Becoming My Grandmothers

My mom's mom, Annie, is an absolute delight & I spent every summer with her growing up. She's an awesome Grandma & an equally fantastic lady who still loves to have fun. I used to love watching her doll up to go out on the town every Thursday night. Annie relished in her popularity. The simplest of errands invariably resulted in a gentleman approaching to say hello & flirt. "He used to want in my pants," she'd tease. It would probably be more polite to describe my Grandma as coquettish, but I lovingly tell her that she's a dirty old woman.

Grandma's evening routine always concluded with reading in bed. She was particularly fond of the lady mags featuring romantic short stories: True Story, True Romance, & True Confessions were her holy trinity of nighttime perusal. Knowing that I was an avid reader, she saved the monthlies throughout the year & started giving them to me for summer reading beginning when I was 12 or 13. It took a couple of months for my mother to figure out that I'd been reading starter smut all summer & sternly advised her mother that it was inappropriate reading material for a girl my age. Annie apologized & put the magazines away... until my mother went home. "Just don't tell tell your mom," Grandma shrugged.

My paternal grandmother, while very different from Annie, was equally loving. Grandma W was Catholic, conservative, well-educated, & overall a very upright lady. She was very proud of her inquisitive, bookworm granddaughter & earnestly encouraged reading & all manner of learning. Anytime I surprised her with a visit, I'd find her reading a book. Grandma W voraciously consumed paperback novels, always keeping them stowed a royal blue canvas cover that had a rainbow ribbon page marker.

One summer, she & my father took me on a day trip to COSI (Center of Science & Industry) in Columbus. She didn't have the energy to keep up with an excited 10 year old, so she took her book & sat next to the pendulum. We checked in with her after a few hours of exploring the exhibits & she smiled as I ran up to greet her. After breathlessly sharing what we'd seen so far, I looked down at her book & asked why she always used a book cover. Her face immediately became rigid. "Because it's not anyone's business what I'm reading." A few years later, probably right about the time I started thumbing through True Romances, I took a closer look at Grandma W's tall book shelves. Two deep & double stacked were hundreds of Harlequin Romances. Austere & respectable Grandma W was into bodice rippers. I never dared tease her about them, but I've always been amused by my very traditional grandmother's penchant for erotica.

Fast forward 20 (!) years & all I've heard for the past month are ladies murmuring about Fifty Shades of Grey. Eavesdropping in the nail salon last weekend, I listened as a woman boldly asserted that she'd heard so many contrasting reviews about the book that she was just going to read it for herself. "Some people say that it's really good, others say it's garbage. I've heard that it's easy to read, but I've also heard that it's really poorly written. And some of my friends... well, some of them have said that it's dirty," dropping her voice. I bluntly interrupt. "Um, I think that's the one thing that pretty much everyone agrees on: it's super dirty." She quickly nods. At that moment, I decide that I must read this book.

After my pampering, I read reviews on Amazon. As the woman whispering during her pedicure had noted, the color commentary was all over the place, but the general consensus remains that it's chock full of sex. I'm in, but Grandma W's wisdom suddenly resonated with me: I went stealth with my smut via Kindle download. The other commuters don't need to know what I'm reading.

I don't really have a lot to say about the Fifty Shades Trilogy. Yes, trilogy. I've read all 3 in the past week. Are they good? Eh, define good. These books are not great works of literature. The plot is thin & the language is mediocre. One must assume that the editor was, um, distracted by the scenery & rendered unable to provide any constructive criticism. But the pages are littered with gratuitous, hedonistic sex & that's what keeps 'em coming (so to speak) in droves to buy the books.

The 80s Could Have Been WAY Worse

Last weekend, I learned that Jem is on Netflix. I won't go into details, but let's just say that I vigorously maintain that it's a cartoon with a solid plot & my weeknights have been pretty well shot since.

I LOVED Jem as a kid. My mom bought me one of the early edition Jem dolls. She had fantastic flashing earrings that lit up when you flipped a little switch between her shoulders. Naturally, Jem came with 2 outfits - the shiny, metallic rock star outfit + her Jerrica get-up that came with a matching beret used to conceal her pink hair. I had one spare - a yellow dress with an uneven hem - that I learned this week was actually Kimber's outfit. Oddly apt, I recall totally wanting to change my name to Kimber off & on between the 1st & 3rd grades. Gawd, I freaking loved that doll. Being raised an only child, I was not very good at sharing to begin with, but NO ONE touched Jem.

Jem is a holographic output of Synergy, who is conjured when Jerrica/Jem touches her enchanted earrings. When I explained this to my bemused husband, he asked, "so her earrings were sort of like a bluetooth?" Um, yeah. Kind of. That's when it occurred to me that the 80s could have been WAY worse. Wow.

The 1980s Me Decade was one of unbridled ambition, upward social mobility, & Reaganomics. It was an aggressive time & cocaine was the drug of choice. Maybe that's why exaggerated shoulder pads & big hair were so popular: they were safety features. Can you imagine the douchebaggery that would've prevailed had we added widespread cellphone & bluetooth usage to the mix? I just keep picturing Patrick Bateman tuning into the voices in his head, unawares that he's actually on the phone.

For me, the 80s is certainly viewed through the lens of childhood, but the decade clearly provided a springboard for the technology of today. Jerrica monopolized usage of the super-advanced Synergy to propel her into stardom via an alter ego. Didn't Snoop Dogg & Dr. Dre just do something like that at Coachella so they could rhyme with Tupac? Truly Outrageous.

Portlandia

With relatively little planning, as per usual, we decided to go to Portland for Memorial Day weekend.

I've been due for a new phone (I'm completely convinced that they're designed to crap out immediately after the 2-year contract is up) & coveting an iPad. Seattle makes up for an absurd sales tax with no WA state income tax, while Oregon takes the opposite tack. It seemed to me that if we were going to engage in an orgy of consumerism, we might as well align it with a weekend away.

Since we plan most of our travels at the last possible moment, everything but the Friday morning trains were sold out, so I was forced (...) to take an extra day off of work on the long holiday weekend. As always, the ride was lovely. Along the water, through the trees, & past the parts of towns that one wouldn't otherwise see. I may be in love with Amtrak & the Coast Starlight route.

I picked a funky boutique hotel downtown. Submitting a reservation with less than 24 hours notice actually paid off. They'd run out of the low-rent rooms, so we ended up with a free upgrade to a plush King suite. Eric was somewhat unconvinced of the clashing decor, but I dug it. Coffee & latte bar in the morning, then an evening wine hour in a fabulous lobby? Sold.

It'd been many years since I'd spend any time in Portland & Eric had never been, so it was basically all brand new. The train station is beautiful, the light rail is far more advanced than our weak single-lined system, & the architecture is well preserved. We were pleasantly surprised to discover first hand that 175 miles provides just enough difference in climate to allow for thunderstorms.

The City of Roses seems much smaller than Seattle, largely due to perspective; city ordinance dictates a maximum building size of 200' by 200' in order to preserve views of Mount Hood. The result is a Big Town feel. What struck us as really odd was the relative lack of activity downtown. Where the urban center of the Emerald City is consistently busy - more than enough human & automobile traffic at all hours - downtown Portland & the surrounding neighborhoods were pretty subdued. The exception was Saturday Market, which was crowded elbow-to-elbow in the narrow, winding aisles.

We thoroughly enjoyed the local food offerings. Blueplate (featured on Food Network's Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives) has amazing sammiches & soda fountain inspired beverages. Their meatloaf & mashed potatoes were nothing short of bliss. Cafe Bijou was fantastic & their mushroom omelet was heavenly. Louis & Dan's Oyster Bar, the oldest family-owned business in Portland, has a modest menu, but they knocked every single offering out of the park. I'm sad to say that we did not visit Voodoo Donuts. Next time!

The PacNW vibe persisted in our southerly sister city, though with stronger hippie flavor. The mix of people was similar, but the prevalence of good manners appeared to be marginally improved. Curiously, the Civil War mustache trend seems to have gained a lot more ground in Oregon. The widespread affection for books & coffee is identical; Powell's City of Books is my version of heaven.

There was a noticeable lack of live shows, likely due to the competition from Sasquatch this weekend. No matter, since we didn't take much of a departure from our usual, ingrained sleep schedule. Despite not taking in any culture beyond food & the mall, we still had a fun & relaxing weekend. I really enjoy traveling with my man, even if it is only a few hours away.

EMc2

From this day forward,

I promise to love you without reservation.

To honor and respect you, 

always hold you in highest regard,
and to work together with you to achieve our goals.

I promise to help shoulder our challenges,
for there is nothing we cannot face if we stand together.

I promise to be your partner in all things,
not possessing you, 

but working with you as a part of the whole.

I promise to share with you the joys of life,
because with you they will be that much sweeter.

I will stay by your side and remain faithful to our vows
in sickness and in health,
in times of plenty and in times of want,
when life seems easy and when it seems hard,
when our love is simple and when it is an effort.

I will support and encourage you,
listen to you with compassion and understanding,
speak to you with respect,

and be kind, patient and forgiving.

I will provide for your needs as best I can,
protect you from harm,
laugh with you in times of triumph,
and comfort you in times of sorrow and struggle.

I will always be open and honest with you,
and trust in you completely.

These are my vows to you, my equal in all things, today and for the rest our lives.

Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know. I look forward to growing together, getting to know the person you will become, and falling in love a little more every day. Through whatever life may bring us, I am secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend, my faithful partner in life, and my one true love.

Eric, on this special day, in the presence of our family & friends, with all my love, I give to you my sincere promise to stay by your side as your faithful wife.

Coffee & Cigarettes

August 27, 2005
Submission to The Sun Magazine

If broken into component parts, I’m an obvious blend of my parents. My mother is a hardworking, financially responsible, and brutally honest woman. As straight forward as black coffee, Mom reminded me often that she thought my father was worthless - he lived with his mother, couldn’t hold a job, and as a result was negligent in paying child support. She always said that God only brought she and my father together to conceive me, her gift. 

 
The rare weekends I got to spend with my dad gave me a unique insight to what made us tick. He drank what seemed like gallons of coffee and smoked 4 packs of cigarettes during his daily routine of reading and working with his computers. We hung out in his basement office/computer lab and his jittery pursuit of knowledge kept me entertained with any kind of intellectual stimulation I desired. He was a genius who fueled his brilliance with java. What my mother perceived as uselessness, I adored. I was fascinated by him, a Daddy’s Girl closeted by my mother’s opinions.

Mostly we read the newspaper at his enormous coffee-stained desk or played at his computer, making silly pictures or talking to his techie friends using a primitive version of instant messaging. Once we made miniature volcanoes out of baking soda and vinegar, but more often we puttered around chatting.

My dad talked to me as though I were an adult. He’d often make sweetened iced coffee for me, letting me vent frustrations of life at home with my mom and my dismay at being a tall, skinny nerd at school. He never dismissed how I felt, sagely encouraging discourse on what I needed to talk out. Wistfully gazing over the rim of his coffee cup, he wisely made me consider Mom in a different light by fondly reminiscing about all he’d come to admire her for. He introduced me to my idol, Wonder Woman. Through the Amazonian princess, he suggested the optimistic template for what a lanky bookworm had potential to become. The awkward haze of puberty made it hard to imagine, much less believe my dad’s theory that I would become a strong, confident woman whose intelligence and wit could draw as much attention as her beauty.

I haven’t talked to my dad in 9 years. During that time, I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find myself growing into a persuasive version of the real-life Wonder Woman Dad had envisioned. More than anything, I want to sit down with him and talk more about what life has in store over coffee and cigarettes.

Be the change you want to see.

I'm glad that I spent my 20s in Seattle.

When I left the Midwest, I had a few things that I needed to work on. Since I was only 21, I had no idea that I needed to work on any aspect of my personality. There's sort of a combative vibe in that corner of the world, one based largely on unfortunate circumstance of economics that has seeped into the culture. I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for the Midwest, but I often wonder how I would've turned out had I stayed.

When I was 24, it dawned on me that maybe the problem wasn't everyone else... maybe MY attitude had something to do with how people treated me. It's physics. Every action has an equal & opposite reaction. I read books on New Age-y philosophies & worked hard on being a nicer person. During that time I wrote constantly, filling notebooks to work out the knots. It felt good to be kind.

At 27, I took a personal inventory & weeded out the stuff that made me unhappy. I made some unpopular decisions about who I did & did not want in my life, as well as what I wanted out of life. A weight of frustration was lifted from my shoulders. A change of cast & scenery did wonders for an improved perspective & prospects for a joyful life.

By 30, I'd had my fill of unnecessary negativity & disrespect. To cultivate a life of positivity, one can't sow seeds of pessimistic criticism. Sometimes it's hard to deliver that message, but I just won't tolerate that sort of nonsense in myself or the people that I surround myself with. Honoring that choice has improved the nature of more than one key relationship in my life.

Now I'm going to work on eliminating petty criticism & judgement from my daily vocabulary. Breaking others down is not a constructive way to build myself up. It only serves to perpetuate negativity & that's not what I want to build my life on.

I owe a debt to this city. I'm grateful that I've had the opportunity to grow into adulthood with one of Seattle's premier businesses, which is built on a foundation of respect & dignity. I don't think that I would have had those values drilled into me in any other venue. More importantly, I'm forever thankful for the amazing friends that I've made in this city. They're warm, good humored, endlessly generous, & they keep me honest. XO

In the Presence of Women

Today I attended the 2012 Women's Leadership Summit.  Full disclosure: I was feeling a little apprehensive about attending.  Not because I was nervous or wasn't sure that I'd get anything out of it.  That wasn't it at all.  My tummy was flip-flopping because I had a massive hangover this morning.  More about that in a minute...

I'd been looking forward to the WLS event all week.  Homework in the form of a personality test, a DISC assessment, tickled me.  Presented with a series of 5 descriptions, participants are instructed to order them from most to least accurate portrayal of their disposition.  "Charming, delightful."  I laughed.  I am TOTALLY charming & delightful, so it went to the top of the heap in that set.  I've taken this test before & was pretty sure that there's been no change to my High Dominance, but had never received a personalized evaluation.  "Eva may be so self-confident that others view her as arrogant or egotistical."  Pffft.  I'm sorry, I couldn't hear that feedback over the sound of HOW AWESOME I AM. 

The assessment includes a comparison of Natural versus Adapted style.  Natural style is exactly what it sounds like, while Adapted style is an expression of your "mask" or game face for work.  My Adapted style is almost identical to my Natural style.  "Eva sees no need to change her approach to solving problems or or influencing others to her way of thinking.  She sees her natural style to be what the environment is calling for."  Duh.

The goal of the conference is to connect & engage women.  We are responsible for our own personal & career growth, but a little coaching & support goes a long way in making those advances. In order to forge a path to leadership, we have to be confident in our strengths.  Many women aren't comfortable with touting their own accomplishments, asking for promotions, or negotiating for better pay.  It's a tough row to hoe, but they're necessary steps to move ahead.  Women are often very good at nurturing relationships, but could boost progress by cultivating new relationships that support their endeavors.  The purpose of the personality test was two-fold: to better understand ourselves as individuals, then to learn how to identify other styles & optimize communication when we encounter those operate differently. As utterly fantastic as I may be, High Dominance individuals only make up 9% of the population, so it's helpful to better understand how to work with the other 91%.

When I signed up for 2012WLS, I did so to walk the walk.  I'm passionate about women holding an equal place in all spheres, so it seemed like a great opportunity to learn more about how to best advance that cause. I went to learn how to be more supportive to others, as well as my own ambitions.  We're in this together.  I know that I'm incredibly lucky to work for a company with a culture that embraces diversity in all forms & treats every employee with respect.  My natural inclinations & attitude have helped me to get a seat at the table. Many of my beliefs were validated today, which is always deeply satisfying.  I feel challenged & empowered to take my goals to the next level.

With equal parts righteous justification & convenient interpretation, I walked away feeling good my over-indulgence last night.  Some might criticize & suggest that showing up for a leadership event kind of dizzy from the lingering effects of Irish whiskey is poor form.  I'd contend that I was networking & engaging in an extremely informal mentorship with my co-workers, celebrating my boss's 20 year (!) anniversary with the company.  I'm glad that I didn't pass up the opportunity to drink in marvelous insights from an uncommonly experienced woman.

Project!

Relish.

Can.

Wake.

Sign.

Live.

Proceeds.

Dove.

Converse.
Direct.

Rose.

Change.

Entrance.
Respect.

Effect.

Produce.

Wave.

Does.

Bass.

Tear.

Content.

Shower.

Engaged.

Conduct.

Project.

Intimate.
Present.

Research.

Concert.

Recess.

Subject.

Overlook.

Clear.

Bow.

Incline.

Quarry.

Mobile.

Object.

Recall.

Flux capacitor ... fluxing.

My husband & I grew up in the same small, rural town in the Rust Belt. When his parents moved the family there in 1985, they commented that it seemed as though they'd stepped 30 years back in time.

Our hometown isn't very progressive. That, in & of itself, isn't a bad thing. It's the regression & disintegration that makes me sad. In my childhood, the lovely old buildings downtown were home to lots of small businesses, shops, 24-hour restaurants, & grocery stores. I remember buying candy & Smurfs stickers at Davis Drug Store, getting school clothes at Keck's, & loitering at IGA to scope out the dreamy bag boy.

Now it's mostly bars. The most popular grocery store, one of the last remaining round-the-clock hangouts, is the Wal-Mart at the edge of town. Downtown was looking pretty rough until a couple of years ago, when an Act 47 grant paid for streetscaping & beautification in the once-charming town. Basically a cosmetic installation of bricked crosswalks & prettier street lights, it failed to cover up the vacant & dilapidated buildings.

It occurred to me that even with a facelift, our hometown looks like Hill Valley in the parallel universe 1985. There's no Biff Tannen's Pleasure Paradise, but Adam's & Headliners provide the same basics. Now we just need a time travelling DeLorean.

The Wheels on the Bus

As a general rule, I'm a kind of weirdo magnet, but no where is that more true that while I'm entrenched in the world of public transportation.

People have said some strange stuff to me at the bus stop.  Surely it doesn't help that I'm hanging out downtown at 5:30 in the morning, but I try hard to simultaneously blend in & look alert. 

"Hey, baby girl.  You look like a non-smoker."

"SEE?! SHE'S SNEEZING CORRECTLY!" [Stoner dude to his tired-looking girlfriend after I had an allergic fit into the crook of my elbow.]

"What's your first name?  What's your middle name?  What's your last name?"

In all fairness, it's more often that I get to merely observe the oddities of others, rather than passively interact with them.  One morning, I was standing by myself, waiting for the early bus.  A truck pulled up & a lady who seemed a bit dingy & frayed around the edges (that's the nicest way I can come up with to describe a woman who, at a glance, appeared to be a crack whore) slid down from the passenger's seat.  She started to lean back in to say something to the driver, but he suddenly gunned the accelerator & peeled out, leaving the woman to throw herself out of the way of the slamming door.  She jumped up immediately, hollering after the truck.  "You sonofabitch!  You didn't pay me!!"  I sort of thought that, as a working girl, she should probably ought to have known better than to get out of the vehicle without cash in hand.  I didn't want to overstep any boundaries & it seemed that she'd probably respond poorly to any counsel after learning such a harsh life lesson, so I just kept that bit of advice to myself.  Hopefully she remembered next time.

For once, my husband took my karmic spot on Bus Ride Nut Patrol today.  A young man wearing a leather vest with shorts took the seat next to Eric on the #10 up the Hill this evening.  The bevested stranger began by telling my beloved all about the Green Lantern anthology that he was reading.  Tapping Eric on the shoulder to get his attention, he boasted that he'd borrowed the book from the library downtown.  "Nice," my man said to humor his seatmate before putting his earbud back in, "enjoy!" 

A few minutes later he noticed the young man giving him the side-eye, staring at Eric's arms before looking down at own arms, then back again.  "Everything okay?" asked my husband.  "You have even more arm hair than I do!" explained his neighbor.  "... Yup ... I'm a hairy guy," he responded before quickly going back to his music.

A couple of blocks later, the talkative traveler tapped Eric on the shoulder once more.  "What does your tattoo mean?", still eagerly, yet troublingly focused on the Mister's forearms.  "It's a Voltaire quote,"  his answer most certainly accompanied with a Look.

When the bus rolled up to the 12th & Pine stop, the friendly rider reached out to shake hands before exiting.  "It's been great talking with you," he said, "have a great night."

"Sure, dude.  You too."

Dirty Laundry

Despite mounting evidence to the contrary, laundry is not my most despised household chore.

It seems that I may have been spoiled by 4 months in an apartment with a W/D, because now I simply can't be bothered to walk down 2 flights of stairs to do the wash.  It's icky down there.  Building management is finishing up construction on a bunch of new units, so there's dust & extension cords everywhere.  I'm crawling over table saws & routers, trying to keep my balance with the hamper & a bad case of the clumsies.  And - I'm just gonna come out & say it - I get the creeps down there.  I do not like the basement in this building, so I've been skipping laundry duty.

It's been 2 weeks now & I had to get creative last Thursday when I ran out of work appropriate pants.  I have 2 pairs of trousers (that fit) & 2 pairs of jeans (that don't have holes in them).  The weather had been really pleasant on Monday, but was too chilly to wear a skirt by mid-week.  The weekend jeans were the only clean pair left, but they have a pair of, um, ever-growing weak spots near the crotch were my thigh biscuits rub together.  Forced to embrace a hipster look that I once looked upon with disdain, I reached for a short sweater dress that was long enough to cover my shame. 

The weather was spectacular this weekend, plenty warm for dresses, but I kept telling myself that I really should accept that laundry would be a non-negotiable prep for the work week.  We had a bunch of fun stuff on the Saturday/Sunday agenda, but there was certainly time for laundry if I really wanted to make it happen.  I just didn't care once I had a look at the forecast for this week.

Where my closet lacks slacks, it is well-stocked with dresses.  I love 'em.  They're a pretty homage to summer weather & far more forgiving to weight gain, particularly when a lady favors full skirts & A-lines.  I ran out of business causal pants 5 days ago, but I have jaunty frocks for daaaaays.

Warm weather always cheers me.  Sunshine makes me happy.  When the rising mercury enables me to avoid washing clothes for a couple more days, I'm giddy.

Happy Mother's Day

Like a lot of women, my relationship with my mother is complicated.  We're both strong personalities (weird how that worked out) & have often found ourselves at an impasse in understanding one another's point of view.  It's an enormous relief to be past a long rough patch & to have moved into a positive, nurturing, & mutually respectful relationship.

My mom is a hard worker.  She was young when I came along, but always put in 110% to provide for me.  She did the best she could with what she had & I'm a tough cookie (and an expert budget-keeper) as a result of her efforts.  She encouraged my close relationship with her mother, who has been an enormous comfort throughout my life.

Debbie may not be perfect - no one is - but she's the perfect mom for me.   She taught me about self-reliance, tenacity, & how to learn from mistakes.  Most recently, she taught me about forgiveness.  I love you, Mom!  Thanks for everything that you've done.  I'm so, so proud of you.  XO

* I'd also like to send my love to the best Mother-in-Law EVER.  (She's also the cutest MIL ever.  See below.)  Linda: you're wonderful & I love you.

Hope ALL of the Moms in my life (Smurph, Jen, Catherine, Wendy, & Michelle - I'm looking at you!) have had a wonderful Mother's Day!

There is no one alive who is you-er than you!

Today we had the distinct pleasure of going to our friend MM's 6th (!) birthday party.  The birthday girl selected the savvy theme of Macaroni & Cheese + Scooby Doo.  This little lady knows how to set her guests up for a good time. 

I've known not-so-little-anymore MM since she was born.  In fact, it's possible that she absorbed her party planning skills in the womb, since her parents threw the best Baby Shower that I've ever been to.  Themed "The End of Our World as We Know It", this party was as off the chain as a party can get when the guest of honor is 9 months pregnant.  The music was great & the menu consisted of fried chicken, donuts, & cocktails.  It's probably one of the most fun parties I've even been to & where I learned the Rule #1 for a great Baby Shower: let the guests drink.  I know, I know.  It seems rude & perhaps counter-intuitive since Mama can't imbibe, but let's be honest - baby showers aren't typically that much fun & alcohol can help with that. 

MM's birthday parties have been consistently hilarious.  She was a little obsessed with Curious George (& monkeys in general) for her 2nd birthday, so her dad dressed up as The Man in the Yellow Hat & roped his buddy into dressing up as George.  MM freaked out.  Clinging to her mom, she wanted NOTHING to do with The Man in the Yellow Hat & was only interested in George if he kept his distance.  George was permitted the role of Present Presenter.  He'd quickly hand off the gift, then dart off so MM wouldn't start to cry.  As soon as George was a safe distance away, MM offered a "thank you, George" in a very small voice.  It was ridiculously cute. For last year's classroom birthday celebration, MM requested a pirate themed costume party.  Her crew of 5-year-old mates obliged, but MM rolled into her party dressed as a fairy princess.  I can't help but admire this kid's style.

This year, we fully embraced the theme of the party.  At the door, we received the key component of the party uniform: the neckerchief.  Inspired by either Fred or Daphne depending upon stylistic leanings, each guest artfully tied on a red scarf.  Scooby Doo DVDs provided just the right ambiance.  Party fare featured the aforementioned Macaroni & Cheese, cupcakes, & festive libations, Capri Suns for the short stacks & beer for the grown-ups.  The weather was beautiful today & everyone had fun playing outside with water balloons, squirt guns, & bubbles.

I love that my generation's nostalgia for childhood has materialized into reproductions or an inheritance of the same toys & games we loved to our kids.  Scooby Doo is a perfect example; MM got into the cartoon when her Great Aunties sent a couple of books because they recalled her mom's fondness for Scooby Doo & the gang as a kid. We gave MM a big stuffed Scooby for her birthday & it reminded my of my Pound Puppy, Ralph, who I believe was a 6th birthday gift from my mom. They're not manufactured anymore, but My Little Ponies (a topic that I am passionate about, but will save for another day), Cabbage Patch Kids, & Care Bears are still in production.

I distinctly remember my own 6th birthday party.  I'm a summer baby by birth & virtue, so my parents agreed to a pool party that year.  We drove around in my stepdad's 1976 Ford F-150 to pick up the guests.  Ah, the days before auto/child safety laws were enforced & it was totally cool to loosely pack a bunch of 1st graders into the bed of a truck without any form of harness to keep them from sliding all over the place.  We made it to Memorial Pool just before it started to pour down rain.  We were all pretty eager to go swimming, so my parents waited it out until the staff announced they were closing for the day.  By this time we were soaked since there was no cab on the truck, so Jim just strapped on a blue tarp.  Rained out, we rolled home for the pièce de résistance: cake.  That year, my mom had arranged for a custom & totally awesome Care Bear cake.  For a couple of weeks prior, I'd been pretty bummed that a friend of hers had needed to "borrow" Love-a-Lot bear, but the sweet finished product was totally worth it.

Not being a parent, I'm not really a regular on the kids' party circuit, but from my amateur observations, they're way more fun than grown-up parties.  Cupcakes aren't cause for a body image flare up.  Kiddos just wolf 'em down or lick off the icing & chuck the rest before running around like crazy people from the sugar high.  Kids get super-cool presents.  As a friend of mine pointed out, being the adult works in our favor, since toy packaging has become totally OOC & we must wield sharp tools to remove the contents.  The real benefit is that the grown-up gets the first close look at how cool the toy is before the birthday girl or boy takes possession.  It's amusing to occasionally bear witness to the children behaving more maturely than their parents at these events.  A few years ago, we went to a party for the 4-year-old whose dad we've both known for years (& happens to have been one of the guests at the ill-fated pool party).  When the time came to open presents, the little girl's mom started opening the gifts, ripping the paper & throwing tissue paper over her shoulder just as fast as she could.  When the little girl reached for the gift, her mom started shouting over the crowd of kids.  "YOU HAVE TO READ THE CARD FIRST!  GAWD, USE YOUR MANNERS!"  Yikes.

At any rate, we had a great time today.  I'm so glad that I've been able to attend this event year after year, especially since MM is such a cool kid.  Big shout out to a few other of my very favorite little girls who have recently celebrated birthdays: Sophia, who I cannot believe is in her last year of single digit birthdays & my fabulous niece Emma, who went with a safari theme this year & is after my heart with her love of All Things Banana.

TGIF

I'm really pleased that it's Friday.  Can I get an Amen?! 

This week wasn't particularly difficult or stressful... work & a handful of non-negotiable afternoon tasks including a visit to the dentist, but I'm worn out just the same.  I basically like my job: my co-workers are generally pretty entertaining, my boss is pleasant & reasonable, & I'm lucky to work for a generous company that values quality of life for its employees.  Caveats aside, I much prefer Home.  I'm a Cancer.  That's how we roll.

It's funny how weekdays always seems to drag & drag, then the weekend flies by much faster than it should.  Friday nights are typically a bust.  Get home, fetch dinner, have a drink, then fall asleep reading on the sofa.  "Stop slobbering all over the couch cushions & go to bed," coos my husband. When it comes to any attempt to socialize on Friday night, I'm hopeless.  Look, it is not natural to rise at 4:30AM, then head off for immediate productivity.  By Friday evening, my body revolts & just switches the lights out.  Thinking back, I've always been like this.  When I was a kid, I could make it as late as Dallas or Family Matters, then I was out cold.  Back then my step-dad would sort of shove at me with his foot & tell me to go to bed instead of conking out on coveted couch real estate.  How little some things change over time.

Tonight, Eric had a hankering for a pizza & beer supper.  No arguments from me.  Olympia was bumpin'.  80s music on the speakers, lots of patrons lingering on the patio, soaking up Happy Hour sunshine.  We scored our favorite semi-circle booth by the windows.  The Greek Pizza was predictably delicious, but I was disappointed with my Guinness consumption & was struggling to avoid rubbing my fists in my eyes at the bar.  C'mon, Woman.  It's Friday! 

I'll be frank: I had a beer (& a half) & now I'm sleepy.  I want to check today's writing assignment off my never-ending To Do list so that I can go read in bed.  When we got home, I checked my list of potential writing topics.  None seem appealing.  I read through a little book of inspirational quotes.  Meh.  I'm totally ready to roll with tomorrow's topic, but why can't I think of anything to write tonight?  Then I remembered: write what you know.  I know that I am really glad that it's Friday.

Walk the walk.

One year ago today, my favrat big brother drove my husband & me from a delightful family vacation in Galveston to IAH, sending us on our way to a 3 month adventure in Belize. *sniff* Where does the time go?

I thought I’d write during that tropical sojourn. I didn’t. I thought about writing. I considered characters: the lovable weirdos that I already know, the local & expatriate oddballs that we readily encountered during our travels. During her visit, Wendy suggested that I write about Sabbatical, but I wasn’t able to envision the context for that story. So instead of being industrious, I read 20 books last summer & hung out by the pool like it was my job. I had a GREAT tan.

Last week, I started walking halfway to work in the morning, from our apartment to downtown. Hustling, it takes about 40 minutes & I leave at a ridiculously early hour. I walked in on Monday last week, then said to Hell with it for the rest of the week because it was cold & raining & I wanted the extra 30 minutes of sleep. When I got on the scale to quantify what my pants have been hinting at, it occurred to me that my ass isn't going to quit expanding on its own. Time to suck it up & walk every morning - no exceptions, no excuses. Monday's walk, partially lit by the Super Moon, went beautifully this week. Tuesday was fine. By Wednesday, I was super annoyed. It was stupid drizzly, I was wearing a wrap skirt that kept getting blown open by the wind, & my legs hurt from the previous 2 days. It seemed as though I managed to hit every freaking Don't Walk sign & there was an absurd amount of 5AM traffic preventing me from just jaywalking. Suffice it to say that I was grumpy by the time I made it to my bus stop downtown.

At lunchtime, I followed a link to an article touting Jerry Seinfeld's Secret to Productivity. The crux of his advice to a young comic was just to keep at it every single day. The "it" in this example was comedy writing, but "it" can represent whatever a person is trying to accomplish. Seinfeld's method went so far as hanging up a Year-at-a-Glance calendar & making a big red X through every day that he'd written. "After a few days you'll have a chain. Just keep at it and the chain will grow longer every day. You'll like seeing that chain, especially when you get a few weeks under your belt. Your only job next is to not break the chain. Don't break the chain." Timely advice. Today I focused on the birds singing & street signs & how much easier it is to stomp down the Hill when one wears comfortable footwear.

I'm pretty sure that I'll have to actually write something in order to BE a writer. Walking to work in the morning is inspired largely by vanity, but like my desire to write, it's a quality of life issue. Translating the swirl of ideas in my head into print is a goal that I've put off for too long. This, dear reader, is my commitment to writing EVERY day.

No time like the present.