The Demise of "I can't"

This is the last installment of pieces past for now. Others may trickle in, but for now I'm going to just get on with it.

The frog is my first painting, in the year 2000. After building a new place, my employer built a studio in a large storage room. He had our maintenance guy build some easels, stocked us up with paints, and, when our slow season fell upon us, said, "have at it, folks!"

I'm embarrassed to admit that I told him "Thanks but no thanks" for the first 2 years. I would have nothing to do with it. "I can't paint," I told him. It was sheer boredom that finally sent me to the easel, and this is what emerged. I was...well, rather astonished. I guess I CAN paint, if I apply myself. I've had something in the works ever since, in a lame sort of way.

I am contemplating my next project. I AM going to be a contributing artist in this year's Artist Against Aids charity event.

And you'll be hearing more soon! Thanks for ya support, friends!

Donning My Red Bra of Courage...

You may or may not have noticed that in my profile, I categorize myself as an "artist." Those that know me will agree, with major frustration, that I am a rather Apologetic Artist.

THIS is what I plan to overcome, this year.

Starting now.

I have always been able to draw anything I can see, and with any medium. Though my skills increased with classes, a basic technical knowledge of perspective and proportion, and practice, the ability to place image-to-paper has always come naturally to me.

Some Boring History

My first "real" drawing, of a hummingbird, was wrought over envy at friend Dan Smith, when I was 12 years old. I wanted to do that; I wanted to excel; I wanted to compete. Mostly, though, I wanted the attention.

Huh! Easy! I was in direct competition with Dan for the next 7 years, always managing to squeak by with the a slightly higher award, though his work was better than mine.

There is a nationwide program called The Scholastic Art Competition. "Back in the day," the highest award you could attain was a "Hallmark;" 5 were awarded in each state. After leap-frogging and edging one another out since 6th grade, Dan and I ribbed each other constantly in our last year of school: last chance for the Hallmark. In that graduating year, 1981, the unthinkable happened: 2 of the 5 Hallmarks were awarded to one high school: Dan Smith. Lori Stewart.

I left school that day before my art teacher was able to contact me with the good news. My mother was giddy and dancing around the house when I got home. She thrust the newspaper in my face. There, on the front page, was my award-winning drawing....


And I was MORTified, dahlings! This was not one of my advanced art projects! This was one of my 10-minute drawings, of which we were required to turn in 5 a week. My art teacher had submitted it behind my back! This drawing was SHIT, I thought, and good god, here it was on the freakin' front page for god and the whole world to see! I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Instead, I was then forced to go thru a series of awards ceremonies, dinners, a day touring the U of I art classes, more photos, and exhibitions.

I look at it now, and I realize, it wasn't so bad. I had higher hopes for other entries, and couldn't see that the 10-minute drawing had any merit.

So. Life after high school, as life does, took a series of twists and turns, that involved some art, some college. I got a job doing what I went to school to learn, dropped out of college, and have been doing some semblance of art or art-related projects, layout, and design, for publishing companies, and for myself, since then. 1 son, 1 foster daughter, 2 husbands, (not in that order) 6 houses, 2 cats, lots of laughter, a few tears...and 25 years later...

...here I am.

Read my lips:

I am Returning to Art.

And the first thing on my agenda is to shed this Mental Hurdle, this self-doubt and degradation of my work, that has lovingly stayed by my side through it all.

For all of my ability to put something on paper, I still doubt myself. I say, "I can't" and "it's not good enough." I panic, quit early, have lost some of my attention span. That I actually HAVE managed to produce a few nice things has been of little consequence, for some reason. I shrug them off as a stroke of luck, a fluke.

How'm I ever going to get over this?

Well, I'm just going to do it!

To start out, I am going to post some of my drawings and paintings now, and over the next few days.

I don't need your commentary so much as I need to take this step. Really, what's the point of having a God-given talent and squirreling it away out of shyness?

So! I am going to share a few pieces with you, and then I'm going to get back to getting back where I left off. I WILL keep you posted.

Click on each piece for a more detailed view. I'm going to go lie down now. All of this courage is wearing me out.

Acrylic on masonite.

Bittersweet. Prismacolor Pencils.

Pencil.

Brush & ink.

Ink.

Electronic/Digital.

Pee, Nuts, and Roundabout Compliments

Melissa and I went out to dinner Friday night. I haven't figured out why dinner with anyone else costs about $12, but dinner with Melissa always comes to about $48,000,000. We met for gumbo and a salad a week before christmas, and with a glass of wine each, the bill with tip came to $58.

Last night we had tapas. 2 endive leaves each with a mayo slapped on, 1 scallop each, 3 cubes of tuna, and 3 shrimp scampi's each. Overall, we found the food bland, but each time the waiter returned, we told him everything was fine.

We opted to split a flourless chocolate cake for dessert. Something went awry in the kitchen; we gave our cake a little push and it fell into a pile of chocolate potting soil.

Give her drab dressing and tasteless tuna, but I am warning you, do NOT mess with Melissa's chocolate. When the waiter asked us how the dessert was, she smilingly said, "awful." She said it in such a cheerful tone that he replied, "I can't tell if you're being serious." She wiped that smile off her face and graciously, but very pointedly, explained that perhaps someone had microwaved the desert for too long.

In the end, the chef tried it, agreed with Melissa, and took the cake off the menu for the night. After the price of the dessert was taken off the bill, our bite-sized dinner came to an even $70.

We just have a knack.

After dinner, we went to a local pub, where beer and peanuts were in abundance. As luck would have it, Melissa found the world's biggest peanut, which, after a few beers is hilarious good fortune. Mel was very possessive about her Guinness-book-worthy peanut; "It's MINE" she exclaimed, "and I'm taking it home!"*


Well, it got to be 11:00, which is late for us old folks, and we decided to head on home. As we stood to gather on our coats, a man approached me and said, "I just have to tell you that my friend over there that thinks you're gorgeous; he's too shy to tell you himself."

Really?!! Someone thinks I'm gorgeous? Who? Where?

Melissa chimed in immediately: "Look at my peanut!"

While they got about figuring out how many peanuts made up the length of Melissa's peanut, our new friend continued, "No, seriously. He thinks you're gorgeous! In fact, here's exactly what he said: He SAID, [now get this] that 6 or 7 other men could look at you and not see a thing, but if they watched carefully, they'd realize how beautiful you are."

I cracked up. What do ya say? I'm in no hurry to hear a "Lori's Gorgeous" case that entails a list of reasons the 7 other guys would look right through me. Let's just take a few more peanut photos and quit while we're ahead.


As Mel and I headed out, laughing our butts off, I lamented that I am the Queen of Receiving Roundabout Compliments.

Still laughing, she insists I am not. "Oh, HUH!" I tell her, even last week while I had dinner with her and L.A. Lori, I remind her, they both commented on how great my hair looked...

"...yesterday."

Nothing's funnier than the truth; we were doubled over laughing, until Melissa peed her pants. And just for that hair comment, and because she keeps telling me that I'm the sweet one of the group, no matter how I tell her what a Bad-Ass I really am, I'm going to post THIS picture, of Mel checking the laughter-damage.


Oh YEAH! Who's sweet NOW, girlfriend? BWA-ha-ha! Woot-Woot!

[P.S.: When we going out next for some $100 mac n cheese?]

Fairy GodKarma

Each year, I attend a fundraiser called Artist's Against Aids. Painters, weavers, jewelers, sculptures, and other artists submit their works, and donate a percentage of the sales to the cause.

Last year, there was a piece at the fundraiser that I LOVED. I am not a frivolous shopper, and am willing to let my house sit stark until something really grabs me, even if it takes years. I'd rather have nothing than something I don't want, and I can wait it out.

That evening, I came back to this piece, an abstract, of oil pastels, time and again. I met and complimented the starving artist that created the painting. "How much is it worth to you?" he asked me. I told him I'd sleep on it.

Despite returning 2 more days of the show to look at it, in the end, I just didn't feel like I could afford it...the price was more than the lawnmower I needed to buy. Priorities. Rats.

Ahh... That painting, that one that got away...

...That painting came back into my life last night.

When I look back now, I feel like I must have stumbled on a magic lamp, and wish after wish is mine to be had.

I see now, that the ball started rolling almost immediately toward where I am today. Shortly after that show, my friend Ilaiy introduced me to a "very nice couple" he'd met at the coffee shop, Marcy and Mike. My first impression of them was that they were stunning and sophisticated. Well, they were all that AND wacky and fun as hell, and loving and loyal friends. How we managed to filter out those that were too weird, and those not weird enough, and settle on each other, PerfectWeird, is beyond me. Lucky us, I say!

This summer, I also "met" Melissa. Actually, I'd been acquainted with her for several years, we "share" a best friend, Lori, now living in Los Angeles. Melissa recently divorced, and Lori gave us a call, alllllll the way from California, and said, "why don't you two get the hell out of your respective houses and go drink some damned beers, and bat your eyes at some boys?" We did, and we have done nothing but laugh since then.... She is adventurous and decisive, and her inner strength inspires me. We have incorporated "WWMD?" into our vocabulary, when we can't make up our minds. (Actually, it's "WFMD?")

Sometime later, Marcy and Mike introduced me to a colorful new character that had joined the coffee table. Bizarre. Energetic. Challenging. Did "we" like him? The jury was cautious for a minute there. It turned out, that we did indeed like one Mr. Atef Ayadi, a crazy Tunisian with a degree in physics, but a desire to live off of his art. Atef, who claims he has not a brain, but a blue-eyed frog in his head, and that he thinks with his toes. Atef, also a loyal and loving friend, with a desire to protect all of us.

And Atef: The starving artist that I complimented at last years' Artist Against Aids fundraiser.

He showed up last night to share pizza and pool with all of us, including my son and a friend. And he brought to me, The Painting. It was my birthday gift from him.

How can this painting be in my life by coincidence? Yes, I feel like I've had a wish granted. Only my wish was granted with a stipulation that I follow a destined path for one year, one that would take me through a labyrinth filled with fierce friends, laughter, protection, loyalty, support, motivation, and encouragement. Then I get my wish.

And the painting is here now. And I'm going to hang it right over there, and let it represent the transitions of the last year, the friends I've made, and the paths we are to follow in the next year.

I will hang it there, and let it be, and if there are magic wishes left in it, they are yours for the taking.

If you give me a magic painting, I will squeeze the stuffing out of you.

Fluff du Jour

Now that I'm writing about these, I find I'm really still as speechless as I was when I stumbled across them. They are, as the sign says Pee & Poo toys. Click on that link, and you can even buy some very sexy temporary tattoos. I didn't see any scratch-n-sniff products, so you're safe there.

New Year's Obsessions

New Years' Resolutions. Every year, mine's the same:

Drink More Water.

I don't think I get in my 48 oz. a day. I've don't really monitor it, but I'm sure I can do better.

That's it, drink the water. But, also, as I am every year at this time, I am ready to restore a little order in my life. It is time to hunker down and behave myself: put the credit cards in the freezer, pitch the sugarplums, and buy some carrots, take a walk.

I *am* feeling a bit like the Michelin man after all of the holiday gluttony, and it's not doing a lot for my outlook. It's time to get back on track, nutrionally and physically, and I intend to make as little fanfare about it as possible. I know the routine: chicken, fish & vegetables.

And hit the streets. I read an article in which a doctor stated that she constantly hears women saying, "I've been thinking about walking." Her response: "What's to think about?! Put on your shoes and walk!" Well, all right!

Promises for no fanfare aside, I still have to share this with you. I was browsing through the January Readers' Digest the other day, and came across an article, entitled 50 Habits of Naturally Thin People. "You just adopt some tricks naturally lean people do," the blurb reads.

There are a few common-sense tips that are in every GetFit article, such as switch from regular soda to diet soda, (duh) watch your serving sizes...blah blah blah. However, there was a heck of a lot of mindless drivel in the article, and since I've done wasted my brain cells on it, I insist you do too.

Check these out:

• While you brush your teeth, alternate standing on one leg as you switch mouth quadrants (every 30 seconds).

Thin people! Do you really brush your teeth standing on one leg, or is that a tip only for flamingos brushing their teeth? Have you ever even THOUGHT about your mouth being sectioned off in quadrants?

• Anytime you're waiting in line, stand evenly on both feet, clasp hands behind your back and squeeze shoulder blades together to open your chest, an energizing yoga-based move that stimulates the nervous system.

I have a big fat picture of the eye-rolling I'd do if some chickadee sets her milk down in the grocery store and starts doing yoga in front of me. Really, tell me you wouldn't find her a little obsessive.

This one just kills me:

• When you're grocery shopping or running errands, wear a backpack with a 5- or 10-pound bag of sugar inside to increase resistance and burn more calories.

Imagine it. Run to the post office, get out of the car, strap on your sugar-pack, get some stamps, take OFF the sugar pack, drive to Walgreens, get out of the car, strap on your sugar-pack, pick up toothpaste. And why are the bees so thick this time of year, and how did I get ants in my car?

• Tone in traffic! ... Squeeze your derriere each time you tap the brake, holding for 10 seconds. Shoot for 10 to 15 squeezes a trip.

So much for mindfulness awareness while driving. Answer the phone, adjust the radio, brake, squuh-heeeeze those cheeks together, hit that 10-second timer, keep track of the repetitions, WATCH OUT FOR THAT Aurghhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Why don't we just let Toonces drive? I say skip the derriere driving, and do a kegel every time you Ctrl+S.

We use e-mail so much we've forgotten what our co-workers look like. Pick a colleague or two who sits farthest from you and deliver 10 of those daily messages in person.

If the person that sits farthest away from me at work ever get wind of this great idea, I will personally seek out the author of this article and kick her in the shins.

[Instead of chocolate, eat] reduced-calorie Jell-O chocolate pudding.... Eat it with a baby spoon to savor it longer.

And here I've been using a shovel.

• Shop till the pounds drop! At the mall, try on at least ten outfits, both pants and shirts. No need to buy!

Seriously, was she stoned when she wrote this article?

Was it lost on the author that anyone that that eats with baby utensils, runs a lap around the house for every piece of junk mail received, carries a 10-lb bag of sugar on their back, or joins the church choir just to burn 70 calories on a Sunday morning in order to stay thin is NOT "naturally" thin, but a bit on the obsessive-compulsive side? Is it not a bit irresponsible to insinuate, if even just with the title of the article. that thin people just DO these things?

OR. Or, or, OR, am I missing the boat, and you naturally thin people really DO incorporate these habits into your life?!

Are you shaking your heads and whispering "Well. I didn't want to be the one to bring it up, but it's no WONDER she's 20 pounds overweight, she's not even carrying sugar! Have you seen her brush her teeth? Two feet! She stands on BOTH feet when she brushes her teeth! You can't feel sorry for her, if she's not going to brake & squeeze. There's nothing you can do, it has to be her decision."

Well. Pass the carrots, I'm over it.

*Get a Clue art by Hugh MacLeod, www.gapingvoid.com

(Thanks Andy)

2006: Let's Get This Party Started!

Happy New Year, everyone!

I rang in 2006 with great friends, wearing feather tiara's and popping streamers and dancing around the dining room. Before the hooting and hollering died down, there was a cake with a match in it, and everyone was singing happy birthday. To me! A surprise, an early celebration, as one of us has to hit the road tomorrow for a business trip (Vegas, yeah, right, business), and didn't want to miss out on any b-day fanfare. (I'm not telling you when it is.)

That was the beginning of my busy day. I slept some, had a little lunch and shopping with Mom, and then joined Ilaiy to help him prepare for his Vegas trip. That means, primarily, that I was bequeathed all of the fantastic home-cooked Indian food that won't survive his 2-week absence. In exchange for cilantro chicken and goan fish, like Mama used to make, I helped shop for sundries, and harped about what all he should not forget to pack. Look, I will nag for food!

I just have to share the Amusing Encounter Du Jour, then:

While erranding, we ducked into a sparsely-populated Walgreens to buy a camera battery. I don't know which music was being piped in, but it had a good fun beat to it, and on the way up to the check out, which was empty except for a bored-looking young man standing at the register, we started dancing.

We sashayed up to the counter, and continued to dance around. The clerk got a slow smile on his face, put down the plastic bag he was opening for us, and joined right in, dancing and shakin' it behind the counter. He started laughing, and said, "oh, you guys makin' me feel so dance-ful!"

A laugh and a dance! I can't think of a better way to start and finish the first day of this new year.

I wish you all a Danceful 2006.

BurgerKingGuy

Sitting around wearing my New Year's Eve bling, waiting for my ride, wondering if this guy creeps anyone else out as much as it does me....

3 Cheers for Nothing

(Not my photograph)

I had today off. I slept late, and awoke joyously headache free, for the first time since Sunday. The State of the House has been driving me mad, so I had a leisurely morning, tidying up, and then ran some errands in the afternoon: some mailing, a few returns. And, I wanted something pretty to wear for New Year's Eve. I'm in a rut! Tired, a little depressed from the flu, probably, and I'm bored with telling myself that I shouldn't waste money on myself. I bought myself a little something for tomorrow night, smug with the 60% after-holiday-savings.

It was raining as I finished my errands. The rain suddenly turned into snow flurries, and then into thick, crazy, blinding snow. Snowflakes fell in crazy giant bundles, hitting the windshield like handfuls of flour. Amazingly, this berg turned into an icy slushy mess in about 30 minutes. Traffic on our "shopping district" backed up fast.

I decided, on the way home, to run to a grocer, pick up lemon and honey. My headache was returning, and a good hot lemon tea sounded good. I know, I know, the traffic sucks, the roads are a mess, cars are fish-tailing in front of me. What's a 10-minute delay, though, I want lemon and honey!

I took a right turn to the grocery store...a slow right turn, at a usually busy intersection.

My car had a mind of its own, in this slush and ice. My car left the lane it was supposed to be in, slid into the opposite lane, and proceeded sliding forward down the road. I couldn't have been more surprised! I am accustomed to driving on ice, and my vehicle has all-wheel drive. I have never been in an accident, never had a ticket, andI know what I am doing...yet I am sliding in the opposite lane, into oncoming traffic, and I have absolutely no control of my vehicle!

And you know what? As luck would have it, there is no one in the oncoming lane! 5:00, this lane in which cars are usually lined up to get out onto a busy avenue, is empty. There are cars approaching, but they are able to stop, to allow me to recover, to get back into my lane, and as I pass, the drivers gave me a sympathetic wave.

I decide that lemon and honey can wait, and I head home, playing out all the different "what if" scenarios...

So, the anticlimactic ending to this story is: Nothing Happened.

And I woke up this morning a little bored and depressed, because Nothing seems to be happening in my life lately. I went out looking for a pretty new sweater, because Nothing is going on, and it would cheer me up. I have cabin fever, because I have been home with a cold, and Nothing is happening...

And I came home tonight reminded that there's a whole lot of Nothing happening that I should remember to appreciate every single day of my life...because Something almost happened to me, and Something didn't, and NoOne got hurt, when SomeOne could have.

Count your blessings. Sometimes Nothing IS better than Something.

Fabulous Broads Highlights

Still flu-ridden (I think it's getting worse!) and braindead, so you get someone else's writing today. Last year's desk calendar: Quotes from Fabulous Broads. Here are the Top 7 that I pulled and straight-pinned to the wall:

The idea of strictly minding our own business is moldy rubbish. Who could be so selfish?

—journalist Myrtle Lillian Barker

Women are repeatedly accused of taking things personally. I cannot see any other honest way of taking them.

—writer Marya Mannes

I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once.

—writer Jennifer Unlimited

If I didn't think you meant so well, I'd feel like slapping your face.

—actress Mary Astor, in the film The Great Lie (1941)

Somebody once said we never know what is enough until we know what's more than enough.

—singer Billie Holiday

I may be a liar, a cheat, a drunk, and a tramp, but I've got principles.

—Joanna Cassidy as the university dean's wife, protesting her innocence,
in the film All-American Murder (1992)

Dayquil-Induced Nothing Entry

I still have the flu. I still have to come to work. There is no work to do at work. Here are some random pix from the last week.

It's official: My nephew, Dane, is the world's worst gift-wrapper:

This guy sits atop the wall at Radio Maria, a local restaurant. How many times have we walked beneath him and never noticed? That's my friend Lori. Why is she tickling his feet? Because we drank too much wine, that's why.

Here's one thing Lori gave me for Christmas. Since we've been best-friends since we were 10 years old, she's the only person that could get away with it.


Our friend Atef wants to cook an authentic Tunisian meal for us. In order to do so, we need to find this vessel, a Tajine. The meal cooked in it is also called a Tajine. Where in the heck do we buy a Tajine?

Grey Poupon (Our Handbags)

OWWW, ow my head, Santa skipped the coal this year, and put the flu in my stocking, I guess. Brian and I were both complaining yesterday, of oncoming colds. I got up this morning to head to a brunch with friends, thinking I was feeling better. Brunch wore me OUT, baby, and though I tried to come home and tidy up the house, my body has delivered this message: "I don't think so; you're going down."

Well, I resist idleness, which is why I'm logged on here now, trying to think up something charmingly flu-like to talk about.

Speaking of Germs...This month's Glamour magazine [hey, a girl has to indulge in mindless fluff every now and again!] has a blurb about a specific germs.

It quotes a study that says we are walking around with fecal matter on the bottom of our handbags, because we place them on the floor in public restrooms. It suggests we use the hooks on the back of the door.

Well, every woman knows we're not supposed to secure them to the hooks on the door, as the second we get our pants around our ankles, someone is going to reach over the door, snatch that purse off the hook, and take off. The underpant-ankle cuffs are going to do nothing but hinder our hot pursuit for our fecal-free handbags.

Sigh. Peeing in public is just getting more and more complicated, isn't it? We've already been taught to NEVER sit down. Now we have to hover with 30-pound purses hanging around our necks.

My suggestion to you all, then, when making your 2006 resolutions, is to start incorporating this exercise into your daily workout.

Or, go before you leave home.

It don't get any better...

A magical day here. I woke relatively early, and began cooking, to take stuff to Mom's. Later in the morning, Brian and I shared bacon and OJ as we opened our gifts to each other. Brian had saved some money, and showered me with gifts, to my shock. My gift to him was a digital camera*; with high hopes that he'll send me pix of his "new life" later in the year.

Off to Mother's, then.

Christmas, in our family, is slightly untraditional, but always wonderful. We do not throw a formal ham and/or turkey Christmas dinner. Mom and Sis collaborate on a big pot of chili, and I'm in charge of a clam chowder that is guaranteed to knock your socks off and add two pounds to your already expanding holiday girth. We gather together around the beautiful fireplace my father built 30 years ago, cook hot dogs, brats, and polish sausages, and later, marshmallows.

Our kids know nothing else for Christmas day, and I am proud of the warm tradition, the chaos, the pushing and shoving and laughing 'round the flames each year, attempts to knock each others' foodies off their sticks.

Today was no different, a ridiculously wonderful day. Food followed by gifts a bandit would be jealous of. My brother-in-law's mother joined us, and we had a wonderful cozy day in my Mother's small house.

Home then, to make a few long-distance calls to friends and family.

All of this followed up by a quick summary of the state of the house: Disaster!

Sigh. Nothing to do then, but ignore it, open a bottle of champagne and watch "Elf."

*Now you know what was in the box (Dec. 22 blog)

Mi Vida Nueva

It is a Christmas Eve of a different sort.

Though I've time under my belt, "on my own," my paths as a single girl are still establishing themselves. I sit in a chair, curled up with my laptop. My son is crashed on the couch next to me. Our Crazy Tunisian friend, Atef, had joined us for the evening, along with the Gandhi-esque Ilaiy, (also crazy), from India. 2 more from The Coffee Clique, Momo and Woof, married, had actual family obligations, and so are not here tonight.

Thai coconut green-curry chicken is simmering on the stove, we're to stir fry some sesame green beans, and portobello mushrooms are marinading, waiting for their broiler doom. Meanwhile, we're socializing, napping, and blogging while we laugh over "Stripes," the DVD my son got for Christmas this morning, from his Dad. Neither one of them have ever seen "A Christmas Story," and I intend to give them a cultural education when the movie's over; 24 hours straight on TBS, baby!

We are incredibly comfortable, save missing Momo & Woof.

And I am contemplative, as I am most Christmas Eve's, about the State of My Life. You just never know where life will lead you, do you? One year ago, I had not met these now-fierce friends.

Any time I find myself sitting in the glow of a decorated tree, gifts and a napping cat underneath, and in the company of friends and family...

I can only be thankful, that I am so blessed.

WrapItUp

Ahhh, the gifts are all purchased and the fun begins: Wrapping.

How are you guys at gift wrapping? I suck at it: Paper and tape, and if it doesn't quite fit, swear a little bit, and tape in a patch. If I'm feeling really crafty, I'll slap a stick-on-bow on the top and call it good.

I have a secret weapon, though, for those gifts that I want to make Extra Special: Diane. My friend of 20+ years, who is afflicted with a sickness: She LOVES to wrap gifts. I know! Weird, isn't it?

Di is stocked up; a tape dispenser is a necessity, of course, and then she forklifts out a set of stackable boxes filled with ribbon, and something called toule, and raffia, and shiny stuff and stringy stuff, and wire and blow torches and anvils.

A Diane-wrapped gift is a Creation; when all is said and done, it looks like spun sugar under your tree. It is bee-YOO-ti-ful, and has only one setback: it's so anticlimactic to open a "Diane" and find a pair of black socks inside.

It will never do to have the wrapping look better than the gift, I tell her, so I let her wrap only the best gifts of the season.

Here's one of this year's highlights that now sits under my tree.

Bah, Humb....awwwwwwwwwww.

It's getting down to the wire, isn't it, folks? I am almost done with my Christmas shopping. Almost. A few more things to buy before Saturday, and, as of now approximately 20 spare minutes in which to buy them.

I went out tonight on a Mad Mission: Put an end to this shopping chaos. Finish it.

Oh God. The Mall. Parking frenzy and strollers on your heels. Might I make a few observations?

First complaint: Beeping! When did we become so stupid or lazy that "they" decided that either we, or every employee of every establishment, needs to be beeped at to be reminded to do our jobs? Beep! Someone's coming in! Scrreech! Paper is coming out of the register! Blip! Sign here! Boop! You are exiting the store! Whoop, whoop, whoop, we forgot to remove the security tag! ... Well no wonder; there's no siren on the security tag!

Next, what's the deal with all of the "hip" stores cranking the techno music to volumes in which you are forced to scream "NO THANK YOU! I'M JUST LOOKING. WHAT? NO, JUST ...NO, JUST LOOKING!! I'M JUST LOOKING! oh, forget it, I'm outta here."

Another complaint, since I'm on a roll: A store filled with clerks stocking and talking, and only 1 employee working at a counter with 3 registers. HELLO, McFLY! Is there no one here authorized to ring up the 15 people standing in this line?!

Ok. My last stop of the night: Barnes and Noble.

You know all of those cool bargain aisles at the front of the store? Tonight, they are selling children's books with little electronic PIANO's in them. Loud, screechy, grate-on-your nerves pianos. Not that much of a problem, except that someone, to my amazement, has dropped off their 2 TODDLERS to play piano books. I can hear them from everywhere in the store. I pace back and forth around those kids; there are NO parent-types to be found. I am stunned and worried about them, irritated at their stupid parents, and hissing to my friend "who in the HELL would just drop their kids like this?"

It is suggested by my too-honest friend, that my holiday spirit for the day may be waning a bit. I tell him to shut the hell up, because I am FULL of holiday cheer, and he'd better not forget it. Now where in the hell are those kids' parents? Are they abandoned orphans or WHAT? I have to hover around to make sure no one eats them before their parents return. They do, at long last, and I resume my shopping.

Then the Angel Gabriel appeared, and said, "Behold, I bring you fun shoppers with REAL holiday cheer, and you should go and ask them if they will pose for a photo for your blog."

I did, they did, and my Grinchy heart grew three sizes, and I ended the evening all giggly, with my faith in holiday spirit restored.

APB: Is This Yours?

A friend called me recently, asking to borrow my staple gun. "I don't have a staple gun," I told him. "Yes, you do, we stretched your canvases with it last spring."

*

Oh. Yes. We sure did. But oh, yes, I borrowed that staple gun from my boss, and I don't have it. I don't think. Let me check... Ohmigod, there it is, still in my toolbox! I borrowed that thing last April! I have to get this back!... Well, after I loan it out again, I will promptly return it!

So, I brought the thing back to my boss yesterday, saying "I am mortified that I have held on to your staple gun for 8 months. I am so sorry." And he said: "That's not my staple gun; mine is green." I'm pretty sure it's his though, so he takes me to the garage and proves it to me: Ta-DUH, THERE is his green staple gun, I can see it with my very eyes.

Now what? Is this MY staple gun? Did I go buy one when I needed it last spring? Was it just there in the toolbox that I got custody of after the divorce? Or did I borrow the damned thing from someone?!! The accompanying staples don't even look familiar, they have an old-timey sticker price tag on them!

Is this YOURS? If it is yours, give me a call, and I'll get it back to you, and, really, I apologize in advance for keeping it so long.

Thar she blows...

I'm not much into self-help books, although I have to admit, I've found a bit of solace in the self-help aisle of the local bookstores, by playing out this scenario:

I stand with a recommended title in my hands, spinning my wheels about coughing up hard-earned dough on a book I know I will never read anyway. I contemplate my "issue," realize that I know what the stupid answer to the stupid problem is anyway (stop spending, stop eating, stop fighting, just stop whatever it is!] and decide to buckle the fuck up without Dr. Phil or Tony Robinson. Put the book back, save $16, and feel better about myself already. What a load off!

One book I *do* like, however, is Jon Kabat Zinn's "Wherever You Go, There You Are." I'm not sure it would be considered self-help, or more of an instructional guide to Mindfulness Awareness and meditation. In a nutshell, what I take from the book, when I flip through it, is 2 things:

1. Live in the here and now. VERY difficult to do. We get so caught up in what happened earlier, and what we have to do later, that we miss out on NOW. We don't taste our food, listen to our friends and families, smell the roses, see the sunset.

2. Try not to place negative or positive judgments on things: "This is neither good or bad, it just is." (Or was it Yoda that said that?) This also requires some determination, but when I make an attempt at it, my road rage cuts down considerably: "That that moron just ran thru the 4-way stop is neither good or bad, it just is, and it's in the past now, because I'm through the intersection now..."

I generally can't (or don't) stay aware of this mindfulness stuff for more than a few weeks at a time, even though I feel noticably more grounded when I do.

I am, lately, restless.... There's normal holiday chaos, yes, but it's more than that; the past and the future are my constant companions, and Mindfulness Awareness is hard to come by.

I've mentioned, before, my son's plan to join the military. Final dates are not established yet, but it won't be long, before he flies the coop. These are big issues between us, I am contemplating worrying about him, and missing him.

His entire childhood is flashing before me, several times a day, as I shop, drive, do chores. I polish floors and smile at how my convincing him that his black dress shoes were "police-man shoes" backfired on me bigtime, and his 2-year-old hatred for them turned into an obsession to wear them even to bed. I laugh at the memory of his father startling him so badly with a dead bug he found in the car that he accidentally tossed his bagel out the window. On and on, the memories are flooding me lately.

Whatever his decision is, whether it worries bejeezus out of me or not; whether it's military, school, or a career...it's time for me let go.

And the future looms ahead. His. And mine.

And it's time for me to decide who I am going to be now. Though I'm sure you'll hear more from me, about his life, as it's relayed to me, I do not intend to BE "lonely, weeping mom," for heaven's sake. I need to keep things in proper perspective here.

This is just a big, BIG life change for me, kiddies. I married my first husband straight out of high school, and so went from my father's home to my husband's. We were married for 10 years, and Brian was 4 when we ended up on our own. He will be 20 in March.

I will be 43 in January, AND living alone for the first time in my life. No one to take care of but myself. No relationships in the works. No obligations to anyone or anything, save a mortgage payment and a few credit card bills.

CAN YOU IMAGINE?

These issues are the source of my restlessness. It is TIME in my life for me to be nothing but me, and just THINK of all the choices! Oh, I'm planning, baby; I am contemplating and stewing and making some hardcore decisions here.

Though some might just kick back and take a bit of a rest, that's simply not in my nature. I just told a friend the other night, "I can decide now, whether to do nothing, or to do something great, and I'd like to aim for something great."

So, let me get through these holidays. Bare with me while I weep a bit when the kid leaves. Smack some sense into me if I forget to stop it soon enough...and hang on to your hats, you'll be hearing from me in hopefully bigger and better ways.

Are we bored?

This was the pattern on my driveway this morning.
If he'd only put that much energy into cleaning his room...

I'm adorable!

This little guy greeted me from the hood of my car today, as I mucked out to the car, still in a computer-induced stupor. Quite cheering!

Christmas Fools Day

Last Christmas was our first in our new house. For the sake of the story, the house is laid out in a "studio" format; the kitchen, dining room, and primary living area are all one big room. It's a long room, but relatively narrow, so we chose a space-consuming tree, pictured. The tree is visible from anywhere in the main living space.

One evening, caught up in the holiday chaos, I found myself out of some ingredient or another. I told Brian that I had to run to the store, and would be right back.

When I returned, Brian and his friends were on their way out, but were dragging their feet some. After so much loitering and snickering, I asked them what in the heck was their deal?!! "Nothing, nothing," they laughed, headed out the door, with Brian telling me to call him later, if I wanted to.

??

My 18-year-old son telling me to call him? That's a switch. Pfft...I shook my head and went about my cooking.

It was a full 30 minutes before I figured out what the snickering was about, ended up sinking into a chair for a good long laugh, and, indeed, giving him a call.

Art Night

I mentioned, way back, that I join 2-to-4 kids once a week—when I'm not so busy that I keep guiltily begging off—to draw. Some weeks the lesson is structured, on perspective and shadow, for instance, but other weeks, it's "fun night."

Wednesday night, we made Christmas cards. Though I didn't use the cliche, I stressed to the kids to "think outside the box..." to come up with puns, use non-holiday items for clever ideas. A frog was drawn, with the words "Hoppy Holidays" scrawled across. A cartoon of a Santa stumbling down the chimney, "Happy Fall-i-days", and a lava lamp, "Feliz Lava-Dad".

Moms & Pops prefer I don't use their real names, but J***, Age 7, fixed up this card, inadvertently making it too large for the envelope. I told him he'd have to trim it down. He got right to it with the scissors, stuffed it into an envelope, and addressed it to me.

He sealed it, and handed it to me, insisting, "Open it!"

"Well...I just saw you make it, so I'll wait."

"No! Open it! Open it!"

Fine. I opened it, pulled it out, and admired the..uh...drawing that he insists was not blood, but merely "mouth-colored."

"OPEN it!!!" He insisted, still. Ok, something written inside?

I folded over the front page...

...and the thing fell apart in my hand, into 2 pieces.

I gave J*** a dry look, and he collapsed into incontrollable laughter, tears rolling down his cheeks.

He'd inadvertently cut off the fold-side of the card when he trimmed it to fit the envelope, cutting the card into 2. Instead of trashing it, he decided to play a *bit* of a practical joke...

Sigh....There was a day when a 7-year-old couldn't pull one over on me.

Blizzard de 08 December, 2005

Looks like a hurricane, doesn't it?

Outside Badri's house

My driveway, 2 hours after I shoveled it all clean.

Lori's Winter Fashion Advice: Wear What's Warm.
Mix & Match if Necessary.

A Few of My Favorite Things...

A favorite gift from the past, this bubbling
Christmas bulb nightlight, from Jennie Tonic.

I recently went to a birthday dinner for a coffee-shop acquaintance, with a lot of people I did not know, and one or two that I did. The Birthday Girl is a sweet but dynamic 28-year-old reflexologist, and she was good at keeping conversation going with her friends that didn't know one another. At one point she asked us to go around the table and tell the most bizarre gift we'd ever received.

First up was our friend Ilaiy, who received a bag of diapers at a white elephant Christmas exchange last year. Every young bachelor's dream gift!

I was next, and had no problem coming up with my answer: My friend Jennie Tonic sent me a Gargoyle made out of cow manure. I loved that Poo-Goyle, and dreaded putting it in the flowerbed, where it was meant to go, to eventually turn into...well, just poo. Looking back, I should have just kept it on the mantle, the only respectable place of honor for any manure sculpture.

The problem with spouting off the words "Manure" and "Poo" at a dinner table full of people you don't know is that...well...you just don't know them. Birthday girl and her boyfriend seemed amused, but crickets were chirping around the rest of the table.

I was amazed at what happened next: Nothing. Not another soul at the table (of 16) could think of any weird gift they'd ever had. "I'll pass." "Well, nothing weird, but my best gift ever was..."

Well, aren't people different one from another then!

C'MON, you have to have received something besides pajamas and socks and DVDs at least ONCE in your life!

I'm placing an APB, right NOW! Please send me your comments of any crazy gifts you've received in your life, good or bad. All of you! Anyone reading this, and I know you're out there, because you TELL me you read, but you never comment...

Sundays with Mama(s) Vol. 2

Mom and I hit the road this morning, for a 90-minute drive over the river and through the woods, to Grandma's house. A lovely day! She fed us BBQ sandwiches for lunch, and strawberry ice cream and a cookie for dessert.

We retired to the living room after lunch, to "set a spell" and listen to the tick-tock of a clock...I'll admit I nodded off, though not so deeply that I couldn't pretend I hadn't.

In an effort to shake myself out of cozy GrandmaHouse stupor, I pulled out some photo albums. Most I'd already seen, but I came across a delightful new book that my Aunt had put together, full of certificates and letters. Here are some of our historical highlights:

This is the total for my Grandmother's 10-day stay in the hospital when my mother was born, in 1942. The room cost $4 a night, and the medicine they gave her came to 85 cents. The itemized column included "fan" and "radio" but the total room charge was a "flat rate." I'm not sure how much you can read here, but the total was $55.85, and my Grandfather paid $40 of the bill before leaving the hospital.

This letter from my mother to her mother, was written in 1952. Her handwriting was pretty good for a 10-year-old, don't you think?



And look at this excerpt from a letter I wrote to my Grandma when I was 7 years old. What an ungrateful brat I was!



The photos were great, but creeping through the handwritten history of my Grandmothers, my Mothers, and even my own life was a most wonderful gift....along with sitting around and guessing which recipe we all hated.

We decided it was probably the tomato aspic.

One of those...weeks

This is the face you'll get if you ask me how my week went. Pretty, huh?

There seemed to be activity and chaos every waking moment. Any attempt at clever blogging resulted in comatose staring until bedtime, which should have been an hour ago anyway.

The lowlights: Another argument with my son, followed by both of our tearful sobbing about how much we'll miss one another when he leaves for bootcamp in January. Conflict, I can handle; heartache lingers. I am currently trying to mentally prepare myself for his leaving, and yet to live in the moment, enjoy the hell out of him, and this upcoming holiday, while I can. So here we are tonight, can you see how I'm going to miss him?!

Onward, then.

My work is seasonal, and season is heating up. Our customers are outsourcing to India, we are tightening our belts, and it is apparently stressing the H-E-double-toothpicks out of the guy that has to make payroll [aka, owner and my employer, for 18+ years]! He's irritated that people want time off around the holidays; they ask me, I ask him, and "BARKBARK bark bark bark!!!!"

The same guy also called me into his office and suggested I start dragging my ass into work a few minutes BEFORE the workday begins. Ok, I'll also give him that. I'll also give him space for justified irritablility, since I was still working off the heartache from the first lowlight, and my response probably came off as a bit insincere: "Yes. Fine. 7:55 instead of 8:05. You got it. Whatever. Sir, yes sir."

Evenings were filled with second, part-time job, and a freelance project.

Highlight! "Freelance project" is for mi clientes (y amigos) favoritos, Allen and (Nurse) Nancy, who own the Silvercreek and Courier Restaurants. Go in, pull a little typsetting and photoshop "magic" and you are rewarded with wine, champagne greens, salmon, smoked white cheddar macaroni and cheese, and something called lava cakes, all made by a real live chef, (Kelly). I'll blog about them sometime later.

Friday, finally Friday!! Friday, I did a favor for an old friend and ex-husband, Rick. Rick had to have out-patient surgery, and I agreed to provide transportation, under one condition: No vomiting in my car on the way home. He promised to try not to, which was good enough.

The surgery went well. The Post-op went well...until.

Until the sweet post-op nurse came in and cheerily took his vital signs. She pulled out her clipboard, and asked me, "he's doing quite well now, and you'll be the one spending the night with him tonight?"

Uh.

Uhhhhhhh.

Rick is bandaged, supine, still groggy from anesthesia, too nauseous to sit up, and [everyone sing along, now]: HERE she Isss...Miss Ameri-bitchhhhhh...

"Um... I really wasn't planning on spending the night with him."

"YOU HAVE TO! SOMEBODY has to!!! He MUST have constant care for 16 hours after this surgery!!!" The nurse insists that we had better settle this NOW. "You don't have to sleep with him! You can stay in a different room! He can stay at YOUR house!"

The "spend the night" pressure came from the nurse for more than 2 hours; she gave me a handset and told me to settle it! I'm not making it up, she actually took me aside, and said, "Look, all you have to do is SAY it, and I'll believe it; I just have to HEAR someone SAY it..."

Well, I didn't SAY it, but we did settled it. It was still stressful, uncomfortable, guilt-worthy...I picked Rick up to take him for his follow-up appointment this morning, all the while worrying that I'd find him dead in a pool of blood, and it would be all my fault, of course, for my hesitancy.

What're the odds? Slim I guess, yay for me; he wasn't dead at all, but dressed, upright, and relatively bouncy, considering the bandages. Yay for him too.

So, I'm wrapping up my week now. Tired, but having managed to accomplish a few things, and not have Rick's death on my hands, so all was well. Here are a few photos that I grabbed along the week, but couldn't think of a single thing to say about them, in the long run:

It was -2 degrees, yesterday morning, with wind factored in.

Look at all the birds.

Here's some snow on the Christmas Lights next door.

Here's Brian and me again, only this time he's giving me bunny ears.

Tomorrow, I am taking Mother to Grandma's---MY Grandma's!!!---So, isn't that a wonderful way to wrap up a hectic week!

Blogyalater.

[Please, no gratuituous negative comments about employers or ex-husbands. I don't want to get fired, and don't care for ex-bashing. Thankyouverymuchy!]