Young Woman or Old Woman

From the title of this post, it might sound like I’m having an identity crisis.
“I have a seven-year-old; I’m young!”
“I just looked at my license; oh, good God, I’m so old!”
But, that’s not what’s happening…........yet.

Anyway, when you assess whether you’re young or old, it’s really about perspective. Actually, life’s really all about perspective. And, yesterday, when I was driving home from the dentist, I was reminded of perspective in my own “Jean-sort-of-way,” of course. (And, is it just me, or does "Jean-sort-of-way" need a wiki page?!)

I was a bit peeved as I drove to work. I think emotion can alter your perspective somewhat; however, sometimes when things seem a little off, it's good to have friends to give you their perspective. And, if they're really good friends, they will say, "I love you, but you're frickin' crazy!"

Anyway, earlier, my dentist was trying to guilt me into two crowns that came with a $3000, give or take a few hundred dollars, co-pay. My two cracked upper molars had not been bothering me at all. And, I did give up atomic fireballs after I got the first crown on my lower molar; alas, I was a cruncher!

My dentist asked me if I wanted to do any “intervention.” Just then, given past experiences and this one, it dawned on me that he didn’t really care about my teeth or me most importantly. He just wanted to make a few bucks when I didn’t have a few bucks.

I wanted to reply, “You’re too late, Dude; I already kicked the atomic habit!” Instead, I said, “No, not at this time.” Before I got to the period in that sentence, he had already begun to reply.

In a rather perturbed and defensive manner he said, “I just see what I see, so I have to say it.” The last time I was there he said, “We’ll watch those and see if they get any worse.” It was funny how he went to “watching” them to “strongly suggesting” I do something when I had no issues around them nor had he said that they had gotten any worse; and, as of yesterday, he is no longer my dentist.

As I sat there at a stop light, grumbling about what I should have said to my dentist in the moment, I had nothing else to look at besides the big truck in front of me. As some of you know, I like signs. I also like looking at the backs of trunks, which, I guess, is sometimes like looking at a sign.

So, here’s what I saw:



When I looked lower and more closely, I said, “What is that URL?!?!?!!?”



I laughed out loud. I shook my head and said, “Okay that can’t be right.” I looked toward the top of the trunk and finally saw the company’s name, which was Braun's Express.

Okay, when you looked at that initially, did you read the URL as:

1) Braun Sex Press (like I did)
2) Braun’s Express (like the company wanted you to)
3) Bdddrddadddunscvcxvcxexsssxprssdsassdss (because you weren’t wearing your reading glasses)

Hence, this is what reminded me of the young woman-old woman optical illusion. Before I looked at company name, I wondered, “Was this the company that distributed Playgirl, Cosmopolitan, and National Geographic?” Why National Geographic? Well, like other youngsters of my generation, that’s the first place I ever saw a woman’s breasts.

Anyway, never mind perspective, if I were the CEO of that company I might have chosen a different web address or renamed the company, especially for people like me who might lose some of their perspective after coming from the dentist a tad pissed off……………with a sudden craving for……………an atomic fireball……………to CRUNCH! ♥

Buy Them While You Can!

As most of you know, I was unemployed for over a year. Of course, it’s August so everyone is starting to think about Christmas now. Okay, so maybe it's just the retailers making Christmas lists in August.

I was wondering how I would make it an affordable Christmas this year, but just to keep myself out of Scrooge mode, I was also wondering what the hot "got to have it" Christmas present would be.

Anyway, when I was driving home from work today, I figured it out. Given some of you are on my Xmas present list, I hope this doesn’t spoil the surprise too much. So, here it is…
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Wait for it…

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Wait for it some more…

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I hope you all like jewelry and are not squeamish about walking around with IBC or Bud Light around your necks. ♥

Fishful Thinking - The Final Blog

I said…

“Of course, I knew that all fish had worms, Nathan. I was just testing you to see if you did!”
Then I laughed one of those laughs you do when your child has proved, yet again, to be more knowledgeable than you are.
It goes something like “Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Then, I immediately stuck a Post-It Note on a portion of my brain. It was the portion that had the most brain cells left due to damage from Southern Comfort Sours in college and the daily 146 brain-numbing questions asked by my then 5-year-old. The note said, “Google worms and cod” tonight.

So, that’s not what really transpired. Surprised? You shouldn’t be, because if you have been reading each installment of this deep sea fishing saga like you were...

* An 18-year-old female with the latest issue of Cosmopolitan
* A 28-year-old with the latest issue of Vanity Fair
* A 38-year-old woman with the latest issue of Real Simple
* A 48-year-old woman with the latest issue of Arts & Antiques
* A 58-year-old woman with the latest issue of Redbook
* A 68-year-old woman with the latest issue of The Reader’s Digest...or...
* A 78-year-old woman with the latest issues of The National Enquirer and the Farmer’s Almanac

...you would have figured out the format of these posts by now!

I said…

“No, ooo, ick, gross, I didn’t!”
Nathan rolled his eyes; I was a failure in his eyes as a fisherman, because I didn’t know about the worms.
I asked, “Um, so, your Dad likes fish, right?”
Nathan said, “Yeah.”
I said, “Why don’t you take the fish home to your Dad then?”
Nathan said, “Sure,” and, of course, being totally grossed out and perhaps a tad diabolical, I knew I wanted nothing to do with the worm-filled fish and that Nathan would love to bring home “the catch” to his Dad.

I told everyone before and during this trip about my worm phobia. I didn’t share my black socks with sneakers phobia. I was going to be on the boat with a bunch of engineers for eight hours, and I was not going to walk the plank, unless it was in a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes, my last request pre-plank walking!

Amrit had questioned me up and down about the worms. I told her what I knew. I then told her that I was glad to give my fish away to someone else, given that I could just not deal with the worm factor having just master the icky clam factor.

Anyway, little did I know that even the fish I buy in the supermarket have worms. Well, hopefully, by the time I buy it at the supermarket, the worms are long gone. They actually have people whose job it is to remove the worms from the fish. Once again…ooo, ick, gross!

So, after you caught a fish on a trip like this, you had to de-worm your fish. Allegedly, you held a flashlight to the fish, and then removed anything that was embedded and round. Can you say Alien again?!?!?!

When I acted my age and not the age I wanted to be again (12), I realized that even if you didn’t get all the worms out, well, it was just more protein, right? When I looked back to my unemployed days of endless cycling, I thought about my bug-in to bug-out ratio; I ate (but not on purpose) a lot of bugs when biking. I guess it was really a matter of accidental ingestion versus known accidental ingestion.

At noon, we all reeled in our lines. I sat on the deck, drank a second beer, and soaked up the sun. Most people had gone to the rear of the ship to watch their catch filleted.

Jasjit came by, and I asked him where Amrit was. He said she was on the top deck of the boat. I decided to make my way up there.

When I got to the top, I found her. She said, “Come here!” We walked to the very front of the boat, which was high up over the water. I said, “This is beautiful.” Amrit said, “I knew you’d like it here.”

For the last hour of the trip back to the dock, Amrit and I remained there. At one point, she left to go to the bathroom. I moved to the very tip of the bow (my favorite place to be on the good ship Brenda&Steve, too).

My hair flew wildly about my face, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t care if I might look like a wreck after all was said and done. It was lovely to be there on that ship with all those people. I was lovely most days but it was largely due to the fact that my life was beautiful.

At one point, two guys who were about ten feet below me said, “Hey, you were almost doing that king-of-the-world-Titanic thingy there.” I replied, “Well, if I had a few more beers today, I might do that now.” As if out of a movie, they both put their hands out to offer me their beers.

It was as if I was being egged on to star in the “Girls Gone Titanic” video. I laughed hysterically and said, “No, thanks. Not this trip!” When I was hanging out there over the edge with the wind blowing in my face (at so many knots; thank you again, BFF Brenda!), my hair whipping my brow, and thinking “Shit! If I fell off of here, I’m so dead,” I thought even though I’m not exactly where I planned to be at this point in life, life is still pretty damn good thanks to my kids and my friends. ♥



You know, I even tickled her to try to get her to smile. She said that she looks better when she doesn’t smile. I find that hard to believe, and as times goes on, I will convince her otherwise...and get her to wear something pink. ♥

Fishful Thinking - The Goddess of All Things Icky

Tonight’s picture is being replaced with some mail from the Goddess of All Things Lovely inbox. I get thousands of emails each week (okay, so it’s mostly spam), so I don’t often have time to address all the burning questions you ask me, like “Paper or plastic, Goddess?” or “Do you usually get fries with that?” Anyway, here’s one I got last night.

Dear Goddess of All Things Lovely,

So my husband wanted you to know that he almost gagged when he read the list of icky things you have no trouble dealing with, including the icky clams. Of course, you realize that that makes you the Goddess of All Things Icky, too. You go girl. ;-)

Elizabeth Swann (google this, you know who you are, pirate girl!), Good Grief, ID

Dear Liz,

Thank you for bestowing yet another title upon me. Are there any perks that come with that title? Like a notorious unreliable Italian red convertible, George Clooney, or stock options that may actually end up being worth something some day? Just asking. And just so you know that no one has seen the icky I’ve seen; here’s Iz’s lunch box from yesterday. Yes, that’s spaghetti smeared everywhere!



So, the story…

Amrit pulled up something that looked like a cat. Well, it looked like a cat fish to me. It was a cusk; and what kind of fish is named cusk? Halibut, flounder, tilapia….those were fish names, but cusk sounded like a prehistoric artifact that one would view every 15 years at the Museum of Science.

A cusk is a “stew” fish versus a baked fish or versus a Filet-O-Fish. Though I had to wonder if my Filet-O-Fish (my only guilty McDonald’s pleasure) might be cusk. Actually, for all I knew, I might be eating icky clams when devouring my guilty pleasure once upon an every PMS time!

A few minutes later, Jasjit, who had already been given the this-is-how-you-fish talk a few times, was reeling in his line. In his newbie fisherman defense, it was sometimes hard to determine if you had a fish, a 1790 schooner, or your line was being pulled under the boat by another fisherman who had “caught” you. This happened several times over the course of the day.

It was rather hysterical to look through the boat’s galley and see someone furiously reeling in a “catch.” I looked at Jasjit reeling and then I’d look at this other guy reeling, and I’d giggle. I said to Jasjit once, “Um, I think you just caught a 250-pound technical support guy named Charlie on the starboard side of the ship!” (Okay, I only know which side is which because of my last sailing expedition with Brenda. Port is four letters, and left is four letters. Thank you, Brenda!)

The ship hand saw Jasjit pulling in his line. I really hoped Jasjit had a fish. If this ship hand gave Jasjit the this-is-how-you-fish talk one more time, I would have to go all Elle Woods on him and maybe even smack him!

When Jasjit’s line came out, I couldn’t bear to look, not because of the fish, but because I had to channel Elle Woods soon if there was no fish. I then heard, “You got a nice one!” I sighed and shelved the thoughts of rhinestones, pink, and all small dog breeds that fit in a purse. Okay, I kept thinking about rhinestones and pink; however, who really needs a small purse-sized dog?

And, on the sixth hour of the fishing trip, Amrit, Jasjit, and Jean rested. Actually, we had our fish in the bag. We only had to wait and have them filleted.

But, then there was the worm issue. It was somewhat like the Alien issue; however, the worms were in the fish and not in me. I never knew that fish had worms, though I knew in most cases that you needed worms to catch fish, which was quite perplexing!

Two years ago, Nathan and I went on this same fishing trip together; we caught a cod. When we were heading back to the dock, Nathan and I sat at a table inside the boat; he was drinking a Sprite, and I had finished my second beer. On the table was our fish in a clear plastic bag; I noticed movement, and I said, “Nathan, there’s something wrong with our fish!”

He said, “Mom, they’re just worms.” I asked, “Worms?!” He said, “Yeah, you have to take them out. Don’t you know that all fish have worms?”

I didn’t, and then I said…

You know, I like these serial blogs. And, given reader feedback, I know that all two of you do, too. ♥

Fishful Thinking – Four Little Fishies

[This picture was from the fishing trip in 2008. Jeez, Nathan looks like he was 15 then; oh, yeah he was. He was too busy to go with me this year; I bet he wouldn’t be too busy to go deep-sea fishing with Matt, Matt, Matt!]

He said…

“You run three miles every day, can bike fast and for long distances, but you’re having a hard time reeling your damn line up?!”
I said, “Look, if I were reeling up a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes (ooo, la, la!), a pink laptop (well, not just any pink laptop!), or a bottle of Hermes’ Caleche I might reel a little faster, but this is just a fish!”

Hmmm, don’t tell the cats I said that. Okay, he didn’t say that, and I didn’t say that. It was just a “this could have happened” scenario, because what was really said was quite boring.

He said, “You got a nice one.” I saw the cod fish dangling from my line, and the lines of several others, because me and my fellow anglers were all intertwined. Then I thought, someday, it would be nice to hear that in context of me and not a fish!”

Before I could reel my line all the way up, he got a gaff, and pulled my fish up with it. While my fish flailed, he untangled all the lines, and I asked, “Did I really catch it?” He sorted out the last line, and then he said, “Yep. It’s yours.”

Watching the fish struggle, I began to feel very guilty. I quickly asked, “Can I throw it back?” He looked at me like I was Elle Woods (pre-law school transformation), sighed, and said, “No.”

He threw the fish on the deck. It flopped around like [cringe] a fish out of water. He yelled for a fish bag, and he walked off probably hoping never to see Elle Woods again on this fishing trip.

I looked down at the fish. I looked up at Jasjit, and he now was looking down at my poor fish as it flailed around on the deck. I said, “The last time I did this, I didn’t feel this way. I don’t think I like this anymore.”

He said, “I felt similarly when I had to decide whether or not I was going to come on the trip.” I said, “This sounds really weird, but I keep thinking of my cats. I feel as if I just pulled Liam out of the sea, and now he’s lying there dying.” Like I said, I know that’s weird, and, yes, there was still no alcohol involved in those thoughts.

He said that Amrit had talked him out of those feelings. She said quite matter of fact that there was really no difference between buying fish at the supermarket or fishing for it yourself. I thought about that, and she was right, though there might be more vegetarians in the world if we all had to hunt for ourselves.

I knew I wasn’t willing to become a vegetarian yet. I did love fish. Though, I knew I was going to have “cat fishing” nightmares from now on.

The ship hand finally came by, scooped up my fish, and stuffed him in a burlap bag; I was relieved that he was now out of sight yet not out of mind and in the bag. I think Jasjit was, too; I didn’t really know Jasjit well, but I think a friendship was formed over a cod in a burlap bag.

It was 10am, and I had caught a fish, so technically, I was done; well, I felt done with the whole fishing chapter of my life. I went inside to go to the bathroom, and I staggered back and forth to get there. Just then, I thought “How ironic is it that I look like I’m drunk yet I haven’t had a drink yet?”

After I left the bathroom, my tummy grumbled; I was hungry and thirsty. I reasoned that since I got up at 3:30am, and it was now 10am that in “normal non-fisherwoman time” it was really lunch time, and a cocktail was totally acceptable along with a hot dog and chips at lunch. And so it was.

I sat down on the bench on the deck, ate my lunch, and drank my Heineken. My fish was in the burlap bag below me. I forgot to mention that I had already promised my fish to my “boss,” who didn’t catch any fish on the last fishing trip and subsequently didn’t end up catching any fish on this trip either.

I was done fishing with any enthusiasm. I furiously reeled in my line up a few times, thinking (no, really pretending) I might have a fish. It wasn't because I was excited; it was because I needed to forget I had a fish in my burlap bag.

Amrit told me that later that Jasjit lauded my reeling over the family dinner table. My upper arms had never been my strength; the Schulz legs always had been. Little did they know that my reeling didn't involve skill; it only involved my heart.

I told Amrit and Jasjit that it was now up to them to get another fish. Within ten minutes, Amrit was reeling in her line. And…

I do so love this blog tease, I mean, cliffhanger thing.
Tune in tomorrow for...
The Goddess of All Things Icky. ♥

Fishful Thinking – Three Little Fishies

I said…

“No, thanks, but can I have a vodka tonic instead?”
Okay. I didn’t say that, but the thought of drinking at beer at 6am was not appealing at all. Just then, I was wishing I had the guy, the one we almost left, behind bring me a keg ‘o coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts. So, what really transpired was…

“No, thanks.”
“What?!”
“I just can’t drink a beer at 6am, Dave.”

He said “Okay,” shook his head, and then walked off like I had just refused a date to go to the Academy Awards with George Clooney. Ten minutes later, about ten people had passed me, all with beers in their hands. I didn’t miss Southern Comfort Sours at 8pm on a Saturday night training, because I got that training in college; however, somehow, I missed the beers at 6am on a Saturday morning while fishing training.

No matter how much I tried to think about drinking a beer, I still wanted coffee. I tried to think about beer in the context of breakfast; however, it seemed there was just no way I could make beer a breakfast item. Even if you served it with a piece of toast to this lass, put it in a juice glass, or served it over Cheerios while showing me your ass, I’d have to pass; me and Dr. Seuss, well, we’d “Just say no!”

After two hours, the boat finally stopped. Amrit, Jasjit, and I stood by our poles. The ship hands (okay, that sounds very “pirate”, but I don’t know the PC name for them) dropped containers of bait along the boat railing every few feet.

I have a bait phobia in addition to a black socks with sneakers phobia. My bait phobia goes back to when I first started fishing with Quinn; my black sock with sneakers phobia goes back to when I first started working with engineers. Anyway, I could never ever bait my hook with those icky night crawlers. Quinn always did it for me; yes, sometimes I’m helpless when it concerns some things, and I’m proud of it.

Anyway, I had mentioned to Amrit that I didn’t want to bait my hook; however, I had forgotten that in deep sea fishing, you didn’t use icky night crawlers. You use icky clams. I peered into the plastic bucket at the gelatinous little creatures that I thought I liked to eat occasionally.

These weren’t really the creatures I was used to eating; these were clams on steroids crossed with scallops and maybe even with one of those creatures that lives 20,000 leagues under the sea. I took a second look. I thought if I could pick up cat turds (which got stuck on fluffy pants and ended up on the floor occasionally instead of in the cat box), coughed up furballs, Nathan’s petrified socks, and food items that Iz had left half-eaten in her lunch box over a weekend, I could pick up one of these!

I reached into the bucket and pulled one out. It was very long, pale, and goo dripped off of it as I held it. At any minute, I thought it might sprout claws, climb into my mouth, and begin to reproduce itself. Yes, someone was totally freaked out by Alien.

After ten seconds, it still dangled from my fingertips with no threat of bodily infiltration. I said, “I can do this!” I grabbed my hook and wrapped the clam around it several times; I had it all going on.

I was feeling so clam cocky that I offered to bait Jasjit’s hook for him. Like Amrit, he had never gone deep sea fishing before. Of course, this was my second time, so I was pretty much an expert, and I noted to myself that I should pitch my copy of “Deep Sea Fishing for Dummies” when I arrived home.

We all took our rods in hand, and the ship hands gave us a 30-second deep sea fishing tutorial. Click this, let your line drop to the bottom, click that, and then wait for a tug. Really, it was that simple.

Of course, when the line hit the bottom, you could feel it. There was a definite “thud” that said “Ding! Two hundred and fifty feet. Ladies lingerie!” To me, it often seemed I had a bite, though because I knew the boat drifted, I tended to think my line was snagged on a plant, a sunken ship, or Jimmy Hoffa’s cement life jacket.

I pulled my line up several times thinking “Fish!” I was always disappointed when I only saw my gelatinous little friend, the clam. We had a love/hate relationship, because he was the friend who might catch me a fish or the friend who might replicate himself in my warm body before the trip was over.

When no one seemed to be catching any fish, we had to reel our lines in. The Captain announced, “Bring your lines up,” and we moved to another location. When we stopped again, we were told to bait our hooks again, because apparently the fish could tell if it was your bait was "used." I envisioned the fish swimming by the hook, sniffing the bait, and then saying, “Oh, that’s so last cast bait!” as if my gelatinous little sea creature were a 2009 Gucci dress.

It seemed that our side of the boat was always in the sun. At one point, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and thought this fishing thing was for the seagulls. I’d rather bike 50 miles and eat those gelatinous little sea creatures than stand here, wait, and sweat.

Bored out of my mind, I asked one of the ship hands how you could differentiate a bite from your hook and lure dragging on the bottom of the ocean. He took my rod, tugged on it, and then said, “Hold this.” He moved my rod up and down and then said, “This is how the bottom feels. It will feel heavier when you have a fish.”

Satisfied, I said, “Okay, thanks.” I tugged on my line; I felt nothing. A few minutes later, I tugged on my line; it felt different.

I began to bring up my line, hoping that I would not be facing the gelatinous little sea creature once again. I cranked the reel, I cranked it some more, and do you know how much work it is to get that sucker up from two hundred and fifty feet? I was sweating and hoping that I didn’t have a VW bug or Jimmy Hoffa on my line.

One of the ship hands saw that I might have something or was in labor (the physical reaction was pretty much the same), so he stood next to me. He said, “Keep reeling,” and I said, “Jeez. This is tough.” He took the rod from me and said, “I’ll do some for you.”

He then passed the rod back to me. I began to wind the reel furiously. As we looked over the side of the boat, he said…

Tune in to tomorrow’s blog.
Same fish time.
Same fish channel.
♥

Fishful Thinking - Two Little Fishies

And then….

Amrit asked me a lot of questions about the fishing trip. The last time I had gone on the trip was two years ago, so I was a bit rusty. I tried to answer her questions as best I could.

Sometimes, after all her questions, I felt obligated to give her a PowerPoint presentation. Then again, she was an engineer, so this level of detail was in the questioning part of her DNA strand. If I have anything to show for all the years I’ve spent professionally in high tech, it was that I know engineers!

Actually, when I think back on my life, some of the nicest guys I have known have been engineers. I married one once upon a time. And, he’s still my favorite husband even those he’s an ex-husband.

Anyway, one afternoon, Amrit popped into my office and asked me if there still might be room for more people on the boat. I said that my friend, Dave, mentioned that the boat was not near full capacity; I told her I would check. She mentioned that she might like to bring her brother, Jasjit.

I checked, and there was indeed room for one more fisherman. I told Amrit, and then we began to arrange a carpool. When it was only she and I, we were going to try to commute with others and meet at work to do so; after we became a party of three, we knew we had to make other arrangements.

She told me that if I wanted, I could go meet the others at work and drive with them to Salem. I told her that I wouldn’t think of going without her, and I would never. She lived 40 minutes away from me, but she told me that she and Jasjit would pick me up at 4 in the morning, and so that was our plan.

I had planned to go to bed at 8pm on Friday; however, as usual, stuff happened, and I went to bed at 10pm. Okay, I was kidding myself that night. I am not an early-to-bed person; I had to force myself to sleep at 10pm using meditation, supplied by Amrit, to shut down the amusement park, Jean World, that early.

I set my alarm for 3:30am, because I needed time to have coffee, spritz on some deodorant and perfume, fix my bed head, and wonder why, oh, why I was up so early on a Saturday morning. Unfortunately, I woke up at 3am, checked my phone for the time, and I couldn’t fall back asleep. Some people can fall back to sleep in minutes and get that extra 30 minutes of sleep; well, I can’t, and I hate you people who can!

At 3:55am, I went out on the porch and waited for Amrit and Jasjit. I saw headlights approaching, and when I didn’t see the car window open and throw a Lowell Sun into Mr. and Mrs. Mack’s mailbox, I knew it was them. I ran out, opened the door, and climbed into their car.

Amrit and Jasjit looked like they had 10 hours of sleep and were picking me up to go to the mall at 1pm, instead of 4am, while I clutched my coffee tightly in my hand wishing I had more coffee and more sleep. I asked, “When did you get up?” Amrit said, “1am.” I then thought, “You're a better morning person than I am, Gunga Amrit!"

I'm just not a morning person. Often, I’ve wished I could work out in the morning, but alas, as you get older you come to certain realizations about yourself. Just this year, I realized that I will never be 5’8” with size 8 feet, make the Olympic cycling team, or go to the Academy Awards with George Clooney.

We got on the highway, and I savored my last two sips of coffee. Amrit’s car had a GPS, so I thought “smoothing sailing” to fishing destination. When my coffee buzz finally wore off, I realized that Jasjit was navigating roads near our destination that didn’t look familiar to me.

I said, “This doesn’t seem right.” We drove until we arrived at the GPS destination, which was streetnameLANE instead of streetnameSTREET. I texted Dave to tell him that we had a minor detour and not to let the boat leave without us. In 15 minutes, we arrived at the right STREET.

By 6am, we were all on the boat. Of course, we pulled out, and then someone shouted, “Hey, where’s Howie? He went to get coffee!” Dave yelled to the Captain, “Aw, we’ve got to turn around!”

We headed back to the dock. When we were about 200 yards from the dock, Howie ran down the ramp with his tray of Dunkin Donuts coffees and was madly waving his arms. We stopped long enough to pull Howie aboard, and then we set sail again.

For all my bitching, it was absolutely beautiful being on the water at that time of morning. Amrit and I sat on a bench on the deck, and as the sun came up, I wallowed in its warmth. Amrit went inside, and I told her that I wanted to stay; I do believe in reincarnation, because I must have been part of the sea in another life.

Within 30 minutes of departure, there were several people walking around with beers. Dave walked by me in his “Beer is not for breakfast anymore” t-shirt. He asked, “Do you want a beer?”

I answered….

The answer, which will truly amaze you, will be disclosed tomorrow.

When you arrive home tomorrow, stand in a window, make the peace sign, do the hokey pokey, and then turn yourself around and away from the window.

You will hear a large thud on your roof; no, it won’t be Santa Claus. He’s no fool; he’s in Aruba right now.

Suddenly, it will sound like there are seven lawn mowers in your yard, not unlike how it sounds when my neighbor’s lawn service comes on Thursday morning at 7am, which used to bug the shit out of me when I was unemployed and had no need for an alarm clock.

Whatever you do, do not look outside; if you do, you will, um, err, ruin the surprise, of course!

After the last mower has sputtered, wait 13.45 seconds, and then open your front door; you will find my answer in this!



What’s that?
You say you don’t read crop circles?
Well, it totally sucks to be you then!
I suggest you go to Amazon straight away and order “Reading Crop Circles for Dummies.”
♥

Fishful Thinking - One Little Fishie

Go fish! It’s not something I do a lot. The last time I played that card game was with my grandmother in 19-oh-never-mind; however, the last time I went fishing was about two weekends ago.

The first time I fished was when I was married to Quinn, Nathan’s Dad. His grandfather built a log cabin in Arlington, Vermont, and we used to spend weekends there; it was a very rustic place with no electricity, and the drinking water came right out of the stream that ran down Red Mountain. We fished in the nearby stream for trout.

Trout are very much like Plume, my kitten. Well, Plume is no longer a kitten; she’s over a year, but she still looks and acts like a kitten. You have to sneak up on trout and Plume in order to catch them, because they’re both very skittish.

Quinn taught me the art of fishing for trout in a beautiful babbling brook; he was an avid fisherman, who sold his own hand-crafted flies for fly fishing to support himself in high school. We’d hide behind the rocks, cast our line, and then we’d hope for a bite, because if the trout saw you, like any good perp, the trout had you made as a fishing enforcement person. It was very challenging and kind of like a game of cat and mouse, though it was really a game of fisherman devout and trout.

Quinn and I usually caught a few small trout in the brook. Before we left, he fried them up on the Coleman stove in the cabin. He scrambled some eggs and along with the fish, it was a delicious breakfast.

It’s funny, because as I grow older, I grow wiser. Okay, it’s not really wiser, because I still do some really stupid shit every now and then; though, at least, I’ve learned not to iron clothing while wearing it. (Don’t laugh too hard, Cathy!) Anyway, I think I have become more aware of life and how precious it is, and this last fishing trip made me think about life differently in many ways.

A month or so ago, my friend who heads up our Technical Support group asked me, “You’re coming on the fishing trip, right?” Being a contract employee, I asked, “Can I? I’m not one of you!” He said, “Sure,” and I said, “Okay.”

Two years ago, I had gone on the very same trip. My date had been Nathan; he, like his Dad, loved fishing. When I asked him if he wanted to go, he answered, “Yes,” in under one second.

I took a bunch of pictures of him on that trip. I made this collage, which I will always love. Even though he deleted me as his friend on Facebook, via Mother Facebook Cyber Stalking, I know he still has this on his photo page.



When the opportunity came to go again, I asked him about it. He said, “No,” in under one second. I asked why he couldn’t go, and he said that after taking a week off from work, he didn’t want to ask for another day off.

My attempt at a mother and child reunion was not a motion away; my motion was totally vetoed. I thought about it later; I’m sure if Matt asked Nathan to sleep over the night before the fishing trip and play hookie from work, Nate would have surely said, “Yes!” Lately, I was sick of hearing Matt, Matt, Matt!”

When I was at work, my friend, Amrit, stopped by my office. She asked me if Nathan was going to attend the fishing trip with me, because I had told her about it. I put on my totally pouty face and said, “No,”, and then I asked half-kiddingly, “Do you want to go?!?!”

Amrit never struck me as the fishing type, though I never struck myself as the fishing type either, and I still don't think I am. A few times, I had ventured to hint at asking Amrit to go to the mall or the movies, but she never responded in the affirmative. In the end, I figured that just being friends with her at work was good enough for me.

She stood there and pondered my offer; I was really surprised, because I never expected even a ponder from her. She said, “Well, I’ll think about it.” When one motion was not a moment away, perhaps another was.

The week before the fishing trip, she came by my office. She asked, “So, Nathan’s still not going with you?” I told her he wasn’t, and then she said, “Well, maybe I’ll go.” I think my mouth dropped open and then all the voices in my head screamed, “Yay!”

She asked if there was still room to bring friends. I told her that I’d email my friend, Dave, who was organizing the trip. I did, and he said there was plenty of room.

When she found out that the trip wasn’t full, she said, “I’ll go.” While I had really wanted to share the experience with Nathan, I was elated when she said she would go. My excitement was two-fold; one, I never thought Amrit would do anything like this, and two, it was so nice that she wanted to do something like this with me.

And then….
Queue theme music…
Cliff hanger!
mmmm, BA, ha, ha!
I’m sorry, but you have been spoiled rotten all these months with the instant blog gratification.
It stinks to be you hanging on the edge of your seat like that, doesn’t it!?
Tune in tomorrow for…
Two Little Fishies….my Mom always sang this song to us when we were little. I still love it, though I like this version better.
♥

P.S. And I don't know about you, but I'm digging this cold and rainy Massachusetts weather. Time to break out the vintage sweaters! Wooo-hooo! And, a girl can never have too many sweaters, pearls, cats, Alfa Romeo Spider convertibles, cookie cutters, lipsticks, shoes or wonderful friends...like you all. ♥

Do I Know You?

[Post-it Note to Readers: I meant to save this as a draft last night, but somehow I clicked the publish button, so you may have seen this in draft form. I so hate it when I push all my own wrong buttons!]



In the last few years, my definition of “family” has changed drastically. Lately, in addition to Nathan and Iz (and the cats, and okay, okay, Steve, even Monty!) I find that my day-to-day family has increasingly become more about my friends. My friends are "da bomb" in my nuclear family.

But, then there are the surprising moments that yield so much. You all know I have these moments. Anyway, in a moment, it sometimes seems that you see something you wouldn’t have otherwise or the moment makes your life flash before you enabling you to see a light but so not in that “Ghost Whisperer” kind of way.

Since it was raining yesterday, I knew that my bike was not an option. Okay, my bike could have been an option if I liked to bike on cold rainy days. I wasn’t an extreme biker, even though at work, I was thought of as an extreme runner.

When Amrit and I left the building today, at least five people said to us, “Oh, you’re going out running?!?!” I corrected the first two people and said, “Oh, no. We’re going to the gym.” After the third person said, “Oh, wow, You’re not going out in that,” I just grinned and let them think Amrit and I were extreme runners or at the very least two very wild and crazy chicks.

Anyway, I drove all the way to my gym, waved my keycard over the pad, and after the beep, a woman immediately opened the door. She pointed to the sign in the window and said, “Oh, we’re on a 48-hour maintenance shutdown.” Who knew that the gym needed a break from us when all the while we constantly wished ourselves a 48-hour break from it? She said, "The gym in Groton is open."

I said, "Shit!" I wondered if it was really worth it to drive to the next town, but after two minutes of thought, I knew I needed to expend some energy. So, I got in the car and drove over to Groton.

When I walked into the gym, I surveyed the new venue; there was only one very elderly gentleman walking on the treadmill. I removed my flip-flops, put on my sneakers, and I headed to another treadmill. I cranked the miles per hour up to 6.5, and I began my 30 minutes of running.

After I heard Daniel Bedingfield's Gotta Get Thru This, my ran ended. There was sweat everywhere, and who knew that I sweated so much. But, I did, and with paper towels and something that spritzed out of a bottle filled with yellow liquid, it was as if I had never run on that treadmill within two minutes; I still had a potential career in crime scene cleaning!

I walked back to get my flip-flops by the door. When I did, there sat the very elderly gentleman who had previously been on a treadmill. I picked up my flip-flops, went to the drink vending machine, and he asked, "What are you going to get?"

I had forgotten my water bottle. I brought a dollar in to buy a bottle of water. I answered, "I'm going to get water, the best choice here." I thought he was actually trying to bust me for buying some protein drink, so it would seem my answer was the "right" answer.

He then said, "What's wrong with that?" I asked, "What?" He pointed to the water fountain. I answered, "Nothing. But, I want to drink something all the way home."

I knew then that this wasn't about nutrition. It was about economics. He wondered why I would spend a dollar on a bottle of water when I could drink for free from the water fountain.

As he sat there, changing into his plastic sandals from his sneakers, I felt a bit guilty. The guilt went by the wayside in under a minute. Sometimes we need to do what we have to do, because it's what we have to do!

He reminded me of my paternal grandfather, who would have made me feel guilty for spending a dollar on a water when I could have drank for free endlessly from the bubbler. I remember when my grandfather visited, my Dad would always take him out for a nice dinner. My Dad would say, “Dad, order whatever you want!”

Given that the nuns told my Dad he was stupid and would never amount to anything and that my grandfather didn’t support my Dad when he was in college, I think this was my Dad’s way of saying, “Hey, I’m successful, and I want you to enjoy my success.” Unfortunately, no matter what, my grandfather always ordered “the scrod.”

I didn’t know if my grandfather preferred fish over a juicy prime rib, or if it was his way of saying to my Dad, “I see you are successful and you did it all without me, so I will not order the prime rib.” Was it pride, guilt, or some father-son-guy thing that I didn’t get at all because I was living on Venus when this all occurred on Mars? All I know is that I’ll never really know.

Meanwhile my water bottle ker-plunked down to the bottom of the vending machine. I reached in and grabbed it. While the elderly gentleman sat there, I twisted off the plastic top and as I did, my guilt dissipated.

My grandfather’s frugality definitely made him miss some things in life. Most importantly, I think they made him miss telling his son how proud he was of him. As I drove home, I chose to remember the greasy and delicious muffins my grandfather used to bring when he came to visit, the small but very helpful check he sent me each year I was at Brandeis, and the dill he grew in his backyard which he used for his pickles.

To this day, I cannot smell dill without thinking of my grandfather; sometimes when I'm in the kitchen, I snort a whiff just to remember my grandfather's backyard in Webster, MA. And years later, I have learned that it’s always better to remember the positive and not the negative. But, if truth be told, it’s always a daily struggle especially when it's all in your own family. ♥

Living in the Moment

Sometimes after I read through some of my old blog posts, I shake my head. It’s not a disappointment shake. It’s more like a disbelief shake followed by a voice in my head, which sounds a lot like Emma Thompson when she starred in any one of those period-piece movies, that says “I can’t believe you shared that. You sound a tad looney.”

One reader said to me once, “I can’t believe some of the things you share on your blog.” I can see how telling people that you put your underwear on inside out when you’re especially frazzled can be TMI (Too Much Information). I can also see how telling people that you stalk your son on Facebook when you miss him, pay close attention to what others plunk down on the conveyor belt at the grocery store and then make up stories about their lives based upon those purchases, or have a company Christmas party when you really had no company could be construed as a little “off the beaten path.”

I see life differently than most. I think my vision changed from blurry to 20/20 about five years ago. Sometimes I wish I could have seen what I see now when I was 20 years old; however, I was fortunate to see clearly even five years ago with so much water under my bridge.

Anyway, at one point, I hoped my blog would make me a famous writer. Stop laughing; I tried to dream that dream! It didn’t, and that’s why I have my old-new job.

But, one thing my blog did give me was a family. I know I have a family that comprises my brother and sister and Nathan and Isabelle; however, here, I acquired a different family, which for more than a year has surpassed my nuclear family. Here, there are a bunch of people checking on my blog daily, and it is almost like they are calling me on the phone and saying, “What did you do? OMG. That’s so funny.”

Last night, I got an email from a blog reader. While frazzled with work, though not putting my underwear on inside out yet, she told me a wonderful story. This is another reason why I like my blog.

I mentioned this before, but I like the comments, well, those that are relevant. I love it even more when people email and tell me their own stories. It's especially nice when they say, “That happened to me,” or “OMG, I have to tell you about the time I put my underwear on inside out too, because I was so stressed out!”

Anyway, my friend said…

So my husband had what he called a “Jean” moment today…you know, when something interesting and special happens whilst doing something else (like grocery shopping). He rescued a bird!

Anyway, he wasn’t grocery shopping, he was outside waiting for something when he noticed that a woodpecker was somehow trapped in the thing that holds up our three birdfeeders.

Exhibit A: The woodpecker, though this isn't the real woodpecker, it's just an Internet equivalent!



His head was stuck between two metal bars. The bird was freaked out and feathers were flying everywhere, but after several attempts, my husband figured out a way to get his little panicked and trapped head out of the feeder holder.

When the bird realized he was free, he flew away to the nearest bush unharmed, and gave my husband a squeaky call, as if to say, “Thanks dude!” Yay, my husband, the bird-saver!

After reading that, I smiled for ten minutes. Besides being a truly beautiful and kind act, there was more to it than that for me. It was as if my family called me to tell me, “Jean, we know exactly how you feel and totally understand who you are.” Like me, they lived in and appreciated the moments, too, and I was so very fortunate to have them in my family. ♥

Textsations

Parenthood is challenging. That’s not very profound, is it? Lately, it seemed like a reoccurring theme in my life, especially with Nathan, but not in a bad way; it was just in a growing pains kind of way.

Lately, with Nathan, I felt like we were two ships who passed in the night. Meaningful conversations were one-line text messages, quality time spent together was driving him somewhere when he didn’t have Big Red, the ’95 Suburban, and “I love you” only prefaced requests to borrow the car.

No matter, because I really had nothing to complain about. Nathan didn’t drink, do drugs, or smoke. His only addictions, which looked a bit pricey when he asked me to view his bank account online when his funds seemed too low to him, were Magic cards and Subway.

When I missed him, I, (don’t tell him this), stalked him on Facebook. Even though I was not his friend anymore, I was friends with some of his friends, so I could look at his wall and pictures; so there, Nathan! I will not be deleted! Not surprisingly, I discovered pictures I’d never seen of Nathan from his trip to Europe.

Here's Nathan being goofy. Hmm, whenever I ask him to be goofy or do something goofy (participate in one of my movies), he looks at me like I'm crazy. Apparently, a mother’s craziness is not a 17-year-old son’s craziness and vice versa.



Though the strong introverted and silent type, it’s obvious that the chicks dig him. Nathan would adamantly deny this. I think a lot of girls at his high school would agree with me.



Wasn’t this just yesterday? I was glad to see that he didn't find the childhood version of himself embarrassing. Now, if only he didn’t find his mother embarrassing!



I’ve really only had three different types of conversations with Nathan this Summer. Well, they weren't really verbal exchanges; they were "textsations" or "convertexts." These exchanges can be categorized as “I need something; therefore, I love you,” "I have a plan. I don’t have a plan with a side of attitude,” and “I might grace you with my presence if you promise not to make a fuss.”

I Need Something; Therefore, I Love You

“So, I can officially drive people now.” *
“Congratulations!”
[Wait for it……]
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
"So, what I’m thinking is that I could steal the car at 5:30 on Friday to drive me and Harry to Lowell until 11 or so."
"K."

*In the state of Massachusetts, you’re not allowed to drive anyone except for family members for the six months after you get your license.

I Have a Plan. I Don’t Have a Plan with a Side of Attitude

“What time are you going to be home?”
“I’m not.”
“Where are you going to be?”
“Smoking a reefer, man. Going to Dad’s house cuz we’re fishing tomorrow.”
“K. Where are you fishing?”
“Hell.”
“Cut the ‘tude!”
“Don’t tude me.”
Will you be home tomorrow night?
“Crane Beach.” [He finally decides to give up the answer for my previous question!]
“Honestly who knows.”
“What?!”
“I dunno. Who cares anymore?”
“I care because I would like to see you every now and then.”
“I should be home tomorrow. I bought an iPod Touch.” [He finally decides to throw his Mom a bone and share some late-breaking news about his life.]

I Might Grace You with My Presence if You Promise Not to Make a Fuss

4pm

“Can three friends come over for tonight for magic? We can be quiet.
“Sure. You can have the family room after Iz goes to bed.”
“10ish whenever I get off work.”
[He’s coming home, and he’s bringing friends, which is a first! I’ve offered continually to hide upstairs, so he can entertain. Woo-hoo, I think my probationary period due to that maternal Facebook stalking incident is over!]

6pm

“Want me to get some root beer and chips?”
“Nah, nah, don’t have to.”
“Am at store now…say so if you want something. Chicken wings?!?!”
“No. We’re fine. Stop it.”
“Too late…wings, potato chips, IBC root beer and orange soda.”
[Fuss Score - Mom: 1, Nathan: 0]

10pm

“Pillows and blankets galore in your closet if they want to stay over. Do you want me to put them in the living room?”
“They are.”
“They are what?”
“Staying.”
[Nathan is letting his friends sleep in the house he shares with his Mom. I now think I am forgiven for the telling-him-to-change-his-Facebook-picture incident! Woo-hoo again!]
“So living room?”
“Yes.”
“Just don’t eat in there!”
[Oh, no! A total Mom nag; stop when you’re ahead, Jean!”]

I put the air conditioning on downstairs, cleared out a big space for them to sleep in the living room, and placed the blankets and pillows in a neat pile. I texted Nathan, and he said, “Be home soon. Harry's slow!” He was picking up both Harry and Ben in Big Red, totally exercising his right to party by driving non-family members.

When Monty started barking, I knew they had arrived; okay, I can’t say his barking doesn’t come in handy as an inexpensive security system. I tried not to be excited in that June Cleaver sort of way, but I failed miserably and greeted Nathan and his friends at the door. I said, “Everything’s in the living room,” and then Ben, who glanced into the living room, said, “Thank you for the blankets and pillows,” that was somewhat reminiscent of Eddie Haskell.

If I didn’t know any better, I was in an episode of “Leave it to Beaver;” however, I knew that Ben was a very nice and a genuine kid. All of Nathan’s friends seemed to be that way. Well, the friends Nathan allowed me to meet seemed that way!

I then went to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, and when I came back, Nathan was showing Liam to his friends. Men who adore cats are special; I’m convinced of this. I gave Nathan the snack update, and as I did, he said, “Okay, okay, okay, okay.”

I got the hint. I could translate 17-year-old speak. I was being asked to leave quickly, and I said, “I’m going upstairs now. Good night.”

When I woke up this morning, I passed the living room; I saw two additions to the usual solitary sleeping lump I'm used to seeing under the comforter in Nathan's room. I walked into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee and noticed the empty potato chip bag on the counter. I peeked in the refrigerator and saw that seven sodas were consumed and one lonely chicken wing remained in the Styrofoam container; it’s a good thing I fussed. [Fuss Score - Mom: 2, Nathan: 0]

Life’s all about phases. I’m not complaining about Nathan; he talks to me, even if it’s in textsations, and he always tells me where he’s going. I’m lucky to have such a good son; heck, some days I think he’s got it more together than I do.

The moon goes through phases, kids go through phases, and I’m 48, and I know I'm still going through phases. Anyway, it seemed that the parent-child relationship went through its phases, too. Nathan seemed to have deemed this Summer the “I'm Okay; You're Sort of Okay” phase, and I was fine with that as long as he always kept texting to me, loving his cats, and telling me he loved me even if it was only for motor vehicle gain. ♥

Mooga!

I had a bad day. Actually, my bad day was really last night when my computer got a virus. In retrospect, I had a bad night and a bad morning.

I hadn't had a virus before; well, my computer hadn’t had one. I wasn’t looking at porn when I got it either! I was just being vain and googling my blog to see if anyone out there on the Internet was lauding it or stealing from it; I happen to go to some site in Indonesia and click, and that’s when my blog got the chills and started to sneeze.

Anyway, I tried doing all the right things; however, they were apparently all the wrong things. I went to bed at 1am fretting that I had killed my best friend, my brilliant pink laptop, Peony Jane. When I told a fellow co-worker about the dilemma, the co-worker looked at my laptop and said, “Well, you got a virus because it’s pink!”

Obviously, he does not think in pink. All the Great Ones do. Everyone knows that E = mc², all people are created equal, and "Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world."

I had called a friend earlier, and he actually went home, got his anti-virus application, and then came into work and promptly began to treat my virus. This being my first time, err, with a virus, I remained calm and collected; okay, pants on fire, because I was totally freaking out. He had a few plans of attack on this vanity virus, and after running a program, he left and said as he walked out of my office, “Don’t worry. We’ll get through this.”

Sometimes you feel like you’re in the worst place ever, even though it isn’t; people get viruses themselves and on their computers every day. Every now and then, it’s especially nice to be reminded that where you felt there was only an “I,” there is a “we.” It’s a “we” that jettisons you out of the bad place so fast that the voices in your head scream “Wheeeeeeee!”

My friend's third plan of attack was the charm. After knowing that Peony Jane would survive, I then had to focus on work. Of course, this brought me from bad night to bad morning to an I-have-an-impossible-deadline afternoon.

The whole day had been a whirlwind of emotion. Most of the emotion was fear, angst, dread, anticipation, but then there was the “we” part that kept me smiling. This may sound trite, but life is amazing sometimes; the part I find amazing is how you sometimes need to go to bad place to realize how wonderful it is to be back in a good place, making you appreciate life’s littlest moments.

When I left work, I drove by Kimball’s, a local mini-golf and ice cream venue. I saw a mother and her two small children waiting at the crosswalk, so I came to a stop to let cross the street. As they walked across the road, the little girl, who looked to be about 5 years old, waved non-stop and shouted, “Thank you!” As I passed them, she was still waving at me; I shouted out the window, “Have a good time!” and drove off smiling.

Fifteen minutes later, I arrived at the supermarket. I was making my corroded fish for dinner (that is, haddock with Ritz cracker crumbs). As I stood at the seafood counter, a man with his young son in his carriage pulled up in front of the lobster tank to take a look.

Dad said, “There they are!”
The boy stood up and said, “Mooga! Mooga!”
If Dr. Doolittle had the opportunity to talk to lobsters, I’m sure he would have said, “Mooga! Mooga!”
While I was waiting for someone to skin my haddock, the Dad ordered some fish.
The boy asked me, “What are they doing?”
I said, “That lobster is giving that lobster a piggy back ride. And that lobster is telling that lobster a joke.”
He giggled, said “Mooga!” a few more times to the lobsters in the tank, and then his Dad wheeled him away smiling and so was I.

The man behind the counter handed me my haddock and asked if I wanted anything else in addition to my fish. Before I got my fish, I had mentioned that I might like a few shrimp, and before I could answer, he said, “Oh, that' right; you want shrimp.” I smiled, and then an older woman standing further down the seafood case asked, “Did you say something about shrimp?”

He walked toward her and said, “Do you want shrimp? I can help you in a minute.” She was probably just a little bit older than my mother would have been if she were still alive. She said to him, “Oh, no. I want cheese.”

He glanced at the other man behind the counter and said to her “Oh, he can help you then.” She said she wanted a hunk of something, and then he said, “Oh, you want to go over to the cheese section.” She seemed a bit confused, though she giggled after he told her that, and said, “Oh, I should have known.”

As she wheeled her cart by me, I smiled at her and said, “Hi.” She beamed back at me and said, “Hi,” as if she had known me all her life. Just then, I wanted to go over and hug her; after she passed, I took my shrimp from the man, began to push my cart, and walked off smiling.

Huge things are sometimes not so huge. You get through it, even though you don't know how you will. Whether it be a good friend or the strangers who just cross the road, say “Mooga!” or are lost at the seafood counter, there’s always someone, whether they know it or not, who’s going to help you get through it. ♥

Post-it Note to the Criminal Justice System: People convicted of creating bad viruses should be punished severely. I propose that said individuals should be locked in a room for a week. While in that room, the criminal will be interrogated every hour by a different seven-year old and be forced to answer said child’s every brain-numbing question. If said criminal fails to answer a question, the criminal will be forced to clean a cat box or walk barefoot over a coughed-up furball; like they say, payback is a b*tch!

The Best of Me

A friend reminded me last night about what is most important in life. Actually, this friend reminds me constantly that it’s about kids, health, and happiness. And, it’s a happiness that family and friends bring you, a happiness that you find in yourself, and if you’re lucky, it’s a happiness that sometimes is made even better by the love of one single significant person in your life, the person who always can see the best in you even when you're having a hard time seeing it yourself.

Tonight’s blog is the best of me. (Yes, there will still be a fishing trip blog, Weather Girl!) But, for tonight, I’ve compiled some of my favorite blogs and listed them here. Think of it this way, I’m in re-runs tonight!

1. Christmas is not a time nor a season, but a state of mind.
2. It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question.
3. You get what you give.
4. A daughter is a gift of love.
5. A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked.
6. Clothes make a statement. Costumes tell a story.
7. All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence.
8. A house is made of walls and beams; a home is built with love and dreams.
9. My number one goal is to love, support and be there for my son.
10. I have always preferred having wings to having things.

To my friend: Thank you for always reminding me about the best parts of me, for loving the best (and the worst) of me, and for always bringing out the best in me. ♥

The Boys (and Girls) are Back in Town - Part Trois

When Donna’s shorts went missing in the running action, I had to mentally regroup, especially since I had to come to the realization that George Clooney hadn’t asked me to the Academy Awards. He did stop, but it was only to ask me for directions to the Manchester Airport. Being the wonderful woman I am, I gave him directions to Logan instead.

I was a tad disappointed that I had to let Donna go. I thought I was in better shape; however, I found that biking 25 miles a day didn't translate to running. When you actually did the translation via Babel Fish, it was “WTF?!?!”

I had discovered that muscle family-wise running and biking were second cousins two times removed. By the way, could someone please explain “hem and haw” and that whole familial “removed” concept to me. And, Brenda, I still need to also know why there are dark clouds! Okay, now that I have my self-improvement out of the way, we can continue.

As I ran along, it seemed that everyone was passing me; I knew then that I was giving in to my self-defeat demons, especially since I was running on my own. I thought back to last year’s race and the race the year before that; I had run with Brenda in ’08, and I had run with Amrit in ’09. Even when you’re running alone, thinking about your friends who are running makes you want to run to the finish line that much faster.

So, as “Night Train” blared on, I kept thinking about my friends. I wondered if John beat Tom, because they had a bet between them; I wondered how Brenda and Jeff were doing, because they both hadn’t been running as much as they used to. And, I especially wondered about Amrit, because even though I could run faster than her, I felt a bit lost on the running course without her.

When I saw the mass of runners taking a left turn up the course’s steep hill, I said, “Shit!” I had missed all the mile markers. Not that I was timing or pacing myself, but it would have been nice to know where I was in this uncharted journey.

I loved this race; however, the finish was a steep uphill followed by 200 yards of flat road to the finish line. As I pushed myself, just like in 1978, some tow-headed 12-year-old went sprinting past me up the hill. I mumbled “Bastard!” but I secretly wanted to pat the kid on the head and say, “Great job! And, just say No to drugs, alcohol, piercings, tattoos, Eminem, Justin Bieber, and Buicks!”

When I finally got up the hill, I gave it my all, which was pretty much nothing, to make it across the finish line. When I staggered past it, I saw Tom. And, we compared notes, though being oxygen deprived, I can’t remember what our notes were!

When Amrit crossed the line, she came up to me. We walked back into the park together to collect our race prize, a not-too-small and not-too-big mug. We compared notes, and I can’t remember what they were, other than the general feeling which was “It’s good to be alive and be here together.”

After we (the riders of Tom’s bus) met at the company banner, we went back to Tom’s car to grab our clothes. The men changed their shirts at the car. The gals opted to bring their bags and change in the women’s room at the after-race venue where we would drink beer and eat food.

While Brenda, Amrit, and I changed in the women’s room, I discovered that I had forgotten my jeans due to giving a damn. I said, “Shit!” Brenda asked from the adjacent stall, “Did you forget underwear?” I said, “No. I forgot my pants!”

Fortunately though, that’s why the Great Cat Goddess invented perfume. I had a clean t-shirt, I had clean underwear, and I had perfume. Spritz, spritz!

We ventured out of the women’s room and sat down at our table. Our team occupied another table nearby, and they were already in good spirits. It didn’t seem to matter who knew who or who ran what time, everyone was dancing in the moonlight. (This is also one of my favorite songs.)

Forty-five minutes later, a few people around a cell phone yelled. We all looked and wondered what the commotion was about. Our team had placed FIRST in the co-ed division.

I can’t really describe the emotion. All of us, those that knew each other, and those that didn’t, were ecstatic. It didn’t matter where we worked, what we worked on, or how we worked it, we were one happy team.

It was one of the best feelings I’ve had in a long time. We were slightly derailed when a team told us that their results hadn’t been tabulated. As of yesterday, it appeared we were still the winners.

Given what we and our company had been through in the last two years, I think winning that night gave us something that stock options or job security couldn’t. We, disjointed as we were, came together and we rocked no matter where we all were from 9-5. We were a great team, even if the universe had made us parts of other teams especially from 9-5; and what the Great Cat Goddess had joined, let no corporation put asunder. ♥

P.S. When I was driving home after the race, I heard this song. I had all the windows and the sunroof open as I drove down Route 495 South. I turned it up loud, because it felt like, it was a fitting theme for our win and for our team.

The Boys (and Girls) are Back in Town -- Part Deux

PreScript: Next year, when I say I want to go on the fishing trip, will someone please remind me that I'm not a morning person and then also remind me how painful it is to get up at 3:30 in the morning when you're not a morning person?! As I said to Brenda earlier in the week, fishing wasn't even in my top 1457 favorite things to do list, and I think 1457 is “Walk across a bed of nails.” I guess like running the 5K, it’s more about the people than the activity, which, oh so conveniently leads me to the continuation of last night’s story.

It was a dark and stormy night; in fact, it was pouring rain (cats and dogs to be exact), right out of those dark clouds! I thought, “How could it be a dark and stormy night when Brenda said it wasn’t going to rain?!?!? Then, I put my Hello Kitty umbrella down and realized that due to only five hours of sleep last night, I had somehow wandered into the wrong story!

I headed to the start line with everyone except Amrit and Brenda. I was worried, because Brenda and Amrit didn't usually go off and not return in a timely fashion. I hemmed and I hawed; by the way, what is hemming and hawing exactly? I did it, but to this day, I’m not sure what it actually involves. Is it hemming a pair of pants while watching "Hee Haw?!"

We went to the start line, thinking that Brenda and Amrit wouldn’t be too far behind us. If I wasn’t giving a damn and giving a damn right then, I was totally bummed out that Amrit and Brenda were AWOL. It didn’t seem right starting without them.

Later, when all mysteries were revealed, like the one about who got me hooked on the 5K race, an unnamed source disclosed that Amrit stopped to get a chair massage. After this detour, Amrit told the unnamed source after arriving late to meet the team, “Don’t tell Jean!” I don’t know why Amrit would think I’d be upset; I was the one who subscribed to the "Leave no runner behind" theory and stood there conflicted singing the Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go." As we walked toward the start line, I was so giving a damn that Amrit and Brenda weren’t with the rest of us recreational runners.

At the start line, runners had to gather in their group; these groups were walker, recreational, and competitive. While most of us had signed up as “recreational runners,” we situated ourselves on the sidewalk between the “competitive” runners and the “recreational” runners. I felt a bit guilty jumping the line like that.

About two minutes before the race was about to start, the recreational runners were instructed to move up and close the gap between themselves and the competitive runners. We rogue runners moved from the sidewalk to the road to be the “Stuf” between the recreational and competitive runners chocolate cookie. My guilt lessened when I thought about Oreo cookies and saw that a lot of the competitive runners had six pack abs.

That is, it looked like they had been drinking a six-pack a night. I then thought that most of us rogues looked like we were the more the competitive runners. But, I’m sure some those six-pack ab competitive runners would have beaten us to a pulp in order to grab the last can of Coors Light!

About a minute before the gun went off, I saw Amrit step in from the side walk. I exclaimed, “You found us!” I asked where Brenda was, and Amrit said that Brenda had decided to remain in the pack of recreational runners.

We waited for the gun to go off. I nervously shifted my weight from side to side and pondered whether to start my music then or wait. Then I thought, “God, I can’t believe I give a damn!”

Pow! The gun went off. Runners started to walk toward the start line. Within thirty seconds, we crossed the start line and began to run.

Donna, Amrit and I stayed together for a bit. At one point, I looked back, and I knew that Amrit had fallen off our running train. I struggled to stay with Donna, and like the little train that could, I kept replaying Bruce Cockburn’s Night Train on my iPod, which is one of my top ten favorite songs of all time.

At about the 2-mile mark, Donna started to move beyond me or I slowed down. I wasn’t exactly sure which happened first. In retrospect, I think both scenarios happened simultaneously.

I wanted to keep up, but I also wanted to finish. Given that I had only given a damn about running since I arrived back at work six weeks earlier, I decided to watch Donna’s blue running shorts swish off into the sea of runners on that crowed street in Manchester, NH. There was always next year!

When Donna’s shorts went missing in the running action, a black sedan pulled up alongside me. Someone was madly tapping on the window inside the car, which I thought was a signal for me to pull over. When I did, the window rolled down, a handsome man popped his head out the window and asked, “Jean, would you like to come to the Academy Awards with me next year?” OMG, it was George Clooney!

Okay, that didn’t really happen. But, again, wouldn’t it have been cool if it did? The fishing trip has taken its toll on me, so tune in tomorrow for the continuing 5K race saga…mmmmmm, BA, ha, ha!

Well, in the past, I've heard my blog is too long, my blog is too positive, and that my blog condemns Amazons on steroids. (By the way, wouldn't that be a great name for an all-girl punk band? Amazons on Steroids!) In the end, especially at the end of this blog, all I think my blog needs is a few cliff hangers once in a while. So, here you go! ♥

The Boys (and Girls) are Back in Town - Part Un

Whether I gave a damn or not, my yearly 5K race has come and gone. How did my running strategies work? Well, at 3:30 yesterday afternoon, the first strategy I had, which was not giving a damn, was failing miserably.

I was hoping that I might trip and sprain my ankle on the way down to the locker room or that Nathan might call me and tell me that there was an emergency dishwashing situation at the country club, so he couldn’t sit for Iz. Unfortunately, wishing for catastrophe less than 3 hours before a 5K race means that you give a damn, especially when you suddenly feel nauseated and you know you’re not pregnant, car sick, or listening to Russ Limbaugh.



I met Amrit, one of my team members in the locker room. I plunked down my back pack and my straw basket and tried to retreat to my prior calm composure, which had been sucking down cinnamon tea and Double Stuf Oreos only two hours earlier. I changed into my lucky running outfit; okay, I really didn't have a lucky running outfit, but I thought it would sound cool if I did.

After I sorted out things to take with me in the red back pack and things to leave in the straw basket in the car, I heaved a sigh that was somewhere between giving a damn, not giving a damn, and hoping there was a trash basket nearby in case I decided to puke. Amrit was braiding her hair and told me to head out to meet the team bus. Okay, again, there was no team bus; the only thing the team really had was a banner with our company name on it, and I think we were lucky just to have that.

The “bus” was really a Toyota Highlander driven by our Fearless Leader, Tom; he was driving himself and five of us (John, Brenda, Jeff, me, and Amrit) up to race. We were stopping to pick up Brenda and Jeff along the way. Hey, we had a pick-up route, so if we had only put the banner on Tom’s Highlander, it could have been a bus!

After retrieving Brenda and Jeff at their bus stop, we began the trip to the race destination. I began to sing “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” Jeff started to kick the back of John’s seat, and Amrit began to pull Jeff's hair. Tom yelled, “That’s it. If you don’t stop it, I’m going to report you all to the CEO,” which would have been a good threat if we actually had a CEO; we do, but, oh, let’s just say “it’s complicated.”

As you know by now, knowing me, that previous paragraph is a pack of lies. Anyway, the bus riders were a small sub-set of the larger team that was meeting us up at the race location. As we drove, we all got a chance to catch up, given that three of us had remained employed with our company, two had been laid off and had jobs elsewhere, and I had been laid off and re-hired thus giving me a old-new job at the company, and we won't go into that because it's way too confusing to diagram.

Like any good conversation, there’s always room to talk about the weather, especially when you’re planning to do something outdoors. Brenda (a.k.a, Weather Girl) and a Sunny Not Cloudy graduate of the Sunshine School assured me that it was not supposed to rain even though it looked like it was. By the Route 40 exit off of Route 3 North, I believed Brenda because, unlike me, she used the meteorological data on the Internet to make her forecast whereas I only said, “Ooo, look, dark clouds!” to make mine.

Once at the race destination, we unloaded from the bus. Giving a damn, I wanted to hide in the backseat at that point. But, I thought it would be really difficult to hide a 5’10” blonde wearing pink sneakers; I got out of the bus, trying so hard not to give a damn.

We all walked to the park near the start line where the race festivities occurred. We got our box of t-shirts and race numbers. Then it was time to put up the banner to state that the Team to Beat was in the house!

Actually, we weren’t full of ourselves at all. Some of us were serious runners who timed our daily runs, some had bets with other runners about their individual performances, and some of us were just trying really hard not to give a damn in order to make it to the start line without puking! This was the first year we signed up to be a co-ed team; I think Fearless Leader Tom did it thinking he’d mix things up a bit, especially because our team had lost quite a few runners due to company layoffs the past year.

We had arrived an hour before the race was to begin, so there was plenty of time to pin on numbers, stretch, socialize, and not give a damn. Both Brenda and I agreed that there was too much time to stand there and give a damn before the race. I decided that next year, I would show up ten minutes before the race, so there would be absolutely no time to give a damn.

Twenty minutes before the race started, Amrit and Brenda wandered off to go to the bathroom. I stood there and wondered if I should have some kind of strategy; if truth be told, I only hoped to run faster than last year. Somehow, in the next ten minutes, I managed to state out loud that I would try to run with Donna, who was faster than me; since I had announced my intentions publicly, there was no going back. Great Cat Goddess, what had I done?

The PA system announced that only ten minutes remained to the start of the race. Amrit and Brenda hadn’t returned. Half of me wanted to wait for them because I didn’t give a damn, and half of me wanted to head to the start line, because I gave a damn; did anyone ever think that athletic endeavors made me this conflicted? Well, they did!

I headed to the start line with everyone except Brenda and Amrit…

Okay, I have to get up at 3:30am tomorrow to go on the deep fishing trip sponsored by the technical support group at work. So, I’m leaving you in suspense, because I don’t give a damn! But, because I give a damn, Part II of this blog will be posted tomorrow, and there may even be a fishing blog on Sunday. ♥

Painful Meditation

Tomorrow night, I run my annual 5K race. While I competed in track and field, volleyball, and cycling over the years, I was never one to run a lot of road races. The first road race that I ever participated in was my town’s annual July 4th race.

While I jogged (read "plodded") a few miles every day when on the track team, I hadn’t been doing much running before that race at all; however, I thought, “Heck, I’m an athletic person; therefore, I am a runner,” which turned out to be a really stupid 16-year-old thought back then. After the gun shot at the starting line, I took off, though way too fast. I remember stopping in the middle of Haynes Road, ironically the road I grew up on, to heave pant after pant.

I heard footsteps fast approaching. As I stared down at the asphalt still panting, I thought, “Thank goodness; it’s the paramedics!” I looked up and two young children, a boy and a girl, went running right pass me! That was my first and last road race for quite a while.

After I had Isabelle, I wanted to get back into shape, so I joined the gym at work. Years earlier, I had gotten into power walking with a friend of mine. We walked 5 miles every day at lunch and even competed in a few races.

I could never quite get the hang of race walking, mostly because I thought it looked so goofy; it wasn’t like walking down the runway. Hmm. I just watched both of those videos, and you’re right; they’re both somewhat goofy!

Anyway, one day, I was walking on the treadmill at the gym, and like Forrest Gump, I decided it was time to run no matter how goofy I might look given I wasn't a "runner." Unfortunately, I, probably like a bazillion other women, have always been worried about how I “look.” I still hate telling people that I used to throw the discus and shot put, because I fear they’ll view me as some sort of Amazon on steroids, not that there's anything wrong with being an Amazon on steroids!

I know I’m not a brute. This is just one of my many insecurities. And, I have worked hard on each and every one of them for the past 48 years!

Fortunately, my gym partner, Lisa, exclaimed when I got off the treadmill, “You’re a good runner.” After that, I never looked back. And, that was good thing, because if I did, I most certainly would have fallen off the treadmill!

When I started my old job, which is currently my new job, because I now work for the company where I had my old job again, but they laid me off, so I work for them again, so it’s really a new job, an old-new job, or a new-old job, I joined a gym. Does anyone need me to diagram that? Maybe I'm making it more confusing that it is; however, the confusing part really is why they ever laid off me and all my co-workers.

Anyway, when I started working at my current company, I joined a gym, where I ran on the treadmill. When my company moved to a new site, the gym was too far to drive to, so I got a novel idea. Why don’t I run outside? And, I never looked back, except when I needed to cross the road and make sure I wouldn’t get hit by a car when doing so.

As it turned out, my company had a group of people who liked to run. They competed in this 5K race every August as a team. I forget how it happened exactly, but three years ago, I signed up for the race.

Throughout my life, I have never enjoyed competition. Most of the time, competition is like cleaning up cat barf to me; it makes me want to vomit! The only time that competition really didn’t make me nervous was when I played volleyball; I guess I always liked being part of team more than being on my own. (Post-it Note to my Personal Life: Hmmm.)

Tomorrow night at 6:20, I will be running around the streets of Manchester, NH. I know you’re wondering if the competition is making me nervous. Nope, and it’s all due to my race training strategy which is, “I don’t give a damn.” It’s amazing how that strategy makes you, well, not give a damn! I should approach more things in my life this way; I really do give a damn; however, I pretended not to which temporarily takes all the pressure off.

So, it is pre-race night, and here are a few of the things I’m doing to prepare myself for the big race.

I’m not giving a damn.

There's no visual for this. Let's face it, if I really did give a damn, I wouldn't be writing this blog now. So, I really don't really don't give a damn, because I'm not doping my blood, I'm not eating spaghetti, and I've not contacted my publicist, if I had one, in anticipation of becoming the 48-year-old who beat out every competitor to win the race!

Update iPod 5K playlist.

I’d rather run barefoot through dog poop and cat barf before I’d run without my iPod. Music drowns out the sounds of me gasping for air during any run.



I know she doesn’t look fierce, but believe me, she’s bad ass when “You Shook Me All Night Long” comes on.

Carbo-load.



“Let them eat spaghetti,” said Jean Marie Antoinette, the first Polish queen of France that history forgot, while you eat Double Stuf Oreos.

Tend to your toes.



Before you run any race, always make sure you're wearing clean underwear and ensure that your toes are impeccable in case you get into an accident. No EMT wants to look at a sprained toe with chipped "Keys to my Karma" on it.

Read inspirational material.

Try to read this…



Even though you might be better off with this…



And when all else fails, try this…



Consult your coach for strategies to use if anyone gets too close to you when you’re running.

Growl if you need to and bark to be annoying or, if a form of performance art, to be amusing.

(Note: The coach only speaks when motivated by the doorbell; it’s Pavlovian coaching.)

Use positive visualization.

Try to think this…



Even though you’re really thinking this…



Meditate before bed.



Most of the time, running is not really about physical ability (there's training involved, of course), but more about mental fortitude. Let's not make any excuses; running hurts. It's not like lifting weights, where you get breaks every set. It's constant exertion. Running is painful meditation.

The last few hundred yards of the 5K course is uphill. At this point, I will be doing a verbal mediation. It will go something like, “I think I can…I think I can…I think I can, because all I want is that cold beer at the end of the finish line!”

Stay motivated.

Although running is an individual pursuit, it can also be turned into a group activity.

This is why I run the race; it’s the team thing. Even when I wasn’t employed by the team sponsor, my company, I still ran the race on the team. The best part of the run is not the running; it’s really about my team members, Brenda, Jeff, Tom, and Amrit, four friends who have always kept me motivated and given me mental fortitude through all of the pain. ♥

Happiness is...

Having dinner with a friend who you’ve known forever and a day.



And twenty-five years later, it still feels like it was just yesterday that:

o You scraped your knee in Hanauma Bay, and she held your arm so you wouldn’t pass out when you got light-headed at the sight of you own blood.

(Though you did drop your Dad’s camera that you borrowed for the trip into the bay. A week after you got home, your Dad told you that his camera didn’t work, so he took it for repair. Then he said to you quite puzzled, “The camera shop said it had sand in it,” and you said, “It did? I don’t know how that happened.”)

(Oh, and you thought you saw a barracuda while snorkeling, and your friend never believed you. It turns out that on your last trip to the New England Aquarium, a volunteer in the big tank pointed out the fish that you thought was a barracuda; thus, you had to email her twenty-four years later and say, “Um, remember when I said I thought I saw a barracuda when we were in snorkeling in Hawaii and you didn't believe me?! Well, you were right, okay!!!!”)

o You drove down to South Carolina in her V-8 mustang (read “rocket ship”) in record time to spend a week at her parent’s condo in Myrtle Beach.

o You were at a party, and she told you how much she liked your mutual friend, Skip, and you, powered by Margaritas on Patriot’s Day, blurted out loudly in a crowded room where Skip was present, “You’ve got the hots for Skip?!” (Hey, they celebrate their 21st wedding anniversary this year despite my big Margarita mouth!)

o She told you “Always go with your gut,” which was one of the best pieces of advice that anyone had ever given you.

Suzebabe, you rock. ♥

Post-it Note to Steve from Monty:

Happy Thought Cottage

On Saturday, Iz and I were into Day Three of our time alone together; this was what Iz liked to call our “girl time.” Nathan was around the house but never really more than to snooze. Since he was asleep when we were awake, and we were asleep when he was awake, we put on our census enumerator hats (vintage Stetsons we think) and we checked the box next to “Inhabitant under the age of 18 badly in need of a hair cut who sleeps at the address occasionally which can only be verified by the sounds of the bonk-bonk and beep-beep of his IM and text messages.”

On Friday night, Iz and I struck a deal; if she helped me around the house on Saturday, I’d take her to the beach on Sunday. It was really a toss up in regard to who like the beach more. She liked being in the water, and I liked looking at the water and pretending I was numb from the frigid 61 degrees; she liked the feeling of sand down her bikini bottom, and I liked the feeling of the sand on the bottom of my feet.

Thus, Saturday was a day of cleaning everything and the kitchen sink. I first asked Iz to pick up the family room on Saturday morning, and she quickly shot me the “Why me?!?!?!” look. I shot her back the “You'd better do it if you want to go to the beach tomorrow” look. She then said, “Yes, Momma.”

Iz is getting used to the work-to-earn (toys or trips) concept. Last week, we were out shopping, and she saw a toy she wanted. I told her she could buy it with her own money; she agreed, snapped up her Littlest Pet Shop figures, and happily walked off to the cash register at Target.

When we got home, I said, “Iz, you need to give me $6 for the toys you bought.” After I said that, it took all of one minute for the happiness to morph into indignation and disbelief. “Mommy, if I give you $6, then I will have no more money!”

I tried to explain to her that we agreed she would pay for the toys. I hope I don’t sound like an ogre, but I was trying to slowly introduce the concept that “Mommy is not made out of money,” and at this point, it wasn’t going too well. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn that Iz was about to pick up the phone and call her attorney to advise her on the Littlest Pet Shop transaction, feeling that somehow I had fraudulently duped her.

I was almost ready to say, “Forget it,” but I knew that she was old enough to begin to understand the concept of finance. I explained the transaction to her again, and she angrily walked over to her desk, opened the lid, and pulled out her wallet. She glared at me as she opened it, rifled through it, and pulled out $6.

She walked over to me and said almost in tears, “Here!!!!” How horrible did I feel? I felt like I was mugging her; however, I mustered all my parental I'm-doing-the-right-thing-to-illustrate-a-point courage and I said, “Thank you, Iz.”

Well, Finance 101 didn’t go to well that week. While we wallowed in our girl time on Friday, I knew that we needed to accomplish many things on Saturday like vacuuming, doing laundry, cleaning her room, making cookies for the church bake sale, and running miscellaneous errands. I thought that I might try and go back to Finance 50 with Iz; thus, I proposed the manual labor in exchange for the beach trip scenario.

When I first proposed it, she was eager. She asked about the specifics, and I told her that I’d need her to help me with my list of things to do. I guess it was easier for her to give of herself than of her wallet at this point.

Despite a rough start over the cleaning of the family room, Iz was a very good helper. I asked her to take Monty for a walk around the house a few times, and she immediately jumped up, put on her flip flops, and was out on the porch attaching Monty to his leash in under three minutes. I moved the mixer in the kitchen, and she shot off the couch (heroically prying herself away from America's Next Top Model), ran into the bathroom, grabbed her stool, and dropped it down on the floor in front of the mixer saying, “I’m ready to help you make the cookies, Momma.”

We tackled Iz’s room together. It was funny how she made the mess, but she felt it was my maternal responsibility to help tidy the mess. After 30 minutes, we had cleared two corners of her room, and I deemed the room “clean enough for occupancy” until next weekend.

In general, Iz was usually pretty helpful. Actually, sometimes she might have been too helpful by putting things away that I had just taken out, drowning my well-watered plants in more water, and then feeding (read “overfeeding”) the animals. I always thanked her for her efforts; sometimes her effort required more effort on my part, but it was true that her effort always counted for something.

At 4pm on Saturday, we were ready to run our errands. We had to drop off our chocolate-chip cookies at the parish hall, and then we had to go to Target to buy a new iron. Iz had been a great help throughout the day, even though I knew I had done most of the work. Sometimes you don’t mind doing most of the work, especially when you love being with the one you’re sharing the work with.

If Truth Be Told Note: Earlier in the afternoon, when I put away the last of the dishes from the dishwasher, I noticed the change jar. The last time we emptied it out, we cashed in all the change and bought groceries for the local food pantry. I said to Iz, “Let’s cash in our change,” to which Iz asked, “Are we going to buy food with it again?” Once at Target, I bought her a game for her Ninendo DS with the money; sometimes you just need to say, “I love you, and I thank the Great Cat Goddess that you’re in my life” with Nintendogs.

That night, as I packed our lunches for Sunday's beach expedition, Iz declared, “Mommy, we did a lot today!” I told her that we did; while I was exhausted, it seemed to be unspoken that we didn’t have to go anywhere or do anything “fun” to enjoy a day together. There was no place like home, and it had been happy day for the two of us at home.

On Sunday, we made our way to Maine where my sister-in-law and brother had rented a house a mere 300 yards from the beach. When we got out of the car, Iz asked, “Where’s the beach?!?!?” That’s my girl! When we made our way up the steps of their cottage, I saw this sign over the front door.



I laughed out loud. In the moment, something struck me about the sign, especially given my new found love, George Clooney, err, I mean, meditation! I could see how the happy thoughts would abound here, especially given that you could quite literally spit on the beach from the cottage's front steps.

Thirty minutes later, we made our way to the beach with Uncle Jack and Aunt Lisa. When low tide was at its lowest, the beach was endless and vast, the waves were voluminous, and the tide pools were plentiful and full of starfish and periwinkles. It was a natural and beautiful water park to which the admission was free.

Iz and I walked down to the jetty, investigating each puddle. I said, “Don’t step on the rocks with the barnacles!” At one point, I heard, “Ouch,” knowing that my warning met deaf yet happily exploring ears.

At one point, we found a star fish. I thought it was dead; however, after experimentation, I realized it was just playing dead to the blonde predators it rightly sensed overhead. Iz wanted to take it home as I pet, and I told her that we couldn’t.

She stormed off down the beach. “But, what if a seagull eats it?” she lamented. I told her it would be fine.

I yelled after her bikini bottom, “Star fish are not pets, Iz!” I sensed that this was the end of the happy day. When we got back to our spot on the beach, Aunt Lisa offered to take her in the water.

In an instant, all thoughts of the star fish were gone. Forget meditation! (Though, mediation before bed was working really well for me.) I wanted to be seven again, so all my weighty problems would disappear in anticipation of a boogie board and a big wave.

At 4pm, we left Aunt Lisa, Uncle Jack, and the Happy Thought cottage; Iz plunked herself down in her booster seat and snapped her seat belt shut. She suddenly blurted out, “I’m so happy!” I smiled, thinking that we really had a wonderful weekend together, whether it was cleaning the house or trolling the tide pools together. Then she said, “Because next year I don’t have to sit in a booster seat anymore!!!!” Well, one woman’s happy thought is not always another woman’s happy thought, but it didn’t really matter as long we were both happy. ♥