I’ve heard from a number of you that my site is taking FOREVER to load, and since I’ve long been contemplating moving over to Blogger instead of paying a monthly fee to have my own special address, I’ve decided to pack up my blogging bags and head over there now.
So, please buckle up, restore your seats and tray tables to their upright position, update your Google Reader and bookmarks, and get ready to land in a new URL:
www.wouldbewritersguild.blogspot.com
Thank you and enjoy your travel!
Saturday was the Maxter’s sixth birthday. Six. Why does six suddenly seem so much older than five? Maybe because it takes TWO hands to illustrate.
As we were out and about celebrating his birthday, we were trying to decide what to do next when Max announced, “It’s my birthday, so I’m the director, like a movie director. I get to choose. You will be the director on another day.”
Later in the afternoon, my brother James called to wish him a happy day. They shared a very friendly conversation before hanging up. I said, “That was nice of him to call and wish you a happy birthday, Max.”
Max said, “Yeah! That was really nice! Who was that anyway?”
I guess it’s time for a visit. No?
We found a grassy park to inhabit for a while. Ryan and I sipped smoothies while the boys played Star Wars and used The Force on each other.
Perhaps because of Max’s delayed speech issues in past years, it felt like we had an 18-month-old for about four years. Maybe that is why his growing up is taking me so much by surprise. He is not a baby anymore.
I mean, just look at that facial hair.
My mom wrote one of her favorite poems by A.A. Milne in his birthday card:
When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three,
I was hardly Me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six, I’m as clever as clever.
So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.
I think I’ll keep him six forever and ever, too.
Except that he’s likely to be a riot at seven…
Happy Mother’s Day this weekend to my mom, the woman who gave me life, cinnamon rolls, fajitas and rainbow birthday cakes.
She taught me to growl when I get angry and to leave the avocado pit in the guacamole to keep it from turning brown.
She gave me a joy of music (it’s always blasting at her house) and the freedom to pursue my interests and dreams.
She let me quit piano when I begged to and she was right when she said I would later regret it.
She sewed an entire outfit for me one Saturday morning before I went to a birthday party.
She dove head-first into a lake to save my little brother. (Okay, the water was only two feet deep and she could have broken her neck, but the act was heroic nonetheless.)
One time, when I told her I was running away to live in our backyard playhouse, she told me that she respected my decision.
During a doomed family vacation to Lake Powell, she beat a rat to death with a flip-flop.
She makes a beautiful sandwich.
She likes to buy plates.
She used to let me color her hair.
She taught me to take care of my skin.
She is detailed and meticulous.
She is the Franklin Covey poster child. One time I read in her open-faced dayplanner, “3:00 p.m.: Get grapes out of fridge.”
She is an amazing artist.
She has a beautiful singing voice.
She is a curious learner, a natural student.
She is always helping someone. Always.
She loves to laugh.
She doesn’t get duped by fake people and creeps.
She loves her grandkids.
She loves her kids.
She loves my dad.
She loves German Chocolate shakes from Iceberg.
She drives with her hands at 10 and 2 and wears cool sunglasses.
She makes me feel like I add as much to her life as she does to mine.
Here’s to my mom and here’s to you and yours! Happy Mother’s Day!
The other day Ryan and I got into a little tiff. (Hah! I love it when I get to use that phrase!)
Anyway, he started ranting about something; I offered my opinion of disagreement; he disagreed with my disagreement and continued ranting; I disagreed and began rolling my eyes; he interrupted me; I interrupted him; he assured me that if I quizzed 100 other people, they would agree with him; I accused him of having an unresolved issue from his childhood propelling what I viewed as an overreaction; he rolled his eyes and I walked away.
It was really stupid. We’d been having such a lovely day.
So, I sat at my computer and wrote an email:
Subject Line: I’m glad we still love each other…
Email text: …even when we think the other person is totally insane and irrational.
A few minutes later, I got a reply.
Subject Line: Re: I’m glad we still love each other…
Email text: even when the other person is totally insane and irrational.
Right. I’m glad he finally saw it my way.
Wait—
Why do birds suddenly appear every time we are near? A few days ago, Ryan noticed that a small congregation of birds is working on a nest above the door that leads to our backyard. It reminded me of another story I wrote in May 2006. I’m re-running it here for your pleasure, for my laziness, and because it still makes me laugh.
A few weeks ago, we noticed that a family of birds had started building a nest in the wreath on our front door. We thought it was kind of cute, but a bad location, especially given Christian’s cheerful but harsh version of shutting the door. Finally, we decided to relocate the wreath to the back porch, hoping the bird family would find it.
Yesterday, Ryan visited the back porch to heat up the barbeque for some steaks I bought for dinner. The nest in the wreath did seem to be a little bigger, but it was nothing compared to the GIANT BIRD CONDOMINIUM that was built inside of our barbeque with four little blue eggs inside. Luckily, Ryan opened the cover of the barbeque before lighting it up, having noticed a large twig sticking out the side vent. The story would have taken a tragic, messy turn had he not.
We’ve never really tried steak and eggs, but it didn’t seem like a good idea considering all the recent talk about the bird flu.
Ryan has decided that he will never be able to eat anything from that grill ever, ever, ever, again.
“They’ve been in there pooping and peeing and having SEX!”
I personally didn’t see any poop in there and I wasn’t aware that birds pee. I’m not entirely sure what constitutes birdie sex, though I can’t deny the fact that there are four little blue eggs in there. Apparently Ryan knows a lot more about the mating and gastro-intestinal habits of God’s winged creatures.
“We’ll clean it out, scrub the grill, and then let it cook on high heat with nothing in it. That will kill any germs that might be left over.” I said. I still remember what we paid for the grill at Sam’s Club a few years ago, and if I’m going to pay that much for a birdhouse, it had better have a swimming pool and granite countertops.
“Do whatever you want, but I am never going to eat anything from that ever again. They have been pooping and peeing and having sex!” he said, because apparently I hadn’t understood the horror of it all the first time.
“You’ve mentioned that.”
I decided not to mention all the times I’ve marinated fajitas in the toilet. The guy has got ISSUES.
On Saturday, Ryan and I attended our very first Bat Mitsvah ceremony and celebration.
Here we are at the party.
And here is the party. I mean, THE party.
And here is the blurry guest of honor in her amazing gown, our lovely neighbor Shoshanna.
We had so much fun. We ate. We danced. Let me say that again, we DANCED. (The only time I ever dance is alone in my kitchen.) And we hung out with our wonderful neighbors. There were silly hats, silly socks, glow sticks, and sparkly rings and necklaces—all the ingredients of a truly fantastic party.
Here are three of my neighbor friends, Anne, Kim, and Nancy (the mother of Shoshanna). Those of you who know and love me should love them too, because their warmth and friendship made moving here a bujillion times easier than it could have been. Nearly instantaneously I had these women as my friends. And besides that, they’re so good looking!
We enjoyed ourselves so much that I’ve decided to start befriending all the young Jewish kids I can find in order to be invited to all of their subsequent Bar and Bat Mitsvahs. These people know how to throw a party!
Besides, Nancy tells me that although we’re not Jewish, we’re a little Jew-ish.
Well, what can I say? Thanks for the all well-wishing and cheerleading and welcoming of I Am Writing a Book. She’s deliriously happy out here in the fresh air.
And the fact that we seem to have pre-sold at least ten copies of this book gives me goosebumps.
As my dad would say, “Oh, bless ya.”
Truly. Thank you.
Do you have big dreams?
I do.
I love them so. I treat them like tiny porcelain unicorns—too fragile for any display or handling. I keep them locked safely away and bring them out only when I’m alone. I hold them and cuddle them and imagine a distant day when they will come to life and make me truly happy.
Sometimes I want to show them to people, my loved ones and friends, but then I cowardly change the subject before it gets anywhere near my precious dreams. I tell myself that I’m protecting them. Why? Because my Big Dreams can’t handle being mistaken for Dumb Ideas. Or Crazy Talk. Or Useless Ventures. Or worse yet, Wastes of Time.
So I never mention them.
But the reality is this—it’s me who I’m protecting, not my dreams. And the only person who has ever called them Dumb Ideas, Crazy Talk, Useless Ventures and Wastes of Time is the one who claims to love them most—yours truly.
I’m like that wretched friend who builds you up for later sabotage.
Today I took out my favorite Big Dream and held its paper-thin frame up to my lips. I whispered my regular empty promise of, “Someday, someday,” and turned to put it back where it goes, deep in its cabinet, locked and bolted. It caught a ray of sunshine and I realized for the first time that what I had mistaken as porcelain was actually thick and heavy steel. And its face no longer resembled a patient Rapunzel, but an impatient and overdue pregnant mother ready to labor.
My Big Dream looked me in the eye and demanded its rights. No more dark corners, it said. No more anonymity. No more being fed only enough to barely stay alive. Time! it demanded. Nourishment! it shouted. A name! it screamed. And then it politely asked to meet my family and friends.
I had no choice but to nod and agree to the terms. Turns out, this Big Dream is a total bad ass that does not want to be messed with anymore.
And so, trembling, I would like to introduce you to my Big Dream. Her name is I Am Writing a Book.
I have a condition. I woke up yesterday and I had forgotten how to blog. I shrugged my shoulders and went about my day, figuring it was a 24-hour thing, but I got up today in the same situation. Oh my gosh, maybe I have the Swine Flu! Does anybody know if the Swine Flu symptoms include feeling absolutely fine but having a lack of ideas to blog about?
Oh geez, I hope not. I want to die of something much more romantic. And I want to be able to blog about it in great detail right up until the very end.
So what am I to do about this? Well, I thought I’d take an example from all the fine folks on Wall Street and make MY problem into YOUR problem. Basically, I’m asking for a bailout: give me something to blog about.
You can either send me 700 billion dollars to revive my inner blogger…
OR
You can ask me a question, any question, and I’ll answer in Real Time, meaning that this post will grow throughout the day with your questions and my answers as you ask and as I answer.
(There is only one rule, of course, and that is to keep it clean. If you don’t, I’ll send you fungus infected toenail clippings.)
I’m sorta hoping for the 700 billion, but I’m willing to try the other idea. Let’s see if we can’t get through this together!
From Keek: I have a question, where do you go to get decorating ideas? I am so in that mode to paint or decorate a room and you are so good at all of that. Where do you get your inspiration?
Oh dear. I feel a little inadequate to answer this question. I don’t have one source for ideas. I love browsing catalogs and magazines for design and decorating ideas, but I’m also a sucker for all those design shows that makeover a room or space.
As for my personal style, I think that it’s nice when a few colors are the stars of the show in a room, but I think that pulling in a bunch of other colors in accessories, pictures and art makes a huge difference. When I took an oil painting class I learned that the way painters create the look of flesh is not by using one flesh-colored paint, but by layering multiple colors—practically every color in the rainbow. The result is a look of depth and real liveliness. I think it’s the same in a room. The more color you can pull in, the more lively and complete the room looks. At least in my opinion.
And as for the nuts-and-bolts of how I tackle a room, it almost always begins with the paint. We pick something we think we will like and then we build from there. (I say “we” because Ryan and I begin these projects together. He has a great eye.)
From Mrs. Smith: Since I am preparing for finals, and you yourself have survived many finals, I am wondering if you have any advice on how to be sharp and ready come test time? I have heard that eating chocolate or drinking orange juice (not at the same time though- gross!) may help. Any other tips that may have worked for you? My test starts at 7:00 a.m. when I am usually still sweeping the dreamy cobwebs out of my brain.
Ooo, finals. The F word. The method that always worked best for me was flash cards. I could go through them multiple times, and begin weeding out the items that I had memorized, so that I was always reviewing the things that needed the most work. It also helped me to say things out loud and try those (what’s the word for this?) tricks to associate hard-to-remember answers with a stupid story that I was bound to remember. But I like your idea of chocolate and orange juice. Good luck! I know you’ll ace it!
From Soul-Fusion: Are you currently working on any non-work related writing outside this blog? Will you share it with us? When is your next trip to NYC? What funny things has Max said recently? How is your garden coming along? Do you have some nice before and after or just after photos? How is your tan? (You know from working by the lake.) What is Lucy up to? Is she over the trauma the dog-sitting days? Will you ask Christian what he thinks the Jazz need to do to turn into a contender in the post-season? Have you pre-purchased your swine flu anti-virus stuff and horded it yet? Apparently NYC has run out already, could I borrow some of yours if I end up with it? What are you eating for lunch? Oh, one more, when did you say you are coming to nyc for your next visit?
OK, ready for the answers?
No, not really.
Yes, maybe.
For sure, the end of May if not sooner.
Max is really fond of a new phrase these days, “I’m so serious. I’m not even kidding.”
The front yard looks better than the back yard. No “garden” to speak of yet, though I’m pining for those as-seen-on-TV upside down tomato plants. No photos yet, maybe soon.
The tan is coming along nicely, as long as I apply it correctly as directed on the bottle.
Lucy is back to full reign on the house and seems to be over the dog-sitting trauma. We met a spirited, one-eyed dachsund on our walk last night and stopped for a visit with the owner. Lucy cowered behind my legs with a look on her face as if to say, “If you offer to dogsit, I will poop on your pillow every day for a year.”
I will ask Christian what he thinks about this, though I suspect his answer will include getting rid of Kirilenko.
No vaccines here, only Red Bull.
I know this will shock you, but I had a burrito for lunch. Two, actually. Mmmm.
End of May, if not sooner!
From Angie: If someone comes through with the 700 billion, can I have just 30,000 of it? That would change my life. And, what will you do with all of that money?
Yes, of course you can have $30,000. Although, I’d better give you $1.6 million because that equals $30,000 after taxes. As for the rest of the money, I’m going to buy my parents a home in the south of France, buy everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance. (This is an idea I got from my new favorite song.) If there’s anything leftover, I will stock up on the Swine Flu vaccine and sell them for a ridiculous profit.
From Colie: What’s your favorite way to waste time on the computer while you should be working? Any tips for how to not get caught since I work in an office with 4 co-workers?
Well, my current favorite way to keep from important work is to start a blog post about how you will answer questions in real time—it’s amazingly effective. As for your co-workers, I recommend that you supply them with a box of donuts on a weekly basis. That way, even if they catch you wasting time reading my blog, they will refuse to snitch on you because that would mean an end to the free donuts. (Just another trick I learned during my time in the mob.)
From Andrea: If you could only listen to one album, read one book, watch one movie and eat one meal for the rest of your life what would you choose?
Mmm, good one. The album I guess has to be Billy Joel’s Cold Spring Harbor because it’s the first one that comes to mind. The book is going to be Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg because it’s the only one I choose to read again and again. My movie pick is Love Actually and my one-meal-forever meal is obviously going to be bean burritos because I am pretty much doing that already.
From MiaKatia: Do you trust/allow your husband to order for you at a restaurant? Vice versa (is that how it’s spelled)? What is up with having to teach our kids how to sleep through the night? We don’t teach them to be hungry… Am I ever going to sleep again?
Yes, he could probably order for me, although I’m not sure that has ever happened. Luckily, he is right here now, so I will ask him how he would go about it. He says, “I would order you something light with salad dressing on the side, no cheese. Something grilled.” And he would be right. I only order for him when we’re having sushi. I’m a good sushi orderer.
I don’t know about the teaching kids to sleep through the night. I have blocked that period of my life out. Lalalalalala…..finding a happy place…
And yes, you will sleep again. In about four years.
From Vanessa the Scientist: If a train left Cleavland at 8:55am and you impulse bought a gorgeous Anthropologie dress at 12:37pm, at what speed would the regret hit you and at what time would you return the dress? Not that this situation has happened to me recently. Oh, and how do you afford your rock and roll lifestyle?
Your hypothetical situation sounds troubling, indeed. Buyer’s remorse hits me within about 24 hours. In fact, I’m in a habit of leaving tags on things for at least that long, just in case I decide I was an idiot to have made the purchase in the first place. I bet your dress is gorgeous, although I would recommend steering clear of any railroad tracks whilst wearing it.
Now, as for our rock-and-roll lifestyle, it is funded directly through mob ties, and by mob ties, I mean student loans. Oh wait, we can’t get student loans anymore! Booooo! Student loans are the BEST!
From Rosie: Besides Red Bull, Midol, and Gogurts, what one item should every household have on hand in case the swine flu becomes a pandemic, and hole-ing up for a while is necessary?
Well, those are the three pillars of any survival kit, but I would also recommend adding duct tape, WD-40, and a few recorded episodes of MacGuyver to your stash.
From Angel C.: How do you start a blog?
You can start a blog for free at www.blogspot.com. Just spend a few minutes deciding on a name and then wave goodbye to your common sense, your ability to manage time, and several of your household chores.
Does anyone else in your family blog?
Yes, my sister Leslie (known here as Rosie) blogs here, my older brother John blogs here, my baby brother Jesse blogs here, my little brother James has a private blog, my mom and dad have been known to blog, as well as my niece and nephew.
How do you find time to blog and do all the wonderful things you do?
By “wonderful things” do you mean “vacuuming?” Because the answer is that I frequently do not find time for vacuuming.
Do you find blogging restful?
It can be, yes. As sad as it sounds, it is a significant part of my social life/network since I work from home all alone. And I’m completely OK with how dorky that sounds.
Is it OK to lurk on blogs?
Yes! But it’s fun to come out from the shadows sometimes too.
Can I recieve a free copy of a published work by you?
Yes, you can order a free copy of the catalog I write by clicking here! In fact, you can receive several volumes per year!
Do you really have such a wonderful and cute family or is this blog a fantasy blog?
Everything you see/read here is 100% legit until I can afford to hire Heidi Klum to stand in my place in our pictures. Then, it will just be MOSTLY legit.
Do you can from your garden yearly?
Haaaahahahahahahahaha! Oh wait, you were being serious? Sorry. Um, the answer is no.
Can you tell me why these questions are so important to me as we have never met? Also, do you know a good therapist who specializes in people who live vicariously through blogs?
I do know a great therapist. I’m married to him.
From Kami: When is the next video tutorial?
When I lose 15 pounds.
What are the dates of your Utah appearance? Will there be mexican cuisine involved?
We will be coming to visit in July (sometime around the 24th), and yes, I would love to eat and gab with all y’all at Cafe Rio sometime while I’m there. Do you want to come?
Is your neighborhood really as beautiful as that post about taking a walk, or was that someone eles neighborhood? Be honest.
Cross my heart and hope to die (of something other than Swine Flu), this is my neighborhood:
And my favorite thing about it are all of these amazing structures they have out here in the east—tall and leafy and beautiful. They call them trees. I ain’t never heard of such a thing out west.
You should come and see for yourself; they’re breathtaking!
OK, lines are closed. Thanks so much for playing! I’m feeling bloggy already.
I’m back and fully refreshed! I enjoyed laying low last week, getting work done and hanging out with Max while we sent Ryan and Christian to Utah for the weekend. (Ryan had meetings and–ahem–maybe some playoff tickets too.)
My weekend at home was enriched by multiple fast-food runs and a rare but welcome heat wave. Today is the third day in a row of 90-degree temperatures. Mmmmm. Ryan and I are going to take our laptops and go work today by the lake.
Speaking of today, it was a good day to come back home to the bloggerhood because I wrote a little ditty that’s being featured on one of my new favorite must-read sites, Wunderbug. Wunderbug’s author, Courtney, is heading up a great project she calls What’s Your Story? wherein anyone can write a short essay about the real side of life—what makes you who you are and maybe what you’ve learned along the way. It’s a great project and you should toss aside any inhibitions and send her an email to participate because, like Courtney says, “everyone has a story.” I’d love to read yours.
Read about the project here.
And read my featured essay here.
Have a wonderful Monday. I’ll be back tomorrow, hopefully with a tan!
