Dissecting loss

What would it be like to lose everything?  This happened yesterday to a family we know -- their house burned down and they lost their home, their possessions and their pets.

It is such a profound loss that it takes a while for it to sink in.  As word spread across the community, you could feel that everyone had the same reaction -- that feeling in your gut that lodges there and won't go away, and keeps reminding you that something is NOT RIGHT.  And then you put yourself in the same position.

What would it be like to leave your house in the morning and then return to find it completely gone?

My first feeling was of course the horror of losing loved and cherished animals.  Unlike objects, they are irreplaceable and forever gone.  Very hard to imagine, and my heart goes out to them for the grief they must feel.  

Then I thought, wow, there would be no place to "go."

Everyday you go home.  Your house is where you "go."  It is where you keep everything, where you sleep, sit, eat, etc.  I actually construed the loss of a place to "go" to be more keen than the loss of possessions, interestingly enough.

I woke up this morning with the thought that I need to safeguard those items that are irreplaceable -- like photos, all the boxes I have of unfinished novels and short stories, my diaries and the contents of my computer ... and I really didn't get that much further.  Clothes, who cares.  I can't think of one item of clothing that I couldn't live without.  If I go from room to room, I am somewhat amazed at how little attachment I have to the items contained within.

I have jewelry -- nothing expensive, a lot of earrings, a few necklaces ... wouldn't be a huge big deal.

I love my computer -- but with the exception of its contents (and that is something I intend to safeguard for real this time, no more back-ups are for sissies mentality!) I could get another one.  My cookbooks, which I have dog-eared with my most favorite recipes, well, it would be an inconvenience, but not by an means all that horrible.  I love all my books, but I've read most of them and could always buy them again if I needed to.  That goes with the majority of the furniture -- we don't really have any precious antiques -- some bureaus from grandparents, bedside tables, that kind of thing, but they are utilitarian mostly for me.

So what am I saying?  That it would be no big deal?  No, of course not.   But I think it would be more of a huge pain in the neck to have to replace things than the overall feeling that I can't continue life without the things that were lost.

This is of course very easy to say as I type on my computer in my office within my intact house and surrounded by my dogs.  I am not in any way trying to minimize the tragedy that has befallen this family -- I am more trying to impart how interesting I found it that there are so many things I would not grieve.  I was even saying to Peter that it would feel like a rebirth -- a chance to start over without the encumbrances of things that we have been hauling around with us for years and years and years.

He didn't believe me, and maybe I don't even believe myself.  In any case, it is a massive blow and it really gets you thinking, because it could happen to anyone.

Down ego! Bad ego!

Yes, this is more about the book, A New Earth -- because it is really quite fascinating.  (At least to me!  But you always have the choice to visit more exciting blogs!)

What I have been reading has been focused on the ego -- which is really quite a monster.  Ego is a conglomeration of recurring thought forms and conditioned mental-emotional patters that are invested with a sense of I, a sense of self.

Now that doesn't sound so bad, right?  Recurring thought forms, how bad can that be?  If I am not mistaken -- and heaven only knows I could be -- the problem with a sense of I is that we attach an "I am this," or "I am that," but the ultimate truth of who you are is  just ...

I am.

No this or that.

In most cases, when you say "I" it is the ego speaking -- these thoughts and emotions, a bundle of memories you identify with as the "me and my story," of habitual roles you play without knowing.

If I was squirming in my seat with the whole Feed the world with my Kirby thing, then I was really squirming when I discovered I am in love with my ego and I don't think I can become enlightened because it doesn't sound like it would be any fun.

What?

Well, apparently there is this egoic compulsive habit of faultfinding and complaining about others.  Umm, this is like my favorite sport!  And then, whilst squirming, I thought, well, gee, if I can't find fault with others, what will I BLOG about?  It's so fun to pick on people, to find faults, to dive into conspiracy theories ... I feel like Hansel and Gretl -- like I stumbled upon the house built of candy (the book) and upon getting inside find there is a big mean witch inside who is going to kill me.

For I believe without my ego, I will be ... no fun.

Yes, I said it.  And I bet if I read further I will read about how the ego will try to TRICK you into believing that it is too important, that you will lose all sense of self (ummm, hello, I think that is so!) and so therefore you will hang onto it -- and then you are back at square one.  Completely unenlightened and destined for a dark future of swirling bad thoughts and complaining complaining complaining.  (Which apparently is one of the ego's favorite strategies for strengthening itself.)

DO YOU SEE WHAT IT IS DOING?  My ego is complaining about how it doesn't want to be dissolved and therefore it is strengthening itself and I am a willing participant.  DOWN EGO!  

My puppy doesn't listen to me either when I say DOWN.  What hope do I have to keep the ego on its haunches?

And in a very confusing twist, it says that the ego's greatest enemy is the present moment, which is to say, life itself.

(A life without bitching?  Say it isn't so!)

It also says, Sometimes it becomes obvious that the ego doesn't really want change so that it can go on complaining.

I think me and my ego, we're simpatico on this!  Though when I read what it's all about, it makes me think maybe it's not such a lofty goal -- lolling around in all this ego.

When you complain, by implication you are right and the person or situation you complain about or react against is wrong.  There is nothing that strengthens the ego more than being right.

...you need to make others wrong in order to get a strong sense of who you are ... Being right places you in a position of imagined moral superiority in relation to the person or situation that is being judged and found wanting.  It is that sense of superiority the ego craves and through which it enhances itself.

And this is bad, huh?  ::::::::::::::::big sigh::::::::::::::::::::::

I read further ... and it speaks of Truth and when you find it, your actions will be in alignment with it.  

So I am off to seek the Truth, but **I** am not sure if I WANT to. 

So there.  :P

A New Earth

I stopped reading Oprah's book club selections years ago -- because she was drawn to extremely depressing and dark material.  In fact, if I saw the Oprah stamp on a book, I would make a point NOT to buy it.

But obviously I was alone in that -- because that woman has power.  I do watch her show, though I don't actually like her.   But she is really the only game in town if you are interested in getting your message out to the masses -- I don't think there is anyone else out there who can reach as many people as she does.   So she attracts great people, interesting people, people who have a lot to say.  And therefore, she draws me.   (haha!)

I am a willing fly to her spidery web!  And for the first time in a very long time, I am reading her latest book selection -- A New Earth: Awakening to your Life's Purpose by Eckhart Tolle.  I have also joined, along with 300,000 others, the "classroom" that she and Eckhart Tolle will be running online starting in March.  I have been sucked in ... big time.

But I was thinking about it ... how for years now she has been building up this base of readers who probably wouldn't read at all if she wasn't telling them what to read.  And that is not a bad thing.

In the few chapters that I have read, I have come across countless thoughts and ideas that I have underlined.  (And through another Oprah moment, or from watching the show that featured all of her favorite things, I purchased one of the Post-It highlighter pens that has the post-its right in the pen.  It truly is a clever little invention and also makes you go  highlighting/post-it crazy!)

From the book:

We are running out of time.  From the perspective of the ego, that’s bad news and will give rise to fear.  From a higher perspective, the running out of time is exactly what is needed for the new consciousness to come into this world.

President Bush used fear to create his new world, so what is the difference for this man, who calls himself a contemporary spiritual teacher, to spout such doom and gloom?

Well first off, unlike American taxpayers who must fund a war they might not be interested in being in at all, we are not forced to purchase a book we have no desire to read.   To read about this particular doom and gloom is a choice, and chances are if you are choosing such a book it  is because you have an open mind.

From the book:

The physical needs for food, water, shelter, clothing and basic comforts could be easily met for all humans on the planet, were it not for the imbalance of resources created by the insane and rapacious need for more, the greed of the ego.

It makes me squirm in my seat, just reading that.  Talk about Catholic guilt, I have "could feed

the whole world but I bought a Kirby guilt ..." and heaven only knows the Kirby is only the tip of the iceberg.  But it's SO HARD TO STOP.

According to the book, the thought forms of "me," "mine," of "more than," of "I want," "I need," "I must have," and of "not enough" pertain not to content but to the structure of the ego.  And as long as you don't recognize those thought forms within yourself you will believe in what they say -- you will be condemned to acting out those unconscious thoughts, condemned to seeking and not finding.

(Honestly, I just wanted to keep my house clean.)  But there you go "I wanted ..."  It says that no matter what you have or get, you won't be happy.  You will always be looking for something else that promises greater fulfillment, that promises to make your incomplete sense of self complete and fill that sense of lack you feel within.

So what do I want?  Ahhh, there it comes again, the "I want."

According to the book, how do you let go of attachment of things?  It says to not even try, that it's impossible!  But ... this attachment will drop away by itself when you no longer seek to find yourself in them.

I suppose I will have to seek therapy to figure out what I am seeing of myself in a vacuum cleaner.   But I truly did not spend much of my life wanting the thing either.  I don't spend a lot of time trying to decide whether or not to buy something.  If it seems practical, useful and I guess will bring me pleasure, then I buy it.

This apparently needs to stop as it is a roadblock to my enlightenment.  But then get this, from the book:

Anti-consumerism would be another thought form, another mental position, that can replace identification with possessions.  Through it you could make yourself right and others wrong.  And as we shall see later, making yourself right and others wrong is one of the principal egoic mind patterns, one of the main forms of unconsciousness.

Oy, I don't have a prayer.  I am here, on earth, and enlightenment is that tiny speck of a moon, beautiful in the sky but you can't get there from here.

I suppose it is not completely ridiculous to feel overwhelmed on Chapter two.  In case you are wondering if I am enjoying the book, let's just say I am on page 52 and I have 18 post it stickies marking pages where I have underlined text.

Thought-provoking ... and exciting.

In the news

I was reading that there are sharks swarming off the Florida coast.  Those are two words -- sharks, swarming -- that when put together sounds very ominous.

So why do I think that the next headline I will be reading is "woman's arm bitten off by shark off Florida coast," or "Small boy loses lower torso as shark takes a bite off Florida coast," or ... well you get the picture.

So here's a little word of advice:  If there are sharks swarming -- off the Florida coast, off any coast, in any body of water that you are dipping your toe in, or even your bathtub.  

  S T A Y  O U T  O F  T H E  W A T E R.

That is my public service message of the day. 

You are welcome.

Food for thought

I read this first thing this morning and it stuck in my head all day long:

     When we meet someone who is a particularly strong mirror for us, we feel an intense attraction (or we may experience it initially as a repulsion or dislike; either way, there's a strong feeling).  If that person is of the right sex and has certain characteristics, we may experience the feeling as a sexual attraction.  When the energy is particularly strong we have an experience we call "falling in love."

     

     Falling in love is actually a powerful experience of feeling the universe move through you.  The other person has become a channel for you, a catalyst that triggers you to open up to the love, beauty, and passion within you.  Your own channel opens wide, the universal energy comes pouring through, and you have a blissful moment of "enlightenment" very similar to the experiences some people have after long periods of meditation.

     

     This is the most thrilling and passionate experience in the world and of course we want to hold onto it.  Unfortunately, we don't realize that we are truly experiencing the universe within ourselves.  We recognize that the other person has triggered this experience and we think it is him or her that is so wonderful!  Of course, at the moment of falling in love we are accurately perceiving the beauty of that person's spirit, but we don't recognize that it is a mirror of our own.  We just know that we feel this great feeling when we're with them, so we immediately start to give our power away to them, start to put our source of happiness outside of ourselves.

     The other person immediately becomes an object -- something we want to possess and hold onto.  The relationship becomes an addiction: as with a drug, we want more and more of the thing that gets us high.  The problem is that we get addicted to the person's form, not recognizing that it's the energy we want.  We focus on the personality and the body, and try to grab onto it, to keep it.  The minute we do this, the energy gets blocked.  By grabbing hold of the channel so tightly we are actually strangling it and closing off the very energy we seek.

     True passion brings us together but neediness inevitably takes over shortly thereafter.  The relationship starts to die almost as soon as it blooms.  Then we really panic and usually hold on even tighter.  The initial feeling of falling in love was so powerful that we sometimes spend years trying to recreate it, but the more we try, the more it eludes us.  It's only when we give up and let go that the energy starts to flow again, and we can touch that same feeling.

     And I will leave you with that ... food for thought ... as I myself continue to explore what it is that has struck me so profoundly.

     Don't worry, I'll share :)

 

Lobbyists, interns, it all comes down to sex

Report Shadows McCain ... the headline reads ... was there an inappropriate relationship with a lobbyist?

                                   McCain's wife stands by his side as he claims that the lobbyist was just a good friend.  (Poor wives, always standing by their men.   She ought to chat with Hilary, she knows all about that.)

Hey, look at the guy -- would YOU sleep with him? What type of gain does a lobbyist have for sleeping with a senator?  (I really don't know, I am asking!)  Personally, I just rolled my eyes when I read that, because really, who cares?   The only time they bring out the mud is when someone is losing ... they call them their aces in the holes, their ticket to victory ... whatever.   And I think that we the people should ignore all of it -- ALL of it.  If we didn't learn anything from the Clinton/Lewinsky saga, then shame on us all.

I was reading an article that said that Hilary is going to be bringing out the big guns now that she is losing to Obama ... really gonna sling the dirt.  I can't wait to see what he got himself into.  Smoked pot?  Yeah, so.  Slept with 10 women at once.  Good for him.  Stole pieces of other people's speeches -- oh that's right, she already used that.  What, she writes her own speeches, never borrows a word from anyone?  PUHLEESE.  She's probably fired more speech writers than he's hired.   You know, because she has ALL the experience!

If he has begged, borrowed, cheated or lied, then so has she.  We shouldn't care about things that don't affect their overall mission -- which is to try to undo the Bush wacking we've been taking.  If they had sex, will have sex, want to smoke pot, or will lie to someone for the greater good of mankind, then so be it.  We all tell our children there is a Santa Claus ... lying is part of life, as is sex.  I am sick of hearing about the things we all do as something that elected officials can't do unless it's with their wives or WHATEVER.  

Think about the time and effort each candidate must put forth in order to be good all the time.  It's just so stupid.   And really, you can't have more than one Watergate ... that was big, huge, DEEP THROAT ... and it's never gonna happen again.  We all know the intimate details of what Clinton and Monica did ... and yet, impeachment or no, he stuck it out until the bitter end.  I am saying, it means nothing.  Bush should be impeached for commiting crimes left and right, but we ignore all of that.  It's no fun, it's not sex or drugs or rock and roll.  

It doesn't create good copy.  Scandal is fun, but only if you can say someone is doing something inappropriate.  McCain doing his lobbyist ... now that's something to worry about!

Give me a break.

Crash and yearn ... and a big time tangent!

I think I am crashing from my over-hyped burst of super-energy that has been spurning me from one project to another ... and I am now yearning to read.  The thing about reading is that it is very time-consuming and if I am not involved in a book, I tend to just not read because if it's a good book I will read it until it is done.

The last book I read stayed with me, Don't Make a Scene: A Novel: Books: Valerie Block and when that happens I tend to not jump into a new book because I like to savor the last traces of what grabbed me.  But then, if I am not careful, weeks will go by without my reading at all.  And that is where I am at now.  Not that it is surprising, since every waking moment of my day I have either been writing, working on a slide show, learning how to edit music on a new software program or blogging -- but I've managed to make it all work by extending my days -- going to bed later and getting up earlier.  

(I've left out the minute other details of my life like shuttling children, helping Charlie have a party, listening to a vacuum salesman for hours, cooking, cleaning, laundry and flossing.)

But it's catching up with me -- which is just my body saying HEY LADY It's TIME to READ A GOOD BOOK!  But which one?  I have such a stack that has been growing it's starting to scare me!

One is The Secret History of the War on Cancer by Devra Davis  which appealed to me because I remember when my niece first joined the world of cancer as a small child, I was appalled at the fact that my sister was never even asked to fill out a survey which I assumed would generate very important data that researchers would find, well, useful.   The studies that were conducted were all centered around drugs -- all funded by the drug companies.   There seemed to be this huge disconnect between finding a cure for cancer ... it was, instead, about finding the best drug to cure cancer.  So in the end, the cancer would be allowed to occur regardless.

This book underscores that feeling I had so many years ago, and explains how we began fighting the wrong war, with the wrong weapons, against the wrong enemies -- which persists to this day.

I was watching a commercial on TV this morning about the Susan G. Komen breast cancer walk, and I thought, the more people walk the worse breast cancer gets.  Now, I know this isn't true, of course, but my point is that the more we are made aware of something, then it suddenly seems as though EVERYONE has breast cancer.  I was watching the women talking about their experience, whether they were walking for themselves, another survivor or someone that they lost, and while I like the empowering aspect of the whole thing -- I still question whether or not the money raised is going for a CURE for breast cancer, or for better screening tools and better drugs to treat the cancer.

It's not the same thing.

Well, that is one book, which is obviously not a curl up and be happy type read.  Another book in my stack is Prevention's Ultimate Guide to Women's Health and Wellness: Action Plans for More Than 100 Women's Health Problems:  I suppose it could be considered a reference tool, but when I do pick it up (it's heavy!) I do become engrossed.  Again though, not a curl up and be happy type read!

The next one (you might be wondering if I even KNOW how to have fun by now!) is Refined To Real Food: Moving Your Family Toward Healthier, Wholesome Eating: Books by Allison Anneser,Sara ND Thyr which I have a ton of dog-eared pages that need to be attended to.  Oh, there just is NOT ENOUGH TIME to pack in all the information one needs to survive in this scary world (especially if you are a conspiracy theorist like myself and believe that all the government agencies out to "protect" you are really ...) well, maybe I'll write that book!!!

Well no wonder I don't read, that stack would turn anyone off!  My novels are closed up in the bookcase, I need to let them out.  I will let you know if I end up reading any, and how it was.  In the meantime, I have to do a little catch-up blogging (reading the ones I follow) and run outdoors and check out the eclipse.

Good night!

SUCKER!!!!!!!!!

Yep, that's me.  I knew it the moment I hung up the phone this morning that I was going to have a new vacuum cleaner.  I was shang hied I tell ya!  I didn't even see it coming.

It was early and I had just sat down before the computer and was scrambling to get some thoughts down that I'd been meditating on just prior, when the phone rang.  I answered and I knew immediately that it wasn't someone I knew, but she was verrrrrrry friendly.  She said that Liz Paws (name changed to protect the innocent) had given them my name so that I could receive a free shampoo for my carpet.  I did know Liz, right?  I was thinking, what?  A free shampoo for my carpet?  Do I want that?  I asked what the company was again, and she said L & R something or other, I said "oh, I've never heard of that before," oh well, she explains, we don't advertise, it is all word-of-mouth and that is why we provide free shampooing, as well as upholstery cleaning because 

then if you like it you will refer your friends, just as your friend has done. Well then fine, come shampoo my carpet if it's so important to you, I thought.  I mean, Liz had it done after all, and must have thought they did a good job, or she was thinking of my best interests and knows I have a herd of dogs and therefore more than likely a dirty carpet.  I gave the woman directions and she said the shampooer would be there at 12:30.  

It was her final chilling words that made me realize my plight had been plotted ... "our representative from Kirby Vacuum of Concord will be there ..." is what she said.  She did not say SHAMPOOER, and then she said have a nice day.  Reeled in, caught and thrown into the bucket.  And there I was, gasping for air.

NO!  I said to myself, I am strong and I will not buy a new vacuum.  Not like the first time, some 18 or so years ago when the guy knocked on my door and asked if he could shampoo my carpet and I said fine, but there is NO WAY I am buying a vacuum because I want a new computer.  And he said no problem, what the hell, right?  You'll have clean carpets and I'll have something to write down on my sheet for the day.

I was totally safe that time, completely and totally protected by the knowledge I didn't have a grand laying around AND ... more importantly, I already had a WANT, and it was a computer, not a stupid sucking machine for dirt.

But then Peter came home and his eyes grew wide and he said "My mother has

 a Kirby vacuum cleaner" and the dormant sales gene in the laidback guy who was shampooing my carpet for fun pounced on him like a lion to meat.  Yeah, we bought that Kirby.  Oh yeah. Peter even fell for the dust mite thing -- where they say that Kirby has the ONLY vacuum cleaner that can suck out the dust mites from your mattress, therefore changing your life miraculously in ever so many ways.

And we've been happy with it, it's a good vacuum cleaner.  But it is old and it acts old.  Let's just say, I was afraid ... verrrrrry afraid.

And the other voice in my head, the consumer voice, the voice that leads me astray ...  preyed on my misgivings and screamed, your vacuum is old and decrepit and Peter has all but destroyed it turning it into a construction tool ... it is cracked and it doesn't suck like it used to and when you vacuum up dog hair you have to keep taking off the bottom and cleaning it off with the hose, over and over and over.

SHUT UP!  I cried to that other voice, I don't want to spend thousands of dollars on a new vacuum.  I would rather take a trip.  Yes!  A nice trip to a warm venue, or even out West, but I do NOT want to buy something that gives me no enjoyment whatsoever.

Thinking I was safe, I continued on with my day and while showering I thought to myself, "don't be ridiculous, the LAST thing you need is a new vacuum cleaner!"  And I worked up my little protective armor of approach -- why would I need a new Kirby vacuum cleaner ... when I bought my first one I was told that the reason it cost so much was because it would last me a lifetime, and breaking out that cost over a lifetime, it was mere pennies.  Pennies!

And then he drove in.  The "shampooer."  He got out of his car wearing a three-piece suit -- he was dressed better than the blokes on Wall Street, let me tell you -- and my stomach sank and I thought, if he wears a suit like that, chances are he is GOOD at his job -- which by now we all know has abso-fricking-lutely nothing to do with shampooing.

I was reluctant to let him in.  I thought about leaving by a back door and not answering the door.  I swear, I did!  And he was a nice guy and I said, I really don't want to buy a vacuum cleaner, and he smiled that smile, because of course he hears that every time someone lets him in, and yet, he has a bright and shiny new model and he's looking around my house and thinking, S U C K E R.

I even scrubbed it off my forehead while in the shower.  Guess it still glowed.

So off we go with the pretending that all he is there to do is shampoo.  He is using Ms. Paw as much as he can, noting at once that we have the same type of carpet, in fact, quite similar feel to the houses.  Were we related?  No, in fact, she is no friend of mine, no friend of mine sics well-dressed salesmen to the home of a woman with an old vacuum cleaner.  It is not right.  (And just so you know Ms. Paws -- I did NOT give up one friend or family member -- not a one!  You are all safe!)

He sets up the new Kirby, it has a new name, whatever, and yes, it is bright and shiny and I point out that it hasn't really changed in appearance that much -- and he responds that when you get it right, you don't mess around with it.   But the things that are not good about mine of course have all been rectified, and I try to point out that plastic parts break, but no, it's not plastic it's some super material that they use in football helmets and Nascar cars.  Well fine.  And the engine has been re-tooled by NASA (though quite frankly, if they had spent less time working on vacuum cleaners and more on O-joints perhaps their works of art wouldn't come crashing down from the sky.)  I did mention this, but he looked at me funny.  I mean, come on, he said, it's NASA.  Yes, I heard you, I hope I imparted that I am not all that impressed.

Then he does the part of his demonstration where he sucks all the big, bad dirt out of your floor to show you a) that you suck as a housecleaner and b) that you really need a new vacuum, since obviously you just vacuumed (they actually request that you do so! oh, they are good).  

AHA!  I said.  I have a KIRBY!  And clearly the model they were using as a demo way back when was waaaay more powerful than the one I ended up with, because supposedly all that dirt was supposed to be taken care of.  By MY Kirby.

Oh, but things have changed (not really, like snake oil hasn't) he says, and with all that technology that they paid NASA for (to the tune of $85 million, which seems insane and not a good business practice in my opinion) the latest and greatest model sucks up even more dirt than ever before.

And quite frankly, as he laid out the piles of sand, actual sand he was pulling out of the carpet, I thought, I haven't a prayer.  Clearly my existing Kirby is THROWING sand into the fibers of the carpet to taunt me.  TAUNT ME!

Now, the one thing I actually enjoyed about my Kirby was the shampoo function.  It is really quite simple and leaves you with a clean carpet.  But my old one stopped working properly, leaked like a sieve and after the last belt broke I kind of gave up on it.  And here was a new one, a better designed one (thank you NASA!) and well, wasn't the old Kirby just .... old? 

He might not have had me at "hello," but God help me, he had me.  Then he started with the dust mites, and I said to him, STOP RIGHT THERE.  It didn't sell me the first time and quite frankly, I've owned a Kirby for going on 20 years and not once in all that time have I vacuumed my mattress.

He frowned a little, didn't like that one of his grossest selling points was being attacked ... and he tried again.  But dust mites are bad.  

I know they are, I agreed, but we like our dust mites.  We've been sleeping with them for a long time and we've come to an agreement -- I won't kill them if they don't kill me.

He truly did not know what to do with this!   

Well long story long, he finally asked, was I interested?  I said I supposed, but I didn't really want to spend a fortune on a new vacuum, how much was it?  How much did I think? He queried.  I don't know, I shrugged, I don't know what the inflation is on a vacuum cleaner, I can't even begin to guess.  It was a grand almost 20 years ago, now is it what, two grand, less?  I don't know.  I do know I won't spend two grand on a vacuum cleaner though, I do know that!!!

So supposedly it is $1,750, but blah blah blah and this special and today only and oh ... did you speak to your friend Liz?  I said why yes!  I did (even though I had not) and I said I would expect the same deal as she got.  Oh, and also, included in my price was a trade-in of my old one, which was worth $100 -- and then he put down the price of Liz's -- and I said, well she didn't trade in an old Kirby, and he said no, true, and I said good, I'm keeping my old one!  

Don't I drive a tough bargain!!!! Well, the good news is that I spent less on my new Kirby than I did on my old one 17-18 years ago.  The bad news is that I spent anything at all, but oh well.  It's something for something, it is a nice vacuum -- and it drives itself with its NASA-engineered parts.  I'm just not taking it into space is all.

No school? Let's PARTY!

Charlie is on his sixth day of school cancelled due to weather, and he came into my room this morning all chipper and asked me "what do you want to do today!" in one of those this is so cool I'm in vacation mode type voices.  And I thought ... I know what **I** want to do today, and it doesn't involve anything more than closeting myself in my office and plunging into all of my projects.

So I blew his mind and said, "well, today would be a good day for you to have people over."

Charlie doesn't let many opportunities pass by and he went from a few people to a full blown party within, I'd say, five minutes!   The phone was ringing like mad and he kept running into the bedroom and asking about this person, that person, and so on.  The thing was, I didn't care!  So I kept saying yes, and then I said if they needed rides that was fine too, because I was realizing that the time we'd chosen -- 11:30 (which was a huge bummer for him because it was 7:30 when this all started and he wanted it to happen NOW!) -- meant that there would be people looking for lunch, so we'd have to go to the grocery store.

It was a huge snowball, no doubt, but like I said, I didn't care, it seemed like a good opportunity for him to get the guitar hero party he's been asking for months to have over and done with and I am closeted in my office with music playing and they're not really bothering me at all.

But it is interesting to watch.  There are 11 kids, five boys, six girls, and they just ate pizza and an ice cream cake and I even bought soda (when I am in that mood, you can even drink soda, imagine that!) and they are all sitting between the counter and dining room table having a really good time.  They all seem to be enjoying being together -- and it's not a situation of girls hanging with girls, boys hanging with boys.  Charlie is quite in his element bossing everyone around, asking them what type of pizza they want (and writing it down) cooking the pizza, serving it, pointing out that if you asked for cheese then you couldn't have pepperoni, and then I last left them trying to distribute the ice cream cake ... and the first three people had enormous pieces!  Charlie was begging Morgan to PLEASE split hers in half or else there wouldn't be enough.  She wanted him to just not have a piece, he thought that was "a horrible idea," and I just laughed and closed my doors.  I am not sure how they figured it out, but the three people with the big pieces were hiding in the dining room with very smug looks on their faces!

It started out as a rainy day (and very icy, which is why school was cancelled) and now the sun is coming out.  And it's hot -- like in the 40's.  It should be interesting to see if they go outdoors and "play."  Or is that just not the hip thing to do in middle school?

Peter dropped by on his way from work to a meeting and was a little blown away that there was a party going on!  Normally I don't even like him to have friends over because I don't like to be tied down -- what if I change my mind and want to jet to Paris in the afternoon?  I like to keep my options open.  But today the plan was to stay housebound and working ... so what the hey.

Maddie called at noon ... "So I hear there's a party going on there."

How did she know?  Apparently, according to her, she knew about it about 15 minutes after it had been discussed.  What she really wanted to know, though, was when could SHE have a party.   

I guess that just goes to show, you can't have a secret party as long as the internet and cell phones are in existence!

Something happened, but what?

Last night I had vivid dreams -- the kind you wake up in the morning and still remember.  Like enough to sit down and write about, you know, in your blog.

Now we all know that no one wants to hear about someone else's dreams -- really the only person who derives pleasure from the situation is the one speaking -- probably because it helps to remember it, because as you are telling it, something else will pop into your head.  And the poor listener is like, ahhh, okay, sure there was a monster who gave you a Lexus.  Such is the way of dreams.

So here is a warning ... I am going to rehash this dream because it was a doozy.  You may return to previously scheduled programming if dreams are not your thing!

First I was driving in a car and the road ended and there was deep, bottomless water all around.  I want to say it was Matthew McCaughnahy who was there, and when I climbed out of the car, he dipped it into the water.  Picked it up and dipped it.  I watched this, and then I asked about the guy who was standing with his back to us.  And another older man said that he was watching his stash.  Then that guy turned around and shot the man who had just spoken to me.

I haven't analyzed this one though, because the next one was more disturbing.

I was on a bus (and I know this has significance because I have dreamt busses before) and someone else was driving, a dark haired woman.  I actually think she was a stranger, and we were in a city and we were trying to get somewhere, but there was a lot of traffic, then I came p with a plan, and we were going to follow it, when she stopped at an intersection.  I looked both ways and there was nothing coming, well, she had time to go, but she didn't!  And then tons of cars came and I said, "You should have gone."

And then ... they started digging a huge hole in front of the bus ... with a backhoe ... and we sat and watched for a bit, and there were two other girls on the bus, again, strangers, and we went inside the house (it was a dream, I guess the door to the bus went into a house).  There were a lot of people in the house, and in the main part there were adults, but they weren't friendly at all.  I remember thinking, "if she'd only just gone we wouldn't be stuck here."  I remember thinking that several times, that it had almost seemed a conscious decision to get stuck.

I wandered around the house, maybe with the girls, not sure, and there were bedrooms in this wing where kids were hanging out, teenage kids, kind of like having a slumber party.  They didn't pay any attention to me (us) and so I wandered back to the main living space again, and then out onto the deck.  And then there were two boys there, teenagers, and they said that the bus was never going to get out, and that it was probably smart to find another way "out."  And then this kind of blondish guy comes out onto the deck and he said "everyone in your party has to leave, you upset them, you went to the back wing and saw the girls," and I said, "So?" and he said "they are not happy with you right now," and he led me and another man down into the cellar and told us to wait there and he would be right back as soon as "it was safe."

And then he came into the door and I turned and he held up a gun and shot me!  And it was in my neck and I held up my hand to the pulsing, gushing feel of blood pouring from my body and I thought, "no!  I can't die," and I slid to the floor and I thought again, "no one will ever find me, I am nowhere, in a cellar," and then again I thought, "no, this makes no sense, I can't be dying, this has to be a dream."

And I woke up with my entire body pulsing and I literally felt a WHOOSH as all of the blood left my body.  I felt this while being wide awake.  It was SO FREAKY.

So I continued to lay there, and let my body calm down, and I thought to myself that dreaming about death, even your own, is not a bad thing.  I know this because I have dreamt of death before and read about it, and it usually means a significant change is happening (or about to happen)in your life.  But I couldn't get back to sleep and then maybe I did for a few hours, but I then woke up when Peter and Charlie left to go to the race and haven't been able to fall back asleep.

Whatever this dream was about, it was big.  Big enough to stay in my mind until I dealt with it!  So I came downstairs and I've been reading about it.  Here is what it says:

To dream that you die in your dream, symbolizes inner changes, transformation, self-discovery and positive development that is happening within you or in your life. Although such a dreams may bring about feelings of fear and anxiety, it is no cause for alarm and is often considered a positive symbol. Dreams of experiencing your own death usually means that big changes are ahead for you. You are moving on to new beginnings and leaving the past behind. These changes do not necessarily imply a negative turn of events. Metaphorically, dying can be seen as an end or a termination to your old ways and habits. So, dying does not always mean a physical death, but an ending of something.

Further research asked the following questions pertaining to the dream:

As you look at the events that took place, what were you feeling?

Mad!  I was furious that I'd been put into this situation -- because if the bus had pulled away from that house and/or intersection, it wouldn't have happened (theoretically anyway!) And when I was shot, I was completely taken by surprise ... like it never even occurred to me (though I suppose being led to a cellar by a stranger who has indicated danger might be a clue!) that something like that would happen.  

What went through my head at the time?

That it wasn't right, not the way it was supposed to be, and I know that it was very important to me to believe that it was a dream, and that when I woke up, after the whooshing, it restored to me somewhat a sense of self-being ... that it wasn't a premonition or anything, only a DREAM.

What does it say to you about your weakness or fears?

Well, I don't know!  Don't let anyone else drive the bus screams out loudly -- that I have perhaps a weakness in letting others, what, drive my life?  I would think that would be a good thing!

The thing about the bus is interesting:  If we dream of being in a bus we are coming to terms with the way we handle group relationships, and new directions we need to take in company with others ... and we may be experiencing the need to be an individual, while at the same time belonging to a group with some kind of common purpose.

Well, I dunno about all of that.  Another one says:  if the driver of a bus can't find their way, it is time to take over your own creative development.

Well, I can see both explanations making some sort of sense, and you can see above from my comment "don't let anyone else drive the bus," that I was on the right path.

Anyway, dreams are very powerful -- and can give you insight as to what just might be going on inside your crazy head.  Last night I had a hard time falling asleep -- and my blog before bed (that would make a lovely title, My Blog Before Bed) was also a little frenzied and scattered.  I felt awake and alive and full of energy at midnight last night and feel much the same first thing this morning.  There is so much that wants to come out -- this book needs to be written, it is knocking at my door FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED ME.

Maybe this is all as simple as yesterday I should have bagged the cleaning and laundry and just done the things that please me and fill me with passion -- like writing and creating creative slideshows!

See, you don't need a shrink, all you need is three books on dreams, the internet and a blog.  And the knowledge to stay off the damn bus!

It's midnight already???

One of the great mysteries of my life today is HOW the heck did I ever work?  HOW could I possibly have done anything but that, when now, with hours seeming to stretch out before me at the start of a day, I am always finding the day ending without having accomplished all I want to do.

It's not that I am not getting the things on my list done ... well, first off because I don't have a list! I can't live that way, though people swear that you get tons done when you follow this system.  My way of going about things is much more organic.  Which I think is another way of saying psycho, but whatever.

So this morning I slept in -- which I will do WHENEVER possible, but primarily because I am, like tonight, doing things when other people are sleeping.  I love nights, I am alive and awake and generally have to force myself to go to sleep.  So I get the 8 hours, just at different ends.  Okay, so I came downstairs and thought that I would like to work on my book, take a hike and that would be a perfect day.  Then I remembered that I have to do this slide show for Charlie's middle school ski team, so I started to do that.

Somehow it went from 9:30 in the morning to like noon.  I went upstairs and folded the laundry that someone had put on top of the machine, went into my bedroom (I am not even sure why I went upstairs in the first place) and remembered that the pile of clothes on the chair in my room has been really bothering me.  So I started on that, then went back and folded more laundry, started a new load, then realized that the sheets that have been residing in the hallway should go in the closet, but that needed to be rearranged, so I did that, then back to finish the chair job, oh, the upstairs bathroom is kind of looking for a spritz, so I cleaned in there, then decided to change the sheets on my bed.  But they are the new sheets, the really expensive egyptian (sleep like an egyptian, do do do do do) cotton sheets, so I washed those.

I went downstairs (a good hour has now passed) and returned to weeding out photos from the slideshow project.  Then I started on the music, but then I thought, there must be a way to use bits and pieces of music, rather than the whole song, and Maddie said sure, you just use GarageBand, which I do have, and I played around with that, but it seemed very complicated, and then I ran upstairs to switch the laundry and realized that Charlie's clothes were all over the place, so I put them away in his closet, and then I realized that I had a great idea for my book, so I rushed downstairs and wrote that down.

Then I just did a random "edit songs on your Mac" search and it brought me to a bunch of software options, so then I read reviews on each of those until I narrowed it down to one and I downloaded the demo version of that and started fiddling around with it, and pretty soon my desktop screen was full of windows with all sorts of different songs that I was hacking up and pasting here and completely NOT reading directions since that is not my thing, and then I thought "Gee, all this work, and what if I can't save it," which was a great thought, but it crashed the whole computer, and then I panicked and thought I'd lost the stuff I'd done on the book not to mention the slideshow, and I freaked, but no, everything seemed fine.

And then Peter went by (he's been remodeling the back bedroom since Christmas, just a quick job, said it would only take a few weekends) carrying boards and drills and saws and said that I needed to either pick up Charlie at the mountain or drop off Maddie at school and I was like "I don't have time for that can't you see that I am busy?"  (this was before I discovered that I HADN'T lost everything) and he was like, "yeah, and all I do all day is eat bon bons," which made me wonder, why does anyone say that?

It's stupid.  A bon bon is a hard nasty candy.  It would be no fun to spend the day doing that.  HAHAHA.  And so it goes, one digression (is that even a word?) after another, is how I play my day.  But it goes by soooooooooooooooo fast.   And while I don't stick to a game plan, I do get a lot done.  It just depends upon whether you think that a ton of laundry, organizing your crap upstairs, working on your novel, creating a slideshow and learning a new software program are things worth doing.

And I do.  So there.

Hallie arrived a little after 4:00 and then we went up to Lebanon for dinner and then we came back and watched a really bad movie, though it was well written, just not light and funny, which is what everyone thinks movies should be, but why do we have to do everything for pure amusement?  Why can't we watch movies to make us think?

And then I remembered I hadn't done my self-portrait, so I did that, and then I wanted to keep working on the music stuff, because that is new and challenging and fun and I want to write my book .... and yet, it is nearly midnight and if I don't go to sleep I will stay up until dawn.  Once I get started ... nope.  I won't even go there.

I have had several "you are NOT writing in your blog daily" comments from people, so how about I add that to my list, you know, just to make sure it gets done.

MUAHAHAHAHAHA

Snow days and days and days!

Charlie has had five snow days and six delays this winter.  It has been crazy.  And snowy!

Above, the snowbanks are so high that when I stood on top I could look into our bedroom window!

Our neighbor came in with his loader today and really opened up the driveway.  It was getting so tight the cars could hardly get through.  Another snowstorm and we would have been sunk!

 

 

 

It's official -- someone is old!

I am not saying it is me -- but yikes.  I was catching up on my recorded Oprah shows, and David Cassidy was on.  Now, there was a true teen idol of my time.  I loved him, he was cute, he sang, seemed incredibly sweet and every Friday night I watched The Brady Bunch show followed by the Partridge Family.

I mean, it's an intrical part of my life, like the blood coursing through my veins.  When you examine my DNA through a microscope, you can see strands of Partridge.  I know EVERY song, every single solitary word of every song that that family ever sang.  I just wanted to climb onto that bus and be with them.  Though I didn't want to be a Partridge, I wanted David!

But not this David.  It's really not right, teen idols should not be allowed to age.  And the worst thing of all -- HE CAN'T SING!  Which makes me wonder if he ever could.   I was just horrified as he sang -- or tried to -- "I Think I Love You," in this breathless wimpy voice with no depth, and ruined it -- I hate when they ruin a classic song by changing the tempo.  I sat there with my mouth hanging open and watched these 40-something women screaming like idiots and waving their albums (I had every one of them, but for heaven's sake, somewhere along the line I threw them away and replaced them with CD's!)  True, probably most people didn't think to purchase the Partridge Family CD to add to their adult library -- but I already said, it's in my DNA!

Now this is my David (come to Mama).  Ooooooooooh.  And really, this is how I am going to    choose to remember him.  If I ever hear that David Cassidy is going to sing on a show or in a concert, you will see me hightailing in the opposite direction.    I prefer my teen idols underbaked. 

Ummmmm.

I think I love you.

Angry mother???

How is this for dedication ... I am in a hotel room, Charlie has a race tomorrow at Attitash, so we are here for the night. And I am blogging!! Love free hotel Internet.

So today I was working on my book, working, working, working when I came to the end of a chapter and didn't seem to know where to go. This kind of complete and total halt was a little surprising, as I've been inunudated with more words than I know what to do with, so really, the opposite problem.

I was sitting there, a little dumbfounded, when the phone rang. It was Charlie. He had forgotten his Vocabulary book, and needed it or else he would lose points. Now what would you do? I mean, as the mother who asks before he goes out the door, "do you have everything?" "Your lunch?" "Homework."

Yes mom.

Well, I know what I normally do, but this was not a normal moment. I was at a roadblock and the phone call seemed to answer some inate need to do something then and there. I stood up, found the book on the kitchen counter and said, "I am getting in the car now, this very moment, be in the lobby in 10 minutes."

He was in shock. "Now?" He said. (I am sure he was hoping maybe just maybe he could get the book by the end of the day. Not at 9:00.)

I'm hanging up and climbing in the car, I'll be right there.

It wasn't until I was actually climbing in the car that I thought, "This is odd. Why am I doing this?"

I drove uptown and listened to my audiobook -- which happens to be Diana Gabaldon's Dragonfly in Amber. That was nice, I drove into the school and waited for him to come out. When he did, he was very tentative. He opened the car door and waited. I said "Okay, there's your book," and pointed to it on the seat.

"You're not mad?" he questioned.

"No. Have a good day."

"Ummm, okay, you're sure you're not mad?"

"Nope."

"Can I give you a kiss?"

"Sure."

So he climbed in and gave me a kiss, again, somewhat tentatively, like what, my head was going to pop off or something once he was close enough? Geesh.

I drove home listening to my book, sat down at the computer and unleashed another torrent of words that kept me going for another few hours.

So, I needed to do something else, anything else, in order to continue. What is so funny is that I had no idea I was such a mean, angry mother!!!

When I picked Charlie up from school, he again asked me if I was mad. I said NO I AM NOT MAD. He said, "Well normally you would be. You always yell at me when I forget things."

Which is true. The kid drives me batty and he forgets things even when you are basically begging him not to. What was also interesting was how he was in such a good mood.

So I guess I have to try to be a nicer mother. And I will, as long as it is convenient for me!!!

Lipstick Jungle

Here are the three women of Lipstick Jungle, two 40-something's flocking the fledging 30-something.  This new show actually excited me, as it is based on the book by Candace Bushnell, who was also behind the fabulous series Sex and The City.

Perhaps my rather uninspired upper paragraph is because this show sucked with a capital S.  I can't even remember their names, other than that is Brooke Shields on the right and the one on the left was a paramedic on some show.  Their character names, ho hum who cares.  Oh, the one in the middle is Victory Ford (when I come across such names I realize that names are very important and well worth all the angst I put into them!)  Victory Ford.  Blech.  I am going to go look up the other two names, be right back.

Okay, Wendy Healy is Brooke Shields, and the other one is Nico O'Neilly.  Ick, Blick, double sick.

So, Wendy, Victory and Nico are I guess Sex and The City becomes Marriage and the City.  Wendy is president of a top movie company and the opening scene is her walking down the sidewalk and then dumping her purse and fumbling to pick it all up.  So what does that tell us?  She's human.  Whatever.  And Nico, she is hot, she is blonde, beautiful and has the body we all want.  And you know what?  Her husband could care less, doesn't even look at her.  And her job is one power play after another to keep her co-worker from stealing her job.  Though, we find out, the boss isn't going to promote her because she mentioned to his wife that she might want a family.

OHMYGOD.

And then we have Victory, completely ill-at-ease and despite the fact she had the balls to design her own clothing line, it flops and the next thing we know she is going out on a date with an arrogant bazillionaire.  Because he said he liked her clothing line.  Well, wait, HE didn't say that, his secretary did, because his secretary made the date and well.  

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE WOMEN?

We've come a long way backward baby.  I really want to be watching a show in the 2000's about a bunch of women who have invested all their power in a bunch of men. MEN MEN MEN!   Wendy is sure she is screwing up in her job, her marriage and with her children.  Well, so what?  She drops everything when her boss calls, and he calls whenever he wants.  Another woman under an arrogant thumb with a dick.  The show made me sick.  I didn't even watch the entire thing because it was making me too angry.  All that potential turned into so much uninspired pablum.  Really, the only way to watch is to be force fed.

Nico, blonde, beautiful unable to get laid by her husband Nico, gets hit on by this cute 20-something guy, but no, she's not going to do it.  She's going to remain faithful to her clearly unfaithful husband.  Because if you're telling me that he doesn't want to have sex with his wife (who wears negligee's at home like we all do, with boobs hanging out) because he just doesn't FEEL like it, well then, Nico ought to be buying lottery tickets, because she managed to score the one man in a million who doesn't want to have sex with his hot wife. HAHAHA.  He's getting it elsewhere, man or woman, I just so don't care.  

It is just so disappointing.  I suppose the whole angle with Wendy is that she is human and STILL able to be a president of a big deal company, but what is the point if you are fighting for your job every day?  Same with Nico.  Come on ladies, get together and open your own damn company and stop putting yourself in situations where men run your life.  If you're so damn powerful than prove it to me!

Oh, I just won't watch another episode!  If this is an example of what is being written, then I say HAIL TO THE WRITER STRIKE!  May they all perish under their cliche-driven drivel and may future writer's (women perhaps?) rise up from the ashes and write stuff with wit, humor, intelligence and an entertainment value beyond a negative 1.

Lipstick Drivel.

BAH!

Just a weird day

I spent the morning really meditating on where this new book is going -- because last night when I stopped writing it was because I was kind of not sure what direction it was going in.

I then felt prepared to spew words, and so I did.  A lot flowed over the course of a few hours, and I was suddenly inundated with a lot of decisions.   I was approaching crossroads it seemed every few paragraphs, and I had to sit back and ponder further.  I was in the shower, with the water pouring down on me, when it hit me. Literally, like a ton of bricks it became clear where I was supposed to go, and I threw on some clothes and hit the keyboard.

Now here is the really weird thing.  I had music playing, and I was typing and singing (multi-tasking has always been my thing) and things were flowing and flowing and flowing, and then I realized I was sobbing. S O B B I N G!  Not tears rolling down the cheeks, heaving, blubbering, most unflattering crying.

What is up with that?  Now, granted the subject matter I was dealing in was sad, very sad indeed (brain tumor, death, sobbing daughter, confused future lover) but sobbing?  A little too close to my art perhaps?

I thought perhaps it was due to the fact that since Tuesday  morning I have been writing incessantly, and if I am not writing the book I am writing emails, blogging or thinking about the book.  And maybe I was having a nervous breakdown or something!  Nah, but my thought was perhaps I needed a break.

So I meandered into the living room and scrolled through the DVR and since again, writing has become my pasttime, I haven't kept up with any of my shows, so I just randomly chose an Oprah show to watch.  It was about the Law of Attraction and The Secret and living your perfect life and there was me, BOO HOO BOO HOO BOO HOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOO.

So much for a distraction from sobbing!  "Do you lose yourself in your work," Oprah questioned the audience.  

Oh, honey, you have no idea!

"Do you ever find yourself in the flow?"

Flow?  I've been oozing all over the place like liquid mercury, solidifying in my chair for hours on end then oooozing back into oblivion.  Flow.  Honey, just call me LAVA GIRL!

"Are you living your perfect life?"  

Right now I can't decide whether or not I want to write tomorrow or go skiing.  

If it's not perfection, it sure is close!

There is no point, beginning or end to this ... I think I'm getting a little dependent on the muse leading me down the path, and right now it has taken a vacation and left me behind ... a sobber!

Tissue anyone?

The search is over

For as long as I have been using a pocketbook, I have been searching for the perfect one.  The P E R F E C T one.  In order to accomplish this mission, I have purchased a rather large number of all shapes and sizes, and yet, have never been fully satisfied.  It was either too big, too small, didn't stay on the shoulder properly, was too hard to find something in, or just wasn't right for no reason other than just because.   It is also quite possible I wasn't trying all that hard because it is fun to buy new pocketbooks. 

And listen to Maddie yell "step away from the pocketbooks, you don't need another one."

Or hear Peter say, "Is that another new pocketbook?"

My sister Tomasen and I believe that this deep-rooted desire for the perfect bag began in our childhood when my grandfather led us down, as a means of ritual, to the garage where an entire wall was adorned with pocketbooks that he and his wife Helen had picked up at yard sales (one of their favorite pasttimes).  We were allowed to choose only one to use  on that day and there was no changing your mind.  Which is, if you think about it, kind of a cruel thing to do to a kid.  And I am sure that my grandfather had no idea that he would leave behind two granddaughters with a very distorted view of what the perfect pocketbook actually was.

And that is because the actual perfect pocketbook did not exist in the garage.  They each had their pros and cons and one had to decide which was more important that day.  Was it better to have the pocketbook with the really fun clasp to open but which had a terrible round bone handle that wouldn't sling over your shoulder?  Or the black patent leather bag that also had the fun clasp but was really kind of cheap looking?

Over time my pocketbook needs have changed -- before kids but during my first pocketbook phase I chose large bags, to carry the hairbrush one never left home without, perhaps a book to read if I was ever caught without anything to do, a huge wallet, a comb, gum, cigarettes, a lighter and a shitload of other crap I always had to paw through to find what I was looking for.

When I had kids the diaper bag served double duty, and I would slip my wallet into one of the pockets.  And when I went somewhere without the diaper bag, I felt lost, disturbed, as though something was missing.  (I got over this, I am sure!)

After the days of diaper bags disappeared, I went so far the other way it was ridiculous. My pocketbooks were so tiny they hardly held a stick of gum.  My hair went unbrushed, and I couldn't write a check anywhere because the checkbook didn't fit.  Obviously, I had to change my ways.

And so, I have been on a search.  I have backpack pocketbooks, leather pocketbooks, cloth pocketbooks, sling pocketbooks, the back bag (supposed to save your back) and a series of little pocketbooks that barely hold a lipstick and a wallet but they look so stylish.

And then, without warning, I found it.  Tomasen and I were at Target Christmas shopping and we were going to go to New York City in a few days.  As one knows, you can't visit a city (any city) without purchasing either a new pocketbook, shoes or a coat (and some

times all three, depending on the circumstances).  I was cool with the shoes and coat, but I was test driving a pocketbook that day and I knew with clear certainty it wasn't going to cut it.

Now, I don't normally buy my pocketbooks at Target because they are ... I will say it ... cheap looking.  But I put my hand on this one bag and thought, hmmmm, seems to be the right size.  I hardly inspected it as Tomasen was disgusted I was even looking (you will find when you are a pocketbook hound that people lose patience with your search, even if they have the same problem!) but it was twenty bucks and so I threw it in my cart.

I switched into it the following day, and my life changed.  It was ::::::insert drum roll:::::: fricking perfect.  It was the right size, I could fit a small hair brush, a small tube of hand cream, a handful of tampons and sunglasses in the main body.  But the true 

magic, the true beauty of this specimen were the two outer pockets.  As you can see at left, there is a pocket that opens up that works as the wallet.  So, while I have the pocketbook over my shoulder, I just need to unzip my wallet and wa la, there is my money and credit cards at my quick disposal (ha ha.  Don't you know it!)

The other front pocket is where I keep my lip stuff -- easy to grab and apply with the snap of a button, and when I actually carry my cell phone, it goes in there as well.  It's PERFECT!

But here's the rub.  I loved the search.  I loved the hope that the next pocketbook might be "the one."  To have found it, well yes, it is nice.  I guess it's kind of like being married.

Now I'm stuck with it.   'Til death do we part.

Attacked by the bug!

A bug bearing gifts

And how.  I woke up this morning to find out that Charlie had a two-hour delay, and so I stayed in bed, hoping to fall back asleep.  Instead I started to think of this book idea, and it became kind of strong, so I sat down at the computer, and here I am about 10 hours later, elated, full of energy and three chapters down!

Quite the bug!  I was feverish, writing like mad all day long.  It just poured out.  I have no idea where it came from or what it is about or where it is going -- but it seems to know.  I mean, I obviously have an idea, but each chapter fleshed itself out and I thought at the end of Chapter 2 I didn't have anymore to say, but apparently I did!  I only stopped because people were bugging me.  (It's always a bug of one kind or another!)  I also of course did not deal with dinner, so we are going out to eat, though I'd rather just sit here.

I suspect it will be a late night.  But don't worry, I won't get "writed out" by the book itself.  I believe this blog "unblogged my clog" and there are many, many, many words ready to flow!!!

Yahoooooo.

The answer to 10 or 11 ...

Could it really be this simple?  Do you think we refer to ourselves as two ages when we are citing an event in the past because the school system has been set up to encompass two age groups per year?

First grade -- 6-7 year olds

2nd grade   -- 7-8 year olds

3rd grade   -- 8-9 year olds

4th grade  --  9-10 year olds

5th grade  -- 10-11 year olds

6th grade -- 11-12 year olds

7th grade -- 12-13 year olds

and so on.  I don't know.  I think it is ingrained in our brains for whatever reason.  People say it ALL THE TIME.   I was 6 or 7.  10 or 11.  Definitely 12 or 13.

You never say I was 6 or 9.

I am just saying.

Why are we here?

I took a series of self-portraits last night under the blazing shine of the reading lamp -- and then spent quite some time going through them trying to decide which was the LEAST HORRIBLE to send as my self-portait of the day.

I had been skiing, my eyes were kind of bloodshot, my hair was a wreck and I looked tired.  But the way I see it, if everytime I take a self-portrait I take the time to spiff myself up, then exactly what does that say about myself?  

You're so vain, you probably think this blog is about you!

Well, that's probably not all that far off, but the best thing about all of my bad attributes is that they are mixed in with others, and in this case, a good dose of laziness overwhelms the vanity in me.

So anyway, that is just a bunch of words saying yeah, I know that I don't look that great, but that's not why I posted it.  The reason I did was because as I was going through them, this one jumped out at me -- because of the eyes.  When I looked at it, I thought to myself "those are the eyes I have been looking at my whole life."

Now what kind of sense does that make, right?  Well, what I mean is that those times I've stared in the mirror just to see who is looking back, it is THOSE eyes that I see.  Always.  (Without the white flash dots of course!)

So as I looked into those eyes, I thought, I have been questioning who I am, why am I here and what exactly is the point (not in a bad way, just philosophically) for as long as I can remember.

I am of course still seeking the answers to all those questions, but those eyes jigged a memory from way back, I was probably 10 or 11 (is there any reason why we always say there were three or four men, five or six people there, or I was between the ages of 10 and 11?  Cuz we always do.  Why not commit!  I was 10 damnit!)

Anyway, basically I think what those comments mean are we really have no idea but it sounds good.  So let's say I was 10 years, three months and five days and I was awakened in the middle of the night by nothing really.  It was a dark night and windy.  I went to the bathroom and I was keenly aware that everyone was sleeping.  I could hear my brother and sister breathing in the room across the hall and I was made even more aware that my parents were very far away in their downstairs bedroom.  I turned on the light and proceeded to the toilet, where I was struck with the most heady thought imaginable in the middle of the night for a kid.

Why am I here?  Why am I on this planet?

What I felt most was that there WAS one.  It wasn't random, I felt this.  And that thought alone brought me a little peace.  I stared out the window and could see some branches moving in the wind.  I felt very alone.  I went to the mirror and stared at my reflection.  And saw the very eyes I have posted above staring back.  (Mirrors will do that, huh!)

What those eyes said to me as a child, and what they still say to me today, is that it's out there.  You just have to look.  And as I stared (and this still happens because I just tried it) a tingling feeling starts to cover me, my nose, my toes, the top of my scalp -- everywhere -- and the way I look in the mirror is the way I feel.   I am not sure if that makes any sense, and I am not really sure I can describe the way I look in the mirror -- I am not sure what emotion those eyes are conveying.  But if I had to hazard a guess and obtain the proper words I would say that they are looking beyond ... looking forward, beyond my own reflection ... those eyes have been looking and looking and looking and you can see that there is a faith within them -- they know.

And here, I've had them my whole life, and the problem is that they have this thing called an eyelid and it's very easy to close these powerful tools and not look. Stop seeing.

I stared at those eyes ... because I am doing this self-portrait thing ... and those eyes reminded me of something deep ... and I blogged about them because I started this blog with the intent of writing a lot because writing fuels my soul.

There are no coincidences.  Those eyes know it and now I do too.