Roller Coaster Days

Today was a day that got me thinking about the up and down rhythm of our days.

Up:  I got to sleep in today.

Down:  A beautiful, wonderful woman lost a pregnancy.

Up:  Girl time with friends and a makeup artist.

Down:  The fridge is having issues.

On balance, is that what even keel is?  Things flux up and down, people come in and out of our lives and we just keep dealing.  Maybe so.

My wonderful friend who lost her pregnancy today has been through the process several times, and honestly, I find it hard to believe that there is any justice in the universe, much less any benign deity, who would cause a good person so much pain.  Each lost pregnancy for her is a fresh, painful wound.  And frankly, she'd make a damn fine parent, which is more than I can say for some people who seem to breed like rabbits.  I don't believe this is her karma, either, because what does she need to learn from this loss that she didn't learn from the previous losses?  Is this a test?  It's a shitty test.  She deserves better.  I know, I know, it's not about deserving.  But it should be.

I wish there were more I could do to comfort her, to alleviate some of her pain, but there really isn't much.  She knows how I feel for her, and how much I want her to have the child she wants.  But the best I can do is offer my long-distance support, a virtual hug, and the promise that when not if she comes to visit, we will have a lot of fun tearing up the town.  In the meantime, I feel like I'm sitting on my hands, impotently wishing for better for her.  That is a downer.

Fortunately, I also spent time with a group of women who, collectively, have lived through all the ups and downs of life, and still know how to have fun.  Women who have lost loved ones, survived the break-ups of relationships, raised or are raising children, and lived through richer and poorer with class, sickness and health with dignity. 

But really, the best part was being with the friends.  Friends rock.  Friday  I had some girlfriend time  with another friend.  We went to Little Five Points, Atlanta's Haight-Ashbury.  Had a great time both days.  Woo hoo! Good friends are the pull-down safety harnesses for the roller coaster days.  Even if I don't always keep my arms and legs inside the vehicle, at least I know they have my back.  Thanks, ladies. 

I'm finding that I as I grow older, I'm getting girlier.  I'm not a tomboy, yet, I'm not a priss either.  I'm somewhere in between.  I've been trying to think what it is that I like about makeup, because, honestly, it's not a necessity.  In fact, I know some pretty beautiful women who don't do makeup.  I think I just like the play aspect of it.  I like the fact that I can paint my face and be different on any given day.  It's like a mask without the elastic band. 

And on some of those roller coaster days, I like having a mask.  Of course, my friends will always see the me underneath.

Today is just not that day.

I'm in a crap mood today.  I've started this blog post over three times trying to avoid writing that sentence, but there it is.  Pithily stated. I'm in a crap mood.  I've sent the book out to five agents -- I know -- hardly a huge number.  But I've had one "we're not accepting unsolicited submissions"; one "no, thank you"; one "not this one, but maybe if you send us something else"; and two that I'm still waiting to hear on.  I know, I know, the publishing business is brutal, MMA, UFC brutal.  I get that.  That doesn't mean that I am immune to the sharp sting of rejection.  I am not.  In fact, today, for some reason, maybe lack of sleep, the foster dog that needs a home badly, or the cold weather that announced it barbaric presence with authority this morning (Sorry Walt), I am feeling it just a little more sharply than usual.

I admit that there is a part of me that is shaking her head and mumbling, "why, with your sensitivity to rejection, are you putting yourself out there like this?"  Because I have to do this.  For as long as I can remember, I have walked around, sometimes questioning my own sanity, because I have narration running through my head.  Have you seen the movie The Holiday with Cameron Diaz, where the movie trailer voiceover narrates her life in her head?  Kind of the same concept, except it's narration and dialogue.  Fully formed characters are crawling out of my thoughts.  It's like Joss Whedon, creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, and a really good version of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, said, "If you don't have to write, then you shouldn't be writing."  I have to write.

I've done so many other things in my life and never mastered any of them because writing has always been sho shin for me.  Sho shin is a Japanese concept that translates to "original intention".  Sho shin is what you were meant to do, what you were meant to be in the world.  If you are not fulfilling your sho shin, then the world is not right.  So, I have to do this. My world is not right if I don't.  I know that sounds dramatic, but would you say that if thirty years ago I had said I had to be a doctor so I could heal sick people and that my world would not be right if I didn't?  Probably not.  You would have said that's beautiful, more power to you, go cure cancer.  So writing is what I have to do, and I'm not apologizing or suppressing it any longer.

But, so just like everyone else, regardless of their sho shin, there are good days and meh days.  Today is a meh day.  Today I might need to let the frustration out by crying a little, or eating something I really shouldn't, like a bag of peanut M&Ms.  Tomorrow might be a better day and I may just send out five more queries, one of which might get accepted, or not.  But again, as Joss Whedon says, if you can find something that you love, then you do it. If you can’t, it doesn’t matter how skillful you are [at something else] : that’s called whoring.”

Back to our regular program, already in progress...

Went to Asheville (NC) over the weekend with some friends.  Girls' weekends are great.  I whole-heartedly endorse them.  I was one of those women who didn't do the girls' trips for the first 16 years of marriage, then I decided I would.  Fantastic!  No schedule, no agenda, no issues.  Just four women, a hotel room, a few bottles of wine, some great food, and a trip to Biltmore House.  Which, by the way, if you live in the South, or you happen to come through, you need to go there.  But go soon.  When I make bags of cash, I'm buying that bad boy.  Kidding.  Wish I weren't.  By the way, I've figured out that some of the smartest, funniest women I know of are my friends, and none of them have their own TV shows.

Anyway, I'm home now so it's time to get back into the routine.  Laundry in the washer, mail has been sorted, and comments from my editor friend read. That was kind of a Sally Field moment because he likes the book.  He likes it, he really does.  Here's a little proof:

 

Yeah, that's a feel good.  I have some issue to work out with the book, but I'll get there.  So, it makes me feel good that I've got a decent book in the works.  I'm hoping to get it into print soon. I'm hoping folks will buy it.

 

In addition to that, I'm also on the "Working to Wellness" program.  I'm finding it a bit frustrating because I'm not really losing the weight I thought I would be.  Not gaining any, but not losing either, and frankly that was the whole idea.  I'm counting calories, weighing and measuring, walking, etc., but it's just not coming off.  I know genetically, I'm not exactly predisposed to thinness.  But damn, I'd like a little something to be coming off here.  Oh well, I guess more walking it is.

Making Up for Lost Time

As if that were possible.  Too much time gone by.

Anyway, yesterday, I was at the chiropractor, I've just decided that I'll be calling him, Doc Snappy, and we got to talking about rugby.  Disclosure time (mostly so you don't think all I can do is write about rugby):  Doc Snappy is Spousetacular's co-coach for rugby.  They're becoming good friends.  Which is awesome.  So, during all the "Just Walk Away, Rene" days, the ugliness of some of the parents, etc., Doc Snappy was there for all of that.  But I digress; we got to talking about rugby and Rene, who still hasn't walked away.  Rene considers himself an ambassador for rugby...give me a minute, I need to wash the vomit from my mouth with a little Diet Coke.  So, I told Doc Snappy that I had blogged about the whole ordeal with Rene.  Well, of course, that got me thinking of how badly I'd neglected this blog.  So I took a look-see last night, and my last post, in which I apologize profusely for slacking, was in June.  So, ok, yeah.  Bad blog mommy.

School is back in session, so the Boy is off to Sophomore year.  Driver's Ed this year.  Ugh.  We've done a little driving together.  He's a nervous wreck driving.  I think it's a control thing.  He wants to be perfect at it immediately.  He's not.  No surprise.  I keep trying to get him to relax, but then he under steers and heads for the nearest hydrant, with the car.  Hopefully, some time on the simulators will help with that.  Otherwise, Spousetacular has his work cut out for him.

I really need to get a grip on my sleep - the insomnia is back.  It was fine in Iceland.  I don't know why.  Maybe because it was light all day, so when I went to bed, it was like taking an afternoon nap.  I like a nap, so that made it easy.  But now that we're back...yeah, not so much on the sleep front.  Well, not that I can't sleep.  I just can't get there earlier enough.  So getting up in the morning is hell.  Guess what?  Appears the Boy has the same issue.  Damn, I feel badly for passing that one on.

So, my book is just about ready for the query process to begin.  And when I say just about ready, I mean maybe...once I get over myself and my stupid insecurity.  Yep, it's in the finishing stages.  I should just suck it up and get it out there.  I know the logic and the theory, if it never gets read, who knows if it would have been rejected.  I know that.  It's just me.  But then I read that E.L. James of the Fifty Shades trilogy made $91 million.  REALLY????  $91 MILLION?  Ladies, we need to talk.  But first, I got a book to finish...

Apologies, apologies.

Alright, shroud of shame is firmly wrapped around my shoulders.  I know I haven't posted in months, but frankly, I've been busy!  Lilly and Daniel volume 1 is off to two readers.  It's driving me nuts, because I want to revise so badly already, but I'm waiting to see what the readers say.  Right now, the book is almost 176,000 words -- too long for a first novel (think Outlander by Diana Gabaldon length).  So, it's most likely going to get split into two, which will give me two books to market at once. 

The other reason I haven't posted in a while...we went to Iceland on vacation.  I know, right?  Iceland!!  Loved it.  I need to write more about that and get more posts going, I know.  Right now, that would probably be a good diversion, too, because I am crawling out of my skin...

Happy Valentine's Day, Cynics.

It's Valentine's Day!!! Damn straight I'm ready.  Damn straight I'm participating. I have chocolates and gifts for my valentines -- Spousetacular and The Boy.  I found a weather-proof workout jacket for Spousetacular.  He doesn't like to get wet in when he's coaching rugby.  He gets cranky when he gets caught in the rain.  You'd think as an English guy, he'd be used to that.  But no, so I got him a jacket.  A practical gift always appeals to Spousetacular. 

For The Boy, we (Mom and Dad give joint gifts -- this was not what Spousetacular's parents did, but they ended up getting divorced, so, go figure, eh?)  got him a set of docking speakers for his iPod.  He likes to soak in the bath after rugby and listen to music, so there you have it.  A practical gift for him, too.  They're both getting a big red heart full of chocolates from See's (my favorite, so whatever they don't like, I'll eat!).  And of course, mushy cards.

I have to say, this is probably the best Valentine's Day we've had since Spousetacular and I got married.  We've had some rough times.  I almost wrote "not emotionally", but that wouldn't be true.  Every marriage has its ups and downs, ours included.  When I look back at the past 17 years, what I notice is that many of our downs were connected to other stress-inducing events and situations that impacted the emotional connection between Spousetacular and me. Things are good now.  In fact, I think this last move we made has been really good for us.  At first, I was anxious that it wouldn't be, but it's proving to be quite good.  So good, that Valentine's Day is a good opportunity for us to celebrate this particular up cycle.  So, damn straight, we're participating.

A number of my friends have posted messages on "the interweb" as The Boy jokingly calls it.  They're being very cynical about the commercialization of the day, the history and how far the current holiday is from that, and how if your mate is so damn special to you, show it everyday, not just today.  Okay, fine.  I get your point.  It's valid.  We should show that love and commitment daily.  Bur frankly, why not participate in a day devoted to love?  What does hurt to show a little extra effort?  So what if the capitalists have taken hold of the day to make a profit?  How is that different from any other holiday?  Furniture stores have Arbor Day sales for Pete's sake -- how hypocritical is that?  So relax, cynics.  Take a moment, breathe in the love, and smell the chocolate.  It's Valentine's Day.  Happy VD.

With a Spring in my Step...

I got duped by the weather yesterday.  The day was amazing - sunny, in the 70s.  Perfect outdoor weather.  Lady and I spent some time outside, she walked around the yard while I took some photos.  Appears even the tulip bulbs have been duped...

 

 

Quite a few of the bulbs I planted in October are starting to pop up through our lovely Georgia clay.  I'm looking forward to seeing how many of the 100 bulbs I planted survived squirrel foraging.  I noticed several holes had been dug in the general vicinity of my tulip beds, and, the cheeky little rodents with whom we share our home are looking very smug and well fed.  They appear to be getting very comfortable with us, too.  Last weekend, The Boy came rushing out of his room, very dramatically for a 15 year old boy whose usual attitude is Tres Blase'.  Apparently, one of our squirrel tenants was finding it difficult to reach the attic via the normal tree-gutter-roof route and was scratching at his window trying to gain access, about 2 feet from where The Boy was sitting.  Scared the bahgeezus out The Boy.  I wonder if the previous owners of this house fed the squirrels, because usually, squirrels are not that brazen (If I knew was female squirrel at his window, I could call her a "brazen hussy").  We've been told that the former owners had a salt lick in the back yard for the deer and the deer would actually give birth in back yard.  Thinking...maybe not on the salt lick.

 

The tulips and I were not the only ones duped by the lovely weather...

 Here's one of our new Camellia bushes, already in bud. I'm looking forward to seeing these in bloom. I really like Camellias. They're a happy flower. We have some very large, obviously older, ones along the property boundaries, and we missed blooming times last year. I hope they all bloom. There's a nursery in southern Georgia that specializes in Camellias. I may need to make a trip. Oh all right, since you asked: http://www.lochlaurelnursery.com/. But don't go all buy happy on me so that by the time rugby season is over there are no Camellias left for me. Do me a solid, because I'm the one who turned you on to this place.  





This is Tama Americana, and I would like to have
one of these for my yard.  Available through
Loch Laurel Nursery in Valdosta. 
See link.

Today, the weather has reverted to typical Southern Winter:  rainy and coldish.  The kind of day when I would love to bake brownies, and then eat the entire pan while watching the rain fall.  I am watching the rain fall, but not eating brownies.  In fact, I'm trying to stay out of the kitchen today.  First, because I'll be tempted to make brownies, which I'll then be tempted to eat.  Second, because the kitchen needs cleaning.  I'm not in the mood to that.  It's presentable, that's close enough.  And it's cloudy out, you can't really see the dirt. 

 

 

 

 



Better Living through Chemistry

I'm not sure that I could live a totally organic life.  There are too many things I like, even rely on, that are the process of chemical alchemy.  I was thinking about that today, as I colored my hair.  I like having the option of not only hiding those shiny, pastel black threads that increasingly populate my hair, but I also really dig have the option of totally changing my hair color on a whim.  There's a small victory in being able to laugh in the face of genetic programming and say, "No!  Today, I wish to have hair the color of Florence!" if I so choose.  Here she is - Florence Welsh, from Florence + the Machine.  Dig the hair color.

That's one of the upsides to chemistry.  Hair color roulette.  I also enjoy Diet Coke.  Yes, I know, it's filled with substances born of the ghoulish work that goes on in unsanitary underground laboratories, but I like the taste.  I also enjoy the revitalizing effects of caffeine.  Therefore, thank you, mad chemists, for Diet Coke.  Oh, and those of you mad chemists that have made Starbucks possible, I would nominate you for the Nobel Prize for Better Living through Chemistry, if there was one.  (Please, Starbucks, just lower the prices a little.I gotta put The Boy through college! )

I know there are ways that I could eliminate the amount of chemical additives in my life -- I could dye my own yarn using herbs, flowers, and crushed bugs.  Yeah, I know that's possible.  But I don't have that skill.  I have the mad skills to turn yarn into stuff, not turn natural yarn into pretty colors.  I do love me some pretty yarn though.  Here's a favorite.

OH THANK YOU GOOGLE ENGINEERS! So, I accidentally closed this page whist searching for some awesome Madelinetosh yarn illustrations, and I thought (with tragic dejection), "Oh s#!+!  I've lost my blog post."  But no, when I went back to my blog headquarters command page -- there it was!  Autosaved!  More like AWESOME SAVED!  But I digress...

Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I give you Madelinetosh, chemical goddess:

See what I mean?  When one has the opportunity, and good fortune, to turn lovely twisty hanks of sheep fluff into gorgeous, wearable art -- why fight the chemistry behind it?  And at the risk of further digressing, let me show you this picture I found, which needs to appear in physical form in my house:

Seriously?  I'd like to thank the genius who created this because it is gorgeous.  To me, that's art.  Better living though chemistry, right there people, right there.

 

Okay, I know the above "stuff" is really not chemistry without which I could not live.  However, I do have to say that I do embrace chemistry seriously, because without it, I would not be alive right now.  I think that I have mentioned in a previous post that I am a diabetic.  I am of the Type 2 variety, so I know that, technically, it is possible to live with T2D and control it through diet and exercise.  While I am working on getting to that point, I am not there yet.  So for right now, I am not better living, but actually living through chemistry.  That goes for my under-producing thyroid as well.  Every day commences with a kick start of Synthroid, to keep my metabolic processing functional.

 

Funny story:  I tried weaning myself off the Synthroid at one point, when I didn't quite understand what it was doing in my body.  My doctor looked at me, quizzically, very dubiously in fact, and said, "You realize that without thyroid hormones you could be dead within five days?"  Okay, then, back on the Synthroid.  Religiously. 

 

Now back to our blog already in progress:  If you've read my post "Relationship Status:  It's Complicated", then you already know that I have an interesting, complex relationship with food.  Working that out is all part of reducing the amount of medication I have to take for the diabetes.  Which is a goal for me for several reasons, including the cost of the meds right now, and, my fear that the newly christened universal healthcare death panels will one day decide that I am not productive enough to be maintained, and I will be unceremoniously stripped of my access to the diabetes medications, leaving me to languish in a diabetic coma until I die.  For now though, I worship at the altar of chemistry which keeps my pancreas chugging along.  Until tomorrow - cheers (clinking of Diet Coke cans)!

Relatioship Status: It's Complicated

This post is not what you're, most likely, thinking it's about.  After nearly 17 years with Spousetacular, that relationship has settled into a nice steady groove and is definitely not complicated.  Nope, it's not about The Boy, either.  We have our ups and downs, but for the most, he's been a pretty easy kid to raise.  Even this first year of high school is going well, thanks to rugby...for so many reasons.  No, this post is about a longer and more complex relationship than either of those two.  This post is about my relationship...with food.  Ugh. There, I wrote it.  It's out there.  I have a complicated relationship with food.  Always have.

When I was young, I wasn't fat, but I wasn't bloated-belly, third world starving, flies in the eyes, thin either.  I grew up in a large family (I was the last of 5 kids), and the parental units weren't exactly making it rain dollar bills when I was young.  We ate a lot of carbs, primarily because the Mothership could make carbs stretch the budget while keeping the kids, mainly the 3 boys full.  There was pasta, bread, peas, corn, and full-sugar Jell-o.  Tuna fish casserole -- can't really eat it today.  Not because I don't like tuna, I enjoy a good tuna salad.  But not the tuna-cream of mushroom soup-egg noodles combo.  No thanks, I'd rather have flies in my eyes.

Later, as older siblings left the house, more accurately finished college then left the house, Pater made more cash, and the budge freed up, the household diet changed.  The Mothership read Jane Brody's book on nutrition, and suddenly broccoli appeared.  But by then, I think a lot of the damage was already done.  I was already insulin resistant, bordering on overweight, and had gone through puberty early (like before 5th grade early - hmm, hormones in milk?).   When I was in late elementary school, maybe even 6th grade, the Mothership was taking my measurements to make me some clothing.  In all her motherly wisdom, she did this at the top of the stairs between the kitchen and the sunken family room of our suburban split-level.  One of my brothers, in all his most teenage brother sensitivity, heard my mother announce my waist size and said, "I know girls in high school with smaller waists than that!"  Combine that with a childhood nickname of Melon (because it not also rhymed with my name, but reminded me that I was fat in their eyes), and you get why I have a complex relationship with food.

The summer before 8th grade, the parental units took the two remaining siblings, I being one, and traveled to the East Coast.  Awesome trip, actually.  I loved The Breakers.  Loved Boston.  Loved The Cape.  Loved New York and Montreal.  Anyway, (not a digression, I swear!), we were at Filene's Basement when I found it.  The Dress.  It was a Jessica McClintock long cream colored, scoop next dress with puffy gauzy sleeves and a giant ruffle-tier at the bottom.  I immediately knew I had to have this dress.  (It was the early 1980s, give me a break.)  It was also Filene's Basement, which meant that it was deeply discounted, a fact which appealed to the Mothership.  The Mothership approved the dress as an appropriate 8th grade graduation dress.  When I tried it on, the Mothership noted that I could gain an ounce over the next year, or it would not fit. 

So, fast forward through my 8th grade year:  I did not make either the basketball team or the volleyball team (my coordination would not kick in fully until I turned 15), so I wasn't getting a massive amount of exercise (I still don't think I was fat, although my brother's used that idea as a very effective weapon against me).  Well, wouldn't you know it, about 60 days out from graduation, the Mothership hauls out The Dress.  Of course I had gained weight, and now the dress didn't fit.  So The Mothership creates a diet (this was before she read Jane Brody).  I have to lose a pound a week, or I have to eat fruit, just fruit, all fruit, until the pound drops off.

I lost the weight, not easily because I was basically an insulin resistant person carb loading, but I lost it, and I wore the dress to 8th grade graduation.  But man, that diet was a struggle.   It was also the first of many diets I would embark on, probably yearly, from that day on.  Dieting is not easy, psychologically or physically -- in fact, I'm now a diabetic.  My body has been programmed to believe that life is either feast (non-dieting time) or famine (dieting time).  I have been up and down the scale like it's a damn escalator.  Atkins, done it.  South Beach, done it.  Check the boxes beside:  SlimFast plan, Mediterranean diet, Cabbage Soup diet, 17 Day Diet, 30 Day Diet and some diet I don't remember if it had a name, but basically it was roughage and chicken.  I've also been through the whole binge and purge cycle (but it's easier if you take vitamins that make you gag, you can justify that to yourself - I'm not purging, I'm gagging on a vitamin!), laxatives, exercise (got to the point where I taught step aerobics for 20 hours a week, on top of my full time job) and begging my doctor for a lapband (proven to control blood sugar, let's try that with the insurance company). 

Where am I now?  I'm actually fat.  Not a surprise, I guess.  I don't consider myself grotesquely huge, or morbidly obese.  But I am overweight, by all standards, especially the way I feel like I should be.  And I'm not going to give excuses, because at 46, it's my fault if I'm overweight.  I have simply eaten too much of the wrong foods and not burned enough calories, irrespective of the way my body burns off calories or stores fat.  Period.  End of story.  But not end of post...

I've found a food I cannot resist.  That's it above.  Pure Protein bars.  Any flavor.  Although the chocolate and the peanut butter are my favorite.  I need to do some research on how sugar alcohols affect blood sugar, because these bars have 4g of sugar alcohols each.  But I actually really like the taste.  (Okay, yes, they have a laxative effect with excessive consumption, but with my food relationship history, a laxative effect is something I can handle).  The Boy thinks they're disgusting, and Spousetacular isn't really attracted to them either, but that just leaves more for me!  I'm wondering if I could do a Pure Protein bar diet?  I wonder if the Pure Protein people would like to sponsor me?  Maybe that's my dieting upside - I could be a pro.  Hello?  Pure Protein marketing?  I would like to lose 40 pounds using your yummy product.  Whadya say? Huh? Huh?

People Let Me Tell You 'Bout My Best Friend...

This is Lady.  She's my best friend (Spousetacular does not qualify as friend, he's more.  The Boy cannot be a friend - yet.  He's too young).  Lady came to our family when she was 6 months old.  We didn't know beforehand, but we figured out pretty quickly that she had been abused at her first home.  Yeah, I know...we got her at 6 months.  A puppy isn't usually separated from the litter until about 3 months, so in 3 months, someone was a complete bastard to her.  And she was the cutest puppy!  Lady is 12 now.  Just turned 12 in January.  We had a little party for her.  There was cake, and presents, and we sang "Happy Birthday" to her as she sat on Spousetacular's lap.  She loved it, especially the cake and the Busy Bone part.

We need to go back a little way -- to the abuse part.  When we got her, we thought maybe she was just shy.  No, it was more than shy.  She was terrified.  Lady would roll over on her back and wet herself when a man walked in the room.  If someone sneezed, she would run to a dark corner and hide.  If someone raised their voice (didn't have to be angry, just louder than conversation), she'd pee, then run away and hide.  It was heartbreaking.  To this day, she'll still seek out a dark corner if she can.  But we've worked on all these things, because we love her. 

We cured her fear of Spousetacular because we found she was even more terrified of the vacuum.  So, one night, when I needed to vacuum, and Spousetacular was lying on the couch, I plopped her trembling little body on his chest, and he held her, pet her, and whispered sweet nothings in her ear, until she fell asleep.  Cured.  Now she's a big fan of Spousetacular.  The greeting he gets when he comes from work is really cute.  She's a dancing fool for him now.

Sneezes were more difficult.  She's still not really confident when she hears a nasal explosion.  But we try.  We call her over immediately and tell her how brave she is.  She likes that.  Every now and then, she'll start heading over as soon as she hears the sneeze, but not consistently.  Yep, 11 1/2 years and we're still working on that.

We do our best to avoid male dogs.  She's not at a fan of them, though she has stopped wetting herself when she smells one.  In general, other female dogs are fine, if they're on the other side of the fence, and they don't put a wet nose in her ear.  Lady has sensitive ears.  When our other Lab, Duchess, was alive, Duchess took good care of Lady.  Duchess would put herself between Lady and another dog, even if the fence was between them.  At first, Duchess, affectionately called "The Pooh", was not a fan of Lady.  Duchess liked being the only dog.  After a while, Lady grew on Duchess, and Duchess adopted the "she's a pest, but she's my pest, so piss off" attitude.  Duchess was a great and terrible beauty.  Gorgeous, show dog gorgeous, but she absolutely ran the show.  Lady idolized her.

Now, Lady is the alpha dog in the house.  That she is the only dog in the house helps.  She follows me everywhere.  I could have named her Shadow.  She dances when I grab the cars keys, because she loves to ride in the car and usually gets to go with when I go out.  In nice weather, she'll spend all day lying on the different decks and porches around our house, or, out by the mailbox.  She loves The Boy and likes to play "puppies on a blanket" with him, or "Ice Station Zebra" under the blanket. 

I know at 12, we have a handful of years left with her.  I'd like to think that she's happy with us.  She seems it.  So, if you remember the TV show, The Courtship of Eddie's Father, you probably remember the theme song.  I sing that to her, although I've changed the words a little.  She's my one dog, cuddly toy, my up, my down, my pride, my joy.

In Fiji, I'm a morning person.

I feel like I'm fighting with myself.  My circadian rhythm, at the very least.  I really want to be a morning person.  But  no, no way.  I'm a night person.  I could quite easily work from about two in the afternoon until well past two in the morning, accomplishing Herculean tasks, keeping abreast of my to-do lists, exercising my way to an Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet body.  In reality, what happens -- I try.  I get up with my kid and husband and get them off to start their days around 7, feeling like I'm hungover (I'm not, trust me, my pancreas and thyroid are already shot, I need to keep my liver going a while longer), I get them off to school and work, and then I head back to bed promising myself that today will be the day that I do not fall back to sleep.  Oh, if only.  Nope.  Ain't happening.  Within a short time, I'm back sleeping again.  Usually until about, oh say, 11.  Then I get up, have some brunch, get a shower, check email, maybe run an errand or two, then it's off to get the kid from school.  By the time we get home, it's four.  By this time, I'm ready to go, I'm primed, I'm pedal to the metal, full bore, coal-fired ready to work.  Which gives me approximately an hour, before I need to start dinner.  And of course, because I am Mom, I want and need to spend time with the boy and talk about his day (I'm also a news junkie, which is massively time-consuming). 

After Spousetacular gets home, and the dinner dishes are stowed in the dishwasher, lunches packed, and household discussions attended to, I sit with Spousetacular and knit while we watch TV. ( For the past couple nights, I've come back to my office to write, which is totally throwing Spousetacular for one.)  The boy goes to bed between 9:30 and 10, and then Spousetacular follows soon after.  This is when life really becomes problematic for me...'cause now I'm not tired (hear the whiny toddler, because apparently this has been my issue since infancy).  Since we have a house that is not constructed to allow each resident an individual pod, I'm kind of stuck.  I can't go exercise in the basement; it's under the bedroom.  Can't write - office is attached to the bedroom and there's no door.  Can't go to the grocery store, it's not open (and I'm a total paranoid freak when it comes to night errands -- only serial killers, muggers and heroin addicts are out after dark).  So, I'm stuck. 

One thing I do get done:  reading.  I read constantly.  I'm just about finished with J.K. Rowling's The Casual Vacancy.  That one actually would keep me up at night if I weren't awake already, and miraculously, this morning as well.  It's excellent.  If you haven't read it, be warned:  This ain't Harry Potter.  It's a dark story that mucks around in the dirt of every day life.  But I digress;  this post was about my not being on the same rhythm as my family.

I wonder if I force a change to my daily routine, how that will affect my writing?  I have noticed that I feel a lot more creative and frankly, shit flows better, when I do my weird sleep during the day thing.  The problem is, I just don't get done what I want.  I need a change of time zone.  In Fiji, I'm a morning a person.

About Me

If you're going to invest your time reading my blog, I think that entitles you to know a bit about me...

THE PERSONAL BITS:

I am 46 years old, so I'm kind in that stage where I think I know what I want to be when I grow up.  Actually, I think I've been repressing who I want to be for so long and finally that person is just done with the repression.  It's time to overthrow the dictator whose been walking around in this skin for years.

Born in Massachusetts (Well, what do you know, I spelled that correctly the first time!), I have no memory of that because my family moved to the Chicago area when I was only months old.  I, therefore, consider myself a Midwesterner, and I have the lack of accent to prove it.  I loved the Midwest.  Not because I had an idyllic childhood, I didn't.  But I loved it because it was what I knew and where I was comfortable, most of the time.  I have lived in the following places, maybe you've seen me there:

Arlington Heights, Buffalo Grove, Champaign and Urbana, Illinois
San Jose and Los Altos, California
Naples and Bonita Springs, Florida
Matthews, North Carolina
Suwanee, Georgia
Bradford, West Yorkshire, England

I am and have been married to my husband for nearly 17 years.  We make it work.

We have one son who is 15 years old.  Being a mother is a terrifyingly difficult job.  I always think I'm doing it badly. 

We have a dog, a black Labrador Retriever.  She's my shadow.  I should have named her that.

Education:

Bachelor of Arts in English and Rhetoric, University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana
Certificate of Legal Technology, Wm. Rainey Harper College
Graduate Certificate in Teaching, University of North Carolina at Charlotte

Professional Experience:

Numerous law offices as a Paralegal, Legal Secretary, and Conveyancing Assistant
Legal Assistant at the US subsidiary of a Japanese electronics manufacturer (probably not the one you're thinking of)
Contracts Manager and HR Administrator for a mid-size software development firm
Office Manager, Legal Services Director, HR Manager for property management firm
Retail sales and instructor at a yarn shop, bookstore, clothing stores, and Sears (doesn't everyone work there at some point?)
Teacher, grade level content lead, 7th grade Language Arts and Social Studies

What I'm doing now:

I started by taking a year off from teaching when the family unit moved.  Spousetacular, as I like to call him, really and truly doesn't want me to go back to teaching because, for me, teaching is all-consuming.  I don't take weekends or summers off.  I work during Winter and Spring Break.  I work after school, come home, make dinner, and go back to working on teaching.  I work while I do the laundry.  I work when I'm feverish and vomiting ill.  Needless to say, I put excessive time into teaching.

In my heart of hearts, in the most cliche' of ways as I have just demonstrated, I have always wanted to be a writer.  More about why I haven't written professionally later...suffice to say, that in the back of mind, there is always a narrative flow.  So, when we moved and Spousetacular said, "Do what you want, write that book."  How could I pass that up?  So right now, I'm doing two things, well three, things:

1.  I am writing a book.
2.  I am writing this blog, which should help me build my platform.
3.  I am editing a book for a friend and former colleague, which should improve my writing, and hopefully can be spun off into a movie or television show.

Number 3 was a big surprise and a completely serendipitous event.  I'm enjoying the process, though I don't spend nearly enough time editing daily as I should, and therefore, am wearing the shroud of shame quite frequently. But this week's big goal is to learn to schedule my time more wisely and devote more time to writing and editing.  Wish me luck.

Strapped in, buckled up, ready to go.

So, after years of careers that circled professional writing, and the encouragement (needling, pushing, pestering) of certain family members and friends, I'm taking on a blog.  I have to admit, I haven't felt this much fear, intimidation, and sheer panic in many a year...Frankly, I haven't put any of my creative writing out into the literary world since college, admittedly in the late 1980s.  There was once a time when creativity, especially writing, was part of my daily life.  Then I ran smack into a responsible adulthood and my forays into creativity were relegated to realm of someday. 

Apparently, someday has arrived.  I am not truly ready to go as the title of this post states, but I am making that commitment to give this blog a chunk of time, every day.  I have a friend who blogs regularly as PractiGal, and she has resolved that this year she is going to spend 15 minutes per day writing.  I hope to do at least that much (she works outside the home, I currently do not).  Now that I have put that in writing, I guarantee that I will mentally bludgeon myself into a mass of self-loathing pulp if I don't keep up with this blog.  Trust me, no one is harder on me than I am -- I have decades of experience being my own worst critic.

I'm not sure where this blog will head topic wise.  It may just end up being a sort of keyboard confessional.  I have a hermitesquely private spouse and son for whom the phrase keyboard confessional raises paranoia to oxygen rare heights.  As of this point, I'm not sure where I'll go next with this blog.  If you read the "About Me" post, you'll see that I have earned several degrees, held a number of positions with various organizations, and lived on two continents and in five states.  So, while maybe the phrase "Been There, Done That" is cliche', I actually think it's appropriate for me. 

Therefore, with no further delay, I am now being there and doing that, again.