Old Anxieties

End of 2010 soundtrack:



Is it really almost 2011? I know New Year’s Eve is considered a big deal by many, but I don’t think I've ever really considered it worthy, well, other than that whole champagne drinking prerequisite! But, hey, maybe those one million people in Times Square know something that I don’t know.

True confession: I recently admitted to a friend that I’d like to be in Times Square one New Year’s Eve. Ebullient, crazy, wacky, but, oh, so Jean! Please sign up to go with me next year in my comment form.

I really don’t remember where I was and what I was doing on New Year's Eve for the last ten years. Funny, but it makes sense; I’m not saying that you have to be at a fancy restaurant, sipping Veuve, and munching on saltines covered in caviar. (Actually, saltines and caviar are probably a major food faux pas, kinda like pickles and peanut butter, well, unless you’re knocked up.) Anyway, I do remember where I was New Year's Eve of 1999.

I was at the White House. Okay, you got me; that’s a lie. I was at a Blue House; actually, I’m not sure if it was blue then or if it's even blue now! I was at Suze’s house; funny, but it makes sense. ♥

Suze invited me to seek safe haven with her family while we all waited for the year 2000 to wreak havoc on the world. I admit it; I took a few hundred dollars out of my checking account on the way to her house. I worked in the software engineering industry; mistakes were made…a lot!

This year, I find myself making a resolution. I guess I’ve made them before, but most of them have been unexciting and rather pedestrian like “Work out more,” “Buy fewer pairs of shoes,” and “Stop thinking that even a cat with a collar and ID tag is a stray.” This year, I resolve to be Chinese!

If you don’t understand my desire to be Chinese, then please reread the “Ebullient, crazy, wacky” sentence above. I am Polish, English, and German, though given my love of the North End in Boston and Sambuca, I think that there is an Italian milkman somewhere in my lineage. The Chinese zodiac represents 12 different personalities; I’m finally interjecting me into 2011. Yes, 2011 is the Year of Jean.

You know that it really isn’t; however, in my world, it is. It sounds selfish, but sometimes you have to be selfish. It’s not really about being selfish, it’s really about, as a friend said recently, feeling that you’re “worthy.”

2011 is the year of the rabbit. What does that mean to me? Um, Iz wants a rabbit!

I am a tiger. Tigers are “Unpredictable, rebellious, colorful, powerful, passionate, daring, impulsive, vigorous, stimulating, sincere, affectionate, humanitarian, generous. Can be restless, reckless, impatient, quick-tempered, obstinate, selfish, aggressive, and moody.” Hmmm, for me, that gives new meaning to one of my favorite phrases, “Lions, tigers, and bears, oh my!”

Err, let’s forget all that and remember, most importantly, that Tigers make great race car drivers. Why is that important? It’s only important, because I don't want to discuss my needs-improvement qualities right now. Let's dwell on the fact that I will know how to drive that great vintage 80s Alfa Romeo Spider 5-speed convertible if I ever get one!

In all seriousness, this is my year, I hope. I was reading Facebook posts today when I came across someone’s resolution, and I thought it defined the Year of Jean and echoed the best advice that Suze ever gave me, which was "Always go with your gut." Anyway, this woman wrote, “The best resolution I've ever had was to follow my intuition for a year and see what happened. It was a very good year. I recommend it!”

I will take that recommendation. I will move on. But, before I go, I wish you a new year full of my favorite things…

Flowers whenever you need them most to cheer you up…



A partner in (creative) crime…



A dog that does not bark…bad dog...cute dog...nice dog...shhhh, dog!



Warm furry creatures that purr (basket sold separately)…



Something blue in a shoe that makes you pink when you think you stink…



The knowledge, which is most important, no, more like a life skill, that everything and everyone looks better in pearls…



And…



And…



And…



And even me…



Candlelight and someone to share it with while The Platters play in the background…



Something old and somewhere to wear it…



A reflection of you when you don’t have a mirror…



Friends...just mentioning those who happen to be tacky... ♥



...when I'm not mentioning those who tell you that you are worthy, those who make you go biking at 7am in Austin, TX, those who drink champagne at lunch with you nicknamed "Nan," and those who are named LisaN, LisaS, Anne, Liz, Tunabreath, Kim, Bethie Seredipity, Cathy, Marcia, and Laura.

Someone who shares your taste in music, especially when some of your son’s music makes your ears bleed…



The ability to see things from a different perspective…



A wonderful man in your life whether he be your boyfriend, your husband, your Dad, your son, your best friend, or the guy who fixes your car whose prices are totally reasonable…



And, finally, unconditional love…



Happy New Year, everyone. ♥

Act Randomly Kind Always

Every now and then, everyone gets into a slump. I think I hit one yesterday. After four episodes of C.S.I. today (and, I was folding laundry while watching half of them in my defense!), I decided it was time to get out of the house and seek spiritually higher ground.

When the tough slump, the tough get a pedicure and manicure. After getting two coats of Bastille My Heart on my toes with lovely designs on my big toes and a manicure, I felt somewhat better. Something was still missing.

When the tough slump and can’t be revived by a manicure and a pedicure, the tough make their favorite comfort food. This food happens to be my chicken-green bean stir fry. This dish is so great it would have even made Napoleon feel six inches taller!

I traveled to the local grocery store to shop for my comfort feast. After I gathered my chicken breasts, onions, chocolate muffins (for Iz), two bags of Xmas M&Ms (for Nathan, and they were half price being related to Christmas Past!), and garlic, I got in line to check out. While waiting in line, the woman in line behind me moved to the line to left, and gave me this odd smile. Thinking I had done something wrong, I wondered if it was the “You cut in line in front of me, Bitch, so I’m going to go to the shorter line!” smile.

Being in a slump and paranoid, I thought, “No. I got into this line when there was no one around.” Once again, she turned back at me and smiled. I finally mouthed to her, “What?”

She moved toward the candy display in her aisle and then said, “This is the better line.” I said, “Okay.” She said, “Do you want to come over? You were in line before me.” Totally oblivious to time and place, I said out loud, “Oh. No, thank you. You go ahead. I’m in no hurry to get home.”

She said, “Okay,” and smiled. The man in line in front of me laughed and questioned, "Avoiding going home?" I quickly said, "Err, yes, school vacation and all that, you know." He laughed again.

While standing there, I remembered that I forgot the green beans. There was a young woman behind me with her two little daughters. I said, "You go ahead. I forgot something." I squeezed around her with my basket, got my green beans, and then I came back to the same line behind the young woman who I had let pass me.

As I stood there, the cashier said to the young woman, "$90.78." The young woman ran a card through the credit card machine. I noticed that it wasn't a credit card; it was a blue card with the seal of Massachusetts on it. I then knew it must have been some state-assisted food card.

The cashier looked questioningly at the woman who was bagging the young woman’s groceries, tilted her screen so she could see it, and the woman bagging the groceries said, “It’ll tell you how much is left on her card.” Twenty seconds later, the cashier said, "There's $9.80 left on your card." The young woman asked, "What? I thought there was more. Uh, I don’t have any more money. I'll have to put it all back."

She looked very embarrassed. The cashier asked the woman who was bagging, “Can I void this?” The woman bagging asked, “Was it just food? If so, you can do that.”

Her kids looked restless. It looked like she had done her week's shopping. In an instant, my credit card was out, and I said, "I’m paying for it." The cashier asked, "Are you sure?”

I said, “Yes.” The young woman thanked me. I ran my card through the machine, signed my name, and the cashier handed me the receipt. I then stuffed it into the bag of the young woman’s cart and said, “Here, in case you need to return anything.”

She left with her daughters. The cashier started to ring my comfort food. She said, “"Wow. That was really the Christmas spirit."

I didn’t say anything. After she scanned three items, she said, “If I could give you a discount, I would!” I smiled.

I ran my card through the credit card machine again, signed my name, and she handed me my receipt. She said, “That was really nice of you.” I said, “I’m fortunate. I really am.” When I left, the woman bagging said, “Have a really nice night.” I thanked her and left.

Out in the parking lot, I saw the young woman loading her groceries into her car. I avoided her. While I knew she appreciated what I had done, I knew that it was in our best emotional interests to pretend it all never happened.

Tonight, the woman in line behind me tried to give me a better spot in line; that was kind. I gave the young woman my spot in line; that was just me forgetting the green beans. Paying for the young woman’s groceries made me say out loud how fortunate I was, even if I was miserable every now and then.

I helped a young woman. Today, I think she helped me more. She made me realize how fortunate I was, even if some days, I felt totally unfortunate, especially in matters of the heart. ♥

End blog soundtrack:

Blue Moon

We were pummeled by a blizzard today. I love the snow most of the time. Today, there was so much snow outside that it made me claustrosnowbaphobic (the fear of having too much snow in your small yard) when I went outside; oh, of course, I made that up, and when you quote Dr Jean in regard to that malady, please give me credit.

For some reason, it seemed like it had been a while since I had gotten out of the house; actually, it was really only Christmas Day when I spent almost the entire afternoon and evening away with Iz and Suze’s lovely family. Of course, I really didn’t want to get away from my home or my kids. I wanted to get away from a ghost in my house, the Ghost of a Relationship Past Which Was Still Unfortunately Present.

Anyway, today, after coming home from the gym and showering, I decided I needed to get out, especially to get over my claustrosnowbaphobia. Due to the snow storm and it being Monday, there weren’t too many places it would be easy to travel to nor would the local pub be open. So, when the going gets tough, the tough go for a pedicure.

I grabbed my gift certificate, said, “I’ll be back later,” and I headed out onto the frozen tundra. By the way, I loved the word “tundra.” I recently admitted to a friend, like I was admitting to an addiction, that I loved saying the word “tundra.”

Tangent blog…

I told my friend that I first heard the word in the my sixth grade class which was taught by Mrs. Alley. (Laura is the only person who will understand this for this is where this Lovely and I first met.) For Social Studies, we watched a series of films about Eskimos. The films were all about the Eskimo's lives in which the “tundra” and “caribou” featured predominantly.

I love words obviously, but I love saying some particular words, too, like “tundra” and “caribou.” I guess I have a mild word fetish. Before my Dad died, I remember sitting by his bed and the discussion of words came up; I confessed that I always loved saying “apropos.” My Dad said, “Oh, yeah, that’s a good one!"

In addition to “apropos,” “tundra,” and “caribou,” I also liked to say “femtocell,” “stiletto,” and “kiosk.” These words were even sexier when you said them pretending to be a Polish Supermodel. Imagine how much I could potentially amuse myself by saying this sentence: “It was apropos that I tripped in my stilettos and banged into a kiosk that sold DVDs depicting where the buffalo roam while the caribou on the tundra dreamed of femtocells!

Back to our somewhat regularly posted blog…

I drove down my street which was not too snowy. When I attempted to come to a complete stop, or at least tried to, my brakes said “Yes,” but the snow said, “No, we’d like you to slide through the intersection. Fortunately, it was not a busy intersection given the snow won.

I drove downtown and took a right turn onto Main Street. Usually, it takes me five minutes and a Random Act of Kindness from some motorist to make a right turn onto Main Street at 4:30 on a Monday. Today, it took me less than thirty seconds.

As I approached the nail salon, I noticed that not all the neon signs were lit. Upon driving by, I then noticed that the most important sign, “Open,” was not lit. I sighed, drove past, and then I thought sadly, “I do not want to go home.”

I knew I could drive around for a while, though given the snow, it was probably not a wise idea. I could call Suze and ask her if I could stop by; I’m sure she would have said it was okay. But just then, I knew a friend would be working at the local beer and wine store, so I drove there.

I had every intention of just stopping in and only buying a bottle of wine; however, once I saw my friend, I blurted out, “Um, can I stay here with you for a while?” He said, “Sure!”

After we caught up for a bit, I saw a stool that I really wanted to sit on for a while. On it, there was a cardboard box with two six-packs of Budweiser in it. I picked up the box, sat down, and put the box on my lap.

I knew I really didn’t belong there, but I felt that in the moment, I didn’t want to leave there. Like the cell phone towers that pathetically pretend to be trees, I was sitting on a stool pathetically pretending to be a case of Budweiser. My friend and I chatted in between customers.

Does anyone know why someone would come in and buy just one beer? Did you know that Budweiser is still the most popular beer sold? And, do you how expensive cigarettes are? Seventy-five cents in 1979; seven dollars and seventy-seven cents in 2010!

As I sat there, I looked up at the Blue Moon neon sign. It looked quite lovely beaming over the beer refrigerator. I learned a lot tonight about beer, though it was not information I needed to know. The only thing I needed to know was that when I was blue, there was always a moon and a friend that would shine over me. ♥

Remembering You at Christmas

I haven’t sent out Christmas cards in a while. It’s not that I don’t like to do it. It’s that the responsibility for it always fell on me, and I rebelled against that responsibility a few years ago.

This year I had every intention of taking a picture of Iz and Nathan for our Christmas card. The thing was that I could never seem to get the two of them together. When Iz was here, Nathan wasn’t. When Nathan was finally here, Iz was asleep. I was a greeting card failure where I had previously just been a greeting card Scrooge.

Just then I regrouped. I could still take a picture of Nate and Iz. I would just sent out New Year’s cards instead of Christmas cards. Way to be creative on top of being creative, Jean!

Anyway, yesterday morning, I looked at the stack of unopened Christmas cards on the table. Yes, if I didn’t open them, they would not get opened; apparently, Christmas cards must be a "fuss" to open. Trying to avoid vacuuming for another 10 minutes, I sat down and started opening each one.

I noticed a very familiar name and address in the corner of one envelope. It was from my next-door-neighbor, Susan. Susan lost her mother, her only remaining parent, in June.

Susan had never sent me a Christmas card before, so I opened it with anticipation. The picture on it showed one girl pulling another girl on a sled. It was quite lovely and a bit art imitates life in other ways.

I opened the card. Its greeting said quite simply yet quite beautifully, “Remembering you at Christmas.” I closed the card and looked back at the picture again. Understanding Susan’s loss all too well, I looked at the picture thinking how I tried to help pull Susan along through her grief and sorrow.

I opened the card again. At the top of the card was a handwritten note. It said, “Thank you for helping me through the passing of my mother. I still have a long way to go (as this time of year keeps proving), but it helps to know you are there.”

This was the first Christmas where it felt like even if I received no presents, I would still be happy. Like Susan, Christmas reminded me of loss; however, spending time with Iz, Nathan, Suze, Cathy, Melissa, Brenda reminded me that I had some very wonderful people in my life. I was not alone, and these relationships far outweighed shoes, lipstick, or a Barack Obama chia pet head.

Though Susan and I didn’t see each other a lot, we seemed to see and be with each other when it was needed the most. I had gone with her to put her cat, Pumpkin, to sleep. More recently, I had been there when she lost her Mom.

As I previously stated, if it wasn’t already obvious according to statistics, the holidays can be a difficult time, especially if you’re missing family. I read Susan’s note again. Immediately, a thought came to mind; it was “flowers!”

I went off to do my last-minute errands, knowing I’d stop at the florist last. While out, I tried to find an angel ornament for Susan’s tree. Just so you know, no one seems to make a decent angel ornament; well, at least, no one at the mall does!

A bit disappointed, I left the mall with everything I needed except something special for Susan. I stopped at my favorite florist, and I picked up a dozen white and red roses. I guess some might think me extravagant for going to such an effort, but having known how it felt to be Susan this Christmas, I needed to pull her through the snow on that sled again.

When I got home, I saw that Susan wasn’t home. Later I tried to call, but the line was busy. Concerned I might miss her if she was not spending the evening at home, I decided to walk over and knock on her door.

I picked up my flowers, sniffed them, and put them down by the front door. I caught a glimpse of my tree in the living room, and I decided to go in and sniff it, too. Was it just me or was Christmas a major “scratch and sniff” holiday?

I looked at the ornament that my Mom had given me before she died. The mother cat, holding her baby cat, looked so at home nestled in the branches as she had been for the last 18 years. I touched her, and we both smiled at each other.

I ran upstairs to do something quick. I ran back downstairs, picked up the flowers, and told Nathan I’d be home in a few minutes. He grunted, “Okay.”

Susan’s front door is about 50 yards from mine. Within a minute, I knocked on her door. It appeared that she was at home; however, she didn’t answer the door.

I knocked again. The door opened, and she was holding the phone to her ear. She saw the flowers, smiled, and said to the caller, “Hey, can I call you back in a few minutes?” She got off the phone, and I handed her the flowers.

She thanked me and said, “Come in,” and I followed her into her living room. She then looked down at my feet, laughed, and asked, “You came over her barefoot?!”

I’ve lived in New England all my life. It was cold outside, but it wasn’t really that cold. Okay, it was cold; however, I think the two glasses of present-wrapping wine helped acclimate me to my frigid climate.

I asked her how she was doing. She told me that it was tough and that many people around her didn’t understand how tough. I said, “Try to surround yourself with the people who understand when you're feeling sad. There are many who do.”

I then said, “I have something else for you.” I pulled out a present wrapped in pink tissue paper, and I then told Susan a very short story. She opened it, saw the mother kitty holding the baby kitty, and I said, “Remember, Susan. A mother’s love is forever.”

She said, “I can’t take this.” I said, “Please do. My Mom’s been gone for 18 years, and I still miss her. But, this Christmas, I think you need this on your tree more than I do. I’m pretty sure my mother would have felt that way, too.”

She went over to her little tree. She asked, “Are you sure?” I said, “Yes. Hang it up.”

She did. Then I told her I should go, as I still had another glass of wine’s worth of presents to wrap. We hugged each other through damp eyes.

When I got home, I glanced into my living room. My tree still looked beautiful. I would always be missing something, but surely it wouldn’t be anything on my tree.

I wanted to avoid present wrapping for another 10 minutes, so I turned on the TV. As usual, when the TV came on, I could tell that Iz was the last person viewing. Handy Manny greeted me.

Within in ten seconds of sitting down on the couch, Handy Manny said, “Helping our friends and neighbors is what Christmas is all about." It seemed that this Christmas the greatest gift I could give was one of love. I'm now going to type something I never thought I would; right on, Handy Manny! ♥

Merry Christmas, everyone! ♥

Serendipitous Christmas

It’s funny as how you get older things change. There are the negative changes like the wrinkles, the sagging flesh, and the need for Metamucil; I’d like to say that I think that only the wrinkle part applies to me right now. Then there are the positive changes in which you see life far differently than you did when you were 18, 28, or even 38; the beauty of getting old is indeed getting wiser.

A few months ago, I met a woman online named Beth. I didn’t meet her on eHarmony, even though it sounds like I did! I met her on Facebook; I gave her tickets to a show by one of my favorite artists, James Maddock.

I bought tickets to a show last May. As it turns out, it was the same night as Nathan’s prom; thus, I wrote to James and asked if he knew someone who might like them. He told me to post a note on his Facebook page.

I posted a note and offered the tickets to the first person who e-mailed me. Beth responded. I sent her e-mail, told her I had to transfer the tickets to her name, and I’d let her know when I got it all worked out.

After I got off the phone with the ticket agency, I e-mailed her. I know you can’t usually tell a lot about a person from an e-mail, but she seemed very lovely. She had never seen James perform before; being a James-aholic, I was excited that she was excited and that my tickets would not go to waste.

I felt pleased that I was able to make someone happy. I liked spreading the music love around when I wasn’t spreading the Hello Kitty love around. I sat at my desk, logged on to Facebook, went to Beth’s profile, and clicked the “Add as Friend” button.

I really had no idea who Beth was, but I already liked the idea of her. She accepted my friend request. Over the next few months, I knew my instincts were right; she was lovely, intelligent, funny, creative, and she loved James Maddock.

Over the years, I had met many lovely people on the Internet. There was Chris, Tom, Tommie, Lisa, and now Beth. Of course, Beth lived the closest in New Jersey, so I thought that some day, there might be a possibility of meeting her.

We shared bits and pieces about our lives. At one point, I gave her my cell phone number if she ever wanted to chat. I wasn’t sure if and when we would meet; ironically, our friendship seemed as serendipitous as the fact that James Maddock’s band, Wood, had a song, Never a Day, on the soundtrack of the movie, Serendipity.

Last Friday night, I was in New York City to see James perform. As I sat there, a tad lonely on my bar stool, I startled. My phone had just vibrated the stuffing out of me.

I pulled the phone out of my purse. I saw I had a text message. I opened the message and saw it was from a number that I didn’t recognize.

The message said, “Hey pretty lady! I hope tonight is your night. Great music, vintage garb, open heart.” The rest of the message described a man in the audience. I texted back asking who the caller was. Another text message appeared saying, “It’s Beth! I tapped into our phone number exchange!”

I laughed out loud. She then told me that the man was James’ manager and she used to work with him. I looked around, found him, took a picture of him with me, and then I sent it to Beth.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel so lonely sitting there on my stool. Beth was with me albeit while she was at a family party in New Jersey. I loved the fact that someone I had never met could be right there with me, making me feel like a lovely lady instead of a lonely lady.

When I realized that Beth’s birthday was on Christmas, I knew that I could not go without sending her something. So, I wrote her and asked for her address, promising that I wouldn’t stalk her, well, I’d only stalk her with James Maddock tickets. I made her pinky swear via text message on Friday night that she’d meet me at a show next year.

So, when I went to the mall last weekend, I shopped for All Things Beth or so I thought. Buying presents for Iz was always fun; however, buying presents for a friend you never met was even more fun. While getting Beth's package ready to mail on Monday morning, I had a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Future.

I was standing by the bed wrapping, tying bows, and writing a silly little message for each present. He stood there by the end of the bed, stroked Liam, my cat, once or twice, and merely said, “Serendipity,” and then left. He was right, and I felt it in that moment.

I didn’t start out this month in the best of moods. In fact, when I looked in the mirror on December 1st, I saw Ms. Scrooge. I was in complete “bah humbug” mode.

After my trip to the mall with Suze, Cathy, and Melissa, I became “humbug.” After decorating the tree with Iz and going to Boston with Brenda, I became “bug.” After wrapping up Beth’s presents and mailing them, I was all about “serendipity.”

I hadn’t celebrated a traditional “family” Christmas in a long time. When I thought about it, every time I turned around this month, I was celebrating Christmas in new and different ways. At 48, I realized that Christmas wasn’t all about a day, and my future Christmases would never be anything but untraditional.

Someone said to me recently that “life has a funny way of making things work out eventually.” I think that’s true. I was lucky to have always found fortunate discoveries while looking for something totally unrelated.

Earlier in the week, Suze invited me and Iz to attend her family’s celebration. Today, I told her that we’d love to come; she said “Oh, that’s so cool,” and then mentioned in a P.S. that her husband had threatened to kidnap me for the day if I didn't come. Life is good, especially when someone wants to kidnap you on a holiday.

And, today, right before my eyes, there was another fortunate discovery; Christmas with friends who are like family. In some ways, I longed to be at home with my “family,” though at home, there would be no “fuss.” While there were many dips in the road, I was so very fortunate to always be traveling down a road named Serendipity. ♥

Marzipan!

Since ‘tis the season, I’ve been on numerous shopping expeditions. It all started with Cathy, Melissa, and Suze at the Natick Mall. The initial effort ended up being a dual shopping trip, which went something like shop for me, shop for me, and then shop for Iz when it wasn’t shop for Nathan, shop for me, and then shop for me!

Last weekend, I knew I had to get serious and stop shopping for myself or Santa would be coming in the slider door with a handful of IOUs on Christmas Eve. So, I made my list, checked it twice, and then mentally prepared myself to park very far away from the mall and walk 5 miles to get there.

Actually, it wasn’t too bad. Four hours later, I left the mall armed with a ferret calendar, clothes, gift cards, toys, and a set of Hello Kitty gel pens. Okay, okay, okay, the gel pens were for me, but, that was it!

Yesterday, I ventured into Boston with Brenda for yet another shopping expedition. Actually, it hadn’t started out as a shopping expedition; it was supposed to be a wild and crazy trip to Nantucket. After further thoughts of winter, cold, and logistics, it was deemed a “Wild and Crazy Thing To Do Next Year.”

We regrouped and then thought local instead of loco. One of us said, “Hey, let’s go to Boston!” When all was said and sanely planned, we agreed on a day, which was yesterday.

Our plan was to visit Boston; however, we had many sub-plans for the day. We could eat in the North End, go to the MFA, shop, or go to Macy’s and have our picture taken in Santa’s lap. By the way, the latter idea was so totally Brenda’s idea.

As plans sometimes go, you plan too much. When I met Brenda, we had to sort through the sub-plans in order to spend one day in Boston and not five. As we headed to the subway in Cambridge, we decided that it was museum and food initially.

Last week, both Brenda and I discussed feeling a little melancholy this holiday. We shared some fond family traditions; for one reason or another, these traditions were not possible this holiday. One strong feeling we both shared was a love for Christmas, especially around ornaments and decorating the tree.

Brenda and I were already the best of friends. Sometimes though, the best of friends share much more than just the good times. They silently share difficult times while on a journey to Boston for good adventures unknown.

When we arrived at the museum, my stomach growled loudly. We decided that lunch trumped the new wing of the MFA, so we decided to eat lunch in the museum first. Once we figured out how to enter the museum, which had changed drastically since I had last been there, we purchase out tickets and grabbed a map.

We located a restaurant on the map and headed in the direction we thought it was in. Post-it Note to Large Museums Everywhere: You should really add a museum-specific GPS to those audio players you give out. Brenda and I went upstairs, turned left, turned right, and we were no closer to a restaurant though we had just seen most of the museum’s 18th century etchings.

We headed back downstairs, took a right, took a left, took another left, and ended up in a huge courtyard at the New American café. Knowing that our money was better spent on Xmas presents and that no hamburger was worth $22, we decided to depart from the café deemed $$ and find our way to a $ café. We took a left, took a right, took a left, and ended up where we first entered; when in direction doubt, ask the security guard.

After a few minutes, we ended up at the café in the basement. We again said “No” to the $18 piece of chicken and opted for the $8 bowl of clam chowder. Later, we decided later that it might be more appropriate and fiscally responsible to grab a cup of tea, a cappuccino, and two pieces of $10 chocolate cake. Life’s uncertain; eat dessert always even if it is expensive!

Clam chowder consumed and energized, Brenda asked, “Where do you want to go?” I said, being the fashionista that I am, “Let’s go to the Avedon exhibit!” Brenda, knowing me and getting me, said, “Okay.”

After two hours, we had explored the new wing. We “oooed,” and we “aaah.” We recalled memories that particular paintings evoked from our childhood, our teen-dom, and from our adulthood.

At 2pm, Brenda asked, “So, where do we go from here?” I asked, “Shopping?” She agreed.

We left the museum. The wind was whipping and the snow was pounding us in the face. We got on the subway with the destination, Copley, which was also known as “shopping.”

We both hadn’t been to this particular mall in years. We entered in the “If you can’t afford, don’t go into the store” level. Despite feeling out of our element, we traveled along, and when we got to the waterfall where water wasn’t falling, there was a violinist playing.

Brenda had already told me that she and her husband, Steve, had roamed this mall long ago. When they did, they stopped at this waterfall. As we stood there, a violinist played, and Brenda said, “Oh, my God. I have to call Steve. This song was played at our wedding.”

We sat down on a bench. Brenda called Steve. And she had him listen to the song while the violinist played it.

She apologized. I said, “No, don’t.” I was witnessing a piece of relationship history that I never had or knew, and that I would always envy in the Brenda-and-Steve, Skip-and-Suze, and Cathy-and-Phil relationships.

When the song finished, we got up and traveled along the mall. Shortly thereafter, we got lost somewhere along Copley Place. And, then we totally lost ourselves in the Prudential Center mall.

We knew we were lost. It didn’t matter. We were lost together.

At one point, Brenda told me about a recent gathering of her friends. She said they met at a stop in Medford; she said, “It was W---- something.” She couldn’t remember the name of the stop.

I said that I had a boyfriend in Chelsea in the early 80s. I then recalled, “I know that stop. It’s W---- something.” I couldn’t remember it either.

As we lost our way among the stores, we found our way. At one point, I saw something somewhere and said, “That reminds me of that Italian pastry.” I turned to Brenda and asked, “What’s that Italian pastry called again?” She said, “Um.”

I was trying to think of it. She was too. Then I blurted out, “Wellington!”

She looked at me. I said, “That’s the subway station you left from.” And, we both laughed.

The weather turned then. We decided it was better to shop than to go home. After totally getting lost, and then finding our way again, we left that place.

We took the subway back to the parking lot. We found the car but not before sweeping off a light dusting of snow. And, then we headed home.

As we drove, I gave Brenda the directions to get us home. At one point, we were chatting about something when she shouted out, “Marzipan!” I asked, “What?”

I then realized that Brenda was answering a question I asked earlier in the day. I laughed. We both had wonderful Christmas memories; this Christmas, we both were attempting to make new ones. And, when we drove home, I said, “Let’s do this again next year!”

Our future would always involve the past. And, by living our past, we had a present. We would meet every year hereafter; and that would be a grand present every Christmas. ♥

A Really Great Girl

Last night, my daughter, Iz, and I finished decorating the Christmas tree. This year, the tree was done in phases due to me being too busy to locate all the boxes of ornaments, and then coordinate that effort into one event. Of course, even though it was several small efforts, it was just Iz and I doing the decorating; it was what Iz liked to call “Girl time!”

I went up to the frigid attic to find the last of the ornaments. The less meaningful ornaments had been relegated to the basement, because since it took me so long to take down my tree, I had no energy to haul them back up to the attic. I scanned the attic floor looking for a box that might shout “Precious Ornaments On Board!”

Unfortunately, the floor was littered with boxes that were all screaming simultaneously at me. One said, “It’s time to throw these ALF trading cards out!” Another said, “You haven’t worn these shoes in 4 years!” And, another said, “Jimmy Hoffa's in here! Mystery solved!”

I then screamed at myself, “I should have cleaned this place out when I was unemployed.” Though, back then, being a cycling fiend seemed, oh, so more important. I tripped over a metal bar, swore, and when I looked up, I saw the box I was looking for; thus, this proves, even in tree trimming, “No pain. No gain.”

I brought the box down to the living room where Iz had been waiting patiently for me. Okay, that’s far from the truth. The minute we got home, it was “Mom, are you going to get the box? Mom, get the box. Mom, let’s finish the tree. Get the box!!!”

I took the top off of the box. The way Iz was looking at it, I thought a rabbit might jump out. She loved decorating, my little bling girl.

Anyway, she sat down on the floor and started to take out the ornaments. I had to say the standard and required, “Be careful. Most of these are glass and some are very old.” She said the standard and expected, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

As she took them out and unwrapped them, a million memories came back to me. One ornament was from my grandparent’s tree and still had wax on it from when they used to put candles on trees. (Can you say Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval…not!) Some were from my parent’s tree, like the little metal spiral thingy that my siblings and I fought over to see who would get to hang it on the tree.

Iz unwrapped a mother cat holding a baby kitten. I asked, “Can I hang that one? My Mom gave it to me.” Iz said, “Sure.”

Shortly after my Mom was diagnosed with cancer, she came over one day and gave me the ornament. I was just pregnant with Nathan; my Mom died shortly before he was born. The box the ornament was in said, “A mother’s love is forever.”

Iz saw me hold the ornament like I was holding Fabergé egg. She said, “You should put that up at the top by the angel. I said, “Okay, I will.”

I went over to the tree and reached up to hang the ornament. Before I did, I pulled it back, held it up to my mouth, kissed it, and then said, “I love you, Mom.” I placed it on the tree; the mother cat smiled down upon me.

Iz asked, “Did you just say I love you, Mom?” I said, “Yes, I did.” She asked, “Because your Mom is dead?” I said, “Yes.”

She then said quite matter of fact, “You know, you can still talk to people when they’re angels. You see them when you’re sleeping.” I asked, “You do?” She said, “Yes, I talked to your Mom the other night.”

I started to laugh and then I stopped. Iz was dead serious. I asked, “What did she say to you?” Iz said without even pausing, “She said what a really great girl you were when you were little.”

I said, “Aw, that was nice.” Iz smiled like she had just been given a merit badge. And, before I could say anything else, she said, “Oh, look. A kitty!”

Actually, they were a pair. My friend, Bitsy, who had died of breast cancer, made them for me one Christmas. I told Iz this, and then she said, “You should put them up by the angel and your Mom then.” Iz is going to be in Management some day, I’m sure of it.

Wondering what she might say, I asked, “Did you see Bitsy when you were sleeping, too?” Iz said, “Yes.” I asked, “What did she say?” Iz said, “She said you were the best friend she ever had.” I wanted to cry, happy tears, but instead I pulled Iz toward me and hugged my little John Edward.

Like me, Iz was a really great girl. And sometimes it is through the eyes of sorrow that you can see the gifts in any season. They are not wrapped up in pretty paper and tied with a lovely ribbon; they are the people you see right before you, dressed in jeans and a Hannah Montana t-shirt. ♥

Happy weekend, everyone! ♥

Orange You Crate?!

I think that most people expect their life to go a certain way. Actually, I think I’m one of those “most” people. My assumed plan involved college, sustained employment, marriage, cats, kids, a dog that barked too much, and Zappos, Hello Kitty, and Sephora dependencies.

When I got laid off in February 2009, my expectations were shattered. Though after the initial shock, I considered my self lucky for never having been laid off before. After a few months at home, I considered myself even more fortunate for the all the wonderful time I got to spend with my daughter, Iz.

Of course, there were the bright days, and then there were the dark days when my bottom created an almost permanent dent in the couch from too many back-to-back episodes of Law & Order. My job search proved to be even more depressing than the daily news. So, I stopped watching the daily news all together back then.

When I didn’t feel like Goldilocks (being "just not right") about the job search, I felt like Job. When I finally did get a job, it had an interesting twist. The company that laid me off wanted to hire me back again; of course, I jumped at the chance.

After being back at my new-old job for 6 months, I feel fortunate. I also feel like I worked the hardest I had in my professional career, doing a year’s worth of work in six months. Was it worth it? Hell ya.

Today, my company is downsizing. No, people weren't losing jobs; I think the company had totally "been there and done that." We are moving to a smaller building because of downsizing.

Initially, I was unsure if I would get to move with them, because my contract was up in mid-December. As the building began to fill with orange crates, I wondered if I would make the orange crate list. When I saw the new floor plan and didn’t see my name on a cube, I panicked. Was this the end?

I had worked so hard to meet difficult deadlines, spent time at work on the weekends, and I found it hard to believe that they didn’t want to keep me. At the same time, I had to remember that when I didn’t receive an e-mail about a party, because I was not a permanent employee, I could not to take it personally.

My company hired me to work for a fixed amount of time. I was given a very temporary promise ring. No one, especially George Clooney, had invited me to Tiffany’s yet to pick out an engagement ring.

Saddened and a bit irked, I finally got up enough nerve to ask my boss about my Fate. As it turned out, the company was making efforts to secure my future employment. I was told that they just weren't exactly how they were going to do this, and that my contract expired on December 31st; relieved, I mentally penciled myself in on the orange crate list.

I then said to my boss, “Err, um, well, I don’t have a cube in the new building. I don’t want to be red stapler guy.” He asked, “Who?” I then explained the plot of Office Space to him.

As it turns out, for some reason, my fellow co-worker and I had been accounted for in the move. Unfortunately, I got dropped off the list some time in October; I had always liked to think of myself as "unforgettable," but lesson learned! A day later, relief overcame myself and my co-worker, Dave, when we were both invited to an hour-long meeting about move practices and procedures.

I never thought it would take an hour to explain where the sticker on your trash can should go or that all “live” things should be taken home and not moved. An example was, “Do not pack your goldfish.” The move coordinator then explained in all seriousness, “In this cold weather, they could freeze in the packing crate.”

When I returned to my office after the meeting the first thing I did was grab an orange crate out of the hallway. I plunked it down on my floor, and it made a lovely thud. At that point, I didn’t even care about the whether they were going to extend my contract or make me a permanent job offer, because I was movin’ on up to the East Side.

Okay, I was really just moving down the road a quarter of a mile to the “old” IBM building. Nevertheless, it was exciting! It was the final word after a long two years filled with self-doubt, anxiety, and fear.

As my boss said to us both earlier in the week, “There is “love” out there for you guys!” The last two years had been so difficult that sometimes it seemed I really had to search for the Love buoys in the Sea of Self-Doubt. As a friend said to me today, which was a good professional and personal thought for me lately, “Just remember *you* count in this equation, too.”

Ironically, today, we had a release scheduled on move day. As movers walked through the halls and people packed up their offices, Dave and I were working hard to finish up our project before noon. When we discussed transferring our final PDF files to the engineer, I said to my co-worker, “But don’t we need to put the EULA on the USB?”

My co-worker looked at me like I had just spoken Pig Latin. He said, “The what?” I said, “I think we need the end user license on the USB?”

Dave said he’d go check with the engineer. Meanwhile, when the going gets anxious, the anxious go to the Vice President’s large candy bowl to munch on Smarties and Starburst. On my way back, I heard Dave trying to explain the EULA to the engineer. I stopped in and told him that I wasn't sure, but I thought they needed to have it; he said he’d check into it.

I returned to my office and packed up my orange crate. In about five minutes, I got an e-mail from the engineer in which he had requested the EULA and prefaced his e-mail with “Thanks, Jean. This was a great catch.” I smiled, snapped the lid shut on my orange crate, and said to myself, “Aren’t you great?!” And, for the first time, in a long time, I really believed it. ♥

We Were Meant to be in Pictures

Last year, Iz and I created a video; actually, we created more than a few over the last year. Recently, a Starbuck’s commercial featured one of the same songs that we used; the song is called “Snow Day” by Matt Pond PA.

After I saw the commercial, I figured that it was time to share our version of the song with the world. So, I posted it to youtube. Over 500 people have viewed our vid, four people have liked it, and six people have made it one of their “Favorite” videos.

We will be famous some day, even if it is only in our own snowy backyard. ♥

Who Loves Ya, Baby

The holidays are usually happy times; however, on Sunday, I totally understood how easily people can get depressed and stressed out during them. I think the holidays had me more stressed out than last year when I didn’t have a job. I had a job now, but I was stressed over how long I would keep it, and it appeared that my employer was going to make me wait to the bitter end to find out.

Fortunately, I did have a seven-year-old who still believed in Santa to keep me in the holiday spirit loop. She believed enough to make several Christmas lists just in case we lost one. And, she made sure every other day during the entire month of December that Santa had an alternate route into the house given we didn’t have a fireplace; Santa came in the slider door from the porch.

Nathan had long since abandoned Santa Claus. At 17, he now had a very blunt verbal Christmas list that went “Mom, can you just give me money?” While understanding how important it was to have some money, I couldn’t fathom putting a wad of cash under the tree.

I probably shouldn’t have contemplated it, but I did; I thought about buying him a new iTouch. He lost his on a “rolling down a hill with a girl” overnight at Tuft’s while visiting a friend. Knowing how he shared my love of music, though not the love of a lot of the same type of music, I knew there just had to be an iTouch under the tree for Nathan.

On Saturday afternoon, I went into Christmas shopping mode; actually, it really turned out to be more like a strategic military operation. I was going to very busy “upscale” mall on a weekend afternoon with Cathy, Melissa, and Suze during primo Christmas shopping hours; some might think that crazy. Actually, Suze did question the sanity of it all, and when I thought about it, it was going to be a small battle just to find a parking space.

With Suze as my co-pilot (when it isn’t Monty), we navigated around the mall on Saturday and found a parking spot within 5 minutes of entering the parking garage. We won the first battle. The second battle would be finding the rest of the troops, hoping that they were fortunate to have had the same parking luck that we did.

After successfully rendezvousing at Sear’s, we were all off in different direction with our lists. I glanced down and my list and realized that I needed to go to the American Girl store; oddly, this was the Christmas of re-giving presents that were maimed or lost in action. Iz wanted a new American Girl doll that looked “just like” her.

After hours of shopping and a dinner at the Cheesecake Factory, we all sat in the food court at 9:30 to rest our wearing legs and credit cards. Disgruntled that I found myself yet again taking full responsibility for Christmas shopping, I mentioned that I was peeved that all my efforts were assumed, unappreciated, and, in turn, I didn’t even get a call asking how the shopping day was going, nor was there ever such a call any day of the week.

Melissa picked up her phone. My phone began to ring. I laughed and asked, “What are you doing?”

She put her phone down. Within minutes, my phone buzzed with a text message. It was from Melissa and it said, “Hi, honey, how was shopping? Did you have fun?” I laughed out loud.

On Sunday morning, I wallowed in fun of the previous night’s shopping. I had made a dent in my list. iTouch – check! American Girl doll that looks like Iz – check!

Given that I was gone on Saturday, it was now time to do laundry and clean the house. Every now and then, I hoped that it would all magically happen when I was gone. It was distinctly possible; however, I was always disappointed when I came home to the dust kitties, those real and then those that gathered in the corner of each room.

After doing all I usually do on Saturday on Sunday, I saw the naked Xmas tree sitting in the corner of the living room. I always had put the lights on and had started the decorating effort. For some reason, the thought of yet doing something else on my own made me a bit glum.

Halloween is my favorite holiday; however, I think Christmas is my second favorite. I loved Christmas when I was growing up and all thing things my family used to do around the holiday. This holiday, I realized that I really had no one to share it with except for Iz.

Deflated in spirit, I medicated with Facebook. I read a post by my friend, Suze; it said, “Fireplace is lit. Christmas music is on. Skip's making spritz cookies. Saving sugar cookies for Katie's return and we'll repeat the process. Love Christmas.” I went downstairs, looked at the naked tree, and began to cry.

I missed Christmas, the Christmas I used to have what seemed like so long ago. It was about family. It was about making a fuss and not what someone uttered to me at Thanksgiving which was “Let’s not make a fuss.”

I went back upstairs. I clicked Like on Suze’s post. I then wrote, “I love this. -sigh-”

Within minutes, Suze responded with “Feel free to drive over! I only have cheap champagne on hand, but it makes good mimosas!” I sat there, pondering my guilt over not putting the lights up and then pondering what I really needed to inflate myself again. I wrote back and said I was heading over with a good bottle of champagne.

When I walked in Suze’s house, the fire was going, the music was playing, and there was Skip, Suze’s husband, in the kitchen making his spritz cookies. I had just arrived home. I realized then that this was a last Christmas of sorts, yet it was going to be a first Christmas of sorts, one where the love and spirit of the season was not necessarily going to be found in only my home and with only my family.

Suze popped open the champagne. We sat down at the kitchen table and sipped our Veuve Clicquot while Skip formed spritz cookies on tray after cookie tray. Of course, we helped by decorating when not sipping and by giggling when not sipping or decorating.

On the drive home, I realized that my life had really changed a lot these last few years. Even though some of it was bad, more of it was good. The great thing was that my life changed into something that was not the same as it once was but something different that was just as good.

My trip to Suze’s house was a huge warm welcoming hug on a cold and lonely day. The thing was that I knew I could go there, even when it was Summer and 90 degrees, and get the same hug. Inflated and embraced, I was ready to face my naked Christmas tree.

When I got home, I wrote Suze a note to thank her. Meanwhile, I saw Nathan posted a song on his Facebook page, and I clicked Like wondering if that would be Strike 2. With my faith renewed, I took a deep breath and posted a song to Nathan’s Facebook page; I knew it would probably get deleted and I would be shortly thereafter.

When I checked a few minutes later, my song was still there. Quite amazingly, Nathan had clicked Like on my song. Quite extraordinarily, Nathan then came out of his room and said, “Mom, I really love that song.”

In a holiday season usually filled with joy and love, I sat there and asked myself “Who loves ya, Baby?” I knew the answer. Whether it was a friend calling me “Honey” and asking me about my day, a friend enjoying champagne with me on a Sunday afternoon at 3pm over cookie decorations, or my son telling me he loved my music for once, I knew that everyone who really mattered in my life loved and appreciated me. ♥

Hawk! The Herald Angels Sing

I would say that it would be obvious to most that I love animals. Of course, my top two favorites are cats and dogs, especially dogs that don’t bark! On a day-to-day basis, I don’t really see more than cats or dogs, though I’m sure at night, if I were awake, I might see skunks, possums, foxes, coyotes, fisher cats, and maybe even Big Foot (well, on those nights I’ve had a glass or two of wine) roaming through my yard.

This morning, as I drove Iz to school, I noticed a large brown lump in my neighbor’s yard. I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so a large brown lump it was; at first, I thought it was a tree stump. As I turned the corner and got closer to the lump, I remember thinking, “When did Connie cut down a tree? Wait a minute. There was never a tree there!”

I slowed down, and then I stopped the car, quite amazed by what I saw sitting there. Iz noticing the lump, too, asked, “Is that an owl?” I said, “No. Oh, my gosh!”

There in the corner of Connie’s yard was a huge hawk. I had only ever them flying high above me. I certainly had never seen one up close let alone one parked in someone’s yard like it was a pink flamingo or a gnome.

Iz asked, “What’s it doing there?” I said, “I have no idea.” Iz, the consumate and compassionate animal whisperer, asked, “Do you think it’s hurt?”

I told her I wasn’t sure. I had to get her to school, so I drove off. I told her that when I got home, I’d give the hawk a closer look.

A voice then asked, “You will? How close?!?!” I remember many years ago, one of my cats attacked a bird. I think it was a robin, and I carted it off to Tufts the next day to see if they could save it. They couldn’t, and I was upset with my cat for the rest of the week, though it was what cats did, but I felt I could still be upset with my cat about it.

I was then thinking that if it was hurt, who would I call? My vet? The Audubon Society? Tony Hawk? I knew how to fix cats and dogs; the only birds I knew were chicken or turkey, and, alas, I had eaten all of them.

After I dropped Iz off, I drove home hoping the hawk would be gone. As I approached Connie’s yard, he was still sitting there like a lawn ornament, a very handsome and classy lawn ornament though. I pulled over to the side of the street, parked my car, and went over to Connie’s yard to take a closer look.

I approached slowly and was probably on tippy toes feeling like rule number one of Hawk Whispering was "approach softly but don’t be carrying a big stick." He stared intently at me as I got closer. I then wondered if this was some kind of hawk ploy and that I was walking right into a Tippi Hendren trap.



I thought at any minute that he might fly away likewise intimidated by the tall birdwatcher or most likely laughing at Tippi Toes Hendren approaching. He stood his ground, which from 10 feet away looked like an old gray tree root protruding from the ground. When I was 5 feet away, I realized that the gray tree root was a dead squirrel.



Just then, I figured it out; he had killed the squirrel and was now contemplating his meal. I got a little closer. He was huge, and I was struck by how lovely he was; I could have stood there the whole morning and just looked at him, his beautiful black beak, piercing eyes, and the tan and brown feathers that almost made him look spotted.

I didn’t really know what to do. He appeared to be fine. Not knowing hawks like I know cats (but does anyone ever really know cats?!), I figured that perhaps it was tough flying with something as big as a squirrel in your beak. Instead of take-out-into-the-air this morning, he was dining-in-Connie’s-yard.

He looked at me, and as if to show me his intentions, he made one quick peck at the poor squirrel. I said, “Okay. I understand. I’m like the waitress who’s come to ask you how your meal is when your mouth is full.” I will leave you now, though before I left, I took one long last look at him; he had to be one of the most lovely sights I'd seen in a while.

As I walked back to my car, I heard a window open in the house across from Connie’s. My neighbor, Kim, stuck her head out the window and asked, “Is that a hawk, Jean?!” I said that it was, and then she said, “Oh, wow. I just thought it was a big cat.”

(By the way, this photo of Liam proves that cats can look like large birds. Liam's on the left. Oops! See what I mean? Liam's on the right.)



When I got home, I opened the front door, and, ironically, Liam greeted me. I said, “I just saw your bird doppelganger!” Liam didn’t seem too impressed, and instead of gathering my laptop and purse, I wanted to go back and watch the hawk.

I had looked at paintings in museums and had seen beauty. I had looked at my John Fluevog shoes and had seen beauty. I had looked into my daughter’s eyes, her beautiful brown tiger eyes, and had seen beauty. Beauty's where you find it; however, I never thought I would find it in someone's yard.

I had been feeling a little “bah humbug” lately. As I drove to work, I couldn’t help but turn up the Waitresses’ Christmas Wrapping when it came on the radio. Today, I had looked at a hawk and had seen beauty, the kind of beauty that would always lift a low spirit. ♥

Three Strikes

As some of you know, I’ve had a difficult time on Facebook lately. No one has stalked me, convinced me to start an Amway franchise, or tried to sell me a ski condo in Loon, well, so far. I've had difficulties with my son, Nathan; one day, I was his “friend,” and then the next day I was “not worthy.”

Anyway, lately, something happened. I was his friend again. No, I still haven’t asked why. The Army had “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” and Nathan had “Don’t ask me too many questions, or I will delete you again.”

It was exhausting. Okay, it wasn’t really exhausting. It was a fine line to walk.

I knew most parents didn’t have to walk a straight line while reciting their ABCs backwards like it seemed I did some days whenever I was Nathan’s friend on Facebook. Oddly, Nathan and I had a very good relationship; however, I always had to tread lightly on the “Like” and “Comment” links when it involved Facebook. And, I knew I could never ever post a comment as it would be swiftly deleted like I would be a minute later.

Two days ago, I logged onto Facebook. I saw that I had 102 friends. I was minus a friend; I wasn’t one to keep track, but then again, it bothered me that someone might think me worthy of “Delete.” Of course, I immediately scrolled down my list of friends for Nathan and didn’t find him.

I was perplexed though. Since being Nathan’s friend, I had not commented on any of his posts nor even looked at his page. Had someone hijacked my Facebook account and left Nathan a “You were so cute when you used to suck your middle and ring fingers while stroking your stuffed bear’s tag” comment? That comment was definitely grounds for deletion.

Actually, that comment was grounds for disowning a parent if said anywhere other than handwritten in a Hallmark card after having two glasses of Chardonnay and being wistful on a birthday that really counted. Which birthdays really counted? That was a tough call, because they all did; the unfortunate part was that even if you loved them all the time, they didn’t want to hear it, especially if the birthday had “teen” in the age.

I texted Nathan once I realized he was gone. I asked, “Did you delete me again?” He answered, “No. Why?”

I explained it to him. He vehemently denied clicking the “Delete” button. The next day, I checked again; he was still not my friend.

I send him a friend request, stating that I didn’t know what happened. He immediately accepted. Foolishly, I read his page on which he stated that he “lost” his iTouch when he was visiting Connor’s brother, Chris, at Tufts.

I immediately texted him. First strike. I asked, “You lost your iPod?!?!?!?”

He texted back that he had. Chris was "looking" for it. Well, let’s do the math; iTouch less than 3 months old + loaded with “good*” music = We will never see that iTouch again.

*"Good" as defined by the tastes of a person who is 15 to 23 years of age.

I called him and asked him what happened. He said that he had it in his pocket and it fell out. He then quickly said, “See, this is why I don’t want you as a Facebook friend,” though did he really think I wouldn’t notice he was shy his music when we drove anywhere together?!

He hung up. I sighed. Then, I saw that I had a comment on Facebook from Nathan. It said, “Strike 1 young lady.”

I laughed. This portion of my relationship with Nathan I would never figure out. And, I knew that maybe I never would.

After Nathan came home from school today, he told me he was having trouble accessing the Internet from his laptop. Of course, he immediately called his Dad and asked, “How do I wipe out everything on my laptop?” I then said, “Hey, wait a minute…” which fell upon deaf ears as he was still listening to his Dad talk.

I went into his room and grabbed his laptop. I googled. He got off the phone, and I said, “I think all we need to do is restore your laptop’s operating system to a date prior to when you had the issue.”* I had started the system restore, and then Nathan said, “Oh, um, sure, pick this date.”

*A friend taught me this when I had my virus a few months ago.

Within twenty minutes, his laptop had rebooted. In ten minutes, his Internet was working again. In five minutes, he called his Dad to say “we” solved the problem.

A few minutes later, I said, “You’re welcome.” He said, “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” I had never liked playing games, so I hoped that this “O” had wiped out my Facebook “X.”

I would never understand what I was supposed to say to Nathan and what I wasn’t. At one point tonight, I was on my computer and he came by and started to rub my neck and hug me. Like all relationships, things not said might be always only be felt.

I then asked, “So, how exactly did you lose your iTouch?” He then told me the whole story. I won’t tell you the whole story, but it involved “rolling down a hill with a girl” on the way back to a dorm at Tufts and not “it just fell out of my pocket” as originally stated; I realized then that I didn’t care if I still had one Facebook strike. In that moment, with some minor prodding, he told me, his Mom, everything, and I was so glad that he felt he could…at 17. (This song is not really related, but I love it, so there!) ♥

In the Facebook stalking (shhhh!) department: Nathan’s post tonight was in regard to his car accident two months ago. It said, "Will not be losing his license and will not be going to court tomorrow. Success.” (And, did you know I wouldn't have know that fact immediately had I not stalked!)

Anyway, no one was hurt in the accident except for Nathan's '95 Red Suburban (a.k.a., Big Red). My insurance will skyrocket, but after his first car accident, there he was still in his bedroom tonight with his IM bonking and his phone beeping with text messages. I had to be thankful for that, very thankful, even if we were down an iTouch due to “rolling down a hill with a girl.” I love you, Nathan. ♥

Work of Heart

In approximately seven working days, I would receive my Givenchy two-toned chain net cinder-colored nylons. This was ironic. I also only had seven working days left in my six-month contract at my new-old job.

With seven days left, I didn’t know if I was “Gone, Baby, Gone” or if I would still have “Office Space” for another few months. Part of me was irked that my new-old company could not tell me anything. And, another part of me was sad thinking that I might not have anywhere to go on December 20th except to my couch to watch Law & Order again and again and again.

I’m a planner. Even if I arrive a bit late everywhere I go, I’m still a planner. I like to know way in advance where I’m going and exactly what I’m doing for things like travel and especially employment. As far as arriving late every now and then, well, I just don’t plan correctly how long it will take me to get to places, but I still plan even if it is incorrectly! So there.

Have I asked about my job status? Yes; I have. I always get a positive “We love the work you have been doing,” which immediately followed by a “We’re trying to make it happen” or something like that.

I would say it’s an understatement that I had worked hard at my new old job, well, except when I was goofing off on the weekend. I knew when I arrived at my new-old job that I had something to prove. I didn’t have to prove anything to myself, but I felt I had to prove to my company that some writing jobs were best done locally not globally.

I think they realized this after my first month there. In their defense, the company was going through a lot of changes in a dismal economy. Funny, but I always cut them slack, even though they laid me off.

I know some couldn't. For some reason, I always could, probably because when there were no laughs or love to be had at home, I could always find those things at my old job with my co-workers. While they took my job away, they could never take that thought away from me as it always lingered in my heart.

I gave my new-old job everything I had, especially given I was only a contract employee. I met tight deadlines and even worked weekends without overtime pay to meet those tight deadlines. Then, I worked hard to be the Crock Pot Goddess.

After another deadline was met on Monday, I started work on another project with yet another tight deadline. Most of the time, it seemed like I was gasping for air while I worked. But being there for the last six months had put a lot of breaths back into me that the year and a half of unemployment had sucked out of me. It was a lose-win-win-lose-win-lose-lose-win type of situation for sure.

I guess I should have been more grumpy. Okay, I was kind of grumpy, but given that I had met another deadline, I wanted to celebrate, especially the people who helped me the most. One engineer stopped by my office at least twice a week and always said, “If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

I decided that despite there were no great thanks for logging in last weekend and dealing with last minute changes, I wanted to thank all the people I worked with. How does the Goddess celebrate? This is a mini-quiz for you.

The Goddess celebrates by:

a) Kissing Liam the cat
b) Eating lima beans
c) Buying a lipstick at Sephora
d) Making cookies

If you answered d, you are correct. Okay, okay, okay. Answers a and c are valid, too!

So, last night, I made a double batch of my buttery butterscotch cut-outs. Iz and I rolled out the dough, smashed cookie cutters into said dough, and then decorated our little cookie hearts out with sprinkles.

After Iz went to bed, I put the cookies in bags and wrote the name of each person on the bag. I made labels and tied a label onto each bag with a blue ribbon. Here’s my label.



One engineer, who loves scotch, received three nips of it in his bag. He was the one who always asked me if I needed any help, and he won the Engineer Congeniality award. And, I swear if I said, “Yeah, I need my tires rotated,” he would have done it for me.

When I was done, I looked at my kitchen. It looked as though the Tasmanian Devil had been through it. I began the clean up process, which involved several loads of dishes. Unfortunately, while punching holes in the cookie bags, I punched a small one in the index finger on my left hand; when my wound met the lemon-scented dishwasher detergent, I howled.

I then thought, “Why am I doing this?” I don’t even know if I have a job in two weeks. I looked at all my bags on the counter, like I was looking over the last six months of my life.

When I looked at all the names, remembered all the beer o’clocks I attended with my trusty crock pot, and thought about all the documentation I had written, I squeezed my finger. It hurts, but ultimately, it hearts. No matter what happened, I’d see all my time there as a work of heart. ♥

!!!yxeS

Annoucing the impending bubbling of my new sexy cauldron...

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...oh, come on, press the play button, you know you want to because it makes you feel like you're seven again and scared senseless in that Oz kind of way...

Wicked Witch *cackle* sound clip Margaret Hamilton sound clips

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Here is my sexy new crock pot, George. (And who knew that THE George Clooney had a line of crock pots?!?!? Unfortunately for you, they're only available at the Kohl's in Nantucket, Alaska; good luck finding it, as I think I'm the only one who has the directions to get there.) George is totally sexy and will simmer while I sleep! ♥

Sexy!!!

Really, it’s not that kind of “sexy.” Actually, it might even be crazy sexy. And while “crazy sexy” might lead you to believe this blog is going to be R-rated, it’s really only SA-rated, where SA stands for small appliance.

As some of you may have read, the technical support group in my company hosts beer o’clock every Friday at 4:30. Along the way, I decided that a bag of potato chips, cheese doodles, and Doritos did not a beer feast make; for the guys, it worked, but it didn't for the lone chick. So, I decided it was time to expand my culinary skills and make a tasty appetizer every Friday; thus, this is how I became a crock pot goddess.

For the past few months, every Thursday night, I stand in my kitchen for an hour or so chopping and measuring while Monty sits practically on my feet hoping for any scraps be they vegetables or meat; he’s not fussy, given he’s practiced the fine art of Coprophagia every now and then. (Jeez, I never knew it had a name!) Like a witch in Macbeth, I then peer over my cauldron (a.k.a. crock pot) and toss everything in.

If I were really crazy, I’d probably throw in a chant, too; however, I’m not crazy. Okay, maybe I am. So here’s my chant.

Double, double sausage and pepper, plug you in, and crock pot simmer.

And, if I truly were a lunatic, you might then hear me cackle.

Wicked Witch *cackle* sound clip Margaret Hamilton sound clips

Anyway, the only downside to being a crock pot goddess was my equipment. When I first got my crock pot, I didn’t expect to be an advanced goddess with it. I only ever expected to be a novice and pull it out once a year when I wanted to remind myself of my Mom in the kitchen in the 1970s.

My crock pot has three different sized bowls (2, 4, and 6 quarts) which was nifty. It did lack a timer. So, on nights, like last night, when I stepped away from the cauldron at 8pm and the potion had to cook for 5 hours, I remained up until 1am to see that my culinary spell would be cast.

I began to ponder a new cauldron with a timer. Though I felt guilty when I had a perfectly good crock pot, but not so guilty, because I wanted to get at least 7 hours of sleep each night. So, the new crock pot thought simmered on low in the right side of my brain, which I’m pretty sure looked like sausages and peppers by now.

Anyway, I had to go to Kohl’s last weekend to buy some jeans for Nathan. While wandering around the store, the new crock pot thought was stoked up to high. I found my way to the small appliances and searched through the waffle makers, mixers, and rice cookers to find the crock pots.

I saw a few that were similar to mine. But, then I saw it. It was black, sported a lovely timer, and it was 7-quarts, bigger than any crock pot I had ever seen.* Taking it all in in an instant, I heard a loud voice say, “Wow, that’s sexy!!!”

*In this case, size did matter, because I usually doubled most of my recipes, because I had 15 hungry engineers to feed most Fridays.

I looked to my left, to my right, and then behind me to see who had called a crock pot sexy; alas, there was no one standing there with me. Horrified, I said, “Oh, my gosh! I just called that crock pot sexy!” I had a mini mid-life crisis right then and there there in the small appliance department of Kohl’s. How had I gone from George-Clooney-is-sexy to Crock-pot-is-sexy?!?!

When I was in my early 20s, I remember working with an engineer on a project; his name was Steve. He was very smart and always a great help to me when I was writing the documentation. One day, he was showing a new system to me; he stood there looking at it like he was looking at beautiful woman and then said, ‘It’s so sexy!!!”

I asked myself, “Did he just call a computer sexy?” I just nodded and said, “Uh-huh.” Back then, only men were sexy to me. After leaving Steve alone with his "woman," I thought naively, “A box of metal is not sexy and never will be!”

I then went into immediate recovery and self-analysis mode in the small appliance department at Kohl's. "Do you still think George Clooney is sexy?” Yes. I looked at the crock pot again. "Do you still think the crock pot is sexy?" Err, um. Oh, know! Yes!!!

I stepped away from the crock pot. While I really wanted to buy it, I had to think about it; it wasn’t the price that deterred me. It was the fact that I thought I might now be content to spend Thursday night with a sexy crock pot instead of a sexy man.

As I drove home, I began to laugh. I said, “I can't believe that I said that a crock pot was sexy.” And it still was; as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that my perspective has changed. Things that didn’t appeal to me before like cooking (I was always a baker) had now become passions. Could your passions whether inanimate or animate be sexy? I do believe they can, and I look forward to tomorrow when I will purchase my new and very sexy crock pot, which I will name George. ♥

Happy weekend, everyone! ♥

Can We Still Be Friends?

Blog soundtrack:



I’m on Facebook, just like a bazillion other people are. Actually, I only ended up on Facebook, because I was encouraged, no, more like taunted by someone to be there. It was my son, Nathan, who said, “Mom, join Facebook,” to which I said, “Nah, I’m already on Myspace doing the social networking thingy,” to which he tauntingly said, “Mom, Jenna is on Facebook!”

Jenna is Nathan’s stepmother. That’s all I have to say about her, well, not really. And because I try to make this a family blog, when it’s not an educational blog, I will write no further.

Anyway, after I joined Facebook, Nathan became my friend. Over time, I read all those stories about how difficult it was for some parents to be friends with their kids on Facebook, or how some kids would not allow their parents to be their friends. Then I observed some lovely stories, like the one I witnessed every day between Suzebabe, her husband, Furwood, and their 18-year-old daughter, Katie.

Nathan and I remained face-to-face in our book for quite some time until I voiced an opinion or two; however, in my defense, it was only in the name of Motherhood. And to answer that age-old question, “Do Motherhood and Facebook mix?” I’m still not sure; I think it depends on your child.

I had commented on his status once, asking if he was okay because he posted the lyrics to this song. Another time, I told him to change his Facebook picture, because it was of him and the girl he took to the prom. I knew (and he just recently admitted this) she was leading him on, and selfishly I disliked seeing her picture on his page.

After those two infractions, I was deleted. After some time, we talked, and I asked Nathan if he might consider reading the same book with me once again. He said he would.

We were blissful friends for another few months until he had his car accident. He was devastated by it. Unfortunately, the accident had been witnessed by about six guys from his soccer team.

Not wanting him to feel like he was the only one who would ever have an accident, I posted something supportive (words and, of course, music!) to his page. It was deleted in under five minutes. It was then that I realized that this was a case where Motherhood and Facebook wasn’t going to work; I deleted Nathan as my friend with no complaints from him.

Today, I met a HUGE deadline at 4:55pm. I had been totally stressed out for the last three weeks over it. When the last person signed off on my documentation, I immediately shut down my laptop, turned off my cube light, and then I picked up my cell phone to check my e-mail.

I saw an alert from Facebook. I had recently posted, “You know you're old when your teenager has a better social life than you do. Actually, you know you're old when you have a teenager!“ Oddly, it had generated a lot of feedback, so I thought this alert was yet another response to it.

When I opened the email, I was stunned. I blinked, read the email once, twice, and then a third time. The email read as follows:



I was like, “Whaaaaaaat?” Nathan wanted to be my Facebook friend. I immediately texted him, wondering if some kid, who liked the fact that a mother supplied the Dungeons and Dragons crew with munchies and soda, had hijacked his account.

I immediately texted Nathan. I asked, “You want to be my friend?!?! Gasp!” He texted back, “I had a change of heart.”

I spent the drive home wondering why Nathan wanted to be my friend again. Was it because Joey said, “Nathan, your Mom’s saucesome for making us dinner and letting me sleep over?” Was it because his Dungeons and Dragons crew said, “Nathan, you’re Mom’s saucesome for sending all this horrible but truly great tasting junk food?” I’d never know, and I know I would never ask for fear of deletion.

When I got home tonight, I accepted his friend request. I then made my Italian sausages for beer o’clock tomorrow, and waited and wondered what Nathan might post on page. An hour ago, he posted a song to my page with no explanation.

I listened to the song; I liked it. I told him so. Perhaps, like most relationships, ours had matured, and while we loved each other and might not see eye-to-eye on some things, we would now always meet in the middle of our iPod playlists.

All relationships have growing pains. Until today, I thought those pains were only experienced by lovers. Today, I realized that they were also experienced by parent and offspring. ♥

Office Space

In light of this economy, it is true that there is no place like home, given how many people have lost homes in the past two years. I love my house. If I ever lost it, well, it would pretty much be like losing a loved one from my life; my home gives me life, love, and family.

I lost my job almost two years ago, another victim of downsizing and outsourcing. After that, I spent a lot of time at home. It was difficult on the days when I worried, and it was blissful on the days when Iz and I walked along the edge of the Nashua River with Monty and played outside on a school snow day.

This June, I was invited back to work by the company that had laid me off. I was elated because for six month, the period that they hired me for, I wouldn’t have to worry about finances. Then I was somewhat disappointed, knowing that I would have to give up biking on the rail trail at any hour of the day, getting Iz off the school bus, and watching back-to-back Law & Order episodes.

While returning to work was stressful and somewhat of a transition, it became a very good thing. I got the chance to work with old friends again, and I made a whole bunch of new friends. The job made me feel whole again when unemployment and countless job rejections made me feel like I was a quarter of the person I had once been.

In some ways, my new-old job had become a second home to me. It was nice to relax on a Friday night and have a few beers with co-workers. And on some nights, after 6pm, it became a quiet place where I could collect myself without a barking dog, meowing cats, and a seven-year-old; and, I could have easily put this up on the wall in my office.



In two weeks, my contract expires. On the same day, my company also moves from its current building to a new smaller one the same day. I guess you could say the company that did all the downsizing is now downsizing itself as far as office space goes.

Because we're moving, the building landscape has changed. The last week, the cafeteria has been filled with all of these plastic orange moving crates. When I walked through and saw the crates, I thought, “This is the Ghost of the Company Past.”

Then there were all sorts of boxes and containers filling conference rooms and hallways, indicating that we are no longer “in the house.” We were exiting stage left.” But, my big question was, would I be exiting with them?

Given that no one had been able to tell me what my status was, I began to search high and low for signs. When I couldn’t find any signs, I resorted to movies I had seen. So, did any of you see the movie, "Office Space?"

Do you remember the character Milton Waddams played brilliantly by Steve Root? I told my co-worker, who was pretty much in the same boat that I was, that we're going to be like the red-stapler guy (Milton Waddams) in the movie. This was our Fate, though not necessarily a bad one.

Nina: Now Milton, don't be greedy, let's pass it along and make sure everyone gets a piece.
Milton Waddams: Yeah, but last time I didn't receive a piece. And I was told...
Nina: Just pass.

Milton Waddams: I was told that I could listen to the radio at a reasonable volume from nine to eleven, I told Bill that if Sandra is going to listen to her headphones while she's filing then I should be able to listen to the radio while I'm collating so I don't see why I should have to turn down the radio because I enjoy listening at a reasonable volume from nine to eleven.

Milton was laid off, though he never received notification of that fact. The company moved him from office to office until he was in the basement still wondering why he hadn’t been paid in weeks. I told my co-worker that the only way we’d know we had jobs was if a orange crate was delivered to our cube.

I said we’d be patiently sitting at our desks the day before the move. We’d hope an orange crate would be deposited at our cube entrance! If it wasn’t, we’d be sitting there at 9am the Monday after the move saying, "I was told I'd get an orange crate!"

No matter the outcome, I always tried to think wine-glass-half-full. If my contract wasn’t renewed, I’d spend school vacation with my mini me. It wasn’t my preferred outcome; however, it was a possibility. No matter what, I’d be thankful for the old friends, the new friends, and the new-old life my current job gave me. ♥

I Can't Stand Up for Falling Down

Given that Nathan had played soccer, lacrosse, and hockey on and off for the last 13 years, I considered myself lucky that he had never gotten seriously injured. I never thought soccer was a seriously combative sport, until I attended a game two years ago where a player broke his leg. Actually, Nathan did get mildly injured once.

Unfortunately, Nathan’s only sports injury occurred when I wasn’t at the game. I rarely missed games, but I missed a hockey game one Winter night. I got a call from Nathan’s Dad; he said, “Nathan was illegally checked tonight.”

Technically, I don’t think he had a concussion. He was hit hard, got the wind knocked out of him, and then stayed on the bench the rest of the game. Fortunately, the player who check him was thrown out of the game, and the coach of the opposing team actually sent Nathan’s Dad (an assistant coach) an email of apology.

Last Saturday, Nathan took the car to go over to a friend’s house. He was supposed to sleep over, but as usual, when you’re 17-years-old, plans change rapidly and he came home. But, at 10pm, Nathan decided it was time for plans to change rapidly again.

He said, “Mom, I borrowed a long board from a friend.” I asked, “What’s a long board?” He said, “It’s kind of like a skate board but longer.” I should have known, right?

Still mystified as to why Nathan had a skateboard that was long, because he was never a skateboarder, he said, “So, I’m going to go out and try it.” I said, “It’s 10pm, Nathan.” He said, “Yeah, I know. So?”

Of course, on many a late night, I had ventured out with my iPod and the dog. How was this different? Oh, yes, I was 40-something, and he was only 17.

I thought about it. I said, “Well, okay. Be careful.” He rolled his eyes, and he was off.

Nathan had always been his own person, but he had never been a skateboard person. While I was worried about him tooling around the dark streets of the neighborhood on a long board, I liked that he was trying something that was not Nathan.

I sat there watching TV, thinking that if he was not home in 45 minutes that I would drive around the neighborhood. That was a last resort, but this was my “baby boy” on a wheeled piece of wood. No matter how cool I thought it was that Nathan was experimenting in extreme sports, I was still worried.

Less than thirty minutes later, I heard the front door open. I called, “Nathan?” from upstairs. He said, “Hai!” Yes, “Hi” isn’t spelled like that, but that’s the way he says it.

So, he was home with his long board. From what I could hear in his voice, he had no broken bones. Just then, I heard him stomp up the stairs.

I was sitting at my desk. Instead of going into his room, grabbing the Ethernet cable, and plugging in his X-box, because I have lame DSL and not rippin' FIOS, he got to the top of the stairs and walked toward my desk. He sighed, and as he rolled up his sleeves, he said, “I hate it when this happens.”

Both of his elbows were badly scraped. I said, “Oh!” He pointed to his left elbow and said, “Oh, that was from last night. This one is from tonight.”



I looked at the raw skin on his right elbow. I said, “Aw, Nathan. What happened?” He answered, “Well, you know on Pearl Street where the road goes downhill and you cross the rail trail? Well, I kinda went pbtpbtpbtpbtpbt [ed. passing gas sound], I speed wobbled [ed. I still have no idea what this means], and then I crashed.

After that description, I wanted to laugh. I looked at his raw elbow and winced. I said, “Come to the bathroom. We need to clean that out.”

Surprisingly, Nathan followed me instead of saying, like when I offered various snacks for his Dungeon and Dragons gatherings, “Mom, don’t. It’s not necessary.” Oddly, the night before, I had sent two six-packs of root beer, a bag of Doritos, a bag of potato chips, a box of chocolate chip cookies, and a bag of M&Ms to such a gathering, and it's always gladly accepted. When we got to the bathroom, I washed his cut with alcohol, applied a layer of Neosporin, and put two Band-aids on his elbow.

After this, he then went into his room, grabbed the Ethernet cable, and plugged in his X-box. I threw the cotton ball and band-aid wrappers into the trash and washed the Neosporin off my index finger. I smiled but not where Nathan could see me.

I knew my “baby boy” was getting older. On any given day, he would probably say he could largely exist without me. But on Sunday morning, Nathan was sure to tell me as if soliciting Mom's sympathy, “My elbows hurt.”

I, the Mom, said, “Yeah, you really banged them up.” Then, off he went to make himself four [ed. Yes, FOUR] bagels. Even though he was 17 and college was looming, I knew he’d always need me and, on any given day, even when his age was _insert-number-over-one_7, I’d still get to care for him like he was only 7 again, and I would always love that. ♥

End blog soundtrack: