Housewife Stuff

Basically, I'm a housewife. I'm also a stay-at-home mom. This is an explanation of why I haven't been keeping up with the blog. School is now out for the summer. So the following happens on a daily basis.

While I am in the shower.

"MOM!"
"I'M IN THE SHOWER!"
"MOM"
"I'M IN THE SHOWER!"
"MOM, WHERE ARE YOU?!?!?"
"I'M IN THE SHOWER!!!"

One of my children enters the bathroom.

"MOM!"
"I'M IN THE SHOWER!"
"WHAT'S FOR BREAKFAST?"
"I'M IN THE SHOWER!!!"
"PHONE!"
"I'M IN THE SHOWER!"

Apparently being wet and naked isn't a good enough reason to not cook and talk on the phone. That is how every summer has been for fifteen years. I'm not complaining, but it makes it hard to find time to do the things I like to do. Like this blog.

I'm sorry faithful readers, but the summer is going to be sketchy for posts. Please keep checking back. September is right around the corner.

Hope you all have a wonderful summer and wear your sunblock.

:)

To TV or Not to TV

When I was a kid, TV shows always had a little moral at the end. Whatever the problem was, by the end of the half hour it was solved and tied up in pretty ribbons, all nice and neat. Marcia Brady would learn that it's better to be a good friend than go out with that cute football player; Fat Albert and his gang would learn how to deal with that bully; and those people on Fantasy Island would make their dreams come true.

I see a bit of this now on TV, but nearly as much as it used to be. The moralizing is a bit more sophisticated and realistic now. Reality shows, although produced and edited, show people in a much different light. There is moralizing, but there is also a celebration of people screwing each other over. "It's all part of the game."

I can't say that I know which is better. The TV of my childhood gave me unrealistic expectations about how problems are solved. Real life problems cannot be solved in a half-hour. Problems do not get tied up into pretty ribbons. Real life problems are much grittier than deciding to go to the prom with the "right" boy.

Today's TV doesn't flinch away from gritty problems, just watch CSI, Law and Order, or Glee. In fact, TV today seems to love to jump onto any or all subjects. Glee has a teenage gay character that is handled quite beautifully, with dignity and finesse. On the flip side, we have just as many programs that show the worst kind of human behavior imaginable. Anybody catch any of Jersey Shore? Survivor? Real Housewives of . . . (pick one, they're all disgusting).

Every once in a while, I remind my kids that what they see on TV isn't real. I remind them to question the things that they see and hear and to remember what is what. I tell them that advertisements on TV lie, and to question things they hear on the news. I often wonder how damaging this constant barrage of information is on children and their psyches. It's enough to make me want to throw my TV out of the window.

Boys, Boys, Boys

I live with my three sons and my husband. We have two dogs, both males. It's good to be queen. However, there are a few things about living with all this male energy that confuse me.

Things that I do not understand about men:

The absolute delight they take in watching disgusting things. Example, a You Tube video showing a cyst being popped. They all watched it, yelled ewwww, and then watched it again. I left the room.

The way that they all like to hit each other, hard, and then laugh.

They like to jump off of the roof onto the trampoline. They just really like jumping off of things, the higher the better.

There is always a puddle of pee somewhere in the vicinity of the toilet, but not quite all the way in the toilet. Flushing seems to be optional.

The fascination with weapons, and the way they can make a weapon out of anything. Example, a paperweight duct taped to the end of stick.

Their total fascination with anything that blows up.

They like The Three Stooges.

The absolute hero worship of Myth Busters.

Not a single one of them will watch Glee, American Idol or Project Runway with me.

Thank goodness one of these male kids is a father. I just don't get it.

It's us against them!

I have neighbors next door. I'm assuming they are human beings. I haven't actually seen them yet. What I do know about them is that they feed the squirrels.

Iowa squirrels are not the same as the squirrels that live in New York and other northern east-coast venues: those unobtrusive little gray things who skitter about and are not being noticed very often. I would venture to say that most east coasters only notice them when they are getting into their bird feeders.

Iowa squirrels are red and fluffy. They are quite pretty; against snow, they look like a greeting card. However, the squirrels in my backyard are becoming brazen. These squirrels are well fed, and ready to fight for their home. They know a good thing when they've got it. The other day, one of them walked right up to my back door, knocked, and asked for a sandwich. He even asked me to cut off the crusts. The nerve!

These squirrels lay down on top of our swing set, and when the kids walk towards it they start telling my kids off. It sounds like a lot of chirping and spitting, but I know what they're saying: "Hey, kid, this is my turf. Somebody's gonna get hurt. I'm ready to rumble, punk!"

My back yard has become a turf war. It's us against them. These squirrels don't seem to understand who's paying the mortgage around here. I've explained to them many times that these are my trees. I even showed them the documentation. They don't care. Dang cheeky squirrels.

Yesterday, we had a wild turkey in the yard. I hope he's not getting any ideas . . . .

I'm kinda Jewish

I would defy anyone to come up with a longer list of stereotypes for any group than the one for Jews. I'm not just talking about the negative ones. We've all heard those and I'm not going to waste any one's time going over them again. I'm thinking about the little ones.

I can speak with authority because I'm Jewish. Sort of. I didn't know I was Jewish until I was a teenager. I knew some of the people in my family were Jewish, but I didn't know that this pertained to me, too. I had no religious education and we didn't really follow any of the traditions. Yes, there was a Seder here and there and a Menorah once, but this didn't make me feel Jewish.

I think my mom finally explained to me that in Judaism, if your mother is Jewish then you are Jewish. That's why I can be a citizen of Israel if I want. That's a comforting thought. That was not sarcasm by the way, I really do find that comforting. I started to identify myself as a Jew, trying it on like a sweater. It fit. Not my favorite, but cozy when I needed it.

Then I married a Jew. He's not sort of Jewish, he's all the way Jewish. I have been living as a Jewish woman for long enough now to be an unofficial expert on Jewish stereotypes.

Here are a few little ones:

Jews are difficult in restaurants. There will always have to be things on the side, and extra condiments, and special requests. In my experience, this is absolutely true. I myself have witnessed this. I like things on the side.

Jewish women do not mow the lawn. True. I've never seen my mom mow the lawn. I only did it once and only half of it. My cousin told me excitedly that she mowed her front lawn the other day. She's 40; it was the first time. She wore her diamond earrings and necklace while she mowed. "Are you going to do the back?" I asked. She said "No way, Jewish women don't mow lawns."

Jewish people don't drink much. Okay, this one just makes me laugh.

Jewish women like iced coffee. Okay, I'll admit that I hadn't heard this one before. While traveling with one of my non-Jewish girlfriends, we stopped at a rest area and I ordered iced coffee. I really do love iced coffee. My girlfriend said, "Of course you love iced coffee; you're Jewish." Huh? So my girlfriend asked the girl serving us if she had noticed that. The girl said yes. Jewish girls order a lot of iced coffee. I have taken an informal poll and I'm going to have to say that yes, most of the Jewish women in my life love iced coffee. See.

Jewish mothers are a pain in the ass. Well, I know I am.

Jewish people eat bagels and lox and stuff. Yes, that stuff is delicious. Matzoh ball soup is really good, too.

Jewish people are funny. Yes, we are all really funny. It's a riot . . . being Jewish.

A Conversation with Yoga

A Conversation with Yoga

"Where have you been all my life?"
"I have been here, child, you are the one who dissed me." (yoga is a bit hip-hop)
"Why didn't you tell me how good you are?"
"Yo, I can't be bringin' the mountain, you feel me?"
"But, I had no idea!" ( Yoga switching back to normal speak)
"Um, aren't I a requirement for girls raised in hippy families? Hasn't every person who does me (yoga) been telling you for years that this is really good shit?"
"Well, yeah . . ."
"and you get to wear those cute pants."
"That's true . . . but what if I have to fart while doing downward facing dog?"
"Everyone has to fart in that pose. So? You're too good to fart? "
"Yoga, you are so smart."
"I knew you would love me" (yoga is blushing)
"I do love you, Yoga, you're my new best friend."
"Good."

Yoga and I hold hands and walk into the sunset.

The "P" word

Perception is the "P" word I was thinking about. (Hmm, I know you all were thinking something different!)

It's funny how something can be okay for years and then suddenly, boom, it's not okay anymore. One of my girlfriends was buying new furniture. The old stuff was outdated and worn. It was fine for many, many years, but once she decided to bring in something new, that furniture was unbearable for her. "Ugh, would you just look at that!" pointing to a worn spot on the armchair. I hadn't noticed it before.

My Dad lived in a small house with no running water or television. Many people would perceive this as living in poverty. I can picture an expose on the nightly news, a reporter asking solemnly "And you have to wash your dishes on the stove?" Then, "Where do you go to the bathroom?" The long walk into the woods, then a shot of the lonely outhouse. People at home shaking their heads, "Can you imagine? In America?!?"

Yet, my Dad lived exactly as he wanted to and wanted for nothing. His life was rich with nature, and the fulfillment of living exactly as he believed.

My point is, one situation; many different points of view. Sometimes I like to try on different points of view. I like to take a situation and turn it around, study it from different angles. I actually really enjoy having my perspective challenged; it's fun.

My husband and my sister-in-law had completely different childhoods. They grew up with the same parents in the same household and they describe very different experiences. Just a little food for thought. The way we experience the world is directly related to the way we see it and the filters that we create or the ones that were created for us.

Relationships are no exception. Sometimes, you have to look at a person in a new way. People change. Shit happens. People aren't like sofas. You can't just replace them when there's a worn spot on the arm. People get stained, and worn out, and stinky. The important part is to look past those things, make it so you don't even notice. You see, we're not worn out . . . we're worn in.

Driving through the Midwest

Driving through the Midwest

I drove to St. Louis last week to visit my cousin. It takes about nine hours, give or take. The drive goes through Iowa and then into Missouri. It's a two highway drive. I-29 is the Iowa highway. Mostly, I have found the Iowa section of the highway pretty dull. It's flat, lots of farms, and extremely windy. This makes the driving a little tense, since it's not unusual to see cars that have been pushed off the road by wind. The drive from Sioux City to Omaha is along the same I-29 route. It takes 90 minutes, and is perhaps the most boring drive in the entire world. This explains why I don't drive to Omaha very often. It's difficult to keep my eyes open on that drive.

This time, though, I wasn't bored at all. That's because I was watching the hawks. This dull section of highway seems to be the happy home of many, many species of raptors. It's ideal for them. The birds perch atop telephone polls and scan the fields for prey. Their view is unobstructed by trees; there just aren't that many trees around here. It's practically hawk-eye heaven. I have fondness for birds of prey. If I were born a princess, I would have had a falcon-- heck, a whole mews. I have seen a Golden Eagle take wing and catch something on the ground and then fly off. There is no way to watch something like that and not be impressed with the beauty of that dance. So as I drove through Iowa on my way to St. Louis, I watched the hawks.

The other highway is I-70 and the Missouri section is actually very pretty. Hilly and green, pastoral compared to the brownness of the Iowa plains. I saw a herd of elk, fenced in, but grazing happily along I-70. The interesting part were the turtles. I saw a bump in the road, and ended up passing over it. When I looked back it, I saw it was a turtle, a big one, lumbering across the highway. Then I noticed another one on the side of the road, and then another. Must have been turtle mating season or something. They were all headed across the highway, in the same direction. I must have seen a dozen or more. Kept me occupied. Counting turtles.

I don't think I will ever think this part of the world is as beautiful as places that are nearer and dearer to my heart. I will say that there is beauty here. It's not a beauty I'm comfortable with yet. The openness, the starkness, the big sky have their place. The hawks truly are beautiful, as are the horses. Even the rolls of hay, and the fields, have their own brand of beauty. I wonder what someone born and raised here in Iowa would think of the mountains and forests of New Hampshire. Would it take time for the Iowan to see the beauty?

End of the World?

I don't usually lean towards doom and gloom. However, I gotta say things are looking ominous. Just to name a few recent occurrences that seem a bit odd:

Global financial meltdowns. Earthquakes, volcanoes, tidal waves, and the drowning of two American cities in less than a decade--first New Orleans, and now Nashville is under water. Nashville!

It gets better. Two hundred thousand gallons of oil a day are being dumped into the ocean as we speak. The leak has been going on for two weeks. The Gulf of Mexico is being murdered. The best solution so far is to try to put a dome over the leak and pray. Pandora's pipe has been opened and cannot be closed.

Greece has fallen. I'm sure I'm not the only person who sees this as ironic symbolism. Has anybody seen the emperor's clothes?

Our heroes are being charged with rape, domestic violence, and steroid use.

Someone tried to blow up Times Square.

Now, truth be told, I don't think it's the end of the world. I think it may be the end of the world we have created. I think these are the lessons to be learned from recent activities.

The time is now. We need to take better care of the Earth. Mother nature is pissed. We need to put all of our energies into alternate, clean, sources of power and once and for all get off of the oil tit. It's time to clean up, we've made a big enough mess.

Most importantly, we need to take a hard look at greed. It's not one of the seven deadlies by accident.

A Real Mothers Day Card

A Real Mothers Day Card

This is what my card to my Mom should say:

Thank You for not murdering me when I was a teenager.

Thank You for teaching me that all the best men like women who are sexy and smart. Then showing me exactly what sexy and smart looks like.

Thank You for being a feminist.

Thank You for teaching me to love literature and art and music.

Thank You for being fearless enough to put a napkin on your head and give a speech in front of everybody.

Thank You for being as interested in my kids as I am.

Thank You for being my emotional punching bag. You can take a punch lady!

Thank You for choosing my Dad.

Thank You for being my Mom.

I love you.

I'm no quitter

I'm no quitter!

I'm quitting smoking. Tomorrow. No, seriously. I'm quitting smoking on Mother's Day for my children. They are my best motivation. I quit each time I was pregnant and nursing, but always drifted back. I'm not the kind of smoker who can have one cigarette a day, or only smoke when I drink, or smoke only on weekends. In fact, once when I was trying to be the kind of smoker that only smoked when drinking, I had a very drunken month. I actually drank more to smoke. I'm an all or nothing smoker, and truth be told, I'd have a cigarette burning all day long if I was able to smoke as much as I wanted.

So I thought I should write some good reasons to quit smoking besides the whole lung cancer, emphysema, heart attack, high cholesterol, and dying early thing. Those are all really good reasons to quit smoking, but heck, I knew about all that when I started smoking and that didn't stop me. In fact, all the kids who started when I started knew about these things. We are rebels. We thumb our noses at health!

Reason #1
I stink. I can't smell it anymore because the smoke and nicotine has burned out my olfactory senses. That piece of gum that I chew when I'm going to be around people does not help. I like to think it does, but it doesn't. I know this because for a time I wasn't smoking and my hubby was. He smelled like poop, literally. It was gross.

Reason #2
Time. It takes a lot of time to smoke. It's amazing how much time is wasted by taking smoke breaks. Especially, if you smoke like I do. Most of my day is a smoke break.

Reason #3
It's isolating. We smokers are a dying breed. There is almost no place where we are allowed to smoke. We can't even smoke in bars anymore. It's just not that much fun to smoke outside when it's snowing in Iowa. Trust me. Even in my own home it isolates me from my family. I have designated smoking places: outside, the garage, and an attic room that has good ventilation. I don't smoke around the kids if I can help it so I spend a lot of time smoking and being away from my kids.

Reason #4
I feel like shit. Smoking gives me headaches, acid reflux, fatigue, and the ever present and lovely smoker's hack. It's very attractive. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.

So there ya go. Reasons to quit smoking.

A friend of mine called me a quitter. It made me laugh out loud. Yeah, I could continue to unapologetically smoke in this world. Smoking in our culture now says something about you. It says, yes I stink, and I'm isolated, and against all medical advice I will suck on this thing until I get cancer or have to talk out of one of those little boxes, or until I have to wheel an oxygen tank behind me. That's not really the impression I would like to give folks.

I'm kind of Jewish

I would defy anyone to come up with a longer list of stereotypes for any group than the one for Jews. I'm not just talking about the negative ones. We've all heard those and I'm not going to waste any one's time going over them again. I'm thinking about the little ones.

I can speak with authority because I'm Jewish. Sort of. I didn't know I was Jewish until I was a teenager. I knew some of the people in my family were Jewish, but I didn't know that this pertained to me, too. I had no religious education and we didn't really follow any of the traditions. Yes, there was a Seder here and there and a Menorah once, but this didn't make me feel Jewish.

I think my mom finally explained to me that in Judaism, if your mother is Jewish then you are Jewish. That's why I can be a citizen of Israel if I want. That's a comforting thought. That was not sarcasm by the way, I really do find that comforting. I started to identify myself as a Jew, trying it on like a sweater. It fit. Not my favorite, but cozy when I needed it.

Then I married a Jew. He's not sort of Jewish, he's all the way Jewish. I have been living as a Jewish woman for long enough now to be an unofficial expert on Jewish stereotypes.

Here are a few little ones:

Jews are difficult in restaurants. There will always have to be things on the side, and extra condiments, and special requests. In my experience, this is absolutely true. I myself have witnessed this. I like things on the side.

Jewish women do not mow the lawn. True. I've never seen my mom mow the lawn. I only did it once and only half of it. My cousin told me excitedly that she mowed her front lawn the other day. She's 40; it was the first time. She wore her diamond earrings and necklace while she mowed. "Are you going to do the back?" I asked. She said "No way, Jewish women don't mow lawns."

Jewish people don't drink much. Okay, this one just makes me laugh.

Jewish women like iced coffee. Okay, I'll admit that I hadn't heard this one before. While traveling with one of my non-Jewish girlfriends, we stopped at a rest area and I ordered iced coffee. I really do love iced coffee. My girlfriend said, "Of course you love iced coffee; you're Jewish." Huh? So my girlfriend asked the girl serving us if she had noticed that. The girl said yes. Jewish girls order a lot of iced coffee. I have taken an informal poll and I'm going to have to say that yes, most of the Jewish women in my life love iced coffee. See.

Jewish mothers are a pain in the ass. Well, I know I am.

Jewish people eat bagels and lox and stuff. Yes, that stuff is delicious. Matzoh ball soup is really good, too.

Jewish people are funny. Yes, we are all really funny. It's a riot . . . being Jewish.

The girl in the crew

My oldest son is almost 14 years old. He's got this group of kids he hangs around with and I like them. I'm been watching, with interest, the one and only girl that hangs out with this group of boys. I'll call her H. H is beautiful, smart, funny, and just a kick ass girl. She likes punk rock, she plays the guitar, she dyes her hair every other week. H is an incredible artist, too. This is no preppy, cheerleading type of girl. This is a girl after my own heart. All of her best friends are boys.

Yesterday, I was talking about circles. That way in which things in life come back around. I like this friendship that my son has with H. I was the same way in high school. Almost all of my best friends were boys. There were a couple of reasons for this. One was that teenage girls are complete bitches. Not all, but a lot. Some of the nastiest people on earth are teenage girls. Luckily, we grow out of it. There is a competitive thing that happens with teenage girls that is ugly.

Someday, H will realize that boys won't take the place of a really good girlfriend, but for now she has her crew. The easy friendship that my son has with H is fun to watch. I see that H really understands my boy. As a parent I love watching that. H likes him, too; she gets it. He's a great kid.

Watching my son forge these friendships, I want to tell him to cherish them. These people who like him now, when he's awkward and learning about himself and the world, and he doesn't know enough yet to pretend to be something he is not, are the real deal. Take lots of pictures, son. You will want to remember these times.

Hubby thinks that any teenage boy who hangs out with a girl wants to get laid. I don't agree. I think that sometimes there are girls who transcend that and become real friends. H and my boy are there. Last week, my son said H was mad at him. H was mad because a teacher was giving her a hard time and my son didn't stick up for her. He was upset. He said he should have stuck up for her. Why? "Because that's what friends do." Would my boy have cared as much if it had been one of his guy friends?

Yup, I hope H sticks around for a good long time.

I'm Back

Sometimes, there's just too much to say. Sometimes, there's nothing. I was in the nothing place. Sorry.

The summer before my senior year in high school was the best summer of my teenage life. I had this small group of friends that I was completely comfortable with, good people each and every one. Sympatico people. People who "got" me. That doesn't happen too often.

That summer was all about possibilities. The future was wide open. You know "future so bright, you have to wear shades." When you're sixteen and have no responsibilities and the most important decision that you make that day is who you're going to party with, life is good. The entire summer was spent making plans to go on tour with The Grateful Dead after graduation. It was fun.

We never did go on tour. Most of us went our separate ways, and life happened.

Now, thanks to Facebook, these people are back in my life. I'm feeling a full circle coming back around. Are there divine fingers pulling on strings somewhere up there? Are the fates plucking on that string that has my life on it?

My life had gotten very small, the way life can be sometimes if we're not careful. Kids, marriage, home, responsibilities and narrow focus. It's easy to lose oneself in other people's needs. I had lost myself in this way and woke up to a year of unbelievable loss and pain.

The beauty of loss and pain is the other side. We cannot enjoy the good without the bad. It's the cycle of life and these circles really do come back around, don't they.

So this summer, once again, is about possibilities. I'll be seeing some of those folks from back in the day; I can hardly wait. The talk won't be of going on tour--more likely sore backs and children and 401K's. That's okay, I'll put on my shades and look towards the future.

Eldon's

I watched Food Inc. with my hubby the other night. Oh dear lord. If you have not seen this diminutive documentary, you should. The film shows the disconnect between our food supply and ourselves. It's disturbing.

The film introduces us to a man named Eldon Roth, founder and owner of BPI (Beef Products Incorporated). He created a process by which our ground beef is soaked in Ammonia in order to kill E Coli bacteria and other pathogens that are passed into the meat during processing. These pathogens are passed into the meat because the cattle are raised on giant, industrial feed lots where the animals are forced to live with thousands of other animals, often covered in feces. During processing the feces that is covering the animals is washed into our food. What comes out of that machine, after it's Ammonia soak, is a grayish, square, gelatinous gob of meat-like substance that is sold to fast food restaurants and institutions for human consumption.

This past weekend, the hubby and kids and I went to a local winery and were introduced to a group of folks who are trying their best to produce local organic foods and buy local organic foods. I was tickled pink. I have now found a source for grass fed beef, free range chickens, farm fresh eggs, and organically grown fruits and veggies. There was even a stay-at-home dad who bakes organic and whole grain breads and sells them to locals. Yum. I'm loving the spirit of embracing change for the greater good that I feel is taking place all over the country. I am especially gratified by seeing it here in Iowa where so many of these food related industries are based and where so many good people make their livings. We've got big corn agri-business, meat packing plants, Tyson foods, feed lots, and Eldon himself here in Iowa. That small group on Saturday, of regular folks trying to make a difference, gave me a reason to feel hopeful.
The reason I bring up Eldon is that, ironically, Eldon has opened a fancy restaurant right here in Sioux City, Iowa. It's called Eldon's. It's a steak house.

Fanks

I like how the British, at least some of them, replace Th's with F's. I think "Fanks" sounds nicer than "Thanks." Fanks is the informal version of thanks. Teeth sounds so much better as teef. I wonder if they called Margaret Thatcher, Madge Fatcher. It's cool; I like it. The Beatles had that Cockney-speak down perfectly. In my young life, nobody was cooler than the Beatles. They were exotic and down-to-earth at the same time. Nice combo, in my humble opinion. Fanks, Beatles.

It also brings to mind how some of the Spanish-speaking world speaks with a lisp. Barthelona, anyone? The urban legend about this Castilian lisp is that one of the Kings had a lisp and therefore everyone began to pronounce words in the same way. I believe that story has been discredited, but I'm still fond of the notion. A whole language taking shape because of one man's speech impediment. It's kind of romantic.

Even though America has become as homogenized as milk, we still hold on to our regional eccentricities in terms of language. New Englanders have their "ayuh," and "it's down the rud." Translation: Yes, it's down the road. Some New Englanders are "Wicked Cool." That's a Maine thing. New Yorkers have too many to name, but "fogeddaboudit" is a good example.

Out here in the Mid-West, soda is called pop. They don't shovel the driveway, they scoop it . . . and end many sentences with the very general and quite nice "you bet!"

Jerseyans go "down the shore." Other people just go to the beach.

Yes, people, every town in America now has a Home Depot and a Walmart. We buy all the same things at the same big box stores. Any strip mall in America could swap places with any other and it would be about the same. Dry cleaners, Chinese restaurant, Weight Watchers, Subway and maybe Triple AAA. I don't know, fill in your own strip mall. These things are everywhere.

I lament the loss of authenticity in America. Those places that can only be experienced in the flesh and in that place, although I do find some comfort in seeing familiar things in unfamiliar places--even if it is Target or CVS. However, as the world shrinks and America changes from the land of the free to the land of the cookie cutter, I like to note the differences that still remain. Food is still somewhat okay, if you get past all the chain restaurants. Still, the best restaurant we have found in Sioux City, Iowa, is Vietnamese, so go figure.

Ah, but beautifully, language endures. Art endures. Music endures. The human spirit endures. These things, by their very nature, will not be homogenized and smoothed out and made palatable to a bland diet. So I love to hear my mid-western neighbors call soda by its midwestern name: pop. They can call donuts rolls, if they like. I like it.

Oh, and fanks for reading. Cheers to you all.

Sojourner

Sometimes a trip is just a trip, no big deal. Sometimes, though, a trip is a journey. That's why traveling is such a good metaphor for life. I've always associated life with going on a journey. A journey has a beginning, a middle, and an end. So does life.

During difficult times I associate my emotional state with being on a journey. It's a good way to keep in mind that all things have the inevitable end and that nothing lasts forever . . . even bad times. I often talk about things that I am "going through." The key word there is "through". I understand that it will someday end and I will be okay. See? I'm an optimist.

My trip back east was a decision making time for me. I have been questioning everything and wondering which direction to go. Standing at the crossroads peering as far as I could down each road hoping for a glimpse of something shiny up ahead. Looking for signs to point the way. What do I want to do? What do I want to accomplish? What is important to me? How can I make my life be the way I want it to be? Why am I here? These are the questions that I have been asking myself and finding the answers elusive. There are no road signs to fulfillment. If it was that easy we would all be fulfilled now, wouldn't we?

So my trip back east was supposed to answer these questions, and honestly, it did answer one of them. The answer is, I don't know . . . and now is not the right time to force it. What became abundantly clear is that I am still grieving and reeling from my father's death and can't make a good decision at this time. Grieving is a process, and I'm not done. While my dad's passing brought many of these questions to mind, it also has made the answers cloudy with sadness and regret. One journey has to end before I can begin a new one.

Losing a beloved person is hard. The pain cannot be avoided and nothing makes it feel better. That's the truth. It's a pain that has to be felt and looked at and gone through. No way around it.

I'm still sitting at the crossroads, only now I'm going to wait for a while until I choose my path. I have a feeling it will be an obvious choice eventually. I went on a journey and ended up right back where I started. The best thing about traveling is coming home.

Hello!

Okay, sorry, one week turned into two. I will be posting blogs shortly ... promise. I missed you guys.

I had a great trip. Lots of laughs and tears and more laughs. New Hampshire was absolutely beautiful.

So much more to tell...

Wind In The Hair

An old friend of mine and I have been reacquainted recently. Since we hadn't seen each other for twenty years, we decided to make a list of all the stuff that we should have been doing together if we had been in touch during those lost years. The list included, but was not limited to, things like making cookies together, going to proms together, and celebrating various holidays together. Also on the list: road trips.

So we will soon be driving together to New England from New Jersey. I am absurdly excited about the road trip. I love getting in the car and going. Windows down, music rocking, and the wind in my hair . . . that's a little slice of heaven for me.

I have mixed feelings about the destination. I'm looking forward to visiting New Hampshire and the beauty of that place; it always takes my breath away a little. It will be the first time I'll be seeing my Dad's place since he passed away in November. Actually, the whole reason for the road trip is to tie up some loose ends regarding my Dad's estate. I know how I think I will feel, but I am often wrong. My own expectations are not a good predictor of what will really happen.

I have good intentions of trying to keep up with this little blog while I am traveling, but while it is possible it's not probable. I'll see you all in a week, with new stories to share and maybe some insight. Be well, everybody . . . hope you all get some wind in your hair.

Dear Readers

Ironically, I tend to dislike reading blogs. I especially dislike when bloggers begin their latest entry with "my dear readers." I also dislike the tendency for bloggers to add erroneous lists with odd numbers and strange topics. For example: seven ways to thank your school secretary, or twelve things to do with strawberries. Stuff like that. Most blogs I just navigate away from and never return to.

However, I was going back over some of my archived blog entries, and I feel the need to address my readers. I've read all the comments on this blog, more than once. I am not naive; I know that most of my readers are people I know personally. I don't go out of my way to promote my blog and most people who end up here are connected to me in some way. Every now and again, someone whom I don't know leaves a nice comment and a kind word. It's a wonderful feeling to know that someone is reading my work here and connecting with my writing.

So, I want to thank you "dear readers." To my friends and family, thank you for your support and encouragement. To readers who just stumbled upon my writing and decided to stick around for a while, thank you too. Every time I feel like quitting this blog, I'll get a comment from someone saying how much they are enjoying the blog and I feel compelled to carry on. Some of my readers comment almost every day. I love that. Hugs to all of you out there in cyber world; please continue to accompany me on my journey. I couldn't do it without you.

Woot dere it is!

A general observation about discussing politics in today's climate: anti-Obama people are extremely vocal. Extremely. Anti-Obama people are quick to celebrate Obama's defeats and even quicker to condemn any changes that are put in place to improve our economy. I'm generalizing, of course, but I'm allowed. It's my blog.

People who support Obama tend to be quieter and more polite. Personally, I ignore the negative comments for the most part. I like Obama. I am a supporter. Obama put into place, yesterday, something that almost every Democrat has included in their platform since the late 1950s. John, Bobby, and Ted Kennedy campaigned for the simple idea that every American should have health care. Obama has accomplished the first step. They did it!!! It has been a dramatic fight.

I broke the two groups into anti-Obama and pro-Obama because it no longer seems relevant to me to label people as Democrats and Republicans. It doesn't fit anymore. Americans are divided by much more than political party affiliation. I am often surprised by people I hear and see spewing the most hateful things about our President. I wasn't a fan of George W., but I didn't run around wishing him ill. I just didn't think he was doing a good job, and I thought he was dishonest, too.

I'm hoping what comes out of the whole mess, aside from health care for all Americans, is a change in the way politics does business. The need for transparency is needed now more than ever. I can't imagine any American coming away from Obama's last speech thinking that things were hunky dory in Washington. I hope people saw their elected Senators in all their glory. Glaring at the President. Looking petulant. Looking bored and disinterested. What did your Senator's face look like when Obama told them that just saying no all the time is not leadership?

Yeah, I like our President very much . . . given that we're in the worst kind of mess this country has seen since The Great Depression. So sign me up. We might be impractical. We might be a wee bit ambitious. We might even be (run screaming into the night!) a tad socialist. How will we pay for it? The way we pay for anything else. We squeeze it in there, make it a priority. Some things just need to be budgeted for, no matter what. In my opinion these things should include anything we can do to limit suffering of our fellow human beings. Health care, education, fighting poverty, ending war are the things that get me excited. If we can do these things and help all of the people in our country, why aren't we doing it? Where would you like to see your tax dollars going?

I know more than a few people, people whom I love, that struggle because they can't afford insurance. Nobody should go broke paying for medical care. It's simply not right. It's easy to be against access to quality health care when you are securely covered by insurance, when you are not up at night worrying about how to pay for your kid's next physical or the bill that is coming from the emergency room for that last ear infection. I would rather see my tax dollars going towards a healthier America than towards building another horrific military weapon.

Dear Readers

Ironically, I tend to dislike reading blogs. I especially dislike when bloggers begin their latest entry with "my dear readers." I also dislike the tendency for bloggers to add erroneous lists with odd numbers and strange topics. For example: seven ways to thank your school secretary, or twelve things to do with strawberries. Stuff like that. Most blogs I just navigate away from and never return to.

However, I was going back over some of my archived blog entries, and I feel the need to address my readers. I've read all the comments on this blog, more than once. I am not naive; I know that most of my readers are people I know personally. I don't go out of my way to promote my blog and most people who end up here are connected to me in some way. Every now and again, someone whom I don't know leaves a nice comment and a kind word. It's a wonderful feeling to know that someone is reading my work here and connecting with my writing.

So, I want to thank you "dear readers." To my friends and family, thank you for your support and encouragement. To readers who just stumbled upon my writing and decided to stick around for a while, thank you too. Every time I feel like quitting this blog, I'll get a comment from someone saying how much they are enjoying the blog and I feel compelled to carry on. Some of my readers comment almost every day. I love that. Hugs to all of you out there in cyber world; please continue to accompany me on my journey. I couldn't do it without you.

Okay, lets do it

My Dad used to say that "Making plans is a waste of time." Dad was the kind of guy who would make up his mind and just do it. Plans weren't part of the equation. "They never work out, in my experience," he would say. He would make decisions based on conditions, decisively and without fussing. "Okay, lets do it," and up and out he would go. I can hear him saying these words still. Whether it was a big or small thing, he was decisive.

In sharp contrast, would be myself. I brood. I worry. I weigh pros and cons. I talk about the matter under consideration incessantly to my friends and go over all the fine points. I analyze and dissect my decisions. I ask for signs from the universe. Needless to say, decisions don't come easily to me, or quickly. If I were a politician, I would be condemned for being wishy-washy. A veritable fence sitter. What I have is a healthy dose of fear and practicality. I know that things can go wrong, and I'm not at all sure that things will go right.

I'm working on being more confident in the choices that I make. If I am quiet, I know my truth. I feel it and see it as clearly as Caribbean water. Trusting my intuition is a skill that I haven't mastered. Second guessing myself is a skill that I have mastered quite well.

I have entered the second half of my life. I have weighed the pros and the cons and have decided on happiness. I've decided on living my truth. I have no plan, I will make my choices as they appear to me. I can picture my dad sitting at his kitchen table, and smiling at me and saying, "Okay, lets do it." Without an ounce of fear or doubt. This time, at least, I would say "Okay, lets."

Woot dere it is!!

A general observation about discussing politics in today's climate: anti-Obama people are extremely vocal. Extremely. Anti-Obama people are quick to celebrate Obama's defeats and even quicker to condemn any changes that are put in place to improve our economy. I'm generalizing, of course, but I'm allowed. It's my blog.

People who support Obama tend to be quieter and more polite. Personally, I ignore the negative comments for the most part. I like Obama. I am a supporter. Obama put into place, yesterday, something that almost every Democrat has included in their platform since the late 1950s. John, Bobby, and Ted Kennedy campaigned for the simple idea that every American should have health care. Obama has accomplished the first step. They did it!!! It has been a dramatic fight.

I broke the two groups into anti-Obama and pro-Obama because it no longer seems relevant to me to label people as Democrats and Republicans. It doesn't fit anymore. Americans are divided by much more than political party affiliation. I am often surprised by people I hear and see spewing the most hateful things about our President. I wasn't a fan of George W., but I didn't run around wishing him ill. I just didn't think he was doing a good job, and I thought he was dishonest, too.

I'm hoping what comes out of the whole mess, aside from health care for all Americans, is a change in the way politics does business. The need for transparency is needed now more than ever. I can't imagine any American coming away from Obama's last speech thinking that things were hunky dory in Washington. I hope people saw their elected Senators in all their glory. Glaring at the President. Looking petulant. Looking bored and disinterested. What did your Senator's face look like when Obama told them that just saying no all the time is not leadership?

Yeah, I like our President very much . . . given that we're in the worst kind of mess this country has seen since The Great Depression. So sign me up. We might be impractical. We might be a wee bit ambitious. We might even be (run screaming into the night!) a tad socialist. How will we pay for it? The way we pay for anything else. We squeeze it in there, make it a priority. Some things just need to be budgeted for, no matter what. In my opinion these things should include anything we can do to limit suffering of our fellow human beings. Health care, education, fighting poverty, ending war are the things that get me excited. If we can do these things and help all of the people in our country, why aren't we doing it? Where would you like to see your tax dollars going?

I know more than a few people, people whom I love, that struggle because they can't afford insurance. Nobody should go broke paying for medical care. It's simply not right. It's easy to be against access to quality health care when you are securely covered by insurance, when you are not up at night worrying about how to pay for your kid's next physical or the bill that is coming from the emergency room for that last ear infection. I would rather see my tax dollars going towards a healthier America than towards building another horrific military weapon.

Things you never thought you would say

I, as a parent, keep a list of things that I never thought I would say and have said. Things like "Because I said so" and "I'll give you something to cry about" are staples on the list. I have had a few others I thought I might add. Please feel free to judge as harshly as you like, but I know that most of us have had these moments:

Just sit there and watch TV.
Okay, just let mommy finish her wine and then we'll go.
It's okay, you can shower in the morning.
I swear to God, if you touch your brother again I'm going to smack your ass . . . hard. (This one might just be me)
Well, if you're bored you should play a video game.
Okay, birthday cake is okay for breakfast.

Stellar parental moments. I'm not proud, I'll admit it. Sometimes you have to say WTF, even if you're a parent.

Anticipating Spring

All of my East Coast friends and family are experiencing spring. The snow has melted and they have been having weather in the 60s and bright sunshine. I've seen pictures of crocuses and budding trees and the beach from my people back East. I've heard stories of long walks, bike rides, tennis, and golf; of enjoying the beautiful spring weather after a long winter.

Here in Sioux City, Iowa, we haven't been that lucky yet. We haven't cracked 40 degrees yet. We still have a good ten inches of snow on the ground. The gutter on the front of my house fell off last week because of ice. I have a hole in my sun room ceiling that we can't fix until all the snow has melted. Also, it's been raining for five days now and it's supposed to rain for another three. My mood has been a little blue.

My prescription for myself is sun. I need a warm, sunny, spring day. I need to feel the sun on my face. I need to see a daffodil. I remember my Dad would always call this "the hardest month." Spring is so close, but not quite here. Dad didn't live in Iowa. Dad lived in New Hampshire, which generally has long winters with lots of snow. Dad enjoyed winter until March and then started to have cabin fever. I've had a similar experience this winter in Iowa.

So, Mother Nature, I would like to order up Spring . . . with a side order of bright sunshine.

The Problem With Pancakes

The Problem with Pancakes

The problem with pancakes is that they are a torture device for me. I love them. I adore them. However, pancakes do not love me back. Those fluffy, evil roundels of pure "bad for you" carbohydrates are irresistible hell. Of course, one cannot have pancakes without syrup. They just taste so, so good, especially with a glass of milk.

Without getting too detailed, I will explain the process that I go through after eating pancakes. First, my stomach gets upset. I'll spare you the details. Then I have a sugar high in which my hands shake and I get a little disoriented. My stomach is still upset at this point. Then my blood sugar drops, fast, and I end up with a headache and usually need to sleep for a couple of hours. When I wake up from my sugar-induced coma sleep, my stomach is still upset and I'm grumpy. It's a lot of fun.

The other day at IHOP, my hubby said, "If I were you, I would never, ever eat pancakes." I was good; I ordered a sandwich and DID NOT order pancakes. I didn't even look at the pancakes on the menu. However, one of my sons didn't eat his pancakes. I wrestled with myself; I really did. Suffice it to say, I had to sleep for two hours Saturday afternoon and woke up grumpy.

The whole scenario reminds me of a poem. Here it is:


This Is Just To Say
by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

I'll just leave it at that.

Dream Big

A confession: I have been known to give interviews and acceptance speeches in my car. Nowadays when people see me talking to myself in the car, they probably think I'm using a hands-free device. A decade ago, people just thought I was crazy. Well, I am. I have given exclusive interviews to Oprah, Terri Gross, Ira Glass, and occassionally Barbara Walters. I have accepted Oscars, Emmys, Pulitzer's and once in a blue moon I have won the Pillsbury Bake-Off.

I have excelled in many fields. I am an expert on any field, on any given day. I am really quite fabulous. I have directed, written, studied and researched everything. Oprah really likes me. My answers never sound pretentious or rehearsed. I'm that likable. I really can't get over me.

Another confession: I haven't given any interviews or speeches in my car for a long time. I hope that doesn't mean my dreams are going away. That would be sad. Maybe I just have smaller dreams now. I probably won't win any awards or get interviewed by Oprah. I might, however, see my kids go through college. Maybe the million dollar prize at the Pillsbury Bake-Off isn't going to be direct deposited into my bank account. I think I have a shot at opening a small business. Big dreams are important, of course, but mostly unattainable. I'm finding I'm more excited about a small dream, custom built by me for me. Reaching for the stars is good. For me, reaching for that perfect apple on that branch that's just a little bit out of range is feeling pretty good, too.

Patch Work

There is a little-known fact about losing a parent: you go crazy for a while. Well, that's a fact for me. Obviously, we all live through pain. Pain is inevitable. Some pain is worse than others.

Knowing that grieving is a process doesn't help much. I know the phases of grief. Intellectually, I can take a step back and analyze my feelings. Oh, I'm in the bargaining phase again, how nice. Acceptance must be right around the corner. Look, I'm angry now.

I can tell you that the actual feeling part of the process isn't much fun. There are good days and bad days. What do we do when there is a big gaping whole in our lives? I'm trying to patch that hole up the best that I can. I visualize a hole in the fabric; I am clumsily trying to patch it up. One patch is the people who love me. You gotta have that. Thank God that I do. Another would be the people whom I love. Thank God for them, too. My children have their own patch, they just do, because children are our greatest gift. My children often heal what is broken inside of me.

I'm sewing up this hole in the fabric of my life. I don't think it's going to be a fast fix. I'm not sure this hole can be entirely filled. Maybe it will be like earning patches in Girl Scouts or Boy Scouts. Here is my self-worth patch, my humanitarian patch, my building-a-fire patch . . . .

Have you ever seen a pair of pants patched up to the extreme? They really are interesting garments. Quilts are beautiful and they are mostly bits and pieces of fabrics. I know I can make something beautiful from my bits and pieces. I'm just not seeing it yet.

Under Cover Boss

"Undercover Boss" is a new reality TV show. The premise is that the top dog in a giant business conglomerate goes undercover to interact with "regular" workers in the company. The first week it was the CEO of Waste Management. Another was the CEO of 7-11. I was especially interested in the Waste Management piece, because hubby used to work for Waste Management . . . or, rather, he once worked for a company that was bought by Waste Management. The only way we knew he was working for Waste Management was the logo on the paychecks.

At first "Undercover Boss" seemed like a heart-warming show: the big boss sees the light and makes things better for the workers. Seems like a show custom made for these times when there is an ever-widening gulf between the haves and the have-nots. Well, between the syrupy music and the obvious "producing" of situations in which we find our boss man, I was disgusted. This show is so obviously a propaganda program that I will not watch it anymore. See, America, we aren't evil big business! We are understanding and open to the people. We get it now!

Guess what? Humanism and big business just don't mesh. If the bottom line is profit, then human beings aren't your focus. Don't pretend that you care, big business. We already know what you care about.

Gen X

Technically, I'm a member of Generation X. Anyone born after 1965 and before 1979 is a member of Gen X. I don't like this G-moniker for my peers and myself. Can't we get a little credit? At least we could be the Inter-Net generation. People my age will remember early computer classes where we had two keys to push. That was it. Yes or No. 1 or 0. People my age didn't have VCR their whole lives. Nor did we have On Demand, or DVR. We could be the Cable Generation.

We used to listen to vinyl records when we were kids. I had a record player. Now we've been through Cd's and we're moving on to iPods. Music is now bits of digital language sent through the air. We could be the Techno music Generation. What about all the other stuff that happened during our time on earth? A man walked on the moon. Why not The Moon Generation, or The Space Travel Generation? We are the children of hippies. We could be the Peace Babies.

I don't feel bad. The next two generations are called Y and Z. I guess we need a clever writer to come along and name our generation. Any ideas?

In like a Lion

Let's face it, this Winter has been the pits. Even the staunchest snow lovers are throwing their hands up in disgust. Record snowfalls have been recorded all over the country. There was even a day that 49 states had snow somewhere on the ground. That had never happened before. Never.

This is the worst time of Winter, when spring restlessness starts to creep into the mixture. There are signs of spring. The birdsong sounds a little louder, doesn't it? Are those buds beginning to form on that branch? I have the desire to spring, but the snow and the cold and wind stop me. It's torturous.

Spring is a time for action. Winter is a time for inner work. I've made " in like a lion out like a lamb" my mantra this winter. Here we are on March 1st and then . . . Spring. Renewal.

Mind Blowing

Have you ever had your mind blown? My definition of having your mind blown is that a belief you previously held is suddenly changed forever by something. That something could be anything. Mostly for me it's music or art, or something I've read, and especially by other people. Oh, and I can't forget food--I have had my mind blown by food on occasion.

Here are some examples:

When I used fresh grated nutmeg for the first time in a cheese sauce. Later, when I ate the sauce, I could taste the nutmeg and realized that the sauce tasted so much better.

The first time I saw the Grateful Dead live.

The movie Star Wars.

The first time I held my baby in my arms and knew just who he looked like.

The first time I felt like someone really "got" me.

Talking to old friends as if not a moment in time has gone by.

Those are just a few, although, honestly, it happens to me all the time.

Luckily, I still have the ability to be surprised. I still have the ability to have my mind blown. I hope I keep it forever.

Shallow Waters

I am plunging head first into shallow waters. Let's talk American Idol. I am coming out of my reality TV closet. I am going on record: I like some reality TV. I love American Idol. I watch religiously for the first few weeks. I love the audition process, Hollywood week, and the top twenty-four performances. Then my attention starts to wane. By the finale, I'm just bored. So I started to explore why.

In 1977, the musical "Annie" opened on Broadway in New York City. I was nine years old, and lived in New York City. The opening of "Annie" was big New York City news. They had held open auditions, and people I knew had tried out. It was big, big deal. Not surprisingly, most of our family friends were artists, writers, actors, and actresses, and creative people in general. A huge Broadway production with all the markers of a hit--and employing at least ten children--is bound to make a ripple. It was a news story that I followed avidly.

Then, a week before opening, the producers of "Annie" replaced the original actress cast in the role with Andrea McCardle, who had been in the chorus. Gasp! This was shocking news! So, we witnessed a star being born. Andrea McCardle appeared on TV shows and sang "Tomorrow" like an angel. I don't think anyone has performed it as well since.

I saw that musical on Broadway. I missed Andrea McCardle, but did see Sarah Jessica Parker in the role. I have a similar feeling when I watch American Idol. I guess I like watching a star being born. I think I've mentioned that I take a lot of pleasure in seeing people do things well. When one of those contestants gets out there and shuts it down, I get excited. It makes me happy.

On the other hand, the judging bores me. I hate to admit it, but I miss Paula Abdul's crazy comments. Kara and Randy annoy me. Ellen Degeneres ( I am a fan!) doesn't seem to bring anything to the table. I think I am beginning to see the end of American Idol. The format seems stale this year. Too bad, because watching a star being born is quite an experience.

Soup!!

One of the things that makes me feel cozy is making soup. It's one of my favorite things to make, especially on wintry days. This winter we've been eating a lot of soup. There has been an abundance of wintry days this season in Iowa. We have had two and a half feet of snow on the ground since Christmas. The attempt to make our home a cozy den of happiness this winter by making soup and cocoa is coming to a end. The charm has worn thin.

However, I will continue to make soup. I think soup is a near perfect food. You can put almost anything in soup and it's going to taste good. It can be healthy and your kids won't even complain. Serve with a nice crusty loaf of bread and you're in business. So I thought I would share one of my soup recipes that is yummy. It sounds weird, but I promise you it's delicious.


Cucumber Soup a la Smith

Ingredients:

1 cup diced Canadian bacon or any other ham-type stuff. Make sure it's high quality.

1 or 2 diced cucumbers (seeded and peeled)

1 quart chicken stock or broth

1/2 cup chopped green onions

1 tbsp rice wine vinegar

2 tsp toasted sesame oil


Brown the bacon in a little olive oil until crispy. Add the chicken broth and vinegar. Add the cucumbers. Cook the cucumbers until they are soft but still crisp.

Drizzle 2 tsp of sesame oil over the soup before serving. Serve with delicious crusty bread.

Easy and delicious. Enjoy!

Hey, Are You Amish? Cool.

Over the years, I have seen a lot of Amish people. A lot of Mennonite people, too. For some reason, I see these identifiable people in all kinds of weird places; they wear distinctive and unusual clothes. I almost always see them when I go to amusement parks. Sometimes at museums, too. One memorable time, a group was at the beach at the same time I was. It was fascinating to me. I took pictures--discreetly, of course. The women were dressed in black long skirts and long sleeved shirts, with kerchiefs on their heads. The men had taken off their hats, but the suspenders and long sleeved shirt and pants were in place. They were boogie boarding. They were also very sunburned on the parts where skin caught sunshine. I can tell you that I have never seen another group of adults having as much goofy fun as they were having. Middle-aged Amish women really like to boogie board.

So I wasn't surprised a week or so ago, on Valentine's Day, when I saw Mennonites sleeping on a restaurant floor. I was surprised at the blankets and pillows. We had all been stranded at a truck stop since the afternoon before because of white-out snow conditions on the highway I was driving from a visit to Kansas City to pick up a friend at the airport in Omaha and then home to Sioux City. The Mennonites numbered about twelve adults and four or five children. They were very nice to each other. I saw no cranky tantrums, or snapping, or grumpy demands. The children slept and then got up and were very pleasant. I couldn't tell whose children belonged to whom. All the adults seemed in equal standing. I liked watching this peaceful interaction. They were even smiling. Remarkable.

The rest of us weren't faring as well, except for the truckers; they'd all been through a snow delay on the road before. I didn't know what to do with myself. I spent enormous amounts of time going back and forth to my car, as if that would make the storm go away faster. The Mennonites were passing the time talking quietly and being serene.

I'm not sure what the Universe is trying to teach me with all of these Mennonite/Amish sightings. Am I supposed to be living a simpler life? Or, perhaps, am I there for them, because I always smile and nod my head? I suppose they like the little recognition on my part that they are on to something . . . something that looks pretty cool from the outside.

Work, work, work

I am attempting to write a novel. I'm sorry to say in the war between novel and blog, novel wins. I promise to remember you blog, just not as often.
I would like to thank blog for inspiring me to work on novel. Blog you will always be my first love. This week I'll be blogging about being stuck at a truck stop in Iowa for almost 24 hours, The Amish, and soup. Readers, hold me to it!

Hope everyone is enjoying their weekends. Forty year olds tend to know how to do a weekend very, very, well. Shalom, Y'all!

Ron Emory, my friend, and Rock God

If you are not familiar with Ron Emory, you should be. Don't feel bad; I didn't know the name, either. Ron is the guitar player for T.S.O.L, an original Southern California Punk band that originated in the 70's. That was when punk was punk, when it was being defined for our collective consciousness . . . the punk attitude being I don't give a fuck about your rules, your conventions, your society. I will dress how I want, love how I want, play music how I want and go fuck yourself. Sex, drugs and Rock and Roll on sex, drugs, and rock and roll. T.S.O.L was right there, and still maintains a healthy following. Ron's wife told me that Ron is just famous enough. Most people wouldn't know him walking down the street, but in the right circles he is as A-list as you can get. He is widely considered "the" guitarist of Punk Rock.

You should know Ron Emory, as we should all know the pioneers, the icons, and the truly talented in any field. I was never a punk rocker. I was a Dead Head and a hippy chick. My old neighborhood in New York was teeming with punks, since my apartment was three blocks away from CBGB's and down the street from Trash and Vaudeville. Most of my old friends from the city gravitated towards punk rock, and I've heard my fair share. I'm somewhat familiar with punk, maybe more than the average person. My husband was a punk rocker; he sported a mohawk, and liberty spikes, and went to shows, and pierced lots of things on his body. One of T.S.O.L's songs was one of my hubby's favorites when he was a teen. His collection of punky T-shirts is still impressive.

The weird part of this is that hubby and I moved from an area midway between New York and Philadelphia, both of which are rich in punk communities to Sioux City, which I have described in this blog on a number of occasions . . . and it is here where we met Ron and his family. They had noticed hubby's T-shirts, and recognized a kindred spirit here in the mid-west, not really known for its punk rock scene. Kindred in more ways than one, because we are all raising our families and living life in the best possible way for our children. That punk rock anger and angst is the furthest thing from my mind when I contemplate Ron and his wife (who has become a friend) and his children. They are truly gentle, generous, kind people; real salt of the earth types.

The other night, they let me hear some songs from Ron's solo album (no title yet). Frankly, I was blown away. I really had no idea how talented Ron is. The songs I heard were rough tracks and I still found myself humming them the next day. The guitar playing is amazing, haunting in some spots, rocking in others. The part that is truly inspiring, though, are the lyrics. They are heartfelt, real, sometimes gritty. Ron's lyrics really touched me. You can hear his journey in them, his maturity, and his pain and promise. Ron's wife was sitting with me, her eyes filled with pride and sometimes tears. It is a deeply personal album; he doesn't hold back, and that makes it remarkable.

Did you get that I really, really like Ron's album? I told them that it will be in my CD player getting worn out as soon as they can get me a copy. I wasn't just saying that. His words and music spoke to me, and that doesn't happen to me much. So what I want to say is: good for you Ron! Thank you for this gift that you are sharing with us. It is a blessing.

Muse

I have a friend visiting. I'm itching to write her into a character.

The actual, physical act of writing is brand new to me. I decided to start this blog and had it up and running the next day. That's how easy it is to get a blog. The amazing, brilliant, wonderful thing is that I haven't run out of things to write about yet.

I've been writing in my mind for years. I'd construct a short story based on some woman I was watching in the airport, or some man in the grocery store, or some kids playing on the street.

The difference is that now I have my muse. My muse is a fickle bitch; she didn't come to visit until I turned forty. What kind of friend is that? I'm not really complaining because she's here now and I don't want to offend her.

Muse, you are a most welcome new friend. Come, sit in my kitchen and have a cup of tea, or a glass of wine, or just sit and talk. You are welcome anytime.

Broken Hearts

This lyric by Alanis Morrisette has been stuck in my head for a couple of days:

I recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone
I recommend walking around naked in your living room
Swallow it down (what a jagged little pill)
It feels so good (swimming in your stomach)
Wait until the dust settles

Then she sings of living and learning. It's a redemption song, a phoenix rising from the ashes. So much of life, at least mine, is like this hilly road. The lessons that we learn from pain and struggle, the joy we feel when the pain and struggle turns into understanding. If we are paying attention, life has so much to teach us.

I get into trouble in two ways. The first is when I am in pain about something and try to ignore it, stuff it, or find some addiction to cover it up. The other is when I fail to see the signs that the pain is coming and coming fast. I try not to ignore my intuition, but there have been times when the red flags were waving and jumping and screaming at me and I simply waved back and turned around and continued on my merry way. I can't say which way is better: taking the risk, even knowing it's not going to turn out well, or listening first and dodging the bullet.

I have made some huge mistakes in my life. I don't think many of us get to these forty years who haven't made some whoppers. My judgment of other people these days is gentler. I know that we are all doing what we can to get through this life, living it the best we know how. I don't know how my life experiences stack up against others, and it doesn't matter. I've had heartache, heartbreak, loss; I've been victimized and abused. I've also broken hearts, and been unkind, and lied. I have become a full-grown woman and I am no longer a victim or a survivor. I'm just a human, marching along, day by day, getting through life and trying to cause as little damage as possible.

I am more than the things that have happened to me. Each time I face a struggle now, I live and I learn. I have learned a lot. When pain comes, I know it won't kill me. I know eventually it lessens and there is opportunity for growth and understanding. A friend of mine shared this quote with me, "At the end of every happy story is a sad ending." When I first read that I thought the words were so depressing. But it stayed in my mind, and I began to see that it's true. Even the most charmed life will come to an end. We're all heading there whether we like it or not. This is just the way of life; loss is inevitable. I'm not saying I like it, I'm just saying it's no use hemming and hawing over it, there's not a damn thing any of us can change about that.

I will remain open to the joy and wonder of the good times. I will accept the bad times. I will try to do both of these with as much integrity and honesty as I can. That's what I've learned so far. Doesn't it seem so simple? You have no idea how much shit I went through to learn that lesson!
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2/12/10 by S.D.S
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Hey, are you Amish? Cool.

Over the years, I have seen a lot of Amish people. A lot of Mennonite people, too. For some reason, I see these identifiable people in all kinds of weird places; they wear distinctive and unusual clothes. I almost always see them when I go to amusement parks. Sometimes at museums, too. One memorable time, a group was at the beach at the same time I was. It was fascinating to me. I took pictures--discreetly, of course. The women were dressed in black long skirts and long sleeved shirts, with kerchiefs on their heads. The men had taken off their hats, but the suspenders and long sleeved shirt and pants were in place. They were boogie boarding. They were also very sunburned on the parts where skin caught sunshine. I can tell you that I have never seen another group of adults having as much goofy fun as they were having. Middle aged Amish women really like to boogie board.

So I wasn't surprised when I saw the Mennonites sleeping on the restaurant floor. I was surprised at the blankets and pillows. We have all been stranded at a truck stop since yesterday afternoon because of white-out snow conditions on the highway that was supposed to take me home. That same highway was supposed to deliver me back to the airport this morning. That ain't happenin' any time soon. The Mennonites numbered about twelve adults and four or five children. They were very nice to each other. I saw no cranky tantrums, or snapping, or grumpy demands for coffee. The children slept and then got up and were very pleasant. I couldn't tell who's children belonged to whom. All the adults seemed in equal standing. I liked watching this peaceful interaction that was happening. They were even smiling. Remarkable.

The rest of us weren't faring as well. The truckers were fine. They've all been through this before. I spent enormous amounts of time going back and forth to my car. The Mennonites were passing the time talking quietly and being serene. I'm not sure what the Universe is trying to teach me about with all of these Mennonite/Amish sightings. Perhaps, I'm supposed to be living a simpler life? Perhaps, I'm there for them, because I always smile at them and nod my head. Just a little recognition on my part to them that I recognize that they are on to something, something that looks pretty cool from the outside.

Kansas City

Happy Weekend Everybody! I'm off to Kansas City to meet up with my cousin and her kids. It's a little adventure. I'm anticipating eating some really good Barbecue and drinking an ice cold beer. Hugging my family till they tell me I'm squeezing too hard. Doesn't that sound good. I hope all of you are having little adventures of your own. See you all on Monday.

Are you raunchier?

Okay, honestly . . . I have never heard more filthy, raunchy, downright nasty language than when I am with my 40-year-old friends. Especially my women friends. I don't know exactly what it is, but women over 40 change. I cannot divulge what we all talk about, but I think grown men would blush. The filthier it is, the harder we laugh. I think it might be hormonal.

Women in their forties are not afraid to talk about sex, not even a little. We've been married, we've had children, we have had many, many life experiences. I suppose we've come to the conclusion that we've all been there and done that. We can't really be shocked. Once you've had a room full of people watch you push a baby out, it takes a lot to be embarrassed. As a matter of fact, I will go on the record as saying I think we ladies are much filthier than the men.

I'm generalizing. Not all women in their forties are like this, just the ones I want to hang out with. I think we are more likely to say what's on our minds, and less likely to give a shit what people think of it. We've paid our dues. It's freeing. Viva la forty! Now, if they would only let us rule the world . . . .

Mom vs Dad

Looking back over this blog, I realized that it gives the impression that I was raised by only my father. This is not so. I have a wonderful mom, too. My memories of my dad are in the forefront now because he is gone. I like to think about these times with him; they bring me some comfort from my grief. There are days, in this process of grieving, that I can't imagine living the rest of my life on this earth without him. I just don't make as much sense of this world without his reference point. My dad was my touchstone, and I am floundering for another one.

My mom got the raw end of this deal. My dad and I were always compatible and he was always my hero. I used to ask him if he could beat guys up. I, of course, thought he was the strongest, smartest, best man on earth. It was silly, he being 5' 8" and about 150 pounds soaking wet. Also, he didn't run around beating people up. Dads and daughters have special relationships.

On the flip side, moms and daughters have exceedingly complicated relationships. My relationship with my mother is no exception. The power struggle that occurred between my mom and me in my teen years was epic. I'm surprised we survived. I am certain that my dad would not have handled my teenage rebellion with as much patience as my mother did. I talk about my dad a lot. But it was my Mom who I went to for soft hugs and tenderness. It was my mom who, after the sixth time I went wedding dress shopping, pulled my dress from the rack in five minutes--and it was perfect. When my sister died, my mom was the softest place for me to land. Mom coos and cuddles in the best way.

I am still very much engaged in a parent-child relationship with my mom. She still tells me to wear my coat, and to drive more carefully, and she still feels the need to tell me what to do. This was not so for my dad, who began treating me as an adult when I was about ten. In this way, my father took on a different role in my life. He was still very much my father, but more an advisor, mentor, and friend. My mother is still my mom. We slip into our dysfunctional patterns; we get angry sometimes; I am still her child, her baby. She worries like a mother hen. I am a responsible forty-one year old woman, raising a family of my own, and she will still remind me to wear a hat when I go out into the cold. She begins many sentences to me by saying, "You need to . . . ."

This is the mom role. Most of my friends have similar relationships with their own mothers. I explained to her, after my dad passed, that she is not allowed to go. I simply could not bear it. Both of my parents were necessary for me, both bringing different essential pieces that make up who I am. Yes, I idolize my dad; I think he was remarkable and wonderful. My mom is currently reading this and copy-editing, fixing my mistakes and making sure that whoever reads this will have the best possible impression of me. She will send me an e-mail later telling me how to improve my writing and where I went wrong. Aren't I a lucky, lucky girl?

Uh, Oh

As I was dragging my 5-year-old son down the hallway of his pre-school for the third time, I realized I had goofed. I had allowed him not to go to school when he didn't feel like it. Who could blame the little guy? It's cold in Iowa in the winter. It's dark, and icy, and quite dreary. It is so much nicer to snuggle in bed with someone who adores you and to sleep late. My little bear cub and I have been hibernating this winter, enjoying lazy mornings and even lazier afternoons.

The consequence of this is an all-out war in the mornings when my youngest boy has to go to school. Number three son has an uncanny ability to take clothes off as soon as they are put on. It's really quite magical. Yesterday morning, I put his clothes on four times. He took them off five times. It's remarkable. Wrestling a five-year-old into his clothes is a very good work out. I don't need to go to the gym. Wrestling a five year old into his coat, and into his car seat, and putting on a seat belt is . . . interesting. My son has an uncanny ability to become boneless in a moment's notice; passive resistance will come in handy for him someday. Perhaps he will teach a seminar on the subject. He is qualified.

On the drive to school, I imagined calling the Division of Youth and Family Services.

"Um, yes, I am being abused."
"Are you currently in any danger?"
"Yes, can you hear that?" I'm referencing the ear-piercing screams coming from the back seat.
"Yes, can you go some place safe?"
"I suppose the preschool is safe."
"Will your husband come to the school?"
"Oh, it's not my husband"
Confused silence on the other end of the phone.
"Can I be placed in foster care?"
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"I'm afraid not."

The whole process took more than an hour. When I arrived at school, with my whirling dervish of a son in tow, I was sweaty and out of breath. My hair had come loose from its pony tail and I only had one earring on. While dragging my son down the hallway on his back--his coat making a nice impromptu sled--I failed to see the humor in the moment. The preschool teachers were hiding grins. I didn't feel bad leaving, while my son laid on the floor and the teachers cajoled him to come into the classroom. I waved and shouted "byeeee" and skipped down the hall to the freedom of my car.

Discipline is, by far, the hardest part of parenting for me. I have a tendency towards being overly permissive. When I yell at my children, they tend to laugh at me. My boys have often told me that "you're not scary." All through my parenting career, I've had to have coaches who give me pep talks on discipline. "You can do it! Stick to your guns!" . . . talking me through a time-out or an evening in their bedrooms, or letting one of my children cry themselves to sleep. Discipline does not come naturally to me. My husband tends to do the heavy lifting on this front.

I see the benefit and necessity of discipline for children. How are they to learn otherwise? Life isn't a soft pillow; it's hard concrete. My boys will learn that life isn't fair. Life isn't easy; they need to understand that. We all have to do things that we don't want to do. For instance, they may have to drag their five-year-old son down a linoleum-covered hallway on a Tuesday morning into their pre-school class. They may have to do it all over again on Wednesday and Thursday morning, too. I don't know about my son, but I certainly learned my lesson.

Little moments

My parents had creatively figured out a way to send me to an elementary school in Manhattan that was not in my neighborhood. I did go to the local elementary school on the Lower East Side for a short time; the children there hated me on sight. First of all, I was neither Latino nor Black, and the year before I had been a rural kid living in upstate New York in a house with no indoor plumbing and parents who raised our own food and were quite the hippies. You can imagine my surprise to move to Manhattan and find myself living in an apartment with a flush toilet and enrolled in a school that wasn't ninety-five percent white. I found it easier to relate to the apartment that to the new kids. Seems like my life has provided me with many opportunities for learning new frames of reference. That is not a complaint.

My new elementary school was on 11th Street and 6th Avenue. My Dad's apartment was on St. Marks Place (8th Street between 1st and 2nd Avenue), It was about 10 blocks away, give or take. There were quite a few kids in my neighborhood who made the commute to this little school in Greenwich Village. When I got older I would take the public bus to school; but when I first started to go there, my Dad would take me on his bike.

I would sit on the cross bar, sideways, and hold the middle of the handle bars. I cannot describe how much I loved the ride to and from school on Dad's bike. It felt like flying: the wind in my hair and on my face. The absolute synchronicity of riding with my Dad in perfect harmony. Leaning when I needed to and sitting very still when I needed to and feeling as secure and sure as I ever had in my life, before and since. Every day after school, my Dad would be there waiting to ride me home.

There is a feeling of comfort for me when I think about that time in my childhood. The daily rhythm of my life; a routine that was fixed and constant. This was joy for me as a girl. As a parent, I also love those moments the most: the rhythm of my life with my children. Those times when, without a word spoken, our lives move along with our daily life waltz. The intimacy is beyond compare. When I pick up my youngest son from school and we can have lunch together and watch his favorite show, when he snuggles up to me in the position that we always lay down in, we do not need to say a word. He likes to rub my arm when we snuggle; I often place my arm in just the right position without even thinking about it. My oldest son had a blanket. I knew just when to hand that blankie to my boy, knew instinctively when it was necessary for him. I know how my kids like their sandwiches; I don't need to ask. These are parenting moments that really mean something. These little moments, the hum-drum, the banal, the minutiae, that make up the intimacy of the parent-child relationship. I wouldn't trade these moments for anything.

These are the moments we lose when we trade career for family. I know so many Dad's who leave in the morning before the kids get up and are home just in time to give them a kiss goodbye berfore bed. I know some mom's who have this lifestyle as well. Personally, I would rather be broke and share these moments with my children.

Personality Politics

What do you think of Sarah Palin? I don't think it's fair or correct to call her ignorant and stupid. Palin should not be dismissed as a fifteen-minutes-of-famer. Of course, she has made some major faux pas. I think Sarah Palin was guilty of under-preparation during her vice-presidential run. But I don't believe for a moment that all politicians have, on the tip of their tongues, the correct analysis of every political issue or policy. Politicians have people who research for them and write reports and who they teach candidates about the issues. It is important to surround yourself with smart people. People who really know their stuff and won't let you take an interview with Katie Couric without being prepared. I don't think Sarah Palin is dumb; I would say she's not very substantive. Palin is not well informed, that is clear. But she can fill an 8,000 seat arena. We are entering into personality politics.

Extreme right wing people love, love, love Sarah Palin. I see Palin as the absolute symbol of that section of the right wing that paints Hitler mustaches on Obama's photographs. That part of the GOP that says "no" first and then asks "what was the question?" To be fair, and I really don't want to, I will say that there are crazy people on the extreme left as well. Usually they are well educated though. Sarah Palin is a veritable poster child for "we are right because we are not you!" She's Fox News's pin-up girl. I cringe when she speaks, because of the amazing backwards steps she takes for women in politics. If she is really considering running for President don't you think she should be able to remember "tax cuts" without writing a cheat sheet on her hand?

Palin is adroit at making fun of herself and making the most of the publicity. When she was being considered as John McCain's running mate a reporter asked her if she would like to be Vice-President and she said "I don't know, I'll tell you after I see the job description." Anyone remember that? Um, how about run the free world at a moment's notice?

I see so many more of these knee jerk right wingers these days. The people who complain, immediately after Obama proposes tax cuts, that the Democrats are going to take all their money. People who decided long before Obama was sworn in that their lives were going to be worse no matter what. This group knows they are right and it really doesn't matter what you say or what is done. Facts are facts, but this bunch doesn't care for facts. They don't care for compromise, or tolerance, or working together.

Sometimes I think that we lefties ought to be a little less polite and just be as obnoxious as they are. However, this is not the liberal way; we are far too polite and civilized. How can you reason with irrational arguments? Shall we discuss Palin's "death panels"? A pure fabrication that, no matter how many times the President said were not real, just wouldn't go away. I have friends who are still talking about these fictitious death panels. Oh, my.

My worst fear at this point is Sarah Palin running for President with unlimited corporate funds and using her "I'm just a regular girl" act, then waltzing into the White House on her fabulous legs. While in office she will not read the news, she will appoint all of her best friends to do jobs they are not qualified to do, and quite possibly lead us into . . . God only knows what. Wait, doesn't this sound familiar?

Weekend Snow

Hi Everybody,
I hope everyone is enjoying the snow that has fallen. Snow days are always a good time to spend with family or reading a good book. So cozy up to the fire and enjoy your day. I'm taking the weekend off in an attempt to enjoy my very own snow day. I'll see you all on Monday with a new post and a refreshed and relaxed state of mind (I hope!). If all else fails we have the Super Bowl to look forward to.

Fire and Rain

Death has been a theme in my life this year. My father passed away a couple of months ago. One of my best friends from high school died recently; and yesterday I found out an old family friend passed away. That James Taylor song "Fire and Rain" keeps running through my mind, the line "I always thought that I'd see you again" seems prophetic to me now.

Of course I am grieving for my father. I haven't been able to get him off of my mind since he died. He is here with me every day. But I am not having happy memories yet. I am seeing him as he was at the end, sick and in pain. I see his body after he died. I'm not comforted yet by seeing him as he was in life, but I know this will come in time. I wake up some days and then I remember that he is gone and it's a terrible shock all over again. I am now a member of a club that I don't want to belong to: the society of kids who have lost a parent.

My high school friend's death hit me hard. It was a shock so soon after losing my father and I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. She was a good, good pal all through high school. It's not natural to lose a friend who is your own age. We never dreamed this scenario when we were sixteen. She had a hard life and hard death. Wish I had known; I would've been there for her.

I understand that death is an inevitability now. Before this year, death was abstract and far away. Now death is a companion for the time being. I'm not afraid to die. My father wasn't either and he handled his death as he handled his life, with integrity and honesty and idealism. He showed me how to do it. What I fear now is wasting the time I have left. I want to tell everyone that I love how much I love them all the time now. I want to make amends. I want to see every last friend I've ever had, more than once. I want to reconnect, because tomorrow may be too late.

I'm learning to take a deep breath and express what I truly feel. I'm not going to hold back anymore. I want the people in my life to really know what they mean to me. If I get hurt, so be it. I can't imagine it hurting any more than losing someone who you always thought that you would see again and never will.

Bedazzled and Bejeweled

I was feeling a little insecure about the post I made to this Blog on January 19, 2010: Pubic Hair in America. If you haven't read that one, it's in the archives. But it seems my insecurity was unfounded. Not only was I speaking about a hot topic, but I was way behind the curve. I just found this little tidbit on The Huffington Post. The 7 Weirdest Things That Women Do To Their Private Parts This was indeed enlightening to yours truly--especially the bedazzling piece. There are other more gruesome practices described, including--but not limited to--plastic surgery, creams, and piercings. If you don't care to read this article, just take my word for it.

As far as the more gentle aspects of current practices goes, I am going to address the bejeweling of lady parts. I would just like to say publicly to all of my sister-friends who are planning on doing this, or are now doing this to themselves . . . I would like to know up front, in case of an emergency. If Hello Kitty is currently residing on your nether regions, I do not want to be surprised at the hospital with this information. I would probably think something very, very bad happened to you.

It seems, ladies, that we no longer merely need to worry about clean underwear; now we need to put our name up in lights, so to speak. Perky little Jennifer Love Hewitt wrote about bejeweling herself in her book. Is there a best dressed Vay jay jay award? What is next? Perms? Weaves? A couture line by Marc Jacobs? Project Runway, here we come!!

What is your next arts and crafts project going to be? I know what mine is!! Not!

The Apocalypse

I'm exceedingly fond of Apocalyptic fiction and movies. It's not that I really want the world to end. Five minutes of watching what's going on in Haiti is enough to drive that point home. It's just that I like to imagine what the world would look like without all of the people. What would life be like if, suddenly, all of the complications of life became one simple goal . . . survival.

I like to think about the skills I have that would help me survive in case of Apocalypse. I can start a fire; that's good. I can crochet and sew by hand, handy skills to have if the world ends. I know how to garden . . . I'm not very good at it, but I imagine I could get by. I know a bit about woods and edible plants and tracking animals. I can cook, although I don't know how to butcher an animal or how to skin one. Maybe I should spend some time with friends who hunt and learn. I am constantly collecting knowledge that will be useful for me when the world ends. I know basic first aid. I know that you can make soap with lye, and you can get lye from wood ashes. I suppose in the apocalyptic world there would still be libraries and supermarkets. We could live on canned food for a time. We could read books to find other useful tips. Twinkies and Wonder Bread would probably survive the Apocalypse. We could eat those for a while.

I don't know anything about how to make electricity or how to fix a car or how sound waves work. I'm probably not alone in that. How prepared would we be as a people if we were pushed up against it? If we suddenly found ourselves without the comforts of home we enjoy every day without a second thought? I think about that when I contemplate the mid-west. Settlers came here on horse-drawn wagons. If their winters were anything like the one we have had this year, I cannot imagine how people survived. They had to build everything by hand and supply everything that was needed just for basic survival. How did they manage it all? I imagine there was no shortage of suffering.

Sometimes this modern life feels so complicated. All of this information at our finger tips; all of these opinions swirling around in the ethos. I suppose I long for simplicity. Wake up and chop wood and haul water. Survive. Do one thing at a time. Survive. Put things away where they belong and start all over the next day. Simplify and survive. I can handle that, in my imagination.

Butterfly

Have you heard the expression “soft addiction?” It’s used to describe addiction to anything that isn’t life threatening. For instance, shopping all the time is a soft addiction; doing heroin is not. Spending too much time on the computer is a soft addiction; drinking yourself sick every night is not.

My question is, are soft addictions still true addictions? Are they as damaging to the soul as a true full-blown addiction to drugs? This is where my id chimes in, “But life is hard! Who does it hurt? It’s harmless!” My ego nags, “It’s not harmless! It keeps you from feeling and being.” My id answers, “Feeling and being, you have to do that no matter what! Life should be enjoyed not endured!” Ego answers “Humph, you are justifying!”

Unfortunately for me, I tend to break one addiction only to find myself facing another one. My life-long addiction to food seems to be broken at long last . . . and now I’m on this computer all the time.

It may just be my personality. I tend to absorb myself in one thing at a time, much to the dismay of my hubby. If I’m into doing crossword puzzles, for instance, I will do them non-stop for a couple of weeks and then I’ll stop. For a while last summer I was into Corn Nuts. I ate Corn nuts every day for a week and then stopped. For a time last winter I crocheted little stuffed animal creatures. I did that every day for months, and then when spring came I stopped. I like to think of it not so much as an addiction, but as intense attention. I’m a restless soul; my interests flit around like a butterfly. If I don’t seize an interest when it is present, chances are I won’t be interested again for some time.

For the time being, I think I’ll indulge my id and let myself flit and flutter around. Ooh . . . today I think I’ll research how to make homemade soap. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll try writing a novel. Or perhaps I’ll finally paint the basement. Or maybe not.

Reality vs. Expectations

Hubby and I watched a good movie this weekend called “500 Days of Summer.” It is a quirky movie, an anti-love story that deconstructs a relationship. In one interesting scene, filmed from the point of view of the main character, the screen is split; one side displays expectation, and the other side displays reality. The two scenes are almost the same, and yet the differences are striking. Where our main character expects to spend the entire evening having a soul searching conversation with the woman of his dreams, in reality he spends the evening watching her mingle with other people while he quietly gets drunk. He is unable to get the expectation out of his imagination nor is he able to change the reality of the situation.

Naturally, this got me thinking about reality vs. expectations. I have always been the kind of person whose expectations were exceedingly high and so reality just didn’t have a chance. It’s a recipe for disappointment, to expect so much. As I age, I find that my expectations are lessening.

My middle son is just this way. I ache for him. He’s a dreamer and invariably his reality is just never quite good enough. He becomes disappointed so easily by reality. His ideas are so big and sweeping; his follow-through impossible. I’ve tried to explain to him about bringing it down a notch and starting small, but dreamers dream. It’s like trying to swim against the current.

I have found that as gritty as reality is, as stark and unyielding, there is beauty in unexpected places. Reality beauty can be much more than the imagined beauty of expectation: the moment they put that baby on your chest after labor and you feel their warm body for the first time; the moment you fall in love; when you watch your child do well in something that they’ve worked hard to accomplish.

Yes, life is easier if expectations are just a distant relative to reality, like a dollar-rich childless cousin who lives alone in California. Reality is your kid puking all night, and your spouse who comes home grumpy. Expectation is chicken soup and chocolate chip cookies served on a tray by Donna Reed. Reality is a basket full of soggy sandwiches and bruised apples enjoyed next to a beautiful New England stream where the water is so clear you can see the fish swimming by. Which life would you prefer?