Tonight, my friend's 2-year-old daughter spent several hours at my house while her mom worked. After I put my kids to bed, I put her into my bed in an attempt to get her to sleep. I slipped her little diaper-clad body between the sheets, pulled up the duvet and reclined beside her. I watched as she wiggled about, giggling to herself, rolling over and over, obviously delighted by the way the soft cotton felt against her bare skin. She was the personification of joyful sensation. She paused and turned her sweet face toward me, grinning and wiggling her fingers in front of her, that squeaky voice making some approximation of the word "spider." Five rounds of "Itsy Bitsy Spider" later, her mom came to pick her up.
In a week that has been, at times, blackened by some of the worst humanity has to offer, she was a beautiful, simple and welcome reminder of the best.
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Thursday, May 13, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The way it is
Overheard (and inspired):
"Yes, I am a person who is petty enough to look at people I don't really care for and think 'Oh, honey, you may not have the years, but you sure show the miles.'"
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"Yes, I am a person who is petty enough to look at people I don't really care for and think 'Oh, honey, you may not have the years, but you sure show the miles.'"
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Monday, May 10, 2010
Why I can fix that
Most people who know me would agree that I'm not very good at the word "can't." If something is broken or needs work, whether it be a relationship or a project or a light fixture, my first inclination is to break out the tools, roll up my sleeves and get started.
That I might fail, or not be up to the task at hand, rarely even occurs to me.
When I was younger, I chalked this up to being one of two daughters of a man who had no sons. We learned to shoot before we learned long division. We did yard work. We went fishing. We cut firewood. We helped build things. Now don't get me wrong, we were not complete tomboys. We took ballet lessons and learned to cook and sew too, but our experiences were certainly not limited to those reserved for the fairer sex.
As a young woman, I credited my father's influence almost exclusively for my willingness to charge forth when faced with a new situation or task. As I grow older, I recognize that while some of the technical ability came from my father, the mentality is one most accurately attributed to my mother.
She grew up in the midwest, one of 10 kids in a Catholic farm family. Her brothers and sisters all still live within about 20 miles of the farm. So do their children. So do their grandchildren. But she left, and she didn't stop at the next state. Not too long after high school, she packed up and first headed south, but found that not quite the right fit. She went, of all places, to Fairbanks, Alaska. I wonder if she was scared. Perhaps she just figured she would make it work.
Through the years I have watched my mother employ that technique in almost everything, from raising us to starting a business to running a household to home improvement. She just seems to step up and figure it out. And most times, it turns out OK.
When my chainsaw won't start or my water pump starts sucking air, I roll my eyes, curse a little, then pick out the right tools and figure out a way to fix it. My father taught me which tools too use. My mother taught me to have the courage to pick up the tools in the first place.
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That I might fail, or not be up to the task at hand, rarely even occurs to me.
When I was younger, I chalked this up to being one of two daughters of a man who had no sons. We learned to shoot before we learned long division. We did yard work. We went fishing. We cut firewood. We helped build things. Now don't get me wrong, we were not complete tomboys. We took ballet lessons and learned to cook and sew too, but our experiences were certainly not limited to those reserved for the fairer sex.
As a young woman, I credited my father's influence almost exclusively for my willingness to charge forth when faced with a new situation or task. As I grow older, I recognize that while some of the technical ability came from my father, the mentality is one most accurately attributed to my mother.
She grew up in the midwest, one of 10 kids in a Catholic farm family. Her brothers and sisters all still live within about 20 miles of the farm. So do their children. So do their grandchildren. But she left, and she didn't stop at the next state. Not too long after high school, she packed up and first headed south, but found that not quite the right fit. She went, of all places, to Fairbanks, Alaska. I wonder if she was scared. Perhaps she just figured she would make it work.
Through the years I have watched my mother employ that technique in almost everything, from raising us to starting a business to running a household to home improvement. She just seems to step up and figure it out. And most times, it turns out OK.
When my chainsaw won't start or my water pump starts sucking air, I roll my eyes, curse a little, then pick out the right tools and figure out a way to fix it. My father taught me which tools too use. My mother taught me to have the courage to pick up the tools in the first place.
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Saturday, May 08, 2010
Afternoon anthem
Sunshine streaming and sleepy eyes on a Saturday afternoon: It's perfect for drifting.
Come Away with Me
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Come Away with Me
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Thursday, May 06, 2010
Happy Cinco de Mayo
The air of warm-weather festivity was markedly lacking this afternoon. Yep, those are snowflakes. Apparently, nobody bothered to inform the weather gods that it was the fifth of May and thus snow was wildly inappropriate. Can margaritas be served hot?
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Thursday, April 22, 2010
Comfort fail
My well-meaning 10-year-old has a friend whose mother is having surgery. She was attempting to be a good friend and comfort this other little girl, to empathize with her obvious concern for her mother. So she sincerely and sweetly looked at her and said, "That must be really tough, your mom could die." Her friend burst into tears. My daughter made a nice card tonight. Her friend's mother probably thinks my child is the meanest girl at school.
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Thursday, April 01, 2010
Mini key
As if Twitter by text and RSS feeds weren't exciting enough, I thought I might really test my mad skillz by blogging on the Blackberry. 'Cause nothing says "hip and edgy" like pontificating with the phone carried by thousands of middle-aged white guys.
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Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Brave new bird
In the name of research, and not because I have no life, I'm now playing with twitter feed. Let's just call it "professional development" instead of "narcissistic boredom," shall we?
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The S word
I just filled a prescription for two new medications. Out of curiosity, I checked my receipts to see how much they would have cost, had I been one of the uninsured masses. I about choked: nearly $500 for a single month's supply. I recently heard about someone who has lousy insurance and has to purchase a similar medication out of pocket. That person pays about $65 for 100 days worth over the Internet. And where does this cheap medication come from? Why Canada, of course. You know, that continental neighbor that does the unthinkable: ensure that its citizens have affordable health care.
Those commie bastards.
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Those commie bastards.
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Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Everyday Prince Charming
A man and a woman, a couple not too much older than I am, were leaving their office. He went to the coat closet and helped her on with her coat. This simple, chivalrous gesture, carried out with obvious caring in his look and manner, was one of the sweetest things I have seen in a long time. Perhaps it's old-fashioned, but some things are classics for a reason. And it still makes me smile thinking about it.
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Monday, February 15, 2010
The conversations we're REALLY having
It's that special time of year, where couples profess their undying love and the singles pretend not to notice. "What? Oh yeah, is THAT why hearts and roses are plastered on every store end-cap?"
Yep, it's Valentine's Day, the ultimate holiday of the haves and have-nots. And nothing says "I heart u" like those chalky, sugary conversation hearts. This year, I decided to start some conversations that are a tad bit more relevant to my brothers and sisters who, like me, are braving the shallow and muddy dating pool of our 30s and 40s. Let's face it folks, it can be pretty damn scary out there.
So, without further adieu, I give you the "reduced for quick sale" holiday cookies:
Sometimes you're not really looking for something lasting. For those moments, the ONS Collection says it all:
Sure, we all have issues from our childhood, but every once in a while, you meet one of these. If they start saying things like, "I lacked male role models," run. The Parental Collection:
We've all been at this for a while, through the wringer, if you will. Embrace your secondhand status with the Salvo Armani Collection:
We all know the herd has been culled. Why lie? Tell it like it is with the Lowered Expectations Collection:
Raise your hand if you have experienced a crazy. You know what I am talking about. The ones who start using the word "we" after meeting for coffee once and start asking when you will want to meet their parents. The Cuckoo Collection captures this phenomenon with aplomb:
Happy Valentine's Day!
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Yep, it's Valentine's Day, the ultimate holiday of the haves and have-nots. And nothing says "I heart u" like those chalky, sugary conversation hearts. This year, I decided to start some conversations that are a tad bit more relevant to my brothers and sisters who, like me, are braving the shallow and muddy dating pool of our 30s and 40s. Let's face it folks, it can be pretty damn scary out there.
So, without further adieu, I give you the "reduced for quick sale" holiday cookies:
Sometimes you're not really looking for something lasting. For those moments, the ONS Collection says it all:
Sure, we all have issues from our childhood, but every once in a while, you meet one of these. If they start saying things like, "I lacked male role models," run. The Parental Collection:
We've all been at this for a while, through the wringer, if you will. Embrace your secondhand status with the Salvo Armani Collection:
We all know the herd has been culled. Why lie? Tell it like it is with the Lowered Expectations Collection:
Raise your hand if you have experienced a crazy. You know what I am talking about. The ones who start using the word "we" after meeting for coffee once and start asking when you will want to meet their parents. The Cuckoo Collection captures this phenomenon with aplomb:
Happy Valentine's Day!
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Thursday, February 11, 2010
Kitchen table breakthroughs
I long ago figured out that the dinnertime conversations my children and I have are not exactly of the "Leave it to Beaver" variety. My eldest was musing the other night about things like LSD and 'shrooms and how he wondered if drugs really could expand your mind, like some people say.
"Maybe that's how people could find a cure for cancer. They get super high and then ..."
Well, maybe, sure. It could end with a cure for cancer. It could also end with screaming and fleeing from the scary clown peeking in the window. To-MAY-to, to-MAH-to.
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"Maybe that's how people could find a cure for cancer. They get super high and then ..."
Well, maybe, sure. It could end with a cure for cancer. It could also end with screaming and fleeing from the scary clown peeking in the window. To-MAY-to, to-MAH-to.
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Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Farewell friend
He was my next-door neighbor for 12 years, from the first day I bought my house. Everyone else has changed over the years. He stayed put, an aging and fiercely independent widower with no family here in town.
Each spring, I planted an extra basket of petunias and pansies and hung it outside his garage. He always kept it watered. He wasn't overtly social, certainly not the Ned Flanders model of a neighbor, but he was happy to stop and chat about the latest goings-on with his daughter in the Lower 48 or local politics or my job or his health. He watched my children grow up and always had kind words for and about them and about the horde of other kids that now live on our street. He even liked my obnoxious dog and took time to pet her when he went on his forays out to the mailbox. I watched him grow older and I worried, sometimes, about him living alone.
During the winter, if the snow got too deep, I or my teenage son or one of the other neighbors would clear it from in front of the garage. During the winter, he usually only came and went to take the garbage to the dumpster and get the mail. We checked in on him during the holidays. I always sent the kids over with a plate of goodies on Christmas.
And once April and May rolled around, like the rest of the Alaskans, he would emerge from his winter abode into the sunshine. We'd stop to chat in the driveway and he would remark that the kids had grown a lot over the winter.
He won't be meeting me in the driveway this spring. The state troopers stopped by tonight with a familiar and foreboding scenario. Had anyone spoken to him recently? A lone trooper watched the house for a couple of hours. Then the white van arrived. And the gurney. They went into the house and came out carrying a body bag.
It's not that he is gone. He was at least 70 years old. I know his aches and pains had become harder and harder to bear. He and I had talked about aging, and I know that he wanted to die on his own terms, in his own home. Still, I can't help but wonder if we should have checked on him more often, if I could have done something differently.
The spring won't be the same this year. I'm not sure what I will do with that extra flower basket. I'll miss those perfectly prosaic driveway conversations. Each of those moments are, taken alone, of little consequence. Together they form a presence in my life and the life of my family that will be missed. He will be missed. And I hope he knew that before he died.
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Each spring, I planted an extra basket of petunias and pansies and hung it outside his garage. He always kept it watered. He wasn't overtly social, certainly not the Ned Flanders model of a neighbor, but he was happy to stop and chat about the latest goings-on with his daughter in the Lower 48 or local politics or my job or his health. He watched my children grow up and always had kind words for and about them and about the horde of other kids that now live on our street. He even liked my obnoxious dog and took time to pet her when he went on his forays out to the mailbox. I watched him grow older and I worried, sometimes, about him living alone.
During the winter, if the snow got too deep, I or my teenage son or one of the other neighbors would clear it from in front of the garage. During the winter, he usually only came and went to take the garbage to the dumpster and get the mail. We checked in on him during the holidays. I always sent the kids over with a plate of goodies on Christmas.
And once April and May rolled around, like the rest of the Alaskans, he would emerge from his winter abode into the sunshine. We'd stop to chat in the driveway and he would remark that the kids had grown a lot over the winter.
He won't be meeting me in the driveway this spring. The state troopers stopped by tonight with a familiar and foreboding scenario. Had anyone spoken to him recently? A lone trooper watched the house for a couple of hours. Then the white van arrived. And the gurney. They went into the house and came out carrying a body bag.
It's not that he is gone. He was at least 70 years old. I know his aches and pains had become harder and harder to bear. He and I had talked about aging, and I know that he wanted to die on his own terms, in his own home. Still, I can't help but wonder if we should have checked on him more often, if I could have done something differently.
The spring won't be the same this year. I'm not sure what I will do with that extra flower basket. I'll miss those perfectly prosaic driveway conversations. Each of those moments are, taken alone, of little consequence. Together they form a presence in my life and the life of my family that will be missed. He will be missed. And I hope he knew that before he died.
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Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Overheard
"When I get an e-mail from her, I feel like the back of my head is in a vise."
Raise your hand if you have one of those people in your life.
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Raise your hand if you have one of those people in your life.
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Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Recession? Reality?
I just did my taxes and found the entire experience quite depressing. Despite a promotion, I'm pretty sure I didn't even keep up with the increased cost of living this year. I'm one of the lucky ones. At least I still have a job. At least I still have a home.
All that said, I am 15 years into my career and am not sure there will ever come a day when I am not holding my breath until the next paycheck. And if things continue at this rate--skyrocketing health insurance rates, less-than-inflation pay increases, energy costs at triple the national average--it will get worse and worse every year. I find myself wondering how I might cope with the possibility of simply not making ends meet and how I ended up even having to think about something like that in the first place. And I wonder how many other people are out there thinking the same thing.
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All that said, I am 15 years into my career and am not sure there will ever come a day when I am not holding my breath until the next paycheck. And if things continue at this rate--skyrocketing health insurance rates, less-than-inflation pay increases, energy costs at triple the national average--it will get worse and worse every year. I find myself wondering how I might cope with the possibility of simply not making ends meet and how I ended up even having to think about something like that in the first place. And I wonder how many other people are out there thinking the same thing.
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Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Come, meet, come (if you're lucky)
A local hotel and restaurant are hosting a "Single Mingle" this weekend. Appetizers, drinks and, well, mingling. The flier boasts, "things are about to get more exciting in the dark ..."
I won't touch on the capitalization. Nor will I say anything about the clumsily executed sexual innuendo, which meshes quite nicely with the wavy Word art.
They dispense with the subtlety in the next section: "Rooms available for $59 plus tax."
C'mon out! Have a food. Drink a little wine. Meet new people. Score.
The waiter said that every call about the event has been from men. I'm shocked (and almost tempted to go and watch.)
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I won't touch on the capitalization. Nor will I say anything about the clumsily executed sexual innuendo, which meshes quite nicely with the wavy Word art.
They dispense with the subtlety in the next section: "Rooms available for $59 plus tax."
C'mon out! Have a food. Drink a little wine. Meet new people. Score.
The waiter said that every call about the event has been from men. I'm shocked (and almost tempted to go and watch.)
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A bubble off
Tonight I sat in my bed in my pajama pants and wrote a press release about my ex. Then I processed pictures of him. It was unnatural. I didn't like it.
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Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Tenacious past
What if it never goes away, that thing that twists the knife like no other? So many attempts at exorcism, yet the images still remain; it still feels like yesterday. What if there is no finding a way out?
We all go through trials in our lives and time and distance usually renders them harmlessly soft. They are memories--painful, perhaps--but viewed through fog, their jagged edges no longer close enough to slice.
But what of those that refuse to sink into the fog?
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We all go through trials in our lives and time and distance usually renders them harmlessly soft. They are memories--painful, perhaps--but viewed through fog, their jagged edges no longer close enough to slice.
But what of those that refuse to sink into the fog?
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Thursday, January 14, 2010
You put in on with what?
Ever heard someone say that a woman looks like she puts her makeup on with a putty knife? Well, apparently L'Oreal has come up with something pretty close:
True-Match roll-on foundation
I wonder if you can buy it at Home Depot along with your putty knife.
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True-Match roll-on foundation
I wonder if you can buy it at Home Depot along with your putty knife.
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Sunday, January 10, 2010
Responsibly busted
Every once in while, my genetic Catholic guilt combined with frustration over lack of money prompts a budget check. I never have any money left over at the end of the month. I must be spending irresponsibly, right? I am 15 years into my career and one of the senior people in my field at my company. I should have money left to save, right. Paycheck-to-paycheck is something for 20-somethings in college, right?
So I pull up Excel and make little rows for my expenses: Utilities, credit cards, transportation. Expenses are high, but my debt-to-asset ratio is ridiculously good, given that I own my house outright. I don't have any expensive habits like smoking or gambling. I don't even have cable TV. I keep my thermostat at 60 degrees at night. I am typing in the dark right now.
Then I plug in my income. I'm feeling very proactive and organized and grown up right about now. I'm being Responsible. I am creating a personal Budget. I am an Adult.
Click, click. Tap, tap. Digits entered. Formula in. What the hell? Seriously? I am supposed to feed and clothe and pay medical expenses for my family of 4 on $1,100 a month. Shit. Groceries are at least $200 a week.
I'm not irresponsible. I'm just effing broke!
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So I pull up Excel and make little rows for my expenses: Utilities, credit cards, transportation. Expenses are high, but my debt-to-asset ratio is ridiculously good, given that I own my house outright. I don't have any expensive habits like smoking or gambling. I don't even have cable TV. I keep my thermostat at 60 degrees at night. I am typing in the dark right now.
Then I plug in my income. I'm feeling very proactive and organized and grown up right about now. I'm being Responsible. I am creating a personal Budget. I am an Adult.
Click, click. Tap, tap. Digits entered. Formula in. What the hell? Seriously? I am supposed to feed and clothe and pay medical expenses for my family of 4 on $1,100 a month. Shit. Groceries are at least $200 a week.
I'm not irresponsible. I'm just effing broke!
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