View from the Couch

There Be Dragons

2012-02-03T10:45:00.000-08:00

So we're one month in to 2012 and it's been kind of rough. The election mudslinging has started early. Long term relationships between non-profit organizations are threatened by political machinations. Major companies pretend to support one lifestyle, cave when threatened by a PAC, then switch again when public opinion cows them. It's going to be a long year. I can see lots of unpopular ideas being promulgated and lots of "facts" being tossed around to prove one side or the other as right/wrong - good/bad. And so I thought I'd make my position known and just refer anyone who wants to drag me into their battle to this post for the next several months.
Like Martin Luther King Jr., "I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down men other-centered can build up." I was raised to believe that all people deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. That unless I am willing to walk in another person's shoes, I have no business telling them what they should or shouldn't do, be or shouldn't be, have or shouldn't have. I was taught that education and culture are key to building dignity, equality and freedom. I was taught to vote with my heart AND my mind, to listen to others argument and position when it is done with respect and honor and willingness to listen to mine. I was taught to be willing to compromise when the good of all was more important that what was good for me. I was taught to build up others, to believe of them what they may not believe of themselves. And to show what is possible when people are willing to let go of the past, let go of the pain and look toward a better tomorrow.
And so, let me clear about this. I will not take part in any movement or campaign that has at its core the stripping of rights from ANYONE, the tearing down of ANYONE, the vanity and self centered nature of ANYONE. I will not vote for someone because he or she is the lesser of two evils. I will commit to looking beyond the sound bites, the advertising, the PACs, the money being thrown at me to convince me of a position that I know in my soul to be self serving, petty minded, ignorant and designed to tear down the very heart of a country and a people I know can do better. I know can be better. I know ARE better.
I will not listen to arguments that young people are lazy, apathetic and self seeking. I know many, many young people and every one of them is committed to their education, their future, their family, their country. In spite of the difficulty they are facing in finding work, finding homes, finding comfort, they believe in their ability to change things for the better.
I will not listen to arguments that retirees are bleeding the country dry because they failed to plan for old age and long term medical care. I watched my mother go from a house that she owned out-right, to apartment after apartment, to assisted living, finally to foster care - at one point having to give away every last dime she had in order to qualify for Medicare to pay for her care. There has to be a way to allow our citizenry to age with dignity and grace and give back to us from their years of living and wisdom - not to be discarded and forgotten.
I will not listen to arguments that say someone is not entitled to love another, to marry another, to raise a family because they are gay, straight, poor, rich, native or immigrant. I will not listen to any argument that places one human being above another. This is a deeply held core belief for me and I will not allow it to be violated. All beings deserve to be treated with respect and dignity. Love one another is the core belief of every faith. And I can love you even if I don't understand why you are where you are on the path. All I ask is that you grant me the same - love me even if you don't understand my path. Until you walk it - you cannot know it.
Our system is broken. Our country is broken. Out of our brokenness can come so much good - but only if we are willing to work together. We must stop yelling at each other and begin to listen. With our hearts and with our heads. Love. Just love. Love One Another.

Movie Madness - MELANCHOLIA

2011-11-18T14:54:00.000-08:00

From the opening moments of Lars VonTrier's latest film MELANCHOLIA (2011), I was hooked. The exquisite extreme slow motion movement is beautifully orchestrated by Wagner's Prelude to Tristan and Isolde. We see a bride moving as roots tear at her feet, a mother clutching a child, a horse laying down all as two planets come hurtling toward one another to the inevitable end - the consumption of one planet by another. It's only later that we learn the larger planet is Melancholia and it is headed toward Earth; because after this beautiful prologue we are thrust into the marriage of Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Michael (Alexander Skarsgard)*. Justine and Michael are late for the very elaborate reception being hosted by Justine's sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) and her husband John (Kiefer Sutherland). As the evening rolls on, it's clear that Claire is hanging on by the thinnest of threads and Claire and John are frustrated by her reluctance to put on a good show for everyone.

When Justine becomes aware that there's clearly something wrong with this planet hurling through space, things do indeed unravel, but not as one might expect. Justine seems relieved that things will be ending and her pain of living can be over as well. Claire and John are willing to accept the predictions of science that Melancholia will just pass by Earth and it will be a terrifyingly beautiful happening. The more likely the end appears, the more they unravel. To most, melancholy is a thing that passes briefly and fills one with gratitude that all the days are not thus. To those of us, and I count myself among those, who have experienced true melancholy know that it is the pain of trying to be free of it and act like everything is fine that is the most awful thing. The struggle to be heard and seen and experienced, the need to have our special vision acknowledged and respected are more painful than the pain of being swallowed up.

With VonTrier, one is always better off to let go of the reason why and give over to the experience of his films. There's message here, to be sure. But it is the beautiful way in which he presents the end of the world that gives the message its true impact. MELANCHOLIA is a beautiful thing indeed. A top notch cast lead with powerful performances from Dunst and Gainsbourg and stunning visuals make this melancholy a thing to be experienced. Brief appearances from John Hurt, Charlotte Rampling, Stellan Skarsgard and the wonderful comic relief of Udo Kier as the wedding planner make this a good solid film. Let go and let it wash over you.
In theaters now - but also On Demand with major cable providers. If you have a good home system, you can save yourself a few dollars.
*in a tux...can I just say "Yummy."

I may have to move to Massachusetts

2011-09-21T08:54:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth Warren

So remember how I was ranting about how everyone needs to do their part or this country isn't going to be better. Elizabeth Warren, who was bashed in her Senate hearings and is now running to oust Scott Brown from his seat in Massachusetts, summed it up beautifully for me.

My favorite part is "But part of the underlying social contract is you take a hunk of that and pay forward for the next kid who comes along." That's what I think this country has lost sight of. It's a social contract that we agree to in how things will be done here. The past few decades have been full of finger pointing and blame and not a lot of agreement.

I just don't think that things will get better until we all agree to - well - as I like to say...put on the big girl pants and get to work. I may not like EVERY decision, but if I can see that your position is for the greater good of the country, I can agree to work for it. The ME generation has to grow up now and realize that it's a WE that makes this place a great place to live and work and raise a family. So let's work together. And support more people like Elizabeth Warren who are willing to speak truth to power. It's is the only hope we have.

Fair and Balanced

2011-08-15T14:15:00.000-07:00

I'm a Libra, you know, the lady with the scales. I spend most of my time trying to find balance in my world. I bend over backwards to be fair. I try to see things from other perspectives and use reason and logic to present my arguments. Lately, I seem to be living in a world where crazy is the norm and rabid emotional outburst is the voice. I get it people. Things are messed up and we need to find a better way to run things or there's going to be a pretty major revolution or repression. Either way - it doesn't look good.
I live in an apartment complex with 16 units. In addition to our rent, we all pay a portion of the water bill. In the summer, we pay a little more because the landscaping has automatic sprinklers. Now, I live alone. I run my dishwasher once, maybe twice a week. I shower every other day. I could claim that because I use less, I should pay less than the family two units over with 2 children who surely use more water than I do. But I don't. Why? Because the system I agreed to when I moved in was that our water is not based on individual use, but on a communal use. Right now, I use less. At some time, I may use more than my share. But I agreed to do my part. And so I do.
I view my taxes in the same way. I pay my part and I have an expectation that when I need the services my taxes pay for, they will be there for me. My roads will be maintained. Schools will be operational. Courts and police will be there should I need them. Fire services will be there if I need them. I've been on food stamps once in my life, and it probably saved me from starving. It was only for 2 months, but I needed those 2 months and when I didn't need them, I moved on, knowing that someone else might need them more than I did. When I was in college, I had PELL grants and NDSL (National Direct Student Loans) to help me pay my way. When I got a job, I paid the loans back. As I approach my retirement years, I EXPECT to have some assistance from Social Security and Medicare. I've paid my fair share into these programs and I have an expectation of something back IF I need it. Other programs for seniors, food programs, housing assistance, utility programs, I would hope they will be there. But if they aren't because other, more urgent programs need the funding, then I will accept that as fair.
What I do not accept as fair is the notion that other people can avoid paying their share because they have more money than I do OR they don't agree to what the money is being used for. I don't agree that persons who make more money than I do get to decide who gets to benefit from this system. I don't agree that any one party, religion, sect, ethnicity gets to decide what is best for everyone. We are NOT a democracy, we are a republic of REPRESENTATIONAL government. We elect our officials to WORK TOGETHER for the good of all. Not just for the wealthy, not just for the corporations that lobby for their support. LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL.
There are plenty of programs I don't agree with, but it's the agreement I made with my government. I will pay my FAIR share and in return, you will be there if/when I need your help with something I cannot do alone. If I never need those services, fine and dandy. But I agreed to be part of the system. And I agreed that other people could be part of that system. I agreed that their part of this system isn't their ability to pay, pray, marry, work in the same way I do. I don't know why I work 8 hours and at the end of the day I still worry about paying my bills. More than once in the past year or so, I've looked to the heavens and had to decide - do I eat, pay this bill, buy my prescription, or put gas in my car. And I know that I'm doing pretty well by many, many people's standards. But I never stop looking for a way to stretch my dollars - or get some extra by selling off things I no longer need. I'm almost out of options, much like our nation. I live pretty lean. Sure, I can make some small cuts, razor thin slices in the whole picture.
That's why I know that CUTS are not the way to fix what is happening in government. It's part of it, sure. There are some very minor, razor thin cuts that can be made. But it will not have a big impact. People who have gotten away with not paying their fair share, and I don't care if those "people" are individuals or corporations, need to step up and contribute for the good of all and not just for their own good.
"The end of democracy and the defeat of the American Revolution will occur when government falls into the hands of lending institutions and moneyed incorporations." Thomas Jefferson
My friends, I think we are there.
Yes I know there are those who abuse the blessing of this country, and in time we need to correct that. But until our schools can properly educate and inform, until our manufacturing can produce goods AND jobs for those educated, until we can ensure that every man, woman and child can enjoy the fruits of their labors and share in the happiness of community, we gain nothing by taking from those who have nothing.
"The purpose of government is to enable the people of a nation to live in safety and happiness. Government exists for the interests of the governed, not for the governors."Thomas Jefferson
We need Mr. Jefferson again. We need those in government to remember who they work for. We need government to return to the basic duty allowing us to live in safety and happiness. And if they don't listen, we need to take their jobs away from them. Because they aren't doing it. And I really can't take it anymore.

Poetry Corner - Poems

2011-08-11T21:40:00.001-07:00

I write poems on my lover's back.
When he folds me in his arms,
I let my fingers dance along his arms and slip behind his head.
His curls wrap 'round my fingertips as I go in for the kiss.
Clothes fall away and skin to skin we memorize each curve and sigh.
Then as he slips down at my side and drifts away to sleep,
I write across his back.
The words I wish that I could say.
The thoughts that keep me up at night.
The dreams that only lovers share.
I write poems on my lover's back.

Mama Kitty

2011-07-10T10:49:00.000-07:00

If you know me at all, you know that there is one person in the world for whom I would do anything, give anything, fight anyone anywhere anytime, my daughter Bridgete. And you know that I live in Portland Oregon and she lives in Boston (well technically Quincy) Massachusetts. And you know that I hate it most of the time, but I accept that it is the way things have to be right now. Until something happens like last night.
My phone rings and I hear the strains of Van the Man Morrison singing Brown Eyed Girl - our song. Bridgete and I have a informational urgency structure. We need to communicate something, but an answer isn't necessary or at least not right away - email. We need to communicate and an answer or response is needed, but not urgent - text message. We need to communicate NOW - phone. Lately, the phone has been good stuff. I wanted to hear your voice or I needed to laugh with you or something really great has happened. So I answered quickly.
There is nothing more painful as a parent than to hear your child sobbing on the end of the phone. And I didn't know what had happened, but I knew that this wasn't a car accident, heartbreak, sob. This was serious. Her apartment building was in flames and she didn't know where her cat was. Marcelo was at work, so he was safe, but her precious Severus was in that building, scared and in danger. She felt helpless and I felt even more so.
She had another call coming in so she hung up on me and I fell to my knees in tears. This is pure emotion here people. There is no logic in what I have been thinking, feeling, doing for the past 14 hours or so. I cannot do a damn thing to help here. Nothing. No resources I can throw at the problem. No swooping in and finding the cat and being the best mom on the planet. No hero. And my mama kitty is mad and frustrated and pacing back and forth in fury. I try to keep my head about me. Try to think of anything I can do, any way I can raise money to help them out, any ideas I can offer. But I got nothing.
I miss my daughter more than you can possibly imagine. I haven't seen her in 6 months and it may be another 6 months before I see her again. I've never gone that long without hugging her in her entire life. And right now that's all I want to do. Hug her and tell her that I love her the most. And then I love her more.

To Be or Not to Be

2011-06-06T13:27:00.000-07:00

And so I find an entire month has passed since my last post. It has been a very busy month with many frustrations and many reasons to rejoice. So let us start with what has improved.

I have had opportunity to talk to the girls downstairs and they have gotten much better about the noise. We have detente.

My money is what it is. I have no real way of increasing my cash flow and so I simply have to become more selective about where I choose to spend it. And if that means that I don't go out with my friends as often or have to skip the wine and settle for water, then that's what it means. Long term, I want to see my daughter, I want to travel more, and I want to enjoy my life more. So a little sacrifice now for greater fun later is okay with me. I'm not happy when I have to choose between NEEDS, but choosing between WANTS is okay.

My health is becoming a greater concern to me, not just because I am feeling unattractive but because I think it is contributing to my greater mental health. I can't change the weather so I have to get off my ass and move it, rain or no rain. Again, I am limited with the resources I can call upon to change this, but I do have some resources and I need to use them to improve my attitude, not reinforce the bad one.

Lastly, relationships. This one has been very hard for me to face. I think I've come to accept that everyone out there who wants me to "find someone" is well meaning. They don't want me to be lonely, which I'm not. They don't want me to miss out on love, which I don't feel I am. They think I deserve to find a love who can reflect back to me all that I am and all that I can be. Perhaps I do. But the problem of meeting or finding them is simply not working out.

I tried a free communication weekend last weekend, worked on my profile, did all the tests, and....nothin'. Not a wink or a nudge or whatever the hell this site used to start the communication process. At first I was hurt and started the process of wondering what the hell I needed to change about myself. And then I stopped and thought about it. Thought about it hard. And here's where I ended up. I will never meet someone online because I cannot be summed up in a profile. No one really can, but I am not able to be categorized in a way that really shows my strengths and will attract my "someone." According to these profiles, I am a 51 year old divorcée with a few curves and wrinkles. Gray hair and glasses. I like to read and go to movies and watch TV and occasionally enjoy sporting events. I like to go out with my friends and I like to stay in. I like to travel to far away places, but I enjoy a day trip to the beach or the gorge, alone or with my friends. I like flowers, but I like to plant them too. I like city living and I enjoy the country. I stay current with events and I enjoy history. My family is important to me and so is my independence. My daughter is the most important and most influential person in my life and you are just going to have to deal with that. I love to laugh and I am sentimental and weepy at times. I'm a deeply romantic and passionate person who needs reassurance...and space to breath.

So you see what I'm getting at? If I can't define all my must haves and would likes and can't abides in 120 words to my own satisfaction, then how can I possibly expect that someone can see through all that to the real me - the one that loves and laughs and cries and needs to be left alone and needs to be held and wants to walk through a bookstore and then walk through a park and eat a lovely dinner in a sweet neighborhood cafe and watch a movie curled up on the couch, or not. I'm not going to change for someone because then they wouldn't even know the real me. Not going to color or not color my hair, cut it or not, wear a dress or not, sleep late or get up early, stop drinking or not, eat sugar or not, laugh or not, cry or not, live alone or not - for you, for anyone but me.

The time has to come to decide...to be...me.

Where did I go wrong?

2011-05-05T11:26:00.000-07:00

Fair warning, this is gonna be a long post about how I'm feeling the blues these days. Feeling it bad. I need to get this stuff off my chest, out of my head, out of my heart and see if I can't shift the energy around me. So if you aren't in a place to listen to me bitch and whine and moan about poor, poor me, then go away. I know I'm having a pity party - but if I can't party here - I'll just go home and have it there, all by myself.

Lately I'm feeling like nothing in my life is the way I would have it - and I don't know how or why it is and I have to find a way to either change it or accept it. Probably a little bit of both. I know the signs - my soul is uneasy, my eyes don't want to open in the morning, and the last place I want to be is with other people. Never a good sign for a chronic depressive.

1) My job is really annoying me lately. Everyone is feeling the pain of no wage increases for 3 years and yet everything from soup to nuts is costing more than it did 3 years ago. And I'm starting to worry about things like retirement, health care, etc. I can't even save 100.00 from paycheck to paycheck and I'm supposed to feel like I can even think about retirement in the next 15 years? Not likely. If things were going like I would have it, I'd have a nice cushion in savings - 10K or so - so that I could do some traveling before I get too much older, get those new glasses I really, really need, replace my couch, maybe even move to a place much more suited to me and my lifestyle.
Which brings me to
2) My apartment. Maybe it's that now I have too many bad memories associated with it or that I just really need to be in a duplex/fourplex/with age appropriate, sound level appropriate, life appropriate neighbors. Since moving 4 years ago, I've had a series of downstairs neighbors that have progressively become worse about living with others. The lack of consideration, politeness, compassion gets worse with each neighbor. First there were the boys who played video games with loud bombing sound effects at all hours. Then Scott - I liked Scott. He went to work at 6 AM too, so he was really quiet at night. But he was only there for a few months and then he had to rescue his dog from his ex-wife and so he needed to move a place where he could have his dog.
Then there was the doctor/resident/student? I never worked out what she did. She had the oddest hours. So I could never tell when she was going to be using the hot water. She also liked to slam doors and leave the hallway doors open so that Sol would escape outside randomly. And bugs and other critters could also get in. And rain. And cold. And heat. She was pretty annoying, but at least I could sleep most of the time.
After her, there was a lull. 2 or 3 months when the place was empty. I really enjoyed that. Then the young couple moved in - and they were pretty cool. Odd hours and the occasional party. They were in theater - so I kind of liked them too. They didn't last long. They broke up - or the summer stock was over - or something like that. Then again the apartment stood vacant for several months. I was beginning to think that it was going to stay empty until the new neighbors. When I met them, I tried really hard not to judge. Okay, they wore black, they had tattoos and piercings, but they were basically really nice young girls a few years younger than my daughter. They asked me very nicely to move my car when they were moving in and were very appreciative when I did so. I gave them a couple of weeks to settle in - there's always lots of moving around and hammering nails and stuff that isn't normal activity when you move in somewhere. Then the weekly parties started. Okay, you have friends and you want to spend time with them. Are you girls now the only ones with a place that isn't mom and dads, so everyone gathers here? Not cool. Especially when the party doesn't even start until 10PM and you don't seem to differentiate between weekdays and weekends. I don't think of myself as a crabby old lady, but I'm quickly becoming one. Yesterday I went down IN MY PJs at 10:30...I have to sleep! I'm sure I was real picture. Boobs hanging down, hair all askew, my frustration and exhaustion all over my face. They did turn the music down and the party either broke up or moved somewhere else. But I don't think they will think to kindly of me anymore. And that breaks my heart.
So - frustrated at work. Frustrated at home.
3)Frustrated with my art. How can I even start to edit my book when I can't have some peace and quiet in which to work on it? And that just pisses me off even more.
4)Then there's my whole body - diet thing. Don't even go there. I've cocooned myself in this protective wall of fat - because I can't risk anyone getting close - not after the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. I look at myself in the mirror and tell myself that I'm ready to step out from behind this wall. And I'm strong enough to know how to care for myself now. And that I'm ready to risk my heart again. And that it won't happen overnight - but I do know how to do this and I am ready to be pretty again. I don't have to be afraid and I can be in charge of my heart. But can I? Won't I just get trampled all over again?
I watch my ex-husband find love (Bridgete don't read this...I don't want you to be upset with him...this is ME)
5)Anyway - I watch him turn himself inside out for this other woman and I don't understand why he couldn't do that for me? Why does she get the wedding? The house? The vacations? The...whatever? And it's not just him - it's Guy and David and every man I ever loved who can give and give and give to any woman but me.
So I don't have the job, the home, the art, the body, the love, the life I would have. And I have to wonder why? Where did I screw up so badly that god or whoever decided I should be punished? What is the great sin that I committed? And how do I atone?

That's the big question today. How do I atone for my sin (or the sins of my forefathers and foremothers) ? How do I make a change that will change my heart and mind and soul and body for the good? I know better than to just ask for Change...that's the way to more pain for sure. So I have to have a picture of what I'm asking for - an idea of the Change that I would seek - and a clear step to take.

But right now - I just wonder - where did I go wrong?

New Beginnings - or is it starting over?

2011-04-27T14:23:00.000-07:00

Almost immediately after I posted my last blog, my car broke down again. I stepped on the clutch pedal and "SNAP", just like the last time. Only this time, the pedal did not come back up. It was stuck to the floor and I was unable to shift at all. Fortunately, it happened right outside my apartment and the repair shop is at the gas station across the street. So I pushed it in and called them the next day to tell them what happened. They called me a little later to tell me that this time was the clutch cable and not anything that they fixed in January. So it wasn't covered by warranty and I would now have to pay another 130.00.
I set the thought aside because I was leaving for a weekend trip with friends to attend the wedding of two other friends. Lori and BC have been together for a couple of years. And they are so perfect together. I knew Lori only briefly before she started dating BC, so I had nothing to compare it too. But whenever I have seen them together, they are always respectful, loving and kind to each other.
Off I went for a weekend adventure. I had a fabulous time, in spite of my worries about money - how would I pay for the car repairs? I didn't think about how much I was eating or drinking. I danced and sang and talked and walked. I soaked up the sun and huddled under blankets to keep away the cold.
My phone had no service and so I had no email, Facebook, or text messages, until Sunday. It was rather freeing to be able to ignore the real world.
But now the real world is back with a bang. And I'm not very happy here. Money worked out okay. I didn't have to over extend myself, which is a good thing. But I am still too close to the edge!
Today is supposed to be that weird day in which you show appreciation to your admin at work. Which is what I am. And apparently I am not appreciated. It's not enough that I have to motivate myself to do the drudgery that is my job, it really pisses me off when I find that all my efforts are wasted as no one really notices or cares what I do anyway. Until I don't do it of course. So I'm feeling a little abused and ignored.
As if that wasn't enough to depress me - I saw pictures of myself from the wedding. I am HUGE! I can't keep up this way. Something has to change now. Clearly little steps are not making a difference here. Time to get aggressive and get back into shape. I have tried my whole adult life to avoid food issues and rating my self worth by my body image, but this time I have to be honest. I am heavier than I have ever been in my life. Heavier than I was at 9 months pregnant with my 8lb 15oz. Bridgete. I have about 5 things in my closet I can still wear.
So I'm stopping the sugar, giving up the carbs, no more wine or any alcohol. And every single day I will walk, stretch, yoga, Pilates, something to shed the pounds and find the body that I can feel good about. Do I expect to be able to all this immediately? No. But I did go 40 days without wine....and almost 20 days without bread. I ought to be able to start, one by one, taking on the toxic foods and behaviors that have led me here. Wish me luck. If you don't hear from me, you'll know I lost it and drank and ate everything in my home. And because my life loves irony, I'll probably choke on a peanut m&m.

Lent is over - now what?

2011-04-19T13:02:00.000-07:00

Sunday was the end of Lent and the beginning of Holy Week. I had a lovely white Bordeaux last night with some extra sharp Cheddar cheese and it was quite lovely. I made it through the 40 days and here I am.
Am I different? Maybe. I know that I am feeling the need to comment on certain things...things I usually close my mouth about and trust that people who know better than I do will do the right thing.
My country is in a mess. Our government is divisive and would rather engage in pointing fingers at the other side than getting serious and really trying to fix things. People are so overwhelmed with information that they can't be sure who is telling the truth or what will help. Every paycheck I have less and less discretionary money as the basics in my world are costing more and more. I work for a quasi government agency, so the general public thinks I'm overpaid and have better benefits than they do. I may have better benefits, I will give them that. But they aren't free. I pay a portion of my premium. My out of pocket has increased. My co pay on prescriptions has increased and that's just my health care. I haven't had a raise, not even a COLA in 3 years. Food is more expensive. Gasoline is more expensive. Any day now, I expect my rent to go up - and then I'll have to move. Because I just can't do more.
There are a lot of reasons for the current economic state. You can look it all up. The Mortgage bubble, the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, and now Libya, the Bush tax cuts, the Clinton tax increases, NAFTA, China, Medicare, Social Security, Boomers, children of boomers, Me generations, You generations...yours mine ours....So here's my take on it.
30 years ago, a man named Ronald Reagan was elected President. He promised to bring a new morning to America. He built his economic policy based on the Chicago School of Economics and a guy named Milton Friedman. It was called supply side economics. This was kind of how it was supposed to work. Give people more control over their money. Take less in taxes and people will use that surplus to buy more goods, but they will also contribute more to non-profit organizations that support the causes they care about. The government wouldn't have to worry about better schools, better hospitals and health care, better assistance programs for the poor. Corporations would support their communities with the vast amounts of money they would now have - and jobs - well jobs would be everywhere! And unions wouldn't be around anymore because those altruistic employers would take care of their employees - because at heart we all want to do the right thing.
30 years later, I think it's safe to say that those policies have failed. Investment and job creation has not happened. Prosperity is still for a few and those few are even farther away from the rest of us. The gap between the have and the have nots is as wide as I can ever remember it being. And those at the top are so out of touch with the rest of us, they can't even imagine the things we have to cope with.
Just look at a few celebrity blogs like Gwyneth Paltrow. She's out there telling young mom's it's possible to be just like her - all you need is a chef, a trainer, a nanny and good genes. Does she honestly even hear herself when she says things like ‎"Pumpkin soup, grilled market vegetables. It’s good. I get my chef to cook it."

I know there are good people out there, people who do invest their time and their money in making a better world for all, not just for some or for those like them. I know that times are tough for small businesses. And I know that everyone is looking for a little relief. But I think it's time to look at some hard facts.
The poor DO pay takes and the rich DO NOT bear the burden.
No one lives tax free. Even if you don't pay income tax because you simply don't earn more than $9350 ( 18,700 for married couples) - there are still taxes; alcohol tax, gas tax, sales tax, property tax, etc. As for the wealthy, while the top 10 percent do pay a 38% tax rate, income tax is not the entire tax burden. Social Security, Medicare and unemployment are mostly paid by the rest of us. As for income tax, the wealthy have loopholes, tax shelters, and manage to look broke on paper - they actually pay little or no income tax.
Is it any surprise that since Reagan, the rich are the only ones who have gotten richer? Since 1980, the average income in America has increased 1%. Those at the top? Their income has nearly doubled.
Corporations? Well, they're people too. Corporate profits are up, but thanks to loopholes and tax breaks, their taxes are down nearly 23% since 2000. And the tax breaks there have not created jobs. In fact they have destroyed them. Imagine you're a corporation. You have a profit which you can reinvest in your company or you can hand it out in bonuses to your execs and dividends to your stockholders. If you tax rate is 23% less than it was last year, then why would you try to reduce your profits by reinvesting?
Quite simply - our government has failed us. They have failed to create a smarter tax system and failed to develop smarter spending policies. The average America works longer hours and have fewer benefits for their work than most other countries. While those countries arguable have higher tax rates than we do, they also get more from their taxes. They have national health care systems. Retirees are not unfairly burdened. Education is low cost or free and does not drive the next generation into debt before they are even employed.
It's time to develop a system in this country that benefits the majority, reduces risk due to illness or job loss, and provides universal health care.
I want our government to stop debating about who or what caused it and get serious about fixing it.

Lent - Day 38

2011-04-15T19:45:00.000-07:00

I can't believe my 40 days are nearly over. My wine merchant is so glad to know I'll be back soon. Actually, not too soon. I have 6 beautiful wines that she has picked out for me just waiting to be sipped and savored.
It's been a very interesting week. After my family weekend, there has been a lot of family activity. It all started because my oldest brother Jim wanted one of us girls to do a mtDNA test. He and my sister Nancy have some notion that there is a Native American Indian somewhere in the family blood line. They are a bit disappointed that I am only finding English and German ancestry. So I have sent for a kit and will be testing. I don't expect to find anything terribly surprising - but if there is one thing I've learned with my family history work it's that there are plenty of surprises.
Last week on NBC's WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?, Ashley Judd found out that she was related to one of the original Mayflower Pilgrims - William Brewster. I was distracted during the program because I had the distinct feeling that I had seen that name in my own family history. I knew that through my grandmother Allie Spooner, I had a connection to the early Americans, and to Plymouth Mass. So I pulled up my family tree on my computer and searched for the name William Brewster. There he was! It turned out that his half-sister, Prudence married a man named Richard Peck, and their daughter Ann was married to John James Spooner. They had two sons, William and Thomas who came over to Plymouth as indentured servants in 1638 - 18 years after the Mayflower. I am descended from William's line - and it's very clear descent because it's all sons until my grandmother Allie.
Also this week, I may have found a long lost cousin. Actually, she's probably no longer living - she was a child of my Uncle Bob's first marriage and was always just a rumor until I stumbled on a name in a census and that led to a birth record. I'm waiting to see if some of her living relatives can confirm this for me. Or if she even knew who her real father was. (My Uncle was an alcoholic and a bit of a rascal in his young years. He was my father's oldest brother and all this happened long before my parents even met.)
There is another, more recent discovery that still has me a bit stunned. I'm not ready to share it quite yet. I want to verify my line a bit. I'm looking way back into my English line now - back to about 1312 to be exact. If it proves to be true, it may be a bit of a shocker! I'll keep you informed. ;-)
And we'll see who I think I am!

Lent - Day 34

2011-04-12T19:59:00.000-07:00

I know I’ve missed a few days – okay more than a few. But I have a perfectly good reason. My sisters were in town! My sisters Judie and Nancy are 15 and 13 years older than I am, respectively. Judie and I developed our relationship as adults because she had moved out to college, marriage, real life, by the time I was a person with thoughts and vocabulary. Nancy was a surrogate mother to me. I went on her dates with her and when she got married, I spent most of my school vacations and weekends with her and her family. Her daughter Nancy is only 5 years younger than I am. That’s a smaller gap than there is between myself and any of my siblings.

Anyway – Nancy drove up from Southern Oregon with her daughter Nikki and our brother’s daughter Maggie. Judie drove in from McMinnville and we spent Thursday night and all of Friday together – eating, talking, laughing – lots of laughing.

My niece Nikki has a great wit and a wonderful gift for story telling. We think that they should develop a Bluetooth where Nikki can be in your ear, eavesdropping on your conversations and telling you what to say. Her wit is quick and fabulous. She always has the right answer for everything.

I could tell you some of the things she has done, but I want to save them for my own book, like the time she was trying to pay a traffic ticket…oops…there I go.

Judie went back home on Friday and Saturday morning, I spent with the other girls at Saturday Market. Portland Saturday Market is at least 30 years old. I moved here 30 years ago and it was happening then. The market is a large area under the Burnside Bridge where artisans and crafts persons set up their booths and sell their things. The food carts are what you usually find at these places, burritos, gyros, Vietnamese sandwiches and the always yummy elephant ears. (large doughy goodies with cinnamon and sugar on them)

Needless to say, I failed to keep away from bread this weekend. I am still wine free. Bread is the staff of life apparently for us Watt girls. Nikki has had to go gluten free and it has been very hard on her. I do need to do a yeast fast – I will try to be good for the rest of Lent – which is down to the last two weeks now.

Sunday, I took my step-daughter Jennifer out to dinner for her birthday. April is a huge birthday month for me. I have several friends with birthdays. My father’s birthday was April 8 – the day we were all together. We drank a coffee in his honor. I love you Daddy. Yesterday, April 11 was my beautiful daughter’s birthday. My angel. My pride and joy. My best friend. My brown-eyed Bridgete. I love you too! And today is Jennifer’s actual birthday. She 10 years minus one day older than Bridgete. Knowing what my sisters mean to me at this time in my life, I am overjoyed that Bridgete and Jennifer have built a friendship. I know it will last them long after I am gone – but that is a long time from now!

So I have been blessed to spend the last several days in the presence of love and family that fills my heart with joy. I know some fabulous ladies!

Lent - Days 26 & 27

2011-04-06T07:39:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was another fasting day for me. This was a tougher one because I was more physically active yesterday than I am on the average work day. First of all, when I was ready to go to work, the sun was up and the sky was light and it wasn't raining. So for the first time in a long time, I walked the mile from my apartment to my workplace. That felt great. I miss my walks in the winter. It's not that I'm a fair weather walker - but I have to cross Highway 99 on my walk to work. And even with reflective wear, I've nearly been hit in the dark winter mornings. So I have to settle for a bus ride. I'm thrilled to know that spring may at last be pushing in and I can start walking again.
I was teaching yesterday - one of my favorite things at my job. I wasn't hired to do this, but I developed this curriculum for the agency because bus drivers and mechanics and rail operators can't advance in the agency without some basic computer skills. The classes are free to them and I cover basic office applications. I always have one or two people who are afraid to even touch a keyboard or a mouse and one or two manager/supervisor types just looking to get a refresher on their skills.   Yesterday morning was one of my favorites - PowerPoint. I don't use it in my job, so it's my time to play. And I enjoy seeing other people express their inner creativity. Just getting to experiment with animations, sounds, and drawing tools gets them to relax and without realizing it, they've learned to mouse, to cut and paste, to format and to open, close and save files.
So I was on my feet all day and then I walked home. Again, it wasn't raining and the sun was trying to shine!   By the time I got home, my feet hurt, my back hurt and my stomach was in an uproar!!   I downed about a quart of water, rested a bit and then I broke down and ate some strawberries that were about to go bad.
Semi successful fasting.   Today, I'm a little upset with myself that I couldn't hold out a few more hours. And I'm more than a little cranky. Not sure if I like this disquiet that is being stirred to life in me. I'm trying to believe that it has purpose, that there is a greater lesson to be learned. But right now, I feel like a huge failure - in just about every area of my life. Strange how I can't let myself off the hook, how I can't have a wonderful day in which I helped about a dozen people feel better about who they are and what they can achieve, but I can't let myself have a small moment of pride about it. Why can't I embrace what is good in me and let the rest be? Why do I always see where I fell short instead of where I succeeded beyond my own and others expectations? Will I ever be able to celebrate who I am, who I was meant to be?

Lent - Day 24 & 25

2011-04-04T09:39:00.000-07:00

So I almost made it to Saturday morning. Technically - I did make it. But I was taking out the garbage on Friday evening and I had one very ripe banana left. I had to choose - toss out the banana or eat it. I ate it. And it was the best tasting banana I've ever had! It was sweet and wonderful and even though I felt very guilty - I knew God would understand.

Saturday morning's breakfast was terrific. I love my Saturday group. They are such a wonderful group of ladies and I always enjoy my time with them. The food was so tasty and satisfying as well. I didn't overeat and felt perfectly sated with the amount of food I had.

The rest of my weekend was kind of up and down. My temper was pretty edgy, probably a hang on from being hungry. It's rather difficult to be balanced emotionally when you're hungry. And your brain doesn't work too well either.

So the upshot is, I spent a lot of time in reflection, both during and after my fast. I'll be fasting again tomorrow. I'm teaching tomorrow so it's an easy time to fast. I usually don't have time to eat when I teach anyway. And I'll focus on my liquids and then just spend tomorrow evening in meditation and reflection.

Lent - Days 22 & 23

2011-04-01T15:42:00.000-07:00

So I've been without food since Wednesday evening. Last thing I ate was a Caesar Salad at Pub Quiz. It's about 45 hours later and I can almost taste that salad. I'm so hungry.
Yesterday was much easier. I drank tea and water and some juice last night, but I didn't really feel hungry until this morning. I was actually a little uncomfortable this morning and my coffee made me a little sick. So I switched to tea and that has been it.
I was smelling everyone's lunch today. Usually I don't notice when other people are eating around me in cubeland. But I was very aware today. Even now, I can hear someone munching on cookies or chips or something - and I want to go steal one.
Has this been successful in a spiritual sense then? I think so. I'm very tuned in to myself right now - to how I'm feeling, what I'm hearing, smelling, seeing. It's a very heightened experience.
I wonder how this will feel tonight - when I'm at home and there is food around me, but I don't choose to eat it. This is really tough.

Lent - Day 21

2011-03-30T17:17:00.000-07:00

I had a feeling that if I just committed to this path, then something would appear that would guide me to my next step. Today, I read about this.Choosing to Fast.

And this is my next step. For the remainder of Lent, I will fast 24-28 hours each week. This is an offering to myself. A chance to go a little deeper into my relationship to food and drink. And perhaps to find a way out of my emotional eating addictions.

I know it's small - but in some way, I also hope that I am part of something bigger that moves our government into action that makes sense in this budget process. I'm not going to get preachy here. But I do believe, along with Thomas Jefferson, that the essential role of government is to protect the powerless from the powerful - especially when they would abuse that power over them. Just think about it. This applies to protection from enemies, foreign and domestic. This applies to protecting the free flow of information. This applies to basic human rights - life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

So I'll be fasting the rest of this week - from tomorrow morning until Saturday morning. Check in with me to see how it's going.

Lent - Day 19 & 20

2011-03-29T08:06:00.000-07:00

Out beyond ideas of rightdoing and wrongdoing,
there is a field. I'l meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.
RUMI

Someone sent me this today. They had no idea where I was spiritually, what I've been trying to do these past weeks - and how here at the half way point I was ready to give up. They just shared something with me that had been meaningful to them. And suddenly I see what I am supposed to do now.
I am supposed to give up. Not in the way I was thinking. Not by forgetting my vows and commitment. But rather by surrendering to the struggle and simply being with it. By letting myself be vulnerable and sitting with my feelings of fear and loss.
I am halfway through. I am at the point on the path where I can no longer pretend that things are going to be okay. I have to keep going forward into my broken-heartedness. I've reached the crossroads that says - "Go here. Have courage. Be present to your fears. Be tender with yourself. Be here."

It's time to sit with my feelings and let them be. Not try to understand them. Not try to change them or shift them in anyway. Just sit with them. And really feel them. Be vulnerable and sit where "the world is too full to talk about."

Lent - Days 16, 17 & 18

2011-03-27T10:03:00.000-07:00

This is my father. Today is the 30th anniversary of the worst day of my life. March 27, 1981, my father died, 10 days after suffering a fatal stroke. He was 67 years old. I was 21. And my life was changed. It's pointless to say what my life would have been had he not died. I only know what was.

My father was a kind man. He was generous, to a fault. He was hard working and provided the best he could for his family. And it was quite a family. 7 children, 4 boy and 3 girls. I was the last. All of us finished high school. 5 of us went on to college, 4 of us finished. We had a big rambling house with 5 bedrooms. We may not have had the best things, but we were warm and feed and loved.

My father was born on the eve of the First World War. He lived though the Great Depression and served in the Second World War, leaving behind a wife with 2 small children and one on the way. After the war, he and my mother moved from Los Angeles to Grants Pass, Oregon where I was born and where he died.

Daddy was remarkably demonstrative for a man of his generation. He didn't hold back on his love for his children and grandchildren. He adored my mother and we all knew there was never another woman for him.

We were his life. I can't remember him ever saying he "didn't have time" for us or "later". He worked 5 days a week and half days on Saturday. Saturday afternoons he would go by the church and get things ready for Sunday morning Mass.

He loved sports of all kinds. Television was a miracle to him. He could watch sporting events from around the world and chores around the house were timed to make sure he saw football games, Indy car races and ABC's Wide World of Sports.

He believed in plain speaking. When I was about 11 or 12, we were watching a crime drama on TV (a genre which I watch and love to this day) and someone was being investigated for rape. I asked my daddy what rape was. A question I'm sure must have started him sweating. But he quickly assessed my age and intelligence and simply said, "It's when a man forces a woman to have sex." It was the simplest explanation and answered my question.

He believed in right and wrong, God and the Golden Rule. He treated everyone with respect and honor. I never heard him say a bad thing about anyone, except maybe Richard Nixon. He was appalled that anyone, let alone the President of the United States, thought themselves above the law. He paid his taxes without complaint. He paid his mortgage and bills. Health Insurance was something we didn't have until I was a young child. He and my mother used to say that the only bills they would always have to pay were Sears and the Grants Pass Clinic. (The Clinic was next door to our house and all the staff knew who we were. Every scrape and bump was treated with kindness and some were probably not even charged for.)

I often wonder what my father would make of this world today. How people are so often discarded as replaceable. How basic care and comfort are not available for all citizens of the greatest country on the planet. How his own wife had to rid herself of every material good of value in order to find a place where she would live out her last days. How his precious grandchildren have gone into debt gaining an education and means to make a living. How his daughter has lived all these years without his unconditional love and support.

My mother said he suffered from depression. And I'm sure he felt that he was not doing everything possible for his family. But he never let us feel it. We saw his love. His joy. His laughter. His tears of pride. His dedication.

I love him now more than I did then. I understand him more now. I miss him more. Now.

Roger Merrill Watt April 8, 1913- March 27, 1981. Husband of Mildred. Father of James, Judith, Nancy, Robert, Thomas, Nicholas and Katherine. Grandfather of Andrew, James, Michael, Christopher, Peter, Nancy, Nicole, Natalie, Margaret, Jason, Sarah, Roger, Matthew, Dawn and Bridgete. Mentor to many. Friend to all.

Lent - Days 14 & 15

2011-03-24T09:46:00.000-07:00

This is getting really hard. I know that something is happening because of the great disquiet I am feeling these days.
Such frustration though. I'm feeling so good one moment - clear and focused and optimistic; so sure that good things are right there, just waiting for me.
Then almost out of nowhere - I careen into depths of sadness and tears and like my insides are being torn away. I guess they are. Not my physical insides of course, but my spiritual insides. Old beliefs are fighting to stay active and my newer, better self is fighting them, wearing them down. It's like there's a war going on 24/7 and all I can do is wait for the outcome - try to negotiate a peaceful surrender.
The ego never goes quietly does it?
When am I going to stop being prey to ever wicked, nasty, horrible attack that comes looking for me?
When am I going to look at myself and know the real beauty that lives there; and stop hating myself, kicking myself, beating myself for every little wrong I have done?
When am I going to find peace with myself? And how do I even know what that looks and feels like?

Lent - Days 13 & 14

2011-03-22T19:38:00.000-07:00

I'm sneezing and sniffling again. But this time I'm fairly certain it's allergies. I moved to this apartment 4 years ago on April 1. And every April since then, I have suffered mightily at this time of year. So one of the trees that are starting to bud is most certainly the cause. Time to break out the Zyrtec.
The allergies are also making sleep difficult. Zyrtec should help that, too. I hope. Because I need to sleep!!
Other than the allergies, I'm doing fine. My bread craving seems to have subsided.
I wish I saw some change in my body, but I guess it's too much to ask after only 2 weeks.
I'm feeling a little creative spark returning. I'm wanting to spend more time on my book. It's a bit frustrating right now, but I hope to start carving out blocks of time for it.
Spring is definitely in the air.

Lent - Days 11 & 12

2011-03-20T19:16:00.000-07:00

I don't watch the news much. It's not that I don't care, but rather that I find that most news broadcasters anymore tend to dwell on the sensational, the gruesome, the horrible, the fearful. And I don't choose to live in fear.
I try to live in hope, in possibility. I try to stay informed so that my choices are well thought out and reasoned.
So today, I find myself in pain as war is erupting in another part of the world. As nature exacts pain on another part. As economies tumble and struggle to rebuild and tumble again.
So I'm going to focus on three things I know are true.
I know my daughter is the one person I would do anything for.
I know that even when I don't know the best thing for me, somehow I always stumble into goodness.
And I know that wine is the best use for a grape that could ever have been thought up.
I miss my wine.
And my bread.
But somehow this will all come out alright.

Lent - Days 9 & 10

2011-03-19T09:25:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning to bright, beautiful sun streaming through the window. Now the wet rooftops are releasing steam into the morning air as they dry out - attempt to shed the days of downpour and cold. It is possible that spring will finally arrive.
And in my adventure of discovery, it is possible that spring will come. My little seed of faith that I have struggled to keep alive in the long dark days of winter may at last be finding roots. And it is not surprising that these roots are my family - my family of birth and my family of choice. Everyone that I have let in to my heart has blessed my life in ways I am only now beginning to understand..
Life is not a straight line. It is, like Sir Paul said, a long and winding road. It doubles back upon itself and goes in circles. We cross over our own path and sometimes we take the wrong turn and go back over road we have traveled before. We see things we missed the first (or second or third) time we walked this way. And we avoid the potholes and paths that led us into danger. So when we come to that crossroad again, we know enough to say - Yes, I go this way again and see what else I can discover - or - No. That way has only brought me pain and loss and I choose to go a different road now.
I think that I am near that crossroad again. And when I come to that crossroad, I pray I will choose well.

Lent - Days 7 & 8

2011-03-16T21:58:00.000-07:00

It's been a week now. And I'm doing pretty good. I really wanted a sandwich today - warm bread, melted cheese - comfort. It's cold again. Wet and windy and cold. And I want warm comfort.
I finished the most beautiful book last night. The Elegance of the Hedgehog. It's about a 54 year old, lumpy, unseen, unknown, unheard, concierge of an apartment building in Paris where the apartments are huge and old and grand, handed down from generation to generation. Renee is happy to be invisible because the people she works for could never comprehend the complex person she is. And she sees beauty in delicate camellias, well made tea and cookies, Japanese art films, and Dutch masters.
"Human longing. We cannot cease desiring, and this is our glory, and our doom. Desire! It carries us and crucifies us, delivers us every new day to a battlefield, where, on the eve, the battle was lost;..."
Writing like this makes me desire to write and slays me on the battlefield because I don't know if I'll ever be able to write like that. But I cannot cease desiring. It is my glory, and my doom.

Lent - Day 6

2011-03-14T21:34:00.000-07:00

Last night was miserable. My neighbors were watching some action movie with a boom boom soundtrack until well after midnight. Tonight is quiet. I think the manager has finally spoken to them and gotten through to them that they have to adjust their habits to live with everyone else here. Late night movies are fine - but not loud and booming!
I didn't get to sleep until well after 1:00 and had to be up at 6:00. I was grouchy all day. Well - until my sister Nancy called at lunchtime. She'll be visiting with her daughter Nikki and our niece Maggie the first part of April. I can't wait! I'll get to hang with my sisters and nieces and laugh and cry and it will be so good.
Nancy and I talked about Mom and Dad, of course. And how tough this year has been for us so far. But we are determined to shift and think positive and move forward.
Toughen up and keep going. That's what we do. But it is nice to not feel alone in the process.
Well, it's only 9:30 now, but I have to make up for my bad night with a good one tonight. I will be teaching tomorrow and have to be at my shiny best.

Lent - Day 5

2011-03-13T19:19:00.000-07:00

I was watching Big Love today and suddenly found myself sobbing. This year, they have had Nicki dealing with being a mom to her teen-age daughter - a daughter she had when she was herself a teenager as a product of a forced marriage. Nicki has been unable to separate her feeling about what happened to her from what she wants her daughter's life to be. And when she discovers that the girl has had a sexual relationship with her math tutor, she loses all ability to be reasonable.
She sits on her daughter's bed and tells her that she is horrible, that no one will ever love her, that she is evil and unworthy of love. Of course, Nicki is actually talking to herself - but the cost will be that her daughter is now shamed and lost and messed up. The show wants us to believe that with enough love the girl will be fine. But I know better.
While she may never have sat on my bed and told me in words that I was unworthy of love and shameful and obviously evidence of a sexual relationship between middle aged people who should have known better; my mother certainly left me feeling that no amount of love will ever remove the shame of who I am.
I've tried to love myself enough - to believe in myself enough - but right now - there will never be enough.

Lent - Day 3 and 4

2011-03-12T18:16:00.000-08:00

I missed posting last night. I was pretty tired and my neighbors were being very noisy last night. It made it very hard to concentrate. I got to bed and as I was falling asleep, I realized I hadn't posted - but figured you would forgive me.

Today was a good day. I had breakfast with my girls, Suzy, Jenn and Kat, which makes every Saturday a good day. Then I did a little shopping and have spent the afternoon catching up on various things.

I'm still holding true to my Lenten commitments. I've decided to share with you what it is I am "giving up." Bread and wine. This came about due to a discussion with a friend about systemic yeast infections and how she gave up sugar, bread, and alcohol for a couple months and is feeling more energy these days. It sounded like a good idea to me - but I love bread AND wine and I just wasn't sure I could do it. Besides, it seemed a little pretentious to give up the things that symbolize Christ in the faith of my youth during a period in which I am supposed to be meditating on the importance of faith in my life.

But - I've been drinking more wine than I was comfortable with. Not a lot, but more than I felt was good for me. And bread, well, I considered all carbs, but that would be way too hard. So I went with yeast breads, leavened breads, things that I love. Bagels, toast, baguettes, English muffins. Honestly, this has been harder than the wine. Today in the grocery store, I stood in the bakery aisle and just inhaled deeply. I felt like I was caught red handed with porn!

I just ate a nice little New York steak with a baked potato and I really wanted a glass of red wine to go along with it. So tempting.

I've been a little afraid of this weekend and actually then next two weeks or so. You see, tomorrow, it will have been 30 years since I last spoke to my father. It was on March 14, 1981, which I know is Monday, but on that Sunday afternoon, I called home to catch up with my parents. I was in rehearsals for a new play that was going to be opening in April and so I wouldn't be going home for spring break that year. I was 21. I had lived on my own in Portland for 6 months. I had a furnished studio with a Murphy bed and a tiny little kitchen. I had a sort of boyfriend. I had my first featured role in a play. Things were looking up! Everything I had dreamed about when I moved away was happening.

When my dad answered the phone, I was so filled with hope and possibility, I just rattled on and on. He listened patiently, asked me if my car was running good, if I needed money, all the usual dad things, then he gave the phone to my mom and I talked on to her for a bit. Worried about the cost of a long distance call, we finally said good bye. Three days later, my mother would call me and tell me that my dad was in the hospital after an apparent stroke. It was bad. And I should come home if at all possible.

The stroke was in the brain stem and within a matter of hours, my father's brain activity had stopped. He was dead; his body just didn't know it yet. I managed to get home where my siblings helped me agree with my mother that unnecessary measures should not be taken. I stood in that room where my father lay on a cooling blanket, because his body couldn't control its temperature, and I knew HE was no more. But I didn't want to say goodbye. Yet I had to say goodbye.

I've lived 30 years with out my father. I miss him every day.

Lent - Day 2

2011-03-10T20:40:00.000-08:00

Well, as far as what I am forgoing for Lent, I did great today. But it was sure tough. Had a miserable day at work - one of those where I'm trying to track down errors and discrepancies and whenever I ask someone to explain something - I get the third degree. If I'm there to track the budget and point out errors when mistakes are made is no reason to get upset. Either you trust me or you don't. And today I didn't feel a lot of love coming my way.
Now that I'm home, I'm looking forward to giving myself the space to let go of the frustration and find that peace within myself.

Lent - Day One

2011-03-09T21:50:00.000-08:00

All in all, a pretty good day. I woke up late and really didn't have time to do a mini meditation to help me focus in on the day. Still, I managed to focus on my goals and a do feel like there is a seed of something.
Whether I am able to nurture the seed into something that flowers beautifully and fully is yet to be seen. But today - I have hope. And that is no small thing.

Time in the Desert

2011-03-08T14:47:00.000-08:00

Today is Mardi Gras, the last big day of celebration before the Catholic world goes into that period of Lent - 40 days until Palm Sunday and Holy Week. It is meant to mark the 40 days that Jesus spent in the desert before he entered Jerusalem and surrender to his death.
As a child, what I remember most about Lent was that we had to "give up" something that we really loved and offer it up to God. My child always rebelled a little at this. It felt like I was being punished for being Catholic. Lots of my friends went to church, but they didn't have to give up chocolate or deserts or meat. They didn't have to be extra nice to their siblings. And they certainly didn't have to go to confession whenever they failed to do these things and accept more punishment.
As an adult, I realized that it was much more about using these 40 days as a way of growing closer to God. It was less about giving up than it was about eliminating those earthly things that get in the way of our better self.
I haven't observed Lent in several years. And this year I feel the need to do it. It's time for me to do a little desert work. I'm not going to say specifically what I've chosen to "give up" because it's a very personal decision - between me and God. But I do intend to chronicle my desert time, journal by way of this blog what these next 40 days will reveal to me.
Now it's off to a little celebration before I head out into the wilderness, alone. Just me. And any of you who happen to follow along.

Why is it so hard?

2011-03-03T11:44:00.000-08:00

I've become addicted to Adele. This young woman has a voice that just melts my heart. I've had her new CD for 3 days now and I have my favorite tracks. Oh wait, they are all my favorite. :)

Seriously though, her voice and lyrics just rip into me in a way that I haven't experienced musically for many years now. But there is a down side to this joy.

"I often think about where I went wrong. The more I do, the less I know." This is from "Don't You Remember" a song that wonders why a lost love seems to have completely wiped her from his mind. I wish I could say that I have no idea what this feels like. But of course there is that one who seems to have forgotten not only why he loved me, but that he ever loved me at.

And so then I move on to Set Fire to the Rain - "There's a side to you that I never knew, never knew. All the things you said, they were never true, never true. And the games you played, you would always win, always win." This is that phase where you just rage at the stupidity of yourself - falling for one who so clearly didn't love YOU - the real YOU - the you that you wish, just once, someone could see as you see yourself, the best of you and the worst of you and they love you anyway.

I've wanted this for as long as I can remember. To know, with absolutely no doubt in my mind, as those arms wrapped around me and those words were spoken to me...that it was really me who was being loved. Nobody's perfect. But just once to feel perfectly loved.

Eventually, you have to let go and let them take it all - everything you gave them and everything you wanted to give - take it all with my love. I dare you to let me love you. I dare you to give me the chance to prove how worthy I am. I know it's not easy to love me. If I've learned one thing in 52 years, it's that I am a rare sort of bird. I feel deeply. I weep easily. I laugh easily too. I am small and fearful and petty and silly. But I am also strong and wise and true and faithful. If you have my love, you have it always. Whatever I say or do - I will always love you.

"I heard that you found a girl. That you're married now and you're settled down. Guess she gave you things I couldn't do...I had hoped you'd see my face and be reminded that for me...it isn't over."

Great! Now I've managed to cry my mascara all over my eyes. I think I need to eat something and walk away from the coffee. I guess I'm just finally willing to feel the pain all the way through. How I've failed to be what he wanted - what any of them wanted. But I have found a way to be me. And it hurts all the way down...to want to have that person loved completely.

a tiny rocket: The Hong Kong Project

2011-02-22T10:28:00.000-08:00

My dear friend Erika Sears is raising funds to help her go to Hong Kong for an artist residency. Here' a link to her blog with info about it.

GO ERIKA!!

a tiny rocket: The Hong Kong Project: "I am so excited! I am launching a kickstarter project. I want to create my own artist residency in Hong Kong for two weeks and, at t..."

Tribute

2011-02-17T11:35:00.000-08:00

I called him Sol. He was named for a character in my favorite TV Series DEADWOOD - Sol Starr. I acquired Sol almost 6 years ago. One of my daughter's housemates had found him and he needed a good safe home. He was a Russian Blue, his fur a lovely shade of gray, and he was pretty beat up, his ears had been chewed on, he had patches of fur missing. A check up at the vet found him covered with fleas, ear mites, and of course worms. He had several teeth missing, but overall, he was a healthy cat.
When I brought him home, he howled in the backseat of my car for about 40 miles - from Forest Grove to SE Portland, OR where my little apartment had everything but a cat. That first night, I woke up to find him perched on the top of the door. Being up high would always be his favorite thing. Well, aside from poking me awake each morning.
Sol moved with me twice in the years we spent together. First to a house that would come to be known as the squirrel house. He liked to sun himself in the front yard and lure young girls over to pet and coo over him. (He was a man whore - always showing off for the pretty girls) And in the winter, he would sit and gaze out the big picture window and watch the world go by. He was always waiting there when I got home from work.
The next time we moved, it was to a second story apartment. While I wouldn't let Sol outside here, because of the traffic on the street, he didn't seem to mind. He would sit in the front window and watch the squirrels and birds in the trees. The squirrels would taunt him by getting as close as they could and chattering at him. He always gave them the - "Oh if only I could get out of here" - look. But he never tried very hard to get out.
It was always a game of sorts when I would have to make frequent trips in and out of the apartment - laundry room, garbage and recycling, groceries from the car - to see if he could slip out into the stairwell where I would chase him down and then back up the short flights of stairs.
About a year ago, Sol began to have trouble eating. He would frequently vomit up his food shortly after eating - but he'd go back to his dish and dig back in. His teeth had gradually fallen out until he only had one or two left, so I eliminated dry food from his diet and only gave him wet food that was well ground up.
Anyway, after a couple of months of cleaning up cat mess - no sign of hairballs or obstructions - we went to the vet. He protested loudly, but when the doctor prescribed a diet of "unusual foods" and probiotics, he responded well and life went back to normal.
A normal day with Sol started out with him sitting next to my head on the pillow. He would position himself between me and the alarm clock, and as soon as it went off, he'd begin to poke me with his soft paw. Never any claws, just a little pat on my cheek to remind me that it was time to get up and feed him. Once I was up and he was fed, he'd watch me get ready for work while he settled back into the warm covers for his morning nap.
When I would get home in the afternoon, he would want to be fed right away, but just a little bit, a snack of sorts. Then he would insist I sit down on the couch and he would tell me all about his day. Once he settled into my lap, it would be very difficult to do anything but pet him. And if I headed toward the kitchen to fix dinner, well, let's just say that it had to meet with his approval.
With dinner out of the way, it was time for more lap time, allowing for the occasional bathroom break, water break, nibble from the bowl.
He had developed some peculiar drinking habits over time. At first, he drank from a small decorative fountain that I had. When the pump for the fountain died, I searched and searched for a substitute. I tried several, but none met with his approval. So when he was thirsty, he would go into the bathroom, meow, and wait for me to come turn on the faucet to a little drip. He wouldn't get up and drink however, unless I stood there patting him on the back telling him what a good, handsome boy he was.
Bedtime was my favorite part of the day with Sol. I think it was his too. Once I was settled in with my pillows and my book, Sol would jump up onto my chest and lay his head on my shoulder. I would hold the book with one hand and pet him softly with the other. Occasionally, I'd give him a little kiss on the cheek and he'd nuzzle back. At lights out, he would climb down and settle himself in the crook of my knees. Until it was time for the alarm to ring out once more.
Around the holidays, Sol started needing a lot more of my time. And his food didn't seem to be agreeing with him anymore. I attributed it to stress and the weather and just gave him as much nurturing as I could. But despite my best efforts, he didn't seem to be getting better. He began to lose weight. He wasn't drinking much at all. And he seemed to be developing breathing problems.
Last Friday night, Sol threw everything up. Repeatedly. And all over me. Something he's never done before. I finally got him calmed down and we went to bed, where he just repeated it. I changed my bed and got him settled on the couch.
The next day, I went and got some baby food, hoping that might help calm him. It worked. For a day and a half. It was clear that something was very wrong and food was no longer the issue. Sol was in pain and starving to death. Never a big cat - he topped out at 9 pounds - he was now almost skin and bones. His belly was distended and making all sorts of noises. He didn't wake me up in the morning. He didn't follow me into the kitchen. He just hunkered down under the blankets and lay there.
Finally, yesterday, I was able to get him to the vet. Tuesday night I had held him close all night, telling him over and over that we were going to find a way to stop the pain. When I came home to take him to the doctor Wednesday afternoon, he was ready. Sitting in the sunlight streaming through the front window, he waited for me to give him his pats. Then he walked onto the towel I had laid out for him and lay down. I bundled him up and set him in the backseat of the car. He never made a sound.
First we weighed him and found that he was down almost half his body weight - just over 5 pounds. The vet fed him some more baby food and almost immediately, Sol became distressed and restless and vomited it up. She palpated his abdomen and found a large mass. His stool showed internal bleeding. His breathing indicated that whatever it was had probably metastasized to his lungs. His constant hunkering down indicated that he was suffering.
We could run tests and do ultrasounds and all that fancy stuff, but the truth was pretty clear. It was time for Sol and I to say goodbye. The vet left us alone. He crawled up onto my lap, stretched himself up to my chest and looked into my eyes. He purred his deep, lovely, throaty purr. He nuzzled my cheek and as my tears fell on his fur, he wiped them away. I kissed his little swollen cheeks and laid him down on the towel. He reached his paw out to me - and finally gave a little meow. I know he was saying "good-bye."
Sol was with me through some very hard times. Through heartbreak and sickness and loss and pain. He was also with me in some very good times. He was a lovely, proud, happy, brave cat. I miss him and I will miss him for a long time.

IN THE BALANCE

2011-02-13T09:38:00.000-08:00

I seem to be on the verge of making a choice. Problem is, I don't know what I'm choosing between. Everything that I would like to see in my life seems just out of reach, and if I will just commit, then I can have...something.

I've been making small changes in various parts of my life; my health, my work, my creativity, my friendships and family; and while these small changes are making a difference, I feel that I have to commit, fully commit, to those that are the most important in order to actually attain my goals.

So what is more important to me? Do I work on my novel and forgo time with my friends and family? Do I fully commit to changing my health and avoid situations where I will eat too much, drink too much and be far to inactive? Do I decide that getting back to Paris at the earliest possible moment is the most important thing to me and get a second job so that I can pay off my debts, save for the trip I really want to take, and again, forgo time with my friends and family? Or do I decide that who I am with is far more important than what I do creatively, what I eat and drink, and whether or not I can travel?

Why can't I have it all? Are my wishes so far out of touch with reality? Why do others seem to have healthy lives, good paying jobs, creative outlets and lots of loving friends and family members who fill their days and nights with new exotic places and experiences; while I go forward slowly changing in tiny ways hoping for a major change.

I do believe in small changes. Turn your path one degree from where you are headed and in a year or five or ten, you find yourself in a place you never imagined. I have seen it to be true in my life. And those changes are far more lasting and real than a temporal, transitory moment.

I think I just made my decision. Stay with my path. Make my small, manageable changes and keep working for the things I truly want in my life. I want a more healthy me, in body, in mind, in love, in life, in experiences. I believe I can achieve it.

Forever Friday

2011-02-04T10:58:00.000-08:00

I stumbled on this poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson - The Snow Storm. I'm not going to post the whole thing, just the opening lines.

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hill and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.

Part of me wishes, very much, that I was somewhere where the snow is falling today. I've been very productive this week, and now today, I just want to lay about and doze and read and sip hot cocoa and write long letters to people I miss.

I don't write letters anymore. I used to be very good about it. I wrote my mother and friends that moved away. I wrote love letters to old lovers. I wrote apologies to people I wronged. I wrote angry letters to people who harmed me. I didn't always send these letters, but something about the act of putting pen to paper released me somehow. Now I journal - which is still a good thing, but it's not as focused on a letter. And I blog, but that is even more general. I can't say here things that I wouldn't want revealed about me, things that I'm ashamed of or frightened of.

Maybe I'll start writing letters instead of simple writing journal entries. Focus my thoughts toward one person and say what I need to say, for myself and for them. (You see, I'm a firm believer in the power of the mind. And what needs to be communicated for the good of all does indeed find a way out.)

Well, anyway, I'm feeling terribly lazy today and wish I had a reason to lay about and let my mind wander.

Can I get an Amen?

2011-01-28T14:56:00.000-08:00

So far, 2011 has sucked. I mean really sucked. I can see the end in sight and I'm encouraged by little indications that things are getting better. I'm not going to let this get to me either. Going boldly forward in faith and hope.

January is typically a tough month for me anyway. I'm the budget coordinator for my division at work and our fiscal years run from July to June. So January means I have to check where we are for the current year and start projecting for the coming year. It take a couple of weeks and lots of spreadsheets for me to catch up with everyone, find out what's changed and what's coming down the pike.   The result of my work means that our CTO can make some informed decisions about spending for the current year and make solid predictions of where we need to invest.

This year, to complicate matters, I came down with a terrible cold. I'm still coughing a full 4 weeks later. It's one of those awful coughs that settles right in your chest and you constantly feel like you need to swallow, but you can't because there's nothing there to swallow. So you start coughing and it feels like your lungs are about to burst out of your body.   Between one thing and another, I missed a few days of work, but mostly I just worked my normal schedule and went home to fall asleep on the couch. Sleep has been fitful - a few hours at a time with very few full nights of sleep. I'm looking forward to a real good sleep.

Then there's my car. I have a 1999 Nissan Sentra XE, black, 5-speed manual transmission. It has just over 85,000 miles on it and I don't put more than a couple thousand miles on it a year. I live near my job and walk or use transit most of the time. On weekends, I run my errands around town. Occasionally, I'll drive to the coast or out to visit my sister or just go for a drive. Gas prices have limited my pleasure driving somewhat. Anyway, my clutch has been making overtures of unhappiness for some time. I was going to get it looked at as soon as I had gotten my tax refund. But the car had other ideas. On a rainy Saturday two weeks ago, as I was out doing my errands and grocery shopping, the clutch just gave out. I managed to baby it home. I'm fortunate to live across the street from a AAA approved auto shop and I took it to them explaining my financial constraints and concerns. The new clutch was 600.00. Just about all the money I had. The irony is that my registration is due at the end of the month...and I don't have the money to pay it. So I'll be illegal for a couple of days until my next payday rolls around.

Today my Facebook account got spammed with a virus. All day long people have been calling, emailing, texting, letting me know that this has happened and I need to change my passwords right away. Of course, I've already done that. What I find frustrating is that anyone would really think the posting is from me. There's a misspelling in it people! I may be a little lazy in my grammar from time to time, but spelling?? No way.

But this year is about me taking small, thoughtful steps toward a happier me. So I'm not letting the universe get me down. I'm still here. My friends still love me. My work is still gratifying. And my goals are clearer with each passing day.

I'm going to be healthier, happier, more satisfied spiritually, more creative, more open to love and I'm going back to Paris. Maybe not this year. But soon. And for a real long time.   And you can help me. One of my goals is to write here at least once a week. So if you don't hear from me by next Friday, feel free to send me a reminder. 2011, I'm here...and I'm staying.

Sticks and Stones

2011-01-12T10:53:00.000-08:00

For the past several days, since the tragic shooting in Arizona, that childhood taunt has been running through my mind. "Sticks and stone may break my bones but names will never hurt me." Even as I child I knew that wasn't true. Names do hurt. Words do have power to harm. Ask anyone who has heard over and over from a parent, "You'll never amount to anything." "You're just like your (mother, father, sister, brother, uncle, aunt, etc.)"
In my home, calling someone stupid or retard was a sin. My mother had a sister with Down's Syndrome and I had a cousin who was mentally retarded from birth. Those words were never allowed, not even in anger.
I once called someone a 'fruit'; I didn't even know what it meant, I had heard it on the playground at school. The word flew out of my mouth and I was immediately summoned by my mother, "Katherine Cecelia, what did you say?" She tried to explain to my 11 year old mind why the word might be offensive, but the message was clear. Words can hurt.
The internet has given people the ability to share words with the speed of light. You can tweet and IM, email and blog any old idea that you have and someone out there is listening. Someone is going to take your words to heart and act on them. As a writer and a reader, as a person who gives thought to her words and agonizes over what she wants to say, I have found the internet to be a marvelous place to share my ideas, my hopes and dreams. I have met wonderful people who have enriched my life beyond measure.
But I have also encountered people, ideas and words that strike fear into me. It has been my practice to ignore those words and ideas, to dismiss them as extreme and not something that rational, thinking people would give any countenance. Alas, I, along with many thousands of others, have been mistaken. Words - hateful, angry, dark, incendiary words - have given license to a culture of violence that must be addressed.
I'm not talking about laying blame or pointing to this or that individual. I'm saying that the time has come for all of us - most especially those in positions of influence and power - to think before we speak. To count to ten when we are angry. To breath deeply and consider what we want our words to do. If we are encouraging people to act, be very specific about the action we want them to take. To understand that words are violent and they can kill.

Happy Christmas to All

2010-12-24T14:14:00.000-08:00

I've been struggling with my Christmas poem this year. Inspiration seemed far away and what I thought I wanted to write wasn't happening at all.
Today, I downloaded a beta version of a creative writing software that I hope to use for editing my novel. To try it out, I decided to scratch out a poem...and this is what came out. So that which would be written, has been written; and that which is not yet ready, has not.

Merry Christmas lovely reader.

Eclipse - 2010

I missed the Eclipse this Winter Solstice

Rainclouds covered the sky

As is usual in my bleak midwinter.

I couldn’t see the world go dark

I missed the red glow in the sky

I didn’t feel the longest night

Go still and silent and black.

I went to bed like any other night

I burrowed into blankets

And battled with my dreams

And prayed that I might wake another day.

I did awake.

The darkness was still there

My northern latitude at its apogee

To Sol and light and warmth.

But this morning the moon shone large

Bathing the bare limbs in light

Guiding me out of the dark.

Looking back or forward

2010-12-14T16:46:00.000-08:00

It's raining outside. It's also dark. It is a dark and stormy night. There was even a tornado today! I mean - wtf - tornado? in December? I'm inclined to just put on my jammies and pull the covers up over my head.

I spent last month writing my novel as a participant in National Novel Writer's Month. I've now got over 50,000 words committed to this narrative. By the time I'm done editing and rewriting, there will be at least that many if not more. I am more than a little excited about it. For one thing, the act of writing, the commitment to my goal got me out of my slump. Secondly, the subject of my book, my grandparents and their careers in the theatre, created for me, at long last, a sense of family.

Coming from a big, noisy group such as mine, you'd think I'd want to do anything but identify with my family. But the truth of it is, while I love my siblings dearly, I always had a feeling that I was on the outside looking in. I always thought that no one saw the world, the arts, themselves, in quite the way as I did. But I've since learned that my grandfather had almost the same thoughts and fears and temptations and losses as I did. As I do. So like pieces of a puzzle, I am beginning to see who I am and how I came to be.

It's been a big year for me. Exactly one year ago tomorrow, my mother died. In May, my daughter finished law school, then she took (and passed) the bar exam, and she is now licensed to practice law. I'm so very proud of her. She's going to do great things. I can feel it.

In August, we went to Paris. It seems just a moment ago and a lifetime ago. It was the most perfect time. I want to go back so badly. I keep thinking about it, trying to save money for it, plan for it again. But it's been tough to save anything.

The rest of the country may be having a recovery, but I will be without a raise for the third year in a row and I also get to pay more for my health and dental insurance this year. And my maximum out of pocket is going up. It doesn't really matter when there's nothing in the pocket to come out.

I have to get new glasses, that's number one. The headaches are getting to me. And then I'll hope that nothing major goes wrong with me, the cat or the car.

Now, looking forward, I hope to get my novel edited and start shopping it around. I know it's a long shot to be published, but stranger things have happened. I would like to get a grip on my self care; establish a routine that is balanced, nutritional and achievable. This is not just for my body, but my heart, my mind, my soul. I would like to see a resolution to the dispute at work and a possible end to the belt tightening.

For now, I'm just resting and getting ready to spend Christmas with my girl and family. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday - and here's to a wonderful New Year.

Thanks for reading.

1102 NE 7th Street

2010-10-14T16:14:00.001-07:00

This is the house I lived in until I was 13 years old. I was the seventh and last child born to my parents. My oldest brother was 19 and serving in the Marines at the time of my birth. To the best of my recollection, we never lived in this house together. Of course, he lived here. He had a room here, there are pictures of him holding me as a baby and he slept here when he was home on leave or on break from college, but I have no memory of him in this house.

The house is a large farm house, with a big covered porch across the entire front. It’s painted white with no accent colors. There are two large picture windows on either side of the front door. Above the porch, you can see windows from the master bedroom at the front of the second floor. The porch floor is painted gray and it’s quite large, about 8 feet deep, and all around it is a closed in by a low wall. As a child, someone had to lift me up to sit here, or I would lean over staring down at the ground, legs dangling. The posts that hold the roof up are too big to wrap your arms around, at least as a child. And the ledge is so high off the ground that you know you’ll break your neck if you fall. Hot summer nights in August, we would haul mattresses out on the porch and sleep here, feeling the weight of the air and waiting for thunder to break the heat.

You walk up the concrete walkway and climb the grey steps to the porch where you cross to the front door. The wooden screen door is painted black and it creaks, no matter how much wd-40 my dad puts on the hinges. The front door is a dark wood, maple I think, solid and thick, with three small windows across the top.

You enter into a large room, the living room, and there is a large couch 7 feet long, to your left in front of the picture window. It’s a shade of dark purple, aubergine perhaps, and the back folds out to make a bed. A low coffee table and a loveseat complete the picture. Directly in front of you is the door to the stairway upstairs. I’m not really allowed to go upstairs. That’s where my brothers’ rooms are and they get upset if I’m poking around up there. Robert has a lock on his door, because he has guns and things that the little kids are not supposed to get into. To your right is another large room, a sitting room probably, but now it is the TV room. There’s another couch along the back wall. This one is brownish, older and has all the tell-tales signs and stains of several years of use. There is an old black and white console TV in the far corner where the glare from the window won’t distract, and an avocado green lazy boy recliner is just inside the entry, directly in front of the television. This is where you could catch my father sleeping while the nightly news was brought to you by Huntley and Brinkley. If a cat is sticking his head out from inside the recliner someone forgot to check for him before closing up the recliner for the night. Chances are he’ll have started meowing and my brothers will have released him when they were watching The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. At Christmas, the tree would go in this room and you’d have to watch TV through the branches.

Turing back to the living room, you’ll see that the passage to the dining room is a large opening, flanked by matching half walls, and that all the rooms so far are painted white, not eggshell or ivory – just plain matte white. The centerpiece of the dining room is a large maple dining table with 8 chairs around, in various states of use and abuse. To your left, just inside the entry way, sits a small maple desk with a telephone and a calendar desk pad. There is a large green glass planter containing several pens, pencils, crayons, scissors, and the occasional straw still in its paper wrapping. A three corner china cabinet with a glass front sits in the opposite corner on the left, past yet another large picture window. Inside you can see several glass cups and saucers, pictures and other knick-knacks typical for a home in the early 1960. My favorite is the violet chocolate pot and matching delicate cups and saucers. This was my great grandmother’s and I hope that someday I can sip hot cocoa from them.

Facing you at the back of the dining room is a built in cabinet with glass front cupboards above and 6 drawers below a buffet nook. There is a white sock hanging out of the top left drawer and the top right drawer is open just enough to glimpse white t-shirts and jockey shorts. With three teenage boys in the house, my mother gave up on folding laundry and just puts it all in these two drawers for my brothers to dig through and find what they needed. Within a few years, colors will start to appear among the whites and boxers will supplant briefs.

On the right side of the room, sits a rather large upright piano. A closer look reveals not a piano, but an old pump organ with a single keyboard and pulls stops marked with exotic instrument names like harpsichord and xylophone. This is where I learned to play piano before my feet could touch the peddles. My mother had to sit with me on her lap and pump the bellows while I picked out my lessons. When I was 10, we finally got a real piano, but it was still in dining room.

Just past the organ is the door to my parents’ bedroom. It opens in and immediately to the left is another door that leads to the back of the house, and to the right is a small closet underneath the stairs. There are two twin beds, side by side. They have gold brocade bedspreads and red padded headboards. There are red drapes on the windows and my mother’s vanity sits in front of them. A small folding table with a sewing machine is to the right and a hope chest sits at the foot of the beds. Until I was 5, I slept in this room on a cot at the foot of their beds.

You turn left and go into the hallway, where you’ll find a linen closet to your right, the bottom half of which is simply a large cardboard box filled with white shirts and other cotton clothes in need of ironing. The ironing board is permanently set up in this hallway, and the iron has seen better days. My mother ironed her things, my dad’s shirts and my things, until I was old enough to do it myself. We all celebrated the invention of permanent press fabric.

In front of you is the bathroom. One sink, one bathtub (no shower) and one toilet, which isn’t visible because it is in a separate room between the bathroom and the laundry room. This is the only bathroom in the house, for 9 people. Somehow we made it work.

To your left, just past the linen closet, is a small bedroom. This was my room when my oldest brother finally moved out. The bed sits against the back wall under a very high window. I would stand on my bed, on tiptoe and look out the window over the back yard, which stretched on forever. The other window, opposite the door, looked out on the cherry tree, the grape vine and the large patch of iris my mother loved so much. This is where I would watch for my daddy to come home and wait until I heard his car on the gravel, and then I jumped up and ran through the kitchen to the back door, along length of the back porch where I waited to jump into his arms. He’d tell me every day that he can’t do this forever, but I didn’t believe him. He always caught me.

Through the hall is the kitchen, a farm kitchen. The cupboards went all the way up to the ceiling and they were full of all kinds of dishes and foods and goodies that I couldn’t reach. There’s a double sink where we all took our turn washing and drying dishes, even me. I stood on a stool and dried while my mother washed and we sang old songs together. The floor was as big as a dance floor, waxed and slippery linoleum. I used it as my own performance space when everyone else was watching TV or on the phone or doing homework. I would dance to my own songs. I would “ice skate” on the slippery floor, running to the corner and lifting myself up with the counters. I would pretend I was being lifted high off the ice by a handsome partner.

Off of the kitchen to the left is a door that leads to the laundry room where it seemed there was always a load going. And through the laundry room is the back door.

Coming full circle through the kitchen, we come back to the dining room. There used to be a door here, but it was taken off long ago, probably after my mother got tired of hearing it slam a hundred times a day. Now we chase each other around and around from dining room to mom and dad’s bedroom to hallway, kitchen and back to dining room. Well, until my mother exasperated by the noise and trying to make dinner after a full days’ work begs us to please find something else to do!

So you enter the dining room; the center of the house. And you note how the table dominates the room. It’s a large oval top with two leaves added set on a huge round pedestal with four large feet. There’s no carving or embellishment. It’s a large, simple, functional table for a large, simple, (mostly) functional family. With the addition of 4 other leaves, this table can expand into the living room for large family dinners at Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and various family birthday celebrations. Even with those extra leaves, the small children still had to eat in the kitchen. By the time I was considered old enough to eat with the grownups, big family gatherings were a distant memory. In its’ present state it can seat the 6 of us; my mother, my father, my three older brothers, and me, and any friends who happened to tag along. By the time I was 6, we were all that still lived here, and still ate dinner together every night. Both of my sisters and my oldest brother have moved out to go to school or get married or both.

This table was more than a dinner table. It’s where we did our homework, after the dishes were cleared and washed up. It’s where we played games, Monopoly, Risk, Scrabble, and many, many more. It’s where my mother would lay out fabric and cut out the pattern for clothes, costumes, slipcovers, whatever she was making. It’s where we emptied out our Halloween candy and picked out the best stuff, where we frosted Christmas cookies, wrapped Christmas presents, and helped my mother set out the goodies for Santa. It’s where I watched my big sister put in contact lenses and determined that I would do the same when I was old enough. It’s where I’d spread out my paper dolls, my Barbies, my spirograph and paint by number and endless school projects. It’s where Tommy Patt, the boy across the street, would sit and eat our leftover French fries while I practiced the piano and my brother tried to talk to his girlfriend on the phone. It’s where we burned the mortgage when my parents paid off the house after 25 years. And where the three of us, my mom, my dad, and me decided it was time to move down to something more manageable, more suitable, for my parents as they started looking at retirement.

It took over a year to clean out the house; to get rid of the collected treasures of 25 years and 9 people. To go through the boxes of photographs and yearbooks and clothes left behind as the family went from 9 to 7, 6, 5, 4, and finally 3.

The table moved with my parents but it never had all those leaves in it again. It sat in the small dining nook of a 3 bedroom ranch house with shag carpet, colored walls and a breakfast bar. When my father died, my mother got rid of more things. The three corner cabinet. The lazy boy recliner. The cigarettes and the ashtrays. The jujubes and the licorice. The tomato and the grilled cheese sandwiches. The cat. And the table.

Paris - final day and final thoughts

2010-09-10T10:21:00.000-07:00

This morning we had our last cup of coffee and last croissant in silence. I know that I am full of thoughts and wishes about our trip and I'm sure Bridgete is as well. We got to the airport in plenty of time. And far too soon, we were leaving Paris and back in Boston.

There are few things I wanted to say about my trip that didn't seem to fit with my travelogue. I knew that I would enjoy Paris. I had read about it and thought about for many years now. And even though several people had told me beforehand that I would fall in love and want to live there, I took it all with a grain of salt. I've traveled before and seen some very amazing cities, but nothing compares to Paris. It is another world. And it is indeed a world in which I could imagine myself living. There is a quietness, a peacefulness, an elegance and a dignity to Paris that I have never experienced before. I've always craved a kind of quiet in my life - but never knew what the quiet was until now. Because it isn't a quiet that comes from being alone. I know that too much alone is not good for me - I become depressed and eat and drink too much. And yet too much time with others in this noisy, pushy, busy world exhausts me. And I am forever seeking a balance.

It was only a day or less in Paris and I had that balance. I felt a part of everything and everyone. I wasn't overwhelmed by people and noise and chatter and distraction. I was intensely focused and delighted. I ate and drank far less than I do at home - yet I never felt deprived or denied. I saw so much beauty that at times, tears would simply gather in my eyes and my heart would ache. I laughed easily and often. I felt at home.

This was the perfect place for Bridgete and I to have time together, too. Without the business of life, the distraction of school and work, we were able to feel again our deep and lasting bond. To know with just a glance or a nod what the other was thinking, feeling, imagining.

I'll stop here, just because I don't want to cry! I know what I am supposed to do now. I am to return to Paris as soon and as often as possible.

There are more of my pictures on Picasa - link below - and Bridgete, who is a far better photographer than I am, has her photos here.

paris

Paris - Day 6

2010-09-10T10:00:00.000-07:00

Today is our last full day in Paris. SOB! And we are visiting that place famous in history for so many reasons - Versailles. Testament to the power (and ego) of Louis XIV - the Sun King. Did you know that he became king at the age of 4 and ruled France for 72 years? Did you know that he outlived his son and his grandson and was followed on the throne by his great-grandson (who was only 5 at the time)? Well, I didn't. During his reign, France was indeed a most powerful country and his patronage of the arts brought him much glory. French theater and literature flourished under his protection. Painting, music, architecture all gained prominence. And he converted the hunting lodge at Versailles into a magnificent palace that would become the royal court of France in 1682. At one time, the palace alone housed 14,000 people. That's a town!

We took a train trip to Versailles - about 30 minutes outside of Paris. The day was like most of our days had been, lightly overcast in the morning with sun breaking out and covering us most of the time. We stepped out on to the streets of Versailles and began to walk to the Palace. It's a rather ordinary looking street with fast food places (including McDonald's), souvenir shops, and Starbucks.

The we turned right and started up a rather long parkway. As if just for our pleasure, at the moment the Chateau was in sight, the sun broke through the clouds and we were dazzled by this grand sight. It must have been a similar experience for those who approached the court in Louis' day.

That's gold on the roof. 22 carat leaf. It's been undergoing renovation for a few years now. Paid for by corporate sponsorship. Here's a little detail that shows it better.

As we got closer, I could see these magnificent gates in the front. These are recent to Versailles - again corporate sponsorship making this possible. They are based on the original gates that Louis XIV had during his reign. Only the royal family was allowed through these gates. There were others for the court and the general public. Even in Louis' day, Versailles was a tourist spot and you could rent the proper attire to enter for a day of rest in the gardens and the public rooms of the Chateau.

We met up with our guide Vincent (I'd follow him anywhere) and got our history lesson. The Chateau has separate entrances for groups and public, I recommend getting a group tour. And they control how many groups are allowed in at a time. So it's still crowded, but not as bad as the Louvre. Beware of pickpockets here, especially in some of the smaller more popular rooms.

We had to wait a little because a group in front of us was a little late for their appointed time and delayed things for everyone. This made Vincent very unhappy. :-(

But at last we got inside. It's hard to explain what the Chateau is like. I've never seen anything like it and I certainly can't imagine living here. It's certainly a testament to the glory of France and of Louis. We only saw a very few of the rooms, including the famous hall of mirrors which is where the Treaty of Versailles was signed after WWI. Many of them are still undergoing restoration. As corporate sponsorship comes forward, then restoration can occur. The Chateau is priceless and a jewel in the crown of France.

After we went through the chateau, (and the gift shop of course) Bridgete and I decided to stay and see the gardens and the Petit Trianon, originally built as a home for Louis' XV mistresses, it was given to Marie Antoinette by her husband Louis' XVI for her enjoyment. We walked along the reflecting pool, with would look familiar to any visitor to Washington DC, and continued to stroll along tree lined paths to the Queen's little escape.

A charming little place, I think I could live here. :-)

We returned to Paris and as we walked toward our hotel, a little rain began to fall. Paris weeps for us!! Our final dinner - a lovely salad of carrots and shrimp, beef with potatoes dauphinoise, a cote du rhone, and one more little apple tart. It's been a lovely trip and it is over far too soon.

Paris - Day 5

2010-09-09T17:22:00.000-07:00

First, I realized that I forgot to mention dinner last night. Oops - my bad. Dinner was okay. The French onion soup was divine! Bridgete had escargot. And a creme caramel desert was mighty tasty.

Day 5 - The Louvre. That's the big museum - with all the famous paintings - and the glass pyramid. And it is every bit as amazing as you might imagine. It's the one time I acted like a rude American - but there is no other way to get close to...that picture....without elbows and rudeness.

I took pictures of what I could. There's this one. She's quite lovely.

And then look at the look on this little girl's face!

So here's the moment you've waited for - literally sweated for - my hair was dripping wet by the time we reached this room. That's her - the little dark square on the other side of that sea of people. Elbows up....

yessir...I saw her. She's pretty amazing. You wish all these other people would just go away so you could have some time alone with her. But now you feel someone's elbow in YOUR ribs and you move out of the way.

And you say good-bye.

You move on to other rooms, other paintings, other beautiful things. Until you are saturated with beauty. It's all too much. And you need a drink because it's SO HOT IN HERE!

The tour has ended. You turn in your headset. You do a little shopping in the shopping center under the museum. You have your something to drink. And you head out to the Jardin des Tulleries, have a croque monsieur at a cafe in the gardens, watch the polite pigeons who take your little crumbs and say 'merci' then wander away until you are ready to toss them another crumb.

Now it's time to take the walk up the champs elysees and find those macaroons at Laduree that are life changing. Little cakes filled with just the right amount of sweetness in raspberry, coffee, caramel, chocolate, mimosa. délicieux

Back at the hotel, you realize you really only have 2 more dinners - 2 more nights in the fabulous city. It's too sad. All too sad. So you comfort yourself with a roast pork with lentils, wine and another tarte tatin. This one is not nearly as good as the first. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Paris - Day Four

2010-09-09T10:59:00.000-07:00

It's Wednesday. By the end of today our week in Paris will be more than half over! :-(

We started with Breakfast. You know the drill. Coffee and croissant. Cheese and fruit. And really...what else do you need? This morning, there was a little construction going on next door, it's August and vacation month for many French people. It seems like every other shop we past has a sign on the door, "En vacances pour le mois d'août." And lots of them are having face-lifts or renovations done while en vacances. Well apparently our concierge, Arnaud (not to be confused with our guide Arnaud (who has his own blog here) decided that he'd had enough. Out the front door he went and the jack hammer stopped. Back in he came with a look to me that said, 'we'll have no more of that until you are all out and about.' The rest of breakfast was peaceful and pleasant.

Today we started at the Pompidou Center. The ugliest building in Paris, Arnaud has successfully convinced some groups that it's an energy plant. George Pompidou had good intentions. But it was the 70s. We all made mistakes in the 70s. The area where the center is located is called the Beaubourg. Originally the center of market activity, when the markets moved to the suburbs, this area was abandoned. The Pompidou Center houses a huge collection of Modern Art, a large public library, public information library, and music and art research centers. There is a cafe that faces the square which is apparently where people who want to "be seen" go to "be seen." There was no one to see when we were there.

The Stravinsky Fountain was a delightful thing "to see." Various modern sculptures represent characters from works by Igor Stravinsky.
As Arnaud so succinctly put it...only one boob is working today. (Must remember that one for some future snark.)

From Pompidou, we walked to the Hotel de Suubise, - now the home of the National Archives and Hotel de Sully - the Ministry of Culture, responsible for the national monuments and historic buildings of France.

Hotel de Soubise

From Sully, we entered the Place des Vosges and the Marais District.
Arnaud was full of stories today, about Marie Antoinette and a necklace. About Henry IV and a deadly duel. About all sorts of ghastly royal intrigues and deceptions and games and foolishness. It was great!

The Marias is now home to the Jewish district, antiques stores and boutiques a plenty. As we were walking through the district, I noticed that there were blue, white and red bouquets on the doors of several shops and residences. Then Arnaud mentioned that today was the anniversary of the liberation of Paris at the end of WWII. These bouquets were being left on the homes and businesses of Jewish residents who were deported during the Nazi occupation.

We passed some students waiting outside a school and received a little education on the French school system. And then another history lesson.

This is a remnant of the wall built by Philippe Auguste (Philip II) to protect Paris when he left for the crusades. The moat - a dry one - was about 50 across.

After our history lessons, we had lunch in Mere Catherine square at a lovely cafe where the waiter spoke little English and Bridgete happily translated for our little table. I had a lovely duck with potatoes and wine, of course.

After lunch, we took the bus to Pere Lachaisse, the famous cemetery on the outer edges of Paris. It was starting to cool and drizzle, so we only saw a few of the graves I wanted to. But we did see Heloise and Abelard, Moliere, Chopin and Oscar Wilde.

SEE!! I was really there! (I know you were growing suspicious...)

We returned to our hotel and changed for dinner and moonlight cruise on the Seine. My camera didn't like taking pictures in the dark and moving - so I can't show you how incredible the city looked at night. There is no question that I have now fallen completely in love with this city and everything about it. There is nothing like a beautiful summer evening on the Seine, lovers everywhere along the Quai, singing, dancing, drinking wine under the lights and a FULL MOON! (too perfect. I kept looking for Gene Kelly at every moment.)

I don't think I can leave here now. I'll think about that tomorrow....

Paris - Day Three

2010-09-08T12:47:00.000-07:00

Some of you know my strange and colorful history with squirrels. Well, we didn't see any actual squirrels in Paris. But this was the wallpaper in our room.

Look at his little ears! How they are kind of spiky? Now that's a stylish squirrel. Apparently this is a pretty close representation of the real thing. They are red and do have little tufted ears. And it's quite a blessing if you see one in person as they are quite shy and not at all inclined to scold you from the trees. Just another example of polite French society.

Day Three started out with breakfast. This time we were early enough to get croissant - a fine, flaky, buttery thing that melted on the tongue - and of course coffee. A word about the coffee here. I've always been a coffee with cream person. I love the smell of coffee, but the taste of it has always been bitter to me and the acidity does a number on my stomach. So I have my one little cup with cream or milk each day when at home. But in Paris...the coffee was so tasty! No bitter after taste. And NO MILK FOR ME! A little cube of sugar and I could drink it all day. Not nearly so hard on my tummy either!

Today's journey is to Montmartre, that well known home to starving artists and writers. And to my daughter's doppelganger - Amelie.

It was everything I wanted it to be. I think if I could live anywhere in Paris, it would be here - although today it's not nearly so affordable as it once was. But just picture the beautiful apartment buildings with the wrought iron window boxes overflowing with geranium and sweet flowers. The narrow winding streets that twist and turn and take you higher and higher above the city. The beautiful views every way you turn. And the people doing their shopping, drinking their coffee or wine, sitting and drawing or writing, living simply and fully and beautifully.

This is the Metro stop at Abbesses in Montmarte. It's one of 3 remaining glass canopied Art Nouveau Metro signs. Apparently, when the Metro was first built in 1900, Parisians didn't want to use it. So Hector Guimard designed the external signs to attract the public into the stations. Inside the stations there is a great deal of attention to detail as well. Some are as they were originally built and some are being renovated. But they all retain an attention to detail and aesthetic that is rarely seen in public works . And it's not just "art", it actually assists you - helps you visually know the line you are on, the station you are entering, if that station has transfers to other lines or not. So form and function working together...huh...what a concept!

Now we begin our walk up the hill. Bear with me here, I'm just taking pictures of all the places I want to live.

Yeah, it's pretty great.

Now along the way, we picked up some school children going about their day.

Bridgete decided she could have children if they were raised in Paris. I assured her I would have no problem being a French grand-mère.

Is there a budding Renoir or Van Gogh here? Probably.

Speaking of Van Gogh, this is where he lived with his brother Theo...before he went a little mad.

And Renoir lived here....

How could you not paint beautiful things when you live in such a place?

I mean, even the drinking fountains are works of art. (These used to have little copper drinking cups on chains, but you can still fill your water bottles here. Paris drinking water is quite good.)

Now a little history test. Do you know the literary significance of this place?

La Maison Rose

(notice the steepness of the street. That's not me taking the picture at a bad angle.)

Once a favored place of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, T.S. Eliot, Gertrude Stein, now just a pleasant little restaurant where you can pretend that your great American Novel is about to be birthed...

I almost got hit by a bus taking this picture. The corner I'm standing on is a very tight one. Thank goodness those bus drivers know how to handle the narrow, winding streets. Wouldn't that just be the irony of all ironies? I go all the way to Paris to get hit by a bus when I work for the transit district here at home.

So we're nearly to the top now, just a few more corners and...

Basilique du Sacre-Coeur

Construction began in 1876 with dedication occuring in 1919 after the first World War. Thus the basilica is dedicated to those who lost their lives in that great war. Parisians are very superstitious about Sacre-Coeur, a superstition that really took hold when bombs were dropped in the area in the Second World War and all 13 of them missed the church entirely.

Equally lovely as the church itself is the view of Paris that one has from the steps. My poor little camera cannot do it justice.

After making this mighty trek to the highest point in Paris, we needed lunch. We found a delightful little cafe called La Mere Catherine. Sounded perfect to us! So we sat and nibbled on cheese and bread and wine and watched the artists at work.

Then we ate gelato and browsed and shopped until it was time to catch the metro back to town and the Musee D'Orsay.

The D'Orsay is home to the finest collection of impressionist art in the world. But we didn't get to see it. The Musee is under renovation and most of the major works are in Chicago and San Fransisco. Oh well. Instead, we got to see some lovely works by Van Gogh and Renior and Monet and Manet and Gauguin that are rarely on display. And the museum itself is a beautiful thing. If you go, don't miss the upper floors like we did where apparently there are lovely pieces of Art Nouveu furnishings. Next time. (It's only my second full day in Paris and I'm already making a list of "next time" to see)

At this point, Bridgete was in need of a pharmacy. Nothing major. Just a bug bite that wouldn't stop itching. We found a pharmacy (just look for the big green cross) and we went in. After looking on all the shelves and not seeing anything that looked like cortaid - she asked "parlez-vous anglais? When the girl said yes, Bridgete held up her elbow saying, "I have an itch!" and from behind the counter a cortisone cream was obtained. Seems that in this socialized medical country, the pharmacy is the first place you go when you aren't sure what's up and they handle things very nicely, merci.

Itch solved, we then took a stroll through some very fancy shopping areas. Bon Marche makes Nordies mother ship look like The Rack. Absolutely stunning. And no one looked at us like we didn't belong. I don't know where people got the idea that the French are rude. They were lovely to us - everywhere we went. Not even the beggars are aggressive. They just sit in the Metro or in the park with their hand open or a hat in front of them. They don't try to catch your eye or shame you into anything. And they say Merci when a coin is dropped.

With aching feet we returned to our little room, looked at all our little purchases, and I took a little nap. Then we walked around the corner for dinner - the best we would have all week. (at least in my opinion) A beautiful little trout fried in a light crispy batter and a tarte tatin that made me weak in the knees. Warm and delicate apples, not too sweet, a light flaky crust on the bottom and a dollop of crème fraise. A beautiful red wine and whiskey to top it all off. A perfect day. Now to sleep and dream of that tarte tatin.

Paris - Day Two

2010-09-07T15:28:00.000-07:00

Day Two

After a perfectly wonderful night, in which I snored, but due to the very cozy arrangement of our beds, Bridgete merely stuck her arm out and patted me and I would roll off my back, we woke up for our first full day in Paris.

Started out with breakfast of bread and cheese, a little fruit, perfect coffee - what else do you need? Really? The morning looked a little cool and the forecast called for rain. So every one set out with the necessary jackets, sweaters and umbrellas. We walked to the Metro and got our first instructions in how to use this wonderful system.

Our stop was Ecole Militaire on the Ballard/Cretiel Line 8. For today we would be traveling to the Ile de la Cite - the heart of Paris and would need to change Line 1 - La Defense/Chateau de Vincennes at Concorde where the two lines intersect and then get off Line 1 at Hotel de Ville. When we made the change at Concorde and were walking toward our next train, we were treated to the sound of a tuba and an accordion. How very Parisian! I think on this morning they were playing something by ABBA - or the Beatles. They became one of my favorite parts of each morning.

Travel lesson...The Metro is very easy to use once you get these basic concepts. Each line is named for the two terminus points at the end of the line, and also has a number. When a line intersects with other lines and you can make transfers, the line number on the map will be white. If there are no transfers possible, the line number will be colored in. And you have to know which direction (which terminus) you are headed in. Then - it's easy. Trains come every 4 minutes - sometimes more often in peak times. And everyone rides the Metro. So it's a good way to see how the average Parisian lives and works and shops. If you're smart about keeping your purse and packages in front of you - then you're relatively safe from pickpockets. And if you don't act like a scared tourist, you probably won't be treated like one. Anyone who has ridden public transportation in any major city will be able to use the Metro.

We exit the Metro at Hotel de Ville - this is not a HOTEL, but the City Hall of Paris. And it's quite a lovely building. A short walk across to Sainte-Chapelle. Sainte-Chapelle was built by Louis IX, a deeply religious man, to house the crown of thorns and remnants of the true cross. Now housed within the bounds of the Palais de Justice, you have to go through security screening to get to it. It's well worth the trip. The lower chapel has a vaulted ceiling painted with stars to resemble the heavens. Then you ascend to the upper chapel and are met with some of the most spledid stained glass windows. The Chapel has been undergoing extensive restoration, so the vault behind the altar was hidden but the light was extraordinary. Such a beautiful place.

Stained glass detail at Sainte-Chapelle

From Sainte-Chapelle, we took a short walk to that most beautiful of Gothic Cathedrals, Notre Dame.

The plaza in front of Notre Dame is where everyone takes their pictures. It's also been inlaid with stones identifying the various chapels of the saints that used to be along the road to the cathedral. Here's one I particularly enjoyed.

It's difficult to describe the sense of peace that flows over one when you enter the church. It's beautiful, of course. And there are hundreds of pilgrims there to offer their prayers and petitions to God. You begin to reflect on the millions of pilgrims who have walked these paths and knelt at these altars since 1345. Then you remember that the Romans built a temple to Jupiter on this spot and that it has been a holy place to Parisians since the first centuries of Christianity. And like the Western Wall in Jerusalem, the faith and energy of those prayers resonates within you and you remember that we are all connected by something larger and greater than any one of us could imagine. You pay your 2 euro, you light your candle and you add your prayer to those of others. Then you leave and know that you have been heard.

Where, you may ask, is the famous hunchback? Well, here he is at the oldest building on the ile. (Those timbered walls date to the middle ages.)

Just as we were making our way from Quasimodo to a little area where we could have some lunch, the skies opened and it began to rain. Did I say rain? It poured! I'm from a rainy city - and this was some rain! We ran into an ATM vestibule so we could all get out of the rain and hear Arnaud's suggestions for lunch.

Bridgete and I dashed next door for a sandwich and wine and waited for the rain to ease up. Then she ran and bought herself an umbrella for 5 euro. Mine wasn't quite big enough for both of us.

The rest of our afternoon was spent walking the Latin Quarter and Left Bank of Paris. We briefly visited the Cluny Museum where we were able to see (but not photograph) the famous tapestry of the Lady and the Unicorn. So amazing. After, Cluny and a walk around the area of the Sorbonne, we were on our own for the rest of the day. I got directions to Shakespeare and Company, the famous bookstore of Sylvia Beach, and we headed out. Still not having my bearings completely, we almost missed it, but some how my nose sniffed out the wonderful dusty place. Resisting my impulse to buy all the books, I picked out one and jotted down a few titles.

From here we walked along the Quai de Montebello to the corner of Rue Lagrange where Bridgete's beautiful French (and beautiful legs) got her a free cup on coffee outside the cafe. We sat and acted like Parisians, sans smoking, watching the tourists walking across Le Petit Pont from Notre Dame.
The clouds returned and fearing the worst, we decided to go back inside Notre Dame and soak in a little more of the magic. As the sun went in and out of the clouds, the light inside the cathedral brightened and dimmed, adding to our already countless memories of Paris.

By the time the doors were closed, the chandeliers lit, and the mass begun, I was covered in goose flesh and my contact with the divine was complete. I'll never forget it.

Earlier in the day, we had the opportunity to sign up to attend a concert of Vivaldi back at Sainte-Chapelle. Bridgete wanted to find an ATM before we were scheduled to meet our group. So, using her iPhone, she located one and we were back on foot. ATM adventure complete, we walked around the perimeter of the Palais de Justice to the designated meeting point. Once more, we got to watch Paris from a perspective not often seen by tourists. We even saw a gendarme stop a bicyclist and give him a warning for talking on his cell phone while bicycling. It was all so polite and civilized. I was already in love with the politeness of Paris. Now I was in danger of being won over for good.

The concert, while it had it's weaknesses, was another realization of how very civilized Paris is. No one spoke during the concert. No one rustled their programs, which they had paid 2 euro for. No one played with a video game or texted or shifted about in their seats or tried to call attention to themselves. One cell phone did go off - but the ringtone was so quiet, it was almost unnoticed. And when others looked at the offender, he quickly apologized and turned off his phone. Yep....I LOVE PARIS.

Dinner – Steak and Pomme Frittes

Cotes du Rhone

Mousse au Chocolat

Paris - Day One

2010-09-07T09:59:00.000-07:00

We arrive in Paris at about 1:00 in the afternoon, after flying overnight from Boston. So it's actually about 7 AM for us and we haven't slept a wink. But excitement overtakes us. We are in Paris. CDG is a strange airport. There are moving sidewalks that are more like escalators, going up and down the central core of the airport. Other than that, it looks pretty much like any airport of any major city. We collect our luggage, and since we went through passport control in Reykjavik, we just leave like any other EU passenger.

We neatly avoid the illegal taxi services right outside of baggage claim and proceed to the taxi stand. After we get all the baggage into the taxi, we give the address of our hotel - Hôtel de Londres Eiffel 1 rue Augereau. He mumbles a few things in French and off we go.

There's a middling sense of deprivation. It's a big city, with high rises and graffiti and trains - then suddenly, you leave La Defense and you are in PARIS. Beautiful Paris. The one you've read about, dreamed of, longed for. Paris.

The cab driver pulls over the the side of the road and is playing with his GPS. He keeps checking the address, and it's not making sense to him. But he keeps telling you (in English) "I'm not lost. I'm not lost." Bridgete searches on her iPhone and shows him the map. "Ah," he says. A turn here, turn there and you are in front of the Hôtel.

It looks just like the web site. We obtain our room keys, our French still feeling strange on the tongue. And we push our luggage into the tiny elevator. Bridgete has to sit on her suitcase to get us both in! We laugh and love it all, because WE'RE IN PARIS! Room cinquante et un (51) is perfectly tiny and charming and french and perfect.

It's 2:30 and we are meeting with our group at 3:00, so we quickly clean up and try to look presentable. After a round of introductions and small glass of wine (yum), we head out for a walking tour of our neighborhood and bus tour of Paris. We've been reminded to always say "Bonjour", "Merci" "S'il Vous Plait" and try to blend in as best we can. The French are polite and kind and quiet. It's true! This is a major metropolitan city that has been a center of culture and politics and commerce for hundreds, thousands of years, and it feels less crowded and busy and rude than Portland, OR.

The bus tour is pleasant and we're learning where everything is in relation to one another. The Eiffel Tower is HUGE! I've grown used to things not being as grand as I imagine them, but this is grand! Bridgete is having an hard time staying awake. We drive to The Louvre and her head pops up a bit, looks around and then her eyes close again.

At last we stop for dinner – Kir, Salad Nicoisse, Salmon with a lovely Burgundy and Strawberry Soup! Divine. We've held off sleep as long as possible. Our heads hit the pillows and we're out!

Existential Crisis

2010-07-29T08:33:00.000-07:00

I couldn't think of a better title. I'm not really having an existential crisis, not questioning my place in the great scheme of things; but I am having some sort of of "what now?" moment. At this very moment, my daughter Bridgete is enduring the last day of the Massachusetts State Bar exam. All my energy is directed at her and holding her in my thoughts. It's the least I can do. It's the only thing I can do from here. And it's probably best that I am here and not anywhere near her. I'd be one of those awful hovering parents - and I don't hover well.

But I love well. As much as it breaks my heart to be so far from her, I celebrate the fact that she has become this amazing person. So strong and capable. Wise and funny. Kind and honest. With such great friends, people I would be proud to call my friends. And I just sit back and love her.

There is great joy in being a parent at these moments. And there is great sadness as well. I can't fix her boo-boos with a kiss and a Popples band-aid. I can't give her pudding cups and strawberry milkshakes and get her to laugh again. Well, sometimes I can. And I have a huge fear of letting her down, because she is beyond me now. Smarter and braver and surer of herself. And I just sit back and love her.

And I love her well.

Update

2010-07-13T15:09:00.000-07:00

Sorry I've been so long in writing. The block is strong in this one. But I did want to update everyone.
Feeling much better. Still not 100% back to strong, but I have to pat myself on the back for seeing things coming and knowing there was a cause and fighting the demons away. Seeing Dr. Molly tomorrow for an update on the Vitamin D and thyroid issues.
I'm getting very excited about Paris. VERY EXCITED. I just have to get my plane ticket to and from Boston! I've been waiting for prices to drop, but so far, no luck. I don't have enough miles with Alaska to get a half price ticket just yet. So it's down to Continental which would not be a direct flight but reasonably priced or my usual direct flights on Alaska. Have to decide by next week - or at the very latest - the first of August.
I promise to update you later. REALLY! I do!!

What I mean is...

2010-06-09T14:46:00.000-07:00

I've been very depressed lately about a number of things.

The weather is awful. Yeah, I know I live in Oregon and we have a lot of rain, it's a rain forest for god's sake. But this year is the worst I can remember for some time. Today is JUNE 9th. The Junior Rose Parade is today. All the years we lived in the Hollywood district, the Junior Rose parade meant fun and sun and kids out in shorts and sandals. The BIG PARADE is Saturday. The pools are getting ready to open! But it's 60 degrees and RAINING...torrents of rain. I have friends who have natural swimming holes in their back yards now. Not that they asked for them.

No matter how hard I am saving, I can't seem to get to a place where I can relax about money. No matter what I do with my diet and exercise, I am ballooning up, not going down. No matter how hard I avoid the news, it finds me and it depresses me even more. And even when I think I'm clearing out a space for new, serendipity to find me...the space just keeps filling with more junk.

I've made a huge discovery in the last few days. And it's not a good one. I am a depressive person. Not a Manic Depressive - just a depressive. See, I ran out of money. I had to pay my rent and with the money left over, I could either get my prescription for my anti-depressant filled...or buy food. Not both. No way I could stretch that. No way I could make it work out. So I let my prescription go...I knew it was a risk. But I've been on the damn things for almost 4 years. And it was only going to be for a couple weeks at most! And I could handle it, Right?

Wrong. The first week was tolerable. I was able to be with my daughter and in the sun and that seemed to help keep the anxiety and big black cloud of doom away. But the past week, especially these past few days, have been horrible. I'm telling you - this is no way to have to feel. No way to have to function. And it makes me so mad. I'm constantly on edge. Constantly a sniff away from tears. And I don't sleep - my mind just won't stop!

I don't choose to feel this way. No one would. And I'm smart enough to know that I took the risk and I'm paying for it. But I'm ashamed at how it is now impacting other people - people who don't deserve this treatment and didn't sign up for this craziness. (See why I can't get involved with anyone?? This is a suck state to live in and there is nothing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING anyone can do for me when I'm here. You can't love me out of this. No One Can.)

Why do I have to make this choice? Why am I made to decide between nutrients and chemicals for my body and nutrients and chemicals for my mind? Aren't they both important?

Anyway - if you are one of the many who have been hurt by my behavior and neglected because of my moods and are at a loss to explain it. I'm sorry. It's not about you - I swear. And if you don't want to be my friend anymore, it's okay. I really understand. But I hope you'll give me another chance. I'm getting back on my drugs tomorrow.

And once those little chemicals start fixing my brain - then I'm left with the question; what would make me feel better? Let's start a list, shall we? Maybe the universe could find a way to make just a few of these things happen.

A decent, affordable, tasty cup of coffee in the morning. I don't brew a pot at home just to get one cup. It's not cost effective and my coffee is cold by the time I walk to work.
An actual result from the weeks of starving, exercising, denying I've been doing.
Enough money in the bank to pay for my food, my bills, my cat, my prescriptions, some new clothes (for the new body that will happen - or the old fat one that is hanging around) my ticket to Boston and some fun in Paris.
A purse that allows me to carry my phone, my wallet, my sunglasses, my eyeglass cleaner, some pens and a note pad, gum, hand lotion, a couple tampons, keys, a few pictures and a chapstick. And enough extra space to throw in a bagel or a yougurt and a piece of fruit in the morning without needing to pack another entire bag!
A clean car - inside and out. And the money to get an oil change!
A series of warm, summer days. Complete with picnics and barbecues, wine and margaritas, bare skin and laughter. And nice long walks in the sun - helping my body AND my mind feel better.
A clean house. No dusts or smells or sticky floors. No hairballs or cat litter tracked everywhere.
Some real furniture - not the assemble yourself Target dorm room stuff that I've had to live with for 6 years now.

Time to spend with people I love. Freedom to express myself without fear of misunderstanding. Love that makes me feel more connected and real, not less than I am.
Forgiveness from anyone I have offended, hurt, scared off, pissed off, made cry or made angry.
I'm trying to get better. I'm trying to do better. I'm trying to be better. It's just so hard right now.

Sir Ken Robinson: Bring on the teaching revolution! | Video on TED.com

2010-05-24T08:01:00.000-07:00

Can I send this to every education administrator on the planet???

We are starving our souls.

Sir Ken Robinson: Bring on the teaching revolution! | Video on TED.com

Failure to communicate

2010-05-21T11:27:00.000-07:00

This has been a frustrating week for me. It started out wonderfully. My beloved sisters and my niece Nikki spent Monday evening with me at dinner, followed by a fabulous pub quiz. Tuesday, I was able to spend a little more time with them and with my niece Dawn. I love these ladies. They make me laugh until I hurt. We talk about important stuff and silly stuff. We praise our children and share our griefs. And I teared up trying to explain to my sister Judie how I am at a loss of how to tell my beautiful daughter how proud I am of her. It just doesn't seem enough to say, "I knew you could do it. You are amazing. Your gift is to be the light of my life." I don't know what to say.

After a stop in at Papa Haydn's for a light nibble and a tasty dessert, I opted to take mine home. Chocolate Truffle Cake. And I couldn't finish it. I thought I was past this hurt. I thought I was ready to move on. But I thought wrong. After all, it's been nearly three years.

Three years ago, after traveling from Portland to Boston in a Budget moving truck with my daughter Bridgete and her cat Severus Bartholomew; a journey detailed here Expotition to Boston ; I returned to Portland. A man that I had been dating for about a month prior to the trip was displaying decidedly possessive and controlling behavior. But I was in a very emotionally exhausted place and not sure how to tell this man that he clearly didn't get me and we needed to move on. I was naturally disappointed that once again, I had failed to see the real man beneath the show, and that once again, in spite of my openness, honesty and refusal to settle, I was being asked to give up myself in order to have a relationship. Labor Day weekend had arrived and I was intending to take those days to clear the air and start fresh. Instead, we went out for dinner and dancing. I ordered a piece of chocolate cake for dessert. I hadn't had real chocolate cake in ages. And I felt I deserved it.

But apparently, I was mistaken. The following morning, for 3 hours, I was raped and repeatedly told that my yearning for chocolate cake was disrespectful, contemptuous, impolite, unladylike, and not to be repeated. For the rest of that day, I was ordered to starve and walk 5 miles to work off the disgusting poison I had put into my body. But then, I didn't understand that my body wasn't my own, it was his. Everything I did and said with it was a reflection on him and how I honored him.

Clearly, this man was not stable or rational. And once I got him out of my home and fell apart, I was blessed to be surrounded by dear friends, many of them men, who talked me back to wholeness. Or to something resembling it.

Yet, I still can't eat chocolate cake. I have a few bites and as soon as I start to enjoy the delectable chocolate on my tongue and feel just a little bit hedonistic, I am taken to a place of shame and fear and loss and pain.

So I spent the days since Tuesday angry at him, angry at the fools who cry and scream that they want their America back - yet they can't even be bothered to participate in the election process, angry at myself for eating bad food and then shoving more bad food on top of it. (Because I really am dishonorable and disrespectful and unladylike and deserve to be alone and fat.)

There does seem to be a failure of communication these days. Ironic that we are so connected and yet we still aren't able to communicate to those who really need to hear. We do a good job of stirring up emotions especially fear and hatred. We do a good job of telling other people what think they should do. We do a good job of speaking in 140 characters. But do we really communicate?

Clearly we don't know how to write anymore and if the T-P-arty is anything to go by, ignorance is bliss. Is there hope for a country where a 30% voter turnout is something to celebrate? Democracy demands participation and participation demands education and education demands communication. Not manipulation, propaganda, and deception. But open, honest, true communication.

I'm no longer angry. I'm just sad. And I'm saddest of all that I can't seem to find the words to tell the one I love more than any other - how very blessed I am to know you. I love you Bridgete.

Failure to communicate - The Boston Globe

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Nicholas Christakis: The hidden influence of social networks | Video on TED.com

2010-05-10T08:13:00.000-07:00

I love TED Talks. It always gives me something to think about, wonder, contemplate and ultimately incorporate into my being. This one is especially telling as our "social networks" have become increasingly virtual and not actual. Yet the ties, at least in my experience, are no less important, influential and necessary to the health and happiness of our being. Enjoy.

And thank you for being part of my network. I know I am better for it.

Nicholas Christakis: The hidden influence of social networks | Video on TED.com

Words, words, words

2010-04-29T09:01:00.000-07:00

In Act Two of My Fair Lady, Eliza Doolittle declares to Freddy Einsford-Hill that she's "so sick of words. I get words all day through, first from him, now from you." She want Freddy to take action - and "Show Me." While I understand the sentiment of don't talk, show, I've never been sick of words. I love words. Words make me wet - to put it bluntly. I love to read them, hear them, sing them, write them, play with them, invent them. Words, words, words....fabulous words.

So why is it that when I commit myself to sitting down and writing something specific - using my words to unleash my soul - that I suddenly can't find them. Or they seem foolish and empty. Or the universe steps in and says...no, you don't get to be a writer.

I've called myself a writer for years. I've written poems that I think are bloody fantastic. I've written short stories and treatments and short plays and outlines and ideas and blog posts until I'm sure there can't be anything left for me to say - nothing left to express. Yet there is this pull within me that says I still have more to do. More to say. My story isn't amazing or inspiring or tragic or comic. Except sometimes when it is. So why can't it find a form? A shape? An expression?

All this frustration is because I started out April so committed, so pumped up and focused and ready to get something accomplished. Then life...work, hurt knee, brother falls out of a tree and I spend every free hour at the hospital...exhaustion. Depression is right there ready to climb into my mind and negate every bit of progress I have made. Why am I so unwilling to cut myself some slack, let myself off the hook, celebrate what I have done and how far I have come?

I am passionate about poetry, libidinous about lingua, absurdly ape-shit for assonance and alliteration, and wild about words. I am a writer.

Patsy Rodenburg: Why I do theater | Video on TED.com

2010-04-02T10:36:00.000-07:00

I absolutely love this. And it's why I do theater, too. If you tell the truth, people may not like you, they may not be grown up enough to know the truth, but it will move you.

Patsy Rodenburg: Why I do theater | Video on TED.com

April Begins with a FRENZY!!

2010-04-01T16:28:00.000-07:00

Script Frenzy that is.

You may remember that I started to write a novel back in November with National Novel Writers Month. Well, that didn't work out so well. Got sick, had mother issues, etc. Well, now, it's Script Frenzy, brought to you by the same organization. This is a somewhat smaller, and if the group I met on Sunday are any indication, more extroverted set of writers. Perhaps it's because there are so many options for Script Frenzy. Your writing can be a play, a screenplay, a treatment or episode for a TV series; even a graphic novel. And that means you can have rom com to horror on one side of the table, sci-fi to situation comedy on the other. There's even one woman writing a musical!! And her collaborator lives on the other side of the country!

That's the other difference with Script Frenzy - you can write as a team or a group. Because we all know that scripts come in all shapes and sizes...just like people.

In my case, I'm writing a play. I've wanted to do this for some time. I love the theater and there is a real shortage of original plays out there these days. Mostly because the good money is in screenplays and TV shows. But they say write what you know. And I know theater!!

I'm not sure if this will turn out to be an absurdly funny comedy, a mystery, or a human tragedy. But I do know there will be squirrels! It's just time for it.

So wish me luck!!

Random Thoughts

2010-03-12T22:10:00.000-08:00

Dammit...it's one of those days again. Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it's that I still haven't completely recovered from my horrible bout of food poisoning. Maybe it's just that I'm completely f*cked.

Gray - and not just the skies. Gray everywhere. One of my favorite Dave Matthews Band songs is Gray Street. Maybe favorite isn't the right word - most fitting for me and how I feel sometimes.

She thinks, "Hey,
How did I come to this?
I dream myself a thousand times around the world,
But I can't get out of this place"

There's an emptiness inside her
And she'd do anything to fill it in
But all the colors mix together - to gray
And it breaks her heart

There's nothing I can point to, no trigger that has turned this feeling on. I'm completely vulnerable and burst into tears over the smallest things. Good and bad. Someone can tell me I'm looking good today, and I'll cry. Then the next person can walk past me like I'm invisible...tears. I really hate this place - and the worst part is the feeling that nothing will make it better. Fortunately, I know that's not true. Some good sleep, good food, exercise, and writing will make it better.

Already the signs are shifting. Just getting these nasty thoughts out of my head and onto the page is making a difference.

Now a little lunch...let's see how that helps.

And now it's a whole day later - and I still feel very fragile. I'm trying to embrace the pain and fear and believe that this is all the birth of a newer, better me. But god it hurts.

Why does it just feel that no matter how much I give? no matter how much I love? no matter how much I do? it just isn't enough. I am just not enough. They always want more. If I just break into a million tiny pieces and blow into dust, will that be enough? Will that finally be enough?

I've lost them

2010-02-09T13:14:00.000-08:00

"Losing your marbles was an expression pleasing to Spooner's ear from the first time he heard it...He knew from experience that it could be disorienting, walking around without your ordinary number of marbles and trying to put your finger on where you lost the ones that were missing." - Pete Dexter, SPOONER

I've been reading this fabulous book by Pete Dexter. It makes me laugh out loud and then it makes me cry. And all of it makes me think. When I read the above portion last week, it was one of those gifts that come along just when you need it. I definitely feel like I'm losing my marbles. And not just my marbles. I'm losing people, losing touch, losing sight of the positive, losing the battle, losing....

My best friend looked at me this morning and immediately knew I was sad. Not the deep scary sad I used to get, but definitely sad. And I can't tell you why. There are half a dozen good reasons for me to be sad.
My mother died and things were never resolved between us. But they never were going to be - and I accepted that a long time ago.
My best friend's father is dying, slowly and painfully and she's going through hell watching it and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
People are going to lose their jobs at my work. It's unavoidable. But there's no other way to keep the doors open for business.
My daughter lives too far away. I know we talk and write and all is good there - I'm not losing her. But I just want to hug her.
The world seems to have lost it's marbles too. There's a backlash of anti-intellectualism that has people leaping and reacting emotionally to any change while at the same time screaming that things can't keep going this way.
Mother nature is totally pissed off.
And I just can't get a good night's sleep anymore.

And then there's this empty place inside me - this hole - that is always there and always empty. I've tried to fill it with love and sex and food and attention and obsession and regret and guilt and shame. But no matter what I do, it's always there. I know I was made this way for a reason. At least I hope there's a reason for it all.

So maybe the answer is to just accept the emptiness. Not to worry about the hole. Not to mind what's missing. To feel sad and mourn and weep and let go. Not get so attached to any outcome, good or bad, that I am unable to embrace what is. Just don't worry about the marbles.

"The key, therefore, from early on, had been not to get so attached to your marbles that you would miss a few if they escaped."

10 for 10 - Random Resolutions for Thursday

2010-01-14T16:43:00.000-08:00

I'm not really good at resolutions and there a plethora of reasons why. I am my own worst enemy and giving myself a list of things to fail at is just asking for me to fail. But I've tried very hard to cleanse myself of negative thoughts and energy. So instead of resolutions...here are 10 Noble Pursuits for me in 2010.

1. How can I create more abundance in my life? The universe has been very good to me. I have a lovely little apartment that suits me to a tee. I have a good job, nice clothes, good food and wine. I have a little money for entertainment and travel. I am blessed. But there are indeed times when I feel a lack and don't treat myself as well as I deserve because I'm not feeling abundant. So I invite the possibility of abundance into my life.

2. Respect - I hold others in very high esteem, give them a break and send them love and blessing whenever they cross my mind. At least most of the time. I would like to treat every being who crosses my path with respect. And I would like to give myself the respect I deserve.

3. How can I invite greater comfort with my body? This is a really tough one for me. I don't have a good relationship with myself...and I really do want one. I love dancing and even though I wasn't very good at it, I could do it for hours. But there's no way I'm getting into tights and a tutu at (ahemmmm) pounds. My ass just doesn't look that good anymore. So I thought about maybe getting a Wii and Wii Fit and the Dance game for Wii. But that's 300+ dollars that I just don't have. (see abundance) I guess I could just put on music and dance, but there's something communal, tribal, healing, and just plain fun about dancing with others. Anyway...my walking and my yoga and my other attempts to shed weight and find greater comfort with my physical self are just not working like they used to. I still do them...but they aren't producing results. I need help with this one universe. Really! I do!

4. How can I ignite my creative spark? I'm doing pretty good at this one and yet I do find that I am still thinking about writing more often than actually writing. I need to make appointments with myself to have creative time. And STICK TO THE PLAN.

5. How can I experience more joy in my life? I've become afraid of disappointment - and of disappointing and I have allowed to limit my joy. I would like to invite the world in and let's have some joyous time!

6. How can I add positively to the lives of those I love? Well...I leave that one up to you my dear readers. What can I do for you this year?

7. How can I find a deeper spiritual experience and connection with my higher power? I've always been a pretty spiritual person. But finding a spiritual home or practice that centers me and gives me that deep connection with my true self has not proved an easy task. I would like to be open to the possibility of deepening that connection this year.

8. What does a loving relationship look like to me? I accept that my past has left me with deep emptiness and longing for another. But is there a possibility that I may find a deep and honest, lasting and fulfilling, loving adult relationship this year? Maybe.

9. What might a new relationship with my family look like? With the death of my mother and the time I spent with my birth family recently, I noticed that it is very easy for me to slip into old patterns with them. What might it look like if they actually began to learn about who I am and what I might be able to bring to a family dynamic that they hadn't thought of before?

10. What does a fully healthy, happy, loving, abundant, supportive, respectful, joyous KC look like? Maybe this is the year I begin to paint a portrait of her and see how to get there.

Happy New Year my lovelies.

Random Thoughts about my Mother

2009-12-17T10:48:00.000-08:00

It's been a very hectic month for me. I got very sick right after Thanksgiving and was barely able to hold my head up, let alone sit at a computer for long. Got back to work last week and was good for the work day, but still pretty tired when I got home. At long last this week, I started to feel like myself. Then yesterday afternoon, my sister called me. Our mother has died. Not unexpected, but still a bit of a blow. She lived nearly 92 years, her birthday is January 16th. So in the interest of remembering my mother and returning to regular blogging, I present Random Thoughts about My Mother.

Mildred Irene Wallock Watt. My mother was born in January 1918...just before the end of WWI. Los Angeles was a different place then, a collection of small towns, some manufacturing, some agriculture, some business. Her father moved his family there when the film industry was locating there because the sunshine and variety of landscape meant movie making could go on year round. An older actor, dark hair and beard, grandpa was often cast as "the heavy."

She grew up during the days of Prohibition and the Depression. Her father made homemade wine and she could remember her mother pouring it all down the drain once when she thought the revenuers were coming down the street.   It's hard to say what the Depression did to my mother, but I know she never could bring herself to throw something away if she thought it might be useful for something else. We had dozens upon dozens of margarine tubs when I was growing up. And glass jars made perfectly good drinking glasses for a large family. Some years ago when her VCR broke, she was amazed to discover that it was cheaper to get a new one than to have the old one fixed. That just wasn't her way of doing things.

Mother went to Catholic school from grades 1-8. She was a devout Catholic all her life, as was her father.   She went to public High School and graduated in 1935. She had received a scholarship to study acting at a Shakespeare conservatory, but was stuck with tuberculosis and spent the next several years bedridden. My father had met her around this time and he was a constant companion to her in her illness, bringing her news of the neighborhood and the world, books from the library and undying devotion.   He converted to Catholicism and when she was well enough, they married in 1939.

It's hard to imagine my mother as a young wife and mother. I was born a full 20 years later and she was a very different person by then. World War II had come and gone. My father had been called overseas while she was pregnant with my sister Nancy. Then after the war, they had relocated to Grants Pass Oregon where they found the community and pace of life they had known growing up in Los Angeles. It was the kind of life they wanted for their family, but it meant that my mother had to be apart from her father, whom she loved dearly. And from the place she had always called home.

Shortly after her parents death in 1952; within 2 weeks of each other, I might add; my mother organized and started a community theater group with the help of her uncle Mike. Barnstomer's Theater is still in operation in Grants Pass. It must be one of the longest running active community theaters in the country. It was a thriving organization by the time I was born in 1959.   I grew up in the musty basement costume and make-up rooms. I still find cold basements smelling of sawdust and musty clothes to be oddly comforting.

Mother was a wonderful actor. She commanded your attention from the moment she was on stage. With her striking white hair, dark eyes, and commanding posture, you couldn't help but watch her. She was commanding in real life too. I used to love to watch her getting ready to go out with my father or dressing for church. My mother's hair was white, beautiful soft white, with one small patch of black at the back underneath. And it was thick. She used to let me brush it and then she would braid it before going to bed. During the day, she wore it up in a bun at the back. And I would watch her pinning it up, checking her hair from all angles, making sure the bun was set just right upon her head, just the right amount of curl in the bang down onto her forehead, not quite hiding the widow's peak at the hairline.

Imposing. That's what one of my friends said to me after first meeting her. "Your mother is very imposing." She was right. You just didn't mess with my mother.

She gave me many gifts...a love of reading, music, dance, theater, art. I used to listen to her records on our old hi-fi. Chopin and Beethoven and Gershwin. She taught me to play the piano and read music. She took me to my first classical concert. My first ballet.

She loved irises. And roses. And lilies. And begonias. She missed the bougainvillea of California.

Mother loved beautiful things. And she made things beautiful by her wearing of them. I shall always remember the large red poinsettia pin on the black wool coat with the soft fur cuffs. I would sit and stroke her coat during mass. When my brother Robert was getting married, she had a dress made of olive green with a matching duster, shoes died to match and a little hat like Jackie O.

And when she was on stage, I couldn't take my eyes off her. She played God once in JB. Most children think their mother is God. I knew she was.

In many ways, I'm sure my mother didn't have the life she wanted. But she made the most of the life she was given. She was loved and admired. She was respected and listened too. Her opinion mattered to many people. It wasn't easy being her child. But it made me strong.

Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine

Gratitude

2009-11-23T15:29:00.000-08:00

"When I'm worried and I can't sleep
I count my blessing instead of sheep
Then I fall asleep counting my blessings." - Irving Berlin

I love that song. It's almost time for me to watch WHITE CHRISTMAS again and get tears in my eyes when Rosemary Clooney sings about love that didn't do right by her and Bing reminds us all to count our blessings.

It's that time of year where we try to remember to be grateful - and to remember to tell those we love how very important they are to us. I am especially grateful this year. It has been a good year for me - lots of growth and change and plenty to be grateful for.

1) My daughters. Being a good mother is the most important thing to me. For me, that means working at my relationships with my daughters. Treasuring who they are and what matters to them. Championing their victories and helping them back up when life knocks them down. Most of all, it means loving them and being whatever they need me to be. There when they want me, invisible when they don't.
Now, when I say, "my daughters", I don't just mean the one I gave birth to. I mean her half-sisters who have been part of my life for nearly 30 years. I mean the other young women in my family - nieces and daughters of my nieces. I mean Bridgete's friends, young women her own age who have become so very special to me. Watching them mature and find their footing is as fulfilling for me as if they were my very own. I mean young women I work with and socialize with who ask my advice and make me laugh and remind me that it's never to late to be sexy or flirt or maybe...possibly...find love. All of you are my daughters and I love you all.
2) My siblings. More of this later...but the love of these 3 men and 2 women who have known me all my life, and still like me, is priceless.
3) My friends. I am incredibly lucky to work with, play with, talk with, create with, laugh with, cry with the most open, honest, real, talented, bunch of folks. Some of them, I have never actually met...but I'm connected to them online and have known them for years. We've been through births and deaths and weddings and divorces and our bonds are strong...and real!
4) My job. It's not the most important job in the world. I'm not making life or death decisions. But it's a job that suits me and my personality. It draws on my strengths. And I have a boss that trusts me, gives me challenges that I enjoy, and backs me when I need it.   I can remain financially independent - even if it is a stretch these days.
5) My home. My little place gives me just enough space to stretch and grow. It's light and clean and warm. I have my light that streams in each morning and evening...highlighting the dust and smudges and those spots on the rug I thought I got! I have my grocery store and drug store and movie theater and sushi and Starbuck's and Pizzicato and gellato and Mexican food with margaritas all nearby. I have my trees out front that are never naked for long. The last leaves will fall in the next few weeks and the first buds will start appearing in Feb. My squirrels are nearby. Birds for Sol. And then Sol himself is content there. He has windows and sunny spots and just enough room to run around when the mood strikes him.
6) My mother. This one is hard. Very hard. You see, my mother is dying right now. Probably more passively than actively.   She's 91 and her heart is giving out. But mother herself is semi-conscious. She eats. She talks to nurses or whoever is in her room. She doesn't seem to be all that aware of who is there and who isn't. As far as I know, she hasn't asked to see me. And it's rather difficult to get there right now. My car isn't up to the trip and I don't have tires that can handle the snow in the mountains. And so I might not be able to say my goodbyes to her.
Yet I said my goodbyes a long time ago. Not to the person of Mildred Watt, but to the mother idea that I held on to for so long.   To the notion that if I just was a good girl, she would love me. To the guilt that I couldn't be a famous actress and bring her the limelight she so wanted in her own life. To the fear that I wasn't, am not, never can be good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, talented enough for her.
So...what I said before about how I love my girls as they are...and how I'm so grateful my siblings love me as I am. In a very odd way, I'm grateful that my mother couldn't love me that way...just so I could learn how important it is to have people in your life that do love you without conditions. And so I could learn the difference.
I won't ever stop hearing her voice. But I have learned to filter out the messages. I love her. I'm grateful for her and for my father. I hope she finds peace soon. And the curtain can come down on that drama at last.
Finally - I am very grateful for this space where I can have a voice. And for all you out there who listen to me....even when I'm not sure what I'm trying to say.

What do I do??

2009-11-10T09:06:00.000-08:00

So I entered National Novel Writing Month - where you are supposed to create a 175 pg, 50, 000 word novel in the month of November. I started out pretty good, whipped out my first 1000 words in one evening. Thought I could probably get there if I spent at least one day a weekend writing. Sure...no problem.

Well - one small problem. I'm writing, that's not it. But the story has no form, no plot, no hook. It's just words!! I keep writing...waiting for the inspiration to hit...and people keep telling me that I have to just keep writing and not edit and not worry about the rest. I'm trying! Really I am. But so far it feels pretty much like masturbation. I do it because I have to. (I mean, I can't not write - and yes I know that's a double negative - see I can't stop editing even here!) I do it because there is some pleasure in releasing all these ideas that have been banging around in my head. But in the end I feel pretty empty because it just doesn't feel like the real thing.

Probably more information than you wanted about me. But it had to be said.

I love writing. I love the satisfaction of finding just the right word to define the color of the sunrise when I'm waiting for my bus in the wet November morning. I love the feel of words on my tongue. I love the release of a perfectly articulated idea and seeing others warm to it.

Maybe I just haven't found the right...toy...to play with. And in the meantime, just keep doing it. Thanks for listening.

Random Thoughts...back on track

2009-10-29T20:12:00.000-07:00

Boy this has been a really random day. I started off with my yearly appt. with my doctor. Only it wasn't with my doctor, because my doctor has left the practice where she's been for the past 10 years, which is how long I've been seeing her. But she doesn't start at her new practice until January...so I had a new doctor at the old practice. (are you still with me?)

So I head out to drive there and there's been a downpour in Portland this morning and people still haven't re-learned how to drive in the rain here and there are accidents everywhere I turn. I get to the office right on the dot of my appointment time. There's only me and one other patient in the waiting room, which could be good, could be bad. Turns out okay...I'm whisked in for my weigh and measure...don't ask me the number it's embarrassing and makes me really mad that in spite of all the shedding I'm doing emotionally, there is still actual dead weight I'm carrying around. Huff....

Then I get the blood pressure, history check, medications check, all that Physician's assistant stuff. And this is a new assistant too who doesn't know all the things that Molly and Bridget (her assistant) have known about me for years. Then I have to do the uncomfortable thing. You know, the little drape that goes over the top and the little drape that goes over the bottom. It doesn't matter how girlie and cute you make the prints...they are still just little pieces of fabric that you are naked under and they can't keep you warm in that stark, sterile little room.   So there I sit on the exam table, literally freezing my ass, trying to read the New Yorker from back in July and not think about how exposed I feel, and the PA pops in to tell me that Dr. Rachel isn't in the office yet. I'm her first appointment of the day and she was doing rounds at the hospital seeing the new babies and she'll be there as soon as she can. Huff....

Well, she finally gets there and we have to chat while she waits for her laptop to boot up and my medical records to get loaded and finally we get to the fun stuff.   But it's all good and eventually I get to go have my blood drawn and get my tetanus shot. Oh yeah, she discovered I haven't had my tetanus shot in 10 years, so surprise! And I've been fasting for about 14 hours by now and my stomach can be heard a mile away.

So I dash off to get coffee and food on my way back to work.

Work lately has been just a series of meetings and typing and editing and teaching. All good stuff, but the days just fly by. I don't even know where the month has gone!! Like I said, I've been doing lots of shedding - emotional processes mostly - but some physical too. Like I cleaned out my bathroom/linen closet and found all the half used tiny tubes of toothpaste and 10 year old bath salts and other stuff that I'm just never going to use again. Hauled that out to the trash. Got my carpets cleaned. Now I just have to keep Sol off the rugs. Yeah...good luck with that.   I got my 100 Acre Wood rug cleaned...and there's a big spot on Tigger. Just where he barfed on it. Dude said he was jealous of Tigger. :)

I've booked my trip to Boston for Christmas. My lovely daughter said I can stay for two weeks...well...almost 2 weeks. I'm flying in on Dec. 19 and flying home on New Year's Eve. I'm very excited to see Bridgete again, and Boston.   Also, I get to meet Jenn and see my friend Les. It's going to be a great trip. I can feel it.

Gotta go to yoga now. More later....

Yoga was great. I love how it's really become a part of my week. I feel it if I have to miss class for some reason - and I miss it. And now I'm home on the couch with my wine letting go of the day. I love where I am. Love the view out my window. Love the sounds around me. Love the direction I'm headed in. It's all good!!!!

Freedom of Choice

2009-10-13T12:55:00.000-07:00

We like choice. We like the ability to look at the array of garments on a rack, shoes on a display, toothpaste on a shelf, even auto insurance plans - and saying - "Yes...I choose this."

Lately, I've been teaching myself about choice. That may sound pretty silly. Obviously I haven't lived this long or done what I've done in my life without making choices. But I have to say I wasn't really taught how to choose. It's been sort of hit or miss in my life. Fortunately, I've had more hits than misses. My guardian angel has definitely earned her wings. And I think it's time I gave her a rest.

Growing up when I did, where I did with the parents I had, I basically learned two things. Nice girls always say yes - this gets them loved and appreciated and desired. And my world as a girl was basically flat - and going to the edge, especially going over the edge, was just not something you did.

Let me explain here. When I say that nice girls always say yes, the great unspoken NO was, of course, sex. But THIS is easily explained. Nice Girls only go with Nice Boys and Nice Boys would never ask a Nice Girl to cross that line. So if you found yourself in that predicament, you were not with a Nice Boy and were playing around the edge of Nice Girl land.

First a bit about the edge of the world. Falling off the edge isn't necessarily a bad thing. You might fly. And if you do fall, chances are there are some really great people where you land who will help you pick yourself up and show you around the new place you have landed in. But this is where learning about Choice becomes really important. If you land in a place that feels bad to you, it's good to know you have a choice about leaving there and you're not stuck for good.

Learning to say NO, learning that I have the power, the freedom of CHOICE, that's been a real experience for me. Some NOs are easier than others. Some NOs are obvious. But discovering the power of NO has made me a little crazy. Sometimes I just say NO automatically...like a two year old that just learned the word. And how do we teach a two year old to stop saying NO? We teach them about making choices. It's a long process to teach someone about choice, especially when we can see so clearly the right choice. But making that choice for someone else, whether they are 2 or 12 or 22, teaches them nothing. And so I have been learning about No.

And a remarkable thing has happened. Now that I know I can say No - and the world doesn't end and people still love me and I'm still a Nice Girl - it makes YES so much more meaningful. More pleasurable. More honest. More confident. More My Choice.

So - as CSN say - teach your children well. Teach them about Choice. How to make them and how to use them wisely. Teach them that if there is a YES, then there is also a NO. Teach them about that edge - be the tree at the edge that will hold them up and let them fly. Let them fall too. Sometimes the best lessons are found in landing.

It's My Party

2009-10-06T11:26:00.000-07:00

The Gods have smiled on me. My birthday party was all that, da bomb, buck, absolutely FABULOUS.

To begin with, my darling friend Nancy called as we were setting up. Considering that she was nursing a broken elbow and looking at surgery the next day, I was honored that she thought to call me at all. My cupcakes from Lisa Madrid were adorable and yummy. Contact me if you want her info. They were proclaimed by my daughter Jennifer to be "the best she has ever had."

(Picture is of a painting by Erika Lee Sears who introduced me to Lisa and yes the cupcakes looked just like that)

Jennifer and her husband were there. Not a big deal for a daughter, you say? Well, considering that she is actually my step-daughter and her father and I haven't been together for 5 years, yeah it was. He was there, too. My ex. See? It is possible to be friends with your ex.

Then people began to flow in too fast for me to catch everyone. When a woman came in looking vaguely familiar, and then the light dawned that it was my friend Kate Hawkes, who I thought was still in Australia!, and I screamed! It was so lovely to see her. More hugging, talking, eating, moving from table to table sipping lovely wines all around. Work friends. High school friends. So many people here for me.

And just when I thought I might be able to slow down and sit with some folks....up the sidewalk I see my sister Judie and her husband Jules. Then behind them I begin to see...my sister Nancy! My brother Nick. My brother ROBERT!!!! Those three live in Grants Pass, 250 miles away and I haven't seen them in a couple of years. Yes, I screamed and hugged and cried!!

Thank you Polly for the picture!

It was truly a night to remember. I felt very loved. And even as people began to leave and the evening ran down, I continued to feel the love and connection to them. To all of them. And to all who weren't there.

My therapist once told me that he had never known anyone who made and maintained connections to others like I do. That night, I saw what he meant. My life has been touched and shaped by so many wonderful people. My birthday was a time for me to give back, to say "thank you for being part of me." Yet again, I am the one who is blessed. The one who received the gift. And the one who is humbled by how many lives I touch.

Thank you everyone - near and far - who continue to support me as I grow into the woman I am supposed to be.

Broken Thought Process Thurs...I mean Friday! Sept. 18

2009-09-18T09:07:00.000-07:00

Well, here's my first thought of the day. What is so hard about making a decent cup of coffee? I've been drinking coffee for as long as I can remember. SERIOUSLY! My dad used to put coffee in my milk when I was a little girl, because I wouldn't, couldn't, still can't and won't drink plain milk.

For years, I've searched for the perfect home brewing method. I hate making a pot at home for one or at the most two cups. I have a Senseo. It worked for about 3 months. Then it got clogged up and there's not enough pressure to push through the pods and get a good cup. Plus the time...I hate getting up in the morning and having to wait for the water to heat up until I can try and get a cup worth drinking....as I watch my bus go by. I don't want to spend money on espressos that I KNOW cost them like .75 to 1.00 and they are getting 3-4 bucks from me. I understand you have to figure in labor and overhead and blah, blah, blah. I used to try to explain to people that complained about ticket service charge at my ticketmaster outlet that I wasn't getting squat from their 100.00 concert tickets and the only way to pay my staff to be there and sell them the damn ticket was for them to cough up their 3.75.

But I just want to start my day with a good, smooth, wonderfully rich scented, just enough milk to make it caramel colored, cuppajoe.

We have this machine at the office. Put in a quarter and you get a cup of coffee. I watch it make the coffee. Measure the grinds into this little bowl...add the hot water and let it brew...the press the coffee out. Sounds great. Tastes awful.

I'm contemplating becoming one of those cone people at work. You know the ones...have my little Melita filters and my special grind and I boil my water in the microwave and pour it over my little beans. Or maybe a french press...but...they're so messy.

But maybe what I really want is that old Mr. Coffee, with the 3lb Yuban can, the white ceramic mug that looked like it came from the coffee shop on the corner, and my daddy getting the balance of milk and coffee and sugar just right, setting it down next to my bowl of cheerios and giving me a kiss on the head. Yeah. That's probably what I'm really missing.

Broken Thought Process - Sept 10

2009-09-10T11:24:00.000-07:00

How are you spending your heartbeats?

Lately, I'm not spending them the way I want to. I need to change that. And I'm going to start today. Right now. Today. One day. One hour. One minute. One heartbeat at a time.

BTP - part deux...

2009-09-03T20:27:00.000-07:00

So I'm in yoga tonight and my knee pops really loud...my bad knee....really loud. Now it hurts like a sonofabitch. I am so happy I decided to revision my life. Fuck.

BTPT - Sep. 3

2009-09-03T09:29:00.000-07:00

In 4 weeks - 28 days - I will be 50 years old. That's how my day started. Seriously! I woke up thinking that. I guess I had birthday on the brain because today is my friend Bonnie Howard's birthday - and yesterday I was trying to think up cheap fun ways to celebrate my half century mark. But do I really have to wake up with this thought on my mind??

I know that birthdays are supposed to be celebrated and though the years I've had a few awesome ones. But the percentage isn't great. I didn't have birthday parties as a kid ( okay everyone...big awwww...) I know it was tough on my parents. I was the 7th child. The end of the line. And everyone else was 8 to 19 years older than I was. Throwing parties was something they were pretty tired of. I'm sure I had those cute little parties when I was very small, but once my sisters were grown up and gone, I didn't have parties. Maybe a cake with my family. Presents sure. But I was actually sent to my room once on my birthday because I cried when I got a new winter coat for my birthday and my mom didn't have time to make me a cake. Jeez..I was 8 years old! I wanted to feel special and instead I felt like one more thing to deal with.

My 13th was pretty sweet. My best friend was invited to spend the day with us and we went to see Nicolas and Alexandra at the new cinema in Medford and then went to pizza. My parents never ate pizza. (Now don't go looking up N&A in the IMDB. I know it says 1971 release. But I grew up in Grants Pass Oregon - long before VCRs and DVDs. It was an Oscar movie - which means it didn't really get released until Dec. 1971 and then didn't make it to Medford until Fall of 1972)

My 15th, my sister Nancy gave a surprise party for me - but it was still just family. 18th, my parents and I were driving from GP to Newberg where they would leave me for my first year in College. We had ice cream in Rice Hill. 21, I had just moved to Portland to go to PSU. I left behind my first love and everyone else I knew. So I went and bought a bottle of wine and toasted myself. David sent me a plant for my apartment. I had that plant for almost 15 years before it finally gave up. 30 - I threw myself a party. One year my co-workers at PSU gave me a sweet tea party. I still have the tea pot from that one. 40 - my cube got decked in black. 44 - I knew my marriage was well and truly over. I got drunk and contemplated suicide. 45 - my first one on my own. All the guys at work took me to lunch and I felt pretty loved. 47 - my last one with Bridgete. She cooked me spaghetti lobster and we watch a movie together at her little house. 48 - I tried to forget being without B and my recent bad chocolate cake experience by having a bash with co-workers at my favorite wine bar. My horrible luck with parties continued when exactly 4 people came. We had a great time...but I kind of swore off parties after that. Last year, I went to the beach with my friend Bert. That was perfect. Sunny, Sylvia Beach Hotel, great dinner, great wine, great company.

So now I'm looking at one of the MILESTONES. THE BIG FIVE-O! And part of me wants to simply ignore it. But most of me really wants to CELEBRATE! BIG PARTY CELEBRATE. And I'm broke. I have some savings, but my car is being temperamental and I have to buy a plane ticket for Boston for Christmas and I can't drain that to nothing. I'd really just like to find a nice place that is not to expensive, invite everyone I know and hope someone shows up. I can't host the party so wherever I choose has to be cool with however many people show and whether they order food or not, drinks or not, and not charge me extra for servers or a back room or whatever. I'm still thinking Beth and Everyday Wine are the way to go. Beth is totally cool and I love her. But part of me wants a full bar like this place- Night Light Lounge.

And Bert is coming again....and she and I talked about going to the beach again...and right now I don't even trust my car to make it there....

Can you tell I'm struggling right now? I'm standing on the edge looking down there into that pit and wondering if just a little wallow wouldn't be such a bad idea. This weekend is a three day one and I'm going to do a little purging. Cleaning out my closets. Letting go of those old hurts that are keeping me tied to my pain. And seriously thinking about my next 50 years and what I want those to look like. My little calendar this morning told me that "It's never too late - in fiction or in life - to revise." Time for a re-vision, a fresh look with softer, gentler eyes, a blank canvas that can be whatever I want it to be.

So let's start with some celebration. What do you say??

Be sure to check other Broken Thoughts from Ginger, Kate, Bridgete and Jenn.

Thank you Senator Kennedy

2009-08-26T11:25:00.000-07:00

Like many of us, I've been thinking about the impact on my life of Senator Kennedy. He'll always be Teddy to me - something he himself probably cringed at. And I suspect that now that his work here is done, he's at peace with his role in his larger than life family.

I share many qualities with Ted. I, too, am the youngest member of a large, loud, boisterous family. I, too, took on the mantle of the family tradition when others would not. I, too, made sacrifices, both personal and professional, for my family. And I believe that I, too, have learned to embrace who I am - separate from and yet still very much a part of my family of birth.

I share his Catholic upbringing, with an emphasis on servitude and gratitude. I had a father who was looked up to and admired by his peers. Not a wealthy man to be sure, but a man whose wealth went far beyond material riches and who was mourned at his death by everyone whose life had been touched by him. I have a mother who still dominates the center of our being. Old and frail she may be, but it is her love and approval we all still seek.

I first became aware of Ted Kennedy when he spoke at his brother Robert's funeral. Those words he spoke..."Those of us who loved him and who take him to his rest today, pray that what he was to us and what he wished for others will some day come to pass for all the world."...I offer up for him today.

I was 9 years old then. Robert Kennedy had visited my home town of Grants Pass on his campaign for President. My mother took me out of school to see him. I had never missed school for anything before. Even Holy Days of Obligation were no reason to miss school. My church was across the street from my school and mass at lunch was how I spent those days. I was awed by the Kennedy charisma - swept up in the hope of a new world where my future education, employment, and health was to be assured. After all, we were Americans, pioneers, explorers, we could do anything we set our minds too. And on that awful June day, when I saw a man killed before my very eyes...a man I had seen in person...a man I had touched...something in me was crushed. And then to watch the televised funeral and to hear his brother speak of him with such love and such pain. I became a follower of Ted, and his efforts to make the world a better place were never off my radar.

Such a fine man he was. We are not likely to see his kind again. A man of great privilege whose life was marked with tragedies we can barely comprehend. To lose 3 brothers in such swift and violent ways. To have a child with cancer. To know the pain of alcohol abuse in his family and a failed marriage. To have his personal failings and faults so broadly exposed to the world. To walk in the shadow of his siblings and parents and somehow achieve greater things than any one of them ever did. By all accounts, he was more than an uncle to his brother's children. More than a colleague to his fellow senators. More than a statesman. More than a champion for social justice...for women and children, for minorities, for all. A true liberal who never shied away from that label. A good man whose good work will live on long after us all.

In his own words..."Every American should have the opportunity to receive a quality education, a job that respects their dignity and protects their safety, and health care that does not condemn those whose health is impaired to a lifetime of poverty and lost opportunity."

Let us honor him in our hearts, but more importantly, let us honor him in our deeds. The battle isn't over yet. And I'd hate to let Teddy down.

Rest Teddy. You've earned it.

Random Thought Process

2009-08-20T12:00:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure how random my thoughts will be today...I'm completely and totally annoyed at FOX media today. Not just FOX, but all the media that is treating these health care forums like they are the next Boston Tea Party - Death to Tyranny and all that.

I'm all for debate, discourse, discussion. And there is no question that the health care system in this country is broken - and not just in one way. Insurance companies, hospitals, doctors, and drug companies all share part of the burden. And let's not forget the patient bears some responsibility for their own health. And all of us will bear a part of the burden in fixing it.

And THAT is what I see President Obama trying to do. Not foist a completely new system on us that makes all the rules and takes our rights away. Not shove a one payer system on everyone no matter what the general populace believes. BUT MAKE EACH PARTICIPANT RESPONSIBLE FOR DISCOVERING HOW TO IMPROVE IT!

I'm sure there are people out there who feel like we're sailing off the edge of the world - there are monsters out there and they're out to get us - we don't like what we have but don't take it away from us cause it's all we know....but someone has to be brave enough to sail off the edge. Someone has to try and rephrase the question, not just go with the same answers we've always had. Someone has to take the step and lead us through the fire swamp.

I'm willing to see what this man can do, what leadership he can provide, what new lands he can help us discover.

And not just President Obama. I find everyday that I read about ordinary people trying to find ways to help one another - help a battered woman in India change her life, help a child in Appalachia have food on weekends when school is out - help all of us have a safer, cleaner, planet where we all agree to take care of it. And of each other.

You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one...am I?

the human virus

2009-08-12T10:29:00.000-07:00

Remember that book I talked about awhile back? A Failure of Nerve? Well, I picked it up again this week and my head is spinning again with all the good stuff inside it.

I just finished the chapter on surviving in a hostile environment. First, the author described the behavior of viruses in the biological world, how it needs a host and has no self-regulation. Then he went on to describe the behavior of disruptive or "viral" members of society. These people can be a malignancy in a family, a workplace, social organization or public sector. But they have these traits in common that the true leader must develop a resistance to.

They tend to be easily hurt or victimized. (no outer membrane to protect them)
They tend to idolize leaders with unrealistic expectations and then are quick to crucify them.
They never see how they contribute to the condition they complain about
Their responses are limited to on or off, us and them, black and white and are unable to tolerate discord or dissent
They focus on ritual and procedure and get stuck on content.
They find light and truth toxic and thrive in the darkness of conspiracy.
They have a high degree of reactivity.
They tend to ooze into relationships with others and tend to subvert communication and connection with others.
They are easily panicked and stampeded into group thinking.
They are relentless and invulnerable to insight. Unless walled off or totally defeated, they tend to come back with a vengeance.

So does this sound at all like those people out there disrupting the town meetings on health care? Does this sound like the faux news and group think we have been spoon fed for years? Does this sound like the behavior of our past administrations? (and I don't just mean Bush - but Clinton as well) Does this sound like a virus we want to keep alive in our society?

I, for one, would like a little light and truth, communication and connection, debate and dissent and evolution. Won't you join me in fighting this virus? Like any parasite, it can't live if we don't give it a host.

Broken Thought Process - Aug 7, 2009

2009-08-07T07:53:00.000-07:00

I'm tired...so freakin' tired. I'm the kind of tired that means I'll get all weepy and emotional - the kind that means my skin is like rice paper and if you touch me I'll just dissolve into dust. The kind that means I saw Mr. ring on his finger yesterday for like 30 seconds and I had to stand in the friggin' stairwell and catch my breath and tell myself not to cry. Of course that also means that he finds a dozen reasons to be on MY floor during the day and I have to see (and hear) him at least a dozen more times that day. So last night was a cry myself to sleep night.

I hate it that he gets to me. He's such a dick - really...major dickhead...but I so want to believe that underneath all that dickishness, he really did love me once. Oh shit. Here I go crying again. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

No...my therapist told me that my writing is the best way for me to work through this stuff. And I know I'm only feeling this way because I've been working so hard and not sleeping and not eating and not taking care of me. So naturally - I'm falling apart. Time to recharge the batteries, stop dipping into the empty well and let it fill back up. Say no to all those energy sucking beings who want more from me...and Give To Myself.

There...deep breath, blow your nose, you know how to do this and you'll be fine.

The weather has finally cooled off...and when I say cool...I mean like 40 degrees cooler than last week. Sheesh...this weather stuff is just wacky. I'm going to buy an air conditioner in Sept. when they go on sale. I can't go through another month like this past one.

This weekend is The Bite, an annual food and drink fest on our waterfront. I'm going to go and browse the wine pavillion with 38 wineries pouring their best stuff. Some of my favorites will be there, Zerba, Trinity, Hillcrest and Girardet; and I usually discover some new gem. Last year was Girardet's Baco Noir which made me quite literally want to lick my glass. I didn't want to miss a drop of it. So good. If they have anything that yummy again, it will be my celebratory 50th birthday wine.

It's only 7 more sleeps until my girl is home! I have to clean up the guest room this weekend, but I can't wait to see her. I can't quite believe that it's been two years since that fabulous road trip. (If you haven't read all about it, here's the blog Expotition to Boston) Okay...more tears. Definitely time to stop.

Check out the rest of the BTP crew...Bree, Ginger, Kate, my lovely Bridgete, and the fabulous Ms. Jenn

The Grapes of ???

2009-08-02T18:45:00.000-07:00

I watched the John Ford film of Grapes of Wrath last night. I started out just enjoying Henry Fonda's wonderful performance - so easy and real. But I ended up wondering if our nation really learned anything from the Great Depression. What is the great crime in Grapes of Wrath? It's a crime to be poor. It's a crime to need, to ask, to worry. And it would seem that it is still a crime to be poor.

We entered the depression of the 1930s a nation of haves and have nots. Those who had - those in power - scrambled to hang on to their wealth while the have nots scrambled to gather the scraps. And as I look around me today, as I listen to the news, I hear those same echos of those who have grasping for their power while the have nots silently fight to live and make it to the next day.

Last night I woke up thinking about the recent discussion of the increase in the minimum wage and what it would mean to businesses and that it would actually cause jobs to be lost. It sounded like the struggle of the peach pickers holding out for .05 from the bosses because it wasn't possible to live on .0250...that's two and a half cents.

So let's look at this example in our current economy. Let's say I make 20.00 an hour - which is pretty close to what I earn after taxes. So I work for one hour and I have 20.00. And with that 20.00 I can do a number of things. I can go to a movie and have a snack. I can go to my weekly pub quiz - pay the entry fee and have a couple drinks. I can get a haircut. I can buy a book or a cd or a dvd. I can purchase one of my generic prescriptions covered under my health insurance. I can pay my co-pay for my doctor. I can eat a meal at a good restaurant or two at a lesser quality one. I can almost fill my gas tank in my ten year old Nissan Sentra - which I paid for twice...but that's another story. I can almost pay my rent for one day...that comes to about 28.00 a day. But essentially - I can live comfortably in a nice apartment, feed myself and my pet, and provide for my basic needs. The extras - entertainment, travel, little luxuries - I have to save for, plan for. And I try to invest in my retirement - because I know I'll need it - and I worry about it. After all...my mother is 91. I've got a good 40 years left in me and I know I can't work for all that time.

What if I worked for minimum wage? And when I was 18, 19, even 25...I did. In Oregon - minimum wage is 8.40 an hour. If I worked in a restaurant and made tips, my employer would be required to meet minimum wage if my pay with tips didn't match or exceed that. So what can I do with 8.40? I might be able to go to a movie, if it's a second run theater or a matinee. But I certainly couldn't have a snack. I could go to pub quiz and pay my entry fee. But I'll drink water and eat the bar mix. I couldn't get a haircut - not even at a supercuts. I could buy a used book or cd or movie. I couldn't get a prescription, because I probably don't have insurance. I certainly couldn't go to a doctor and there wouldn't be a co-pay. I could get a meal at a fast food restaurant...one meal and not very nutritious. I might be able to get a few gallons of gas for my car...assuming I have a car. If I have to take public transportation...I can buy 4 trips. And I couldn't even think about renting a place as centrally located, clean, nice and comfortable as I have now. There wouldn't be savings or luxuries, investment or retirement. It's quite possible I would even have more than one job. Many lower wage jobs are not full-time. And so I would have multiple work schedules to deal with, transportation to and from these jobs, and time to do laundry, clean house, shop for groceries, even sleep would be precious. And my worries wouldn't be about retirement, but just about making though one more day without a significant hardship.

I know I'm fortunate to have a good job with health care and retirement plans. And yet I live from paycheck to paycheck. I don't live in luxury. I buy my clothes at second hand stores or on sale at Old Navy, Target, K-Mart. My furniture is a motley collection of yard sale finds and lesser department stores. I won't shop at Wal-Mart. I would have to be pretty desperate to violate that personal boycott of mine. I live within my means. And those means are the median income for my city. I would dearly love to have a bed..not just a mattress set on a frame. I long for an HDTV..not a big one. My apartment couldn't accommodate one. I'd rather have a Mac than my Dell laptop. There are things I want...but my needs are met.

During this past year, as my employer discussed budget cuts, I knew that it was a possibility that my hours might be cut from 40 hours to 32 a week. That would have meant not just a reduction in my salary, but an increase in my health care costs, as I would have had to contribute toward my premium. If that had happened - I would have to sell my car, to save on the upkeep, insurance and gas. I would have stopped my contributions to my IRAs and deferred compensation programs. Perhaps I would have had to find a second job...a minimum wage job. Not easy to do in the state that currently has the highest unemployment in the country. I would have cut back on my "luxuries", my internet and cable services, my entertainment and my contact with my beloved daughter, friends and family.

I know how close I am to becoming a statistic. To having to figure out how to survive instead of thrive. And I know many like me. We're not nameless, faceless, uneducated, or immigrant. We're not stupid Okies. (I really bristle at that one. My daddy WAS an Okie.) I'm not A RED...I may be PINK...but not PINKO. I tremble at how easy it is to scapegoat and finger point and blame those who are least able to defend themselves. I see it every day. And I despair....we learned nothing. We still hoard and refuse to share. We fear anyone who looks different, talks different, thinks different than we do. We still deceive and betray for a few dollars or a few cents. I have very little, but I would willing give so that another is able to eat, sleep, shower, live without fear of tomorrow. I pray we are not close to the despair of the decade my parents lived though. Every single day...I pray.

Random Thought Process Thursday 7/30/09

2009-07-30T15:56:00.000-07:00

I missed the process last week. It was strange week for me. On Tuesday, one of my coworkers suddenly died. He was a big guy, only a year younger than me, and while he wasn’t in the greatest shape, I don’t think anyone expected him to die. He didn’t show up for work and didn’t answer any calls or pages. That was unusual for this guy. He was always right on it – even if your call was in the middle of the night. So when lunchtime came and went and still nothing, his supervisor went to his home and found him dead in his living room. Looked like he was sleeping. Probably a heart attack.

Well, that set the tone for the rest of the week. Everyone at work was either freaked out about Eric or worried about the rest of us who live alone. There are about 5 of us who don’t have a significant other and in my case, don’t see other people on a daily basis except for people at work. If something were to happen to me, it might take a while for anyone to notice. That is one thing I’m always afraid of. My cat will be howling for food and the neighbors will finally get tired of it and someone will find me with Sol gnawing on my fingers. Hey it could happen!

By Friday, between the death and the fretting and the HEAT – I was exhausted. It wasn’t until I was driving home Friday night that I realized I had missed BTPT. Oh well – better luck next week.

It’s Monday now. I’ve been out at Elmonica rail facility since 6:30 this morning. I’ve seen just about everyone on staff here – it’s a small facility – and soon I’ll get in my HOT car and drive to Merlo garage for the afternoon training. It’s nice to be appreciated. I do get lots of feedback from the guys out here and they do appreciate that someone takes the time to spend 30 or 40 minutes showing them how to navigate in the new Office suite. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.

Tonight is pub quiz…one of the highlights of my week. I love going out where being smart is an asset and not a liability. All those years of Jeopardy have not been in vain!

And it’s Tuesday. Yesterday was FREAKIN’ HOT! I went out to my car at 4:30 to drive home from Beaverton to Southeast Portland. A 25 minute trip when there is no traffic…but wait…there’s always traffic on this particular stretch of highway. I’m just hoping there are no accidents or delays. My car is black and has no air conditioning. It’s been sitting in the sun for 4 hours – window are down, but still. It was an oven. Miraculously I made it home in about 35 minutes. Dripping sweat. Hit the shower and laid on the bed with a fan blowing on me. Did a little facebook…started sweating again…more shower and then off to pub quiz at the lovely air conditioned CC Slaughters. I love my boys. We just sat in the cool air and sipped water and played a kick ass round of pub quiz. Took home $ 10.00 each. Sweet!

So I’ve been inside all day – inside air conditioning – teaching Word and Excel to some people who really know and understand the power of a tool that you can learn to make work for you. And some who just get mad that they can’t do it their way! Maybe because your way is friggin’ stupid?? Why would you want to control every little particle of formatting when you can click a button and have a beautiful heading, centered, colored and way more professional that your little micromanaged document looks. I just don’t get it. Anyhoo…it’s time for yoga now. We’ve expanded to two nights a week. I know it’s going to be hot but I really need it. My brain and body are just spent.

Wednesday. I thought Monday was HOT. Tuesday and now today have that in spades. It’s getting over 100 – well over 100 in some places – during the day and not cooling much at night. It was already 90 when I got up this morning at 6. Poor Sol is just miserable. I keep rubbing him with a damp cloth, wetting his fur as much as he’ll let me until he runs and hides. This morning, he just stood at my feet when I got out of the shower and let the drops rain down on him. He even rubbed on my wet legs to get more water on him. At least I have a solution for him. Me…I slept about 3 hours total, kept waking up sticking to myself and my sheets. Finally had to take a shower at about 2:30 just so I could get a little bit of sleep!

I’m trying to think of some alternative for tonight. It’s not supposed to cool off until the weekend. Which means the funeral service for the guy who died will be held in the heat on Friday! Wonderful. But I’m thinking dinner out someplace cheap but cool. Maybe a movie someplace cheap but cool. Then see if I can stand being at home to sleep. But it all takes money. Not that I object to people needing to make a buck. But let’s talk humanity. I think movie theatres should just throw open their doors-maybe charge a buck to come in. They’d sell enough concessions to make up for it and people would get out of the heat. If I ruled the world – that’s what I would do. It’s not that different from when I was stranded at the airport last Christmas. There were a few stores on the concourse that stayed open all night for several days. People could browse, sit, sleep and it helped make a frustrating situation a little more bearable. Why is it that just because it’s warm, we assume that people are more free to make themselves comfortable? Extreme situations are just that…extreme…out of the norm…unusual. So I think extraordinary measures are called for. Hey! Maybe I’ll go sleep at the airport!! J

Thursday – it’s a little cooler. Only 94 instead of 104+. I actually managed to get some sleep last night, probably just because I was so tired, but after I had dinner, I went home to check on Sol and ended up falling asleep for about 40 minutes. By then, I figured I’d just stay home and watch So You Think You Can Dance, and see if it cooled off. It was about 80 when I went to bed and while I still woke up a few times in the night, it was bearable. I’m so glad. Because I’m going to a baseball game tonight! Need to get some cool drinks and just enjoy the game.

This week has gone on forever. Maybe it’s just that my energy was sapped every time I tried to do anything. But I’m glad it’s nearly over. I hope the weather continues to cool. I’m not looking for rain, but just a normal Oregon summer with temps in the upper 70s to low 80s…breezes at night…and a general sense of well being in the world.

Thanks for reading. Be sure to check with the rest of the RTPT gang – Bridgete, Ginger, and She Who Started it All – Jenn.

Random Thought Process - 7/16/09

2009-07-16T12:30:00.000-07:00

It's Thursday again. Wow the week is just flying by. I like it when I'm so busy that my work week sails past. But then the weekend is just so short.

Just had a great class. Access. I like teaching Access - because more than any other class I teach, people really begin to see the power that software can have and they start to get creative in their requirements. Granted, there is always someone who dreams a little bigger than their abilities. But it's nice to get people excited about what they can do. Makes me wish I had more time to work on my own databases that I keep meaning to do. :)

So the flirty guy isn't flirting anymore. Guess either I'm not as hot as I imagine or he's found someone else who turns his head a bit more. Trying not to let it get to me. But I am reaching a place in my life where I'm either going to have to get serious about finding someone who can put up with me...or settle for the idea that I'm going to be alone. Maybe date occasionally. Maybe find someone who can spend a weekend or a week with me. But finding someone to build a future with - nope...starting to think that's just not going to happen.

Mostly I'm okay with that. But there is that little nagging voice at the back of my head that wonders why it's so hard to find someone. I'm pretty damn fabulous! So why doesn't someone see that? Have I built my walls so high and thick that no one wants to even try and scale them? I know...fairy tale metaphor. But there is something to those tales. Women do have to protect themselves. And men do have to risk something to win us. I want to believe I'm worth the effort. My therapist always told me to expect more from people, not less. I'm going to hold on to that. Even as I lie in bed with tears on the pillow wondering when I can feel loving arms around me and know that I'll always have that.

Tonight I get to see Storm Large (yes Storm Large from Rock Star:Supernova AND from Portland) Her show Crazy Enough has been sold out for weeks at Portland Center Stage. I've been trying to get in since May! Going with a group of friends. Meeting for dinner and then on to the theater. I've been getting out more lately. That's good for me too. Ballet, theater, just being with creative minds, not being alone so much. I think too much.

Anyway, I hope my headache is gone by then. Woke up with a real killer today. No real reason why. But I know I'm ready to be done with it. Time to wind up. Lunchtime is over and I have to get back to my post.

Check out other RTPT with Jenn, Bridgete, and Ginger

Thanks for reading.

RTPT- actually on a thursday!

2009-07-09T07:36:00.000-07:00

True Randomness...I'm teaching in 20 minutes. Then I'll get a break for lunch. Back to work. Break. Yoga. And then home.

This morning I'm thinking about this guy that has been flirting with me. He's young and cute and makes me feel all sexy and stuff. But...he's really just good for an afternoon. You know what I mean? Not that there's anything wrong with a nice afternoon...or a nice weekend for that matter. But if what I really want is a nice partner, do I enjoy the occasional weekend while I'm waiting for him to show up? Guess there is still a part of me that is a good Catholic girl and wants to keep certain things only for very special people.

Remember the downstairs neighbor - we'll just call her "CU" for short. Well, the other night, some guy pulls up in front of the complex, music blasting for blocks. Hops out and heads right toward her place. I knew she had a date coming over because she had arrived home shortly before, slamming doors and running the vacuum and tossing her garbage out the back door. He slams the door so hard, pictures rattle on my wall! Then the music starts blasting again and they start talking. I mean, I guess they were talking. It was so loud, I thought they might be having a fight. I gave up trying to hear the TV and went into my kitchen and did the dishes. Then I decided to vacuum.

So there I am vacuuming away and she comes and knocks on MY door, asking me if I could keep it down! Well - I told the bitch off. Nicely of course. Because I'm so nice. She tried to pretend that she didn't know anyone was living upstairs. She thought I moved out. Anyway. She really pissed me off good. And things have been relatively quiet down there. Meaning I can still hear her when she's at home. Doors still get slammed and trash still gets left out in the hall. But she has kept the conversation and music down to a low murmur. But I tell you...this is war....

Time to get ready to teach. later....

I'm back. Class was good today. Lots of questions, lots of fun. I like this. It makes the days just fly by. The draw back is...I don't have as much time to browse the net, read my blogs, catch up on other work. And I have this great kink in my neck now. Time to call Athena. My chiropractor's name is Athena. And she is a goddess. The kink is making it difficult to be on my laptop at home. I have a pretty funky setup there, one that lets me be more serious about my computer time at my desk. One that lets me be lazy and chat and watch tv and be with the cat. That's been the mode lately...and my neck is paying for it. Had to put the hot pack on it last night. I'll try to stretch it out in yoga tonight. See if that helps.

Time to get back to work. Got a stack of stuff on my desk to deal with before my staff meeting at 1:30. thanks for reading.

Real Freedom

2009-07-04T15:51:00.001-07:00

I cannot take credit for the following. It was part of an email I received from my friend Kate Hawkes 5 years ago.

I still think there is much to think about here. Real Independence. Real Freedom. Not just flag waving and fireworks.

I wish you all peace and REAL freedom.

- kc

So the madness of the rush to celebrate is over. While it feels entirely appropriate for children to express their excitement with noise and bright lights and a frantic There it is! and Look! and Where is the next bright bang? I find that I am less in sync with that and more wanting to reassure the dog, admire the cat's ability to ignore it all (mind you she doesn't want to go outside) and wait until it is quiet again. I don't think that I am getting old and stodgy. I just realize, perhaps, that the colored lights, huge noises and the bigger, brighter more breathtakingly violent expressions of 'independence miss the real quality of that gift.

Surprisingly, real independence is in the still center, where we are responsible to others and ourselves, to some extent alone to make our own mistakes, and then to truly have real pride in our own achievements. That is real freedom. I wonder if the world we live in is afraid of that real freedom - is it easier to have others make the rules? Others to go to when something goes wrong? To hold them responsible? To get permission to see what we should and shouldn't do in our lives? And as more of those rules leak into our daily lives so we move further and further away from being able to both appreciate and express our freedom. We need more noise and brighter lights to hide from the still, quiet center of freedom... better this unceasing entertainment of talking about freedom than the more frightening and often rather dull act of living it.

So when the last explosion with the last sharp blossom fades out of the night sky, the night sounds settle back over the dark skyline, and the dog stops shaking, then I celebrate.

I wish for my daughter the courage to really live with/in freedom, examples from which to learn on how to do that, and the time and space to sit in the midst of that still quiet center often enough to recognize it when out in the noise of the world.

Random Thought Process Thurs...oh hell with it....

2009-07-03T21:23:00.000-07:00

It's hot. I don't say that very often. See I have a sluggish thyroid and I'm usually cold. So if I'm sitting here at 9:30 at night with a fan blowing and I'm still sweating...it's hot. I feel bad that it's hot because my daughter has been complaining about the lack of sunshine in Boston. Not that I can do anything about it - but still. I feel bad.

I started sending cards to my mother this week. She's in a foster home now and they are trying to get her to start eating and taking her meds and doing her physical therapy. But I think she's truly lost the will to live now. This is really hard for me. Whatever else has passed between us, whatever narcissistic parenting she practiced, she's still my mother. And she's dying. I can't go visit her. I don't have the money or the time. So I hope she'll still be there in the fall and I hope to be able to take a weekend and visit her. In the meantime, I'll send her a card or note every week and let her know that she is still in my heart.

I'm tremendously frustrated by the political picture in this country. I voted for President Obama because I wanted change. I needed change. I want leadership that stands up to all the bullshit herding and finger pointing and name calling and just says - NO. I understand that you want to represent everyone and you want to be the president to everyone. But there are those out there who will never accept you as their president. They call you the teleprompter president like their own Bush and Reagan's never prepared speeches and read them to you. I'm just frustrated and even scared that the herd will follow someone like Sarah Palin "who talks like we do" and then we are really screwed. God help us.

I want him to lead...audaciously lead and stop the fear mongering and hate out there. Just lead.

I'm really cranky tonight. Hot and have a kidney infection and the damn Cipro makes my joints hurt and I can't drink enough and....just...blah.

Read This...

2009-06-29T13:44:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about books lately. Books I'm reading. Books other people are reading. Books we all want to read. Books we tell other people we've read, even though we haven't. Books.

I love books. I don't mind reading things online. I love blogs and find some wonderful writing out there. I would adore a Kindle. (hint hint) But I love books. I love how they feel in my hand, paper under my fingertips, how the print unfurls across the page, taking my eye and my imagination with it. I have a hard time passing up any bookstore, even if I know I don't need to buy any more books. I have spent many happy hours with books.

I don't even remember when this love affair began, but I know my mother was behind it. One of the few things I could do as a child to get my mother's complete and undivided attention was to ask her to read to me. I can open A Child's Garden of Verse or Wind in the Willows and hear her voice reading to me. There was magic in those stolen moments. A magic I would later share with my daughter.

Then there was my town library. I got my library card at 5. You had to be able to write your name and then the card was yours. It was a little blue card, about the size of a Post-it note square, with my name typed on it and a little metal embossed plate that was my number. I remember it being placed in my hand and being told I could go pick out any books that I wanted to read. I knew the ones I wanted. The Piggle-Wiggles and Poohs. I scooped them all up and walked toward the check out desk, struggling to keep the stack from falling. And then the librarian told me I could only have 3 books. I could get more when I brought those 3 back. But I would have to choose.

It was agony to choose. To have to look at those shiny covers and decide which ones could wait. It would be a whole week until I could come back. But I made my choices and started to take the others back to place them on the shelf. The librarian stopped me and said that the grown-ups had to put the books back to be sure they went in the right places. Just one more thing I would have to wait to do...until I was a grown up.

Week after week, I went back and chose my 3 books. A lifetime later - it was probably only a couple of months but it felt like a lifetime to me - I was doing my usual shuffle of choices, trying to get down to 3 books. My mother was impatiently waiting, trying to hurry me along. She had other things to do that day than be in the library. I couldn't imagine what was more important than choosing books. I was down to 6 books, but it just seemed impossible to choose. Then a miracle happened. The librarian came over and said she would put a special note on my card saying I could take as many books as I wanted.

It was as if the world opened up to me on that day. As the years went by, I spent many hours in that library. We didn't have Amazon.com. And the small town I lived in had only one stationer's with a few books, mostly best sellers. I started every summer vacation with a trip to the library. First I found the only copy of The World of Pooh. Then I went to the A authors and began to work my way through the library. I remember how thrilled I was to reach T. H. White and Herman Wouk. I was just as much a fixture in my school library. I frequently chose the library over the playground at lunch time. By the time I reached high school, I knew my Dewey decimals...I prowled the 800 section. I read plays by Coward, Williams, O'Neill, Hellman. I read autobiographies of David Niven and Groucho Marx. Poetry, essays, literary criticism.

One of my first jobs was in a bookstore. I worked noon to closing. On slow nights, I sat at the register and read the hardbacks I wasn't able to take home. Here's where I got to read The Joy of Sex and Anais Nin, books my mother would never have allowed me to take home.

I moved to Portland in 1980. One of my first trips was to Powell's City of Books. In there I found a rare book that my family has treasured because it mentions my grandmother as a child performer. Since I lived downtown and didn't know anyone in Portland yet, Powell's was where I spent many hours, wandering the dusty musty aisles in search of hidden treasures. Those of you who know Powell's now, it just isn't the same as it was in those days.

My next trip was to the Central Library. I entered the grand building with the sweeping marble staircase and was immediately in love. In those days, you could wander the stacks. Dimly lit rooms with narrow aisles. Row upon row of bookcases loaded to overflowing.

I am heartened to know that there are still people who read books. People who browse aisles of books stores and stacks of libraries. People who read to their children. People who read poetry and short stories and essays. People who know the romance of a book in the hand. People who feel the page under the fingertip and smell the dust of ages in the spine of used books.

I love books. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some books to add to my list on Goodreads. And maybe a trip to Powell's after work.

BrokenThoughtProcessThursday

2009-06-18T16:22:00.000-07:00

Wow - what a week! I started out the week with a super duper ugly summer cold. Spent the day Sunday laying about sneezing, coughing, generally annoying the cat because he couldn't get comfortable on my lap at all. Fortunately, Turner Classic Movies was having a super duper day. I watched His Girl Friday with Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell. I love this movie. I love the pace, the wit, the back and forth between Grant and Russell. Time just zips by and the movie is over. That was followed by To Have and Have Not - the first paring of Bogart and Bacall. Slim is quite lovely and fresh here and there's something so sweet about the way Bogie whistles after that famous line..."You know how to whistle don't you Steve? You just put your lips together and blow." Damn....that's telling him. And as if that wasn't enough Bogart and Bacall, then I got to watch The Big Sleep. Now there are those who'll argue that Robert Mitchum was a better Philip Marlowe...and I might even be one of them. But this another one of those movies that just flies for me. It's just so much damn fun to watch. And isn't that why we watch movies anyway? Entertainment?

The week went forward from there. I'm teaching at least 2 days a week now. We're rolling out Office 2007 to our agency and I'm doing all the classes for staff. There are brown bag sessions where I hit the highlights, 3 hour classes where I go over the new things in each of the major applications, and 4 hour classes on each individual application. I like teaching - always wanted to be a teacher. I truly enjoy helping people discover that they are capable of much more than they think. And my attitude toward software and computers has always been that they are only as useful to you as you allow yourself to use them. A circular saw is of no use to me, because I don't know how to use it. But good computer with decent software? That's my idea of a great tool. So I love meeting people from around the agency, drivers, trainers, mechanics, planners, accountants, and showing them how this tool can make parts of thier job easier, more productive and fun.

But I'm a little worn out now from all that teaching. Talking for several hours when I have to blow my nose every 15 minutes or cough or sneeze has been a drain on me. And I wish I was looking forward to a weekend of sleep...unfortunately I have 4 teaching days next week and lots of material to prepare for that. No rest of the wicked!

I haven't had time to think about my recent depression. That's a good thing. I wanted to put that one behind me and I think I have. I know much of it stems from lack of someone to talk to - really talk to. I started one of those quizzes on Facebook yesterday and when the question was "Who was the last person you talked to?", I couldn't answer because I think that the last person I had talked to was the clerk at the grocery store - but even then I wasn't sure because I tend to use those self-checkout lines when I only have a few items. And that's not uncommon for me. I guess I could talk to the cat - but he gets tired of listening to me. Sigh....

Oh well. Time for yoga - and I need it today. I just hope I don't fall asleep when it's time for corpse pose.

Later!

What is The Right Thing?

2009-06-16T14:23:00.000-07:00

I've got to get something off my chest. I have really had it with bad behavior. I mean REALLY!

This has been on my mind for some time. At first, I thought I was just being mildly cranky and expecting more than I had a right to. But now I see that it's really become a problem in our society.

Let me give you some examples. I live in a small apartment complex. There are 16 units, 8 one bedroom and 8 two bedroom. Everyone shares a bedroom wall with someone and a ceiling or a floor with someone. Everyone shares 2 washers and 2 dryers that we are asked to use between 8 AM and 8 PM. 4 of us share a front stairwell that has an exterior door that keeps out the bugs, the weather, the stray animals and the Jehovah's witness. (The exterior door doesn't lock, but it looks intimidating enough that people just don't bother us.) About a year ago, my downstairs neighbor moved out and I got a new neighbor. When I met her, I thought she'd be just fine. She's a resident at our local teaching hospital, she lived alone with occasional visits from her small son when she wasn't working a long shift. But since she managed to move in over a matter of days with very little noise, I thought she'd be great. About the same time, I got new neighbors across the hall. 2 very pretty college age girls with lots of boys helping them move in.

Would you care to guess who has been the problem neighbor? Not the girls. They are sweet, quiet, they have had a couple of parties with friends, but nothing that went on too late or too loud. They remind me of my daughter and I like them very much.

Madame Dr. is a royal pain. She slams her door whenever she goes in or out - at all hours of the day. She plays her music so loud that I can't hear my TV. She had a party the other night to watch the NBA finals - they were so obnoxious I almost went downstairs, but I was enjoying THE BIG SLEEP on Turner Classic Movies and I was in my pajamas because I wasn't feeling well. It wasn't worth a shower and getting dressed to go sneeze on her. She never takes in her mail, so it sits in the mail box getting rained on and sun bleached and blown around the courtyard. She puts her FULL trash bags in the hallway when she has a gentleman caller and then leaves them there for days. She uses the laundry whenever it's convenient for her. She has a boyfriend now and I think he's living there too...and they fight at 2:00 AM complete with more slamming doors. Yet in spite of her love of slamming doors, she can't seem to remember to close the exterior door that keeps out the bugs and the squirrels and the Jehovah's witnesses. She doesn't seem to be aware of the rest of us at all. And as she'll never need any of us for any reason that she can think of, she seems to think that her bad behavior is perfectly acceptable and within her rights.

Maybe she doesn't seem so bad to you, but how about Kate Gosselin? You know... Jon and Kate plus 8? Don't get me wrong...I think raising 8 kids is a tough job. My parents did it. (well....7 and we were different ages) But do we really think these two are GOOD parents? And why do they have a TV show? And why do people watch it?? Just so they can be pleased their life isn't such a mess? I tried to watch one episode and was so appalled at how these two "adults" talk to each other and put those sweet children in the middle of their power games - I had to turn it off.

And it doesn't even stop there...what about Bridezillas and Real Housewives and on and on with shows I don't even know about. I admit I've watched them on occasion. Even The Girls Next Door and those wacky Kardashian's. But usually the way in which these people behave toward each other, people they supposedly love and cherish, makes me so angry I have to turn away.

What about people who talk on their cell phone having intimate personal conversations on the bus or the subway or in the grocery store? What about people who can't be bothered to silence their phone (or their selves) in the movie theatre, the restaurant, the courtroom, in church? Parents so afraid of their children that they allow them to act out in a myriad of bad ways. And I could go on....

When did this kind of thing become okay? When did we stop being ashamed at this sort of behavior? Who is going to have the nerve to stand up and say - Enough. This sort of behavior is NOT ACCEPTABLE.

I've been reading a fascinating book - A FAILURE OF NERVE by Edwin Friedman. This book is changing my life. I really mean that. I'm finding that more and more of the so called problems we are faced with in today's world - job loss, bank failures, credit crisis, war, environment, broken families, broken education system, broken health care system - is due to a failure of LEADERSHIP and a failure of NERVE. We're caught in an unending loop of trying harder and spinning faster.

What we need is REAL leadership - at all levels - in our homes, our churches, synagogues, mosques, social organizations, schools, hospitals, government, work places, banks, everywhere - to stand up to the voice of fear, the voice of sabotage, the voice of caution and gridlock and resistance and say - This Behavior Is NOT ACCEPTABLE. And stick to it. We have a chance to shift this world into a new Renaissance. A chance for change as great as shifting the center of the universe from the Earth to the Sun.

It will not be easy and we may never see the fruits of our labors. But I'm starting today. I'm letting my neighbor know that her behavior is no longer acceptable to me. And she needs to start seeing the rest of us who live and work and have our being in this world.