Snow Days

We're still digging out from the 15-plus inches of snow we received Tuesday night and Wednesday. The city is slowly coming back to life but the first day was a nightmare for many.

The kindness of neighbors continues to amaze me. My father is no longer on the sick pillow but still recovering from pneumonia. Twice he's gone outside to shovel and neighbors run over to send him in the house. Even I have done some shoveling but when I told a friend, he didn't believe me.

Do you remember the feeling of waiting to hear if school was cancelled for the day? I swear a collective cheer could be heard throughout my childhood neighborhood once we knew it was a snow day. It was too dangerous to tromp to the bus stop or walk to school but we could be suited up and out to play in minutes. Sledding, making snow angels, building snowmen or just romping. It was all such fun. Although I will admit to being a weenie about sledding. High speed was never my goal and I always feared hitting a tree. Life can't be all fun -- I recall being knocked off a sled or two. Then it's take a break, have some cocoa, then bundle up for round two.

Snow days for adults have less appeal. We worry about straining our back while shoveling. Frankly, I worry about the old bird across the street who reshovels the end of her driveway. Is this really worth the risk at her age? When my prior oldies (the Belle and the Captain) lived with us, they could fall for no reason at all. Walking through the house was a fall waiting to happen. Yet this neighbor who is older than they were is out there on a mission.

We worry about the condition of the roads. We worry about other drivers. I am always certain I will get stuck and I usually do. Hot chocolate doesn't seem like enough of a reward for risking my life behind the wheel. Nine layers of clothing make most of us look and feel like the Goodyear blimp -- never my fashion goal.

I don't wish to be a child again but I wouldn't mind having a moment of the pure ecstasy associated with snow days.

Weight and Mothers

This is an observation and most definitely NOT a dig at mothers.

During my childhood, several of my friend's mothers struggled with their weight, including my own mother.

There's an old saying, "If you want to know what your wife will look like in 20 years, look at her mother." I wish that were true. I would be beautiful.

But I stood next to two friends last weekend while we celebrated our childhood and it struck me that we were the smallest women in the yard. One has birthed two children, one has birthed three. One of my mother's best jokes is she's still trying to lose her pregnancy weight -- I'm 45.

Sometimes we choose to emulate our mothers. I try. Right after, "What would Jesus do?," I ask myself, "What would my mother tell me to do?" Other times, we go to the opposite extreme. It's a little like saying, "I'm not you and you can't make me."

Quips and Quotes

With due respect, I will not use any names. But I fell asleep last night thinking of someone saying:


"That was the night he got her pregnant."
"They were nice enough to cuff me in front."
"I jumped off that roof."
"I never used the fire extinguisher, I was just in the car."
"Now I have to pay for that hair."
"The eastside girl came out and I was not taking any more."
"I punched you in the stomach."

I hope the children of that neighborhood and the grandchildren who visit regularly have a safe and healthy childhood. I also hope they get to experience the magic.

The Party

The husband is out of town and I am so sorry he will miss the party of the season. It's not black tie. In fact, most participants (including me) will be in jeans and t-shirts.

Other than paying for fried chicken, I'm pretty sure no one will ask anyone for money.

This weekend, we will gather in my childhood neighborhood. I will greet people who helped raise me and I will see people who have been there my entire life. I will laugh with people that I have played tag, hide and seek and spin the bottle. I will see children -- now grown -- that I used to babysit.

I love tradition. I am comforted by routine. I love it that my parents still live in my childhood home. It looks completely different and my room is no longer my room but the heart warming feeling of walking in there is still there. I love it that the same neighbors still live next door and across the street.

I attend lots of parties. Everything from black tie fundraisers to simple dinner parties with friends and I know what to wear and which persona to present. Tomorrow, I'm going to the party of the season and I get to just be me.

Godparents and Godchildren

Many of us are given the honorary title of godparent. My goddaughters are two of the most gorgeous creatures (inside and out) to inhabit this earth.

People define being a godparent in different ways. Here are mine:

Legal: This is technically a guardian. You have been named to raise a minor child or children in the event of the death of the parents.

Religious: You are expected to assist in the religious training of the children. You are to be a steward. (I sat in a priest's office and made my case to be godmother, although I am not Catholic.)

Moral: You've made an oath to be there. Love them. Scold them. Hold them. Have a vested interest in their lives.

For the two girls above, I've tried to do all three. Okay, they've seen me drink and smoke. They've heard my potty mouth. They've also known that my love for them does not fail. They were put in my arms shortly after birth and my arms have a pretty long reach. They're now semi-grown. We've reached a new phase of life -- they don't need me; I need them.

Yes, I've missed games and dances. But I've been there for every milestone from the first tooth to the first boyfriend. Sometimes I've just been there by talking to their mother.

The baby has some godparents. Neither of them has seen him in years. It's probably for the best -- he has enough parents. But I do get annoyed that this honor was taken so lightly. He's grown now and they've missed out on a lot.

There's a reason "God" is part of the title.

A Pasadena Dance

The husband's band played last night. It was a gorgeous night for an outdoor concert. Perfect weather and a big crowd. I could've stayed all night... well, actually I did.

In addition to dancing my feet off, I was dancing down memory lane. Many of my childhood friends and neighbors were there. The Pasadena gang was in full force. My sister coordinated this and she was there with her husband and her real parents. Her younger sister, who was a flower girl in my first wedding, was there with her husband. Another baby, who is now a grown man, was there and I dragged him on the dance floor. Then I lapsed into Oldieville and said, "I remember your dad sitting on our front porch and telling us you were born."

I had flashbacks. Rich and Kim were two of the neighborhood gang I used to run with. Last night, you would've thought we were 8-years old again. We may be in our 40s but the party hasn't stopped. They come by it honestly. Their parents rarely left the dance floor and I'm enthralled with Nick, who has a couple of decades on me, yet he has all the best moves.

Little Pink Bellies

I like to tease the maniac dog and remind her that I too had a little pink belly once.

So did a lot of other people.

I have no desire to go back in time but I'd love to experience the feeling of wearing a two-piece suit with no reservations.

Cleaning Up

Do you ever read those magazine articles that encourage you to scatter rose petals in the effort to be romantic? (They tend to do this a lot in movies.) My immediate reaction is: Someone has to clean that up.

Over the years, I've tried to control my temper and my mouth. When hateful things are said, someone may clean it up but the stain remains.

As a child, I got myself in a pickle more than once. My parents always told me, "Clean it up."

I've cleaned up after the husband, the baby and the daughter. I've cleaned up after dogs. I've cleaned up after my own bad choices. I've spent many hours cleaning up after the oldies.

My current favorite tip is satin sheets, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, etc. I don't own satin sheets. If I did, I would not want them covered in chocolate and cream. Call me a fuddy duddy, but I figured out long ago who gets to clean up.

Golden Girl Reunion

The Golden Girl reunion is coming up. It's been more than a year and I can't wait. They tease me about my choice of words but yes, I am giddy.As you know, we play the question game. We all submit questions and then dump them in a bag. No subject is off limits. We never run out of things to talk about but the questions help us catch up.

You would think we know everything there is to know about each other. We've known each other more than 30 years (and I'm being kind.)  We email (almost) every day. Jan and I talk (almost) every day. Deb is far away but we are in constant contact. If she needed us, Jan and I would be on the next plane. 

I loved school. I used to make up homework. (Yes, I am that dorky.) Plus, the journalism training kicks in and my questions need to be relevant and poignant.


I am always blown away at our ability to get to the heart of the matter.  A question may provoke a tear or a great memory laugh.  Then, we realize we're in the safety zone of our friendship and we're allowed to ask, "How are you going to handle that?"  We don't have to say it aloud.  It's implied, "How can I help?"

The husbands get a little nervous about our reunion.  I'm sure they think we spend the entire time talking about them.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  We stroll memory lane and advise each other about jobs, kids, pets, etc.  We eat and drink with abandon.The three of us have seen it all.  For the most part, we've held each other's hands (or been handed a margarita.)  Death, childbirth, marriage, loss, biopsies, menopause, puberty, etc.  

My favorite part is that we don't have to explain ourselves to each other.  I/we can say, "I'm feeling weird today."  The other girls perk up and pitch in.

Six-Word Memoirs -- Part Two

I'm changing computers. Yesterday involved a lot of data transfer and time I couldn't be on the computer. Yikes!

After laundry and as many errands as I could tolerate, I took one of my notebooks into my sun room and I played the six-word memoir game. If you don't make this list, trust me there's more to come.

Mom:

You still think you're the boss.

Jan/Deb:

To the grave; not long enough.

Patsy:

You knew me then. Please forget.

Kim:

The childhood mirror shows us well.

Rich:

Punch. Poke. Wasn't it all fun?

Connie:

Just give me Donut and Grape.

Cess:

When I grow up, I'm her.

Beth:

Y'all is southern for you guys.

Probably not the most constructive use of my time. So, I'll add one more for me:

Waster of time, one more time.

Abusive Behavior

I've never been an abused child. As I've told you, my childhood was pretty idyllic. We had our struggles and our arguments but I never felt threatened or abused. Is this no longer the norm?

I've never been physically abused as an adult but I've had some pretty mean things said to me. The experts say verbal abuse is more common and more damaging than physical abuse. This is a weird analogy but in my mind, it's kind of like rape. It's not about the act or the words, it's exerting power over another person. I've never felt threatened and I've never felt powerless. If words are the weapon, I'll sling back.

The Belle could make a snarly face and the occasional jab would come out of her mouth. But, she lived her life treating her husband, children, grandchildren and friends with respect. A raised voice or a "gotcha" comment was not her aspiration. Even in their tired and scary moments, the Captain treated her with respect.

She earned it.

I watch the news and I read multiple papers. Some of the stories turn my stomach. Abused children, abandoned and neglected children, women who live their lives in fear of their partners, women who leave only to be stalked and killed.

I often joke about the husband thinking he's the boss of me. Like all good jokes, there's a grain of truth there. But. I do not ever fear for my safety. I have never worried about him hurting one of the children. I'm pretty sure his latest fantasy is to take a harsher line with the maniac dog. That's probably a worthy goal and he would not harm her.

Power over another person has never been my goal. I have a hard enough time controlling me.

Abuse is pervasive. I'm convinced it gets embedded in your mind and possibly your DNA. When someone breaks the cycle, I'm impressed. When someone chooses a different path, it takes courage and will power. I know a few people who have done this and I admire them.

Not Good Enough

Most of you have experienced the magic of birth. The baby is plopped on your chest and the husband gets to cut the cord. Some of us witness this. Some of us come later to the story but that doesn't make the emotions less intense.

The baby is pretty tight lipped about his love life. I respect that. He'll come around with some girl sooner or later. I'm hoping for later.

The daughter has been very open about her dating life. I watch the husband. If he had a tattoo, it would say, "You're not good enough for her." No offense intended to any boy/man she's ever dated. It's just a guttural thing. I suspect my father has experienced the same feelings.

One of my childhood friends is raising three boys. She and her husband seem to have a great partnership. These boys are babies. I cannot wait to see her claws come out when they reach dating age. I know her. I know her mother.

I have two goddaughters that have taken beauty to new heights. I do not envy their dates and/or boyfriends. I know their father.

From what I can tell, my sister is raising some pretty amazing kids. When she was a child, I used to pull her aside for unsolicited advice. I still follow her around with tips she does not need. I've become Crazy Grandma ... "You'll see."

Like Peas and Carrots

Some things just go together:

Peanut butter and jelly
Little boys and a dirty dog smell
Teenage girls and an attitude
Girlfriends and laughter
Movies and popcorn
Chips and salsa
Childhood and lightening bugs

Forrest Gump said he and Jenny went together like peas and carrots. The movie was on the other night and I thought about the Captain (Hangdog) and the Belle. They went together like peas and carrots.

The husband refuses to eat peas. He thinks they're stupid. I'm not crazy about raw carrots. Maybe opposites do attract. If peas or carrots is the issue of the day, I think we''re having a good day.

Antsy with Anticipation

Remember that childhood feeling of eagerly awaiting Christmas or your birthday? I love that feeling and I'm experiencing it today. Tomorrow is not Christmas or my birthday; it's the day I head to my favorite writing conference.

I get to go to Manhattan -- my favorite destination. I will be surrounded by interesting people in an industry I love. My head will be spinning with ideas and suggestions. I will be reminded of how much I don't know and I will be reinvigorated to learn. I'll swap notes with my friend Abby, who also attends, and we'll brainstorm with each other.

It's only a long weekend but it's expensive. I have to justify it to myself every year. When this year's agenda/registration landed in my inbox, I shared it with the Belle. I shared it with my mother. I called Abby. All agreed: You must go.

It's ripe with possibility. Maybe I'll meet an editor who will be a potential partner or an agent that shows an interest in my writing. Maybe the other writers I meet will send me referrals.

My self-imposed rule is simple. I must learn or meet someone that can:

Improve my writing, or
Enhance the bottom line of my company, or
Show me a new skill, or
Open doors.

I'm tired. I haven't packed. But, I'm giddy with anticipation.