I saw a dead man today. Flew right through his windshield, lying face down next to the turnpike. A cop was squatting at his side but not even trying to resuscitate. Anyone could see the futility of it. For a mile or so I drove on, a passenger on the highway. And thought there but...goes I. And I considered my small, unimportant and privileged life. I thought about my loves and felt sobered by the presence of death.
And after a few minutes. I turned up the radio and annoyed at the NPR fundraiser, pushed the CD button and sang along the rest of way. LOUD!
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
A piece of cheese with that whine?
I'm feeling stale. And since I have 30 minutes in my schedule, I thought I'd just figure out my life.
I'm feeling stale because of my Sisyphean role which continues to make two steps forward and then a step back. I'm tired of apologizing when I make progress that I didn't include everyone, their brother, and Aunt Maisie in the decision. I'm tired of looking ahead and seeing the same old same old coming down the pike in different clothes (most of them ugly).
I'm feeling stale because two of my most talented friends have made serious progress in their writing lives and I continue to think about writing and not write. And that pisses me off. Not at them, of course, they've been doing the hard work despite having just as chock full lives as me, and they deserve everything they have achieved. Pissed that I don't seem to be able to do it too.
I'm feeling stale because despite being on the treadmill 4 or 5 times a week (at 5:30 IN THE AM) my forty something body is not responding, and the scale continues to register at "Are you kidding?"
OK so now I have 10 minutes left. See how I waste my time? Between this, FB and Twitter, its a wonder I still hold a job.
So, all I need to do is: be more zen, focus on what's important, ignore all the social pressure to be commercially productive, slow down to speed up, create space for myself, treat myself like the precious human being I am, start eating whole grains, give up refined sugar, make exercise fun, set some goals, start networking, build better relationships, find the miracle in the everyday, write for 15 minutes each morning, grow my own produce, get closer to nature, and get some rest.
Whew, I'm exhausted. I think I'll grab some leftover birthday cake and update FB.
I'm feeling stale because of my Sisyphean role which continues to make two steps forward and then a step back. I'm tired of apologizing when I make progress that I didn't include everyone, their brother, and Aunt Maisie in the decision. I'm tired of looking ahead and seeing the same old same old coming down the pike in different clothes (most of them ugly).
I'm feeling stale because two of my most talented friends have made serious progress in their writing lives and I continue to think about writing and not write. And that pisses me off. Not at them, of course, they've been doing the hard work despite having just as chock full lives as me, and they deserve everything they have achieved. Pissed that I don't seem to be able to do it too.
I'm feeling stale because despite being on the treadmill 4 or 5 times a week (at 5:30 IN THE AM) my forty something body is not responding, and the scale continues to register at "Are you kidding?"
OK so now I have 10 minutes left. See how I waste my time? Between this, FB and Twitter, its a wonder I still hold a job.
So, all I need to do is: be more zen, focus on what's important, ignore all the social pressure to be commercially productive, slow down to speed up, create space for myself, treat myself like the precious human being I am, start eating whole grains, give up refined sugar, make exercise fun, set some goals, start networking, build better relationships, find the miracle in the everyday, write for 15 minutes each morning, grow my own produce, get closer to nature, and get some rest.
Whew, I'm exhausted. I think I'll grab some leftover birthday cake and update FB.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
My Worst Day
Have you ever thought you'd have to live your worst day ever over again?
Well, let me tell you what my worst day was, ever. Two years ago this coming Easter Sunday, Anna 2 1/2, my mother 78 and I flew over to England to visit my whole maternal family. My husband followed a week later (missing the drama). On the plane, 30,000 feet above the earth's surface, I looked into the ear of my sleeping child and saw a TICK. Well it looked like a tick, but couldn't have been because-well because I was 30,000 feet above the earth and couldn't do a thing. So I talked myself back into breathing and pulled the classic Scarlett O'Hara "I'll think about it tomorrow, when I can stand it".
We landed at 5:30 am Greenwich Mean Time, which--as you know is--really freaking midnight in the US. With no sleep, we traveled to my family's home in Norwich and then I did the unthinkable. I looked in her ear. And when I looked, the bastard was wriggling, embedded inside her ear and wiggling! Apparently coach class wasn't his style. So I got some tweezers and ripped his everloving body in half. And then, we went to the emergency room. Did I mention we were in England, and it was Easter Monday? And I had had NO sleep in 36 hours? Three hours in the waiting room we were seen by an Indian/English doctor who pleasantly extracted the rest of the tick and watched warily while I freaked out.
"It's a tick!" I am screeching.
He replied, "Yes, I know," (thinking: crazy American mother)
"We have lyme disease in the U.S."
He replied "Yes, I know".
"This is not something you READ about on the internet, this is lyme disease for real".
He patted me and told me it would not present for at least two weeks. I was supposed to feel better.
Two days later, we were back at a doctor's office. Anna had put herself to sleep the night before murmuring, "Mama is right here, Mama is right here" and while from the adjoining room I thought that was charming, I awoke to my worst mother moment ever. My poor child had vomited, multiple times, all over herself and her bed and and had slept in it. The "charming" mantra had been to soothe her fears and I had neglected to check on her.
NEVER NEVER NEVER have I ever felt what I felt at that moment. Helpless, neglectful, horrible. The thought of that night and day make me cry to this day. As it turned out, the two had nothing to do with one another. But in my mind they are forever related.
Next week, we leave for England. And today, Anna and I came in from playing in the glorious warmth of an April evening. And as we sat at the dinner table, I felt an itching on my hand. I looked down, and there crawling over me, looking for a lodging place, was a TICK!
Well, let me tell you what my worst day was, ever. Two years ago this coming Easter Sunday, Anna 2 1/2, my mother 78 and I flew over to England to visit my whole maternal family. My husband followed a week later (missing the drama). On the plane, 30,000 feet above the earth's surface, I looked into the ear of my sleeping child and saw a TICK. Well it looked like a tick, but couldn't have been because-well because I was 30,000 feet above the earth and couldn't do a thing. So I talked myself back into breathing and pulled the classic Scarlett O'Hara "I'll think about it tomorrow, when I can stand it".
We landed at 5:30 am Greenwich Mean Time, which--as you know is--really freaking midnight in the US. With no sleep, we traveled to my family's home in Norwich and then I did the unthinkable. I looked in her ear. And when I looked, the bastard was wriggling, embedded inside her ear and wiggling! Apparently coach class wasn't his style. So I got some tweezers and ripped his everloving body in half. And then, we went to the emergency room. Did I mention we were in England, and it was Easter Monday? And I had had NO sleep in 36 hours? Three hours in the waiting room we were seen by an Indian/English doctor who pleasantly extracted the rest of the tick and watched warily while I freaked out.
"It's a tick!" I am screeching.
He replied, "Yes, I know," (thinking: crazy American mother)
"We have lyme disease in the U.S."
He replied "Yes, I know".
"This is not something you READ about on the internet, this is lyme disease for real".
He patted me and told me it would not present for at least two weeks. I was supposed to feel better.
Two days later, we were back at a doctor's office. Anna had put herself to sleep the night before murmuring, "Mama is right here, Mama is right here" and while from the adjoining room I thought that was charming, I awoke to my worst mother moment ever. My poor child had vomited, multiple times, all over herself and her bed and and had slept in it. The "charming" mantra had been to soothe her fears and I had neglected to check on her.
NEVER NEVER NEVER have I ever felt what I felt at that moment. Helpless, neglectful, horrible. The thought of that night and day make me cry to this day. As it turned out, the two had nothing to do with one another. But in my mind they are forever related.
Next week, we leave for England. And today, Anna and I came in from playing in the glorious warmth of an April evening. And as we sat at the dinner table, I felt an itching on my hand. I looked down, and there crawling over me, looking for a lodging place, was a TICK!
Monday, March 02, 2009
If only I had smaller thumbs
Okay, so I have man hands. Ever since I've grown it's been clear that I am not favored with delicate slender fingers. Seinfeld made it socially laughable but technology has accentuated my disability profoundly. I am the proud owner of an iPhone. And my love for it is only slightly less than for my own child. I am fascinated by the fact that I ever survived B.I. (Before Iphone). I can talk and it can write. It can call, text, buy, take photos and load them to my email. I can surf, get news, play games, email and even blog. Yes, I am blogging from my phone.
My child is sick and desperate for my nearness but not my attention. As we watch Ice Age for the 456th time she wants me so close I can't use my computer. So I am sneaking this blog. And the only thing that would make this phenomenon more phenomenal would be if I had dainty thumbs. For all the power of the future, I still have to use one finger in order to not make this blog read like this....djdksbs sksnksbs skxkzk a zkz a kzbsakzjabajz.
My child is sick and desperate for my nearness but not my attention. As we watch Ice Age for the 456th time she wants me so close I can't use my computer. So I am sneaking this blog. And the only thing that would make this phenomenon more phenomenal would be if I had dainty thumbs. For all the power of the future, I still have to use one finger in order to not make this blog read like this....djdksbs sksnksbs skxkzk a zkz a kzbsakzjabajz.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
I want to be the man
This time of year always demonstrates all the power and energy of women. So many things happen and so many wishes are fulfilled. It's a magic time of year, whether you are Christian or not.
But this year I've decided I want to be the man.
This is the first night of Hannukah which we celebrate alongside Christmas. To date I have: bought and wrapped all the presents, created, ordered and addressed all the holiday cards, arranged for latkes on the first night, tried to untangle and -since I failed-cut and restrung the Hannukah decorations.
My daughter got the American Girl doll she has been dreaming of because I ordered it. My husband got the Nintendo game he wanted because I ordered it. I got nothing. While she was asking where my present was, I was thinking. It's taken years and generations and centuries to be as liberated as I am. Yet, I do it all. Like a servant. And --do not for a moment think I live like a servant or act like one-- ask anyone, I am the queen of entitlement--if I can buy it, I will. But somehow it still comes down to me. I am the enabler in the codependent relationship that is often marriage.
I want to be the man. Because more than not doing it all, I want to NOT CARE. I want to NOT SEE. I want to think that if my child does not get the perfect present all will not be lost. I want to believe that perfect holidays are not my responsibility. It never occurs to Jeff that any of it is his. Never. If he forgets a present (shit, we haven't sent anything to his sister yet) he just lets it pass and doesn't think that it has any implications whatsoever (except that maybe he's saved a buck). Where do I get that sense of independence of action? That nothing I do matters.
But everything I do does matter, and maybe that's the lesson here.
Happy (imperfect, but think what it could have been without you) Holidays!!!
But this year I've decided I want to be the man.
This is the first night of Hannukah which we celebrate alongside Christmas. To date I have: bought and wrapped all the presents, created, ordered and addressed all the holiday cards, arranged for latkes on the first night, tried to untangle and -since I failed-cut and restrung the Hannukah decorations.
My daughter got the American Girl doll she has been dreaming of because I ordered it. My husband got the Nintendo game he wanted because I ordered it. I got nothing. While she was asking where my present was, I was thinking. It's taken years and generations and centuries to be as liberated as I am. Yet, I do it all. Like a servant. And --do not for a moment think I live like a servant or act like one-- ask anyone, I am the queen of entitlement--if I can buy it, I will. But somehow it still comes down to me. I am the enabler in the codependent relationship that is often marriage.
I want to be the man. Because more than not doing it all, I want to NOT CARE. I want to NOT SEE. I want to think that if my child does not get the perfect present all will not be lost. I want to believe that perfect holidays are not my responsibility. It never occurs to Jeff that any of it is his. Never. If he forgets a present (shit, we haven't sent anything to his sister yet) he just lets it pass and doesn't think that it has any implications whatsoever (except that maybe he's saved a buck). Where do I get that sense of independence of action? That nothing I do matters.
But everything I do does matter, and maybe that's the lesson here.
Happy (imperfect, but think what it could have been without you) Holidays!!!
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Thursday, October 09, 2008
What I like about Sarah Palin
Psyche! Just kidding!
No seriously, there are a few things I like about Sarah Palin.
1) She makes me feel smart, really really smart, like I could run for president
2) Our chance at a united world becomes greater with her in office, sadly the United States won't be part of it.
3) She shops on Ebay, and maybe with Meg Whitman, she can arrange for an Ebay percentage to finance the bailout. Because let's face it, $700 billion hasn't made a dent and I need some new shoes.
4) She understands us womenfolk, I mean come on, who hasn't hidden a pregnancy at work?
5) She calls her husband dude. I call my husband dude. It's like we married the same guy only my husband doesn't kill things with his bare hands.
6) She's a mother. She wants to strip her children of all their rights and most of their future income but hey, kids today need to toughen up.
7) My investment in a small coastal town in Nova Scotia is going to be recouped a thousandfold when most of New England tries to move to Canada.
8) She's a maverick. With lipstick.
9) She won't care that I drive a SUV and have a carbon footprint the size of Wasilla. So I can take that off my guilt list.
10) She always talks to Joe Sixpack, and you know what? I dated Joe Sixpack in college. And even though he was a complete ass--well it's two degrees of separation.
No seriously, there are a few things I like about Sarah Palin.
1) She makes me feel smart, really really smart, like I could run for president
2) Our chance at a united world becomes greater with her in office, sadly the United States won't be part of it.
3) She shops on Ebay, and maybe with Meg Whitman, she can arrange for an Ebay percentage to finance the bailout. Because let's face it, $700 billion hasn't made a dent and I need some new shoes.
4) She understands us womenfolk, I mean come on, who hasn't hidden a pregnancy at work?
5) She calls her husband dude. I call my husband dude. It's like we married the same guy only my husband doesn't kill things with his bare hands.
6) She's a mother. She wants to strip her children of all their rights and most of their future income but hey, kids today need to toughen up.
7) My investment in a small coastal town in Nova Scotia is going to be recouped a thousandfold when most of New England tries to move to Canada.
8) She's a maverick. With lipstick.
9) She won't care that I drive a SUV and have a carbon footprint the size of Wasilla. So I can take that off my guilt list.
10) She always talks to Joe Sixpack, and you know what? I dated Joe Sixpack in college. And even though he was a complete ass--well it's two degrees of separation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
