Salgrunkshire

Thanksgiving with Extended & Blended Family

2011-11-24T07:48:00.000-08:00

For the past three year’s my husband and I have spent Thanksgiving with my daughter’s step-mom’s brother’s wife’s parents. Yes, you read that right. I spend the holiday with my ex. And if you stopped there it’d be just plain weird. But if you can read between the lines (or read the next several lines), you can see a much richer story.

The secret recipe to a successful blended family gathering includes: food, patience, humor, and love. I don’t know that those all show up in equal quantities, but they all have to be there. And I can tell you that the gatherings at Mario & Maria’s have all of that. Each year this lovely couple, originally from The Azores (which I just learned is an Archipelago, and part of Portugal), open them home to their children and their families and their family’s families and so on and so on. And that’s how I came to be included in the gathering.

A few years ago it was coming up on the holidays and we were having the annual discussion of where my daughter (then 15) would be. It was a year when my side of the family would all be gathering in St. Louis for Christmas. That meant that Natalie would be with her dad for Thanksgiving. Natalie’s stepmom, Rebecca (who graciously allows me to call her Becci) suggested we join them at Mario & Maria’s. After first figuring out that that wasn’t the name of a new Italian restaurant in town, we asked if it was really okay for us to go, since we weren’t well, you know, family. Becci assured us it was, and told us of all the family members of various descriptions who would be there.

With a sense of adventure and a hot green bean casserole in the back seat, we headed out to Maria & Maria’s homestead (about an hour’s drive from us). From the moment you enter their home, you feel like family. They are kind, welcoming, and Mario makes a mean Thanksgiving turkey (and by "mean", I mean tender and tasty). They live on wooded property, and part of the fun is a walk in those woods after the meal. There are usually a few visiting canine family members, including Diamond, a sweet pit bull mix (I know, I know, I never thought I’d write a sentence like that, and everyone says it, but this dog is different). My husband Tony is the official photographer of the holiday. Well, he’s the official photographer of every family gathering and while we sometimes complain he takes too many pictures, we’re always glad he did when we see the results. His nature photos are especially gorgeous, but it’s the candid family shots that I love best.

Another after dinner activity (and sometimes before) is playing card games with whatever kids happen to be part of the gathering that year. Recently the game has been Apples to Apples. But in past years I was introduced to other card games, like Phase 10. Anyone can join in the games, the competitions are friendly, and if you prefer, you can just sit and watch and cheer on the rest.

This year my parents join the table. And it may be the first of many to come for them, as they will be moving to our area next year. I can’t wait to introduce them to the clan who welcome you in, feed you, and have you leave feeling full of good food and of the warmth of family.

As a coworker and I were sharing our “what are you doing for the holiday” stories and I told her mine, She replied with this…”That is absolutely wonderful! The holidays are all about family – however they are related (or not!)” I couldn’t agree more!

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

Mrs. Pankhurst

2011-10-28T19:20:00.000-07:00

I just attended my first rally. I’m not quite sure what I expected. Every time I thought about going, I thought of this line from the Mary Poppins song Sister Suffragette, “Take heart for Mrs. Pankhurst has been clapped in irons again!” I looked that up tonight and found that Mrs. Pankhurst was not only a real person, but was the leader of the British Suffragette movement. How did I not know that? I guess Mary Poppins only took me so far. Maybe if I was more like my daughter, who has a nose for research and is minoring in women’s studies, I’d know this. But I know it now (and you do too if you didn’t before!)

I’d like to think that if my best friend, Kathleen had been alive in the late 1800’s/early 1900’s, she’d have been as celebrated as Mrs. Pankhurst was. Kath and I have known each other since we were 13. Some of you may know her as @kathjustus on twitter. Her work in social justice, specifically at this time to abolish the death penalty is important and far-reaching. She’s always supported me, through stupid decisions and smarter ones. And even though I arrived at the rally tonight after she spoke, I’m sure she was inspiring and eloquent. She has a passion for her work and that comes through in everything she does.

Kathleen lives what I only give lip service to. Oh sure, I’ll retweet an appeal to sign a petition and show up for a few minutes at a rally when it’s convenient for me to do so. But Kathleen works tirelessly for a cause. It’s her job. The rally tonight was on behalf of Reggie Clemons. I encourage you to read about him here.

So tonight I learned two things (not including the fact that Mrs. Pankhurst was a real person). First, I learned that there is a lot of work yet to be done to stop states from murdering citizens with our tax dollars in the guise of a justice system that is far from just. Second, I learned that the young woman I’ve known since we were both 13 is as amazing to me now as she was then. Back then I saw her as someone who didn’t accept things as they were, but instead worked to make them better. She’s always been there for me, and now I also know she’s there for others.

Do you have a Kathleen in your life? Someone who you’ve known for a long time but continues to amaze and inspire you? Tell me about her/him.

Love is…

2011-09-24T08:06:00.000-07:00

Remember that creepy “Love is…” comic strip that started in the late 60’s? Oh wait, maybe you didn’t think it was creepy (and if you read its history, I admit it’s kinda sweet). But come on. The characters, a cherubic man and woman are always naked! And not in a sexy way. Maybe I was too young when I first saw it but it always freaked me out a bit and it certainly didn’t define love for me. Ah, but that’s just it, isn’t it? What is love…to you? I don’t think anyone would argue that it changes over time. And if you’re lucky, it changes for the better. But then, how do you define “better”?

When my husband and I first met, he did the most romantic things. I traveled a lot for work then and not a trip would go by that I didn’t arrive at my hotel to find some treat arranged by him. It might be flowers, or chocolate covered strawberries, a bottle of wine, or my favorite, a single red rose and a bottle of Miller Genuine Draft. He always managed to talk the hotel staff into writing a note to go with it. I think it was his soft-spoken English accent that persuaded them. It was the late 90’s and we didn’t text then, but he would send me faxes with drawings of dolphins or hearts, or some other thing that meant romance to us.

Fast forward (or in today’s parlance, scroll ahead) 13 years, and today I see romance differently. Now if he sent me flowers while I was traveling I might say he shouldn’t spend the money on something like that. The other day it hit me. As I reached into the medicine cabinet for my days-of-the-week pill holder, which we use for vitamins…this is love. Each week my husband refills that holder, and one for himself, and replaces mine in the medicine cabinet. I never have to think about it. I just reach in and there they are. Why is that love to me? Because it shows he cares about our health, our future, and he’s done something to make my day just a little easier.

Okay, so you might not find refilling the vitamin container romantic. If you asked my mom what love is to her, she might tell you a sweet story about my dad and a York Peppermint Pattie. What says romance to you? Or realizing romance and love have different nuances, what says love to you?

Bon Mots

2011-09-03T20:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers:
I've started a second blog, called Bon Mots. It's a place to share words I like or come across and find interesting. My hope is that you'll continue to visit the Salgrunkshire blog for longer, more personal or thoughtful posts, and also visit me at Bon Mots for short posts on a more frequent basis.

Thanks for sharing the ride,
Sue

Nature vs. Nurture – Book Love

2011-08-31T19:07:00.000-07:00

It’s no surprise to anyone who knows me even slightly that I love to read. I once wrote a blog post titled, “I keep a book with me in case of emergency.” But that wasn't always the case.

Growing up I read when I needed to. Oh, don’t get me wrong. My mother read books to me as a young child. I recall two favorites: Butterball, The Little Chick and a Sesame Street book about things that go together (e.g., a straw with a milkshake, a key for a roller skate, etc.) But once I got past the stage of Mom reading to me, I don’t remember having much interest in books.

My daughter was completely different. I remember reading James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl to her while I was carrying her (as in, before she was born). And funny, but that was also the first film I took her to see at a movie theatre. She was just 4 years old at the time. I wonder how much those things have to do with her love of reading and film today. She has never known a time when she didn’t have a plethora of books to choose from. Her bedroom bookshelf is weighed down with the entire Nancy Drew series (which she has read), alongside dozens of American Girl books, plus the Twilight, and Harry Potter series (well, that set is now sitting on a dorm room shelf, but you get the idea).

The first time I really remember being drawn to books myself was freshman year of college. Yes, as my own girl is now living that experience, all sorts of memories of that time for me are coming to the fore. My roommate was reading the V.C. Andrews series, Flowers in The Attic and offered to let me read them. She was a much faster reader, so she’d speed through one first then give it to me. We spent many rainy Saturdays in the dorm making our way through those. But I remember them more as a guilty pleasure than a great read (they felt a bit naughty – were they? I really don’t remember much.)

After that I dived into reading plays. Well, as a theatre major that’s what you’d expect. But I think from then on I began to read more. I tended to favor series (maybe thanks to that first one that I found so spellbinding back in college). And eventually, I learned that there’s more to reading than a good story. I began to appreciate books with more literary value. I joined book clubs, read books that friends suggested, and so on. Which brings to me to where I am today.

One of my greatest joys now is learning of a new author through something social like twitter, connecting with them, and then reading their work. Some favorites I’ve come to know that way are Robin Black, Emma Straub, and Allison Winn Scotch. And there are many, many more who may not be published but have blogs that are treats to read on a regular basis.

I wonder if some of us are born with a love of books (as my daughter seems to have been) while others come to it later in life, through a friend, a book we connected with, circumstances or what have you. What books or experiences first drew you to a love of reading? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

I’ve Made My Peace with LOST

2011-08-21T12:30:00.000-07:00

That image is one I’ve seen 120 times in the last few months. Yes, I just admitted I watched that much TV (online via Netflix streaming). But hey, most of it was while I was cycling on a stationary bike or pumping on the elliptical. I’m down 24 pounds and have 30+ to go. I credit most of that loss to well, Lost, actually. Each 41 minute episode made for a much more exciting workout time.

But apart from the health benefits I received as a byproduct of watching every single episode of Lost again, what else did I gain from it? That’s what this post is about.

First a little background. My daughter and I starting watching the series right before its second season. We’d each had a friend tell us they thought we’d like it. That summer we got one of those Blockbuster video deals (yes, before they filed for chapter 11) where you could rent as many DVDs by mail as you wanted for $10 a month. We had a free one month trial so we watched that first season courtesy of Blockbuster (and well, by forgoing most other socializing for the period of time it took to watch).

After meeting Jack, Kate, Sawyer, Hurley, Sayid, and the rest, we were hooked (my daughter even named her hamsters Sawyer and Jack). I’m not sure I could tell you exactly what grabbed us. Certainly the characters had traits that were at the same time familiar to others we’d seen and unique in the way they were developed. The scenario of being stranded on an island wasn’t really the appeal. Neither my daughter nor I are the least bit outdoorsy, and had we been characters, would likely have been mauled by a polar bear or struck down by the smoke monster after a few short episodes. Maybe it was the writing. While we made fun of a few lines here and there, for the most part we agreed it was well-written, produced, and directed.

Whatever the draw, we were glued to the set for that hour each week. My husband might join us now and again, but frankly, if you watch the show you know that if you didn’t see every episode you were, well, lost. Initially if we were going to miss an episode we’d videotape it (which later gave way to DVR’ing it – I know that’s not a word but we all use it). By the time the final season aired, we’d gotten pretty busy with life, and it didn’t hold quite the draw it once did. We also agree (in discussing it now), that we cared very little for most of the characters in that final season. We cared about Sun and Jin, and of course how could you not care about Hurley? But we were ready for it to be over. And I think we both felt a bit disappointed with the way it wrapped up. We didn’t quite “get it”, though we had theories. I read a little online and some seemed to see what I did in it. Others were more elaborate in their analysis. I just felt a bit, well, yes, lost still. There seemed to be so many conflicting things that happened. Or storylines and action that negated prior or subsequent storylines, etc. I felt alternately like it wrapped up too neatly or it hadn’t really wrapped up at all.

Time passed, and we moved on to far more important things than pondering the meaning of life, er I mean, Lost. Then a few months ago when I began working out, I decided to watch the series again on my iPad as a way to keep motivated. Today I watched the final episode. And this time, I felt differently about it. You could say I “got it”, though I’m not sure that’s accurate. A twitter pal commented that the main theme is redemption and I can see that. Several of the characters had need of redemption for their acts, and were portrayed as unable to move on until they found it. And that was granted not necessarily by an unseen deity or savior but in some cases by another character (as in Locke forgiving Ben, although Ben still felt he had “work to do”, maybe with Alex). In some cases it seemed the character needed to forgive himself, such as with Sayid. He didn’t see himself as ever being able to be with Nadia, because of all he had done, but he could be with Shannon because he accepted Hurley’s view of him that he was good.

And that brings me to the other thought I had after watching the whole season again: good versus evil. In some ways, I see the show as similar to the biblical view of either eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil or choosing the tree of life. When we eat from the former, we’re always caught in comparisons, in wanting, in striving to be good to gain something, in damning ourselves (or more often, others) for past sins. We see everything as either good or bad (if not quite evil). But when we eat only from the tree of life, we see the world differently. It all just is, we just are. Acts, while they have consequences, aren’t in and of themselves good or bad, nor are people. A friend spoke on this (the temptation to do good) quite eloquently a few years back, and you can read that here if you like. On the show, I think the majority of the characters bought into the good vs. evil worldview. The only ones who didn’t were Rose and Bernard, who chose to remove themselves “from all that drama” (in Rose’s words) and live on their own on the island. And Desmond, who is by far my favorite character, did to some extent. It may be interesting here to note that Henry Ian Cusick, who played Desmond also played Jesus in a film version of the Gospel of John. Look at his role in the final season, having to get everyone to “let go” and “move on”. He didn’t judge any of them as having done evil nor did he grant any of them redemption. He just “was”. He was there to get them where they needed to be.

Okay, so you could say I’m reading too much into a TV program. But come on. It’s Lost; it begs analysis, and this time I was ready to give mine.

What do you think? Have a different view on Lost? Have another suggestion for a series I can watch on Netflix streaming while I workout? I’d love to hear from you.

Like sands through the hourglass…

2011-08-16T19:36:00.000-07:00

Remember that? It was the opening for the soap opera, “Days of Our Lives”, which ironically started the year I was born. My mom watched it for years and I did too for awhile. I used to joke I’d scheduled my college classes in such a way as to always be in my dorm room during that crucial hour. Maybe I wasn't joking.

Today that phrase has a different meaning to me. It may be cliché to talk about the passage of time. We toss around phrases like, “don’t blink or you’ll miss it!” so easily. But this time it’s happening to me, and it doesn’t sound so cliché.

My daughter Natalie leaves for college in three days. Three. Days. And while it doesn’t literally feel like yesterday since she started kindergarten, it sure doesn’t seem like it was 13 years ago either. In those intervening years there has been OCD, Harry Potter, Twilight, midnight movies, midnight book sales, video making, blogging (her first, then spurring me on), tears, and laughter. Lots of laughter.

My husband is often the one on the edges of all these ups and downs. Well, sometimes he’s right in the middle of them too. But more often, he’s given me the gift of acknowledging that I need time with her before she heads off for the next adventure in her life: college. I’m thankful for that.

My best friend has been checking in on me the past few months, seeing if I’m okay with the transition that’s about to come. I have been, though I've caught myself getting a little nostalgic recently. I think I started planning for it emotionally about a year ago. I wrote a post then called Bittersweet, about Natalie starting her senior year of high school. And I truly am excited for her and all that’s she’s about to embark on. She’s come upon her independence in steps, and it feels very right for her to be going out and getting started with school and a career, maybe as a writer, maybe in film, maybe in something she doesn’t yet know is out there for her.

I don’t know exactly what the next few months or years hold. Do you? If you do, don’t tell me! I’m kind of excited for the mystery of it. I may write more (fairly likely). I may cook more (probably not). My husband and I may develop new routines, doing more things together. Natalie may call or text me regularly or she may just catch me up now and again. I’ll let her set that pace.

As for me, I’m taking these three days as they come. I decided not to try to fill them with things we “must do” before she leaves. That feels too final. Yes, we had lunch at Nordstrom’s recently that kind of felt like a “last one before you go” kind of thing. And Thursday night I agreed to one “last” midnight movie opening. But I don’t want to think of things as “lasts”. That sounds final and sad which is not how I feel.

So let the sand slip through the hourglass; it will do so whether I watch it or not. I’m taking it one grain at a time. And as we know…like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.

10 Things You Might Not Know About Me

2011-08-06T18:35:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth Taylor as Martha in "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" by Edward Albee

In training classes we sometimes use an ice breaker called “two lies and a truth”. As you could probably work out, each person says two things about himself that are true and one that’s made up. The group has to guess which one is the lie. And through the process you all get to know more about each other, setting the stage for a productive learning event. Well this blog post is all truth. And it’s inspired slightly by that icebreaker but more recently by my daughter’s blog post, N.E.R.F. – Natalie’s Extremely Random Facts. If you haven’t read it do yourself a favor and pause now to do that.

Wasn’t it a hoot? I think #6 might be my favorite.

Now for my own list. Hmm, my last post was a list as well. Is a trend developing? Tune in next time to see. For now, here are 10 things you might not know about me:

1. I sing in the shower on weekends (not during the week or I’d wake my sleeping spouse). And I have a set list of favorites including: Sister Suffragette (Mary Poppins soundtrack), When I Need You (Leo Sayers), Que Sera Sera (Doris Day), All for the Best (Godspell soundtrack), and an original spiritual written by my brother Jim, called Wash Me Lord (which seems made for singing in the shower).

2. Related to number one, I know all the words to “All for the Best”, both parts. Check out this vintage footage with Victor Garber as Jesus (start about 40 seconds in.) Warning, the end of this clip may make you a little farklempt (see #10). The film is shot in New York, and the final scene of this clip is atop the World Trade Center, which is still being built at the time of filming. I got choked up watching it now.

3. I’m conflict-adverse. And while in personal relationships I’m learning the value of conflict (thanks to my husband and daughter), I still detest conflict on a major scale, as in war. I was watching the film “The Interpreter” recently and this line by Nicole Kidman’s character (an interpreter at the UN) caught my attention, “I walked away from Africa with nothing: no brother no family no lover nothing, nothing. Just a belief that words and compassion are the better way, even if it's slower than a gun.” Great line.

4. I used to have an autographed photo of Mr. Rogers. And I kissed it. With lipstick on. I think I was about 5 at the time. I visited the set as it was filmed in Pittsburgh where we lived then.

5. Before my career in corporate education, and sparked by an early love for theatre, I started down the path to being a theatre manager. I played the Elizabeth Taylor role (Martha) in a high school production of the Edward Albee play, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf”. Loved playing that character. Didn’t love that my leading man still had his class ring on when he slapped me across the face in one scene or that he hadn’t yet learned how to stage slap. He’s a professional actor today so I’m sure he’s quite adept at that now.

6. I have mild OCD. Generally only those who’ve lived with me would notice it. But if I’m ever at lunch with you and starring at your shirt, it may be that you have a stray piece of string I’m itching to remove.

7. In high school I acquired the nickname, “Spy”. This was due to the apparently passable Russian accent I could do, while imitating Boris & Natasha of cartoon fame. My father, of Russian decent, hated the nickname because he felt it was derogatory towards our heritage. But I liked it because I thought it was a little sexy and edgy. I love spy films to this day.

8. During high school I took jazz, tap, and ballet classes with two of my friends. One went on to be my college roommate, and is still my BFF. As someone born both klutzy and with two left feet, I was the butt of many jokes about my dancing abilities. This could have scarred me for life but didn’t, as I only took the classes as a way to spend more time with my friends. I really was bad at it.

9. I have a good relationship with my daughter’s stepmother. She is kind and generous to both her stepchildren, and encourages open communication with me. Plus she’s a librarian. In my book, those things make her awesome.

10. I love Yiddish words. I learned a new one from a coworker this week: farmisht. She said it means overloaded or sort of “head in a spin”. I looked it up and it says “befuddled”. In either case, I like it. My favorite Yiddish word is farklempt, learned from the Mike Meyers Linda Richman character on Saturday Night Live, which I understand he created based on his mother-in-law.

And there you have it. So, what don’t I know about you that you might like to share? Did you have a fun nickname growing up? Do you still? What childhood TV star’s photo did you adore? Oh wait, maybe that one was just me. Tell me some good stuff about you in the comments so we can all get to know each other better.

50 before 50

2011-06-29T19:23:00.000-07:00

In 4 days I turn 46. This means that in 4 years, I turn 50. Numbers, numbers, numbers. Do they mean anything? It’s commonly said that the older you get the less the number matters. I don’t know if that’s true or not. Like many things, if it matters to you, it matters. I just haven’t decided yet if it matters to me, but I have been thinking about it a bit.

As I thought about it I came across someone’s blog post with a “30 before 30” list. Once I had a look round I realized these are quite popular. Some call it a bucket list while others use the “x before x” format. Still the idea appealed to me. I commonly make lists, but they are generally “to do” lists for work or grocery lists or house projects or whatnot. Here was a way for me to think, not in a morbid way, about all the things I might still like to do that I haven’t done yet or want to do more of or do again. It’s a list to help me focus on what matters.

While it would be easy to come up with loads of wild items like “take a safari in Africa!” I tried to stay within the realm of what I truly want to do and think is somewhat reasonable. That said, some will be a stretch to do in what are sure to be four short years. So without further ado, I share my:

50 before 50

1. Take a digital sabbatical for at least 24 (continuous) hours
2. Update my blog site with a look that really reflects me
3. Read the books on my TBR shelf
4. Read Ulysses by James Joyce
5. Take a really great trip (a week long) anywhere with my husband
6. Reach my goal weight
7. Continue my exercise regime
8. Finish the journal for my daughter and give it to her
9. Read and follow the Maeve Binchy’s Writers Club book a friend gave me
10. Take a writing workshop
11. Participate in a writers group
12. Take part in NaNoWriMo http://www.nanowrimo.org/
13. Paint a painting for my home
14. Take a trip with my mom and my daughter
15. Meet at least 5 more twitter friends in person
16. Go to NYC with my BFF
17. Record some of my mom’s childhood stories
18. Listen to my dad’s stories that aren’t in his memoires
19. Write each of my brothers a letter telling them the influence they’ve had on my life
20. Write a letter to my parents, thanking them for raising me and being there for me
21. Write letters to my brother’s children telling them what their dad was like as a boy
22. Update the scrapbook I started for my bff and I
23. Eat more veggies
24. Go to a yoga class at least once a week, for at least 4 weeks
25. Read the psalms again
26. Get a new couch
27. Take up the carpet and refinish the wood floor in the family room
28. Write a work of fiction
29. Attend an opera
30. Attend a ballet
31. Go to live theatre at least once a year with my bff
32. Take Italian language lessons with my husband
33. Take Italian cooking lessons with my husband
34. Pick some of husband’s photos and have them printed and framed
35. Learn to use a camera properly
36. Organize the DVDs
37. Go through my books and DVDs and give some away
38. Walk on the beach, holding hands with my husband, collecting shells or sea glass
39. Clean up the files on my computer
40. Go through the hard copy photos that aren’t in albums and sort them by year
41. Clean the attic (gasp)
42. Clean the basement (double gasp!)
43. Go through the Christmas decorations and pare them down to 3 boxes max
44. Bring up the LP records from the basement and do something useful with them
45. Learn more about the Holocaust
46. Every day for one month, learn a new word
47. Watch our wedding video with my spouse
48. Learn to cook 5-7 new dishes really well
49. Do up (clean and decorate) the side porch…and use it
50. Read the gratitude journal I started after 9/11/2001

Whew! These are no particular order, though I did group some and rearrange some. It was a challenge to think of 50 without including a few trivial ones. But even the trivial ones add something to my life, like order or joy. I don’t want this to be a chore. If I do them, I do them. If not, at least I’ll know I’ve given conscious thought to what’s important to me. Writing this is enough to help me think, dream, and in many cases do.

Do you have an “x before x” list? Have you found it fun or frustrating trying to work your way through it? I’d love to hear your stories and please share a link to your own list if you’ve posted one.

Jane Jones: Worst. Vampire. Ever. by Caissie St. Onge

2011-06-05T15:28:00.000-07:00

photo by Tony Maden

Looking for a fun read for the beach, a plane trip, or just a weekend of R&R? I recommend Jane Jones: Worst. Vampire. Ever. by Caissie St. Onge. And although this is a work of Young Adult (YA) fiction, it appeals to a much wider audience (well, it appealed to me!)

I don’t usually start by saying what something isn’t, but in fairness to you I feel I should do that. This isn’t a proper book review. If you’d like a proper review with a summary and critique of the writing, a Google search will supply several good ones. This is just little old me and my response to the book.

“Um, I have English. AP. AP English.” Like I needed to be that specific, making sure he knew that I wasn’t going to be in just any English class, but Advanced Placement English class. I’m sure the more I spoke, the more he was dazzled by exactly how advanced my English skills were. Or not.

Jane Jones may be a blood intolerant teen vampire, but she’s also funny, smart, and humble. And unlike the main character in another popular vampire series, Jane’s slightly bumbling quality is endearing, not irritating or over dramatized. In other words, you wouldn’t mind having her for a friend. Well, expect for that whole vampire thing. But she feeds on a special type of store-bought blood, that doesn’t give her an allergic reaction so no need to fear her.

Admittedly, I haven’t read a lot of YA fiction. My daughter (a former AP English student herself) has recommended a few things from time to time, and I’ve read what she’s suggested. But apart from sensations like Twilight and Vampire Diaries (seeing a theme here?) she doesn’t read a lot of YA herself. So why did I read this one? Well very simply, I like the author even though the only other writing of hers I’ve read are her tweets and her blog. We follow each other on twitter and chat a little from time to time. I knew Caissie was a writer for television and that she has a great sense of humor and a real ability to connect with people. So when she shared that her first book, a work of YA fiction was being published, I rushed to preorder a copy. I bought it figuring it’d be a gift for my daughter; some light summer reading to enjoy before she heads to college in the fall. And maybe somewhere along the way I’d read it myself. But my daughter hadn’t started it yet and when I was looking for my next read, I saw its fun pink cover on the shelf and nabbed it.

I’m not sure what I expected, and maybe that’s one reason I enjoyed it so much. The story was more complex than I first thought it might be, with a good back story and enough surprises to make it interesting without being confusing. The characters were easy to imagine in the situations they were placed in, and I really liked the relationship between Jane and her brother Zach. It called to mind one of the things I liked about that other popular vampire series: the strength of family bonds. That gives some substance to the story, beyond Jane’s own set of challenges.

There are characters (like teen boy vampire Timothy) I’d like to have learned more about and situations I’d like to have seen taken further. But when I pause to think that through, that’s complexity for an adult novel. I think what’s included here is just right for the audience and the story.

So again, if you’re looking for a fun read for your favorite youth, pick up a copy of Caissie St. Onge’s Jane Jones: Worst. Vampire. Ever. And read it yourself before you give it to that kiddo!

OCD – The Ultimate Frenemy

2011-05-22T07:57:00.000-07:00

As you may know, a “frenemy” is a combination of the words “friend” and “enemy”. It can refer to either an enemy disguised as a friend or to a partner who is simultaneously a competitor and rival. To me, this describes OCD or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, perfectly.

When you have OCD you might keep your room or office super tidy. You probably don’t like clutter and people may regularly tell you “you’re so organized!” That’s the “friend” part of the disorder. But on the enemy side, OCD can “make you” do things that range from being just minorly irritating (or comical) to ones that majorly impact your ability to function. I’m fortunate that most of mine fall into the minor category. But the same was not true for my daughter Natalie.

I don’t know exactly when my own love/hate relationship with OCD began. It feels like it’s always been with me. As a child I generally liked things neat and tidy. I’ve always enjoyed tasks where I sorted things or made order out of things. And in college, my roommate (who, amazingly is still my closest friend) will tell you of one of my wackier habits. I would get a cup of tea and a couple of Nilla Wafers, and sit down at my desk to study. But before I’d hit the books, I’d turn the tea cup “just so”, adjust a cookie, sit back and have a look, and maybe adjust again. Then I’d dive into studying. Apparently I did this almost every time. I have a vague memory of this and it makes me wonder what other wacky things I did that I don’t recall.

I used to think my tendency to want things “just so” was a trait I’d inherited from my dad. He has what I thought were just quirky habits. Like after he’s been eating peanuts or chips, etc., he has to end with eating three more. Or he might take just three of something, but it has to be three. And he will line things up on his desk, a counter, etc. so that they are symmetrical. And one of my brothers sometimes does this odd thing when someone’s talking to him. He silently counts the number of syllables off on his fingers (touching each finger of a hand to that hand’s thumb to count). I thought he only did this when he was younger. But I asked not long ago and found he sometimes still does it.

Again, I used to think these were just quirks or habits. But about 10 years ago I learned more than I ever wanted to know about this stuff. My daughter had just started 3^rd grade (she was 7 going on 8). One of her weekly assignments was to write out that week’s 15 spelling words and turn them in. I was to read her the word, and she’d write it down. Sounds pretty easy, right? The biggest problem you’d expect to have is her not knowing how to spell “category” or “laughter” or something and getting frustrated, right? I wish. Natalie knew how to spell every word. But writing those 15 words out would take her up to two hours. Yes, TWO HOURS. She used a pencil and would write painstakingly slow, stopping, erasing, rewriting until she felt the word was perfect.

It’s easy to look back after the fact and see the symptoms for what they were. But at the time, I had no idea and it was beyond frustrating. There were tears and shouting from both of us. I thought she was just being fussy or particular. She didn’t understand why I was mad at her. But then other behaviors started. At night she started developing this routine of using the bathroom, checking to make sure she’d flushed, washing her hands, checking to make sure she’d turned the water off, turning out the light, then checking the light was all the way turned off (damn that dimmer switch). She’d then repeat this up to 15 times a night.

One habit would stop (like the spelling words) and another start (the bathroom routine). So I still wasn’t putting two and two together. When the bathroom stuff happened, I took her to the doctor in case she had a bladder infection or something. She didn’t. But it was that doctor who suggested it could be stress related and recommended she be evaluated. I took her to a psychologist who gave the diagnosis of OCD. I thought it was odd that she asked if Natalie had had strep throat recently, and if so, had she had it often (she’d only had it once). The doctor explained that they’ve discovered a link between strep and OCD. You can learn more about that here. I asked if it was hereditary. It is. In fact, according to a Johns Hopkins Study, having a sibling or parent with it gives you a five times greater chance. But the startling thing to me is that instead of each generation having it to a lesser degree (getting diluted in the gene pool), it can get stronger.

I also learned that it’s not always the same repetitive behavior. It may be hand washing for awhile, then it might be counting things, then it might be something else. And it was that myth about OCD that prevented me from putting it all together sooner. Just when I thought a behavior was odd, it would change.

Learning all of that was a relief, and not just for me. The psychologist recommended counseling, which we did for only a short time (and I’m thankful no medication was ever required). I think the most profound thing for Natalie was learning that she wasn’t the only one who had these feelings. We were given some books specifically for kids. Once she read about how other kids had things they felt they “had to” do, you could tell something clicked with her. Along with that realization, working with the counselor on managing those feelings gave Natalie the control she needed to move forward. And I learned that the best thing a parent or partner can do when someone is having an OCD attack or moment is stay out of it. Don’t become engaged in their obsessive activity. I learned to teach Natalie that if she truly needed help, she could ask for it but she had to be specific. For example, she couldn’t just stand there immobilized saying she needed help. She would need to say, “I need to get that book down from the top shelf and I can’t reach it.”

That was about 10 years ago. And while occasionally during times of stress she’ll have an OCD moment, it’s generally short-lived and she manages it on her own. It’s the same with me. I’ll find myself obsessively straightening things on my desk at work or around the house, and realize it’s a response to stress. Once I have the realization, it generally stops. I know it’s very hard for people without OCD to understand this. The feeling that I “must do” something or must do it a certain way is irrational. My husband is more rational and likes to understand the whys, which I can’t always give him. Sometimes I can just say, “It’s my OCD” and then he can let it go.

I wonder if as my daughter moves out into the world she’ll find ways to help the people close to her understand. I’m confident she will. Somehow Natalie has learned very early what took me years; conflict is good. Confronting an issue is a step towards clearing the air and creating understanding and respect. Armed with that skill, Natalie will be just fine.

Now that so much time has passed since her diagnosis, we’ve even found ways to laugh about OCD. Shows like Monk (“the obsessive compulsive detective”) made that possible. OCD isn’t a laughing matter, but by diagnosing it and getting treatment, you can find ways to cope. And humor is a great way to do that.

An interesting side note: I had the idea for this blog post about a week ago, and have been mulling it over, then oddly, yesterday our dog Claire started exhibiting unusual behavior (pacing non-stop). As I’ve looked into what that might be, I’ve discovered dogs can have OCD too! Who knew? While I don’t think I’ll be taking her for counseling, having OCD myself and a daughter with it, I’m trying to be patient as we look for ways to help the dog too.

It Getting back to the "frenemy" statement. Having OCD can certainly have a plus side if you appear tidy and organized to others. But it hurts me to think that some people ignore this behavior in themselves or others, specifically when it reaches a point of interfering with daily life. At the risk of sounding like an advert, if you see this in yourself or someone you love, don’t dismiss it. If your eyesight was poor would you get glasses? If you were getting constant headaches would you seek out the reason? Think of OCD the same way. If it’s preventing you or another from doing the things you need to or want to do, talk to your doctor.

Do you have OCD? Do you have a good resource to share? If so, please leave it in the comments below.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom

2011-05-08T06:10:00.000-07:00

I walk through the door, drop my school books on a chair, and am greeted by a smiling woman, seated at her sewing machine, singing a made up song to ask about my day and tell me about hers. That’s my mom. I’m so fortunate to have her in my life. Despite chronic pain from fibromyalgia, and years of suffering from back pain and migraines, she has taught me that you can choose to smile, choose to be positive regardless of circumstances.

That photo of her is from about 1998, when my daughter Natalie was little. My mom would often bring her sewing machine with her when she came for visits. Whether she was mending odds and ends of ours or working on a new creation for Natalie, I loved to see her sew. Over the years she’s made Natalie a closet full of dresses and nightgowns, many with matching ones for her favorite doll. Most of them were fun, frothy, gorgeous creations that took lots of time and were practically works of art. One dress I really loved was one she modeled after a dress that the character Truly Scrumptious wore in the film Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. She and my daughter loved to watch that together, and when Natalie said she wanted a dress like Truly’s, Mom took the video cover home with her, and went to work planning. The dress was amazing. Natalie wore it for dress up so much that she practically wore it out.

The picture of Mom at right really sums her up to me (and Natalie's wearing a nightgown Mom made, which had a matching one for Natalie's doll, also pictured). While it may not be the most flattering photo of her I could have chosen (sorry, Mom!) it says so much. She was obviously playing with Natalie, who was acting as supreme ruler or princess or queen, or whatever they came up with that day. That alone says a lot. My mom always took the time to play with her grandchildren. She seemed to truly enjoy the games, role playing, tea parties, and anything else they’d dream up. And in this photo, Mom is serving her ladyship. And that’s my mom - always serving others. I think she learned some of that from her own mother. My Grandma McAfee sacrificed so much for her family. You can read more about her here if you like.

Some of my memories of doing things with my mom are from when I was very small. I think I really relished the time I had her to myself, when my older brothers were both in school and I hadn’t yet started kindergarten. We could just be doing simple things like going to the grocery store or a doctor’s appointment, but I enjoyed the time. And I’m thankful that she’s spent so much time with Natalie, despite the distance. Often when Natalie was little and I had to travel for work, Mom would come lend a hand. Natalie looked forward to these times so much that she once asked me, “When are you going on a trip again?” and when I asked why, she said, “Because I want Grandma to come!” In the photo at left, Natalie's wearing another dress Mom made, and Mom is wearing a dress Natalie selected for her to wear to a living room tea party.

We haven’t spent as much time together over the past few years. Life gets busy with activities, work, etc. and makes it more of a challenge for us each to make the 250 mile drive more than a couple times a year. I love how my mom has adapted to this by joining facebook and learning to use twitter (you can find her as @grannyanita) so she can keep up on my daughter's and my activities from afar. How many moms will step out of their comfort zone like that, just to stay in touch?

Thankfully, soon it will be much easier. My parents have decided to sell their home and move to Kansas City to be closer to us, and so I can be there for them as health issues demand in coming years. So while I don’t want to wish time away, I look forward to next Mother’s Day, when we can celebrate together, right here at home.

Thank you Mom for more things than I can put into words. I love you, I love who you are, and I’m grateful to have you in my life.

I used to have a little pink coin purse

2011-04-09T08:35:00.000-07:00

I used to have a little pink coin purse. It was a smooth, almost silky plastic and shaped something like a very tiny bowling ball bag with tiny little handles. It zipped around the top and had a keychain attached to it. The purse was a souvenir my parents got for me in Florida, so it had the state’s name on it, and a picture of palm trees and a flamingo. I can’t tell you how old I was when I received it or exactly when I lost it.

I didn’t keep anything that would be considered valuable in that purse; probably a few pennies, maybe a pale pink plastic barrette in the shape of a bow. I remember that barrette, as it was almost the same shade as the purse, and I liked that. I also seem to recall two miniature licenses plates from Pennsylvania (where I was born and where we lived at the time). They were key chains too, and I attached them to the purse.

I remember that I used to keep the purse in the “junk drawer” of my dresser, then when we moved house, I kept it in a cardboard shoebox with a few other treasures. One of them was a Little Kiddle doll in a purple mouse outfit and another was a Little Kiddle Locket Doll. They aren’t the ones you see pictured. I do think I still have those, but I couldn’t lay my hands on them today and I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that I could Google image search and find their exact matches in seconds. If only it were that easy to find my coin
purse. Sigh.

I don’t know why the memory of that coin purse has stuck with me. I’m guessing someone with knowledge of the psychological sciences would have a theory. I wouldn’t call it an obsession. Years might go by and I don’t think of the purse. But then something will spark a memory. Or I’ll run across another box of stuff in my basement or my parent’s house, and think, “maybe it’s in there!” And I’ll dump out the contents, eagerly scanning for my little purse. But I’ve never found it. We didn’t move a lot, but we had a big move to St. Louis in 1976 and I recall a few things being lost. So chances are it was lost then, or was accidentally tossed out during a cleaning binge.

Is it a big deal that I used to have this sweet little coin purse and now I don’t? Of course not. But I do wonder why it will suddenly come to mind from time to time. I suppose it’s something as simple as the loss of childhood or loss of innocence or memories of a simpler time. A few years back I bought a wallet because it reminded me of the coin purse. It was plastic, trimmed in pink, and had fake stickers from vacation spots, including a flamingo for Florida. It’s fun to use that wallet on vacations, but it hasn’t fulfilled me in the way I hoped it might so that I stop thinking of its predecessor.

A tiny part of me still holds out hope that one day I’ll move something aside in my parent’s basement, and there it will be. Chances are if I did find it, it would be moldy or cracked or otherwise in a condition that it should be tossed. I half-hoped that writing this post would be cathartic in some way and I would stop thinking about it. I guess time will tell. Silly, isn’t it? What about you? Do you have a toy or item from your childhood that you’ve lost but still recall from time to time? Why do you think this is? Would love to hear from you.

Update: My mom read my blog last week and thinks she knows why this little purse meant so much to me. She said it was the first wallet I ever owned. I picked it out myself (I didn’t remember that) while we were on a family vacation in Florida. I put my few nickels and pennies in it, and was apparently very proud of it. She tells me that while on that trip we stopped for ice cream, and I insisted I was going to pay because I had “my own money in my own wallet”. Hmm, ice creams for a family of five in about 1972? What do you think, that had to cost between $5-10. I probably gave six cents and my dad slyly paid the remainder, because that’s what dads do. My mom thinks that this experience, having my own money for the first time, and keeping it in that little pink purse is what has given it such importance to me. And, I’m happy to say, I think knowing that may have helped me to now be able to leave the little pink purse in the past. Thanks mom!

A Fan, A Light Bulb, A Stapler…

2011-03-19T18:14:00.000-07:00

"What did you have for dinner?” This is how many of the phone conversations between my daughter and my mom began when my daughter was about six or seven. She and my mom loved to talk on the phone together, and did so almost every night. The answers to that question weren't things like, “chicken” or “peas” or “spaghetti”. No, they had an unofficial contest going for the zaniest thing they could think of. But the things also had to be ordinary in some way. So when asked, “What did you have for dinner?” my mom would reply, “Oh, I had a light bulb. What did you have?” And daughter would reply, “I had a fan! What did you have?” They’d keep going back and forth, and I’d hear peals of laughter both in my home from my daughter and coming down the phone line from my mom. When I ask my daughter about this now (at age 18), she smiles as she remembers those conversations. She said she always picked household items, usually things that caught her eye: vacuum cleaner, table, book, etc.

When I think about the closeness of her relationship with my mom, I’m a tiny bit jealous. Not only has she got my mom, but my dad, her dad’s parents, and step grandparents on both sides who treat her like one of their own. This kid has grandparents all over the place, and is fortunate to spend time with all of them. Well, not all. Her Grandma Maden is in England and she’s only seen her three times. And with the others she doesn’t spend as much time these days as she did when she was younger. But she still has a relationship with them. And when she does spend time with them, I see her behave in a confident yet respectful way. You can see she values them.

In contrast, the only grandparent I can remember is my maternal grandma, Grandma McAfee, born Mary Catherine Maxine Knittle. My parents moved away from their home state of Pennsylvania in 1976 to Missouri, and that meant moving away from all family. I remember Grandma McAfee coming to stay with us when I was in high school. She worked with her hands; earned a living with them actually, sewing and knitting to bring in money after her husband (John McAfee), who fathered her eleven children abandoned her. Oh, did I mention she had eleven children? Yes, eleven. When she stayed with us those few months in high school I was too busy with my clubs, homework, friends, and school plays to spend much time with her. I regret this immensely now. It’s the one grandparent relationship I could have had and I let it slip through my fingers.

As for my dad’s parents, I didn’t know them. All I have of them are the stories my parents have shared. I wish I remembered my dad’s mom. I was a baby when she died. Actually, it was just a month or so after that photo above of us was taken. What I remember hearing about her is of the tea parties she used to have with my brothers. And I love hearing from my parents about the time Grandma Matcuk stayed with my brothers when my parents went to New York City for a weekend. My brother Jim had this night time ritual where he wanted my mom to stand at a certain position at the end of his bed to say goodnight. But Grandma Matcuk, born Cecilia Rita Delewski and of stout Polish stock wouldn’t stand for such nonsense. She tucked him in lovingly but without the fuss.

And there’s my dad’s dad, George Matcuk, who passed away before I was born. He came to the United States from Russia in 1912 when he was just 19. What I think of when I think of him is hearing about how my elder brother Jim took his first steps while Grandpa Matcuk was in the hospital. He had recently been diagnosed with a spot on his lung and after they performed a biopsy he went downhill. He died in the hospital a short time later, years before I was born.

Recently I was reminded again of the joys a grandparent brings. Amidst the heartbreaking events in Japan, my sister-in-law June’s 102 year old grandma or obaachan, who lives in a nursing home in Sendai was found to be safe. I don’t know June’s grandma, but I read this about her on June’s sister Mari’s facebook page, “Her speech is impaired, but when Luke told her that her grandchildren, son, & daughter are all safe & fine, she gave him the biggest smile from ear to ear. She has always been the one to never complain, and always thought of others before herself.” That’s her to the right, wearing that sweet smile when rescue workers/friends of the family saw her at the nursing home, a couple days after the earthquake and tsunami.

I so wish I had memories like that of my grandparents. Can you grieve for a grandparent you never knew? Or are you grieving that you never knew? I’m not sure. I do know that looking at what my daughter has with her assorted grandparents, I feel thankful. She’s got several elders to share stories with her, dote on her, sing her praises, and mainly just be there for her. What a gift.

Do you have a special memory of a grandparent? Or maybe you’re fortunate and still have yours with you. If you do, treasure them.

Musings on “I Think I Love You” by Allison Pearson

2011-03-06T07:54:00.000-08:00

I've just finished reading (literally, just minutes ago) Allison Pearson’s new book, “I Think I Love You”. It’s a delicious read, and yes, I’ll say it, particularly for women of my age (over 40). In it we met Petra, who at the age of 13 in the early 1970’s is madly in love with her teen idol, David Cassidy. She and her best friend Sharon enter the “Ultimate David Cassidy Quiz”, with a prize to fly to Los Angeles to meet their idol. For two small-town Welsh girls, all right, for any 13 year old girl at the time, the thought of winning and of an upcoming David Cassidy concert consume them.

The book begins though with going-on-40 Petra, finding a letter hidden in her mother’s closet. It’s “the” letter. The one telling the girls that 25 years ago they won the contest! Petra’s mother preferred she spend time practicing the cello to idolizing pop stars, so it’s understandable that she kept this news from her daughter. Petra, with her emotions swirling (not only has her mother just died but on the same day she learned of her mother’s death, she found out her husband was leaving her), Petra calls the magazine that ran the contest, and asks to claim her prize. I won’t say much more, as to do so would spoil the sweet, funny, sad, romantic bits that make this book a real treat.

I should mention that this isn’t a proper book review. I’m not going to critique Allison Pearson’s writing apart from saying that she tells a story that can touch you even if you come from a different time and culture, and she tells it with skill. I’m one of those awful people who sometimes skim the final pages to see if I’ll like what happens. I did that with this book, and still wanted to read it. Not just to see how we got from A to B, but because what Petra goes through, the emotions she experiences, even though different to my own story, touched me. If you have memories of teen idol crushes or if you enjoy a good, well-written story of a woman finding her way through the challenges of life, you’ll enjoy “I Think I Love You”.

Who was your teen idol? The answer will certainly depend on your age. I wasn’t the girl with posters of boys on my walls and I didn’t buy Tiger Beat magazine. I think it might have had a lot to do with having two older brothers. Most of my early taste in music came from whatever they listened to. And they were more of the David Bowie and David Byrne crowd, rather than David Cassidy. But I did have a bit of a crush on him when he played in the 1973 TV series, Police Story. I thought he was hip and cool. I can’t say I listened to his music apart from what was on the radio, or what I caught on reruns of The Partridge Family. I was just a few years younger than the book’s Petra. Girls my age were more into his younger half-brother, Shaun Cassidy. And now it’s really fun to watch old episodes of The Hardy Boys with my own teen daughter, who gets a real chuckle out of that feathered hair and those flared corduroy pants.

So what about you? Did you swoon over Elvis or the Beatles, or was it Donny Osmond for you or maybe someone more recent? Did you spend your babysitting money on Tiger Beat or other teen magazines then plaster your room or school locker with photos? I’d love to hear your stories.

You can follow Allison Pearson on twitter at http://twitter.com/allisonpearson.

Out is In

2011-02-19T08:47:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago singer/songwriter/all around wonderful woman Rosanne Cash tweeted this:

"In high school, I formed The Anarchy Society. It's sad when your youthful dreams don't pan out."

The following twitter convo ensued between Rosanne, myself, and another twitter friend, Jen Deaderick:

Me: I formed a club in high school called "Out is In". #patheticbutfun

Rosanne: cute

Me: Our greatest "achievement" was in frustrating the "in" girls during P.E., & being made to remove our "Out is In" badges. #lame

Rosanne: nice. OUR greatest achievement was electing me senior princess to anguished consternation of jocks.

Jen: In 7th grade, I picketed against the popular girls for being popular. #truelamefact

This got me thinking about how we handle diversity in our younger years. Clearly, in ways we couldn't as adults. Back then we could use dramatic gestures and even good-natured antics to make a statement. Did we change the world through these actions? Not in a grand way but we changed our own little worlds in some way, and I think that’s important.

And today when we see these gestures, these incremental changes, I think we should celebrate them. I love that my daughter’s twitter bio currently states, “I'm a weirdy, and I like it.” She’s not shy about sharing who she is with the world. She does it with wit and humor, and often lets others see that being imperfect is human and just fine, thank you very much. In her age group I think there are many who acknowledge we don’t all have to be alike to be accepted. In 2008 my daughter's high school elected a gay prom king. And it wasn’t done in a satirical or mocking way. He was a respected member of the school population.

Obviously it's not the same everywhere. And as we well know, intolerance and bullying still exist; often with fatal results. In another post (Let Somewhere Be Here) I share my feelings more on that. And I in no way want to minimize the pain and suffering so many have and do experience. But I’m going to be on the lookout for more of these signs of hope. More of these voices of dissent that say, “No…it’s not okay to treat me or anyone else with disrespect just because we’re different.”

Thanks Jen and Rosanne for reminding me about that voice inside me that once shouted “Out is IN!” Thanks for inspiring me to continue to listen for this voice in others.

Do you hear this voice in yourself or others? I’d love to hear about it.

Say What You Will About Twilight

2011-01-29T17:02:00.000-08:00

Whether you love it, hate it, or don’t give a darn either way, the Twilight book series and films will always be special to me. But not for the reasons you might think. (Note to the purists: I realize the book title is not capitalized, but for clarification in this post I’m capitalizing it.)

My daughter turns 18 in a couple of days and I guess this has made me nostalgic, even for events of just a few years ago. So if you’ll bear with me, I’m going to take a short trip down memory lane and for me, a big part of that is Twilight.

The reason I appreciate the book series and films is for what they brought to my relationship with my daughter. They created endless opportunities for interaction. Whether it was a discussion about boys and the stupid decisions some girls make (we’re both “Team Jacob”), planning for the midnight release of the last book or the first film (when I accidentally bought tickets for the following night, but was thankfully able to exchange while the girls waited in line in the freezing cold), or talking about how we love the stories though not so much the writing (sorry Ms. Meyers), Twilight gave us a lot.

When my daughter was 15 and anticipating the release of the first film, she learned that the following summer there would be a conference in Dallas called “twicon” (Twilight conference). If she wasn’t already obsessed (and I believe she’d be the first to tell you she was, though isn’t any longer), hearing about this conference ratcheted up her excitement about 10 notches. She decided she had to go. In order to sell her parents on the idea, she put together a very effective slide presentation, complete with links to websites, research she’d done on the cost of hotel, air travel vs. driving, meals, etc.

I’ll admit that my first reaction was hesitation. My daughter wants to go to a vampire conference complete with a “Volturi Masked Ball”?! Concerns I had that she was crossing over into the “dark side” were frankly silly if you know my daughter. But all the same I wanted to be sure I was making a good decision. I spoke with my husband, with her dad and stepmom, and I reached out to several moms I know of different ages to get their input. To a person they said the same thing, “if you’re daughter’s asking you to do something with her, do it”. We came to an agreement that if she could raise half the money herself she and I would go. By means of saving babysitting money and generous Christmas and birthday gifts of cash, we were on our way.

We had fun planning the trip, including how we’d manage expenses, which I think was a good opportunity to learn about budgeting. She had just got her license a few weeks before the trip, and it was fun sharing the driving (okay, and slightly nerve-wracking for both of us). We took our time, stopping at a hotel in Oklahoma on the way, and visiting the memorial for the victims of the Oklahoma City bombing. That was a sobering stop, but we were both glad to have gone. Finally we arrived in Dallas, and despite getting a bit lost, found the hotel. She was slightly embarrassed that I wore my “twilight mom” shirt (that she bought me!) until we saw dozens of others. And she quickly moved from embarrassment to excitement, upon seeing some of her favorite “You Tubers” and getting photos and autographs.

One of the highlights for me was being on a panel at the conference. My daughter had done some research ahead of time, and saw one of them was a “panel for the generations”. Knowing that I teach classes on “generations in the workplace”, she figured this was a good fit for the two of us. We applied and were accepted to the panel. It was fun participating with others, discussing issues, answering questions, etc.

While much of the conference was waiting in line for things, we decided it was worth it. She met actor Kellan Lutz (plays Emmett in the films) and I met Peter Facinelli (plays Carlisle, the “father” of the vampire clan). We heard fan bands like Mitch Hanson and saw the band 100 Monkeys, which actor Jackson Rathbone (plays Jasper) plays in. We dressed up and attended the “Volturi Masked Ball”. And we met many interesting and wonderful people, both young and old (ahem, older). In short, it was an experience to remember and I’ll always be grateful we did this together.

For the more literary minded, know that we also both read and love the Harry Potter books and films. We both agree they are much richer in terms of story lines to explore, characters, and writing style. And if Twilight was the center of my daughter’s youth, Harry Potter is the parentheses. Harry Potter was important in grade school, and now again as she’s finishing high school and about to start college. There’s something very poetic about the last film taking place just as she begins the next chapter in her own amazing journey. And as with Twilight, I’m grateful for what these magical books have brought to our relationship, including an entire lexicon of funny curse words and names. And while my daughter is almost 18 and moving on in the world, a connection to Twilight and Harry Potter is also allowing me to have a connection with my 13 year old niece who loves Twilight and 10 year old nephew who's a big fan of Harry Potter.

What about you? I’m not so concerned about whether or not you like Twilight (though you’re welcome to share that). But I’d like to hear if you have a special book series that brought you closer to your mother, daughter, father, son, niece, nephew, etc.

The Accidental Collector

2011-01-09T13:58:00.000-08:00

I don’t think of myself as a collector. If you follow me on twitter you might even periodically see me tweet, “I’m a connector, not a collector.” The relationships between people and our relationships to the things in our world interest me more than having a collection of stuff.

So, how did a non-collector come to have the can’t-be-denied-it’s-a-collection of teapots you see pictured? Well, I didn’t start out to collect. I didn’t ask for them. But the teapots made their way to me from various sources, and now I quite enjoy them. I don’t dust them (often), so don’t look too carefully at the photo. But I do like looking at them from time to time. And when my now almost 18 year old daughter was a wee girl, she would pick one to use at our tea parties.

The first one I ever had is the large black cat with the red bow that you see on the bottom shelf at the right. This belonged to one of my grandmothers and was given to me when I was very small. I thought it was kinda cool, in a sort of isn’t-that-a-funky-cool-thing-from-a-previous-generation way (though I doubt I used those exact words). I kept it on a shelf in my room, took it with me when I moved out of my parent’s house, and have had it everywhere I’ve lived. It’s one of the few things I own that makes me feel connected to my past. And that for me is why I keep it and keep it out to see; it makes me feel connected.

Because the teapot was out, and others saw it, somehow the assumption was made that I collected them. And then I began to receive gifts of teapots from many sources. I particularly love the one on the bottom shelf at the left; a white couch with pink flowers, and a cat sat comfortably next to the porcelain pillow. The top of one of the couch cushions has a small hat resting on it, and that’s the lid of the teapot. This one was a gift from a former sister-in-law, who I still think of as family. It’s also one my daughter often favored when we had our tea parties. It looks more delicate than it is, and I was delighted to have us make use of it.

The one on the top shelf, right side, towards the back is a little brown one with flowers on it. It had been left behind in the first apartment my ex-husband and I moved into in Chicago in 1990. When we found it on a shelf, we took it as a good omen (okay, so the teapot outlasted the marriage; it was still a great apartment). The little tiny teapots you see dotting the shelves are from my mother-in-law. She has sent me a few over the years for birthdays and whatnot. They are all from England (as is she), and I so love knowing she thinks of me when she gets them. The red teapot that looks like a British postbox (mailbox) is from my mom. We found it one Saturday when she, my daughter, and I were visiting St. Charles, Missouri and my mom got it for me. Looking at it reminds me of how much I enjoyed the day, and how much I treasure the relationships the three of us share.

You’ll see some teacups mixed in on those shelves too. Most of those are my husband’s. Yes, my English husband collects English teacups. When we visit small towns we like to look through the secondhand shops and see what we can find. There’s another shelf with just cups that I didn’t include in the photo. My daughter has a few in her room as well, and she uses them to store jewelry and other bits and bobs.

As you can tell, each teapot has a memory or a story and they connect me to the people who gave them to me. I’m grateful for these connections.

At book club yesterday, we were talking about things that are handed down in families. One of the women was saying she was passing something down to her daughter that had been in the family for a long time. The daughter didn’t seem to care too much. It made me think. We talked about the importance of the connection that goes with the object; the story. It’s that story, that bit of family history, that makes the connection stronger and may be what leads us to value the thing, rather than just any intrinsic value it may possess (e.g., a pricey object d’art). Without the story, it’s just some “thing” that someone we didn’t know owned.

Do you collect anything, accidental or otherwise? Is it the things themselves or the stories behind them that hold meaning for you? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

Holiday Card to My Twitter & Facebook Friends

2010-12-11T08:51:00.000-08:00

“Things happen for a reason. You are sure of it. You are sure of it because in your soul you know that we are all connected. Yes, we are individuals, responsible for our own judgments and in possession of our own free will, but nonetheless we are part of something larger. Some may call it the collective unconscious. Others may label it spirit or life force. But whatever your word of choice, you gain confidence from knowing that we are not isolated from one another or from the earth and the life on it.” (source: Gallop Management Journal)

That’s part of the description of the “Connectedness” theme, from the Clifton StrengthsFinder . It’s an assessment tool I use in my work. When you take it, you learn your top 5 (of 34) themes. One of mine is connectedness. I wasn’t surprised to learn this. It simply reinforced a truth and gave me new language to use when speaking about it.

As I write Christmas cards to friends and family, I started thinking about all of you, my online friends. There’s a tiny bit of crossover in these groups, in that some of the people I am connected to apart from the internet are also on twitter and facebook. But most of you who read this will never meet me in person. And while I’d love to share a cup of coffee, glass of wine, or just a good sit down chat with many of you, I know that’s unlikely, and I’m okay with that. Because for someone like me, someone who feels we are all connected, I don’t have to see you to feel touched by something you’ve said. And daily, you say things that make me smile, cringe, laugh out loud, tear up, or for lack of another word…feel connected. And I’ll admit it, I thrive on that.

So I want to give something back to all of you, for all you give me. This blog post is my holiday card to you. For the ones who I talk to daily and know your every up and down and you know mine, to the ones who I may only exchange the rare tweet or facebook comment with.

I live in an almost constant state of wonderment at the way I can connect to the simplest things you say. It may be that you had a bad hair day, the garage door got stuck, your dog is sick, you’re having trouble accepting your age, you baked cupcakes, you love ampersands or Harry Potter (or both!), you’re eating awesome Indian food, it’s snowing/raining/sunny where you are, your kids are driving you to drink – and you discovered a new wine I might like too! While it’s relatively easy to connect with someone on the big things: political or religious views, family connections, etc. it’s through these little moments that to me, the living takes place. And I’m grateful for each connection.

My wish for each of you is that this holiday season you would feel as much love, hope, peace, and joy as I do and that those feelings would encourage you through the difficult times we each face. I am grateful to have you in my life.

With love,
Sue

The Other Sue Maden

2010-11-21T06:37:00.000-08:00

So one day last week I was Googling myself, and…wait…you do do that too, don’t you? Don’t worry, it’s not shameful or self-centered. Okay, a little self-centered. I like to see something I’ve contributed show up in a search. But it’s also a good practice to see what kind of internet footprint I’m leaving. Since we all know everything we do online is out there forever, it’s a good idea to check from time to time. To me, it’s like looking out over my yard to see what kind of message I’m giving to my neighbors. No, scratch that. My yard’s often a mess, and is currently covered in a blanket of leaves, waiting for the last tree to shed hers, before we devote time, energy, or money to cleaning them up.

When I Googled my name last week, I came across an article by another Sue Maden. I should add, Maden is my married name. But if I Google my maiden name, which is Matcuk, I know the only other Sue Matcuk on the planet. She’s my cousin’s wife, and a school teacher, and from what I gather online, puts together some awesome recipes. But this Sue Maden, she intrigues me. The article linked above is from the New York Times and tells of this wonderful tradition she began of hosting an annual dinner party, which to quote the Times, “is one of the most sought-after invitations in Jamestown, R.I., a small island town (around 5,000 people and one traffic light) in Narragansett Bay. For the last 10 years, she has held a Thanksgiving leftovers potluck on the Saturday after the holiday.” And while that’s really cool, it’s not what gave me pause.

The more I read on about this other Sue Maden, the more intrigued I became at our similarities. First, the article clearly states she’s, “just not that interested in cooking”. If you know me at all (or have seen my twitter bio), you know that’s me too. Sue is in two book clubs and two movie clubs. I'm in two book clubs, but I'm not in movie clubs. Wait, movie clubs?! There is such a thing? I want in. Okay, anyway. The similarities may end there, but there are other things about this Sue that I connected with. She was born in 1934, as was my father. She has friends who are things like a , “Russian-born former stage designer from Boston”. I don’t have a friend like that, but I’d like to believe I would, with more time and if I lived on the East Coast. My grandfather was Russian born, and I have a degree in performing arts management.

Am I stretching? Maybe. But regardless, I still find this idea of same named people interesting. When we Google my husband, we find an English psychiatrist who explores mental health issues. My husband has always been fascinated by why people do what they do. But when I Google my best friend’s name, I find an artist of the same name. My friend does dabble in art, but that wouldn’t be the first thing I think of when I think of her.

The title of this post was inspired by another similar quest to explore same name issues. Upon recommendation of a good friend, I’m reading “The Other Wes Moore: One Name, Two Fates”. That author (Wes Moore, of course), came to know another Wes Moore, and in his book explores both the similarities as well as the very dramatic differences in their lives; one a celebrated Rhodes Scholar, the other in prison, arrested for the murder of an off-duty Baltimore police officer during an armed robbery. I highly recommend this book, not so much for the name issue, but for the bigger issues it explores.

What about you? When you Google yourself (go on, you know you want to), who do you find? Someone who shares some things with you? Someone like an alternate-universe you? Maybe this isn’t so surprising. Because really, we’re all connected. And when you spend any time at all talking with another person, no matter what age, stage, or walk of life, you can find something in common. Well, I think you can. And knowing that makes this world an amazing and wondrous place to me.

Review: “You Had Me at Woof"

2010-11-07T11:46:00.000-08:00

Review: “You Had Me at Woof: How Dogs Taught Me the Secrets of Happiness” by Julie Klam (Riverhead Books, November 1, 1010)

Are you a “dog person”? I never know how to answer this question. If I had a choice (and to a certain extent, I suppose I do), I don’t think I’d be a dog owner. I know, I know. I’ll lose a lot of you with that. Bear with me. We had dogs growing up, but I don’t really feel I connected to them. I always preferred our cats. Frankly, they seemed like less bother. For me it’s a lot about that. Dogs are messy. I’ll spare you and not count the ways. I don’t mean to start a dogs vs. cats debate. Let’s move on.

There’s an author I’ve come to know via twitter, named Julie Klam. She first came to my attention when fellow tweeter, Toni, wrote a blog post review of Julie’s first book, a memoir titled, “Please Excuse My Daughter”. I enjoyed the post, bought the book and enjoyed it a lot. So when I heard Julie was writing a second book, I was excited. But not being a self-described dog person, when I learned what this one was about I thought, “Hmm, do I want to read that?” But if there’s one thing being in book clubs has taught me, it’s that expanding my reading to things I might not love at first sight is richly rewarding. So I took the plunge and pre-ordered the book back in May.

Incidentally, I don’t buy many hardback books these days. I loooove my iPad and the iBook app is by far my favorite. I love how I can see at a glance how many pages are left in a chapter. I love tapping a word to get the onscreen dictionary (sometimes I tap normal words that I know the meaning of, just because I can – yeah, I’m a geek that way). I love that I can take it just about anywhere, whereas sometimes a book is too big to carry. I say all this to say that the decision to buy a hardback isn’t one I take lightly. I chose to buy this one, a) because I could think of a few people I’d like to loan the book to, and b) because the cover is so darned cute.

This book is part memoir and part dog owners manual. Instead of chapters it has “lessons”, which really appeals to me. Julie has a style that is humorous without being gratuitously so. She doesn’t just go for the laugh; when she really has something funny to share, or a perspective on something that’s funny, you can’t help but laugh along with her.

Reading Julie’s story, about what having dogs and working with dog rescue has meant to her life, was eye-opening. At times I felt jealous. Maybe I’m missing out by not seeing our sweet dog Claire in the same way Julie sees her dogs. But we are who we are. I like this quote, “Being a dog person is not something you can force. Sometimes I watch people who want to be seen as dog people, but they really aren’t. They pet and scratch a dog with a manic intensity. ‘Here’s the spot!’ they say as the dog seizes up, twitching, looking more bothered than anything, like it might succumb to shaken dog syndrome. After they’ve made sure everyone has seen them petting the dog, they sneak off to bath in Purell.” Okay, so that’s not quite me. I truly enjoy petting Claire and hanging out with her, and I by all accounts she feels the same about me. But the same can’t be said of all dogs and me.

By contrast, in talking about her daughter, Julie writes, “Violet is a true dog person. She doesn’t mind being licked on the mouth or jumped on. She thinks about the dogs’ feelings and tells me that when she grows up, along with being an artist, she’s going to rescue puppies too. “

Whether you consider yourself a dog person or not, I recommend “You Had Me at Woof”. It’s sweet, well-written, and full of lessons in love. I especially recommend the book to anyone you know who may be considering dog ownership, but has never had one before. It may be just what they need to help them make this life changing choice.

Let Somewhere be Here

2010-10-09T07:46:00.000-07:00

The recent suicides by gay youth in the news are important and senseless. That’s how a friend described it, and I think that’s accurate. These deaths shed light on something we can and should do something about. And the answer is both simple and seemingly impossible. All we have to do is be kind to each other. Why can’t we do that? No matter what your beliefs are on faith or religion, as fellow travelers on the planet we owe it to each other to be kind, don’t we?

Oh, I know I’m being overly simplistic. But what’s wrong with that? As one of my favorite musicians, Elvis Costello says, “What’s so funny about peace, love, and understanding?” When senseless tragedies like this happen, it hurts all of us.

What do you do with those feelings? You could do what I did this morning, and watch video after video in the “It Gets Better Project”, started by Dan Savage. These are videos of adults sharing their stories and giving encouragement. The message is simple and powerful: survive this difficult time and there’s so much more out there for you; it gets better. You grow up and make a life, and you can be healthy, and happy, and loved.

When I watched the video stories of these adults, some famous, some regular people like me, I was touched by each one. I cry at commercials so it’s no shock I needed tissues to watch these. It’s a message all youth need to hear at one time or another, but particularly those who feel so overwhelmed by what’s happening to them right now. Those being bullied or feel alone and can’t see beyond that.

In the video of Dan and his partner Terry, Dan mentions the song “Somewhere” from West Side Story. You can listen to a beautiful rendition of this by David Habbin who played Tony in the UK National Tour of West Side Story. Or (for my daughter) this one by Josh Groban and Charlotte Church.

Why can’t that day be today and why can’t that place be here…for all of us? Monday is National Coming Out Day, and I’m reminded that in my youth, in college a friend came out to me. Truth be told I had a crush on him at the time, so it was seriously disappointing! But I think on some level I knew. And I felt privileged that he chose me to tell. Like most college friendships, we drifted apart once we graduated and I have no idea where he is today or what his life is like. My guess is that like me, he went on to find work, find love, and build a life. But I think that experience did so much for me as I came to have many gay friends as an adult, and it set the stage for me to see what we all had in common; a desire to be loved and accepted for who we are.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this. It’s just one of those times when I have a lot of emotion in me about something, and feel the need to get it out. How have these recent suicides affected you? What do you do with those feelings? Some will take action, like the people who made videos in support of the “It Gets Better Project”. And there’s “The Trevor Project”, with confidential help for teens struggling with these issues. Whatever we do, I’m working on having “somewhere” be here, for all of us.

"Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!"

2010-10-05T20:05:00.000-07:00

I had the urge to write tonight, but I didn’t know what I wanted to write about. My daughter suggested the following topics: donuts and why they are round or Finding Nemo and the importance of a solid father figure. I rejected both of these. You’re welcome. Oh okay, I’m sure those are interesting topics to someone, but not to me. Not at the moment anyway. So, again, what did I want to write about? It dawned on me I’ve never blogged about my favorite book. Do you have one? Not everyone does. Some of us love books and reading and don’t care to add the label “favorite” to just one. And there are many, many books and authors I cherish. But there is one book that for me, is sincerely my favorite.

I first read “Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!” by Fannie Flagg in 1998 (the year it was published). And while I’m not generally one to swoon over autographs, I’m tickled that my hardcover first edition is signed by the author. A cherished independent bookstore in the Kansas City area, Rainy Day Books brought Fannie Flagg in to do a reading and book signing when the book was released. I might not have gone, but my best friend, Kathleen found out about it, and knowing how much I’d loved “Fried Green Tomatoes” (the film and the book by Fannie Flagg), she suggested we go. From the moment Fannie Flagg came on stage, I was in love. She has such a way with an audience. And yes, she’s a performer as well as an author, and that gives her a gift for presence. She uses her gift to full advantage.

Ms. Flagg read some sections of the book, and she made each character come alive. One of the characters, Neighbor Dorothy, is a “radio homemaker”. You can read more about that, if you look up Mrs. Eveyln Birkby who had been a real life radio homemaker. She was part inspiration for the character, and was a guest of Ms. Flagg’s that evening. It was a treat meeting both of them.

Oh yeah, the book. What do I love about it? It may help to start with a synopsis. It’s the story of a young woman on the rise in her career, but missing something in her life. The story moves from New York City to the heartland of the country, and it moves back and forth from the 1940’s through the “current” day 1970s. The first time I read the book, it took me a long time to get into it. Most likely that had less to do with the quality of the writing and more to do with the fact that I was the mom of a 5 year old at the time. I didn’t have a lot of time in one sitting to read. But once I did, I moved through the story and, risking the dramatic, I’ll say the story moved into my heart.

I’m not completely sure why I connect so much with this book. It’s not that I have much, if anything in common with the main character, Dena Nordstrom. It may be in part the setting, or the rich, well-shaped characters, or the dialogue that seems so honest and true. The story has elements of mystery, drama, sadness, and joy. Parts of it took me completely by surprise. At first I thought it a sweet story about a simpler time. But it’s so much more than that.

There’s a wonderful scene in the book that takes place during Christmas time. The family has just decorated the tree, and after everyone has gone to bed, Neighbor Dorothy stands in the doorway looking at the tree all lit up, with all the other house lights out. It’s so beautiful that she leaves the lights on all night. I partly worried that was foreshadowing of a fire to come. Silly me. No, it was just a beautiful passage, and foreshadowing of something much more wonderful in the story. Every year when we decorate our own tree, I stand and look at it and think of that passage (but I don’t leave the lights on!)

I’ll bet I’ve read this book at least six times, if not more. Usually around early November it starts coming to mind. And I walk by the bookshelf and see the familiar lime green spine with dark green text. And the next thing I know, I’m deep into the story, and the worlds of both Neighbor Dorothy and Dena Nordstrom.

There’s so much more I could tell you about this book. But I think I may be rambling now. If it sounds interesting, pick it up. Better yet, listen to it on audio book, read by Fannie Flagg herself. Apparently she received a Grammy Award nomination for this narration. Hey family - there’s a Christmas present idea (family: hint, hint ;-)).

Do you have a favorite book? Or maybe not a favorite, but one you return to over and over, and connect with in a way you may or may not be able to describe? I think I’ll keep reading this one until I figure that out. And then I’ll probably read it some more.

Return to normal? Not me.

2010-09-25T11:13:00.000-07:00

I chucked out the notion of “normalcy” or any chance of returning to it years ago. I just don’t know what it means or that it means the same thing from one person to another, even in the same household. I can remember being in high school and thinking, “When I get to college, I’ll start my normal life”. Then in college I thought, “When I graduate and go to work, I’ll start my normal life”. I must have said that to a friend, because I remember someone sharing the wisdom that if you keep waiting for your life to happen, you miss it. It might have been my friend Kathleen, because I remember years later her sharing that poem, “The Station” (by Robert J. Hastings) with me. The line that stuck with me is, “Regret and
fear are twin thieves who would rob us of today.” And while I don’t fear the future, I have spent time wishing things would return to “normal”.

Am I waiting again for normalcy? I don’t think I am. I think that as I grow in my faith, and all that has come to mean for me, I go through the day trying to flow from one thing to the next. Okay, that’s an over exaggeration. I’m a planner; a scheduler. But to some extent, that refers mainly to external things. I plan a meeting or to have dinner with a friend, etc. But emotionally, I try to go with the flow. I still get angry, sad, disappointed, frustrated, etc. But I generally move through these pretty quickly, since I know they are all temporary. And, if I ever forget that, I have a great group of people who help remind me.

An author I read talks about two types of thinking: below the line or temporary and above the line or eternal. If we focus on the eternal, we are more at peace. To me, the eternal are things like love for all, generosity, grace, etc. My husband is really good at this concept of “going with the flow”. He’s not a planner (in the same way that I am) and when you ask him about his day, sometimes he’ll just say, “I’m doing the next thing.” He likes to keep himself open to whatever is next. It doesn’t mean he can’t make or execute a plan. But he’s better at being open. Sometimes I find that maddening. And that’s a lesson I’m learning too; what peace looks like to one person isn’t the same as what it looks like to me…and that’s okay. So maybe it’s not normalcy I seek or strive for, it’s peace.

To me, gaining a sense of peace means accepting all things that come; whether they appear as “good” or “bad”. It doesn’t mean I like them. I certainly don’t like disease or pain or disharmony. And I’m not talking about always looking on the bright side. But I try to accept each experience with gratitude. I get many chances to learn this. Most recently it was a situation at work. I responded initially with tears and frustration. Then after some distance and supportive comments from friends, I realized I was focusing on the temporary. While I was upset that it happened, the situation had to be dealt with (and consequences accepted), I decided that to have peace about it, I needed to be grateful for it. So I paused to do that, and I thought about the people who reached out to me over the situation. They demonstrated love, generosity, and grace. And when I considered all of that, I felt peace flood back in.

What about you? Are you waiting for normal to return? Or are you embracing now, grateful for each moment?

Multifaceted

2010-09-15T18:32:00.000-07:00

I've just returned from a visit to New York City. My good friend and I went and enjoyed walking in Central Park, visiting the Museum of Modern Art, taking in a couple of Broadway shows, lunch at the Waldorf, and meeting up with local twitter friends at a great little wine bar in the West Village.

Even if you've never been to New York City, you probably know it has a lot to offer. And depending on who you are, where you are in your life, or your state of mind, you may see something different from what I saw. I think each of us is a little like New York. We have a lot to offer, and we have many sides. Rather than thinking of one part of us as our one true self, I believe all these parts make us who we are. And though we may present different sides to different people, it doesn't mean any of them are less true
than any other.

For example, here are some of the different facets of me you might see, depending on who you are, where or when you connect with me:

If you’re my husband, you probably call me Susie, and you may see me as interested, attentive, and open to what you have to share. You might also see me as stubborn or cranky, depending on the day, and prone to break out in song at the drop of a hat. Some thing we enjoy doing together are cooking together, reading aloud to each other, or holding hands.

If you’re my daughter, you are looking to me to be the one in charge, who knows what's going on, where we're meant to go, how to get there, etc. And sometimes you see me as a bit crazy or silly. You call me Mom (or sometimes “Wums”). We enjoy watching tv series like Angel or Veronica Mars, going to movies and singing silly, usually made-up songs.

If you’re my best long-time friend, you may see me as relaxed, engaged, neurotic in turns. You also probably call me Susie, and we enjoy talking over a long lunch out, visiting museums and commenting from our own unique perspectives, seeing plays, or just enjoying a cup of coffee together.

If you’re my parents, your desire is to see me secure and happy, and hopefully you do. You also call me Susie. And we enjoy the simple things best, like cooking with my dad, just hanging out with my mom, talking and laughing.

If you’re one of my coworkers, my hope is that you see me as professional, knowledgeable, and organized. I enjoy sharing my expertise with you, to benefit you and the organization. You may call me Susan, but I prefer Sue.

If you’re one of my twitter friends, you know me as Sue (or formerly, Salgrunkshire). You may see me as chatty, or a listening ear, an encourager or provider of a supportive comment. We chat about books, film, food, life.

If you’re a stranger, hopefully you see me as a warm smile or a kind action; unless you've caught me on an exceptionally bad day.

So, am I unique in this multifacetedness? We all do this, right? Or do you think only one of these sides or faces is "the real me" or “the real you”? I’d love to hear your feedback.

Sliding Doors

2010-09-04T19:05:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite films is “Sliding Doors” (1998, directed by Peter Howitt). Oh, I know it’s not one of the “best” films from a critical standpoint. But there are films we just like, and for me, this is one.

The main character is Helen (played by Gwyneth Paltrow). She works in a PR firm in London, and the opening scene sees her being “sacked” from her job, unjustly. She leaves the office, intending to take the Tube (underground train) home. We see her catch the train, and meet James (played by John Hannah, who I adore in every role I’ve ever seen him in). The film then sort of rewinds, and we see Helen miss the train, and have to take a cab instead. The remainder of the film follows two versions of Helen, in parallel. We see what events take place when she caught the train, who she met, what she found out about her boyfriend, etc. and we see the events if she missed the train. The “sliding doors” refer to the doors of the train, sliding shut either just after she enters it or just as she’s about to.

I won’t spoil the film for you, but when it wraps up, the place Helen finds herself is essentially the same, no matter which path she took to get there. And it’s a good place. What we see is a strong, beautiful woman, in charge of her own life. The outcomes are different in each situation, but the essence of who Helen is, is the same in both scenarios.

Now, I know some who read this may not like the idea of destiny. And I’m not completely sure how I feel about the concept myself. I believe we make choices, and we can make different choices. I also believe some things are out of our control. Helen couldn’t control catching the train or not catching it. And she couldn’t control that her boyfriend (played by John Lynch) is cheating on her. But she could control how she responded to that and to events in her parallel storyline. And in the end, she was the same person, strong and at peace.

I like that idea. I like that we may make a mistake, make a bad decision, but that there’s a place we’re meant to be, and while we can choose the path, we still get there. I am a believer in the spirit within. And when we are one with that, we move and act in a way that’s true to our truest self. To me, life is about continually finding peace. And when I feel at peace, I could be dealing with big challenges, but feel in control in an otherwise out of control world.

Maybe you feel differently. I’d love to hear your views in the comments.

What’s all this about The Tea Party Movement?

2010-08-30T18:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like Emily Litella. You know, that screechy voiced character the amazingly talented, and dearly departed Gildna Radner created and played on Saturday Night Live in the late 1970’s. She was this lovingly daft old woman in a red sweater, with a Kleenex up her sleeve, and glasses on a chain. She came on the news program portion of the show, and editorialized about some travesty that had raised her ire. One time it was “violins in school”, which turned out to be “violence in school”. Another time it was an outcry about “presidential erections” (presidential elections). And there was the classic, “youth in Asia” (Euthanasia). Emily was always getting it wrong. And once the newscaster, either Chevy Chase or Jane Curtain, set her straight, she’d end with a very soft spoken and prim, “Never mind.”

When I first heard about the Tea Party Movement, I thought, “What’s the big deal?” I loved tea parties when I was growing up. My Grandma Matcuk, who I don’t have a lot of personal memories of (she died when I was still a baby), was apparently very big on tea parties. My two older brothers adored her. I know she was a large Polish woman, married to a Russian immigrant, and that she gave birth to my father and his older brother. I know she was hard working and no-nonsense. But I also know, from what my siblings and parents tell me, she had a soft spot. And when she would come to take care of my brothers and I, she’d always bring a bakery box filled with something good, and we’d have a tea party.

After my daughter came along, my mother took over this beloved role of her mother-in-law. When she visited she’d either bring something she baked, or bake something while she was here. She and my daughter would dress up in frilly dresses (usually my daughter picked the outfits), set a table using some of the teacups from my husband’s collection (yes, my husband collects English teacups), a teapot from my collection, invite a few dolls and stuffed animal friends, and have tea.

When my mother wasn’t here, sometimes my daughter would ask me to have a tea party with her. Who could say no? We’d scrounge together some treats, makes some very weak tea with more milk than actual tea, and have a delightful time.

So, when I heard about the Tea Party Movement, I thought, “Cool! It’s coming back in vogue to hold tea parties. Why would this upset people?” Quickly I realized I had misunderstood, and I had a giggle, feeling a bit like Emily Litella.

I don’t know your political leanings. I’m not asking. As for me, I’m hoping the Tea Party Movement will pass as quickly as it came. I’m ready to be done with Ms. Palin and her mavericky ways. And political movements aside, I hope to continue the tea party tradition with my own grandchildren one day. So rather than say “never mind”, I say “pass the tea and cookies!”

A Lifetime of Love and Joy

2010-08-25T18:04:00.000-07:00

I’m sure there are a lot of amazing things that happened on August 26th throughout history. But there’s one event in particular that means the most to me. It happened many years ago (I won’t say how many). August 26th is the date my best friend was born.

Kathleen and I met when we were 13 and both going to junior high in St. Louis, Missouri. We had a mutual friend, Becky, who was my close friend at school, and lived across the street from Kath, and they were very close too. After first meeting and spending a little time together, with Becky, we didn’t see all that much of each other for a couple years. I went to a big suburban high school and she went to a magnet school, a visual and performing arts high school. But we stayed in touch. And in our senior years, we learned that we were both planning on going to the University of Missouri, in Columbia (MU). Neither of us wanted to go to college on our own. Lots of kids from St. Louis would go there, but no one in either of our close circles. We agreed to be college roommates. That one decision proved to be one of the most important of my life.

The summer before school started we shopped at Target for matching bedding for our dorm room. We were determined both to move out into the world, but still maintain a connection to home. After our separate treks (the 120 miles from our homes to MU), and saying goodbye to our parents, we settled in. Kathy hung her Harvey Edwards ballet poster (you know, the one with the torn leg warmers) and I hung my David Bowie, “Let’s Dance” one. It would prove to be something we’d see over and over…a similar theme (dance) but played out differently to suit our unique tastes. Where Kathy was preppy, I was punk. Neither of us to an extreme, but generally we expressed ourselves in different styles. I think it’s something that made our friendship strong; we could always help the other see a different point of view.

That first year of college was what it is for many; exciting, confusing, sad, hard, frustrating, and a whole lot of fun. I won’t bore you with the details. I’m sure many of you have similar early college days that you can call to mind and remember what the time was like. But for me, in addition to the usual college experience, I was forming a friendship that would last a lifetime.

Since that time, many years have passed. Marriages have come and gone and come again, kids, jobs, degrees, cities, countries…life. Through the years we’ve disagreed on many things. Some big, some small. And there’s a lesson in that: you can disagree with someone and still love and respect them. This lesson is one I took with me into my second marriage. Kathy is the person I know I could still call any time, day or night and say, “I did a stupid thing” or “I just need to talk” or “I just have to tell you this funny thing”, and she’d be there. And she knows I am here for her too.

I am grateful to have a husband I love and consider a partner. I’m grateful for a daughter I love and have an easy relationship with. I’m also grateful for parents I can talk to and connect with. And for many, many wonderful friends old and new. But Kathy (she’s Kathleen to the rest of the world) is my best friend. She’s been with me for the good (birth of my daughter), bad (divorce from first husband), the beautiful (how thin I was at her wedding!) and the ugly (let’s not go there). She’s the person who has held up a mirror to me during dark times to help me make a better decision, and she did it with kindness and love. She’s the person who forgives my frequent bouts of silliness and my general lack of awareness about some of the weightier world issues. And she’s the one I know will always be there, no matter how far apart we may roam.

I love you Kath…Happy Birthday to my best friend. I wish you peace on your journey and a lifetime of love and joy.

Goodbye Doesn’t Mean Good Riddance

2010-08-16T05:27:00.000-07:00

If you haven’t already read my daughter’s post yet, you need to start there. This is a reply to her well-written, serious blog post: "Support." http://alwaysriddikulus.blogspot.com/2010/08/support.html

Natalie ,
I love you. Correction; we love you. After reading your blog post this morning, I initially felt punched in the gut. And then I felt thankful. It told me two things very clearly: you know we’re there for you and you know now that doesn’t mean everything is handed to you. Even if you don’t thank us (and you have and do), employers of the future will be grateful. You won’t be likely to come to the workplace like so many other young people, expecting to have everything done for you on day one and expecting to be put in charge on day two. And because of that, you’ll not only be more successful in whatever field you choose, you’ll be more fulfilled and more highly rewarded.

You’re right; we haven’t always made great choices. I could quip, “What parent has?” But your post had a serious tone (thankfully combined with your usual tinge of wonderful humor), so I won’t joke. But you’re also right that the choices we made were for you. It’s good we’re talking about this publicly. Maybe other parents and teens will read this, and it will provide an opportunity for them to have a similar discussion. Parents don’t need to defend their choices to their kids, but I for one would like you to understand why we’ve made some of the decisions we’ve made.

When you were born and both sets of grandparents generously started college funds for you, your dad and I talked about what we should do. Should we add to those funds? We didn’t have much. Your dad was a first year teacher and we mainly needed my income to live on. So we decided, instead of contributing to a college fund, we’d do our best to give you what we could along the way. We used our money to take you places, provide more than the basics for you, etc. And when your dad and I divorced and married others, they supported this approach. I know that you’ve appreciated and do appreciate what we provide, and we’re thankful to have the means to do it.

As for saying we “can’t wait to push you away”, nothing could be further from the truth. When you do make that trip to college next year, and we say “goodbye”, it will not be followed by what you think it will, “and good riddance”. It will be followed by tears. I will miss you so much that it already physically hurts if I think about it too long. I’m sorry that we’ve somehow conveyed we can’t wait for you to go. But just as you are exploring schools and financial aid, and thinking about roommates, and what it will be like to be so much on your own, we’re thinking about the future too. We have to prepare ourselves. More than anyone, I do. I spend more time with you than anyone else. A Natalie-shaped place in my life won’t be here next year. I know we’ll talk, you’ll tweet, maybe you’ll blog. But it won’t be the same. And I’ll miss you so much I’m in tears now just imagining what that will feel like. And while you have different relationships with Tony, your dad, and Becci, they will all miss you too, in their ways.

I’m so excited to be sharing this journey with you. And I’m even more excited to see where you’ll take it from here. Thank you for sharing your feelings. Someone suggested you and I do a joint blog your senior year. Maybe this is the start of it.

I love you!
-Mom

Bittersweet

2010-08-12T20:07:00.000-07:00

In just a few short days, my daughter starts her senior year of high school. Big sigh. I know every parent says this, but now it’s me, and it’s really true; it seems like just days ago that she was 5 and starting kindergarten. So adorable in her new dress (it had to be dresses back then), new Barbie lunch bag, and Esmeralda backpack (which she bought herself, with saved up allowance).

I’m filled with more emotions than I can label. There’s joy, of course. She’s a dedicated student who works hard and it will be a thrill to see her finish out her final school year (before college) strong. And there’s excitement. So many senior activities like college visits, prom, banquets, graduation, etc. And there’s some amount of trepidation when just a year from now, she takes the biggest step of her life to this point and starts college.

How will she do on her own? Just yesterday she had a doctor’s appointment that I didn’t go to with her, and belatedly, she said she wished I had. But honestly, I have such faith in her and the strength I know is in her, that there’s really very little of this fear. She’s resourceful, having been raised on healthy doses of Nancy Drew and Kit Kitteredge. She’ll do just fine.

But I’ll miss her. I love our goofy times together. Making up words. Fake swearing at each other. Watching ridiculous tv shows and cringing together over bad performances. Trying to remember what we’ve seen an actor in (was it Friedrich from Sound of Music or Spike from Angel?), and racing to our iPods to look it up on IMDB. Breakfast runs to McDonald’s on a weekend. I love going to the movies (usually her pick, and usually I enjoy them). I love midnight book launches for the Harry Potter series and the Twilight saga books (I might have complained about being tired, but I loved them).

And even though we have our moments when we don’t see eye to eye, or when I have to more strongly exert the parenting role because she didn’t unload the dishwasher or wasn’t home on time, soon enough she’ll be 18 and most of that won’t matter. We’ll still argue from time to time. We’ll still see things differently; which in many ways is good. She and my husband, her step-dad have had some pretty amazing conversations. They talk in depth about issues that are volatile and sometimes get heated, but end up with all of us having another way of seeing something.

Some days I feel I’m ready. I think about how I could stay a little longer at the office if I’m really cranking on a project. Or I could go out in the evening with a girl friend. Or Tony and I could leisurely fix a meal together on a weeknight (not just on a weekend when Natalie’s at her dad’s), and listen to music, sharing details of our day. I do all those things from time to time but I look forward to doing them more often. But I can wait. That time will come soon enough, and then I’ll be wistful for the nights of watching Cake Boss or Say Yes to the Dress, giggling on the couch together.

So as she counts down the days to starting her senior year of high school, my heart is both heavy and light. It’s such an odd, and yes, bittersweet combination. And, I’m surprised to find, it’s so much like that first day of kindergarten. But this time I won’t be walking her to school (she’ll drive herself). And this time she’ll be able to write her own name (she could when she was 5, but panicked on that first day and wanted me to write it for her). And this time I won’t cry (well, I can’t promise that). But I will be grateful and I’ll look forward to whatever comes next, and I'll do my best to enjoy the journey.

The K Word

2010-08-01T11:50:00.000-07:00

I seem to have a preponderance of women in my life with names that start with K or C. My best friend is Kathleen. I gave my daughter the middle name of Kathleen for that friend, as well as a favorite aunt, Kathy. Two other friends are Katherine and Cathy. And then there’s another woman in my life whose name starts with K. We follow each other on twitter. I’m not actually sure how we originally connected. It may have been that someone else we both follow, who’s into film, recommended one of us on a “Follow Friday”, and sensing something in common, one of us followed and the other followed back.

K is one of those people that I don’t know that I would ever have connected with anywhere else. Her presence in my life is completely unexpected. She’s different to everyone else I know. Frankly, at times, I find her a tiny bit frightening. We’re so very different in so many ways. Here are just a few: she’s at least 20 years my junior, she lives on a coast, to say she’s a staunch Republican would be a gross understatement, she uses very “colorful” language, she speaks her mind, not holding back, not concerned with what others might think. She’s also kind, thoughtful, respectful, and insightful.

Early on, I contemplated unfollowing K. For the nontweeters, this means unsubscribing to that person’s twitter updates. Then you no longer see them in your feed of short 140 character updates from the people you follow. But, I listened to the spirit within, the voice within, and continued to follow her. I’m so glad I did. While her language is strong, and some of her opinions are even stronger (and in direct opposition to my own), I have learned much from K. We moved from just tweeting each other to sharing email addresses and connecting that way too. I have been richly rewarded. She’s gone through some challenging things in her life that I’ve never had to face, and that I hope my own daughter never has to deal with. And she’s so very strong and brave.

So why did I title this post “The K Word”? One practical reason is that she’s often changed her twitter name, though typically she keeps the K at the beginning. Other than that, I'm not sure, other than I liked the sound of it. Ironically, in our household we refer to her by her full name; first, middle, and last. My husband and daughter also follow her on twitter, and have become fond of her. When she’s tweeted something one of us has connected to, sometimes we share that with the others, and we use her full name, as that was her first twitter name.

She calls me “Mrs. Maden”. I’m not sure why that started, but I like it. First, because in these times of such informality, it’s kind of nice for someone to use this formal title. Second, it’s such a contradiction. If you know her, you know she drops a lot of “F bombs”. So for her to use the formal greeting with me seems contradictory. And I know she doesn’t toss it off casually in some sort of sarcastic way.

I don’t know how K sees herself. But what I see is a beautiful young woman who is willing to reach out across the both vast yet intimate expanse of the internet and connect with me. I look forward to continuing to connect and learn. Most importantly, she's been a wonderful reminder that we truly are all connected. It may not look like it on the outside, but when we find those things deep down that draw us to someone, it's a gift.

I’ve contemplated writing this post for awhile. Thanks for sticking with me and reading it. Do you have a K in your life? Someone completely different and/or unexpected, who has enriched your world? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

Do you question? Look – I just did!

2010-07-25T08:12:00.000-07:00

Some people have major epiphanies about life and faith. They regularly ponder, meditate, reflect, etc. They believe like Socrates, “the unexamined life is not worth living.”

My husband went through a transformation that took him to the deepest depths and back again. He is a person who regularly stops to ask "why?" Why is he here? Why are things at work the way they are? Why do people do what they do? He's in turns peaceful and restless. He struggles with not following in the footsteps of a father who ran away from home, as an adult, multiple times, and in the end was found drowned in a lake under questionable circumstances. I can't even imagine what that battle is like. If you read my Father's Day blog post, you know I grew up with a traditional dad who always was, and still is there for his family. Not so my husband's dad. He was for years, when he served in the RAF (Royal Air Force) as an air traffic controller. But after retiring from the military he was adrift. Despite a loving wife and two strapping sons, he never found his center. That's the legacy my husband struggles against. He moved to the US to marry me, almost 12 years ago. I know he loves me and my daughter (who was 5 when we married), and strives to serve and support us. But I also know that most days it's a struggle to live in the US, doing work that only requires a small percentage of his brain, and always thinking of improvement opportunities. Tony's role in manufacturing in England was Continuous Improvement Facilitator. Because he doesn't have a degree, US companies won't consider him for similar roles. So he sits in a cube, feeling alone and misunderstood. He'd love to move on, either to a role or company where he can use his skills or do something radically different, like sharing the gospel. But Tony honors his commitments to his family, and soldiers on. It concerns me though what it's doing to him.

My closest friend of almost 30 years is going through a very difficult time of questioning many things about her life. Hers is not my story to tell, but I know that she is going through a major life transition. This has taken her down some new paths, and I'm confident she'll emerge refreshed and strong, but the process is painful.

So knowing the internal struggles of these two people I am so close to, I wonder...should I be struggling? Maybe I don't question enough. I never have. I accept a lot on faith. That is, when something resonates to me as truthful, I accept it. My daughter said a profound thing to me recently. She thinks there are people who don't trust anyone until they are shown someone trustworthy. And there are people who trust everyone, until they encounter someone untrustworthy. She and I fall into the latter category. I wouldn't say we have blind faith, but we generally trust. I think that comes from the fact that I (I won't speak for her now, as she may feel differently) don't question a lot. Sometimes I wonder if I should. Hey wait, I just questioned that I don't question. Does that mean I do? Ack!

In my experience, people who question the world around them also tend to question themselves more. And the places reflection takes them is amazing, and often profoundly life changing. And while that’s not me, I’m grateful to these people. While they are having their grand epiphanies, I’m quietly watching and listening. Sometimes my husband or best friend will say something that challenges me or my way of thinking. And I do pause then to consider if it resonates as truthful with me or not. Often for me, it either does or it doesn’t, and then I move on. But my husband will research, listen to podcasts, read, journal, etc. Right now he’s in the other room watching a special about something to do with World War II because something else he watched or read sparked him to explore that. And I know that he’ll reflect from there about something in himself, and then he’ll share that with me.

What about you? Do you ponder deep thoughts? Do you feel that without regular, thoughtful , reflection we aren’t fully engaged in life? Or are you like my daughter who once said to my husband, “If I thought about the things that you do all the time, my head would explode.”

I’d love to hear your thoughts, and maybe I’ll even reflect on them…briefly.

I keep a book with me, in case of emergency.

2010-07-18T08:10:00.000-07:00

My husband likes to take his time…with everything. And in many ways, this is a trait I admire. He has a peaceful way about him, whether he’s just getting things settled into the car before he pulls out of the driveway, or the unhurried ways he strolls the grocery store aisles, reading labels, contemplating where things are made, and so forth. I’m a relatively peaceful person too, in the sense that I get along with most everyone, I tend to look for the common denominator in situations and find agreement, etc. But, I would say I’m not a very patient person at times. It would be fair to say I tend to rush around a bit. I don’t like being late. And while I mainly love my husband’s unhurried approach, sometimes it drives me nuts. He knows this. I’m not divulging marital secrets. And just as much as his sloth-like ways can grate on me, my sometimes chicken-with-its-head-cut-off ways irritate him. I get that. I like to think that while we don’t quite balance each other out (how boring!), we’ve learned to respect these differences.

Which bring me to my point; I keep a book with me at all times when we leave the house. Who knows when we’ll be driving down a highway, and he’ll want to pull over and take photos of the clouds rolling in? Or when we’ll be at the electronics store, where he could spend hours feeling the weight of a camera in his hand, or comparing the varied features, etc.? I used to do the whine-like-a-four-year-old, “are you ready to gooooo?????” But that didn’t lead to much marital harmony. And frankly, I didn’t really mind that he wanted to take longer. The things that fascinate him aren’t always the things that hold my attention. But, I do like to read. A lot. And so, I learned to keep a book with me.

But carrying a book around, especially when I’ve switched to my very small weekend handbag, can be cumbersome. Last year for my birthday I got an iPod Touch, which is essentially a pocket computer. It might be too strong a statement to say it changed my life. Might be. Might not. I use this device for everything from checking email and twitter, to holding my calendar, contacts, notes, music, and…books.

Now, like many of you, I still prefer the feel of a “real” book in my hands. I like old library books that have a scent that reminds me of the bookmobiles of my childhood. I like small chunky books that are easy to hold. I like the fancy ones with deckled pages. I like worn paperbacks that I don’t have to bother with if I spill a drop of tea on. You get the idea. But sometimes it’s not about the book as an object, but the book as a source of my true love; reading.

One of the best features (to me) of the IPod Touch is that you can read books with it. You can download both audio books as well as electronic books. I have the free Kindle app for reading books. I also have some books that come with their own readers. While it’s not the same as feeling the book in my hands, it’s great. I can, literally, keep dozens of books in my pocket at one time. And for me, while not quite a life saver, I would say it’s saved me from letting individual differences get in the way of an otherwise good marriage.

Here’s what it looks like now when my husband and I are out and about: It’s a honeymoon weekend and we’re out running errands. Husband: Do you mind if I stop in to _____ (insert name of any large electronics store chain)? Me: Sure, go ahead. We enter, walk around a bit together, then, knowing he’d like the freedom to look at length, I say: I’ll wander around myself. I find the nearest home entertainment setup (they always have couches and chairs), pull out my iPod, and dive into a book. I keep some old favorites on there; ones I can pop in and out of without really missing a beat. And I have some I haven’t read yet, that I downloaded free and just haven’t got to. And time passes. And when my husband has had his fill of checking out how many times optical zoom a camera has, or whether or not the open box model is in good shape, etc., I turn off my iPod and slip it back into my handbag, and off we go.

Okay, so I titled this post, “I keep a book with me, in case of emergency”, and boredom isn’t really an emergency. But, having this way to counteract my not very generous frustration with an un-hurrying husband, when I’m not in the same unhurried place, can surely be said to have improved our marriage. And for that, I’m grateful.

Amazons, Ampersands, and Charms

2010-07-12T20:18:00.000-07:00

If there’s one gift I could bestow upon my daughter, it would be ease in making connections with others. I hesitate to say “make friends”. We all seem to interpret that word differently. Some of us call the people who follow or who follow us on twitter and/or Facebook, friends. To others, that’s too strong a word. But whatever you want to call it, that we connect, and have a need to connect, is universal. And I believe it’s good to have both deep friendships and a wide circle of people we connect with.

A few years back, my husband encouraged me to connect with women, both older and younger, of different backgrounds and experiences, so that I would have mentors, sounding boards, friends, confidants. I listened, but I didn’t really act on it. I’ve had one good friend (my “bff”) since 8th grade. She’s my like-a-sister friend. And I’d not ventured a lot beyond that. I was busy with work, travel for work, my daughter, my home, my husband. But about a year ago, without a strategy or plan, I did reach out. Maybe I had a little more time; maybe it was just the right time. Whatever the reason, I’ve now got many layers and connections; many links in a very long chain. And I’m grateful for each one.

And speaking of links in a chain, one of the ways I feel connected to the women in my life is through tangible things, like jewelry. I don’t mean “good” jewelry. Apart from my wedding rings I don’t own any of that stuff, and I’m not really into that. I’m talking about that pair of comedy and tragedy earrings (one mask for each ear) that I bought in London in 1985, and when I wear them, I’m instantly transported to the West End, and on my way to see The Caine Mutiny staring Charlton Heston, Ben Cross, and Ian Charleson. When I wear these, I feel connected to the young woman I was, in my late teens/early twenties.

Some women wear outward symbols of their faith, like crosses, etc. I’m very open about my faith, but it’s not something I generally feel through symbols. I like when people see the spirit within me, for the acts I do, the words I say, the way I listen, etc. But there are symbols I wear, that others may not recognize as symbols, that I wear just for me. For the power they give me, because of the connections I have made. When I wear these, I feel stronger, because I feel connected to the person or people they remind me of. Here are a couple of examples:

My charm bracelet. A few years ago for Christmas, my closest girl friend and I gave each other charm bracelets. It felt a little goofy at the time, but we wanted some sort of tangible symbol of our friendship. We thought of rings, but that seemed to evoke another kind of relationship. We thought of necklaces, but couldn’t think what kind. Then we remembered this ridiculous made-for-TV movie we saw back during our freshman year of college. It was some kind of Amazon Women movie. All the women had these bracelets, with bow and arrow charms. It was how they could tell the other Amazon women in a group (like the height wouldn’t be a hint). That was it. We’d get charm bracelets. I found us charms that symbolized all the things we had in common: an arch because we met when we both lived in St. Louis, a British phone box because we’d both married men from England, a coffee cup because we liked to meet over coffee for a chat, etc. And we each had a couple of different charms; a comedy and tragedy mask for me(I had a theater degree and was working on the fringes of entertainment) and a women planting flowers near a “for sale” sign for her, because at the time she was in real estate. We’ve added a few charms since then: a pink ribbon the year we turned 40, a Statue of Liberty for our first New York City trip together, etc. Neither of us wears these all the time. But when we do, we’ve both said we feel closer. I sometimes wear mine when I have a presentation to give or when I’m flying (I had to take off the tiny pair of scissors after 9/11). I cherish this bracelet, and look forward to adding to it.

My ampersand pendant from etsy.com (artist, kellykadoodle). It was ridiculously inexpensive, and I wear it often. Many of the women I chat with on twitter are writers, readers, librarians, and in general, lovers of all things word related. Several have an affinity for the ampersand as a symbol. When I wear the ampersand necklace, I think of them, and feel connected to a wider world of women.

In some ways, you could say these are “externals”. And in my last post, I talked a little about not looking to externals for happiness. These objects in and of themselves don’t bring me happiness. Nor do they hold mysterious, special powers. But the outward/external wearing of these, gives me an internal strength, and helps me feel the connection with the many amazing (not to be confused with Amazon) women in my life. Do you have your own version of mask earrings, charm bracelet, etc.? I’d love to hear about them, and what they mean to you.

Reflections on Allison Winn Scotch’s, “The One That I Want”

2010-07-10T07:09:00.000-07:00

If you came here because you saw my tweet yesterday that I’d be blogging about Amazon women, ampersands, and charm bracelets, I’m sorry. I’ll do that another day. I just (about an hour ago) finished reading a book and felt compelled to reflect on it.

I first learned of Allison Winn Scotch’s book, “The One That I Want” when fellow twitter, Becky Sain blogged about it. You can read her post here. I’m oversimplifying, but the message was about being stuck, and what we do to become unstuck in our lives. There are choices we make every day and things we do without thought that may keep us in one place too long. I liked this passage where the main character, Tilly is reflecting on when or why she gave up her love of photography:

“—but then I remember exactly how I abandoned it, of course: for Darcy, for my family, for my father. I lost myself for them, which we all have to do every once in a while but probably shouldn’t do forever.”

I think that’s true. There are times we give all of ourselves to something or someone. But at some point, we have to step back and reassess our role. In a funny way, this reminds me of after I had Natalie (now 17). It was a few months after she was born, and my then husband asked, “Why are you still wearing your maternity jeans?” Indeed. Why was I? For months my body felt not my own, but a place to nurture our baby. I’d given myself fully to that – eating right, cutting out soda, caffeine, and all alcohol…and wearing big clothes. While many of these were still good choices, it was time to pull back and reassess. I’d lost all my pregnancy weight and it was time for regular clothes.

That example sounds like it minimizes the message – we can get stuck, unless we sometimes pull back. But for me, it’s a good illustration. A couple years after that, I reassessed again, saw how I’d become stuck in a bigger way, in a marriage that wasn’t working. But that’s not what this book made me think about. There’s another passage I’m pondering. It’s at the very end (don’t worry, this isn’t a spoiler on the specifics of the story):

“And if we are wise, which I hope that I am now, we will seize it so mightily, clench it so close, that we will never risk that it can break free, slip through our fingers without warning.”

I think I know what she’s saying there; about holding tight to what’s important. But I’ve also learned that if you let go a little, you are free to accept bumps in the road that may have sent you in directions you didn’t think possible. I firmly believe it’s these bumps that make us stronger, wiser, and more able to weather the rough roads.

To some extent, no, to a great extent, I believe it matters whether you are looking internally or externally for happiness. At some point in life we all learn that happiness is fleeting. Things don’t bring it. Jobs don’t bring it. Even people don’t. Just look at me – one minute I can be sweetly rubbing my daughter’s back while she watches TV, and the next shouting at her for something she did or didn’t do.

And that may be a good example of what I’m trying to say. If my daughter looked only at the externals, as soon as I shouted at her, she’d believe I didn’t love her. But the place we love and feel loved is within. Externals don’t alter it. She “knows” I love her, even when it doesn’t look like it or feel like it. I’m not saying that if I constantly yelled at her or was awful to her she would continue to feel loved. She wouldn’t’. But a fleeting external doesn’t negate what we know in our core.

Back to the book…about holding on. I do believe in holding onto what feels true and right for us. But sometimes, as in the first passage I quoted, we have to reassess. Is this working? Is this right? And if I let go just a little, what wonderful surprises might I find? It’s when we open ourselves up that we are free to feel all life has to offer. I think there’s another clue or nugget in the final paragraph:

“Happiness is what you choose, what you follow, not what follows you.”

You could interpret this many ways. To me it says…continue to choose, over and over. But choose what is right for you now, not just what was right before. And I would add, look inside for what to follow – not to things or people who are fleeting. Change happens and it can be wonderful. The hard things in life are hard, and must be experienced. But you decide how they shape you by how you respond to them.

I absolutely loved this book and highly recommend it. It was a beautifully written story, with depth I hadn’t expected. And any book that makes me pause and reflect as I did after reading this is a very good book indeed!

If you’d like to know more about Allison Winn Scotch (and buy her books!) you can find her here and on twitter at http://twitter.com/aswinn.

The Neighborhood - A Small World

2010-06-23T20:03:00.000-07:00

Lately our dog, Claire, has been acting a little odd. She’s 12 or 13, we’re not quite sure, so odd behavior isn’t totally unexpected. The latest manifestation is that she doesn’t want to come inside after a walk. This is a dog that never spent much time outside on her own. We take her out for short walks, or longer ones as the mood strikes. Lately, when she’s out, you have to tug on the leash, coax her with treats, or as on one occasion, carry her inside. Tonight after a nice stroll around our own yard, Claire still didn’t want to come in, so I got a plastic bag (just in case) and took her around the block.

A walk around our block typically takes me about 10 minutes at a good pace. So this is a good end of day activity for someone who sits at a desk most of the day. As I strolled with Claire tonight, the sky was an unusual yellow/green (I think a storm is on the way), and it was very still and peaceful.

We went around to the next street, and on the street behind us, we were coming up on one of my favorite houses on the block. It’s set back just a bit from the street, has a low stone fence bordering it, and has many beautiful and well-tended plants. The owner was out in the yard tonight, watering the garden. I could tell this must be a time-consuming process, from the depth of the garden and all he has in it. I stopped to say hello, and noticed that his truck, parked in the drive had the door open, and out of the stereo poured some beautiful classical piano music. We talked a bit about music, and National Public Radio. I said I hadn’t realized they played classical at night, because I only listen on the drive to/from work. He told me if I really wanted a treat, I should put on the public television station when I got home. They’re televising a harp contest. He said when he first put it on he thought, “how boring”. But it wasn’t. He told me about a young Russian who’d started playing when he was 5 or 6. I told him my grandfather had come from Russia. The conversation came to a nice lull, and we said our goodnights and I walked on home.

As I walked, I thought about this neighbor and our neighborhood. I don’t know him well. I know his name, but mainly because of the florist business he owns in our small downtown area. I know that he lives with a male partner, which for this small village in Kansas, is not something we see much. He and his partner have what looks from the outside anyway, to be a beautiful home. On Halloween, they give out flowers to the mothers who take their kids around trick or treating. At Easter time, there have huge colored eggs on the lawn. And year-round there are gorgeous flowers and foliage. They add value to our neighborhood just by being here. I wish I knew more of my neighbors. Maybe I’ll take more walks; meet more people. Talk more, learn more.

When I got back to the house, my daughter, who was working on a quiz for an online course on US Government, had the TV on. This isn’t that unusual, as she generally has it on, even when she’s doing homework. She’s a smart, disciplined student, and I trust her to figure out what works for her. But the odd thing was it wasn’t an old episode of Buffy or a new episode of some reality show playing. It was the public television station…the harp contest. I think the last time she had PBS on, she was about 7 and watching "Arthur". I asked her what led her to put that on. She didn’t know. She just had. What a small world.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddio!

2010-06-19T06:57:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, my dad had a habit of calling my mom every day to let her know he was leaving the office. Usually Mom was already in the kitchen, making dinner. I’d sometimes wander in, “famished!” and ask when Dad would be home, knowing we did not sit down to dinner without him…and he was always there. The only exceptions to that were the rare business trips, which I frankly don’t really have a memory of, apart from one trip to Belgium. And I only remember that trip, not for his absence, but for the gifts he brought us. Mine was a huge, inflatable, Winnie the Pooh with honey pot in hand. I remember being amazed that they had my beloved Winnie the Pooh in France. Of course at the time I had no clue that Pooh was an English character, and closer to France than to me.

I’m not exaggerating when I say my dad was always there. He was and is that kind of father. He may not talk about his feelings a lot, but he shows you how he feels. I am so blessed to have grown up in the home I did. Dad worked his way up in several jobs; Mom stayed home with us kids and gave us so much love and attention. We had many pets and comfortable homes, and wonderful family vacations. That isn’t to say we weren’t without our share of difficulties or pain. But no matter what, my dad was there.

My Mom suffers from fibromyalgia as well as chronic pain and back problems. Oddly, although I always knew that, it didn’t color everything about our family life. She’s got an amazing attitude and faith, and I mainly think of her as that smiling mom, who could often be found at her sewing machine, singing silly made up songs. She was (and is), always there too. But today is Father’s Day, and this one’s about my dad.

When my mom had back surgery, Dad stepped in, not only doing his job outside the home successfully, but picking up the slack at home. And if Mom was recovering from surgery or in serious pain, Dad would take us out so she could rest. But he didn’t just get us out of the house and shuttle us to a movie (as I would probably do!) He’d take my brothers and me, and usually a friend of mine, and we’d go to wonderful places like Sea World or an amusement park. I actually don’t know how many times that happened; it could have been only once. But because my dad was always there, it felt like we did this a lot.

If there’s a phrase that best describes my dad to me, it’s “fun-loving”. It’s one of the reasons I call him “Daddio”. That just describes him so well, to me. He created so many fun times for us as kids, and not all of them were (probably most weren’t) big adventures like the one I mentioned earlier to Sea World. It could be just putting up Christmas lights on the house, or playing cards, or sharing a popsicle (he loves the orange ones). And when I think of my dad, I think of him and Mom, out for a ride in a convertible. How much more fun-loving can you be?! Sadly, my dad just this week sold his convertible Corvette. He’s had a convertible of some description since he could first drive. During my time, he’s had a 1965 Mustang, a Spitfire in the early 80’s, a Fiero in the mid-80’s, and then the Corvette. But after double-back surgery and two hip replacements, getting in and out of the Corvette had become just too hard. I know selling that car was difficult for both he and my mom. It sounds like a great couple bought it though, and will have wonderful times in it, as my parents did.

In time, my fun-loving dad graduated to being a fun-loving grandpa. He has always lavished love, praise, and good stuff on his three grandkids. The picture at right is my absolute favorite of Dad with my daughter (who is now 17). She is literally looking up to him, and it’s a precious photo to me. Now that he’s retired, he’s found different ways to express his fun-loving nature. Before I carry on with that, let me mention that while I describe him as fun-loving, he was also hard-working. In addition to working his way up from Controller to Executive Vice President of a large copper tubing company before retiring, he worked on our home as well, including building a new deck onto the back. While working on that project he fell from the deck and crushed his heel, broke his foot, and it was quite traumatic. But oddly, through all of that, I almost think he saw it as an adventure. Dad’s always been a look-on-the-bright-side person, and this has helped him retain a great attitude through many challenges.

One of my favorite things to do together now that my dad’s retired is cooking. While my mom has always been great at this, and enjoyed it, when Dad retired he decided to share in some of that. He tackled cooking like he tackled many other things; he read up, got recipe books and recipes online, tried things out, made notes, learned, improved, and kept going. He’s now quite adept at it, and cooking most any kind of fish is his specialty. When we go to visit (they live about 250 miles away, so it’s only every few months), my dad and I cook together. Mainly I serve as chef’s assistant, letting my dad lead the way. We always have a glass of wine while we cook, and I treasure these times.

This Father’s Day I say thank you publically (well, publically in the sense that anyone can read this blog post), to my dad. Thanks Daddio for all your love, fun times, and for being there.

Love,
Susie

“So, how did you two meet?”

2010-06-13T07:53:00.000-07:00

“So, how did you two meet?” Most couples get asked that from time to time. Some people met at a party or wedding, some were introduced by friends, at church, at work, at the market, and so on. My husband and I were pen pals. We used to say, “We met online”. But try that and you get a certain look. You’d think after years of internet dating this wouldn’t raise eyebrows, but it does. So years ago we learned to clarify. And while yes, it was online, we actually did meet through AOL’s pen pal service.

I don’t know if this is still an option, but in the “olden days of the internet”, AOL offered its users a feature where you could select things like age range, gender, interests, etc. and you’d get lists of pen pals to correspond with. It was July, 1997 and I was getting ready to go to Ireland for work. I’d be spending two weeks there, and although I’d primarily be spending my time in box offices of theatres, teaching them to use the electronic ticketing software the company I worked for developed, I hoped I’d have a little time to see the sights. I thought, what better way to find out where to go than to ask the Irish who live there. But when I tried to find folks in Ireland, there weren’t any on this pen pal service. Today I’d hop on twitter. But back then, I just stopped looking in Ireland and thought, Oh well, I’ve always been an Anglophile, I’ll chat to people in England. I’d done a semester of college in London, in 1985, and had been in love with all things English, ever since. I emailed several people, and had some nice chats.

Early in the morning on August 6th, 1997, I was sitting in a call center in Dublin, Ireland, with a coworker, Meg from the London office. We were getting ready to train the staff on ticketing software, and so I had my laptop and was checking email while we waited for the staff to arrive. In my inbox was a reply from one Tony Maden, whose job title had caught my eye: Continuous Improvement Facilitator. I’d never heard of that, and thought, “Cool, I could use one of those!” Tony’s reply to my short introductory pen pal email was lengthy. He told me about where he lived in England, what he liked about different parts of the country, but mainly talked about his work. I came to learn that that was his impetus for using the pen pal service; to connect with people from other companies and cultures, to get different perspectives that he might use inside the organization he worked with.

After that Tony and I emailed daily. And when I returned to the States, in addition to emails we started talking by phone, daily. When I think of the phone bills we both had in those days, we could have paid for our house by now if we’d have saved that money, but then if we hadn’t spent all that time talking, we’d have never bought a house. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Around October, we began talking about the holidays. It was going to be Tony’s first Christmas on his own, as he’d recently left his marriage of 10 years. I had been on my own for a couple of years, but it was going to be my first Christmas without Natalie, who was then just 4. Tony suggested he come to the States for the holidays. Yikes. I was having a great time getting to know him through emails, phone calls, pictures and cards we shared, but in person? Yes, I was ready.

We planned that Tony would come on a Sunday, and spend that first night with my very best friend Kathleen, and her new husband (also British). Natalie would then be spending the week with her dad, and Tony and I would take that time to get to know each other, going to my parent’s in St. Louis, 5 hours away, for Christmas.

I could fill a book with all the details of those first three weeks together, but I think that would only be interesting to Tony and I, and we already know all the details. I’ll summarize by saying we had a fantastic time together. We took walks, went out for meals, talked late into the night, shopped, including shopping for what was to be my first house, but would become our home (where we still live). Natalie was coming up on 5, and would be starting kindergarten the next year. My father and my attorney had both counseled me that if I wanted Natalie primarily with me, I’d have a better time of it if I were in a house instead of an apartment. I was scared, but with Tony by my side, it felt right.

I’d made a list of all the things I wanted to do together while Tony was here, and we did many of them. But when it was coming up on time for him to go back to England, we were both heartbroken. We both felt we’d found our soul mate, and now we had to be apart? We both knew what we wanted. We bought the ring (at first on credit, then when Tony returned to the UK he sold some of his few possessions and paid it off straight away), and got engaged on New Year’s Eve. On New Year’s Day we made an offer on the house, and it was accepted. Tony moved to the US that June , and we were married on August 8, 1998, 1 year and 2 days after our first email.

There really are so many other things I could share, but this is the story of how we met, not our first 12 years together, so I’ll wrap up here. Before writing this I flipped through a book my friend Kathleen gave me years ago, for couples to write down notes about their relationship. In going through that, I was pleased to see that who we were then, is still who we are now. We spend our time a little differently, we have expanded our connections, and we use our resources far more wisely. Like most couples, we’ve had many ups and downs, and there were times we weren’t sure we wanted to keep going. But what we still love about each other, and I know this will sound cliché, is that we can be ourselves. We can say what we like, though we both (generally) take care in what we say, as communication is important to us. We like to spend time together, though we enjoy time on our own as well. I’m so thankful for all that we have, all that we are, and for where we are. I look forward to the rest of the journey!

Blogging Can Be Beautiful

2010-06-06T07:51:00.000-07:00

Last week I received a tweet that simply said, “For you” followed by a url and a list of fellow tweeters. It’s an award, but not the kind that comes with gold statues or requires a speech. Well, I suppose in a way it does require a speech of sorts, but not the typical kind. The tweet was from my twitter pal Toni (we have a twitter pact to never unfollow the other; sort of the opposite of a suicide pact. Don’t try to figure it out. We don’t know but we’re going with it). Toni’s email contained a set of instructions, which I am following now.

This award comes with some rules, as follows (per Toni):

Thank the person who gave you this award. – Thank you Toni! :) I appreciate that you thought of me, and that you’ve enjoyed my blog enough to follow it. (though I notice we don’t have a #blogpact, hmm) I’m glad you did this post as now I have a slew of new blogs to check out!
Share 7 things about yourself. – see below
Pass the award along to 15 bloggers whom you have recently discovered and who you think are fantastic. – You don’t “have to” do this if you receive this from me. But if you’ve discovered bloggers you enjoy, you might like to play along. This way we all get to know more great people and we get to know more about you!

7 things about me:

I can’t leave the house without earrings. Well, I suppose I can, but I don’t. Not fancy ones. Just whatever strikes me or goes with an outfit.
My husband and I chat to each other in Scottish or Irish accents when we’re feeling silly (and he’s English).
My best friend is the same one I’ve had since 8th grade, and I love her like a sister.
I’d rather read a book or see a movie than do just about anything. In other words, I’m kinda lazy.
My favorite color is green. Specifically what my family always called “Kawasaki green”, due to the color of the gas tank on my brother’s motorcycle. It’s sort of a spring green.
I was never much into cooking, but am recently learning to enjoy it. That said, I still prefer to sit on my bottom and drink a glass of wine while someone else (usually my husband) does the cooking.
I have never had a desire to be a “real” writer, but am thoroughly enjoying dipping my toe in the water to blog.

Some great blogs:
(I'm sure there are tons of people I'm missing here! I'm still learning who blogs, following, setting up a way to keep track, etc. Forgive me if I left you off.)

The Great Picture Robbery

2010-06-03T18:50:00.000-07:00

“Maurice the mouse was born in small French village. But when he was still a young mouse, he went to Paris to live in the great palace of the Louvre”.

And so begins one of my most beloved children’s books, “The Great Picture Robbery” by Leon A. Harris, pictures by Joseph Schindelman (and it says “pictures”, not “illustrations”). Mine is a worn first edition (Atheneum, New York, 1963).

Do you have a favorite book you remember from childhood? Or maybe like mine, yours is a memory of a book from your child’s childhood. This book was given to me by my 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Caruso. I have to be honest and say I don’t have any touching memory of the book being bestowed upon me by a teacher I revered and looked up to. Oh, I’m sure Mrs. Caruso was a fine teacher. I just don’t remember her, apart from the fact that she was a bit large, wore tight polyester tops, and her big bead necklaces often rearranged themselves in an unfortunate manner, circling her well-endowed bust. I only know I received the book from her because her name is written inside the cover. I’m guessing at the end of the school year she may have let us each take a book home or something, and I picked this one. Thank you Mrs. Caruso, wherever you may be.

But my memory of the book is from reading it with my daughter, Natalie. We loved this book. From its delightful story to its cleverly drawn illustrations, some of which we found a little scary, a long time ago. When she was young and I’d read it to her, I’d do my best not to butcher the French words, calling up pronunciation from my many years of studying it in school. Although Natalie’s now 17, and moved on to well, all the things girls of 17 move on to, we both still enjoy reading this together from time to time. Once as a gift I painted a wooden box, and transferred an image from the book, then embellished it with gold paint. Natalie now keeps jewelry and doo-dads in the box on her dresser.

I surely won’t do it justice, but here’s a brief summary of the story: Maurice, an adventurous mouse moves into the Louvre. He wonders at its size, and the author notes, “It is so large that when King Henry IV lived there and wanted to go from his apartment to his mother’s, he rode his horse inside the palace.” In his usual understated manner, Maurice remarks, “It’s nice and roomy.” He moves in and begins to explore. Soon he meets Madame Marina. Who we are told, “…is not one of the people who don’t like mice. In fact, she understands a mouse very well, and she and Maurice quickly become good friends.” One of our favorite illustrations is of Maurice eating pastries that Madame Marina brings him each day. Soon the good life turns to intrigue though, as Maurice witnesses thieves attempting to steal the Mona Lisa. Despite his fear (the Egyptian room where the thieves are hiding, is quite scary), he alerts Madame, who calls the police and together they have saved the day. As a gesture of thanks, Madame Marina gives Maurice a toy car, so that he can move about safely in the vast rooms of the museum.

Our copy of the book is a hardback, and now quite worn from love. There’s a stain on the cover, and the binding is a bit torn. But we don’t mind. It still resides in an easy to find spot on the bookshelf, and I hope it always will. My secret wish (okay, not so secret now) is that Natalie will leave it here, and one day (many, many, many) years from now if there is a grandchild, I’ll have this special book to share with him or her.

A special thank you to Katherine (www.twitter.com/@kcecelia), for the inspiration to write this post. Two days ago, while traveling in Vancouver, she tweeted this, “I love @MOA_UBC. I want to live here in a manner similar to Eloise at the Plaza. http://twitpic.com/1t5ks8” Her comment prompted me to tweet her about this book, and thus this blog post. Thank you Katherine, for sparking this memory.

If you have a favorite childhood book, I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

Finding Rest Today

2010-05-30T08:36:00.000-07:00

I’ve been on twitter for over a year now, and really enjoy the connections I’m making. Because I’m by nature an includer, if someone follows me and their tweets look the least bit interesting, I follow back. (Sidebar for the non tweeter: to “follow” means that person subscribes to your Twitter feed, thus “following” or reading the tweets you post.) Due to this approach, I now follow more than 600 people. I truly love connecting with others, whether it’s something trivial like a love of Nutella or something deeper like a response to a news story, or discussing parenting, etc.

All that sounds great, and it is. But I realized today that I’ve been harboring some ill feelings, and it’s time to let them go.

There’s a group of mostly women who all follow each other on twitter, and often when we tweet we include more than one person in a response, like a conversation among a group of friends. I’ve been chatting with this group for a few months now, and I follow each one for the simple reason that I like connecting. Some for their thoughtfulness in remembering something I’ve said, others because they like to have conversations, and others who are just so darned funny they make me smile regularly, and so on. But, there are two women in the group who follow all the others, and don’t follow me.

I follow these two women because they are smart, at times funny, and they are very different than me in ways that interest me. For how else do we learn and grow but by exploring the ways of others, and how we and they respond differently or similarly to situations? But these two women don’t follow me. They will at times reply to my tweets when I respond to something they’ve said, so I know they know I am there and following them. And despite being a typically easy going person, this has irked me. Until today.

Today I remembered something. A man named Dan Stone gave a talk once titled, “Dead not Divorced”. Sadly Dan has since left this world, but his words live on. Dan talked about the message of Christ in us, as us. And this talk was about being dead to sin, not just divorced from it. Dear reader, don’t worry; this isn’t going to be a “religious” blog post. But one of Dan’s messages (actually, several of them), cross many belief systems. In this talk, Dan talks about putting “our self on the shelf”. That is, we don’t have to “do” anything. We just have to “be”, and let others come to us. He compares us to different kinds of fruits: some are oranges, some apples, etc. People “pick” us for the life that’s in us that they connect to, at that time. That isn’t just a Christian belief. As I’m learning lately from my Buddhist friend, some truths truly are universal (thank you, friend).

I’ve heard that message many times, but realized I’d forgotten it until today. I’m so thankful it came back to me. Now I’m resting in the knowledge that I have many wonderful people I connect with, in all areas of life. Some I know by circumstances (family, neighbors, coworkers, etc.), some I’ve chosen based on my needs; others have “picked” me because of a need they had/have. I am thankful for each person I connect to, whether they “follow” me or not.

I wanted to share these thoughts because today on twitter when I mentioned this need to let go of these feelings, several responded that they needed to do the same. The other reason is my daughter. She’s going through a time of learning that not everyone we call “friend” thinks the same of us. She’s learning that’s okay. That doesn’t mean it’s not painful at times; especially if someone we care for lets us down. But when we remember that we can just “be”, and those who need us will find us, we can rest in that.

May you find rest today.

Note on the photo: I like to use photos I take myself (or my husband, daughter, etc.) where I can. We only had lemons and limes, no apples and oranges today. So rather than using a stock photo from the web, I went with this one, even though it's not an exact match for the content. Tony took this one, and I really like the light shining in the background.

Hymns for Agnostics

2010-05-22T07:19:00.000-07:00

Last night Tony and I went to the Carole King & James Taylor Troubadour Reunion tour. Let’s pause here. If you’re looking for a concert review, this isn’t it. You might like the one in the Kansas City Star, which does a far better job than I could of capturing the feel and giving you all the highlights. This post is my reflections on a wonderful evening.

Some events we build up with expectations and then they disappoint us. Not this one. Or maybe I didn’t actually have expectations beyond hearing one of my favorite musicians play her music (I know, for many it would be JT you were going to hear), and enjoying time out with my husband.

First, a few words about Carole King. This woman’s music, to me, brings up a mixture of emotions. Mainly they are sweet, wonderful memories, of listening to the Tapestry album 17 years ago, while walking my colicky baby around our Chicago apartment, trying to lull her to sleep. That memory is bittersweet because I was also the most tired I have ever been before or since, those months of Natalie’s babyhood. It was a hard time in my short marriage to her dad. Mainly we were both exhausted, which brought to light the shaky foundation we had. It’s been many, many years since we split and I am grateful that her dad and I (and our spouses) now have such a strong bond.

Back to last night. After weeks of cold rainy days, Friday’s weather itself, a warm sunny day, was a gift. I wore comfortable slacks and a new top, and I had on my “amperbling” (term coined by twitter friend @lbgilbert, to refer to my oversized ampersand earrings and pendant with images of ampersands). Tony and I arrived in Kansas City’s Power and Light district and found it all a bustle. I started to get a sense of excitement, seeing people strolling around, clearly most headed to the concert. As we sat waiting in traffic to find parking, my mom phoned to wish us a good evening, which made the night feel even more special.

We enjoyed dinner at Raglan Road, an Irish pub, just across from the Sprint Center. We met fellow concert-goers from Oklahoma and had a nice chat, and ran into our family doctor who was also going to the show.

After waiting with the massive crowd to enter the Sprint Center, we rode the many escalators up to our very, very, high seats. We did stop to check out the concert gear, and I got a Troubadour Reunion mug. Yes, that’s what us 40-somethings who drink tea get instead of a t-shirt. And as big as that crowd was, we ran into a coworker! Our seats were really, really, high up. So much so I thought I might get vertigo (which I’m prone to), but didn’t. They were however very close together. We squeezed our way past our aisle-mates, and took our seats. But apart from it being a little uncomfortable, I think I may have actually beamed with excitement.

The view was spectacular. No, we couldn’t see their faces except on the many large screens, but it was not only in the round, but the stage went around. And while our seatmates were a group of very jolly (read: drunk) women who hiccupped, laughed, and sang off-key, that was okay too. They were clearly having a good time, and were big JT fans.

Once the music started, I was torn between wanting to close my eyes and just drink in the sounds and wanting to see these living legends performing live. I did a little of both. Many songs in, Carole played my all time favorite, “Beautiful”. Check out the lyrics; it has a wonderful message. Before that song, James Taylor talked about that one and his own “Shower the People” , which he played next, and how these are like “hymns for agnostics”. I liked that. I’m not an agnostic myself, but I do think of many of these as hymns. They brought me through so many moments of my life, and now they are like a celebration of life.

That first set lasted well over an hour. I turned to Tony and said, “What would you think of leaving at intermission?” I think I really surprised him. But for me, I’d heard my favorites, I’d had a wonderful evening with him, and I wanted to end it on a high note. So we left. I’m sure that will shock and disappoint some of you. I heard today the concert ran almost three hours long. You know what, I’m still glad we left. And then I read that USA Today called it one of the top 5 “must see” concert tours. Yep, still glad we left.

As we were walking out, we ran into yet another coworker. The Sprint Center reportedly seats 23, 750. And I don’t know if it was sold out, but it looked close to it. All those people and we still saw 3 we know. It reminded me of Twitter – it can feel both huge and intimate at the same time. I love that. I also loved “live tweeting” the concert, and later seeing that many of the people I connect with on twitter commented on my tweets. It made the experience personal in a different way.

Tony and I walked unheeded through the concert venue, out into the street, and breathed in the wonderful night. There was live music being played outside across the street, and we leisurely strolled to our car, even stopping in at the beautiful new Cosentino’s Market. No crushing crowd, no hours-long wait to get out of the parking garage. Some may say we’re old fuddy-duddies not to stay till the end. That walking out in that crowd is part of the experience. And I’ve done my share of that and may do so again. But this night, after this concert, it felt perfect. When we got home and I sipped tea from my new mug, I felt blissfully sleepy, and oh so satisfied with the night.

This morning while writing, I am once again enjoying a cup of tea in my Troubadour mug, and listening to the music from the show (which Tony downloaded for me yesterday). All in all, I’d say we got our money’s worth from the evening.

What is Salgrunkshire?

2010-05-19T19:43:00.000-07:00

What is Salgrunkshire? It’s a nickname my brother Jim gave to me. I couldn’t tell you how old I was at the time; maybe about 9 or 10? Young enough that everything my older brothers did was amazing to me and old enough to appreciate having a cool nickname. Jim, who is now a high school English teacher and also has a degree in socio-linguistics, has always loved word play. He’s been making up words and word games since he could speak. With Jim and Matt (6 and 4 years older than me, respectively) I played an early version of what I think now is an actual game. One of them would hold the dictionary and flip through it. Then he’d read out two words and their definitions. We had to guess which meanings were real and which were made up. Jim and Matt were always far more skilled at making up stuff, so they would always “win”. But it didn’t matter. This was less about competition and more about silliness. Well, it was for me. I’m not so sure about “the boys” (as they are still called, though we’re all in our 40’s and 50’s now). They were 18 months apart in age and that set the stage for sibling rivalry. One of them actually broke his hand punching the other in the knee once (I honestly don’t remember who hit whom).

I digress. Salgrunkshire. I think Jim just liked the sound of it. It starts with S, as does Sue (my real name). It’s kind of Royal, kind of Englishy. And it has “grunk” in it, which is such a cool made up word. Or so I thought. I just Googled it, and the Urban Dictionary defines it as a combination of being grumpy and drunk. I can guarantee I was neither of those at such a tender age. Well, okay, I was probably grumpy if I was up too late (and still get that way). Another website defined it as an acronym: GRammar UNderstanding Kernel: a library for parsing and extracting structured metadata from semi-structured text formats. I rather like that, but doubt it’s what Jim had in mind. I really think it just tripped off his tongue, and he liked the sound of it. I didn’t respond negatively, and so we kept it.

I should mention, it’s not a name that was used regularly. I was called “Susie” more often than anything else, and still am by most of my family and a very few select friends, well one. But it comes out now and again. And I wasn’t the only one to get a cool nickname for selective usage. Jim himself went by Jimo (pronounced gy-mo, soft “g”). And Matt, well, he was Mafumastic King of Plastic. So I guess his was really a title, and not just a name, lucky kid. I don’t think that one was used all that much, but it’s so melodic that it stuck with me. And years later when my daughter Natalie came along, she was dubbed Natalacticus. That’s Jim in the picture above with a very young Natalie, wearing the Natalacticus shirt Jim made for her (he used to do graphic design work).

I’ve told you what the name means to Jim (or at least, what I think it means, he may read this and comment otherwise, and I would welcome that if he did). What it means to me is a place and a time.

A place: Just the sound of it, as I believe Jim intended, is fun. It sounds like a land far away, with dragons and princesses, and all the peanut butter a girl could want.

A time: It’s that magical time in my childhood when big brothers ruled with a soft touch. When we made tents out of bedspreads in the back yard, played “milk explode” at the dinner table (after my parents had gone upstairs to dress to go out), talked a pet raccoon out of a tree with peanut butter crackers, decorated Easter eggs and Christmas cookies, and ran around the neighborhood freely and safely, knowing dozens of other kids were out there and dozens of sets of parents were looking out for us.

So while I am no longer in that place or time, the name still evokes all of that for me. And since marrying my English sweetheart, who moved to the US from Shropshire, it somehow seems to fit. So, maybe not forever, but for the forseable future, I’m going to stay in the land of Salgrunkshire. I hope you’ll come and visit from time to time.

Honeymoon Weekends

2010-05-16T06:08:00.000-07:00

When you share your child between homes, as we've done for going on 15 years, you learn to look at things differently. At first you feel completely torn apart that you can’t be with your child all the time. Then, you accept that’s the way and you begin to look at the time apart not as time away from her, but as time for other things.

Before I married Tony (my second husband), I would use the time on my own every other weekend to go to Jazzercise (hey, it was the mid-90’s; that’s what we did), hang out with a friend, see a movie, or just goof off. I needed that. I travelled a lot for my job at the time and those weekends were a way to recharge my batteries.

After Tony and I married, those weekends that Natalie was with her dad became known as “honeymoon weekends”, and 12 years later, we still call them that. It might have something to do with the fact that Tony and I met as pen pals online (a story for another day) and didn’t really have time as a couple until we were married. We came to cherish that time to figure out who we were together, relax, and just “be”. It was never that we didn’t want Natalie to be with us. But that just wasn’t/isn’t our reality.

That isn’t to say that every honeymoon weekend is spent staring longingly into each other’s eyes over coffee and bagels (though we’ve done our share of that too). Some weekends when it’s just the two of us we still have other obligations or individual pursuits. For me, for us, those are important too. I like my time to myself and I know Tony does too. But we do try to make at least some part of each of those weekends, time for just us.

My favorite way to spend a honeymoon weekend is to have very few agenda items (I know, who doesn’t love the no-to-do-list weekend). Maybe we have one errand or place in mind, but from there we may just wander. Take for example the weekend the above photo was taken (by Tony). I really can’t remember our goal. Maybe we were looking for a birthday gift for someone. I’d gone to book club that morning, and someone mentioned a cool store in Prairie Village, called Curious Sofa. Check it out. Very cool indeed. And here are some pics from our visit there. After that I think we stopped at the grocery store, went home, Tony made some dinner and we watched some film or other. And while I can’t recall the exact details of that exact Saturday, chances are that I feel asleep during the film, sometime between 9 and 10.

There’s always something that “needs to be done” on a weekend when you own a home. And we do our fair share of those things too. But if you visit our house, you’ll find we’re not neatniks, and the paint on the front door may be peeling. But you’ll also find a family, a home. We like doing things together. And I’d rather have a scrappy looking yard than a husband who spends hours tending a garden. I’m not knocking people who love their gardens. That can be a wonderful, soul-soothing activity. I’m just saying that as we all know, it’s a balance. And I’m happy tipping the scales to “more time with husband and daughter” than “perfect house”.

Our next honeymoon weekend is in a week. As for this weekend I’m thankful for time with Natalie. We saw a movie last night, and today we’ll spend time together doing various things. No doubt, we’ll sing at the top of our voices in the car, we’ll do some bizarre rhyming word play with no rules, we may argue a bit. And if we’re lucky, Tony will cook a lovely meal which we’ll enjoy as a family while watching a movie or an old Hardy Boys episode (we have two seasons worth on DVD). No matter what kind of weekend it is, I’m thankful for each one.

Inspired

2010-05-16T05:57:00.000-07:00

I dedicate this, my first* blog post to the people who have inspired me. Let me introduce you.

Tony (husband/partner)
Some people have dishes of loose change on their dresser; my guy has a dish full of voice recorders. Tony, has always encouraged me to record my thoughts. He journals, photographs, blogs, etc. He truly lives the motto, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” (Socrates).

Natalie (daughter)
It’s hard to sum up in a few words my daughter, but I’ll try. She’s creative, funny, smart, thoughtful, addicted to all things Joss Whedon, and a whole lot of fun to be with. She’s had a blog for about a year, and I am always in awe of what she comes up with. She suggested a few weeks back that I start a blog. She wanted me to called it “Wo-man”. I didn’t take the name, but I’ve taken inspiration from her.

Kathleen (like-a-sister-friend)
I’ve known Kathy (her mom and I can call her that) since the 8th grade. She‘s been on most every journey of my life. If not for her, I’d have made more mistakes than I care to imagine, and I’d have had a lot less fun. Kathy has been encouraging me to journal for years, even buying me a book many years ago to help me think through dreams, ideas, etc. Even if no one else were ever to read my blog, Kathy would.

Cathy (former coworker, now friend, www.twitter.com/jayhawk100)
Cathy’s that unusual combination of someone with brains and common sense. She’s amazing. A former English and math teacher for gifted middle schoolers, Cathy has a love of words and language. She’s introduced me to many authors and wonderful books. And she recently gave me The Maeve Binchy Writer’s Club book. Can’t wait to dig in!

Katherine (new friend, met on twitter, www.twitter.com/kcecelia)
They say people come into our lives for a season or a reason. I don’t know yet which Katherine is, but I hope she’s here to stay. I include her here because over the past weeks I’ve been enjoying conversing with her via twitter, and albeit indirectly, she’s encouraged me to see that anything is possible. We share a love of books, film, and oversized sculpted characters (such as the huge silver @ pictured at the top of this blog).

Molly (aka www.twitter.com/salamicat)
I don’t really know Molly, so it may seem odd to include her here. But a couple of days ago she included me in a tweet where she was recommending several writers. I felt compelled to let her know that I wasn’t one. Her response, “Well, I wanted to mention you, so now you can consider yourself a writer!” It reminded me of a conversation with my husband last week, about accepting when people give you a label, even if it’s not one you currently think of for yourself. Sort of like the spirit in them calling it into being. I’m still pondering that, but I’ve decided to accept it for now. Thanks Molly.

Heartfelt thanks to each of the special people listed above, and many others I didn’t mention (like my mom and dad who still think things I do are worth noting).

Until next time…

*This post origionally written on May 12, 2010, on a different platform. The features didn't seem as intuitive as on this site, so I've moved here.