The Middle… The Sunshine Is On Me (Award Season kicks off)

I have just been awarded the The Sunshine Award, in blogging, by Lisa at Cyclingrandma. What a sunny way to start a day!  I’ll say it again, the blogging community is an amazing entity. When I started my blog seven months ago, I was barely aware of blogs, and there were none that I “followed.”  Since starting mine, however, I’ve found an entire network of writers, who have helped me figure out ways to build my own niche, have entertained me, and who have honored me with their praise and support. There’s an entire world of fellow writers, out there, who put out work that is humorous, intelligent, thought provoking, moving, and just about every thing in between. I write to express myself and share things that are stewing upstairs. To be honored by a peer in the blog world is icing: butter-cream, chocolate swirl, icing, on a super rich cake.  (That–> kind of icing, on that kind of cake… that’s how good.)

Sure, the cynics in the crowd (of which I am often included), could argue that this is just a way for us all to “Toot our own horns,” and maybe they would be right; but so what? My writing means a lot to me, and it’s especially fulfilling when others read it and acknowledge it. I’m proud to be acknowledged by other writers, who I enjoy and admire. I’m happy to pass along the good vibes, pay it forward (something I enthusiastically embrace, whenever possible) and spread the word. There are some great things being written out there and I for one enjoy reading them. If you do too, read on:

The guidelines for receiving this award:

1) Thank the person who gave you the award Thank you, again, Lisa of Cyclingrandma. Lisa has read my blogs and left a comment for some time now and I am grateful for her support and time. You should check out her blog Cyclingrandma. She makes some very clever observations about all kinds of things in her kosher/cycling/going to the ballet/ interesting world.

2) Write a post about it- This is it.

3) Answer the questions below- Read on. Duh.

4) Pass it on to 10 bloggers who you think really deserve it and send them a message to let them know-  I’ll do my best.

 **10 questions:

Favorite color: Hard call. I love color, but I’m also a gray girl. I’d have to go with shades of orange, with blues and greens tied for second.

Favorite animal: My dog Luke. His partner Callie held my heart for 15 years, but Luke is a devoted love.

Favorite number:  Don’t have one.

Favorite non-alcoholic drink: Water

Facebook or Twitter?  Facebook (see Old Dog + New Trick). But, I have been told that I really must try Twitter, and I just might…

My passions:  Family, Writing, Music, The ocean, Travel, Solitude, Reading, Hiking. The order is confusing at times.

Giving or receiving presents?  Ok, I’ll admit it: it’s a tie. I love picking out presents for people, but I do love getting them.

Favorite pattern: Have never given this a thought. I’ll throw in a twist:  Consistency.


Favorite day of the week:  A day when I feel free to do what I want, no questions asked.

 Favorite flower:  Huge fan of Tulips and snapdragons, but a field of poppies bring tears to my eyes.

Ten bloggers I nominate for a Sunshine Award:  Several of these, I’ve nominated for other awards, before, but honestly, I skip around a lot. These are ones that I come back to.

All Write:  What’s in a name? If you’re Harper Faulkner: wit, humor, social commentary, and a fabulous wife, all in one place, with great writing.

Me 2.0: Because Mikalee always makes me laugh, even when she’s being a Dick. (Check out her blog, to get why I would dare call her that)

Rita’s Reflections:  Rita Russell keeps me reading. Her posts are short, funny and ring true for me. I always have fun reading them.

Some Species Eat Their Young: Chase McFadden is hysterical, sexy (imitating what women say) and beautiful to read, as a dad and husband.

Snagglewordz: The name amuses me, her blog is exciting to follow. This is writer, documenting her efforts to be published. I find that fascinating.

Dig this Chick: She won’t notice this award, because she’s huge… but I love peeking in on her beautiful life in Montana. It makes me smile.

Indulge, Travel, Adventure & New Experience: Another blog that is huge (427,000 hits!), but Lesley Carter’s adventures make me salivate.

Eldon (We Specialize in Awkwardness): I admit, I like this blog in a creeper kind of way… I’m too old for his follies, but Eldon makes me “Lol.”

Domestic Simplicity: I may be past this phase of life, but I find Lillian’s photos spectacular, and her writing charming and soothing. So lovely.

How The Hell Did I End Up Here?:  A new one for me, that I am loving. Eleanor says it like it is, in her world. And I love that. We are two chicks who would seemingly have little in common, but have more “amens” to share, each time I read one of her posts, or visa versa. Check her out.

Every time I have to put together one of these lists, I feel a little badly. There are SO many great blogs and I am pretty lazy… when it comes to finding them and following them. While I really enjoy the ones above, there are others who follow me, or who I have found along the way, that are equally deserving. Do some exploring; you might be surprised.

Thanks, again, Lisa. Check out her blog Cyclingrandma. She writes about her observations as a mother and grandmother of kosher kids (like me), living in the NYC area and cool memories of an interesting childhood. And she rides a bike, whenever she can. I admire that!  I’m truly honored that she shared this with me.

Toot, toot!  Thanks for reading.  If you enjoyed this blog, and the new sources for reading, hit the Like button below. Share the post with others, withe Share link. And, check out the Facebook page: Tales from the Motherland

Posted in Blog, Blogging, blogs, Honest observations on many things, Uncategorized, Wonderful Things, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

If a Tree Falls in the Woods, and Mom’s Not There To Answer, Did It Make a Sound?

Warning:  She’s baaaaack!  Sarcasm prevails. Snarky to the 10th. Kids, run and hide. Don’t read this, because I don’t want your feedback. Seriously.

Deep philosophical question:  If a phone rings in a house, full of teens and, oh, let’s say a spouse (Smart Guy), and Mom’s not home, or is making dinner, or is busy doing something else… does the phone make a sound? Does it still ring? Or, does the call not matter, since “it’s probably for Mom anyway…” And, if it’s not for her, the others don’t need to answer it, because she should be the one to say “just a minute, I’ll get him/her.”  Is it just me, or does it seem very strange that regardless of what I’m doing, the phone in our house can ring and ring and ring, while others (often sitting less than 10 feet from said phone) continue to play video games, listen to iPods, read the news, or just look confused as to why that thing continues to make noise?  When I’m not home, I call the house (knowing that three people are there) and still get no answer. If I wait for the answering machine, and yell into it: “Hey! Is someone there? Please pick up the phone! Helloooo! PICK. UP. THE. PHONE!!”  No answer. So, I come home, find a few people milling around the kitchen, where the answering machine is and ask, “Didn’t you guys hear me call a few minutes ago?”  “Um, yes, but I didn’t think you needed me.” What? Was I calling myself?

The idea that the phone, the doorbell, and dinner, have become my soul property and territory, drives me nuts! To some degree, it’s true that more calls are for me; but actually, there are quite a few that are nebulous: various organizations, solicitations, etc, calls that pretty much either adult could certainly answer. However, no matter where I am in the house, or how busy I am, the phone will ring away, unless I answer it. On occasion, to make a passive-aggressvie point, I’ve let it ring, and watched a room full of people glance in my direction. I may have even walked over to the phone, noted that it wasn’t for me, or was a neutral caller, and said “Hmm, it’s for  _______.”  The outcries are amazing when I stand there not answering! “Well, why aren’t you answering it.”  I might have said, “It’s not for me.”  It would be surly at the least, a touch passive-aggressive I guess (something I’ve been working on; read: Extra! Extra! Passive-Aggressive Control Freak…), or even bitchy to do that. And, I may have done it, once or six times. Who’s counting?  The others, that’s who. Apparently, it’s a serious crime for me to not answer the phone (even if it means running from the other room, while others sit much closer), while it’s standard protocol for anyone else in this house to ignore it, on the assumption that it probably isnt’ for them anyway. (Yes I’m aware that the visual, doesn’t really work today^^… I’m just feeling that old and cranky!)

The same rule applies to the doorbell. If it rings, all heads turn. “Who could that be?” is generally uttered as if no one would ever come to our door. Faithful dog, Luke, barks enthusiastically, but has not mastered actually opening the door. So I go. Like the phone, it will probably be for me anyway, right?  If it isn’t obviously for me, it’s something I should deal with. Mail, UPS, campaign solicitations… you name it, it’s for Mom to deal with. Strangely, it doesn’t seem to be a manner thing. I hear all the time, from others, that my kids are “so polite.”  They know how to answer a phone or door and handle these complex situations, but they along with Smart Guy have simply been brain washed into believing that it isn’t safe for them to do these tasks. It must be a matter of safety, right? Deep seeded fears of answering calls or opening the door? Otherwise, why would they avoid it so completely? It can’t be lazy, entitled, ridiculous notions that it’s just my job, right? That can’t be it!

Dinner. That is the Queen of all mysteries. While it’s true that I “stay at home,” and thus would be more likely to make the majority of dinners, I’m not at all sure when it became a set in cement thing that it was my job, always, and completely… Forever. It is even further beyond my comprehension how the question “What’s for dinner?” became a widely accepted form of greeting in our house, only when greeting me. I generally say “Hi! How was your day? School? Your case, etc” Not, “Hi, what’s for dinner?” Yet, I am greeted every single day, by each of the people living here, with the words “Hey Mom/Dawn/honey, what’s for dinner?” Strange how this seems to work for China and Denmark too. “What’s for dinner” seems to be a universal greeting for, Moms, around the world.  I’m trying to embrace that those three words must imply love, respect, good things, because they all say it so enthusiastically, and then look disappointed when I am not excited to receive the blessing.

Mind you, when you are greeted the same way every day, there are less and less enthusiastic ways to describe the various meals I make, or thank them for asking. I may be a good cook (I am), but describing dinners is just not exciting enough for me to feel invested in answering this question each day… with a smile on my face. In fact, it might be possible that I am not as nice about it as others believe I should be.  I might even admit that I am sometimes… well, unpleasant about this question… particularly when I am asked by each member of the household, separately (though frequently, when others are in the room and conceivably would have heard it asked by another?), in torturous gaps of time… say, 10-15 minutes apart. Add in the days when I am asked this question, or greeted this way, multiple times by the same one or more members of the family, and I could just about explode.

<— Note, that is a hind site dead end.

Trust me, I am well aware that there are many other mothers out there who may read this and question my constitution (Sorry, I’ve just come off a Dowton Abbey bender and find words like constitution, oh so pleasing). I agree, I am weak. I did in fact want to stay home to raise my kids; I did choose to surrender my career (ironically, as a child/teen therapist… oh, such irony!) to enjoy these privilegs. I embraced the idea of being a good cook and making our house my domain. But, I never really understood where that road led, until I was at this seeming dead end. “You made your bed…”  But, why when I want to lie in it (the bed) past 7 AM, do I feel guilty? How come Smart Guy can enthusiastically discuss options for his retirement, but my semi-retirement seems to only further solidify these roles I didn’t anticipate. Two of my birds out of the nest, four mostly grown people now live in the house (including Smart Guy), and they all still turn to me each and every day and say: “What’s for dinner?”  (If I could insert special effects, that would be said in a slow motion, deep echoing tone… that hangs a few seconds in the air.)

Then, there is the litany of complaints comments, faces, and helpful suggestions (especially well received when offered from people who never cook dinner), when I announce my plans for dinner. “What! I hate tomatoes!” Or, “I don’t like cheese.” Or, “Oh, I had pasta for lunch today,” as if I should also track what each person has eaten while they were out, and cross referenced  for overlapping food items, double cross referenced against the various items, likes and dislikes of each individual, and provide something that excites, for each person who asks the Godforsaken question: What’s for dinner?  And while I’m clearly in a hissy about this, I’m trying to avoid dissecting how it got to this point. Since this is my domain, theoretically, did I create this monster? How did it start, and then get this far? Chicken or egg kind of thing, accept that while one is in the mood for chicken, another prefers to have egg! Either way, I know that each day they will hover around the kitchen as it gets dark and watch me for clues. What will she pull out of that stainless steel hat tonight? What’s the answer to the great mystery, tonight?  Unless that is, the phone is rings.

Shout it out: What drives you nuts in your home? What things did you not see coming, that you would change, with a twitch of a nose? Or, is it just me?

Please read the following message, as options have changed:

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be a good dooby and “Share” them with others; it’s nice to share. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a free gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business). And go check out the new Tales From the Motherland Facebook page, and share some thoughts: https://www.facebook.com/TalesFromTheMotherland

Posted in Awareness, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Personal change, Women's issues | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Old Dog + New Trick = Mark Zuckerber, You Suck.

WARNING:   This is a long post. It just is. I clearly have some things to say about Facebook… and brevity was not an option. You’ve been warned. I’ve been working on this for a while, in my head… today it just came busting out. See it as a weekend long read. Do check out some of the links. There are several that are different links, for the same word. Some are funny, some are interesting, some might bore you… but links are something I like.

I’ve had Facebook on the brain a lot lately. That may be because I’ve been spending waaay too much time on it.  Or because lots of my friends are pissy about FB lately, too.  Or because, (I’m not admitting this, just suggesting) Facebook has become something like heroin to me and my addiction is out of control. Small blessings:  I don’t appear to be alone in my frustrations (misery does love company), or addiction, as it is a topic that seems to come up nearly every day now. I’m sure that if I looked around, I might find a group that starts with “Hi, my name is Dawn and I’m a Facebook junky.”  One thing is for sure, I am not a teenager and I do not adjust to all the changes that those youngins at FB seem to find so much glee in creating. In my paranoid-narcissistic daydreams, I am somewhat convinced that the mostly young minds at Facebook headquarters sit around and say things like:  “Hey! If we change all the settings next week,  and don’t tell them, anyone over 35 won’t even notice!”  Or, “Hey! I bet they’ve all gotten used to this format. Let’s switch it up completely, and really mess with their heads!  Man, imagine how all those old folks will feel when their friends can just say they were at such and such bar, even if they weren’t! They’ll never figure out the new security settings!”  Or, the worst yet: “Hey! (I imagine all those young think tank people start every sentence with a youthful Hey!)… Hey!  Let’s change their entire Facebook page to this new thing called Timeline, without even telling them, and see what they do. We’ll just make it a preview, so they can play with it… it will be like slipping them some acid, and then watching them try to climb their own walls!” And then, the bastards probably all share a good “Mwhahaha!”  (click link to enter my scary, paranoid, Michael Jacksonesque world of sound)

Well let me tell you something Facebook:  This old dog does NOT like new tricks!

I’ll start with the addiction part: Facebook has become an addiction that seems to follow me wherever I go!  If I have lunch with a friend, one or both of us is bound to say:  “I saw on Facebook,” or “did you see… FB,” or “they posted it on FB…” more than once, no matter the topic. It’s a venue that has come to include gossip, social awareness, celebrations, current events, and pretty much anything else you can think of.  It just seems lately, like Facebook has taken too much of life’s daily events, and made them all online happenings. When Principessa took a break from FB for the entire winter break, I found myself exasperated that I couldn’t send her the usual cute/interesting/informative/helpful things I usually send her; and it really bugged me. Never mind that she was staying right in the same house, or, as she reminded me: “I still have an email you know!” It bugged me that I couldn’t say Shabbat Shalom each Friday, on her wall. It’s become something I do, like kissing her goodnight when she was little, that was hard to just let go of… For a month, no Shabbat Shalom on her wall!

We say Happy Birthday on Facebook; Congratulations; Thanks; we’re on vacation here ___; I’ve moved; I’m engaged; I’m married; we’re having a baby; here’s the baby; my kid has the best grades; sorry for your loss; party at ___; you’re invited…you’re not; we/they/I did such and such with so and so (you didn’t); look how much fun we’re having; I’m eating ___;  do you want to have lunch/dinner/etc.; how are you?  And heavens’ forbid, you miss the invitation on Facebook, and then miss the lunch/dinner/etc, because Facebook has replaced the phone, the birth announcement,  the birthday card, the condolence card, the thank you note… the PEOPLE.  All of these thing are now shared with everyone of your Facebook “friends,” who somehow, in the process (and in my opinion) stop being people, a little bit.  There is a false sense of intimacy which I find interesting, fun, comforting, disheartening, confusing, disappointing, and a whole bunch of other things.

I admit, I’m part of it; I depend on FB far too much lately. It’s both good and bad… sometimes evil. I find myself looking at pictures of what other people are doing together and feeling disappointed that I’m not in the picture, even if I know I shouldn’t be. I say Happy Birthday to people whose birthdays I would never have known, because we’re not close… and forget to send cards to people I’m close with, because I rely on Facebook to remind me of the date. I remember my kids’, my close family member’s, but for those I forget, pretty much everyone (except a few odd duck friends, wink wink) are on Facebook and FB will remind me that it’s their birthday, so that I can shoot off a cheery greeting and not be that lousy friend/aunt/cousin/ who forgot. I can weigh in on new curtains, new puppies, new hair cuts, vacations, events I missed (or wasn’t invited to anyway), support causes… all without doing, really Anything… aside from hitting a like link, or tying a few quick words.

Let’s be real here: much of it is superficial and lazy.  It’s so much easier to hit a like link, or share link about supporting gay marriage, no coal trains (locally), religious causes, political agendas, and all the formerly personal things mentioned above. Why pay $3.99 for a birthday card, condolence card, miss you, congratulations, holiday, card… if you can simply type the words on someone’s wall and feel good about your efforts?  You can be a Liberal, a Conservative, a Racist, a Friend, a Lover, a Part of It, pretty much anything… by hitting a link on Facebook, typing a few lines in your Status, or hitting a thumbs up sign or Like, on anyone’s wall.  But how often do we stop and ask ourselves:  If I had to show up at a meeting and raise my hand, or actually say the words aloud, or stand side by side with a homosexual, a friend who’s sick, a homeless person, someone with a disease, etc, would you?  Would I?  Have I?  For me, it’s a sobering thought, because I think I’m sitting here reading it all on line, far more than I’m out doing most of it.

I for one love getting mail. I miss getting real birthday cards. I like phone calls (I’m not a good texter). I have kept and re-read every thoughtful condolence card I got from so many kind people, after my mother died a month ago (yes, still counting: four weeks tomorrow)… but honestly, I did not go back and note who said “I’m sorry” when I posted my mother’s death. Frankly, it was weird posting her death… my point exactly. But, I knew that so many friends and relatives, near and afar were waiting for word. I was grateful to only need to make a few crucial calls. Afterwards, I was spiraling in a dark place for a couple of weeks, and it was the mail: the hard copy notes and cards, that touched me most. The phone calls, with a human voice saying “I’m sorry,” that helped me move through the grief.  Of course, I appreciate that lots of people sent me birthday hellos on line, and condolences on my wall, and ultimately I appreciated each one. But, the hard copy ones are so much more tangible. The friends who sent books, when I was sitting alone with my mother, had me grinning from ear to ear, even when they were books about loss.  How wonderful to find a package, a card, a note in the mailbox. Back in the “old days,” I remember I didn’t always take the time to read my birthday cards, but now they seem so much more precious. How often do people count on the internet (in fairness, it isn’t entirely Facebook’s issue; but I’m pissed with them today, and it’s my party…) or a Facebook announcement to invite people to a gathering or event, and not bother to phone, just in case we’re not all junkies who check hourly. I’ve missed several potential lunch/dinner/movie dates with friends, because they sent only an email, and I didn’t see it in time.

“Do as I say, not as I do.”  It’s so easy to type all of this and share my idealistic views; but in reality, I am a junky. I come home from anywhere, and within a set (limited) amount of time, I am checking my FB messages, the notifications (often of people I predominantly see on line, and rarely see in public), the emails that have come in, or my blog stats.  When I’m out, and I have to wait for something, I rarely bring a book anymore; I can check up on all the afore mentioned things on my “smart phone.”  The word “unplugged” is scary to me; though I admire those who do it. I don’t do it very often, or very well. I’m hypocritically aware that when I yell “enough screen time” to my three teens, I’m often in front of my own screen. I can justify a certain amount of extra screen time lately, as I was working on writing and editing the manuscript for months, and I try very hard to keep my blog up to date and post regularly. Some posts take an hour, and others take many hours. Today for instance, it took me forever just to edit the photos on this page. I tried using Photo booth to edit out names and personal info from the photos, but then the quality of the images went way down. In the end, I had to use dry erase markers all over our family Mac, combined with post-its and tape. Luckily, Smart Guy (the new moniker for Hubby. His former on screen name never really fit him, or me) is away for the weekend. Watching me draw all over our computer screen would have caused much ado about nothing!  (So, if you’re reading this now Smart Guy, the screen is cleaner than it’s been in months!)  I am not tech dog. I am an old, junky dog.

<— Note the special effects… accomplished with dry erase markers, post-its and tape. Photo booth, bah!

So, the New Trick:  Well, much to my horror and frankly, mental undoing, I came home from my book group reunion last night and my Facebook page was completely changed. No notice, no warning, just a big, fat shove down the Rabbit Hole.  Our book group of nine years disbanded three months ago and we all decided to get together and do what we do, but a little differently. We brought all the usual yummy pot luck things we bring, but this time we just shared books that we’ve been reading on our own. Freeform, with food.  I drank nothing, nothing people, but water!  I was stone, cold sober when I got home, cleaned up some messes and then went directly to my computer. (The cleaning up messes was my way of proving that I don’t need to go directly-directly to the computer) I clicked on my FB wall and POW!  Instant acid trip. Instant world upside down. Instant “What the hell is this?!!”  Facebook, in all it’s wisdom and let’s mess with the old dog’s head mentality, had switched me over to their new Timeline (good info link, btw) format. Just. Like. That. Well, actually, they kindly informed me (to mess with my head even more!) that only I could see it, not my friends. (Did I mention tripping? Seeing things that no one else can see?) They are giving me the opportunity to look at it and get used to it, and then I can choose to switch over, or… Well, or they will make me do it on February 2nd anyway. I’m sorry Facebook, but Tony Soprano might as well have delivered that message. Seriously, read that message: it’s a direct threat!  Do it, or we’ll do it for you!  Frankly, in the super paranoid state that I was thrust into (seriously, if you come home and your computer tells you that only you can see what you’re seeing, but it’s real… what else is there but paranoia?) I had to wonder if those young dickheads geniuses at Facebook actually targeted me, because I’m one year away from 50… and because they keep track of my birthday (while my nieces, nephews, sister/brother in laws, children don’t)… and they knew that I was already on the edge of a mid-life crisis. Or, were they keenly aware that I am a junky, and they’re switching up the drug, to make me need them more?  What better way to push me over the edge than to switch around my whole on line world, and then tell me that only I can see that it’s there?  (It’s a lie!  I do not actually live on these items. ^^)

 <— Do you see how big Dolly’s image is here… you thought I was gonna say something else, didn’t you? wink. wink. If you look closely, smaller than Dolly, you will see the good causes I believe in too. Some of them, I actually leave the house for.

I could not go to bed.  How could I just turn it off and sleep, with Smart Guy away and the sudden upheaval of my social networking world turned all upside down and sideways and bolder and out of order and distorted and frankly, looking like a hoarder’s dream?  It is all of those things people, I kid you not!  For instance, how did the FB engineers determine that one stupid posting, by my brilliant daughter, about Dolly Parton was somehow worthy of expanding and making it VERY big on my new Timeline page?  I am not a Dolly Parton fan. Neither is my daughter. As I said, brilliant: shoe posted it, just to make a political statement, but see if I’d get it first (I did). I did not delete the post, so as not to hurt my girl’s feelings, but now IF you could actually see my wall, you’d think that I am a huge Dolly singing about Jesus fan. I am not.  You would also think that I spend hours on Pinterest and that I am following a whole bunch of people, that for the record: I have never, ever checked out. I simply Googled Pinterest last night, because my book group friends told me I must (and a blog follower told me they were going to post my blog on there) and this morning, you would think that I had checked out all kinds of things on there. I did not. If you scroll down far enough, you can see that the death of Sarah Burke (touching video here), is clearly dwarfed by my illustrious addition to my 14 year old niece’s Tag a Friend poster (I’m the one that loves her…which I do, Facebook says so).  If you scroll a little further, what was meant as a joke now looks like I only drink Ruby Red Vodka and only eat Ritz and Cheez-Its. I deny that. It may be partially true, but it is not as true as it appears on my new Timeline.

I hate you Timeline! I hate that you mis-represent me; albeit only to myself for now… when I go to my own wall… but you know what I mean. I hate that you sanctimonious, Sillicon Valley (I prefer to ignore that some of them are actually here, in Seattle, where I love living), techno-geek, wiz kids think you can get us all on board (I didn’t even know what Facebook was a few short years ago) and then just keep dumping the boat over, demanding that we swim along, or sleep with the fishes. (Ok, the Tony Soprano thing is clearly a theme here).

<— Here’s a “Roofie” for you Marky Z….  a real one. Just try it baby, then show me how to get my wall back.

All the genius, that I’m so pissed of with today, is not entirely lost on me. I can also admit that I’m impressed and amazed by the Steve Jobs, Steve Wozniaks, Mark Zuckerbergs, Sergey Brins, Bill GatesJimmy Gales (could not live without Jimmy), and countless other brilliant minds who have brought us willingly or not so willingly into this amazing tech world that we now live in. I love that I can share news and info with family and friends all over. There is no doubt that my 30th High School reunion last August, was much better because of the pre-reunion group we had on Facebook (read:  Friend Me). I’ll say it again, that reunion started way before the actual August 6th party, and has kept going because of our “page.” People who hadn’t hung out with each other, did. Classmates were open to making new friends, long after we’d all established very different lives.  It was wicked fun. I love that I can see my niece’s and nephew’s plays, sports events, birthday parties, summer camp photos and hear that my friends and family are doing cool things… Facebook is not the Evil Empire (cue: my favorite ski music, Darth), but I don’t like being controlled, and this new Timeline thing feels like a big mafia style arm twisting. I feel like Mark Zuckerber slipped me a Roofie and now the whole room looks different, against my will. And frankly, looking at Mark Zuckerberg, that is just not right… he clearly looks like someone I could still ground.   Just take a look at that face: clearly that is a child making me do what he wants. You are grounded Mark Zuckerberg! Go to your wall and ignore al notifications!   

But, alas, I don’t stand a chance against the titans of the new world we’re living in. Yes, I hear you:  Just quit Facebook. Don’t be their User.  It’s too late folks. I actually am now the proud owner of two Facebook pages! Yep, my blog has a Page now too… so, in fact I am now a business owner on FB.  A friend suggested that perhaps they sent me this trial Timeline page because I am in fact someone who brings in new business, via this blog! (Versus the: She’s an old dog, we’d better ease her into this gently theory)  Yep, not only am I an addict, but it turns out that I am a Pusher, a Dealer, a Pimp… who uses their her own product. It’s the worst of the worst. My kids are convinced that I’m boring and lame, but they have no idea about this whole other dark side of me (Darth’s music, is my music people!)… I’m a junky-pimp-pusher-dealer-tripping-Alice down the Rabbit Hole-edgy woman, that’s “Yo Mama” to you kiddies! I may be lost on my Timeline, but I an in fact all of those things, if you read the small print… who just looks like an old dog stuck on a new trick.

<— This is the “We’re not really listening to you” email I got from Facebook.  Still:  write people, write!  Here’s the link:

https://www.facebook.com/help/suggestions/

So: now that you’ve stayed with me through this very long rant, tell me what you think?  Do you have Timeline and do you like it? Do you find it as confusing and cluttered as I do? Does it seem like an over-stimulating hoarder’s nest to you too? Are you going to write to the Facebook powers that be and say something? I did. Of course, like everything they do, even your comments to them aren’t real. They assure you that someone is reading them, but me thinks that’s bogus. I’m sure they have a big @$$ Ignore button at Facebook headquarters, that allows all of our feedback to be promptly flushed.  Mwhahah, look how many old people complained today!  Flush. (I suppose that could be my paranoia setting in again, and some well meaning FB person is reading my comment right now, and running it down to Mark Z’s office to say:  Hey! Mark, this lady has a good point. I think you’d better take a look at this.  Or, do you not have this problem at all? Are you just reading some blogs on line, checking out the news, laughing at a few YouTube videos and wondering why all of us junkies are screaming foul?  Share some comments here, or go over to my Tales from the Motherland Facebook page, and get a conversation going… come on, you know it will make you feel good. Just try a little.

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be a good dooby and “Share” them with others; it’s nice to share. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a free gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business).

Posted in Blog, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, My world | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments

The Middle..Optimism and Magical Thinking vs The Mayans.

<– Only Luke is hiding from reality around here.   No blinders folks. I’m way off in my posts… Frankly, I’m way off in general. This is just temporary though; read on…

An old friend sent me an email a few weeks back, just after I bruised my baby car.  She advised that I use lots of caution driving for a while, as my current distraction could potentially lead to more problems. She’d gone through something similar, a few years back. She told me to curtail any multi-tasking while driving (good advise regardless), and to just be more alert. Hmm, well, she’s been absolutely dead on, where driving’s concerned.  I’ve definitely caught my mind wondering lately, while at the wheel. A few more honks when the light has just turned green (from my vantage point), or not watching the “gap” as well, when pulling out into traffic. I have prided myself on being a good driver, for years now. I do like to drive fast; but I had a perfect record for 10 years, and now I don’t. Parking no less. Ugh. (Which would support my belief that I can still drive fast, but not park as well for a while…) So, I’m staying inside a little more, until this passes.

There is no doubt that December doubled up, perhaps tripled up, in the stress departments. One major health crisis/dilemma for me; husband out of the country for 2+ weeks just before The Holidays (a universal stressor) and during my health crisis; three family members with the stomach flu (starting Christmas day); husband needed 2 trips to the hospital, once for surgery, in one week; a deadline to submit a novel I worked a very long time on; 5 kids in the house; and my mother dying. Hello? If you read this post enough, you know that I’ve been known to call the Universe the B word recently, and I feel justified. The stress in 2011, overall, was amped way up… pretty much all year. It just seemed that I was in a true shit storm (see Chaos Rains in a Shit Storm), with no umbrella.

So the magical thinking? Well, I truly believe that the timing of my mom’s death was prophetic. There were a lot of very meaningful things that transpired in those finals hours and days before Mom died, but she died on the final day of 2011, just in time for me to participate in a very meaningful event, and then push on through to a new year. My sister and I couldn’t help but feel that she was truly handing us a clean slate; freedom to move forward and not face another year guessing, second guessing and flailing in the stormy waters of her illness and decline. The timing was truly magical. Had she died even a half hour later, many of the amazing things that happened on the 31st, could not have occurred. Perhaps I wouldn’t have felt as free to move on, if there wasn’t that symbolic New Start, New Year… 2012… the year that the Mayans say it’s all gonna end.

That’s right, the Bitch Universe messed with me all 2011, and now the Mayans have predicted that it’s all gonna end on December 21, 2012.  It, being all of it: the world, life as we know it… That’s what some sources state. There are certainly all kinds of nut cases interesting people out there who believe this stuff, and think we are on the brink of the apocalypse. Some of them have made lots of money, in the face of the destruction of the world (see Harold Camping for a laugh, DON’T see 2012, the movie). There’s a lot of amazing stuff out there about this potential collapse, but frankly I’m ok. I welcomed 2012 convinced that good things are ahead. Sure, I’m a bit banged up and bruised right now. I’m still pulling my boot straps up, for sure, but I am optimistic. Do you hear that Universe: I AM OPTIMISTIC!

I wrote my book, I sent it to a publisher. Will it get published? Who knows, but I did it! I saw my Mom through to a meaningful end. I’m at peace with that. I miss her, I wish it had all been different, but given the cards dealt, I’m at peace with that too. I’m seeing several people I care about come into really exciting, new things: several love matches that seem right for a change, career moves that excite, a daughter on the edge of graduation and a big, exciting world to explore. Personally, I’ve been working on change, and I feel ready to try some things on. I am moving out of patterns that don’t work, away from people and things that don’t bring me joy. I’m excited to move forward and grow. Optimism, baby, optimism.

Despite a glut of posts recently that were not always upbeat, I feel like it has all been part of a bigger metamorphosis. It seems to me that an awful lot of people I know are going through similar challenges and similar new outlooks right now. Whether it’s a collective transformative phase, as prophesied by some 2012 theories, or just the way life unfolds coincidentally/naturally/as it should… I feel prone to some Magical Thinking right now. I can’t help but feel like all the signs are good (fender benders excluded).  While there may still be some debris to clear, outlooks are bright and I’m excited.

However, if  the Universe is just a bigger bitch than even I thought, if the Universe even gives a diddly squat about me, and She is just setting me up: lots of optimistic signs, personal change and silver linings… only to actually apocalyptically fall apart, then, She has an even wickeder sense of humor than me.  The joke may be on me at the end of 2012, but then my theme song for 2012 is all set: Cue R.E.M folks, and ignore me if I’m dancing when it all falls down; ’cause (if) it’s the end of the world as we know it, I feel fine!

Note: I am putting together a Facebook page for the blog. Check it out and hit Like (I’m optimistic about that too). Understand that I am a tech idiot and it’s not done yet… which means I have not figured out how to do some things. Middle Man is back at school and I have to figure this out on my own. But, it’s up!  Check it out:   https://www.facebook.com/TalesFromTheMotherland

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business).

Posted in Awareness, Beauty, Blog, Daily Observations, Death of parent, getting published, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, Personal change, Sarcasm, Women's issues, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Brain Dead… Take her off Life Support.

I uttered those ^^words to a good friend, the other day, when she called me to check in… as she’s done regularly since Mom died, three weeks ago today. Hmm, I know I will reach a point when I’m not counting days and weeks, keeping track of the time that’s passed since she “passed.”  I’m keenly aware of the stages of grief and loss. I have a rusty MSW; I trained as a bereavement counselor two years ago, and I’ve had lots of personal experience (as some of you have read (too) much about, recently). I know that “this too shall pass.” I understand that the cards will stop coming; my friends will stop checking in on me, and will return to simply calling me to give me shit about stuff or make plans. The concerned tones and the hugs will disappear. I will move through this, and be surprised when I suddenly look at the calendar and realize it’s been “x” number of months or years. I know that at some point I will stop getting these unexpected jolts of guilt: “Damn!  I haven’t gone to see Mom in ages! She must be so upset with me…”  Sundays will go back to just being the day before Monday, and not the night that Mom comes to dinner, or we take her out… or the night I remember that.  Right now however, the jolts happens much more often than I anticipated. I’m fine, going about my day, and pow!  That panicky feeling runs through me, and I think I need to take care of something or go see her, and then I realize again, that she is no longer suffering, that she’s gone.

So when my wonderfully, dedicated friend (who has stood by me through a lot this year, who has loved me just right, who hasn’t missed a step… and has accepted the same from me in return) called and said, as neutrally as she could, on the 4th day in a row of snow day: “So, how you doing?”  My response was: “She’s brain dead; take her off life support.”  It’s a sick joke. I know that. I understand why some of you might find it terribly callous or cruel. Mind you, I hadn’t heard about the death of Sarah Burke yet (a terribly sad bit of news this week), but I do live in that world of brain issues (surgeon spouse) and I generally don’t joke about that…. however, frankly, it just slipped out without skipping a beat.  It was exactly how I felt, in the moment.

I love snow; really, I do. I had looked forward to snow… weeks ago. However, given that winter break just barely ended, the kids had just returned to school; that I’d had (wonderful) contractors at my house all last week, I was really, really counting on this week to just stay home and lick my wounds. Seriously, I haven’t been alone at all (aside for a couple of 1-2 hr intervals, when I had to get things done) since Mom died, three weeks ago (and I not only wasn’t alone before that, but had 5 kids at home, plus holiday guests, and a mother in hospice). Three weeks, that isn’t really that long, is it? I mean, I don’t know what others expect… but it seems reasonable that I’m still feeling a bit “off.”  So, I just wanted to be silent and alone for a day or two (dare I ask for a whole school week?), reflect and sort through my mother’s things. I can not do it with a houseful of teens asking me constant questions, and needing attention.  I know I need to be alone for this.

<— These happy boys, and a few more, were all here to keep me company… mucky boots and all.

But, no; that was not in my cards.  We had no snow most of last winter, none over the break, so I too had wished for snow. But not now, not this past week.  This was the week that I put nothing on my calendar, and planned to just do all of the things I mentioned above. Instead, we finally got a huge snow storm, the week I was supposed to be alone… huge by our meager standards. Anywhere else I’ve lived (Michigan, Chicago, Connecticut or Boston/area), school would have gone on as usual, and I would have been home alone (this link demonstrates how I felt, when I was not home alone). That’s really all I want right now, solitude. I have great friends, who have brought some lovely dinners, have pulled me out for lunch or coffee, who have called and checked in regularly, and I’m glad for those lovely moments when I feel connected to my regular world. But, but, but… I also need to take a little time and just let go of the other stuff that has been brewing, pick at my scabs a little.  That’s just how I’m wired, and it’s what I need right now.  I’ve thrown away all the dried flowers, I’ve collected Mom’s ashes, I’ve begun to clean up the clutter and debris, that piled up while we were in crisis mode… but I haven’t had any privacy or quiet, to just sit and be with my thoughts.

Look, honestly, I posted here and said it more than once: we all knew my Mom would die of Huntington’s eventually, and many, many times wished for that time to come sooner, than later. She had virtually no quality of life left. We were the only family members (me, my siblings, and her grandchildren) who were in touch with her at all. She was lonely, she was in pain most days, she fell 3-5 days a week, before she broke her elbow… the writing was on the wall for a long time. Watching her suffer was insufferable. (Dictionary: Insufferable: “too extreme to bear, intolerable”… begins to scratch the reality of the situation.)  There were so many days when I felt like a lousy daughter, because her suffering put me in a bad mood, made me impatient with her, left me drained. There were other days when I took my dark wishes back, and truly wanted more time to sit with her, or just lie there in bed with her, and watch the day melt. Selfishly, though I knew it was awful for her, I wanted a little more time, hoping to connect some dots that are still, and will remain, scattered and lost. She had those amazing moments of clarity at the end (intermittently, on those last two months), that were such a gift and I wanted more of that.  I’m grateful I got what I got, but I greedily wished for more. The other days, I wished for it to be over.

Letting go, it’s something I don’t do well. I hold on long past when the writing on the wall has become bold, nasty graffiti. Friendships that are dead in the water, or limping along, I’m still pining over and trying to revive, when I should be moving along. Family dynamics that are damaged beyond repair, difficult or strained, or chronically toxic, and I’m still looking for bandaids and hoping for rapprochement. It’s a good trait sometimes. I’m a faithful friend, despite my potential DSM qualifications. I hold my own, and more, in the aunt, cousin, sister department as well. Of course, this is all my say only… but trust me. I watched (and learned from) so many of my mother’s generation, and the one before it, who walked away and did not look back… let loved ones bleed out.  Siblings who didn’t speak, cousins who gossiped or ignored each other, aunts and uncles who slipped away, as if the difficulties so outweighed any good that ever existed, that effort to repair relationships was unthinkable. Ugh. It’s ugly, and it’s not for me. It left so much pain for the next band of (us) cousins/aunts/ uncles/parents/and siblings to muck through. So, I don’t walk away easily.  However, it gets a bit blurry when the writing is indeed on the wall, or death adds that final period. That’s when my difficulty with closure, with holding on, just adds salt to the wound.

I’m not holding on to my Mom. I’m not second guessing things or wishing for other outcomes. Those days came and went a long time ago.  There were plenty of very hard times, when she was first diagnosed, when I raged against the machine.  By the time she was really sick, I’d given up on trying to fight it or go back and fix anything.  Right now, I just want to sit with that reality and take it in. I want to fold her clothes and let them go. I want to empty that big bin of things, go through the closet full of summer items and stuff that landed there back when I was still in denial, and then just stayed there collecting dust. It will feel good to clear the things away, and then let the feelings fall into place. It helps make room for clarity in other places where I’m still stuck. Ironically, watching this ending so closely… willing myself not to blink, as death came through the door, has opened my eyes to other places that I need to move beyond as well. I’m making room for good, healthy choices and clear, mutually rewarding relationships. It’s a process; slow and tedious at times, and clear as can be, in the golden moments when I see things for what they really are.

<— Even my faithful companion, Luke, made life harder this week.

So, I want some time. I want some space and some solitude. I want the weather to be kind and my kids back in school.  I want the chance to practice the work I’ve been learning, apply the changes I’ve struggled with. I want to get off auto-pilot and figure the rest out. I’d give anything to drive back to Yellowstone right now, and deal with the snow there… the quiet, snow.  When my friend called, I was trying to hold it together, after three weeks of just the opposite. It’s been non-stop activity since the day Mom died. Kids and more kids, with snowy wet feet;  kids packing to go back to college and needing errands run, help with the minutiae;  it’s been decks being built; dogs sick and shitting all over the floors that need mopping for muddy boot prints; and it’s been three weeks of feeling like all that is in my way… When my friend called, the words slipped from my mouth without a pause: “She’s brain dead, take her off life support.”  And while I see the dark, inappropriateness of it now, it was funny. We both laughed, because she knew what I meant. My brains been on overload long past sustainability. It’s fried. I don’t need support, or life saving efforts anymore… I just want to breath on my own for a while.  I want to take a few days and be with this phase of my loss. I want to give it its proper attention and space, and then I will wash that graffiti off this wall and move on. I’m ready to let go … almost.

 

IF you still don’t know what this next part means, or why it’s important, go back and read A Dick, A Tid Bit and FYI… Life in Blog Land

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business).

Posted in Awareness, Blog, Blogging, Death, Death of parent, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, Personal change, Women's issues | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

The Middle: Some Techie Fun….2011 in review (not a word from me)

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 14,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 5 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Posted in Blog, Blogging, blogs, Freshly Pressed, Honest observations on many things, how blogs work, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A Dick, a Tid Bit and FYI…Life in Blog Land.

I fellow blogging friend, Mikalee Byerman, recently awarded me the “I Am Such a Dick… and You Are Not” blogging award.  Ok, freeze!  I can hear the groans, and snarky comments already… Yes, I am aware that it’s a questionable award; and I’m aware that Mikalee made it up herself… BUT, in the blogging world, Mikalee is a rock star. The fact that she dug out her previous Ms. Nevada trophy (a kick a$$ trophy, click the link, just to see that) and handed it over to me and a handful of other bloggers, is major kudos for this girl. I am (slowly) discovering that there is an entire kool world out there, of keen writers, who blog. I am honored to even be mentioned in the same sentence, let alone awarded something, by one of the Queen Bees, along side some excellent other bloggers, but I’m also greedy. I want that trophy all for myself!

The post “I Am Such a Dick” is a bit lengthy, but worth every minute, because Mikalee goes on to give kudos to loads of cool blogs that I would not have found if it weren’t for her post. The 7×7 Award, in and of itself, cost me hours quite a bit of time on line: reading old posts, that had me laughing and smirking out loud, snorting (I am a snorter, much to my kids’ embarrassment), and moved by some beautiful writing. In fact, her post cost me a ton of time… because I had to check out each of my co-awardees (ignoring the fact that at the very end, she goes and gives us all the trophy!), read their posts… and as the song says:  “one link leads to another” ( Maybe those aren’t the exact lyrics, and I’ll get back to that point…). Blink: a whole bunch of time was gone.  Like I need an excuse to be up too late, recently.

Anyway, that award led me to Harper Faulkner’s (yeah, isn’t that the coolest name) blog:  All Write, and his post:  “So, my wife says:,”  and that is where this post, the one you’re reading, really takes off.  That post, which was not my favorite of his (I posted that one to my Facebook page), but it struck a chord.  My writing seems to elicit a similar dialogue, as Harper’s wife’s comments. What are your writing goals? Why a blog? Who do you want to read it? If you’re writing for yourself, why post at all? (I can totally relate to the conversation that HF’s wife had, as I’ve had an identical conversation with my husband, Middle Man, Principessa, and a few dozen friends…) What is a blog anyway?  What about your book? (HF’s current post hit me in the face with that issue) and that last question, always leads to: What’s your book about?  and then: Are you going to post your book on the blog? 

So many questions, most of which I’m still on the fence about. Or, if I’m not exactly on the fence, I am aware that it’s a big wide ocean I’m swimming in, and I just hope to stay afloat… which actually has nothing to do with fences.  Reading the post “So my wife says:” pushed me to write this post, which I’ve been toying with for months, to address all these questions.  I’ll jump in and start with the “Blog issue.” Why a blog? Well, it was something I was toying with for a very long time. In fact, I first told a friend about my blog name/idea four years ago. That is how long I procrastinated. The name came to me first, asI began to imagine an outlet for the many conversations I was having with friends, peers, etc about, (primarily) parenting. I wanted a place where I could put out some of my thoughts, and not have to argue them with my husband and my exceptionally clever kids… who perpetually find loop holes in pretty much anything I put out there. Over time, my posts have morphed into any subject that impacts me, that I want to “discuss.”   I’m a mother, a wife and a women, so the title still works, as I see everything through those distinct glasses, first.

When I signed up and opened an account with Word Press, I knew virtually nothing about blogs, bloggers, or blogging.  I thought of it as a bit like journaling, with a potential audience. My first posts were generally read by (cue the crickets), No One. I would go to my stats page, and see that not a single person had read the posts. They were pretty basic, those initial posts. No photos or visuals, period. I had no links or diversions. I just got writing, and didn’t consider much else.  Over time, however, I read some of the tutorials on the Word Press pages and learned that I’d have to take some chances and “advertise,” if I wanted readers. Hmm, that was a quandary. Part of me, like HF, was writing just to write. To “practice my craft,” to settle my soul, to “put it out there,” etc. But, if I wanted to do just that, then there was no point in checking stats. It slowly sunk in, however, that I did in fact want readers, feedback, an “audience.”  I wanted to write something that others would read, and respond to. Negative or positive, the response was critical to my own growth as a writer. Finding my voice, my writing style… finding my way… along the way.

 <– The Tetons, along the drive to Yellowstone

Not coincidentally, I was working through some difficult times, that got filtered through my writing, and those posts turned things around. I ran away to Yellowstone, to clear my head and find some direction. There, I just wrote about what I was experiencing, and how it was impacting me. I began doing what the Word Press people suggested: I started by sending the posts in emails, to good friends. Some of those friends passed the posts on. Then, despite my anxiety about it, I put my  posts on my Facebook page, I began to toot my own horn. I did more reading, and learned to include some photos, add links to things that might interest people, and I started to get some comments, and see on my stats that people were starting to read the posts.

In the beginning, that was a really weird feeling, to be honest. I remember sitting in my various cabins in and around Yellowstone, in my own solitary confinement, and then getting notes from friends, and then people I never presumed would read my stuff. There were good questions, things that made me think about how I wrote about my journey, what my reader might be curious about.  Still, many nights, as I sat alone out there, I felt very exposed and strange wondering:  Will so and so see this? What will he/she think? Am I targeting myself for criticism, from people I might not actually have this conversation with?  Almost predictably, it was the people I knew, that I felt the most vulnerable around. The fact that I had a very early follower from New Zealand (FYI: I can see the general area that a subscriber comes from, but not their personal details, unless they make that public) was thrilling, encouraging, and also very strange for me. Someone I had no link to otherwise, was reading about my personal experience… and commenting.  That whole phase of working on the blog was so strange, and transformative, in ways that are hard to explain now.

While I figured that eventually I might have some regular readers, honestly, that part didn’t really sink in until I got Freshly Pressed, on August 5th, with The Grass Is Always Greener On Someone Else’s Head. And frankly, it didn’t just sink in, it slammed me in the face. I had no idea that I’d been Freshly Pressed until I arrived at my 30th High School reunion (talk about stars lining up) and others told me. I wasn’t checking my blog regularly; I was only posting when I felt like it, and I’d accepted that only 10 people (max) would read any given post. Until, suddenly there were 7,000 (eventually) people reading one post… 400+ of whom commented. Literally, on the day it was posted I was with ex-classmates at a pre-party , and they asked me:  What’s a blog?  What do you want to have happen with your blog?  My answer, which was (unbeknownst to me) ironic-the-minute-it-came-out-of-my-mouth, was: “I just hope people start to read it, and eventually I may use it to help get my book out there.”

Pow! Bam! Kaplooey!  I had comments coming in by the minute, literally (I answered every single one); I had people reading my post, and giving me lots of feedback. Ask and you shall receive. That big, wonderful high lasted for about two weeks… and then, it peetered right out, and I was back to 10 readers per post. Talk about 15 seconds of whoop, and then some serious ego adjustment. That part was a real low; I can’t sugar coat it. So, I went back to the idea of writing to practice the writing, and hoped that people would find me. They have. I also, secretly, hoped that maybe I’d get Freshly Pressed again… but then, realized how greedy I was being.  When you read the stats (read further) about Word Press, it’s an incredible thing to get Freshly Pressed at all!  When I got the honor, I’d only been blogging for five weeks, and did not really appreciate what had just happened.  Now that I do, I’m that much more grateful that I got noticed at all.  Instead of seeking that kind of recognition, I’m  back to doing the writing, and trying to improve. That:  the hard work part, has payed off.

I’ve had my blog for 6 1/2 months now, and I have 141 regular followers; I’m quickly approaching 15,000 hits (something I feel really proud of) and the blog is growing daily.  It has provided exactly what I was looking for: a place to write, get feedback and work on improving the writing. I feel like my “voice” has just naturally found its way to the written pages. That voice is sarcastic and snarky at times; vulnerable and raw others, funny, boring, interesting, but morphing as I go.  I’ve gotten four blog awards for my work: The Liebster Blog Award, 2 Versatile Blogger awards, and I am officially Not a Dick (as noted above). For those of you who don’t blog, those awards may seem silly, or random, or even not real… but they mean a lot to me! The blogging world is full of all kinds of people, writing some amazing things. As of today (see official stats), bloggers on Word Press post an average of 500,000 blogs per DAY; 308 million people read 2.5 billion pages, posted per month! CBS, NBC, CNN, TTN, and many other notable entities use Word Press. To get recognized in that arena, is something I don’t take lightly: I feel really proud of what I’ve done, in barely six months!

So more FYI about the blog itself:  In each blog, you will see words, phrases, etc that are highlighted or underlined. Those are “links.” On my posts, those links are currently in pink. If you click your cursor on any given link, it will take you to another thing that I think will be of interest. Sometimes it’s the blog I’m siting, a music video I want to share, or for more fun: sound effects. If you actually hit the link above, that says “cue crickets,” you can hear crickets. It’s just for fun.  I also include a blurb at the end of each post (“Tooting my own horn”) that asks readers to comment/like/share my work. There’s a reason for that. My blog only grows and gets noticed when my stats warrant it. Each time someone hits “Like” or “Share” or (very importantly) leaves a “Comment,” those stats get noticed by Word Press and my blog then gets noticed by more readers. That’s what I want, so that is the goal of posting that blurb. To clarify, as I’ve gotten so many questions about theses things:  If you click on the title of any of my posts (or any blog you read), you will be taken to that individual page, where only that post is shown. At the bottom of the posts, you should see the words:  “If you liked this, please share it,” with a “Share” button/link.  Beneath that, with a fine line dividing it, you will see:  “Like this” with a  “Like” button/link.  Up at the top of each post, to the far right of the title, is a similar button/link with the words “Come along for the ride!”  There is a “Subscribe” link there. When you subscribe with that link, you agree to get an email update each time I post a new blog entry. You support me and my writing. You do NOT get spam, end up on Word Press lists, or have your information shared. I see that I have a new subscriber, and the name that you give. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve responded to comments from subscribers, and had no idea, none at all, that I actually know that person… because they signed up with names like “art lover,” and “someone.”  To do that (remain anonymous), you actually sign up through Word Press directly, so that you can comment on any blog you read, not just mine, and create an online name.  Details, details, details!  Can you begin to imagine what it was like initially for this totally non-tech writer!  I was totally out of my element… and am still figuring things out, as I go. But right now: it’s all good.

<– The manuscript, in its as-cheap-as-possible-printed version

Final  questions: Will I post the book on the blog? and What about the book?  No. I don’t think so. Never say never, but that is not my plan, to post it on the blog.  For newcomers: I have written a book. It took me (technically) about 5 years to write it. In fact, I spent about one (real) year on it… the rest of that time it was A) sitting on my desk, ignored;  B) Lazily being edited with my writing group (lazy on my part, vigilant on theirs) and C) I finally got a clue and worked like crazy to really edit it and do some serious re-writing. In the end, I re-wrote virtually every chapter.  It was an enormous task, that I took very seriously.  I read about a small publisher, Rozlyn Press,  that was opening its submissions to any new/unpublished, female writers, from September until December 31, 2011. That, is a rarity in the publishing world, so I jumped. I worked on those last edits, sitting beside my mother, as she died. I submitted the manuscript: 529 typed pages, titled Tuned In, on December 30th.  I told my mother, before I told anyone else. She died 10 hours later, as I held her hand, on December 31st. It was a marathon, let me tell you: a serious New Year’s marathon. I am proud of doing it, seeing it to completion.  And now it’s out of my hands, literally and figuratively. Of course, I don’t expect to just sit back. I know the odds. I expect, once I’ve had some time to grieve and pull my head together, to look for an agent (prostitute myself) and push my manuscript. I trust the incredible writing group that has given me endless feedback, and the über great editor that read the whole thing, and gave loads of brutally honest, excellent feedback. I have (mostly) made my peace with the editorial words: “Cut this, needs a scene, show don’t tell,” and the question mark.

So, I will not post the entire book here. I may, over time, share parts of it and try to drum up readers… if, oh that magical thinking if, it’s every published. But, here faithful readers, who read to the end of this long post, is the Tid-Bit.  I am sharing for the first time ever, the “pitch” that I threw together in that last hour… as I realized I was horribly sleep deprived, that mother was in fact going to die, and I was not going to miss my chance to submit my manuscript, if I didn’t pull my $#it together. I’m not sure it’s the final pitch, as I think it could use some “oomph,” some nuancing. But I sent it, because I had to, and it was the best I could do under the circumstances. I’m sharing that pitch, and I’m sharing the first/opening paragraph of the book itself. I did share that already, but only on a quick FB post, that only a couple of people noticed.  I’ll answer the (final, final) question that will inevitably be generated for some of you: No. This is not a memoir. It is fiction. However, I read somewhere that most first novels are autobiographical, and will concede, there are undeniable similarities… the rest, is fiction. I stand by that, however it looks to some readers. Feedback is welcome, even if it’s anxiety producing to hear anything. If I want it published, it will be read… and then I’ll have no say regarding how people respond. Might as well jump into friendly waters first… I am the captain of this ship.

Tid-Bit, Pitch:

“Tuned In” is the story of Maya Koenig, a housewife and mother who, after almost throwing a jar of capers at her husband’s head, realizes that somewhere along the way she became miserable with her life, and with herself. As she considers the choices that she’s made she begins to piece together how they have led to her current life, and from there, what direction to take next.

The story unfolds in chapters that alternate between first and third person point of view, and between the past and present. “Tuned In” begins with Maya’s painful childhood, starting with the tragic death of her father, and the lessons she has learned about men and life from her mother Liv, a woman who also struggled with these issues. As Maya looks back on the lovers in her life, and what she learned from each of them, she tries to find a reason to stay with her husband Seth, a surgeon who is distant and does not understand his wife.

A final mysterious encounter forces Maya to choose between the path she chose so long ago and the one offered now by a new lover, Jeremy. He is young, passionate, and meets many of the needs that Maya feels go unmet by her husband, Seth. For Maya the question becomes “Is she willing to risk all that she and Seth have built together to go a new direction?”

Maya is passionate, wry and insightful and the reader is taken deeper inside her world as each chapter unfolds. Song lyrics are used to link events, in this compelling look at the roads we face in life and the choices we make. How do we choose, and how do we live with the consequences of those choices? “Tuned In” is a story that speaks to each of us about the meaning of true happiness and how we each find our own peace.

Tid-Bit, The opening to Tuned In:

CHAPTER ONE

DIGGING IN THE DIRT

“The more I look, the more I find       As I close on in, I get so blind          I feel it in my head, I feel it in my toes         I feel it in my sex, that’s the place it goes         I’m digging in the dirt       Stay with me I need support         I’m digging in the dirt          To find the places I got hurt       To open up the places I got hurt.”                                              Digging In the Dirt,  Peter Gabriel

Though it’s been more than thirty years, I can still see the snow.  The moon must have been full, because I remember that I could see everything below me and everything around my house so clearly.  The snow had an almost magical, blue hue to it, shimmering, and the trees stood out starkly against the muted light.  The cold air hit my face and my heart raced.  It was so beautiful and peaceful beyond my window.  And so I jumped.

*     *     *

© Dawn Quyle Landau, all rights reserved 2011

Now, that blurb:  

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business).

Posted in Awareness, Blog, Blogging, Daily Observations, Ego, Freshly Pressed, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, My world, Personal change, Sarcasm | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Sound Bites from the U.N. and Baby Steps.

It’s been two weeks since Mom died, and I am still trying to catch my breath. It’s strange how I worked on a sort of auto pilot for two+ months, working on the manuscript, keeping our house running, and sitting beside Mom’s bed… trying to connect with her an keep her happy, as she slipped away from us. Moments, flash back through out my days now, as I reflect on what were my last weeks with my mother. Interestingly, several people have asked me: “Do you have any regrets?”  It seemed a strange question the first time I heard it. My own demon’s could not help but read judgement into it:  Did you really do your best? Don’t you think you could have been more patient/loving/diligent/thoughtful/ insert other self-flagellations here. DID YOU REALLY DO YOUR BEST? 

This, of course, is not what any of the people who asked intended… at all. I have come to realize that the question itself comes from a few places. It stems from other’s fear that they too will face this kind of challenge one day (watching someone you love die), and they simply are looking for strategies to face it as well as possible. They are asking me if I am ok. They are asking me what it felt like to be there with death, and come out on the other side, without a mother, but whole. Each time the question has been posed, it has been done so in a loving way, by people who I felt safe enough with to answer… Yes, I do have some regrets, but mostly, I know I did my best and I’m proud of how I saw my mother through a very difficult time. I regret that I didn’t climb into bed with her in those last moments (read Peace), as I had so many times in the days and weeks before. I think she would have felt safer, less terrified of whatever she felt coming. I regret that I didn’t have more compassion and patience in the months before hospice, when then ongoing care and issues she faced, wore me down and left me bitter and frustrated… too often.

<– The hardest stuff to sort, is one big container of pain.

However, while the question Do you have any regrets does echo in my mind, often, I am keenly aware that it is just part of a process. Life isn’t always easy and death even less so. It is the rare and special death, that come late in life, in the peace of sleep… at the end of a life well lived and appreciated. It is rare in my family at least, and very rare in my life. So grieving, and getting through this time of self-reflection, wide-empty-space, is familiar to me. I know it will pass and ease up. Write it down. Write it down. The writing is cathartic and helps me through it. The fact that you read it and share the experience has meaning for me.  The void that is left, where so much of my energies were going (for a very long time) will be filled with much more inspiring and stimulating things. I’m grateful that I believe that and can accept this rough patch… knowing that it won’t always feel overwhelming to be in big groups of people again; that I’ll drive off to do errands and not feel exposed; that I’ll drive with ease again and not feel like I’m about to run into something; that I’ll go to bed early again and sleep well eventually… that this too shall pass.  Baby steps.

<– Read this label carefully

Of note and much meaning. As I was putting things away and cleaning up, I came across a gift that  a very generous and loving friend brought by, just after my Mom died. This same friend cooked far too many dinners, ran errands and just jumped in without me asking. She is a truly good egg. However, when I got this gift basket, I was still very overwhelmed. I noted that the products were pretty, and meant for self-pampering. I did not however notice the label… until yesterday. Suddenly, the thank you note I’d written did not seem enough. Not only did my friend bring me a gift, but she found one perfectly suited for the place I am right now.  Read the label carefully. My mother’s name was Carole.  Carol’s Daughter Products!

Sound bites from the U.N.:  

Please note: Before anyone writes me a comment about this, these flags are NOT in any particular order of importance or size. They’re just what I found, when I Googled flags. One (me) can only spend so much time trying to be Internationally fair.

   

The crazy, zany U.N that has become my home is a constant reminder that life does in fact speed forward. Three teens do not stop for mourning; nor do they stop to wipe their feet on the cheap Bed, Bath and Beyond (read post) runner I bought, to limit the mucky, winter foot prints that they leave all over my dark brown, kitchen tiles.  They pour into the house each day with a mile long list of questions, stories, comments and needs. Need, need, needs… ugh.  Their needs are endless: (SG= Secretary General= me/mom):

“I really need my hair cut mum!” China tells me nearly every day, for two weeks now… after the hair salon is closed. I have reminded him, daily, that I don’t hold a single thought more than a few seconds right now and that if he wants his hair cut, he needs to ask me at a reasonable time. Not an hour before dinner, when we’re getting ready for bed, or on a Sunday.

Can we go shopping for lunch meats? (multi-national)  I need to get some new ski socks (Denmark); I have to have 37 latkes for my french class, tomorrow, by 11:45. (US).  Do you think you could squeeze me some fresh orange juice (the honeybells just arrived!), while I pack my car? (Canada) “Hi, um, when are you bringing the latkes?” SG: At 11:30, like you asked.  Oh, well, I made a mistake. SG: When do you need them?  Class ends in 40 minutes.  Shit!  Can you drop me off/ pick me up for shabbat? (Israel) “Woops”, can you send me all the laundry I left in the dryer, and maybe wash and mail the rest? (Canada, from Portland, en route to school in S. California)  (As I’m cooking dinner): Can you show me how to work the scanner? (ask dad)  Can you show me how to work the scanner? (SG: ask dad) Can you show me how to work the scanner? ASK DAD!!  Oh, never mind. (China) I would like to mail this package to my parents. (Which involves me helping pack the package.) Can we do it tomorrow?  No, you’ll be snow boarding all day. Sunday?  No, again, the post office is not open on Sundays. Monday? No, it’s a holiday. Oh, hmm, well, can you take it on Tuesday? cue sheepish smile.  (China)  I have this 40’s Hollywood party to go to on Friday. Can you drive me and pick up blank (who lives the other way)… and do we have any clothes that look like Zorba the Greek?  Uhhh….  I need snowboarding socks, can we go shopping? (China)  My room key was suppose to be sent back to the office of ? by December 21st! Now what am I going to do? I just missed the mail man!  SG: It won’t arrive in Massachusetts by monday, unless you send it insured/express.  What!  That will cost a fortune!  NOW what do I do?

**You may have noted that Denmark doesn’t seem to have as many needs, nor does Israel; and, if you’ve been following the U.N., and know that Israel and Denmark are the two females, then draw your own conclusions. The excerpt above, is from one afternoon/dinnertime, about 6 hours,  yesterday (Except for the request for latkes). Seriously.

It appears that at least three countries talk in their sleep: U.S., China, and Canada.  U.S. claims that China is forever in heated debate during the night time hours, kicking walls and tossing sheets, while calling out things that “sound Japanese at times.”  This last bit really ruffles China’s feathers as China and Japan are mortal enemies, and China does not like being compared (in any way) to Japan.  Canada tends to call out interesting things that the Secretary General tries to follow, when the opportunities arise, to use later in negotiations. The U.S., as is often the case in waking hours as well, tends to be all over the place in his night time chatter.  Denmark maintains that she can discern the difference between dad’s snoring and the Secretary General’s snoring… through the floor. The Secretary General, as supreme dictator denies all allegations and believes that Denmark’s reporting can not be trusted.

Israel skyped with a close friend in Israel (country) this week. When Secretary General offered her THE best latkes, forgetting for a moment that the SG’s food is not kosher, and Israel declined this enthusiastic offer, Israel removed her computer to the kitchen for privacy… where she reverted to speaking only in Hebrew. Of course, the Secretary General has been on the job long enough to figure out that all conversation in Hebrew is about the rest of the U.N. and the SG in particular… if in doubt, the occasional breaks into English:  “she just doesn’t get it!”  Were clear confirmation of paramilitary spy interactions.

Upon being told that China could move back into his bedroom, as soon as Canada departs, China responded:  Oh! I am so happy. The U.S.’s room is a real tragedy.  Canada: (laughing) I think you mean travesty? China: No, it’s a tragedy. Maybe it’s a travesty and a tragedy?

China is very organized, driven and industrious. The U.S. is not. That is probably why more than 80% of the crap scattered around the U.S.’s room, is made in China.

<– Kosher Korner

Israel has been given a section of our kitchen counter, to use her 2-burner kosher stove, and keep her kosher items separate from the rest of the entirely non-kosher, pork consuming nations. Israel, having just returned from a friend’s house for dinner, said:  “Seeing blank’s “kosher korner,” made me realize that I really have nothing to complain about.  Sec. Gen: Hmm, I wish you’d seen it at the beginning of your vacation. It would have saved a lot of complaining.

“How can you remember that you forget something? Really mom. How can you remember that you need to do something as you’re going to bed, but wake up in the morning and totally forget what it is, but remember you forget it?  (Canada)  Ahh, youth. 

“Mom! Mom! Ma! Mum! Mom! Dawn. Mummy! MOM! Ma! Ma! Mum! Dawn.Mom! mom. Ma! Mom!”  (Canada, Israel, U.S. Denmark and China… constantly)

“What do you mean?” (SG)  “Nothing. Never mind.” (China)        “What are you saying?” (Denmark) “Nothing. Never mind.” (China)       What! What do you mean? (U.S.)  “Nothing. Never mind.”  (China).  Seems there’a much ado about nothing at the U.N.

So, life ticks on. National issues shift and change, and the U.N. remains solid. Overall, in her annual report, the Secretary General would have to say that each nation rose to the challenges presented during the one month period that all were assembled. A death in the family, health crises, three major holidays (Hanukkah, Christmas and New Years), homesickness, lost packages, presents given and received, and really, all of it was managed with (mostly) compassion, humor, and dignity. Baby steps people, but successful baby steps.

How were your holidays? What challenges are you facing and what helps you face them?

So take a moment and read the following. If you click on the title of my blog, you should be taken to a page where you can see all of the links mentioned below. Like me, please like me. Share your thoughts and leave a comment.

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business).

Posted in Awareness, Beauty, Blog, Daily Observations, Death, Death of parent, Dying, Foreign exchange students, High School, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Personal change, Teens, Writing, Yoga | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Middle…Chaos Rains, in a Shit Storm.

There’s no doubt that I’ve been in the vortex of a serious shit storm, for longer than I care to add up right now…. Let’s call it a year and make it a full circle.  But December certainly packed the biggest punch: Hubby gone for two weeks, climbing in Chile, while my mom was in Hospice– not expected to make it until his return. Five kids home at once, forming a U.N. that saw multiple adjustments and issues to be dealt with, while the Secretary General was clearly barely keeping her head above the fray. In the final week (7 Days!) alone, of December:  Hubby went to the hospital sick, came home and then had to go back for surgery, while I was sitting in my mom’s room, unable to leave. Words of comfort were given over a phone, while we both weathered our own shit. It was not easy. Not the ideal “in sickness and in health” scenario.

Now, I feel like the storm has passed and there is just the debris to manage. My house is a mess. My schedule and rituals in shambles. I am seeing some friends, but being out and about is still a strange thing for me. Yesterday, I was just thinking: Hmm, I think maybe the Universe is ready to cut me some slack, maybe things really are turning around, when I hit another car. I had a perfect insurance record and my baby, my pretty car, is now damaged. It’s reparable, but the jolt was amazing, just minutes (MINUTES!) after I dared to think that other thought. For those of you who know me well, it is noteworthy that I did not knock on wood after saying it. Damn. That’s why I got the wood finish in my car in the first place!   (The other car looks much worse!  Damn! Damn!  ^^)

<— View from my computer… if you can find the table, you win a prize.

There are piles of papers that need sorting (and now, lots of insurance papers too…Damn! Damn!); thank you notes to write for the many kindnesses and loving gestures by friends and a few family members. For a girl who loves hard copy, I can’t tell you how it’s warmed my heart to get so many incredibly thoughtful and heart felt cards and notes. There are bills that have been missed in the piles. Flowers, beginning to fade, but still there. There are issues that got dropped at school, for Little Man, that need my attention. Two exchange students who have agendas of their own and need signatures and some guidance, and care.  Family spring break plans to book… as the fares continue to stay higher than I can swallow. A deck renovation, scheduled months ago, is finally underway and while very necessary and I’m thrilled to see it done… Part of me just wants everyone  to just go away for a while and let me burrow.

<— Beautiful cards, piled up… warm my heart.

In fairness (to me): I’m still counting the days (10); I’m still riding some waves pretty gnarly waves (mostly without a board); and I’m not really myself yet. I do see the light. I know things are due to shift upward (after I pay the damages on that car: damn! damn!); and that does make me smile. I’m not sitting around brooding. But like any storm, sometimes the debris after is just as daunting as the storm itself.  I wish I could twitch my nose and just make all the papers on top of my dining room table, magically organize themselves. I’d like to just skip this part, frankly.

And yet, as the song Let Go says:  “There’s beauty in the breakdown.” (Ironically, found this Walton’s video to the song. After posting Puddles, back in November, it struck a chord) Those lyrics rocked me from the minute I heard them a few years back. Now, they really hit me. The beauty in this breakdown, my breakdown:  Clarity. Grace. Growth. Movement. Compassion. Joy. Presence. Vulnerability. Strength. Dreams. Music. Friendship. Bridges. Love that shakes me to the core… for so many people and things, right now. These things are all part of the “breakdown” and the growth that has come with it.

There have been so many amazing moments, amidst the debris. Picking up my mother’s ashes today, holding all that she was (physically) in a box,  surrounded by the Olympics, Mt. Baker, The Canadian Coastals, and the Bay, all shimmering and shining, in the crisp, clear day.  Things that move me all the time and make any day special, here in this spectacular place where I live. This day, was special. Painfully special, yet transitionally special as well.

<– Caution!  Steep drop if you exit this door… hmm, sounds familiar?

There is beauty in the breakdown and clarity in sorting through the debris. Growth.  Powerful who is there for you when you really need it… and who is not.  Amazing what you find when you dig deep and come back up for air.  The bumper on my car can be repaired. The piles will eventually get put away, and we’ll be back to the usual ones that linger, as testament to our busy lives. There are a lot of lessons being digested from all this.  My brain is in constant motion right now… even if it moves slowly at times.  My daily rhythm will return and things will get worked out, where they’re meant to be. Life does indeed go on.  The deck will be stronger, and so will I.

Self promotions:  Note my brevity!  Congratulate me with a comment….

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business).

Posted in Awareness, Daily Observations, Death, Death of parent, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Natural beauty, Parenting, Personal change, Wonderful Things, Writing | 8 Comments

Credit Where Credit is Due: Thank You Mauricio!

<— (View of Mt Rainier, across beautiful, winter fields)

So, I owe my husband a big, fat thank you for a truly amazing birthday dinner. The thing is, I apparently owe Mauricio Umansky a big, fat thank you too. Since I’m not big on sending fan mail (not since I pursued Leif Garrett for a full year, in eight grade), I will hope that Mauricio (AKA: Mr. Kyle Richards of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills) somehow stumbles upon this blog post and knows how much I appreciate him. As for my husband: WAY. TO. GO DARLIN’! You hit out of the park!

In general, I am pretty good about owning my own shit; fessing up, calling a spade a spade… admitting when I am wrong. Fortunately, it doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, I’m very willing to stand up and shout out loud:  I WAS WRONG!  This year I was wrong: My birthday did not pass un-noticed.

The history was in my favor, to call a spade a spade. My birthday has gone, let’s say  ignored  under- acknowledged for a very long time, in our house.  Each year, as the date approaches, the kid in me looks forward to some kind of surprise.  A cake, made by well intentioned kids who don’t bake;  flowers; cards (I still love getting real, “hard copy” proof of my day); and, I’ll go out on a greedy limb here and say it: presents. Sure, I told my kids (when they were little) that anything they made for me meant the world… and it did. However, I did assume that as they got older and had money for say, concert tickets, parties, stuff they like, that they’d also get mom a birthday present.  I figured their dad would train them to do it, and financially support the habit, until they flew the nest and could do it on their own.  I won’t lie: I am not that mom or wife saying: oh you shouldn’t have… you should! I work hard and I truly believe that my birthday and Mother’s Day should be celebrated.

However, that’s not how it’s gone. Actually, my birthday (and Mother’s day, actually) has become a bit of a sore spot in our home, because… Well, because each year it seems to be forgotten all together, or thrown together in a panic, very last minute. In past years, I have gotten phone calls from certain family members, ON MY BIRTHDAY, reminding me to call other family members, who have birthdays just a couple of days after mine… not saying happy birthday to me. Seriously. I have, each year on this day, gotten up and allowed hours to go by before saying things like:  “So, anything anyone wants to say?”  Or, when hubby, last year, announced on his way out to work:  “I won’t be too late, what’s for dinner?” I stared for a moment, and then said: “Well, I haven’t made up my mind. When I get to the restaurant for my birthday, I’ll decide.”  Ooops. “Oh shit! I knew that!  I was going to say happy birthday…”  Panic. Back peddle. Really, it has become a bit of a nightmare, for all the players involved.

This year, I came home to find that a wonderful, incredibly generous person had baked me my own birthday cake (I have honestly not had one, in YEARS), only to open the pretty box and see that Middle Man someone had actually taken a slice out of it already!  Hello!!  Birthday candles? Birthday girl cuts her own cake? (Careful Middle Man, some girl out there will take you out one day, for offenses of this nature.)

However, things have been remarkably remarkable this year. What is this? My husband pulls a big, fat, white rabbit out of his classy stretch limo hat; someone bakes me a cake, and I get lots of wonderful cyber greetings, as well as a few hard copy cards and gifts (from super great friends), for good measure!  2012 is off to quite a start. Dare I cross my fingers and hope that more good things are in store (hello publisher: pleases love my book)?

And so, over the past few years, my good friends have taken to making up for this sad story, and they jump in each year and do nice things for me on my birthday, so I’m not totally sour-pussed and cranky. They take me to lunch and call me to sing; they are there to help me celebrate.  It’s amazing, as I get older (oh hey, today! I’m officially older!) I appreciate my friends more and more. They have been truly stellar of late.  When hubby was gone for two weeks before Christmas and my mom was in hospice, they brought dinners, they sent treats, they checked in on me. When mom was in her final days and hubby had to have surgery, they did it again: dinners, calls, took Little Man for his final orthodontist appointment. Friends are the family we get to choose, and I have chosen very wisely and feel much blessed.

Anyway, as my birthday approached this year, I figured it would be an extra bust. Husband was still not feeling great from his surgery and has spent an inordinate  significant amount of time on the sofa, in a pain killer haze, watching a combination of three general themes:  big, strong men competing in big, strong men events (Cross Fit World Championships); Spy thrillers; and car shows. He watches all three at once, switching back and forth as each goes to commercial. It is enough to drive even a TV addict like Little Man out of the room. In fact, hubby has owned that sofa and TV for a week and a half now. I was sure that my birthday would pass especially unnoticed, and he might even throw in some guilt inducing comment like: “Well, I’ve been in so much pain, I couldn’t do anything.”  Saying it again:  I was wrong!

So, back to TV saga:  the other day, when I saw that he had dosed off and his grip on the remote was loose, I snagged it and put on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.  Ok, stop there. Stop your judging right now. I have been through a lot and I admit, it gives me a sick kind of joy to watch these gnarly bitches behave much worse than I will ever behave (even on my worst days, when I can be pretty gnarly myself: owning my shit) and I have fun seeing what kinds of tacky thing they’ll wear and do. Oh the over the top bourgeois joy of it.  Hubby came to quickly, and demanded the remote back, but knowing that he could not actually get up to take it, I told him he’d have to just watch with me or try to make it to the bed. So, my husband watched his first full episode of RHoBH… and while his incessant questions (“Does she always dress like that?” “I thought she hated her?”) drove me a little crazy, a miracle happened (unbeknownst to me at the time): Like the thousands of women who have fallen for Mauricio, Kyle’s yummy, super attentive, incredibly adoring and perfect husband (seriously, a divine man in the husband department), my hubby apparently noticed Mauricio too. Of note: Mauricio is tall and dark haired, so is hubby; Mauricio is Jewish, so is hubby; Mauricio dresses well, so does hubby… there the similarities end. I thought. I only found out about Hubby’s new Mauricio reflections later, in the limo… but oh the miracle!

Yes, you read that right: the limo. Yesterday, the day before my birthday, my husband suddenly told me:  “At 2:00 you need to be dressed, nice, but not formal, and don’t eat too much today.”  I had no idea! Total surprise! And, I LOVE SURPRISES!  I haven’t had a true surprise for my birthday since my friend Valery pulled one off in like, 6th or 7th grade. I always get wind of something, or figure it out, or nothing happens. So, I was giddy instantly. Just the idea had me flying high all day. At 2 PM, I was dressed in what I hoped would be an appropriate outfit (it was) and wondering what would happen next. Hubby was busy in the kitchen putting together the makings of my favorite cocktail (ruby red vodka, fresh grapefruit juice and tonic) and some crackers and cheese. Usually I throw on make up in the car, but he came in and said:  “You might want to put your make up on now, for today.”  Hmmm.  Intrigue. I went downstairs and put myself together. (That doesn’t take long: I’m a pretty low maintenance maintenance girl… I don’t comb my hair– ever– I wear mascara and lipstick, both of which I generally apply without a mirror… But, I was giddy, so I used a mirror and tried to make it look extra nice.

And when I came back up the stairs, there it was:  A BIG, seriously long, white limo pulled into our driveway and waiting for me! I was totally amazed, but I must say China was beside himself!  He ran to get his camera and was snapping away, before I could even put my jacket on. Adorable. Hubby looked so proud of himself and was standing next to Dennis, our driver, waiting for little ole’ me to step into my carriage! Giddy. I was totally giddy. And as we drove to our next destination, he told me how he’d come to this divine birthday plan. It was Mauricio. “You know, I was really watching that guy Mauricio. They way he listens to his wife, and watches her… even when you know he totally disagrees or thinks she and her friends are being insane, he really listens and then makes her feel special.  So, when you’re just lying on a sofa all day, you have some extra time to really think, and I thought this is what Mauricio would do, and I wanted to do something really special for you.”  Awww. Go ahead, you know you want to say it. I did. “Well honey, you can get the whole series On Demand; I think you should go back and catch up on this season!”  (That Mauricio has done some pretty fab things.)

By this time, I had an inkling of where we were headed and said, “I hope we’re making at least one more stop, to pick up friends?”  He confirmed that we were en route to the home of good friends, and when we pulled up outside their house (even Dennis couldn’t get up their driveway), my friend and I squealed with glee, while her daughter waved us off and we all got in the big, crazy car. My friends husband made the first round of birthday cocktails and we all took in the gorgeous, crystal clear day, as we drove south through Skagit County and toward Woodinville, WA. We toasted the remarkable week we’ve all had (their daughter’s bat mitzvah, my mother’s passing), and drank to really great times: like these. And we toasted Hubby, who put this all together. The Olympics showed up sharp and clear. The swans were in the fields. Our driver Dennis (oh how fun, to say: “our driver”) was a great guy, and life was shiny and magical. My birthday was shiny and magical.

The final destination is one that never fails to win points: The Herbfarm in Woodinville, WA.  As I’ve posted before (read Big City, Little Food. Chicago), I am a foodie.  A junky of sorts, when it comes to great food and cool dining experiences. I rarely pass on a chance to try something new. I’m not one of those adventurers who longs to try live bugs or even cooked ones, snakes or other things I avoid anyway, but I most anything else. I love the whole experience of diverse restaurants, fine experiences, the magic of seeing common things like Douglas Fir needles transformed into frozen ambrosia, to cleanse your palate.  And, I’ll state here again (for that record I keep), I am lucky to live a life that allows these experiences, these food adventures. There were lots and lots of years when we couldn’t do them and I am very grateful for each flight of whimsy I get now.

We celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary at the Herbfarm and have been there for one other of my birthdays. This place does it impeccably! When you arrive they greet everyone and give the history of the farm/inn and then always offer a guided tour of the amazing gardens and a visit to the pot belly  pigs, in training for finding truffles,  that always amuse visitors: Basil and Borage. We had taken our own private tour, so we all opted for sitting by the fire until seating began. At Herbfarm, they know who you are and remember if you have been before. For special occasions, they put cute little silver framed greetings at your plate setting and every person who deals with you over the course of an evening remember all these details as well: “How is your birthday going Ms. L?” “You two have a big anniversary coming up, don’t you?” We do… 25th in February.  The extra bonus about this particular month is that it Truffle month, and love truffles. Not the chocolate ones, but the fungi that pigs like Basil and Borage find and dig up. Those earthy, wonderful ones that make most things taste better, in my oppinion.

There were nine courses… little tastings of each thing… and nine flights of wine to go with that. Ok, so these aren’t full glasses of wine, but despite frequent comments about cocktails and drinks, those who know me well, know that I actually don’t drink that often and don’t drink a lot. I’m a very cheap drunk… and oh so amusing, I think.  I’ll chat with anyone, I will dance with you, I love to play… and I will call your mother, to tell her how wonderful you are. And that, is exactly what our bread server had me do. I called his mom, Sue, in Chicago (Actually, Libertyville, IL, to be precise). And while I might have been extremely more than a little flushed and drunk happy by then, I will have all sorts of fun, and remember doing it.  Don’t try and tell me things I didn’t really do, because I remember it all folks. Unless of course, it is beneficial to say I forget. Then I forget.  But this was an exquisite night of great food, great friends and a husband who went far and beyond the usual to make it a very special night. Lots of sweet laughs, lots of love shared, given and received.  To be with three other people who I feel very loved by and who I love, who I feel have my back at all times and who I can truly be myself with, at a time when I am still stumbling a bit, and regaining ground, after the loss of my mom a week ago… That was the sweetest gift of all. I fess up here: I was mushy, happy drunk.

So I think I may be coercing my husband into watching a little more trash in the months to come. I admit it Real Housewives is garbage. It really is. I can only say in my defense, that it’s not my norm, but rather, just a chink in my armor. It’s like my love of KFC (original recipe, dark meat only), a twist in my otherwise (kind of) healthy approach to things. They are toxic people, behaving ridiculously; and I know it. That’s part of what I enjoy… the pure silliness of it. However, the fact that my husband watched one episode, saw what a doting husband can really look like… without being a total wuss (Mauricio is a man’s man… and very much a lady’s man too…). Well, that redeems the show from so much of its toxicity. Why pay for therapy or buy more books, if you can have your honey watch a couple episodes, and pull off the kind of birthday magic my husband did? I might just have a bracelet made for Hubby:  WWMD.  People will think it’s a work thing. Bravo Hubby!  Bravo Mauricio! (Hmm, Bravo is the station that airs RHoBH) As long as hubby doesn’t think I’m gonna start looking like any of those skinny, plastic chicks, then we’re good… in fact great. He can ride on those shiny points he earned yesterday for a while… until Mother’s Day.

Final note:  Today, my real birthday, hubby called two times to discuss things and didn’t say a word.  You know the words. Finally I said: “Uh, happy birthday?”  Ooops.

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business).

Posted in Beautiful places, Beauty, Blog, Car trips, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Women's issues, Wonderful Things | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments