait for her to go! Foolish me.

She was in a tough place this summer. She has spent years working on a formal conversion to Orthodox Judaism. The requirements and efforts are huge, and she has risen to the challenges and worked hard for this. However, she spent much of the summer waiting for a formal date for the conversion, not sure if it would happen or whether it would be in time for her to go to school (Yeshiva) again in Israel. In Ode To Girl I shared our difficulties with kosher cooking, changes in style, and things that we’d done together for most her life that we can no longer do easily, if at all. That remained the same this summer. However, her anxiety over: waiting for a date for her conversion, and trip to the mikvah in Boston, and then her plans to travel to Israel to study Torah at Pardes Institute, which depended entirely on the conversion going through, weighed on her all summer. She did not want to return to Israel unless she was fully Jewish, in the eyes of anyone who might ask in Israel. Given that I am not Jewish, she needed the conversion for that to be true. So, while she’d been accepted to the wonderful programs at Pardes, and offered incredible merit scholarships, she was not willing to accept and go unless that last “t” was crossed. It made her tense and frustrated. One might even say, very difficult to be around. I would tell you that I had a big old “direct your frustrations here” bullseye on me all summer. (^^My favorite Farside cartoon, popped into my thoughts more than once this summer…) Yes, yes… I know, they always dump on the ones they trust can handle it, the ones they love… again, I’m not that mom.

Word came only a few weeks ago, after three months of pins and needles: She was given a date, 8/31/2012, tomorrow, for the conversion. All the pieces began to fly into place. She would tell you that fly is a simplification: she worked to get them all there. But things seemed to turn around in a day. She could get ready for classes, look for an apartment, pack her things. She found out that a very good friend would be going to Israel for a year too, and in the most amazing twist learned (last minute) that they will be on the same flight from Boston to Turkey to Tel Aviv! Suddenly, when she could exhale and begin to get excited about these plans, she turned back to me and wanted to reconnect. I was hurt and bruised. It didn’t go easily.

Look, I’ve said it before: I’m not that mom. I’m not the mom who has her shit together and is good at compartmentalizing it all. When Principessa was going nuts this summer, and dumping all over me, it hurt. I recoiled and put up some walls. It’s been hard enough to accept that she has chosen such a very different life path than the one we put her on… Yeah, I know, that’s what kids do. But, for all of you who tell me I should be glad she’s passionate, that she’s bright and independent, that it will be so exciting for her… For all of you who say, it could be so much worse. Duh. But, I wonder if it would feel different if it was your girl running toward something you didn’t relate to at all. If one of the loves of your life was racing head long into a lifestyle that you knew you would never really fit into, with her, again. What if your girl wanted to live on the other side of the world, possibly forever? Really, would you still see all those silver linings? And, if your answer is still yes… either you don’t get it, or as I said, I’m just not that mom.

I’m the bit-broken mom. I fracture easily, I bend, but I also snap. I mend, but with scars. This one is really brutal. I could barely bear it when I watched her walk into that airport this morning, with her giant back pack and bags: all of the things she thinks she’ll need for a year or more. I could barely stand it when she paused and looked around our house, and our yard this morning and I knew she was taking a mental picture… in case she’s not back, for a very long time. I felt my heart bursting as she picked up that back pack and I knew that all that she needs is in there, and all of the things she left at home are the things she is leaving behind. I swallowed lumps of gratitude and bitter-sweet as we drove and she told me about all of the people and things in Israel that she is looking forward to being with again. There are so many “strangers” I would thank and embrace, for the love and care they have shown my girl. Oh the kindness of strangers, how I’ve leaned on them in my mind.

There are so many things I want to say to her, but I know she is following her heart, her own path, and I need to step back. I just don’t like doing it. My heart tore a little, two weeks ago when she asked me if I’d fly to Boston with her and stand beside her at the mikvah. It was such a huge gift from my girl, that had to swallow hard before saying I’d try. The flights were impossible: Labor Day Weekend, and I need to be home by Monday. Not possible. But the fact that she asked, that she’d have her non-Jewish mother, who brought all of this turmoil on her in the first place (If I’d just converted 25 years ago, if Smart Guy had picked a Jewish girl, if…), stand beside her, started the crack that’s been spreading across my heart for the past weeks since she asked. Each day I’ve desperately thought: what if I just go? If it really is “the thought that counts,” then she will have me beside her tomorrow.

I can’t stand beside her anymore, only in spirit. She is grown up, making grown up decisions. There’s no turning back the clock or wishing for re-dos. For the record: there’s a lot I would re-do. Instead, I’m doing my best with what I have: good intentions; endless love for all three of my kids, that I hope travels with them and allows them to forgive and over-look the missteps I’ve made along the way; a fractured heart that holds each of them in its leaky chambers. If I’d known how hard this would be, if I someone had shown me a glimpse of this present moment in Starbucks, where Landslide just came on (Principessa and I sang it together two days ago. Stevie Nicks still rules this, but this version we sang), and I turned my face to the wall to hide my weepy, mascara running eyes… If I’d known all of this, would I do it again? In a fractured heart beat.

Posted in Aging, Awareness, blogs, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Personal change, Women, Women's issues, Writing | Tagged Inter-faith families, Israel, Jewish conversion, Judaism, Letting go of our children, loss, Musings, Orthodox Judaism, Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies, parenting, personal change, self-awareness, Tales from the Motherland | 24 Comments

The Middle (is back!): The Art of the Micro-Vacation

Posted on August 29, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

The Middle is back! If you noticed it was missing, thanks for being part of the small group of readers that stuck with me through the summer, when stats dropped waaay off. I’ve worried that I’ve lost my groove (still figuring that out, frankly)… maybe the writing’s gotten stale? Maybe our trip to Peru was more interesting to me than to anyone else? Or, the posts were just too long? Whatever… I figure it’s time to get back to a rhythm and Wednesdays are The Middle.

If you live in an ugly place, you may want to reconsider reading this. It could be depressing… Because I live in probably the most beautiful place there is, and that means that I can take a micro-vacation almost any day. So if you lived in an ugly place, this might make you jealous, and then you might wish your life was different, and maybe you’ll start thinking about the other things that you don’t like, and well, it’s a slippery slope… If you’re comfortable with your surroundings, you might still be jealous after reading this. Either way, you’ve been warned.

I live in the Pacific Northwest: Washington state. Those of us who live here, are always inclined to add “state” after Wasthington, lest you think we’re from the Capital: Washington, DC. On a map of the U.S., it’s the furthest Northwest corner of the country, twenty-five minutes from the Canadian border, and one hour from perhaps the most beautiful Canadian city: Vancouver. We’re surrounded by mountains. On a clear day we can see: the Olympics, the North Cascades, the Canadian Coastal Range, (all from my house!) and Mount Baker rises above our city, silent and watchful. We are surrounded by water as well: Puget Sound glitters each day, the San Juan islands are gems that highlight our horizon. There are three fantastic lakes in our small town, so in addition to Puget Sound, there is no lack of places to paddle, sail, swim, fish, or just sit beside the water. There is also endless opportunities to slip away for a few hours and feel like you went on vacation… a micro-vacation. Micro-vacation? A few hours, maybe a day, that feels like a whole vacation away. Around here, it’s easy. When you live in Heaven, life is sweet.

Here are a few of my favorite micro-vacations, right at my doorstep:

Tiny slice of heaven. Makes working out divine.

The Interurban Trail: This wonderful trail runs throughout our area, connecting neighborhoods, areas of town and providing some of the best walking/cycling/running/ meditation possible. Near my home it runs through Arroyo Park, a lush fern and waterfall filled canyon, near Chuckanut. I love to walk the 4+ mile section that follows Chuckanut drive (check this link for dozens of incredible shots!), through the trees, with spectacular glimpses of the Bay and islands. There’s a fresh spring for my dog to drink from, and at various points I am walking beside beautiful homes and then deep pine and fern forests with streams and lush cover, all along a flat, gravel trail in the woods. I often end up walking further then I intend, just because it’s so beautiful, and I loose myself completely in the place. Takes me about 2 minutes to get there, and I always come home feeling as if I’ve been away.

Biking around Lummi Island: One of my very favorite summer/fall micro-vacations is a bike ride around Lummi Island. The drive out to the ferry is about 30 minutes. We walk on, paying $7 r/t with our bikes. The loop around the island is just over 7 miles, and an easy ride even on a hot day. There are two hills and the rest is mostly gentle up and down or flat along the beach. The entire ride follows gorgeous farm land on one side and changing views of the sound on the other. We’ve seen seals, eagles, herons, and picked berries all along the route. We love to stop at one of two small beaches on the island and just chill. The sounds, smells and incredible views are priceless! I make sure I get out there at least once a summer, but two trips a year is even better. After a ride, we always finish with dinner at the Beach Store Cafe. Everything is local and organic, and with delicious options that make my entire family happy. A cold, micro brew beer and fresh local mussels… Yum! Coming back on the ferry at night, I always feel like I’ve been on a real vacation, even if the whole trip is generally done in four hours or less. (Lummi Ferry, bikes on board, bucolic scenes, delicious food, and if you get tired? Beautiful beaches to lie on…. Vacation.)

Fairhaven to Interurban via Boulevard Park: Amazing walk! We are so lucky to have this incredible slice of beauty to enjoy. I like to start at the Chrysalis Hotel, walk out over the water on our amazing board, through Boulevard Park (watch slack liners, readers, lovers, musicians, dog lovers, and every character in between) and along the Interurban to downtown. Sometimes I stop for a green tea at Woods Coffee (Starbucks, eat your heart out: THE best coffee around!), or I pick blackberries along the trail… or I just count my blessings that I have this walk, about a mile and a half from my home. (Scenes from a walk)

A holy place: old growth forest

<– You have to climb up the roots, just to stand at the bottom of this tree!

Mount Baker: Year round this is one of my favorite locations! I love to drive up there on a clear day just to look at the mountains, but depending on the time of year, we also go sledding (summer or winter), skiing (winter), hiking (late summer/fall), sightseeing (year round) or just day tripping (all year). It’s the first place we took our exchange students last year, and one of the key destinations when we have visitors. We often stop at the Old Growth Grove on the way up or back, as well as the spectacular Nooksack Falls. We’ve been up to Baker twice this month: once the main route and this past weekend the back route, through Sedro-Wooly. This past weekend we stopped at Shadow of the Sentinels, another old growth grove with a wonderful 1/2 mile boardwalk. When the kids were little, we went there much more often as they loved to walk forever on the ginormous fallen trees, through the forest. In general, the woods around here are the the stuff of faeries, hobbits, and magic… as anyone who lives here can tell you. So, any day in the woods is a good day. Generally we go up the main route to Heather Meadows, and the reward for any day skiing or hiking is Milanos restaurant, my favorite Italian place, bar none! We occasionally flip and stop at the Northfork Beer Shrine, Pizzeria, Microbrewery and wedding chapel. We’ve never seen a wedding there, but the pizza and beer are great! Our favorite place after cutting our Christmas tree each year. It’s one hour from my driveway to the top of Baker (on a good day), but give us an afternoon up there, doing any number of things we do at Baker, and we come home totally chill. (Parking lot this August- lots of snow this year! Biking, sledding in July, Spring skiing, and my favorite Chain of Lakes trail hike… Baker is the place to be!)

Hate the hair, love the scene… It really is THAT gorgeous!

Deception Pass: Any day, any kind of weather (except rain… maybe). Just the sight of the bridge makes my pulse slow and my thoughts drift. Put me on the beach, on the south side of the pass and I am one happy girl. Sometimes I drive down and back just to enjoy a half hour of unbeatable beauty. Roundtrip with stop: 1.5-2 hrs. Throw in a stop for spot prawns en route, and it’s a few minutes longer.

Vancouver or Seattle: Two incredible cities, both an hour away. A day spent in either is a vacation any time. (Vancouver or Seattle, hard to pick! Oh, that’s right I can visit either, in an hour.)

livingamused.com

Cycling into Stanley Park. Best kind of day!

Best salad ever! 22 Greens, Honkey in Peru w/options.

Bellingham Farmer’s Market: I said in a post last summer, it is my favorite summer routine. Saturdays are for the Market, and something’s missing when I don’t go. Sunset Magazine ranked it as the #1 Farmer’s Market “across the West.” Hello! I love the people there. I love the color and sounds. I love the smells: Ethiopian, Greek, Salmon, BBQ, Kettle Corn, Cooked nuts, hand made soaps, fresh flowers, fresh fruits and vegetables, baked goods… all blend to create a uniquely Farmer’s Market smell, that makes me relax instantly. Give me my favorite salad at 22 Greens (ironically called Honky in Peru, and with a few personal signature additions- Dawn in Peru), my 15 yr old reusable bags, and time to wander… and I’m on vacation each and every Saturday.

Take me to the water… and leave me to drift.

Fragrance Lake: It takes a little more effort to get me up this hike, as it’s: UP. Bad knee and motivation keep me away, more than I’d like because this is absolutely one of my favorite places! I’ve never hiked up (spring or summer) and not jumped in the tiny, peaceful lake at the top of the ridge, even when the water’s cold. One swim and I feel revitalized for days! We can hike up at 10 AM, go for a swim and still be eating lunch on our deck… but feel like we’ve been away on vacation. After one such hike, Smart Guy looked at me, smiled and said: “Can you believe we live here?”

No, most days it’s hard to believe that we got this lucky! Had we not come out for my cousin’s wedding 12 years ago, had we not fallen in love with the area, we may

At the end of any given day… the vacation ends here.

never have seen that there was a job opening here (first time in 13 years) for Smart Guy. We might never have flown out three days after seeing the ad, and we would still live in a place that was ugly. To friends who still live there, and who are reading this, sorry. There were a few things we loved, chief among them friends, but having lived in a place that I didn’t find beautiful, makes each day here that more of a blessing. Blesssed beauty.

Where do you live? Do you take micro-vacations in your own back yard? Where’s your favorite place to run away to for a few hours? Do you end up eating everywhere you go, too? Share your thoughts in the comment section, and take a minute to hit the Like link (put cursor on title, then click on like at the bottom). Your feedback is appreciated!

Notes: Some of these photos do not do justice to the places- best I could do with a cell phone. Thanks to Paul Anderson (who is lucky enough to live here too!) for one of these shots; your work is spectacular! Length- Perhaps I’ll need to work back to shorter posts… but there are so many spectacular places around me that it was hard to narrow it down to the ones that I really can’t live without! We like living in a small, gorgeous town, so if you found this particularly amazing don’t even think about moving here. I’ve exaggerated completely.

Posted in Awareness, Beautiful places, Beauty, Blog, Daily Observations, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Natural beauty, Nature, travel, Wonderful Things, Writing | Tagged Beauty, Bellingham, Bellingham Farmer's Market, Cycling, Deception Pass, Lummi Island, Mt Baker, travel, vacations, Washington state, Woods Coffee | 15 Comments

TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND

The Middle: One Hour of Therapy.

Some Drunk Thoughts… Does This Mean I Have a Problem?

365 Regrets, Blessings, Lessons.

The Middle: If You’re Fu@#ing All The Time, You Must Be A…

This Is Your Brain on Drugs; This is My Brain on The Dining Room Table.

What We Don’t Tell You In Our Blogs: Peru… The Outtakes.

The Middle… Read Me.

Finally a Diagnosis! (Living as an Ernie in a Bert world)

Nursing My Broken Heart…

The Middle (is back!): The Art of the Micro-Vacation

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© Dawn Quyle Landau & Tales From the Motherland. This is my work; don’t make me go all Boston on your @$$.

Hit Me Baby One More Time!

Featured Blogger on:

Thank You BlogHer!

The Grass Is Always Greener on Someone Else’s Head

Daily Prompt: Dialogue, She Said What?

On My Father’s Birthday: A Letter To The Man Who Killed Him

On My Father’s Birthday, A Letter To the Man Who Killed Him

Open The Vault (archives) :

Most Popular Posts:

TFTM: Proud to be featured in the book Tangerine Tango

As of Sept. 8, 2014

54,000 words, in 18 days, 2012!

Love From Ra