why the folding of Gourmet upsets me so. and why i love it. and why it will be missed in this house. by this girl.

so when i was growing up the food in our house was good. mostly everything was healthy and home made, made with love, and an eye towards taste.

but i always had the sense that there was something missing. not lacking, just missing. being young and not exposed to much i had no idea what that was.

until one day in high school when i was hanging out at the goddess mother's house and we went into the kitchen for a snack. she forgot something in her room and left me in there with her mother who was doing something at the other end of the long island. now, this was back when her mother didn't care for me (though it must be said that her mother wasn't ever ungracious or unkind to me in any way) and i sort of knew that. and so of course i tried to engage her in conversation. because i have manners. and also because back then and even to this day i still can't believe there are people who don't like me. so of course i throw myself at them.

so i wandered down to the end of the island to make small talk. and lo and behold what i saw mesmerized me! it literally stopped me in my tracks. it was nothing short of magic. alchemy.

"what are you doing?'

"i'm sugaring violets."

she could have said she was creating a bust of my sophomore english teacher out of head cheese and i wouldn't have been more shocked, or understood less the reason for it. or absolutely loved the idea of it more. (the sugaring of violets, not the head cheese bust)

so i asked her how and why and all the questions one might ask about something they found so odd and delightful and fascinating. and right then and there i knew what i couldn't put my finger on all those years growing up. and that was that food was and could be totally fabulous. that the possibilities were endless. that food was sustaining and delicious and nourishing, but that there was always the potential for something more. for fancy.

and by fancy i don't only mean fussy or elaborate. that, too. sometimes. by fancy i mean more than just food on a plate. and anyone who loves to cook, or loves to eat good food so much they seek it out whether it's served from a kitchen table, a stick on the street, a truck, or a fine dining establishment knows exactly what i mean.

because at that time in my life the idea of that, food being more than just on the plate to eat, was about as fancy as it got.

then when i finally got a kitchen of my own i was a hippie vegetarian and all the money and creativity i had went towards making truly awful tasting soymilk and internal organ rattling herbal tinctures. i didn't even have a cookbook and i actually only ate the same. four. things. every. single. week. ramen and bean and cheese burritos and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cheese pizza. sometimes with mushrooms or the occasional black olive. ooh. fancy.

then i got another, better, more adult kitchen and a vegetarian cookbook. i had a little more money, and a little more creativity, and i ended up making the same. four. things. every. single. week. boring. i know i know, vegetarian cooking isn't boring at all! NOW. now when we've all been exposed to so many different cuisines and techniques and spices, etc. THEN. then it was pasta and brown rice and tofu scramble and the occasional badly devised quiche. at least it was in my kitchen. the day i learned to make mushroom gravy i nearly broke down and cried. i think there was at least a tear or two. the flavor! oh my god there was FLAVOR!

then right when i started to get the hang of vegetarian cooking that had some flavor, i put all my energies towards trying to be the coolest girl in the room. you know, drinking my weight in beer every night, dancing at the clubs, sucking in my already flat stomach. as you can imagine this didn't leave a lot of room for actual cooking, let alone any fancy sort of cooking. in fact, i don't really remember doing any cooking. i think i survived on bar snacks and the occasional garnish in a cocktail. good times.

oh, and the occasional fabulous meal out when i could get it. which actually did a lot to spur the foodie in me, but i didn't know it at the time. at the time i was probably just happy to be eating something other than bar snacks and cocktail garnishes.

then when i became a responsible, okay who am i kidding...when i started my family there had to be more routine, and apparently bigger than a 24 inch waist. by then i wasn't a vegetarian anymore, THANK GOD, had a bigger and even better kitchen, got a different cookbook, discovered trader joes, and ended up making the same. four. things. every. single. week.

it wasn't until i discovered Gourmet that all of that changed. because i always knew the potential was there, but i never knew where to start. sure i had seen Gourmet around through the years, but i never really picked it up to check it out. then one day at a dentist or doctor or baby appointment i picked it up and i was hooked. right then and there. all of it. hooked. so i stole that copy, filled out a subscription, and never looked back.

what grabbed me was the variety, the depth, the sheer load of information, technique, and know how in each copy. every single month there was something new to learn. about food, restaurants, drinks, travel. it was endless and fascinating. this was right around the time the internet was still newish and the food network was getting going, but they still really only had emeril. god, remember when BAM! didn't annoy the hell out of you? yeah. i don't either. so this was back when you actually had to physically pick something up, a book, magazine, encyclopedia, and actively seek out information. wow. that is a truly depressing sentence.

and as these things go, i started being exposed to more by way of technique and ingredient, and i sought out more cookbooks, different ways of shopping, and stopped making the same four things every single week. i started planning weekly menus with an eye toward variety and excitement on the plate. an eye towards fancy. cooking, which had been enjoyable if not seeming a bit of a chore, and boring with the same dishes every week, began to be the absolute highlight of my day. i could spend hours cooking and be as happy as a clam steamed with white wine, garlic, and just a hint of red curry. happier still to put the food on the table and feed my family and my friends.

i love Gourmet for giving me Ruth Reichl. she is hands down simply fantastic. a true foodie, an excellent writer (her books, please read them!) and i feel, a kindred spirit.

i love Gourmet for giving me Jane and Michael Stern. their Roadfood column and books and radio spots are some of the highlights of my month, my sunday afternoons, and a few of my road trips. i will always love them for introducing me to the Golden Light Cafe on Route 66 in Amarillo, Tx. it was everything they said it would be. right down to the two busty, saucy waitresses (okay, so i said busty, they didn't) who kept me plied with frosty mugs of cold Shiner Bock and the honest to goodness golden light that poured through the windows in the afternoon.

i love Gourmet for introducing me to some of the most fabulous restaurants i could ever hope to visit (they are on my list) and to those that i have. most memorably The Slanted Door in San Francisco that really truly did exceed expectation and was worth the two month wait, the 1000 mile distance, and the 9:30 pm seating.

i love Gourmet for introducing me to chefs i never would have known about and cookbooks i never would have seen otherwise. and for their Christmas cookie issue. i will miss the Christmas cookie issue. a lot.

i have also learned from Gourmet, in a roundabout way, that big kitchens and fancy kitchens and inspiring kitchens are fabulous and wonderful and well, inspiring. but despite all of that, good food comes from simply combining ingredients and preparing them with love and care. sure you have to search some things out, learn a new technique, explore and explode your boundaries, make mistakes and correct them as you go along. but it really, in the end, it is just a simple process. (if it works, right? ;) )

i also learned from Gourmet that recipes printed in magazines can contain errors and that some just plain suck. (and sometimes it's your execution that just plain sucks) and that's okay. the thing about cooking is the ability to work with the mistake to make something different than you originally intended, or to just chuck the screw up and move forward. because there's always another meal, another recipe, one more chance to make it good. better even. if only everything else in life was so easy.

i loved Gourmet for showing up every month and giving me just that bit of time to explore a world i always knew was out there and is now always at my fingertips. a chance to express myself and my love for my friends and family in the most time honored and primal way and loving way possible.

only fancy.

x.

it's midnight in manhattan, this is no time to get cute.

one of my midnights in manhattan. this is no time to be trying to take a picture.


view from my friend fern's apartment. that's the empire state building. at night you can see all the flashes of the tourist's cameras.


okay, so i had this whole post about how much i loved my trip to new york. about what i saw and what i did and blah blah blah. i deleted it and started over.

because the thing about being in new york, about me being in new york is what can i say that hasn't been said, hasn't been sung, written, or waxed on and on about?

like that has ever stopped me before. so i started over.

and i will say this and bunch of other stuff. I LOVED IT. i felt at home there. sure at first, the first morning, i was overwhelmed, jet lagged, hungover, missing my family. my friend fern went to work and the day and the trip stretched out before me. so yeah, i was overwhelmed.

but there's this thing about being there that before you know it it's just in you. and it's you and 8 million plus people moving within controlled, fluid, chaos and it's like you've been there all your life.

it helps to love to walk, know east from west, north from south, be able to figure out the subways in short order. though really, you can't get lost on an island. eventually you are back where you started or recognize something familiar.


waiting for the subway

it also helps to have been visiting my friend, fern. everyone should have a friend who can say 'go to this building, head to the second floor and look up.' that city is so amazing on the surface, we've all seen that, whether we've seen that in person or just on the big or small screen. but if you just take one side street over, take a different set of stairs, look in a different direction, you will see what truly makes that city more amazing than you could ever imagine.

and it also helps that there is just this knowing about new york. like it has its identity fully intact. and it is just there to offer you the chance to be in it. to just be. i felt more at home in the 5 days i was in new york than i ever did in many of the other places i've lived.

i won't bore you with the whole travelogue because there really is too much, but i'll give you my brief snapshot. enjoy! (and please bear with me those of you who have already been bored by these pictures;) )

the metropolitan museum of art was amazing. i just mean the building itself. i didn't have much time there as we went simply for friday evening cocktails. but i was so taken with the building. just being inside it felt amazing and awe inspiring. if you had no idea before what "gothic" meant in terms of an architectural style you really couldn't come away from there without being totally clear. and totally moved. there's something about being so small and surrounded by so much huge, solid beauty. it was well...hard to put into words.



the new york city public library. okay, why aren't all libraries this fantastic? shouldn't it be mandated that a library offer impressive surroundings with which to engage the mind and fascinate the senses? at the very least a big heavy door you can barely open yourself? the whole building is incredible but the second floor ceiling is amazing. simply amazing. i sat for a half an hour just taking in the whole scene. wanting to share this with my boys. you couldn't sit there and not feel as though there was an importance to this building. that the history, and what it stood for, not to mention its purpose and its contents, well...the building was worthy of the knowledge it contained.



st. patrick's cathedral. what can i say? when you walk in it's just so intense it's hard to get a grasp of it right away. thankfully right to my right as i walked in was the virgin de guadalupe altar. how fitting. i practically fell into the pew. i was simply overcome. my spirituality is a long island iced tea of religious and spiritual beliefs and labels at best. i won't bore you with the details. and i know organized religion is just such a hot button for people. but to sit and be so fully absorbed by a place, to openly weep because the beauty of the spirit is just that intense, well...if there's anything else to say about that i don't know what it is.




central park is more beautiful than you can imagine.




riding bikes in NYC is easier than you think it is.




having a local dive bar seems an essential part of one's daily life. and yet i have missed out on this. WTF?



being in grand central terminal made me wish i had a packed bag, a ticket, and a destination.



and i wish i had a picture but just know that heckling a big city comic is way more fun and way more satisfying than you'll ever know.

and yeah, i walked through times square. meh.

i could see myself in new york more permanently. living, being, etc. there's an inspiring element to the juxtaposition of the endless sea of people moving amongst the solid and unmoving shore of buildings. unmoving, but no less alive.

washington square park. when the architect of the arch died (stanford white) he had the largest porn collection ever found to that date. inspiration comes in many forms.

Add a caption

washington square park. had to do it. when the architect of the arch died (stanford white) he had the largest porn collection ever found to that date. inspiration comes in many forms.

i have never been one to appreciate architecture and buildings. okay, sure i've appreciated them. but to fully experience their importance, what they bring to the world. and to their little corner of it. the importance of place has always been in me. but this idea of a single building contributing to that importance, in some case "making it." it's new and i am inspired by it.


chrysler building.

and the slices of life you get exposed to on a minute by minute basis. conversations you overhear on the subway, snippets you get when people are passing by, the fully hardcore crazy right in front of you, subtle and not so subtle bits of life being lived all together on one amazing island. there's none of this fake politeness. the lowering of voices to shield your life from those who are living their life right next to you. it's authentic. and i like that.


if you can't see it, the sign says Lawn Closed Temporarily. yeah.

one of my favorite moments was sitting in zabar's deli with an underwhelming bowl of matzoh soup listening to the two old jewish men across from me. they were 80 if they were a day. and yet with detail and clarity they were reminiscing about the blintzes one of the mens mother made when they were little. they remembered her bringing them out to the stoop and how they'd all stop playing and crowd around. how the recipe was so guarded and died with her. this was a long and loving conversation and i just basked in it.

being in new york made me realize that the sparkle i thought i had lost and sought to find there was not there at all. it was still in me, just stagnate. in some cases misused, given away without purpose. i didn't need to find the sparkle, i needed inspiration to put it to use.

beyond just absorbing and being absorbed by new york, the promises my soul made to my self in the met to seek more beauty, in the library to seek more knowledge and acknowledge what i already know, and in st. patrick's cathedral to honor spirit, both within me and around me, are the best kinds of souvenirs from the best kind of travel. the kind that exposes you to new surroundings, ideas, experiences, and to those parts of yourself that have been there all along. you just never knew it.

and now i do.

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

i like animals. in the way tony bourdain likes animals. i wince when some cute furry animal is going to be taken down for the purpose of eating, but i am all too happy to eat certain animals.

animals fall into two different categories for me; there are some of them i pet, and some of them i eat.

that being said, anyone who knows me knows i am crazy for my cats. not like grey gardens crazy where i want to marry them or anything like that. but i love them and they are part of the family. so when you say you'll take care of my cats you better damn well take care of my cats. there's no half assing it. it must be done correctly. i have been disappointed so many times with how little regard people who are supposed to be caring for my cats actually give them. i'm kind of a bitch about it.

this is why i hire people with cash money to care for them. even then...

so it's safe to say i'm not a member of PETA, but i love animals nonetheless. in my own way. my hypocritical give me a cheeseburger when i'm sad and i'm always up for a plate of grilled cross cut ribs marinated in asian spices and there's this pair of over the knee black leather boots with a 3 1/2 inch heel i really really REALLY want kind of way.

it is that spirit that i bring you this week's moment(s) of zen. cute and furry and snarky and profane and COMPLETELY IRREVERENT. (sound like anyone else we know ;) ) in other words, if your sense of humor about animals doesn't exist or is misplaced then don't read.

x.

stoned. and not in a good way.

okay, so i had a kidney stone. and for those of you who aren't already wincing in sympathetic or empathetic pain, you obviously haven't gotten the memo about how horrible these really are.

they are really horrible.

imagine someone sticking a bowie knife, rusty and jagged, into your kidney and turning it. oh, say, for like 12 hours at a stretch.

this started out of nowhere friday night. at first i was like oh great, the UTI i had last week created a kidney infection.

yeah, i wish.

as the pain intensified and i could barely talk or stand up it dawned on me that since i knew i hadn't in fact been stabbed with a rusty jagged bowie knife that this could only be a kidney stone. oy. everything was presenting just like everything i'd ever heard about kidney stones.

so what do you do in the middle of the night when you're in crippling and debilitating pain? why you go onto the interwebs, of course.

by now it was 12:30 am and everyone was asleep. i panted and sweated through my interwebs research to find out that pain medication and liquids were the way to go in passing a kidney stone. like i would go to the hospital anyway ;)

well with the previous UTI i had already had the copious amounts of fluid thing down, so that left the pain medication. only the ibuprofen was UPstairs and i was DOWNstairs. and if i went UPstairs i'd wake up the husband and he would get all concerned and really really worried and i just didn't want that. in matters of extreme pain/illness i'm like an old cat. i'd rather find a bush to crawl under and be left alone.

and speaking of cats, if i went upstairs they'd all wake up and follow me down and hang around and be all concerned. while this is sweet and endearing i was SO not in the mood to be the feline midnight madness show. there was no going upstairs.

so, i drew a bath and breathed deeply and hoped for the best. and while the bath was filling...okay, can i say that my tub is HUGE. it's an old claw foot and it takes so long to fill. i was watching it thinking i could be dead before that tub fills. sweaty and passed out and dead on the bathroom floor and the tub STILL wouldn't be full.

i needed to take my mind off the tub so i got *ready.* i figured there was an off chance i'd end up at the hospital. and in my sweaty pajamas that would NOT do. i'm no fashion plate but i'll be damned if i end up passed out in the back of an ambulance in sweaty pajamas with no underwear and unbrushed teeth if i could help it. so i got out what i would need to make myself presentable should i have to go the the hospital in a hurry.

it reminded me of the time i was coming down with the flu. i was all alone with the boybarians (the husband commuted to NY state and back every week) and i figured if i was so sick that help would have to be called in, i'd be damned if somebody came in and the house was messy and the kids starving. (they were much younger then) and because we home school i figured the scrutiny would be even worse and probably end up on the evening news. "Two local brothers were found starving in a filthy house with the mom was passed out on the couch. We are now getting word that they are home schooled." i could see all the footage flash before (must have been the fever) and the knowing shake of the collective head of the community.

so, i cleaned the whole house and made a bunch of ready to eat stuff they could grab from the fridge. it intensified the brewing flu in a body that needed rest and liquids, not manic cleaning and chemical sprays, but it made me feel better. well not physically. made it worse actually. i got really really sick.

but, i digress.

anyway, so the tub is filling and i have my things together and i need a distraction from the pain so i read a little more about the pain that is taking over my very soul at this point. *they* say i should be sure to have a mesh strainer on hand when i pee to catch the stone to have it analyzed, and that beer helps.

wait, what?

beer is a diuretic and i read it on more than a few reputable sites that it helps produce the urine needed to move the stone faster than just regular water. okay, i don't know if they were reputable. i made that up. how would i know how reputable a site is in the middle of the night in extreme pain? all i know is a few of them said "drink beer." majority rules, doesn't it?

you don't need to tell me twice. i finished my monster glass of water, grabbed two beers and got into the tub.

and a half an hour later it was nearly 2 am and i was drunk in a huge tub filled nearly to the brim with water. me, a person who under the *best* conditions falls asleep in the bath tub on a regular basis.

as plans go, this was not a particularly sound one. but it helped.

the pain subsided under these conditions a bit. enough for me to catch a break and catch my breath. plus *they* said the pain might come and go in waves.

so i'm sitting there, drunk in the tub, thinking about all the things one might think about if they were drunk in the tub in the middle of the night; every bad decision i ever made, remorse, grief, why does anyone even like me, i probably deserve to pass a kidney stone, i'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner, etc. you know, all the headliners.

i should call someone, i thought. you know, get some support, some sympathy. maybe apologize for everything i ever did wrong to them and beg for tearful forgiveness.

good thing the phone was in the other room.

so during all of this i'd have to get up to pee now and then. i'd haul out of the tub, hobble over with my strainer, and well you get the rest.

and yes, the strainer is history. after this it won't make its way back into the kitchen, just so you know. it may have been time to replace it anyway. it was a fine strainer, but did have the appearance of something you might find in an abandoned whiskey still. or a meth lab.

so this is how i passed the night. refilling the tub with water, drinking tons of water and some beer, and praying to god to just let me die right then and there. a black crowes "she talks to angels," kinda moment. rock on.

*they* say you know the minute you've passed the stone because you have almost immediate relief. and i say *THEY* ARE RIGHT. jesuschristo. thank god and pass the pabst.

so i think i'm on the mend, except i have some residual pain in my kidney that worries me. so, to be sure, i called my doctor's office this morning to get an appointment to just have her check it out.

so the receptionist answers and the minute i start to ask my question she cuts me off to ask my date of birth. i give it to her. then she asks my first and last name. and as i'm starting to spell my first name she cuts me off again and

"okay, i know who you are. what do you need?"

ah, customer service for the medically needy. it's such a fine art.

"i passed a kidney stone, but i'm still having some residual pain at the site and i just want to check things out."

so i give her my doctor's name.

"she's out of town all week."

"can i see someone else?"

"if you want."

"okay, yes. i think i need to be checked out."

"fine. do you care if it's a man? or do you require a woman?"

i'd take a chimp on a bike lady, just get me a damned doctor.

"i don't have a preference."

"fine. you can have tony. there's an opening at 3:30 today. that's if you need to come in today."

what part of I PASSED A KIDNEY STONE AND I'M STILL HAVING PAIN DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND, LADY!?!

"yes, i do need to come in today."

"fine, 3:30 it is."

"um, excuse me, but what doctor did you say i'd be seeing?"

"you'll be seeing tony. see you at 3:30"

and then she hung up.

tony? who the hell is "tony?" does he have a last name? is he even a doctor? tony. sheesh. am i getting highlights in my hair or following up on a potentially serious and completely painful condition?

so that was my weekend. how was yours?

in other news for those of you who i am not in contact in my daily life by other means, i need to announce that the HOUSE HAS BEEN SAVED! yes, the miracle came through indeed. it's a long and at once climactic and anti-climactic story occurring at the 11th hour, but suffice it to say the house is still ours! :) i apologize for the brevity of that announcement considering all that built up to it, but there it is!!!!

and if there is anything else to say about that i don't know what it is.

you know what? this is going to be an interesting week. i can just feel it. so drink your fluids and get your rest. you never know what can happen, because ANYTHING can happen!

(and hopefully, for you, by "ANYTHING" i don't mean "kidney stone.")

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

when i was little one of my very favorite things to do was to play library. all that organization and order. the enforced quiet. me in full charge. books as a means of escape. shocking, i know.

in fact, my happiest childhood memory is of the day i got my very first library card. now, i think we've established that my memory is shotty at best. but this one comes in clear as a bell.

i remember waiting for months for that library card. you had to be able to write your FULL name to get it. a daunting task at that age to say the least. so about 4? an early 5?

i practiced and practiced. when i finally mastered my name, my mother took me to the library right there on highway 101 in fort bragg, california. a big old beautiful building with the ocean behind it and a whole new world in front of me. we walked up the steps and i remember thinking that this was the best day of my life.

boy that counter was tall! but on my tippy toes and with the steadiest hand i could, i signed that library card and that was that!

in fact, one other very distinct memory i have is when my mother left me home from a library trip as a punishment. oh god how i cried. it was foggy and cool that day as it often is on the california coast and i was wearing a dress. my mother said i needed to change out of the dress and put on pants, or put pants under the dress before we went. i refused.

even as the compliant middle child i often exercised my right to be a butt head.

and even when she threatened to leave me home and take the others to the library i STILL refused. of course believing she would never make good on the threat. because she knew how much it meant to me, i figured. the rationale of a child. she wouldn't dare. so i stood my ground.

but she did dare. i got left behind and i cried my little library lovin' eyes out in my stupid dress with no pants underneath.

anyhow, my love of the library never waned. i have only come to love it more. i am shameless and indiscriminate when it comes to the shelves. i will go to any section, i will grab whatever looks good. i have very few loyalties, if any, and any book is subject to my whims.

i am insatiable. i can have up to 100 items at a time at my library. and sometimes i have. oh, they used to say it was limitless, with a small laugh as if anyone would ever have "too many" checked out. but oddly enough, they've recently instituted a policy. hmmm. but, no matter, i can go back as many times as i like. casting off and casting on. a never ending river of books.

i have traveled places and if the stay is long enough, i secure a library card there, or make sure there is access for myself and the boybarians. for a funeral in my hometown, for a birth or two in my goddess children's hometown. it doesn't matter the place, the library is an easy constant.

in fact i envy the goddess mother immensely as she lives less than a mile from the very oldest library in her very old state. it's a wonderful little building and so much history. it also doesn't hurt that the librarian there is so very dreamy. good lord, with his accent i just can't place, and his piercing eyes, and his...well, you get the picture.

in fact, when i grow up i want to be an academic librarian. one day, when life settles down, i hope to stop deferring my acceptance to the institution that will train me to do just that, and get down to business.

in the meantime, i satisfy my cravings the best way i know how. primarily by patronizing my own local library. but when it really gets bad, i become nostalgic and pining for libraries i have known, and a dreamer of libraries still yet to discover. often as an insatiable voyeur who just can't get enough.

and it is in that spirit that i bring you this week's moment(s) of zen. Red-Hot and Filthy Library Smut. please enjoy. and for heaven's sake, shhhhhh.

x.

sillymortalmama and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. i've had worse days. but seriously, today can suck it. and it's not even lunch time.

first of all i had to call india to get help for french language learning software that's made in the USA. of course i was put on hold. then i had to give them my name. which of course, as you may be able to guess, is always a delightful activity under the best of circumstances. over the phone, over seas, with accents and cultural differences and the whatnot, well it becomes oh so much more.

and yes, there are days i think of changing my name to debbie. just debbie. no middle. no last. and then i'll call myself deb. for short. i can only dream.

okay, so the name shenanigans out of the way, i began to describe the issues we've been having with the software. software, computers, etc. not being my "thing" of course i'm not using all the right "lingo." and since lingo is key, and this isn't charades, though my gesturing on my end of the phone would suggest it was, and my tech help is on the other side of the world this only adds to the merriment. good times. this should be recorded for some show and replayed. it. is. that. amusing.

and just as i'm getting to the crux of my issue, the heart of the matter, and now he is perhaps FINALLY understanding my dilemma, the bugger hangs up on me! GAHHHHHH!

god, this is just like dating in college.

okay okay, in all fairness he probably didn't hang up me as much as there was a problem with the connection. but still. GAHHHHHH!

so then i go back to my REAL activity for today. which is trying to get through to my doctor's office. all. morning. long. i've been calling.

okay, so this is the "free clinic." which, due to the state of affordable, available (or lack thereof) health care in this country, is what is available to the likes of me. and can i tell you this "free clinic" is not "free?" oh, but no they are not! there's some complicated paperwork ridden system which determines how much i have to pay per visit. and let me tell you, it's NOT free.

so, i call and call and call. and good lord you'd think after a long holiday weekend they'd be prepared for the onslaught. oh, but no they are not! no wonder the emergency room is the de facto family doctor. you might have to wait but at least you get in. sometime. maybe. in some cases hopefully before you bleed to death in the waiting room.

and given the general population of the "free clinic," you'd have to guess they don't have the funds to do urgent care or something like that on a long weekend. (or are just too cheap and stubborn. we don't need to name names here) you'd have to guess they are just waiting for 9 am on the following tuesday to call and get in after suffering for some bit of time.

and given that maybe, just maybe, as the administrators of the "free clinic" would "have to guess" that, then perhaps they would plan accordingly. oh, but no they do not! GAHHHHHH!

likely, similar to so many other facilities/organizations/etc. of their nature they are over worked and understaffed. under funded, and under siege by the financially unfortunate.

no wonder the phone has been busy all morning. no wonder all my re-dialing yields me is a busy signal.

i get it. i do.

but i'll tell you what, when you feel like you've been pissing razors for two days solid hearing a busy signal at your doctor's office is the LAST thing you want to hear. whether you "get it" or not.

and that may be TMI for my more delicate readers, but this is my blog and therefore i get to say what i want when i want. so there. and frankly, with what i've spared y'all from over the years you really should be thanking me.

you're welcome.

so there you have it. and it's not even lunch time. and it doesn't even matter if it's "five o'clock somewhere" because i have geography, science, classical writing, and logic yet to cover.

and because the last time i checked i wasn't running the Ernest Hemingway School for Boys, instructing while sober seems like the prudent course to take. GAHHHHHH!

x.

every rose has its thorn.

so all day long today i've been smelling roses. like intensely. smelling. roses. and there are no roses here. not in a vase, not on a bush.

for all you non-catholics, when you smell roses when there aren't actually any roses around it means there's some sort of significant spiritual event occurring or about to occur.

not that i'm catholic, but all the jewish, cancer girl, middle child guilt i possess isn't nearly enough so i like to borrow some from the catholics. one thing leads to another, people talk, you hear things, then before you know it you know about the roses. plus, i dig mary.

so anyway, all morning and into the afternoon i'm smelling roses. and at first it's really pleasant and then i realize OH MY GOD. i'm smelling roses! and i start to get a bit excited. maybe this is my miracle! maybe all this suffering is about to pay off! divine intervention is mine! maybe i should clean the house in case this will involve a crowd soon!

at the very least i should get out of my pajamas.

i wondered what it could be. would it be a sign? the miracle i've been waiting for? maybe i'll be struck dead right here and now and they will make me a martyred saint! god knows (no pun intended) that i certainly have trained for this moment all my life, i might as well get a little something out of it. patron saint of wine as a hobby and denial masked as optimism. nice.

so i tell the husband all about it and he says

"yeah. well, you're not going to get out of it that easy."

bah.

i kid. i kid. i do not have dreams of dying anytime soon. even if it meant getting out of the next few tough weeks. even if it meant getting out of organizing and packing up a huge ass house full of STUUUUFFFFFF, including the three HUGE boxes of my ex-husband's crap that i will likely be moving for the 10th time. even still.

so i'm still smelling roses when i go upstairs to get something from my bedside table. and right there is a little bottle of lotion. it's one of those travel bottles from a hotel, and last night i grabbed it from the drawer in the bathroom to put on my feet before bed. and i totally forgot that i did that. of course you know where i'm going with this.

it's rose scented lotion.

and it didn't really smell all that rosy at the time, but upon further investigation, it is SO pungent. and i remember using a LOT last night.

so.

there you have it. my divine intervention? my miracle? my macabre fantasy ticket out of this silly mortal existence is nothing more than a residual, off-gassing smell on my feet.

indeed.

i knew it couldn't be that easy. sigh. but a girl can dream can't she?

and just because i can, and because it's begging for it, cue the poison...

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

so i feel as though we have established my track record with out of the house encounters. in short, not so good. the outside world: 1. the girl: 0

this morning at yoga proved to be NO exception to that rule.

one of the women in class was telling some of the others about the trip she just returned from. her niece had recently had a baby and this woman had gone to help out. you know, decorate the nursery, hang out with the older child, that sort of thing. so the lynch pin of this riveting tale was this woman's grousing about "how much stuff" came with an infant. apparently any outing required no end of items just for the baby, and that didn't include the older child, a toddler, who had a bunch of stuff he traveled with, too.

so then there's an ensuing discussion among most of the class, predominantly grandparents, all much much older than myself, about how "kids these days" are buying into the whole "stuff idea" when it comes raising their children.

oh, and just so all y'all with children know, your parents, your child's GRANDPARENTS, bitch about you and your kids and your "cockamamie" ideas JUST AS MUCH as you bitch about them and their seeming inability to understand what the fuck you are telling them to do re: your kid(s). and how "they" don't know how to latch in a car seat/fit the plastic nipple in the sippy cup/work the diaper pail/etc. and "how did we ever survive being raised by them," and all that. they have all the same gripes in reverse. no joke, they all think you are just as whack as you all think they are.

just sayin'.

all of a sudden i realize the room has gone silent and i look up from my warm up stretch to see them all looking at me. rather expectantly. so i said to the room in general

"excuse me?"

"i asked, do you have children?"

all eyes on me and i swear this is like only the third time in over a year of being in that class that any of them has ever even spoken to me. and now they were dragging me into some group discussion. but i understood, since most of the women in the room probably hadn't ovulated since before the first bush was in office (no pun intended) i got to be the de facto spokesperson for "kids these days."

"i do, two boys. 8 and 12"

"did you find you needed a lot of 'stuff' when they were real little?"

"not really. two boobs and a sling pretty much did it."

good lord you could have heard a pin drop.

you should have seen the looks on their faces. you'd think i said "nope. just endless whiskey and an illegal, underpaid, exploited, mistreated, nigerian nanny i trafficked here myself."

if they're all going to be offended about the word "boobs" then they really ought to have a chat with the woman in the shorty shorts and flimsy panties. at least my "boobs" are covered and don't jump out at you during the cobbler's pose. and don't even get me started on what i had to endure facing her during the *seated wide legged straddle.*

oy.

did somebody mention whiskey?

and it is in that spirit that i bring you this week's moment(s) of zen. otherwise known as "drunk yoga."

take a deep cleansing breath, or a shot, and enjoy.

x.

what a girl wants.

i have been wanting something for awhile now. it's neither here nor there what it is, for the purpose of this conversation it really could be anything.

wanting something is such an intense feeling. it starts out small, almost a crush. uncertainty. it's fun. it gives one a bit of a lift to the day. to think of it, imagining the possibilities.

but the other half of wanting is acquiring. and therein, more often than not, lies the rub. because wanting is so very easy. getting, not so much.

and sometimes you do, you get what you want. and it feels good. but a lot of the time you don't. and does not getting what you want make the want go away? no. but wouldn't that be nice?

so after a time, that wanting without fulfillment gets a little tiresome. it gets old. it's so one sided. the dark side of the crush.

so the other day i was sitting on the porch feeling that dark side of the want. resenting the feeling. resenting the very thing i wanted. just for being a part of me. the unfulfilled, needy part. feeling weak for the wanting.

and that very thing i desired just became an annoyance. irritating and grating. the beauty all but gone.

fun.

and then yesterday i read a story about a woman with prader willi syndrome, a genetic condition that causes one to always be hungry. basically this woman can never eat enough to satisfy her hunger. ever. and there's no cure. and with it comes all the attendant problems of overeating. so not only will this woman never feel satiated she also has to deal with a host of unpleasant and unhealthy problems on top of it. she suffers AND will never be free from want. for all of her life and for the rest of her life it has consumed and will consume her every waking thought.

which brings me to a little nugget i carry with me...quit before you have to.

because while that poor woman, bless her heart, has to suffer, i don't.

what a novel concept. deciding you *don't have to suffer.* somebody should write that down somewhere.

what would happen if we wanted without expecting to be fulfilled? what would happen if we were just happy with the wanting? if it was always the first days of a crush? what would happen if we could achieve some kind of satiation that fulfillment brought, without actual fulfillment?

what would happen indeed.

so that's what i did yesterday. i told myself that it's okay if my want gets unfulfilled. that just wanting it is enough. and yeah, easier said than done, right? i hear you. but i want to quit before i have to. i cannot allow a want to determine my happiness. not even for a moment. that thought right there scares me. because in a life of ultimate abundance that's just so whack any way you look at it. glass half full or half empty doesn't mean a thing if you're the one with the bottle.

and it's only been 24 hours, but i'll tell you what. it's nice not to think about it so much. to begin to like the idea again without expectation. to wonder, to get back to some what ifs. the good kind. finding some bit of charm in the uncertainty.

and just as i fell into the thing that eventually created the want so shall i proceed. it's okay to let things free fall a bit. it's okay to let things happen as they will. it's when we start fucking with stuff that situations get all wonky. desperation always steers the hero the wrong direction. just like in the movies.

besides, every one likes a surprise, right? if you go around wanting something to the point of entitlement and expectation and pissiness how in the world will you ever be surprised? and there is not one speck of charm in entitlement or expectation, and certainly not in pissiness.

and if there's no charm in it, what's the point?

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

well, we're in the final stretch for the date to auction the house. september 11th looming large on the calendar, more so in our minds. and good lord who's farking idea of a joke was THAT?

as you may imagine things are becoming a bit more "intense," shall we say. the breath quickens, a few more wide eyed looks from the mama to the papa. a well placed what the fuck? or two as reality gets more real. nervous giggles over a bottle of wine and a lot of what ifs. it's funny that after all these years together it may be like starting over again. a little of the ha! ha! funny, and a little of the whoa! funny.

have i started packing yet? purging? organizing? planning? yeah, not so much.

at this point i'd like to think i'm possessing a healthy mixture of optimism and denial. both of which have their places, of course. but combined, and they're like a magical elixir for the damned.

the thing is, i don't think this is over. not by a long shot. i have reason to believe that miracles can and do happen everyday. but i think we discussed that before.

i have to say that one of the things that pisses me off the most is after being here a decade i began to fully expect to get old and die in this house. let the kids deal with the crap and the stuff and all that! but i guess that joke just may be on me. the best laid plans of sillymortals and all that, right?

other than, you know the obvious suckiness that comes with losing a home, i think i'm doing pretty good. still. right now. today. this morning. i'll keep you posted.

i just keep thinking about the story of the medieval muslim king who ruled granada from his huge beloved castle, alhambra. now this being southern spain and muslim, it had always been separate from the rule of ferdinand and isabella. that is until they decided they wanted granada for themselves so the whole country would be unified in strength, but mostly in christianity.

well, the muslim king put up a valiant fight for a decade, but ultimately the spanish army was victorious. and as the king was leaving after surrendering his beloved alhambra, he stopped on a ridge overlooking the castle and let out this huge sigh over his loss. there's even a plaque where he sighed. an actual plaque marking his huge sigh!!! can you imagine? and even today you can visit the spot!!! the section of the ridge is called The Last Sigh of the Moor.

anyhow, so he's heaving this huge sigh and his mother, who lived with him and had also lost her home, goes up to him and smacks him across the face! then she screams at him "don't weep like a woman over what you couldn't defend like a man!"

dysfunctional family dynamics. not a new idea.

i will tell you what. whatever happens i'm not the muslim king and i'm not the mother. there will be no plaque to mark where i lost my shit over this house. there will be no blaming or recriminations. will there be tears? hell yeah! i cry at insurance commercials and parades. you can bet there will be tears. and i may curse the name of the people who still have crap "stored" in my basement, but that's just standard and certainly not plaque-worthy.

the only thing that will mark that i was here are the memories i keep with me. and while it seems a little sad, i don't think it is, really. in the grand scheme of things. to have a happy blessed loving home in your life is a gift. and even if the four walls change shape and color and location the happy blessed loving home is, in the end, not a physical place at all.

but yeah, i'll still cry.

anyhow, so there's your update and my reality. and it is in this spirit i bring you this week's moment(s) of zen. it's nearly 7 minutes long and most of you will hate it and it has absolutely nothing to do with anything in this post.

except that for 30 years it has caused me to bust up with happiness every time i hear it. and if we need anything more for something to be zen and to be shared then i don't know what that is.

x.

leaps and bounds.

the other evening we were having a picnic dinner at the beach on the hood canal. when we finished i took a glass of wine to the sand to relish in the fact that there was a sweet breeze, crashing waves, and i was no longer boiling to death.

down the beach a bit there was a woman with two humongous golden retrievers. are there any other kind? the bigger and darker of the two would wait for the woman to throw the stick and then would bound into the waves in unabashed glee. swimming out, grabbing the stick, and swimming back in. then right before he got to the shore the lighter and "smaller" of the two would wade in and grab the stick and run up to the woman with the stick, drop it, and then jump all around and accept all the praise for retrieval.

meanwhile the bigger of the two dogs would shake and shake and then stand ready to retrieve the stick once again.

i watched this go on for some time and i wondered what the dynamic was here? what was the relationship that had one dog so happy to do all the legwork, and one dog happy to take all the credit? didn't the bigger dog resent the smaller dog for this? did the smaller dog have some issue that prevented him from going in the water? and the woman just kept it up, throwing the stick for the bigger dog, praising the smaller dog for retrieving the stick.

the thing is, the bigger dog looked so happy, the way that dogs always seem to manage to do. just bounding in those waves, waiting for the other dog to get the praise so the stick would once again get thrown. and the smaller dog looked so pleased, dancing on the beach with the stick. soaking up the love. and the woman sure looked happy.

i don't know much about dogs, but i do know enough about relationships to know that any relationship we are not part of is always very different from "our" vantage point. that the people (or dogs) in the relationship are having their own thing. and unless you are in that relationship how could you ever know what is really going on?

it seemed to work for them. this dynamic. this relationship.

then the boybarians and the husband joined me on the beach. and amidst all the watching of the dogs and the small talk the duke started in with yet another thrilling baseball anecdote (insert sarcastic eye rolling here). okay, can i say i love that my boys are so very fanatically interested in something? but to regale me with tales from the 1976 world series games or whatever the ancient baseball topic du jour is is just becoming a. bit. much.

besides escaping the dreariness of the pacific northwest in favor of hanging out with a beer and a hot dog for a game or two under the arizona sun during spring training, or my own kids' games, i am not so much interested in the baseball. i am certainly not interested in ancient history baseball. good lord i can only handle so much.

but the duke takes this stuff seriously. and he does love to tell a story. and he loves to think that everyone is interested in what he has to say. wow, i wonder where he gets that.

so this evening the duke starts in on his story of some ball park's "disco night" that took place some time in the 80s. i think. i don't really know the particulars because the minute he started i turned to the husband and gave him the "i. can't. listen. to. this. please make this not my responsibility. please be so interested that he won't notice that i don't care and am not listening. please take this one for the team."

i had to because kids love nothing more than to be listened to. and they know when we aren't engaged. and that sucks for them. and i couldn't just ignore him or get up and walk away. but i couldn't actually take another baseball story either.

so the husband did. and because we were both sitting there, and because the husband was so engaged, at the end the duke was pleased to have shared something with both of us that he was so interested in. and pleased that we both seemed to be interested, too. even though i wasn't listening and in fact was deep in thought about something completely different. probably along the lines of i wonder why it is we never got into watching all the great shows on HBO and showtime? we'd probably love them. i know we would. and yet we never think about it. or, thinking about something covered in cheese. my deep thoughts often times don't run too deep.

and i realized we were the golden retrievers. the husband was the bigger one. diving in the waves getting the stick, passing it off to me. and i didn't have to do anything but wait to be included in pleasing the duke. even though i didn't do a thing.

and that's parenting in a nutshell. picking up the slack, asking for the slack to be picked up. working together. cohesive. it doesn't have to be 100% 50/50 all the time. it just has to mesh.

there are days i can't get my shit together (i know, shocking) and days the husband can't. there are times i get the accolades for an idea that wasn't mine, and days when i get the blame for a decision i didn't make. parenting is just about making the leap no matter the hurdle. and parenting isn't just one hurdle, but a succession of them. so it's best to be consistent and just go with the rhythm that naturally gets established. whether it's praise or blame, in the end it's just about making the leap.

i'd also highly recommend practicing your "of course i'm listening because this is so riveting please tell me more!" face. it also comes in handy at parties while you plan your escape and on really bad dates.

and in the spirit of those happy dogs in the waves with the stick, i dedicate this post to the memory of melissa's bean dog. bean, you were a kick ass dog, much beloved by all who knew you, and you will be sorely missed. be blessed.

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

when i was younger i danced for years. modern and then ballet. i was not very good. okay, let me rephrase that, i was okay. but the problem was i just had no awareness of my body. at all. i had no natural rhythm.

as my friends would say, it seemed i had no control over my limbs. zero.

ballet was better. i loved it. all that structure. it fit. it's like the rhythm was built in. i just came to it too late. i was 18 when i first tried ballet and then did it on and off in my early 20s. but then i just sort of hit a wall where i knew i would never advance and it became frustrating. and i didn't want to go back to modern dance because by then, at that age, it's all about the woman energy and the sharing. shudder. no thanks.

so what does a frustrated former dancer do?

speakers. i started dancing on speakers in clubs. not at first. at first i just started dancing in clubs and i loved it. went every night. there was something so limitless and freeing i found dancing that way. something i never got with the choreographed dance. something i saw other fellow dancers have, it just eluded me at the time.

and that's when i realized i did actually have control over my limbs, that rhythm was indeed mine. have you ever tried to dance on a speaker? let me tell you, it ain't easy. throw in a couple of other somewhat scantily clad, sweaty, gyrating girls and it becomes downright dangerous. especially so when they'd play you dropped a bomb on me. baby. oy.

and i don't know what changed, how i tapped into what had probably been there all along. other than time and maturity, that usually does the trick for a lot of things. that and a lot of regular sex and a lot of drinking. that can help with personal rhythm, too. especially in the art of speaker dancing. (sorry mom, i had to put that in there)

the one thing i couldn't do was yoga. good lord yoga bugged the shit out of me. all that sitting and breathing and awareness. i tried it a few different times and each time i thought i was lucky to have made it out of the class without beating the shit out of someone. it seriously made me angry.

but that was then. now? well presently i have somehow lost my internal rhythm. i don't know how and i don't know when. but i seriously cannot dance in public ever again. i came to this discovery a few years ago at a wedding. i caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and not only was i doing the white man's overbite, i looked like elaine on seinfeld. you know that one where she says she's a good dancer but then she actually dances and she. is. not.

and it's not for the lack of regular sex and drinking (again. sorry, mom) i don't know what it is really. but y'all are lucky i spare you.

but curiously, now i absolutely love and totally rock on the yoga. except, you know, when i'm injuring my back in the senior citizen class.

it is this spirit that i am happy to bring back from hiatus this week's moment(s) of zen.

i would also like to dedicate this to the genius who was merce cunningham. national treasure, local boy. you were a force and an inspiration. especially to the rhythmically inept. may you rest in peace, sir.

x.

pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain.

recently a newish old friend who reads my blog and is on a certain social networking site asked me

"don't you ever get vulnerable, self conscious, or scared? how can you be so sure about the parenting thing?"

really?

um, yeah. every. single. day. of. my. life. the blog is called sillymortalmama after all. right? and with that i'll stop short of saying, DUH.

let's just break this down, shall we? the only way i can be sure about my parenting is to ask, what's my alternative? always WORRY about it? TELL myself i'm doing a bad job? KNOW deep down inside that all my choices are wrong and i'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop?

in that same vein, what about the vulnerability and the self consciousness and the fear? like i said. DUH. but i'm sorry, i did that for nearly 38 years. i'm done. and i've decided i'm trying something new.

because what if we raised ourselves like we do our babies/kids? or how we were or *wished* we were raised as babies/kids? what if we praised ourselves and honored ourselves and loved ourselves just. as. we. are.

ooooh, look how cute you are with all that chub! look at your beautiful smile! i wuv your bald wittle head! you are SO smart! you are so creative! you are so clever! oh i love you SO SO SO SO much! you are the best thing that ever happened to me!

and then when we tantrumed or got sad or hurt, we held ourselves with soothing words and gentle hugs and just stayed open to it. we didn't run away from it or get disgusted with our behavior or just simply ignore it all together and hope it went away. we sat with ourselves until we felt better.

it's not that i don't feel all that crap. it's just that i'm done letting it be at the forefront of what's happening here. because trust me, the column of "cons" in my life is long. i'm just choosing to focus on the other side of the page.

look, i know you're all tired of hearing about me losing my house. trust me folks, i'm sick of hearing about it myself. but it is the perfect illustration of the other shoe dropping. and then you're like, okay, now what? roll up into a ball and wait for the auction? be really really sad and never recover? drink a big ol' cup of penny royal tea?

fuck that.

you know what i did when i found that notice tacked up on the house for the first time? well, i knew it was coming and i'll tell you what i *thought* i would do. i thought i would fall to my knees and never get up. i *knew* i would. because that's just what you do when vulnerability and self consciousness and fear rule the roost. ooh, then maybe i could somehow find a way to blame it on my childhood and then be able to milk it for all its worth. oh poor poor me. right? i'm being semi-facetious, of course, but you get the picture.

but you know what? i didn't. i untacked the letter, handed it to my husband, and went in and wrote the best damn query letter of my life and sent it off to a slew of literary agents.

and now i prefer to believe that you can't know what it looks like until it happens, and then you just go from there. so you might as well focus on the good stuff. might as well give yourself a chance.

the fact that i've faced rejection after rejection after rejection in the time since is neither here nor there i suppose. ;)

i'm finding everything in my life that is good or charming. from the teeniest to the hugest. and i'm exploiting them fully. why wouldn't i? why wouldn't you? or any of us?

so yeah, pretty much it's all about me and how fabulous things are. because this is my life so why wouldn't it be? why wouldn't i tell about the good things? i've done enough of illustrating all the negatives in my life. i'm done. because not that it's not valid or necessary to work through them, but just because it's ultimately taking up all the space. where is the light gonna go? where will the good things take up residence? and besides, how much fun really is it to complain? (after the initial bitching that is.)

but, just to expose a huge flaw, i will now contradict myself and tell you the following illustrate that it really *isn't* all about me.

wingman was recently stuffing his gullet when i asked him to slow down, actually chew his food. then the duke piped up and admitted that he used to swallow his macaroni and cheese whole because it was so easy to do. then wingman admitted the same thing!

okay i have to interject a side note here to those of you who are not mothers. please don't admit things to your mother after the fact. no matter the amount of time that has passed, no matter what it is. it will always piss us off and make us worry and upset us. we will rarely be amused. you could be 80 and and your mother over 100 and this would still be true. trust me.

"guys, i'd be careful with that. i'm sure i can do the heimlich if i had to, but i wouldn't be able to follow it up with CPR if necessary."

"CPR?"

"yeah, i think everyone, especially parents, should know CPR. but i am totally rusty. so chew carefully and don't have a heart attack, okay?"

to which wingman replied with

"well, i'm not going to need to know CPR. but my wife will."

and then i got this sinking feeling. because wingman doesn't even like girls but he HAS mentioned a wife before in passing. and it's never pretty. read on.

"your wife? why your wife and not you?"

"because my wife will take care of the kids. so she'll have to know."

"um, won't you be taking care of the kids, too?"

"um, no. because that's why i will have a wife."

oy. like i said, not pretty. and this isn't the first time it's been brought up. this mythical wife and what her duties will be. and that list is long and ever growing. so far wingman's duties include making them pancakes and eggs and teaching them how to play the Wii. i've not seen it grow from that.

and where he gets this i cannot say. because while i am fairly traditional in my role as wife and mother in this house, he sees his father do all the same things i do. sometimes better. he is being raised to know that gender doesn't have to play a role in our roles in life. it can, but it doesn't *have* to.

so yeah, you want vulnerability and self consciousness and fear?

apparently i'm raising a male chauvinist pig.

nice.

happy now? ;)

x.

happy birthday carlos santana.

38 things i've learned in the past year.

38. i am way more patriotic than i thought i was.
37. i had to be talked into liking obama. (i know, right? WTF?)
36. algebra makes me sweat. seriously sweat.
35. my kids are smarter than me.
34. they just don't know it yet. whew.
33. i've learned to not take life personally. it just is.
32. i am totally okay with the gray hair.
31. i am totally digging the curves.
30. i could totally do without it being hard for me to see while driving at night.
29. i am way more hypocritical than i thought i was.
28. i have learned to do things with full intent.
27. i have learned to trust that i know what i'm doing.
26. and yet half the time i feel like i'm winging it.
25. i still feel like i'm 17 inside.
24. i am really good at this parenting thing.
23. i am not modest.
22. scrubbing people's toilets for money is honest work.
21. i can do anything for money if it means taking care of my family.
20. except let people take advantage of me.
19. and i've learned to flip a table a la real housewives of new jersey if you try. FINALLY!
18. i like wine more than a girl should.
17. i will no longer dance in public because i have lost all rhythm.
16. i don't know how to be fashionable without asking for help.
15. i don't text. i won't text. don't ask.
14. my heart keeps expanding. it is limitless in its capacity.
13. if i love you i won't stop. ever.
12. i miss you when you're not here.
11. i have come to absolutely love the field out beyond wrong doings and right doings.
10. i can keep calm and carry on.
9. i have abundant faith.
8. i am braver than i thought i could ever be.
7. i am strong.
6. i can let go.
5. i will probably have to.
4. and i'm okay with that.
3. and that is probably the most surprising thing from the past year.
2. only love prevails.
1. i am the luckiest girl in the world.

happy birthday to me.

x.

i'll miss you when you're gone.

i went to my high school reunion with my dear friend's ashes in my purse. i didn't mean to. it just happened that way.

she died five years ago and my share of the ashes never made it to me. i met up with my friend, her partner, and he handed them to me. and i wasn't in my hotel room and i was on my way to the event and so i just popped them in my purse. i figured she was already sick about missing the reunion. i know i was sick about her missing it. it seemed fitting. it fit.

they're in a film canister. i kinda chuckled thinking if at some point during the evening i met up with those who vow to serve and protect they'd think i was holding. do people say holding anymore? yes sir, i am. little did they know exactly what. and do people carry weed in film canisters anymore? do people say weed anymore? jesus, i need to get out more.

and no, i don't generally go out with the idea that i'll meet up with the police at some point in the evening. but i think that evening i figured anything was possible. being forced into a tight space with the people you spent the most awkward four years of your life with while wearing kick ass heels and carrying ashes in your purse will do that to a girl.

and they make a rattling noise, too. that would be the chunks of green glass from the port bottle. her best friend is/was/is ?? my best friend. the night before she was cremated we split a bottle of port. her favorite. 1/3 for me, 1/3 for the goddess mother, the rest we left for her. for the journey. we tossed it in the next day with her.

i guess maybe we didn't so much say much about the bottle. because the green crystals that appeared in her ashes gave some pause. but that would be her. sea green crystals at the heart of her soul.

i have a box i'm going to put them in. she gave me the box the last time we visited before the very last time we were together. a beautiful box that i had absolutely no use for. i feigned a need for a box, though. oh i said, i've been needing a little box like this.

she gave me her best don't bullshit me look. ooh, but she was good at those. she knew i didn't need a box. she just saw it and thought of me.

what is it about humans that we have to validate everything? make everything necessary? she just wanted me to have it and i had to qualify it. it's a good thing she never let me get away with much. i appreciate that, because i don't try to as much now.

anyhow, i've never used that box. but now i will. and it's perfect. and yet i still have that film canister sitting on the mantle. next to the box. next to the mary. next to quan yin. next to the miniature replica of the red velvet couch i met my husband on. holding vigil. there.

because once i pour her ashes in the box it's going to get sealed up. super glue around the edge of the top. an inscription on the bottom. and it seems so final.

which is funny. what about death five years past isn't final? right?

but what i like to do is open the lid to the film canister. because when i do a little white puff comes out. and i can see the crystals. and it makes me feel better. like she isn't gone at all. and when i seal those ashes in that box i won't get the puff. i won't see the sea green crystals anymore. and that makes me sad. and that is so selfish.

and this is coming up because i've been thinking about loss lately. how we get so attached and yet it's all so transitory. and i'm not saying that in some boo hoo let me journal my pain crying girl kinda way. just that we get attached. our hearts, our bodies, our lives. we get attached to things to people to ways of being in the world. we get attached to the life we are living.

but what happens when those things aren't there? when the people aren't people we can be with anymore. when life changes whether you want it to or not. when the life you've been living isn't yours to live anymore.

what happens indeed.

and what we want to do, what we silly mortals are conditioned to do is to hang on. hold tight. don't go. on our knees. and that's normal. justified. authentic.

that's mine and it means this to me and i won't give it up. i won't.

but at some point we have to. we just have to unclench our grasp. to open our breaking hearts. to say this person can go and i won't break in two. or to say it's just a thing. it isn't me. it can go and i'll still be here. i'll still be me. i can move forward without it. i will move forward without it.

why do we put so much of ourselves into things and people that can just go away and leave us sad? because we can. because it feels good. because that's how the world moves forward. the ebb and the flow of love and the inevitable heartbreak keeps this world balanced.

because when you look back there's always some point you realize it was worth it in the end. all of it. even the crappy parts. and that in letting go you are better able to hang on to the good parts. and the pain and the crap just go somewhere else. sometimes never "away" away for good, just somewhere more manageable.

that being said, i'm not rushing over to the mantle to seal up those ashes. because right now i just want to hang on to missing her. because there's already a lot of potential for loss for me right now, and i want to keep her close. even though i know. even though i just said. even though i know it's worth it in the end.

it will happen. i'll get there. and because i'm me you'll probably know all about it when it happens.

(and good lord hopefully not in some boo hoo let me journal my pain crying girl kinda way. ;) )

x.

crowing about my kids and why i love friends.

i can be a one woman fan club. not in that i don't think i can do no wrong, just in the things that i choose to do, i do with a combination of dedication and passion, research and intuition. in this i can go forward confidently. i make mistakes, sure, a lot of them, but i only consider them mistakes when i don't try to learn from them.

i am supported by my husband, my family, and my friends.

so when i go about my life and my choices, home birth, co sleeping, extended breastfeeding, home schooling i just assume that the people in my life go right along with me. that they know me, they trust me, they get that i know what i'm doing.

this would be an incorrect assumption. not for all in my life, but for some.

in fact, a dear friend a few years ago actually said something to the effect of

"you know, i was a little skeptical there for awhile about how your kids would turn out. but they're pretty cool."

oh dear. bless the 1000 mile distance between us. because as a parent, those are fightin' words for certain. plus, i'm bigger than him and could fully kick his ass.

he was referring to how long i breastfed them, how we chose to home school.

at first i was a little peeved, how could such a good friend not trust me? then i realized how could he know? he doesn't have kids, doesn't want them. to his mind i was probably doing everything i possibly could to fuck this parenting thing up somehow.

to him, how could i nearly die giving birth at home then go on to choose to do it again? how could sleeping with my child possibly be good for either one of us? and how in the world could i NOT fuck up a boy child by nursing him until he was three and a half? times two!

i was moving forward in full confidence and he was holding his breath on the sidelines.

so i started to realize that just because i have it in me doesn't mean others get it. and that's okay.

and i don't mind telling you that even i look at my kids and do a big old WHEW! because sometimes it doesn't matter what you do as a parent or don't do as a parent. you get what you get. the kid is his own. you're the one who has to adapt. and you're the one who is the first to get blamed.

which brings me to a more recent interaction with another friend. again, no children. he expressed to me that he was impressed with how my kids were both intelligent AND engaged. seemed pleasantly surprised. so i asked

"you mean you were worried they wouldn't be?"

"honestly, yes."

"because of the home schooling? but you know me? didn't you think i could pull it off?"

i think he said no, but i must have blocked that part out. i still want to like him, after all. plus, he's bigger than me. i don't think i could take him.

and the conversation went to what he had thought about it, that he knew how hard it must be to parent let alone be the teacher too, etc. etc. etc.

i would choose to be irritated (and for a minute i was) but i know it comes from a place of love. of caring for me and ultimately my children. that he hadn't seen it, that he just didn't know.

and if you don't see it up close on a day to day basis it can seem so other worldly. they spend all day together, they aren't with other kids their age on a regular basis, what the hell does she know about latin or the fall of the roman empire or split infinitives? and we all know she has NO business teaching anyone any math beyond second grade!

you know, that kind of thing.

all i know is i don't have any concrete answers to other people's skepticism other than come spend the day with my kids. hang out with them and you'll see it isn't weird. that they aren't weird. no weirder than any other kid, that is. that they are both intelligent AND engaged, well rounded, that they haven't been fucked up, and as far as i know have no apparent breast fetishes. yet.

they are snarky and sarcastic and hilarious, too. but now i'm just bragging.

all of this brings me to the following tidbit i'd like to share.

so a little background, recently the duke took his end of the year, two day test. this is a standardized test. (they all are, right?) and i'm not huge on the standardized test, but if you home school in my state you must test your child(ren) every school year. it's incumbent upon the parent to facilitate this, and there are a lot of options.

i feel like the one i chose years ago and we continue to use is one of the best of the bunch. a student cannot pass or fail this test. the results from this test give an "objective picture of how your child or the typical child in a specific grade is progressing in school."

it also shows how a child has progressed in a certain area from year to year, where your child falls in terms of other children in his/her grade. it also shows "the grade level of students for whom a score is average or typical." meaning that the test measures your child's answer and determines what grade level that answer/thought process matches. for instance "a grade equivalent of 4.5 means that the child's score is about the same as what the typical score of children in the fifth month of the fourth grade would have been if these children had taken the same test."

so i'm explaining this all to the same friend who expressed his pleasant surprise at how intelligent AND engaged my children were. and i'm further explaining that it doesn't mean that they are ready or able to do the work of that grade, but how they measure the maturity of the thought process and match it to the grade level.

"and you know what for the duke? in every area except reading vocabulary, which he scored 12.3 in, he scored PHS, which is post high school!"

then there was a moment when i was beaming. all happy to share this news. and i assumed he was taking in the awesomeness, further seeing how fabulous this home schooling thing was going. how wrong he had previously been in his worrying, and i was assuming full vindication was mine. then he said

"so what you're saying is, the duke can think like and solve problems the same way a college freshman would."

oh. and indeed.

to spite myself, i laughed.

and there you have it. because if your friends can't support you and love you AND give you shit then who can?

and having friends who can bring you down a peg or two is actually a gift. smack worthy, but a gift. because if you can't laugh with others at your own expense, where's the fun in life?

yes, the control freak has learned to laugh at herself.

will wonders never cease?

let's hope not.

x.

thursday evening wingman.

last night i was making the bed. it had been fully stripped earlier in the day and i was putting it all back together. this used to be a more daunting task when i went through the our bed needs to look like a hotel room bed phase. the only way a mattress cover and topper, six pillows, three sheets (yes, three), a bolster, a blanket a bed spread and a duvet, plus decorative throw is EVER a good idea is when someone else comes in to clean your room while you go off somewhere to eat, drink, sunbathe or shop.

wingman popped in after he put his pajamas on. he was chatting at me, per usual, about this and that. how he wanted to repaint his side of the room in the colors of his favorite baseball team. how he'd love a mini fridge and a toaster in there, too. about how he'd like his side of the room to smell like a hotel room.

(we're big suckers for hotels around here. i wonder what that says about us?)

so as he's talking and i'm interjecting the timely uh-huhs, and head nods, and oh reallys? i realize that he's automatically gone to the other side of the bed and is helping me. he's straightening the top sheet as he's chatting, helps me smooth out the blanket, and grabs up a pillow to cover.

i don't know that he's aware that he's doing it. he's just doing it. and it was all i could do to contain myself. it broke my heart in how it was just so sweet.

sometimes with children it's better to just let them break your heart, in a good and SILENT way, rather than pointing out that what they are doing is "a good thing," "helpful," or "cute."

but with all things wingman these days, the sweet lasts just so long until the baser parts of him take over. this usually includes, but is not limited to, the idea that either one of his parents is ever naked.

"mama, i really don't understand how you can sleep next to someone who doesn't wear a shirt to bed."

he's 8, so i decided to humor him. so with a big sigh i said

"well, when you love someone i guess you're willing to put up with a lot."

he's 8, so i decided to ALSO gross him out.

"you know, sometimes he even sleeps naked."

he broke into a fit of giggles and shouted

"OH MY GOD! that's SO GROSS!"

i thought he was going to pee his pants.

i remember thinking how he does. how in the world do people do that!?! be naked, have sex, kiss even. in fact i remember being his age watching television and just assuming that there was a clear glass wall separating the two people kissing. because that would be gross otherwise, right?

i love having little kids around. there's just something about being reminded about how simple the world really is.

that being said, getting over that was a part of growing up that did. not. suck.

x.

there's a reason lunatic comes from lunar.

it's a full moon.

i'm feeling twitchy, restless. also very sleepy.

i want everyone to come close and to go away. love me love me leave me the fuck alone.

i feel like anything can happen and that nothing is.

suffering as i do with depression i'd be inclined to believe, with all the signs, that this is the beginning of a cycle for me.

but i don't think it is this time.

i think it's just a matter of me on the edge waiting. having patience. and patience can be a bitch. because when you're waiting for a miracle, for the good stuff, patience is not only a virtue, it can also become an exercise in total frustration.

maybe it's because it's the full moon in capricorn. the exact zodiac opposite for me. that cold saturn energy trying to infuse into my warm moon energy. and i'm supposed utilize that energy during this time. to take stock, nurture my ambitions, make my dreams a reality. i am supposed to be "doing" something.

and i think i am supposed to find this all amusing.

actually, i still kind of do. the big cosmic joke, right? the cancer girl losing her home. but my cheeks are getting a little sore from all the smiling. and my arms are getting a little tired from all the juggling. and i'd like to go sit on a beach by myself until i'm done sitting on a beach by myself.

but (i'm a cancer, there's always a but), it's also the blessing moon this time around. time to count your blessings. to be grateful for what you have.

and i am. i can't imagine a better life for me. i don't know when i've been this excited to see what the next day will bring. my heart is full of life and love.

and to borrow a phrase from a friend, there's light at the end of the tunnel and it's not a train. and i believe that it truly is not a train.

so do i hunker down? do i force an action? what do you do when the whole world is at your feet? when the universe has its own plan and you're used to being in charge?

who in the hell knows. i think i might just channel siddhartha and think and wait and fast until it comes to me. until something happens that needs a reaction. (but not really "fast" fast, just metaphorically fast. because this girl doesn't fast. i mean, what if i got hungry?)

i do know this, though. i am so very glad i stopped writing poetry. because every awful poem i ever wrote came during the full moon. oh good lord but they were bad.

oh, so there's one more blessing to add to the pile. nice.

to mine AND yours as i won't be foisting bad poetry on you. right? i mean how much can i make you take? ;)

x.

p.s. you're welcome.

p.p.s. oh my god i just read my horoscope from free will astrology. maybe i should just shut up now. i think i will.

I believe that when you chatter carelessly about a big change that's in the works, you're in danger of draining it of some of its potency. So I don't want to trumpet or gossip about the gift that's on its way to you. I'll just mention that it's coming, and urge you to prepare a clean, well-lit place for it to land. Here's a hint: It could, among other things, help you convert one of your vulnerabilities into a strength or inspire you to start transforming an area of ignorance into a future source of brilliance.

place value.

so i recently went to my hometown for my high school reunion. i made it there and back in one piece. though i will admit this is the first time as a full grown adult that i left a little piece of myself in my hometown.

because while i went for my reunion i ended up reconciling with a place that is at best bittersweet for me. and that took a little out of me. and i left it there.

with high hopes that the sun and soil will nurture it better this time around.

i won't bore you with the details of my growing up there, but will say that it was shocking for me to learn just how much i had built up this kind of mythology about it. how attached i have become. because all the other times i visited i didn't feel it. i didn't have this kind of little pit in my stomach about it.

and maybe it was just a combination of events. being alone in my hotel (i am never alone) and staying up too late and reconnecting and letting loose. there's something to be said for routine and stability for keeping the demons at bay.

which brings me to the first morning after i arrived and finding myself in a pool of tears on the most humongous king sized bed i've ever seen. why am i crying? what is this? oh, you have to ask? really? says that voice inside. you know why you're crying.

and what started it was talking with a friend on the phone. about an issue of his. 1000 miles away and not even part of "this." we discussed his issue and when we were done he asked me what i was going to do that day. i mentioned with no family left in my hometown i had no real obligations except to my friends later. and he said

"oh, you should drive by your old house or something."

and that was it. i was a crying mess for two hours after that. what is it about childhood that makes it so hard to get out alive and intact? not all childhoods, but some. mine.

what is it about childhood that doesn't let you forget. ever. and what i thought i dealt with didn't even make it to the second afternoon.

what is it about pain that enables it to hide away for so long? in plain sight. to know it's there, to have occasions with it, but not let it get to you. to be able to keep going and just ignore it.

and then you're in some hotel off the highway in your hometown and it's standing in front of you. and it's no longer giving you the opportunity to choose. because it's not going anywhere.

i didn't learn enough as a child, a teenager. not about the world, except the small world around me. and that was learning, but also just a matter of surviving. i look back and i can't believe i did it. got up each day. figured it out each day. know what to do when i had no clue.

i didn't learn enough about my hometown and the valley it sits in. and when i go back i just get that full force. this is where you are from, going back generations, and you have no fucking clue what it is even about. you have no idea.

place is so important. sure, wherever you go there you are and all that. but my god you came from somewhere, and that sticks with you. wherever you go you came from somewhere.

and for me, the quadruple cancer girl, home and hearth and all that is about as important as it gets. and to know that i have no real connection now to the place of my birth, that i didn't learn enough about it when i was growing up there sits awkwardly on my heart.

please understand, it wasn't all tragic and awful. there was a lot of love. there was. a lot of love. and sometimes love is enough. and sometimes it isn't. it's not enough when it can't protect you.

and looking back on it now, the visit, a week out, i see that i didn't even want to try and see it this time. the town. wanted to be there, but not be present. because the whole time i was there i didn't wear my glasses. i had them on on the way from the airport, and took them off right when i got into town.

then it wasn't until we were hitting the highway to go back to the airport that i put them back on again.

and so the whole time i was walking around, riding around, hanging around i was in a kind of a haze. not up close, but surrounding me. a way to be there but not fully be there. funny how we can call up the same old coping skills and just transform them for the time.

humans are so fascinating. especially the silly mortals.

and people ask me why are you so attached to being jewish, you know having "just" found out about it? how come you fell into it so fully?

and i think it's because i need to come from somewhere and understand it. to not need it fuzzed out around me. to not blur the edges in favor of protecting the hurts. i need to have a place to start from that is tangible and accessible to me. i need a history that is bigger than the pain that surrounds it.

and damn, if that isn't some shit right there, right? being jewish somehow gives me a history to attach to less painful than the one i experienced on janna ave?

jesus, between that and not wearing my glasses i think i could be a psychiatrist's wet dream.

but hey, it's just because it was "my" history that makes it so intense. it's nothing if not all relative, right?

so where do i go from here?

forward. ever forward. because i made it there and back. nearly whole, even.

and i'll do the same thing i do for every difficult moment.

i'll open my heart and i'll open my arms.

i will love the shit out it.

x.