hey, I like alliteration!
Next January is a decade birthday for me. I don't want to be that number, but I'm really ok with who I am, how I feel, where I am in my life. All that is ok. The number just bothers me. I said that to a customer service person at one of my credit cards and he said, "Hey, 30's not bad." He's right. 30 wasn't bad. In fact, most years have been good for me. A few in the last decade I would gladly have slept through or not experienced what I did, but hey, in life ya get good with bad and hope joy out weighs the troubles.
But this whole birthday thing has been on my mind since this summer. I talked with a friend from high school, born the same year, and her response was, "It took you a long time to get there, why not take a long time to celebrate?" A new concept. One I have taken to heart!
The day of my birth is this magical day for me. My 19th birthday -- I was in college -- was amazing (obviously since i can still remember the entire day). I took a final in my Theatre Design Class; walked into town to my favorite boutique and bought a wondrous pair of pants; watched a drama class production of This Property is Condemned, staged on the railroad tracks; received a dozen yellow roses from my Nana; and topped it all off with a party given by my friends in the theatre department. Magical.
It was the first birthday I was living away from my family and the first time I really did exactly what I wanted -- well, maybe not the final exam, but I loved that class so it was alright.
Since then I have always given myself permission to enjoy the day and do things just for me. I like having a January birthday. When my kids were little I would take a week in January to go walkabout. I've gone antiquing all over Southern California. I went to Cape Cod one year when I wanted snow and cold and an excuse to do nothing but sit inside and have a fire in the fireplace.
So to make next year about the adventures and the experiences and not about the number, I am going to celebrate all year. I can't afford to travel the whole year, but I plan to do something special each season. I have trips planned for January & July -- Winter and Summer, and some ideas for Spring and Autumn. I like the way this is being set up, I am looking forward to the year and not dreading it! I'm also going to document my year. Take more photos, keep a creative journal, blog about it all.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Moving On
It seems that I am writing the same things about my kids as I did last year. They still are not sure they want to leave home, still not sure they don't want to chuck it all to live in their bedrooms, watch cartoons and ask me if I mind very much making them dinner.
A month ago my daughter left for Berkeley, California. Yesterday my son left for Austin, Texas. He's off on a new adventure and he's not sure . . . He has a friend who works in an office job and on the side buys rental real estate. His friend has already purchased 4 quadraplexes.
He thinks this is what he would like to do -- get a day job, establish a good work and credit history, buy rental property. He also has Americorps tuition-credit, so he's wondering about grad school.
My first response to real estate in Texas was, "Can't you do this in California?" His just gave me "the look." You know the one that says mom as a two or three syllable word? Days passed. He finally explained that Texas has two advantages (three, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition): his friend is there doing this very thing; his friend's dad is there and has owned rental property for over 30 years; California real estate is more expensive. Good points. I can move back to Calif even if my kids don't live there!
He is driving to Texas. He got his first cell phone and we added him to our family plan so he would have a way to get job phone calls. He calls each night to tell me where he is -- Virginia the first night. Arkansas tonight. And each call ends with, "Mom, I don't know if this is what I should be doing."
I don't know either. But I know it really is time for him to leave home. There are no good job prospects here. Real Estate is pretty expensive. There's a certain inertia that happens to the kids who stay here and all but one of his closest friends have left.
I'll miss him. He's been my tv buddy this summer. We've been watching summer shows -- Warehouse 13, Eureka, Burn Notice, etc. So while his dad is off playing or teaching music, my boy and I sit on the couch & watch tv together. I can talk, but only at the commercials. He'll explain what I have missed if I am attempting to watch tv and be on the computer simultaneously.
When I woke up this morning I was the only one home. My husband left for work at 0-dark-100. My son left yesterday. The house felt different. There was a different energy.
It kind of feels like we're all moving on -- finding that next thing which calls to us. I spent the whole day making art. It'll be interesting to see how we all weather this year and what lessons we learn.
A month ago my daughter left for Berkeley, California. Yesterday my son left for Austin, Texas. He's off on a new adventure and he's not sure . . . He has a friend who works in an office job and on the side buys rental real estate. His friend has already purchased 4 quadraplexes.
He thinks this is what he would like to do -- get a day job, establish a good work and credit history, buy rental property. He also has Americorps tuition-credit, so he's wondering about grad school.
My first response to real estate in Texas was, "Can't you do this in California?" His just gave me "the look." You know the one that says mom as a two or three syllable word? Days passed. He finally explained that Texas has two advantages (three, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition): his friend is there doing this very thing; his friend's dad is there and has owned rental property for over 30 years; California real estate is more expensive. Good points. I can move back to Calif even if my kids don't live there!
He is driving to Texas. He got his first cell phone and we added him to our family plan so he would have a way to get job phone calls. He calls each night to tell me where he is -- Virginia the first night. Arkansas tonight. And each call ends with, "Mom, I don't know if this is what I should be doing."
I don't know either. But I know it really is time for him to leave home. There are no good job prospects here. Real Estate is pretty expensive. There's a certain inertia that happens to the kids who stay here and all but one of his closest friends have left.
I'll miss him. He's been my tv buddy this summer. We've been watching summer shows -- Warehouse 13, Eureka, Burn Notice, etc. So while his dad is off playing or teaching music, my boy and I sit on the couch & watch tv together. I can talk, but only at the commercials. He'll explain what I have missed if I am attempting to watch tv and be on the computer simultaneously.
When I woke up this morning I was the only one home. My husband left for work at 0-dark-100. My son left yesterday. The house felt different. There was a different energy.
It kind of feels like we're all moving on -- finding that next thing which calls to us. I spent the whole day making art. It'll be interesting to see how we all weather this year and what lessons we learn.
Monday, September 20, 2010
How Did You Get My Number?
What I hate most about telemarketing calls is that for me to get off the phone, I have to be rude. I really hate being rude. Today I got 2 calls from the same guy.
It was an offer to help us with our credit card debt. I really wasn't interested, but when I stated that, the soft-spoken Indian man on the phone said I didn't have to make a decision right then. Ok, so I allowed him to speak . . . and speak . . . and speak . . . and make assumptions about how easy or difficult it was to make our payments each month. And lied about our indebtedness. He was polite and so earnest. It seemed rude to hang up on him.
But I didn't want to tell him anything about us. I knew I was never going to use the services of a company that calls me out of the blue. I may be in debt, but I'm not a dummy!
I was then transferred over to someone else, who I also did not want to talk with. These guys have already taken up too much of my time. So when the second guy came on and sounded like a bad American used car salesman, I didn't let him say more than 2 sentences when I said, "I am not interested. I didn't want to be rude to the other guy. However, I am going to be rude to you. Goodbye." And I hung up.
The phone rang a moment later. It was the Indian man asking what was I doing? I told him I was not interested. He argued. I told him I had not wanted to be rude to him. He kept arguing. I screeched, "I am not interested." And then I hung up a second time.
I feel so much better getting that off my chest.
Now what is the number to remove our phone from the telemarketer's lists?
It was an offer to help us with our credit card debt. I really wasn't interested, but when I stated that, the soft-spoken Indian man on the phone said I didn't have to make a decision right then. Ok, so I allowed him to speak . . . and speak . . . and speak . . . and make assumptions about how easy or difficult it was to make our payments each month. And lied about our indebtedness. He was polite and so earnest. It seemed rude to hang up on him.
But I didn't want to tell him anything about us. I knew I was never going to use the services of a company that calls me out of the blue. I may be in debt, but I'm not a dummy!
I was then transferred over to someone else, who I also did not want to talk with. These guys have already taken up too much of my time. So when the second guy came on and sounded like a bad American used car salesman, I didn't let him say more than 2 sentences when I said, "I am not interested. I didn't want to be rude to the other guy. However, I am going to be rude to you. Goodbye." And I hung up.
The phone rang a moment later. It was the Indian man asking what was I doing? I told him I was not interested. He argued. I told him I had not wanted to be rude to him. He kept arguing. I screeched, "I am not interested." And then I hung up a second time.
I feel so much better getting that off my chest.
Now what is the number to remove our phone from the telemarketer's lists?
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Friends & Lovers
I've known Amy since my library school days. We met at work and it was instant friendship. I know her family and became friends with some of her friends. I thought you had to be under the age of 12 to make a new best friend. She introduced me to Cape Cod and is godmother to my kids. I went to her 50th birthday blow-out weekend and she would have gone to mine if I had had one! We've actually gotten closer recently. She was the one I turned to when I was sure my daughter, then aged 19, would never speak to me again. She said my daughter would like me again and she was right!
She's living near me for the summer and has only been around for a week, but it has been so eye opening. Since she's going to be around for the summer and likes vintage goods, she offered to help with with my antique shop. She came over yesterday and I gave her the job of pricing. I really don't like to price. She plopped herself down in the linens and made up prices. It was great. It was so nice to feel I have someone who I can talk to about the shop, who will help me and who is on the same wave length.
This morning as I was in the shower I had a major epiphany about crucial relationships in my life. I don't know about you, but the shower is my most productive place to think! I was thinking about how nice it was to have Amy to share the shop with. For years I have tried to get my husband to be my partner in the business. It doesn't bore him completely. He has ideas, he will give me his opinion about displays and will move the furniture around if I ask him. But, sadly, it never feels like he's completely engaged. And I've known for a while that without a partner or a deadline, I just don't get many projects done.
What I realized is that there are people who think like me and there are people I have much in common with. And I don't have to demand both from one individual. Amy and I think alike. My husband and I do not. Amy's sense of style, her sensibility is similar to mine. We can work together and we have, both as librarians and cleaning out her parent's homes. We could easily start a business staging houses, or being bridal consultants, or selling antiques. We just think alike.
My husband and I do not think alike. When I met him, he was the first person I was family-close to who didn't criticize me. He listened to all my stories and was interested. So all these years I've believed we think alike. We don't. I even don't care why, which is strange cuz I always care why! But in this instance it doesn't matter why, cuz just knowing we don't think a like makes so much of my married life make sense!
What we have is a life in common. And I don't mean our married life. We have our childhood in common, even tho we didn't meet til college. We are the same age and grew up in similar neighborhoods in the greater Los Angeles basin. We experienced the '60's. We listened to the same AM radio stations. We know the same songs from high school. We remember the Sunset Strip "riots," and know it was the basis for Buffalo Springfield's For What It's Worth. We both went to The Troubador, even if we didn't see the same groups.
We also have a life in common after we met. I knew within three days of meeting him at summer camp that I would spend the rest of my life with him. We have that summer camp and all those friends in common. We have the same religious and spiritual beliefs. He knows my family, I know his. We have kids together.
Things have been difficult between us for the past six or seven years. Not consistently difficult, in fact inconsistently so, which probably makes it all the worse. Things will be going along smoothly and then I'll get hurt and threaten to leave. He wouldn't seem to understand. And I couldn't figure out why my thinking isn't perfectly clear and understandable to him. He understands the feelings, but my thinking was foreign to him. Well, if after all these years of me not really understanding how he thinks, I'm pretty sure he doesn't know how I think either. I don't know if this will make a difference to our lives, this understanding that we have lots in common, but not the way we think. I don't even know if I will tell him of this "ah ha." It helps me, but will it help him? He might think it's cool and then again he might just not get it!
Luckily we will always have Paris? No, forget Paris . . . we will always have our roots in common.
She's living near me for the summer and has only been around for a week, but it has been so eye opening. Since she's going to be around for the summer and likes vintage goods, she offered to help with with my antique shop. She came over yesterday and I gave her the job of pricing. I really don't like to price. She plopped herself down in the linens and made up prices. It was great. It was so nice to feel I have someone who I can talk to about the shop, who will help me and who is on the same wave length.
This morning as I was in the shower I had a major epiphany about crucial relationships in my life. I don't know about you, but the shower is my most productive place to think! I was thinking about how nice it was to have Amy to share the shop with. For years I have tried to get my husband to be my partner in the business. It doesn't bore him completely. He has ideas, he will give me his opinion about displays and will move the furniture around if I ask him. But, sadly, it never feels like he's completely engaged. And I've known for a while that without a partner or a deadline, I just don't get many projects done.
What I realized is that there are people who think like me and there are people I have much in common with. And I don't have to demand both from one individual. Amy and I think alike. My husband and I do not. Amy's sense of style, her sensibility is similar to mine. We can work together and we have, both as librarians and cleaning out her parent's homes. We could easily start a business staging houses, or being bridal consultants, or selling antiques. We just think alike.
My husband and I do not think alike. When I met him, he was the first person I was family-close to who didn't criticize me. He listened to all my stories and was interested. So all these years I've believed we think alike. We don't. I even don't care why, which is strange cuz I always care why! But in this instance it doesn't matter why, cuz just knowing we don't think a like makes so much of my married life make sense!
What we have is a life in common. And I don't mean our married life. We have our childhood in common, even tho we didn't meet til college. We are the same age and grew up in similar neighborhoods in the greater Los Angeles basin. We experienced the '60's. We listened to the same AM radio stations. We know the same songs from high school. We remember the Sunset Strip "riots," and know it was the basis for Buffalo Springfield's For What It's Worth. We both went to The Troubador, even if we didn't see the same groups.
We also have a life in common after we met. I knew within three days of meeting him at summer camp that I would spend the rest of my life with him. We have that summer camp and all those friends in common. We have the same religious and spiritual beliefs. He knows my family, I know his. We have kids together.
Things have been difficult between us for the past six or seven years. Not consistently difficult, in fact inconsistently so, which probably makes it all the worse. Things will be going along smoothly and then I'll get hurt and threaten to leave. He wouldn't seem to understand. And I couldn't figure out why my thinking isn't perfectly clear and understandable to him. He understands the feelings, but my thinking was foreign to him. Well, if after all these years of me not really understanding how he thinks, I'm pretty sure he doesn't know how I think either. I don't know if this will make a difference to our lives, this understanding that we have lots in common, but not the way we think. I don't even know if I will tell him of this "ah ha." It helps me, but will it help him? He might think it's cool and then again he might just not get it!
Luckily we will always have Paris? No, forget Paris . . . we will always have our roots in common.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Rock & Roll Dreams
When I got married, I thought I was gonna be a rock & roll wife!
My guy was an electric bass player and keyboard player and he was really good. As a sideman, he had already recorded a couple albums with a singer-songwriter buddy from college. One single went to #9 on the Billboard charts. They went to the Grammy's, they toured, some of the tours were hilarious, not at all glamorous and a lot of fun. I didn't have a career or children, so I could go with him sometimes. I liked it a lot.
While I was finishing up a BA in anthropology, he was off at music school studying bass and music education (his parents were paying after all). The powers that be discovered he owned and played baritone sax and suggested he'd get lots more playing experience if he changed to a woodwind performance major. At the time I didn't realize this meant me giving up that dream of being a rock & roll wife. He became a jazz educator/musician and while people think it's way cool, I still sometimes miss the possibility I could someday dress up for the red carpet at the Grammy's.
I must be incredibly clear. It was never his dream. All he has ever wanted to be was a working musician. He would be happy working at a music store if he could talk music and noodle on the shop instruments. I don't know when I realized he didn't care a bit for the fame and fortune of rock & roll or even jazz greatness. Sometime after that realization I went back to grad school, established a career, had kids and didn't think too much or too often about reflected rock & roll glory.
A couple years ago a female student of his wanted to be a jazz wife. His jazz wife. (What ever happened to feminist principles where you never went after another woman's man? I guess I'll save that rant for another time). She tried to convince him it was all my fault he wasn't a famous musician. She couldn't understand how someone so talented could be so unknown. And since she was in love with him, it couldn't be him, so it had to be my fault! I'm glad he's always known that fame doesn't matter to him and could ignore her subtle and not so subtle attempts to . . . do what? what the hell was she trying to do? Actually I saw her emails, I got a pretty good idea of what she wanted! She moved away, we moved away, he's not her teacher anymore, he and I are still together.
But something rather interesting has been happening this coming-up-to summer season. A musician we have both loved for years, who isn't exactly famous, but could be, who doesn't exactly play rock & roll, but it's close, has asked him to join his band on a little more permanent basis. My guy is thrilled! He still doesn't care about the fame. He still is just delighted to be playing really good music and to be appreciated for his talent.
This band, where all the players are amazing, is downstairs right now practicing. Before they arrived, my guy set up the keyboard and started playing some of the stuff he used to play for me. It reminded me of my dreams of standing in the wings of The Fillmore in some fabulous costume, basking in the reflected glory. Our youngest daughter graduates from college on Monday, our son has finished school and is making his own way. It's a little later than I thought and I'd have to get a facelift to look like I did when I had these rock & roll wife dreams. I'm way more realistic about fame and what makes a person really happy. But ya never know! I may get a shot at those dreams after all!
My guy was an electric bass player and keyboard player and he was really good. As a sideman, he had already recorded a couple albums with a singer-songwriter buddy from college. One single went to #9 on the Billboard charts. They went to the Grammy's, they toured, some of the tours were hilarious, not at all glamorous and a lot of fun. I didn't have a career or children, so I could go with him sometimes. I liked it a lot.
While I was finishing up a BA in anthropology, he was off at music school studying bass and music education (his parents were paying after all). The powers that be discovered he owned and played baritone sax and suggested he'd get lots more playing experience if he changed to a woodwind performance major. At the time I didn't realize this meant me giving up that dream of being a rock & roll wife. He became a jazz educator/musician and while people think it's way cool, I still sometimes miss the possibility I could someday dress up for the red carpet at the Grammy's.
I must be incredibly clear. It was never his dream. All he has ever wanted to be was a working musician. He would be happy working at a music store if he could talk music and noodle on the shop instruments. I don't know when I realized he didn't care a bit for the fame and fortune of rock & roll or even jazz greatness. Sometime after that realization I went back to grad school, established a career, had kids and didn't think too much or too often about reflected rock & roll glory.
A couple years ago a female student of his wanted to be a jazz wife. His jazz wife. (What ever happened to feminist principles where you never went after another woman's man? I guess I'll save that rant for another time). She tried to convince him it was all my fault he wasn't a famous musician. She couldn't understand how someone so talented could be so unknown. And since she was in love with him, it couldn't be him, so it had to be my fault! I'm glad he's always known that fame doesn't matter to him and could ignore her subtle and not so subtle attempts to . . . do what? what the hell was she trying to do? Actually I saw her emails, I got a pretty good idea of what she wanted! She moved away, we moved away, he's not her teacher anymore, he and I are still together.
But something rather interesting has been happening this coming-up-to summer season. A musician we have both loved for years, who isn't exactly famous, but could be, who doesn't exactly play rock & roll, but it's close, has asked him to join his band on a little more permanent basis. My guy is thrilled! He still doesn't care about the fame. He still is just delighted to be playing really good music and to be appreciated for his talent.
This band, where all the players are amazing, is downstairs right now practicing. Before they arrived, my guy set up the keyboard and started playing some of the stuff he used to play for me. It reminded me of my dreams of standing in the wings of The Fillmore in some fabulous costume, basking in the reflected glory. Our youngest daughter graduates from college on Monday, our son has finished school and is making his own way. It's a little later than I thought and I'd have to get a facelift to look like I did when I had these rock & roll wife dreams. I'm way more realistic about fame and what makes a person really happy. But ya never know! I may get a shot at those dreams after all!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Fan Blogs Are Not For English Majors
I'm still trying to get myself motivated to do something. It has been awfully difficult. I've been clinically depressed in my life and this is not it. But the behavior is a little too like for my comfort.
As my DH observed, depression is like having the engine turned off. What I'm doing is the equivalent of having the engine idling. And when I find what my destination is I'll engage and take off.
In the mean time, I've spent a lot of time online looking at fan blogs. It's easy, one does not have to expend much energy and it takes me out of myself (someplace I have noticed I have been avoiding for more than a few months). People can get rather passionate about a fav book/movie/fictional character or actor, whew! The comments on these blogs rather astound me. Some of them -- ok, most of them -- are so rude! And not to be unkind, but have these people ever heard of spell check/grammar check?
Before reading some of the comment streams I thought I could be just as catty and unkind as the next person . . .but whoa, I was wrong. Seems everyone has an opinion and they feel they have to express it -- but not in any sort of proper grammatical way. They are painful to read (specially after these past couple years reading my daughter's excellent college essays) and sometimes just plain mean.
I keep looking for the magic key to get going. I'm pretty sure the world of fan blogs is not it! I know I need to engage. I keep thinking if I only knew what the hell was going on with me I would snap out of it. I haven't a clue what is going on and I don't seem to snap out of it. But at least I laugh with myself at my emotional ineptitude. And I write in my personal journal and sometimes I come here and try to make sense.
As my DH observed, depression is like having the engine turned off. What I'm doing is the equivalent of having the engine idling. And when I find what my destination is I'll engage and take off.
In the mean time, I've spent a lot of time online looking at fan blogs. It's easy, one does not have to expend much energy and it takes me out of myself (someplace I have noticed I have been avoiding for more than a few months). People can get rather passionate about a fav book/movie/fictional character or actor, whew! The comments on these blogs rather astound me. Some of them -- ok, most of them -- are so rude! And not to be unkind, but have these people ever heard of spell check/grammar check?
Before reading some of the comment streams I thought I could be just as catty and unkind as the next person . . .but whoa, I was wrong. Seems everyone has an opinion and they feel they have to express it -- but not in any sort of proper grammatical way. They are painful to read (specially after these past couple years reading my daughter's excellent college essays) and sometimes just plain mean.
I keep looking for the magic key to get going. I'm pretty sure the world of fan blogs is not it! I know I need to engage. I keep thinking if I only knew what the hell was going on with me I would snap out of it. I haven't a clue what is going on and I don't seem to snap out of it. But at least I laugh with myself at my emotional ineptitude. And I write in my personal journal and sometimes I come here and try to make sense.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
"It's Not Rocket Science"
I get such a kick out of that phrase. Someone said it to me the other day and it made me smile.
You see, I was raised by a rocket scientist. My dad, a mechanical engineer, worked for a NASA contractor. He was the project manager and part of the team which designed one of the Apollo engines.
Whenever I hear that phrase I think, ". . . rocket science isn't such a big deal." It's not that my dad isn't smart. He is. But he always made me feel I was just as smart as he was. It's kind of one of the neatest things about my dad. And my dad didn't think he was the smartest man. There were always others (electrical engineers as a group, for instance) who he thought were smarter.
His humility about his own intelligence is one of the nicest things about my dad. His intellectual curiosity and kindness are what make him one of the smarted men I know.
You see, I was raised by a rocket scientist. My dad, a mechanical engineer, worked for a NASA contractor. He was the project manager and part of the team which designed one of the Apollo engines.
Whenever I hear that phrase I think, ". . . rocket science isn't such a big deal." It's not that my dad isn't smart. He is. But he always made me feel I was just as smart as he was. It's kind of one of the neatest things about my dad. And my dad didn't think he was the smartest man. There were always others (electrical engineers as a group, for instance) who he thought were smarter.
His humility about his own intelligence is one of the nicest things about my dad. His intellectual curiosity and kindness are what make him one of the smarted men I know.
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