Wednesday, April 8, 2015

False Spring

This weather, this false spring always sets off my wanderlust.

All I want to do is to climb on the back of a motorcycle and drive south until we find a cowboy bar where I can dance and do body shots off his neck.

But we don't have a motorcycle, or any tequila most likely.

We have salt and I might be able to scare up a salvageable lemon from the bottom of the fruit drawer, but there is really no point without the tequila.

This weather, this false spring always sets off my wanderlust.

The cowboy bar me still feels so much more authentic than the grown-up face I wear around my suburban town.  Fifty-one, but in my head I’m half that.

May as well blame the weather.  

It will be warm soon and the need to run away will dissipate.

Bu this weather, this false spring always sets off my wanderlust.

Friday, February 27, 2015

Other people's dreams are boring

Yes I know there is nothing more deadly dull than listening to someone tell you about the dream they had last night, but I think this one was really funny, so bear with me.   Or don't - go read some important blog, mine is about silly nonsense.

Last night I dreamt I was with a bunch of friends at some sort of large party when suddenly we came upon a sign adverting upcoming events at the venue we were at.  One of the upcoming events was Victoria Jackson Sings.  I took a large Sharpie and wrote NO! across the whole thing, even though all my friends said there were cameras around and I would get in trouble.  I felt very brave.  Then suddenly (as dreams do) we were in chairs around a large circle, just hanging out and the friends were complimenting me on my bravery, and I said "Oh you guys are the best!"  and then I heard, "No, love, you are." and turned around to see who was talking and it was KEITH FUCKING RICHARDS!!!!!! and I answered, (and I quote) "Gak."  like Bill the Cat.  Not a single word would come out.  He just smiled, as he is probably used to this sort of reaction, as he is Keith Fucking Richards.  And for the remainder of the dream,  I continued to only be able to make sounds, "gak, splurge, bah" and the like. Christie was seated directly to his right, and could only look at me and shake her head. I was simultaneously happy Keith thought I was cool and sad I could not tell him so. The end.

And that is my silly nonsense for the day.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Brian Williams, Bill O'Reilly and the rest of us

OK, so the latest wrinkle in the Brian Williams made up shit about being shot at in war zones "scandal"  is that while expressing outrage that anyone could do such a thing, it was brought to Bill O'Reilly's attention that he's done the same thing.  (Iraq Falklands, potato, potato)  Spoiler alert - Bill was not pleased.  But the real spoiler alert here is - people lie.

People lie all the time.  About things big and small.  Usually to put themselves in a better or at least a more interesting light.  Sometimes to make other people feel better.  Does it matter if the giant guy at the coffee shop doesn't really give Betty in accounting a free coffee once a week because he thinks she's cute?  Does it matter if the guy who backed down from a confrontation with David at the bar when no one else was around to see it wasn't really a Marine?  Does it matter if Jan doesn't really like your new hairdo? No, no, and no.  And it doesn't matter to me that famous people make self-aggrandizing stuff up either.  Now if they are making stuff up and saying it is actual news, that's another matter, but making up stuff about their lives?  Meh - I don't care.

What I do care very much about though is that these stories stay at the top of my feed, and at the top of everyone's mind, because my novel is all about the truths and lie we tell others and ourselves, and I want people to stay interested.  And that, my friends, is no lie.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

and occasionally, a poem

Tree Service
Lonely park bench
Silently missing
his recently cut down

Monday, October 6, 2014

Things I Did Today to Put Off Writing

Last week I started a new class at Sarah Lawrence.  I got into the Advanced Novel Writing Workshop at the Writing Institute at Sadie Lou (yay! go me!) and as such I once again have homework.  

Here is the list of things I did today to avoid doing it:

  1.  Three loads of laundry (not exactly fair because the laundry needed to be done)
  2.  One trip to the grocery store (didn't have to be done today, but had to be done)
  3.  Applied for a new A & P card at the grocery store (in my defense, I've been putting this off for months)
  4.  Cleaned out the crafts cabinet (needed index cards for my homework)
  5.  Tested all my pens to see which ones worked (needed to be done sometime)
  6.  Organized the apps on my phone (yeah, I've got nothing)
  7.  Checked facebook a zillion times to see what everyone else was doing (go Pats!)
  8.  Blogged a list

One of my assignments is to sit down and write about my main character's greatest childhood fear.  Piece of cake.  That one I could do with my eyes closed.  But, the other assignment is to begin a "reverse outline."  Writing down a synopsis of the action in each chapter and which characters appear.  Did I mention I'd rather gnaw off my own arm?  Class isn't until Thursday at 6:30.  I might have to go back to the crafts cabinet to make a chart so I know how many of the eight ounce glasses of water I'm supposed to be drinking a day I actually manage to drink before I can sit down to it. (9 is my lucky number)

Friday, September 19, 2014

Yoga teacher, teach yourself

August and September have been pretty difficult for me.  It all started (as my problems often do) with just a little bit of hubris on a hot day.  I have been practicing yoga for more than fifteen years and I have a few tricks. Sometimes I'm pretty proud of them, even though I know that isn't what yoga is.  What I love most thought, is the the full Dancing Warrior series.  It makes me feel strong and centered and just a little bit cool.  I use it as a flow.  I use it as long holds.  I push myself to get as deep into each pose as I can go.  Sometimes further than I should.

"Look how deep I am in this pose.  This is awesome.  This is great.  I rock. I am so good at this. Hmmmmm, that doesn't feel quite right.  Ow!  Was that a popping noise, or did it just feel like one? Damn."

I have since been assured that pushing myself more than I should have didn't cause my plantar fasciitis, but it sure didn't help.  Three days on the couch thinking it was bursitis, elevation and rest, was the exact wrong thing to do.  Gentle stretching is what plantar fasciitis demands.  Trying to wear sandal that were "good" for my feet, like my Birkenstocks, also exactly the wrong thing to do.  Who knew cushy flip flops would be the only shoes I could wear for about six weeks?  Foot supports, shoe inserts and exercise all helped, but the most relief I got was from Magnesium Oil. (thanks Sarah!)  The plantar fasciitis became a manageable part of my life.  But it still hurts.

I guess it was a good thing that most of my usual private lessons cancelled on me (only yoga teachers on Nantucket seem to get much work in August), because I'm not sure hobbling in with a lame foot would have inspired much confidence.  The stiffness from sitting around unable to practice wouldn't have either.  The general mien of being in pain, probably not so great as well.

So the physical stuff wasn't working so well.  Then my beautiful little girl got home from her summer adventure in Alaska and spent just under thirty-six hours with us before heading back to Penn.  (Yes, I bought her everything I could think to in that tiny amount of time.)  less than a day later it was time to get my gorgeous boy (who I'd never been away from for more than 2 weeks before) ready for four months in Spain. (So what if I shop wildly when nervous, he needed all that stuff.)  OK, so the family stuff wasn't so easy and under my control either.

Then, in the middle of my empty nest freak out, my dream job appeared.  It was perfect.  Full time.  Local.  Great pay.  And doing exactly what I loved doing.  I quickly pulled together my resume, and I was beyond thrilled when they called me to come in.  So I shoved my mangled feet into proper shoes, bought a blue linen blazer, and went on my first job interview in 20 years.  I don't think it went as well as I thought it did.  I heard nothing for 2 weeks and then a got a very polite "No, thanks."  So yeah, also out of my control.

The boy was homesick and miserable and far away and there was nothing I could do for him, but worry.  Then one sunny late summer day my lower back just went out.  Completely out of the blue.  I didn't do anything.  Literally I was just sitting there and when I got up, "wham" massive low back pain.  I spent four days in denial, and in horrible pain. Unable to sit at all.  Doing tiny bits of yoga (I did say this post was about yoga) at home, barely being able to do cat/cows.  Child's pose was impossibly painful.  When I finally gave in to the reality that I was really hurt and it was beyond my ability to heal, and called my good friend and massage therapist extraordinaire ,the aforementioned Sarah  she looked at me and said,  "I can help a little, but you really need to go to a physical therapist."

So I completely relinquished control.  I was not going to be able to fix this myself.  And off  I went yesterday, to the world's most amazing physical therapist. (Bless you Doug! You are more miracle worker than PT) He pushed and pulled and prodded and patched me back together and I began feeling almost human immediately.  I ran for for the train!  And I stopped making yelpey noises when I sat down.  Huzzah!  I'm back.  Sorta.  I'm not one hundred percent, but I'm more than eighty. And I get to go off to the Eagles concert without feeling completely like a totally decrepit old bag.

Then this morning rolls along. (And I have finally, after a long and circuitous route, gotten to my point.)  Still this morning, I feel pretty good.  I danced at the Eagles concert last night.  I clapped and yelled and even jumped up and down a bit.  It was more exercise than I've gotten in a month.  And I'm OK.  A little sore, but not terrible.  I begin my modified, gentle stretch it out yoga, slowly.  Everything feels pretty good.  I spend about a half hour stretching out my back as best as I can.  A few twinges here and there, but overall, I feel good.  I can move.   I can even do a Sun Salutation A (no jumping) with no pain.  So of course I decide to try out a bit of Dancing Warrior, not the whole thing, just the starting pose or two.  Just to feel like I'm back to normal.  And no I'm not.  I didn't get past the first Warrior I without my body telling me quite firmly that this was the time for humble, not hubris.  I can move again, but it is going to be a bit longer before I am able to move the way I want to.  And that's OK.  I think that is part of what I needed to learn.  It's OK.  It's gentle movements and holds for as long as it takes.  I'm not in control, and that's OK.  I can listen instead of telling.  I can yin.  I don't have to always yang.  And that is what I needed to be taught.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Glass Houses/Stone Houses/Rocks/Glass

Recently a friend and I were talking (OK, gossiping) about another friend who had just moved from a beautifully done two million dollar house on a great street, to a spectacular four million dollar house on a coveted street. We were talking about her, because she is telling everyone in town that, yeah her house is great and all,  but she absolutely loves the house across from hers, because it's on the water.  We were talking about how ridiculous it is to so blatantly always want the next step up.

It's very easy to look at someone who has so much and yet still wants more and make fun of her a little bit.  It's easy to feel a little superior.  It's easy to say, when is enough enough, when faced with such obvious excess.

But.....aren't I doing the same thing?  My house is small, but it's warm or cool depending on the season, and there is always plenty to eat and drink in it.  It should be enough.  So why should I look at someone else's house, or car, or hips and want what they have instead of what I do.  And if I do that, shouldn't I be made fun of too? (The answer is yes, and please feel free to call me on it when you hear it.)

In yoga the phrase is "stay on your own mat" meaning, think about where you are in your practice, not about what your neighbor is doing.  Live in your body.  Be in your moment.

When the girl-thing was very little, something she did made me say to her, "people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."  She looked at me, very pensively for a moment and replied, "but Mommy, people who live in stone houses shouldn't throw glass either."

So my thought for the day is, live in your own house and everyone please stop throwing things.