I bought a laptop the other day, and I'm working through the trusty old desktop computer, deleting all of the crap I don't want to keep, transferring all the crap I do.
I came across a document called "p&wmag". Opened it up and found...well...this. It was apparently something I submitted, under an alias no less, to a magazine (P&W??) back in 2005.
Since I've been such a slacker lately on the writing front, I figured I'd throw it out here for old time's sake.
When I was about 13 I decided I wanted to be a writer. Some may have called it “a calling”, though at the time I wouldn’t have painted it with such a mystical brush. More likely it was the idea that I could get people’s attention, a pursuit in which I had proven myself to be woefully inadequate. Or, it may have been brought on by the death of my previous dream of becoming Shaun Cassidy’s wife.
I remember sitting on a concrete step, snuggled in the recessed doorway of the elementary school which I had attended as a small child, shivering against the cold, trying to write in my tiny little spiral pocket notebook. This doorway was rarely used, a loading door or emergency exit or something of the like. It smelled of urine, the corners were full of cigarette butts and discarded drug paraphernalia, but it was preferable to the relatively clean but far less peaceful prospect of home. This is where I always went, in the evenings and on the weekends, to be alone, smoke cigarettes and try to think deeply literate thoughts. I was successful in all of these endeavors but the last. My first attempt at a novel was so bad that it was an embarrassment, even though nobody ever saw it but me.
That experience changed my life. My unhappiness with my story convinced me that I was without talent. This was an opinion formed firmly in my own head, and given more weight than a statement from God Himself. It was certainly not up for debate as I thought so little of what I had written that I threw it away. It was a simple fact. As much as I wanted to be creative, I was devoid of the imagination, focus and skill that might turn me into a “real writer”.
Shortly after I decided that I was destined for a life of obscurity, with neither the last name of Cassidy nor a Pulitzer Prize, I discovered boys. Well more aptly they discovered me and I discovered the fleeting sense of power that came with being pursued by the opposite sex. I grew to depend on the hormonally induced feeling of value, enhanced by drugs and alcohol, generously fertilized by the pile of compliments and sweet words that boys, even at the tender age of 14 or 15, will heap on a girl with the hopes of getting into her pants. As long as a boy thought I was special, or at least pretended to, I could find reason to doubt how very mediocre I felt.
Through my slutty phase, which has earned its title in my mind more because of my reputation and attitude than by volume of sexual activity, I wrote poetry. I wrote long rambling poems, most of which rhymed predictably, about love lost, longing and unhappiness. I mostly wrote when I was heartbroken which means that I turned out poems in abundance.
I spent my days in school with my best friend, who was also my dealer, floating from class to class with only enough lucidity to remain ambulatory. I spent most of my evenings alone in my room, wearing giant headphones, Pink Floyd’s The Wall up loud enough to cover the noise of arguing downstairs.
One night a week I went out with my friends. Usually we went roller-skating, on four wheels, to disco music. Is it any wonder I was messed up? These memories are foggy, leaving the roller rink with older boys, beer in hand. Getting high behind the building. Searching for acceptance, never finding it.
During the next few years I dated a long line of forgettable young men. Each relationship had its own story, mind you, but they all ended similarly. There was the one who I still swear was gay. There was one who felt it necessary to have two girlfriends. The one who didn’t appreciate when I had two boyfriends. There was the one I dated through most of junior year. He left town to spend the summer between 11th and 12th grade with his dad. Of course I waited for him. Two days after he returned he informed me he had been thinking about breaking up with me all summer, but he wasn’t really SURE until he got back.
Not long after that humiliating break up, an acquaintance invited me to a party. This was October 22, 1982. I remember the date because it was my mother’s birthday. It was a bit odd that this particular acquaintance would invite me, of all people, as we ran in decidedly different circles and seemed to have quite different values. For example she seemed to prefer to stay conscious during school hours and didn’t feel the need to swap spit with half of the school. But we had known each other since elementary school, she lived within walking distance of my house and there was to be beer, so I graciously accepted her invitation.
I don’t remember much about the party except that I drank, I may have snuck outside and got high, and I definitely ended up in a car necking with a guy I barely knew. Somewhat inebriated, I must have wandered home and went to bed. It’s ironic that I remember so little, because it turns out that I would be reminded of this night for the rest of my life.
A couple of weeks later, the girl who threw the party asked me if I’d like to go to a football game with her. I had no interest whatsoever in football, though I attended every home game just to get away from my parents for an evening. I had never been to an away game. She said a friend was going to drive her and she was sure he would be happy to take me as well. His name was Don.
Our high school wasn’t huge. Everyone knew everyone, if not by name then by face. I had never met Don, but I knew who he was. We ran with different crowds, and I didn’t like his. I had no reason to believe that I was going to be even remotely fond of him, but I thought I could probably stomach his company long enough to get me and my newly rediscovered friend to a football game two towns away.
He picked my friend up first. When he came to pick me up, she jumped into the back seat. This was odd because he drove a big old 1963 Chevy Impala with bench seats that would have probably seated four if necessary. But I had a Little Kings between my thighs and a cigarette in my hand, I wasn’t at home so all was right with the world.
I don’t know how long it took me to figure out that I had been set up, but when it became clear I was completely blindsided by the revelation. I was apparently invited to the party weeks before so that Don could get up the nerve to approach me. By the time he drank enough magic nerve potion, I was out in the car necking with good old What’s His Name. This trip to the football game was his second chance.
He was nice to me. He treated me with respect and dignity. He was no saint but he wasn’t hell bent on killing every brain cell he had before he was 18 either. We weren’t all that well suited for each other but I couldn’t find anything WRONG with him except for the fact that he was very much not my type, which is to say that I wasn’t afraid of him and I was relatively sure he wouldn’t cheat on me.
Normal life as a couple ensued. Graduation parties gave way to getting jobs, which led to cohabitation, which turned into marriage, which became parenthood. I am not an easy woman to live with and I tested his patience frequently along the way. There were bouts of depression and anxiety attacks, obsessive dieting, alternating with compulsive eating. A basic lack of satisfaction permeated every corner of my life and manifested itself in a laundry list of behaviors that were destructive to us as a couple and to me as a person. There was definitely something wrong, and no matter how much he tried to make me happy, I didn’t seem to be capable of letting him. Something was missing. For twenty years I longed for some elusive, blessed, peaceful fulfillment that drugs, sex, food, love, motherhood and professional success had been unable to provide.
Then, one day, out of boredom, I decided to start keeping a journal. I hadn’t written anything more ambitious than memos and procedure manuals in 20 years, but I was told that it could provide insight into some of my more self-destructive behaviors, of which there were many. It wasn’t illegal and wouldn’t add inches to my hips, so why not?
As I tentatively made my first entry, which started as creatively as “This is my first entry”, I felt a shift in my heart. That aching dissatisfaction that I had felt, as constant and familiar as the roar of a car motor on a cross-country trip, somehow shifted into a lower gear. After 25 years of wandering, I found myself back on a familiar path, I can’t say right now where it leads but I see something small and distant, far ahead, and it looks like Hope.
Initially it was easy to regret my decision to stop writing all those years ago. If I hadn’t given up so easily would I have gone through all of the fumbling that I did? Would I have skipped the drugs and gone to college? Would I have skipped the boys and kept my self-respect? Would I have skipped What’s His Name and therefore not be teased about it every blessed time my (edit- EX-)husband recalls pursuing me in high school? Would I have been more at peace with myself, easier to live with, a better wife and mother?
But then I wonder, if I had been dedicated to an artist’s life instead of being hell-bent on self-destruction would I have gone to a football game with a guy I barely knew just so that I wouldn’t have to be at home? Would I have had my son? I can look back at the last quarter-century and think of the great American novel that I may or may not have written, the places I might have traveled and the like-minded, deeply complicated, artistic people I might have met, but it doesn’t compare to the life I’ve led and the people I’ve loved.
Maybe passions, like the most important people in our lives, come to us when we need them and let the luckiest of us go, sweetly and quietly, when we don’t. Maybe they hang on relentlessly only to the truly tortured souls and set the rest of us free when we need to focus on other things. I might say that my passion for writing failed me by not giving me the talent or the drive or the belief in myself to continue on to be a great writer, a free spirit, a true artist. But maybe it just stepped patiently aside to let me do other things. I may not have been ready to go where writing would have taken me then. I wonder if I am now.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Friday, October 7, 2011
Caution...don't trip over the links.
Oh em gee you guys I WANT to write. I really really do. But my life is just INSANE right now.
Since I last poked my head in here (because saying I poke my fingers in here, while technically more accurate, just sounds dirty) I have gone on the adventure of a liftetime, landing me 1300 very scary miles away from my little nest to reconnect with and, as it turns out, fall back in love with the first, best, (hopefully last) love of my life. Go ahead, get it out of your system...everybody say "awwww".
Of course I then had to come back home, which leaves me in love with a man, and his daughter, who live 1300 miles away. God really does have a mean-spirited sense of humor when it comes to giving us what we wish for.
Meanwhile I've been trying really hard to dive into this Beach Body thing (it's my blog and I will shamelessly plug my side job if I want to) which, in an effort to not to eff up the day job, has to be done largely at lunch time. While I'm tempted to change the name of this little ditty to "blogoverwheneverihaveasplitsecond", the URL would be a bit clumsy so we're sticking with what we have for now.
I've lost 8 lbs in the past month which I credit partly to Shakeology, partly to a surprising amount of sweat and, yes, tears while I curse Chalene Johnson, her ancestors and offspring....until I notice the little pre-muscle-like bumps on my arms, the increasing extra room in my pants and my increased energy, at which point I feel just the teeny tinieist little bit guilty for my surly attitude toward her.
And The Boy....let's don't even get me started on The Boy.
And honestly, the fact that I spend more time each day smiling than frowning reassures me over and over and over again that I am EXACTLY where I should be rightthisverysecond. My nature is to always be either trying to slow down or speed up, endlessly wishing for the past or the future. But really, right now is pretty darn good....except that lunch is over.
So you're caught up. Sorry if it feels like I dragged you here by your hair. There are days I feel that way myself.
Today's lunch: Giant Eagle salad bar...because it's FREEPING GORGEOUS outside and I just had to get out of the office.
Since I last poked my head in here (because saying I poke my fingers in here, while technically more accurate, just sounds dirty) I have gone on the adventure of a liftetime, landing me 1300 very scary miles away from my little nest to reconnect with and, as it turns out, fall back in love with the first, best, (hopefully last) love of my life. Go ahead, get it out of your system...everybody say "awwww".
Of course I then had to come back home, which leaves me in love with a man, and his daughter, who live 1300 miles away. God really does have a mean-spirited sense of humor when it comes to giving us what we wish for.
Meanwhile I've been trying really hard to dive into this Beach Body thing (it's my blog and I will shamelessly plug my side job if I want to) which, in an effort to not to eff up the day job, has to be done largely at lunch time. While I'm tempted to change the name of this little ditty to "blogoverwheneverihaveasplitsecond", the URL would be a bit clumsy so we're sticking with what we have for now.
I've lost 8 lbs in the past month which I credit partly to Shakeology, partly to a surprising amount of sweat and, yes, tears while I curse Chalene Johnson, her ancestors and offspring....until I notice the little pre-muscle-like bumps on my arms, the increasing extra room in my pants and my increased energy, at which point I feel just the teeny tinieist little bit guilty for my surly attitude toward her.
And The Boy....let's don't even get me started on The Boy.
And honestly, the fact that I spend more time each day smiling than frowning reassures me over and over and over again that I am EXACTLY where I should be rightthisverysecond. My nature is to always be either trying to slow down or speed up, endlessly wishing for the past or the future. But really, right now is pretty darn good....except that lunch is over.
So you're caught up. Sorry if it feels like I dragged you here by your hair. There are days I feel that way myself.
Today's lunch: Giant Eagle salad bar...because it's FREEPING GORGEOUS outside and I just had to get out of the office.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
According to Me....
I heard this song the other day and it got me to thinking:
Let's just say it hit a nerve and move on from there.
I was thinking about the old me. I was fat, lazy, unmotivated, unsuccessful, uninspired, unattractive and unfunny.
Do you know what has changed? I am still within the 'obese' category on that Godforsaken BMI Chart. To what will surely be the shock and dismay of any member of my team who may be reading this (sorry coach) I really would rather nap than exercise. I have the same job, the same skin, the same hair (basically) and the same sense of humor. But I am now surrounded by a different group of people. And these people think I am amazing...and therefore, I am.
If someone would have told me that the biggest change I needed to make was in the company I kept, I would have said that I didn't deserve to be in company better than I was. And, truly, there was nothing WRONG with, well, MOST of the company I was keeping....select few liked to tell me how worthless I was, and by believing it, I became it, and that's probably what I projected even to those who didn't build their own self esteem on the broken pieces of mine.
I thank God on a daily basis that the negative influences are out of my life. I'd love to say that I woke up one morning and said 'ENOUGH!' and caused this change myself, but I didn't. It just sort of happened, but I can and do own the fact that I have embraced and continued the momentum. Now that I know this self-fulfilling circle of "you think I suck I think I suck you think I'm great I think I'm great", you can bet your bippy that I am surrounding myself with people who see the good in me rather than only the bad.
I'm not saying that we have to entirely base our self-worth on other people's opinions of ourselves, but trying to develop it in the presence of negative people is about like trying to build a skyscraper, on a foundation of toothpicks, in the middle of a hurricane. It's freaking hard.
If you're reading this, I probably know you personally. And according to me, you are awesome. Don't argue with me, you will not win. So if you have someone in your life who makes you feel like you are less than amazing, it is up to you to make that stop. I can't tell you how to do that (alas my wisdom does have it's limits) but I CAN tell you that if you think you don't deserve any better, you are wrong.
Think Imma go paint my fingernails purple. Tootles.
Today's lunch...this awesome veggie bake. It's a very complicated recipe. Go to your refrigerator, empty out your veggie drawer, throw away the fuzzy stuff, cut up anything that's left, put it in a casserole dish, drizzle with olive oil. Bake at 350 for an hour. Add a crapton of mozzarella cheese. Bake again until melted. Enjoy with wanton abandon.
Let's just say it hit a nerve and move on from there.
I was thinking about the old me. I was fat, lazy, unmotivated, unsuccessful, uninspired, unattractive and unfunny.
Do you know what has changed? I am still within the 'obese' category on that Godforsaken BMI Chart. To what will surely be the shock and dismay of any member of my team who may be reading this (sorry coach) I really would rather nap than exercise. I have the same job, the same skin, the same hair (basically) and the same sense of humor. But I am now surrounded by a different group of people. And these people think I am amazing...and therefore, I am.
If someone would have told me that the biggest change I needed to make was in the company I kept, I would have said that I didn't deserve to be in company better than I was. And, truly, there was nothing WRONG with, well, MOST of the company I was keeping....select few liked to tell me how worthless I was, and by believing it, I became it, and that's probably what I projected even to those who didn't build their own self esteem on the broken pieces of mine.
I thank God on a daily basis that the negative influences are out of my life. I'd love to say that I woke up one morning and said 'ENOUGH!' and caused this change myself, but I didn't. It just sort of happened, but I can and do own the fact that I have embraced and continued the momentum. Now that I know this self-fulfilling circle of "you think I suck I think I suck you think I'm great I think I'm great", you can bet your bippy that I am surrounding myself with people who see the good in me rather than only the bad.
I'm not saying that we have to entirely base our self-worth on other people's opinions of ourselves, but trying to develop it in the presence of negative people is about like trying to build a skyscraper, on a foundation of toothpicks, in the middle of a hurricane. It's freaking hard.
If you're reading this, I probably know you personally. And according to me, you are awesome. Don't argue with me, you will not win. So if you have someone in your life who makes you feel like you are less than amazing, it is up to you to make that stop. I can't tell you how to do that (alas my wisdom does have it's limits) but I CAN tell you that if you think you don't deserve any better, you are wrong.
Think Imma go paint my fingernails purple. Tootles.
Today's lunch...this awesome veggie bake. It's a very complicated recipe. Go to your refrigerator, empty out your veggie drawer, throw away the fuzzy stuff, cut up anything that's left, put it in a casserole dish, drizzle with olive oil. Bake at 350 for an hour. Add a crapton of mozzarella cheese. Bake again until melted. Enjoy with wanton abandon.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The Woo Woo
My blog entries usually kind of write themselves, but this one, even though I've felt it fighting to get out for a few days now, is just not coming so easily, so you'll have to pardon me if the flow is off.
The subject feels new to me, though it’s actually recently rediscovered, from a time I have tried to block out of my memory. Part of why I've been having such a hard time writing about it is because I can't really explain it in terminology outside of some obscure reference, barely amounting to more than personal shorthand from a long-lost relationship. Almost a private joke. But in my head, it is simply The Woo Woo.
It isn't entirely made up. It's in The Skeptic's Dictionary, though I didn't know that until just now.
adj. concerned with emotions, mysticism, or spiritualism; other than rational or scientific; mysterious; new agey. Also n., a person who has mystical or new age beliefs.
So yeah, I guess it’s not so hard to explain if you're the writer of a dictionary.
Of course! You know...The Woo Woo
I first began to believe in The Woo Woo back in the fall of 2005. I thought I had found the man I was SUPPOSED to be with. He felt it too. A pull. A sense of rightness. The Woo Woo. We both said we didn't believe in it, but sho'nuf there it was. We were new believers in The Woo Woo.
But The Woo Woo failed me. He decided that the obstacles to us being together were too great and we parted ways. And I decided if it had really been "right"...if The Woo Woo existed, he would have moved mountains to be with me. Once you find The Woo Woo you don't give it up!!! So clearly it didn't exist.
Death of The Woo Woo.
Over the following years I tried to focus on the practical things in life. Yes I fell in love again. And for a long time it was good. But it was different. Less magical. Less like it was "meant to be". I decided that there was no one right person for anyone. "Love is a verb" became my mantra. If I loved enough, it would work.
It didn't
But The Woo Woo wasn't to blame because, after all, it had gone the way of the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. Blaming The Woo Woo for my failed relationship would have been like blaming the Easter Bunny for the five pounds I gain every spring.
So he left. And I was crushed and terrified and you already know most of that sad story.
And I was sobbing into my bowl of ice cream and telling my woes to a friend via text message and she told me to pray.
Pray? Fucking seriously?
I didin't.
And then my mom died. And I just didn't know how I was going to deal with anything else going wrong.
And again, my friend told me to pray.
This may have been the phenomenon of 'hitting bottom' that people talk about, because honestly I would have done a rain dance in my bloomers in my office parking lot if someone promised me it would make me feel better. I was terrified. Irrational as it was, I was just sure that my life was going to continue to be just a series of personal catastrophes that would eventually end in me losing my son, my job and my mind.
So right there, in my little home office, I got down on my knees. I folded my hands on top of a little two drawer filing cabinet and I asked God to please, please help me. I just cried and begged for help.
Asking for help does not come easily to me. I have caused myself physical harm during times of illness rather than ask for help. I can be a stubborn pain in the ass. And here I was begging my Higher Power to do something, anything, because I just couldn't deal on my own any more.
I don't know how long I was on my knees, sobbing. But I haven't had that feeling of hopeless fear since. I still had to bury my mom. I'm still broke. But I'm more at peace than I have ever been.
To some it may not sound like I have "found God" because I can lump this experience in with The Woo Woo, but it is all part of spirituality and a belief in miracles that eluded me until recently.
Faith in the face of failure is the truest faith of all, or some such rot.
Since that afternoon I have been brought into to a group of people who are encouraging me to become better than I ever thought I could be. Their faith in me makes me believe I can achieve great things just by being true to myself, by working hard and by believing in myself as much as they do.
Since that afternoon I have found an energy and a drive and an enthusiasm beyond anything I've ever experienced before. I've gone from believing that I would just coast through the second half of my forties, into my fifties, welcoming old age and all of the mediocrity that I believed came with the second half of life. Now I know that I have only begun to live how I am supposed to live.
Woo Woo…don’t fail me now.
Today's lunch: I suppose I should abandon the "today's lunch" portion of Blog Over Lunch. Until further notice... Chocolate Shakology.
The subject feels new to me, though it’s actually recently rediscovered, from a time I have tried to block out of my memory. Part of why I've been having such a hard time writing about it is because I can't really explain it in terminology outside of some obscure reference, barely amounting to more than personal shorthand from a long-lost relationship. Almost a private joke. But in my head, it is simply The Woo Woo.
It isn't entirely made up. It's in The Skeptic's Dictionary, though I didn't know that until just now.
adj. concerned with emotions, mysticism, or spiritualism; other than rational or scientific; mysterious; new agey. Also n., a person who has mystical or new age beliefs.
So yeah, I guess it’s not so hard to explain if you're the writer of a dictionary.
Of course! You know...The Woo Woo
I first began to believe in The Woo Woo back in the fall of 2005. I thought I had found the man I was SUPPOSED to be with. He felt it too. A pull. A sense of rightness. The Woo Woo. We both said we didn't believe in it, but sho'nuf there it was. We were new believers in The Woo Woo.
But The Woo Woo failed me. He decided that the obstacles to us being together were too great and we parted ways. And I decided if it had really been "right"...if The Woo Woo existed, he would have moved mountains to be with me. Once you find The Woo Woo you don't give it up!!! So clearly it didn't exist.
Death of The Woo Woo.
Over the following years I tried to focus on the practical things in life. Yes I fell in love again. And for a long time it was good. But it was different. Less magical. Less like it was "meant to be". I decided that there was no one right person for anyone. "Love is a verb" became my mantra. If I loved enough, it would work.
It didn't
But The Woo Woo wasn't to blame because, after all, it had gone the way of the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. Blaming The Woo Woo for my failed relationship would have been like blaming the Easter Bunny for the five pounds I gain every spring.
So he left. And I was crushed and terrified and you already know most of that sad story.
And I was sobbing into my bowl of ice cream and telling my woes to a friend via text message and she told me to pray.
Pray? Fucking seriously?
I didin't.
And then my mom died. And I just didn't know how I was going to deal with anything else going wrong.
And again, my friend told me to pray.
This may have been the phenomenon of 'hitting bottom' that people talk about, because honestly I would have done a rain dance in my bloomers in my office parking lot if someone promised me it would make me feel better. I was terrified. Irrational as it was, I was just sure that my life was going to continue to be just a series of personal catastrophes that would eventually end in me losing my son, my job and my mind.
So right there, in my little home office, I got down on my knees. I folded my hands on top of a little two drawer filing cabinet and I asked God to please, please help me. I just cried and begged for help.
Asking for help does not come easily to me. I have caused myself physical harm during times of illness rather than ask for help. I can be a stubborn pain in the ass. And here I was begging my Higher Power to do something, anything, because I just couldn't deal on my own any more.
I don't know how long I was on my knees, sobbing. But I haven't had that feeling of hopeless fear since. I still had to bury my mom. I'm still broke. But I'm more at peace than I have ever been.
To some it may not sound like I have "found God" because I can lump this experience in with The Woo Woo, but it is all part of spirituality and a belief in miracles that eluded me until recently.
Faith in the face of failure is the truest faith of all, or some such rot.
Since that afternoon I have been brought into to a group of people who are encouraging me to become better than I ever thought I could be. Their faith in me makes me believe I can achieve great things just by being true to myself, by working hard and by believing in myself as much as they do.
Since that afternoon I have found an energy and a drive and an enthusiasm beyond anything I've ever experienced before. I've gone from believing that I would just coast through the second half of my forties, into my fifties, welcoming old age and all of the mediocrity that I believed came with the second half of life. Now I know that I have only begun to live how I am supposed to live.
Woo Woo…don’t fail me now.
Today's lunch: I suppose I should abandon the "today's lunch" portion of Blog Over Lunch. Until further notice... Chocolate Shakology.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
The Biggest Tragedy of My Day Was the Fact That I Couldn't Blog.
Here's what I had planned for today:
- Observe a moment of silence in memory of those who lost their lives on 9/11/01
- Master the first workout in the ChaLEAN Extreme series.
- Mow the yard
- Give the dogs a bath
- Write something brilliantly poigiant about 9/11, patriotism and
America
Yeah...we make plans and God laughs.
First I slept through the moment of silence.
When I finally got up, this beautiful, ridiculously well built woman named Chalene Johnson pretty much beat the snot out of me through my TV.
I cried a little.
I texted my coach and, bless her heart, was talked back into my big girl panties.
Yes I mowed the yard. One thing went right.
Yes I mowed the yard. One thing went right.
Then the power went out.
So I weeded a little, I visited my neighbors, I gave the dogs a bath in the kitchen sink since it was pitch dark in both bathrooms.
So I weeded a little, I visited my neighbors, I gave the dogs a bath in the kitchen sink since it was pitch dark in both bathrooms.
I realized my dogs are too big to bathe in the kitchen sink.
I cleaned up.
Then I spent a good deal of time in my car, with my phone charging up, trying to catch up on text messages, phone calls and, of course Facebook.
I realized I could never be Amish.
And now it's almost bedtime, because I'm a wuss, and my Pulitzer will have to wait because, frankly, I'm whooped. It must have been all that time sitting on the lawnmower that wore me out. Right?
But I feel like I've been neglecting Blog Over Lunch. I've written so little lately. And I really do have a deep love of my country and feelings about that beautiful and horrible September day which would be difficult to put into words in my best form. And, Sugar, today I am not in my best form.
So I dug out something ten years old. I was 35 and it was the first thing I had written since my legendary article on the Student Council race of 1982 in my High School paper. It won't win me a Pulitzer but it was from the heart, and it still is.
And it is not lost on me that the biggest tragedy of my day was the fact that I couldn't blog.
The Change
Then I spent a good deal of time in my car, with my phone charging up, trying to catch up on text messages, phone calls and, of course Facebook.
I realized I could never be Amish.
And now it's almost bedtime, because I'm a wuss, and my Pulitzer will have to wait because, frankly, I'm whooped. It must have been all that time sitting on the lawnmower that wore me out. Right?
But I feel like I've been neglecting Blog Over Lunch. I've written so little lately. And I really do have a deep love of my country and feelings about that beautiful and horrible September day which would be difficult to put into words in my best form. And, Sugar, today I am not in my best form.
So I dug out something ten years old. I was 35 and it was the first thing I had written since my legendary article on the Student Council race of 1982 in my High School paper. It won't win me a Pulitzer but it was from the heart, and it still is.
And it is not lost on me that the biggest tragedy of my day was the fact that I couldn't blog.
The Change
I don’t complain any more about what I can’t have
I feel now that I have more than I deserve,
and so much more than many.
I don’t wonder anymore how others think of me
I know that my family loves me
And we’re together, and I’m grateful
I don’t think anymore about wrongs that have been done to me
I know now that it doesn’t really mater anymore
We’re all in this same terrifying boat.
I’m afraid I’ll never again look up at the sky and see an airplane
And wish I was on it, going to some exotic destination
I’ll see a missile, and potential disaster.
And I’m grateful that I AM....wherever I am.
I’ll never again mentally go over my grocery list
Or move my lips and not sing along
During the National Anthem
I may never again hear “God Bless America
Of pride and of sorrow
And hear the words, as I never did “before”
I don’t worry anymore how my son will do in school
Or if he’s learning the rules
For now I just try to explain all this insanity
And in the end hope he doesn’t really understand
the horror of it all
And I hold him just a little closer than I did “before”
And I may never again think in terms of years or months
Of then and now
But always in terms of “before 9/11” and “after 9/11”
I will never again see a fireman
And not want to weep
And hear the word Hero echo in my thoughts
But no matter what I think, see, hear
No matter what I’m afraid of and what I’m grateful for
I may never be as proud to be an American
As I am today.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Come Shake it Up With me
A couple of weeks ago I went to a graduation party for my dear, sweet Goddaughter Jenna. I knew a few people, because I've known her mother, Teresa, forever. We met in business school, shared an apartment for a year and were in each other's weddings. Our children played together. We have supported each other through highs and lows and watched each other's babies grow. She is as close to a sister as I will ever have.
But the tasks of raising children and developing careers have kept us at arm's length for the past couple of years. We have run recently in more separate circles and while I knew her other closest friends at the party, the ones who also flank her in her wedding pictures, I still felt a bit uncomfortable and out of place and, of course, fat and ugly.
In walks this woman. She's tiny but she brings with her an enormous energy that reverberates through the room. And my first thought...she looks like a yoga instructor.
I had no idea who she was, but as I sat alone in a chair she wandered through the living room looking a little lost. I asked if she was looking for the bathroom and she said she was hoping to find Teresa for a tour.
Knowing my friend was at her wit's end trying to greet guests and keep everyone happy, I offered to walk her through and show off Teresa's beautiful new home.
I don't know how I've known Teresa for nearly 30 years and never crossed paths with Tina. Apparently she went to the same business school as Teresa and I attended, but I don't remember her. And, sure enough, she's a yoga instructor. She has a bright smile, tan skin and the body of a 20 year old. And I like her in spite of all of this.
Near the end of the party a bunch of us vowed to get together for a girl's night out. She friended me on Facebook. And this past weekend I had the pleasure of sharing a meal and some drinks with a group of wonderful women.
Tina and I swapped phone numbers, and we talked for about an hour yesterday. Along with her yoga job she is also a BeachBody coach. We talked about my fitness goals, what I'm doing now (not much), what I'm about to start doing (back to the gym twice a week, walking now that it's cooler out). My issues (tendonitis, arthritis, high cholesterol). We talked about networking, and about me becoming a BeachBody coach. What she knew of me made her think I would be successful. What she learned of me in that hour further convinced her.
She sent me some informaiton, I sent her the link to this very same little ditty you're reading from now. I started thinking about either trying the system or jumping in full tilt and being a coach, but I wasn't sold.
I grabbed my keys and went to the mall.
Any blogger will tell you it is difficult to write from the heart without over-sharing one's personal life. I've avoided writing about my current situation for just this reason but it's part of this story so here goes...I'm in love. Again. Yeah, I know...best case scenerio=death and all.
There was this boy, my first real love. I was 15, he was 17. He broke my heart. We're giving it another shot. One minor hurdle...he lives 1300 miles away.
So I'm taking a trip the end of the this month. And I went to the mall to buy something pretty to sleep in while I stay with him and his daughter. Something cute so nobody runs away screaming as I search blindly for coffee in the morning. I wasn't dilusional enough to envision myself in anything sexy...but pretty would have been nice.
But the thing is, as much as I am still that 15 year old girl in my head...the dressing room mirror is a mean, hateful bitch.
I came home with a pair of cotton sleep pants and a strong sense that someone was trying to tell me "Hey dumbas....listen to Tina"
So in the very near future I will be starting, with the help of my new, dear friend and coach Tina Gonzales, a journey to become fit and healthy and help others to do the same. I'm hoping that my success will make me a walking infomerical for the Beach Body line and for Shakeology. Some may want to wait and see if I succeed before diving in and that's fine, but I invite you all to take this journey with me if you dare. There will be details in the near future.
Come shake it up with me....
But the tasks of raising children and developing careers have kept us at arm's length for the past couple of years. We have run recently in more separate circles and while I knew her other closest friends at the party, the ones who also flank her in her wedding pictures, I still felt a bit uncomfortable and out of place and, of course, fat and ugly.
In walks this woman. She's tiny but she brings with her an enormous energy that reverberates through the room. And my first thought...she looks like a yoga instructor.
I had no idea who she was, but as I sat alone in a chair she wandered through the living room looking a little lost. I asked if she was looking for the bathroom and she said she was hoping to find Teresa for a tour.
Knowing my friend was at her wit's end trying to greet guests and keep everyone happy, I offered to walk her through and show off Teresa's beautiful new home.
I don't know how I've known Teresa for nearly 30 years and never crossed paths with Tina. Apparently she went to the same business school as Teresa and I attended, but I don't remember her. And, sure enough, she's a yoga instructor. She has a bright smile, tan skin and the body of a 20 year old. And I like her in spite of all of this.
Near the end of the party a bunch of us vowed to get together for a girl's night out. She friended me on Facebook. And this past weekend I had the pleasure of sharing a meal and some drinks with a group of wonderful women.
Tina and I swapped phone numbers, and we talked for about an hour yesterday. Along with her yoga job she is also a BeachBody coach. We talked about my fitness goals, what I'm doing now (not much), what I'm about to start doing (back to the gym twice a week, walking now that it's cooler out). My issues (tendonitis, arthritis, high cholesterol). We talked about networking, and about me becoming a BeachBody coach. What she knew of me made her think I would be successful. What she learned of me in that hour further convinced her.
She sent me some informaiton, I sent her the link to this very same little ditty you're reading from now. I started thinking about either trying the system or jumping in full tilt and being a coach, but I wasn't sold.
I grabbed my keys and went to the mall.
Any blogger will tell you it is difficult to write from the heart without over-sharing one's personal life. I've avoided writing about my current situation for just this reason but it's part of this story so here goes...I'm in love. Again. Yeah, I know...best case scenerio=death and all.
There was this boy, my first real love. I was 15, he was 17. He broke my heart. We're giving it another shot. One minor hurdle...he lives 1300 miles away.
So I'm taking a trip the end of the this month. And I went to the mall to buy something pretty to sleep in while I stay with him and his daughter. Something cute so nobody runs away screaming as I search blindly for coffee in the morning. I wasn't dilusional enough to envision myself in anything sexy...but pretty would have been nice.
But the thing is, as much as I am still that 15 year old girl in my head...the dressing room mirror is a mean, hateful bitch.
I came home with a pair of cotton sleep pants and a strong sense that someone was trying to tell me "Hey dumbas....listen to Tina"
So in the very near future I will be starting, with the help of my new, dear friend and coach Tina Gonzales, a journey to become fit and healthy and help others to do the same. I'm hoping that my success will make me a walking infomerical for the Beach Body line and for Shakeology. Some may want to wait and see if I succeed before diving in and that's fine, but I invite you all to take this journey with me if you dare. There will be details in the near future.
Come shake it up with me....
Monday, August 29, 2011
Best Case Scenario = Death
There's a comedian named Louis C.K. If you have no knowledge of him I recommend you go to your nearest video store or Netflix account and educate yourself....wait...come back here! Do it later. Jeez what’s wrong with you?
Anyway I was watching one of his routines and he was talking about dating. Basically he says that no matter what, it will end badly.
Maybe you meet and one of you thinks the other is repulsive. One of you will be hurt and miserable.
Maybe you meet and things seem great..... for a while. Then the spark fizzles out and you break up. One of you will be hurt and miserable.
Or maybe you meet and the heavens open up and angels sing. You date, you get married, you have kids who grow up to be productive members of society and give you adorable, grandparent-worshiping grandchildren. You have holidays together that make the cover of the Saturday Evening Post look like a Manson family reunion. You make sweet, passionate love to each other twice a week into your 80's. He opens doors for you and you cook for him, or vice versa. Whatever floats your boat.
But then...sure as shit...one of you WILL die....and the other one will be hurt and miserable.
So basically, in relationships, the BEST CASE SCENARIO...is death.
So why do we do it? What is so freaking awesome about this thing we chase after...this elusive feeling...this luuuuuuuuuuuuuuvvvvv....that makes us temporarily, sometimes for the long-term, blind to the sheer misery that it is sure to cause?
Now I'm not sure if have any male readers, but if I do, here is where you're thinking that it's totally worth it because you get to put Tab A into Slot B on a semi-regular basis. You are now excused from this conversation. You are genetically incapable of participating. It’s not your fault, but be gone with you.
But ladies....seriously. Why do we try so hard to find Mr. Right when we know his socks will stink just as bad as those of Mr. Wrong? Why do we dream of the day when we can say "I Do" when statistics show that if he does, he won't for long?
Freaking why?
There are theories that we are simply wired that way. Just like the men are wired to dip their wicks every chance they get, we're wired to find the caveman who will keep the wooly mammoth out of the cave. But really, how often does it work out that way? Right now I'm 0 & 2 (or am I 2 & 0? I should know better than to try to pull off a sports analogy)....I have two failed long-term relationships. I have my very own .357 magnum to which I have no problem introducing any wooly mammoth that dares darken my cave opening. So why do I glance at the left hand of every reasonable looking man who is polite to me? I am quite capable of going out and clubbing some protein over the head and dragging it home to cook over a fire (ok..Aldi's & the microwave, work with me here). So why do I still shave my legs?
If the theory that we're wired that way is true, we're wired to be stupid.
I'm not claiming to have evolved beyond any of this nonsense. Not at all. Even as I take a break from the soul-crushing task of making a relationship work (and perhaps that's best given my attitude, yathink?) I am at the same time looking forward to getting back out there at some point. I am guilty of entering my search criteria into Match.com and perusing the results. In fact didn't their tagline used to be "Go ahead, it's free to look"?. I am far from ready to open myself up to that sort of heartache again, but I'm acknowledging that at some point I'm going to do it....scary as it is.
But I don't know why. Maybe when I figure that out I'll know I'm ready. Or, best case scenario, I'll be dead.
Today's lunch: This really awesome vegetable bake that my friend Dee turned me on to. You just take a shitload of veggies (I used squash, bell peppers, tomatoes, mushrooms & onion) cut them up, drizzle on a little olive oil, add salt & pepper, bake it at 350 for an hour, add some mozzarella cheese to the top, bake again 'till melted. Simple and delicious. So I had that with applesauce. And diet coke...if I don't add some chemicals to the meal I fear my body will go into shock and reject the healthy food.
Anyway I was watching one of his routines and he was talking about dating. Basically he says that no matter what, it will end badly.
Maybe you meet and one of you thinks the other is repulsive. One of you will be hurt and miserable.
Maybe you meet and things seem great..... for a while. Then the spark fizzles out and you break up. One of you will be hurt and miserable.
Or maybe you meet and the heavens open up and angels sing. You date, you get married, you have kids who grow up to be productive members of society and give you adorable, grandparent-worshiping grandchildren. You have holidays together that make the cover of the Saturday Evening Post look like a Manson family reunion. You make sweet, passionate love to each other twice a week into your 80's. He opens doors for you and you cook for him, or vice versa. Whatever floats your boat.
But then...sure as shit...one of you WILL die....and the other one will be hurt and miserable.
So basically, in relationships, the BEST CASE SCENARIO...is death.
So why do we do it? What is so freaking awesome about this thing we chase after...this elusive feeling...this luuuuuuuuuuuuuuvvvvv....that makes us temporarily, sometimes for the long-term, blind to the sheer misery that it is sure to cause?
Now I'm not sure if have any male readers, but if I do, here is where you're thinking that it's totally worth it because you get to put Tab A into Slot B on a semi-regular basis. You are now excused from this conversation. You are genetically incapable of participating. It’s not your fault, but be gone with you.
But ladies....seriously. Why do we try so hard to find Mr. Right when we know his socks will stink just as bad as those of Mr. Wrong? Why do we dream of the day when we can say "I Do" when statistics show that if he does, he won't for long?
Freaking why?
There are theories that we are simply wired that way. Just like the men are wired to dip their wicks every chance they get, we're wired to find the caveman who will keep the wooly mammoth out of the cave. But really, how often does it work out that way? Right now I'm 0 & 2 (or am I 2 & 0? I should know better than to try to pull off a sports analogy)....I have two failed long-term relationships. I have my very own .357 magnum to which I have no problem introducing any wooly mammoth that dares darken my cave opening. So why do I glance at the left hand of every reasonable looking man who is polite to me? I am quite capable of going out and clubbing some protein over the head and dragging it home to cook over a fire (ok..Aldi's & the microwave, work with me here). So why do I still shave my legs?
If the theory that we're wired that way is true, we're wired to be stupid.
I'm not claiming to have evolved beyond any of this nonsense. Not at all. Even as I take a break from the soul-crushing task of making a relationship work (and perhaps that's best given my attitude, yathink?) I am at the same time looking forward to getting back out there at some point. I am guilty of entering my search criteria into Match.com and perusing the results. In fact didn't their tagline used to be "Go ahead, it's free to look"?. I am far from ready to open myself up to that sort of heartache again, but I'm acknowledging that at some point I'm going to do it....scary as it is.
But I don't know why. Maybe when I figure that out I'll know I'm ready. Or, best case scenario, I'll be dead.
Today's lunch: This really awesome vegetable bake that my friend Dee turned me on to. You just take a shitload of veggies (I used squash, bell peppers, tomatoes, mushrooms & onion) cut them up, drizzle on a little olive oil, add salt & pepper, bake it at 350 for an hour, add some mozzarella cheese to the top, bake again 'till melted. Simple and delicious. So I had that with applesauce. And diet coke...if I don't add some chemicals to the meal I fear my body will go into shock and reject the healthy food.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)