Embracing the New Year

Earlier this week, my aunt married her love. She and her new husband have both experienced love and loss with their first spouses. Now they are embracing each other and their future together. Not only am I extremely happy for them, I am inspired by them.

I'm in search of inspiration right now. Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary and my divorce is still not final. My job search is in "crash and burn" mode. I keep getting soooo close and then something happens. The roller coaster of hopes up/hopes dashed is exhausting.
But the new year is almost here and I'm finding a lot to look forward to. Or more accurately, new things to be inspired by and about.

Happy New Year

A Garden Party

If you're old enough, you might remember Ricky Nelson. If you're really old, you might remember that he was a child of Ozzie and Harriet Nelson and they had a quaint little TV sitcom that still runs in syndication.

One of the benefits of being married to (and around a lot of) musical people is they know the stories behind the songs. They tend to study these things and memorize them. Even if they get them partially wrong, it's still more than I knew to begin with.

It's hard to go back. It's difficult to face old friends and acquaintances in a new reality.

Last year, the holiday season was a blur for me. I was newly separated, a raw little thing that could barely blurt out, "Merry Christmas" without dissolving into tears. This year, honestly I am still raw but the wound is scabbed over. I made a promise to myself that I would buck up and attend social gatherings when I was asked.

In 1971, Ricky Nelson was part of a Rock & Roll Revival concert at Madison Square Garden. The crowd wanted to hear his old songs and when he launched into newer material, he was booed. He left the stage.

"Garden Party" became a hit for him in 1972.

I went to a garden party to reminisce with my old friends
A chance to share old memories and play our songs again
When I got to the garden party, they all knew my name
No one recognized me, I didn't look the same

I've been to a couple of garden parties lately. Everyone is genuinely nice and happy to see me. But it's hard to shake the feeling of not singing the right song.

Ricky Nelson was a smart cookie with lyrics. He ended the song with:

But it's all right now. I've learned my lesson well.
You see, you can't please everyone, so you've got to please yourself.

A Public Official vs. A Public Figure

Oh, I am so disappointed that Tiger is a Cheetah...

(I'm also really disappointed that I wasn't smart enough or creative enough to come up with that headline before someone else.)

I go back and forth on this one.

Before you think I might have lost my morals and my mind, let me be clear -- anyone who cheats is a dog. A double-devil, dirty dog. A slimy, scum-of-the-earth, not worthy-of-breadscraps dog.

Here's where I'm unclear: We didn't elect him to anything. If Nike wants to give him a b'jillion dollars to represent their company and he does something (anything!) to violate that contract, well ... that's between him and Nike. If people throw tons of money to attend golf tournaments where he will play or have his name attached, I'm pretty sure the contract is ironclad and there's no clause that regulates his sex life.

Tiger is not a public official. He does not solicit public funds and he does not receive millions of dollars to run for office. He receives millions of dollars for running an empire where he is expected to play golf in an exceptional manner. Sure, he's also expected to be a role model -- something I'm sure none of us would sign up to be.

The saddest part of the aftermath is money will change hands. Tiger and his wife may renegotiate their pre-nup, mid-nup, post-nup contract. Any sponsorship contract he signs in the future is likely to have a strong "character" clause. Everyone will cast a little shadow of doubt with possible dubious behavior.

You can throw all the money around that you want. There's nothing like a wife chasing your car down the street with a golf club in her hand, bashing in the windshield and wishing (for a second) it was your head.

Bubble Wrap

Today I was waiting for a friend in Broad Ripple, a little village in the heart of our town. A parent left the stroller on the sidewalk and I noticed the label said, "Remove Child Before Folding."

Have we really come to that?

A couple of years ago, I was on a plane and they announced on the speaker that they would not be serving peanuts because a child on the flight had peanut allergies. They also asked that anyone not eat anything with peanuts during the flight.

Bad things happen.

A person who was scheduled to review photos with our parishioners was called away this week because his son was murdered for his pizza delivery money. Not too far from my neighborhood, a guy was walking his dog and ended up shot in the back, paralyzed from the waist down. This was for $20 and his cell phone which he gave up with no questions asked.

Fear is a fungus. Freaky accidents and violent crimes get the most attention because they are the most shocking and the most unusual. Yet, we all go crazy.

I know someone who wears a pistol strapped to her ankle at all times. In her daily errands and in her own home. It's terribly sad for me to think of her living in perpetual fear.

I know a couple of people from my childhood. They both have three children roughly the same age. For the record, I love all the people involved in this story. But to be honest, I am less nervous with the kids who are allowed to cross the street, crawl in my car, roll with my dog, etc. The other kids are delightful and I'm sure they have their own releases. From my limited view, I see the bubble-wrapped, "don't touch the dog" and "take your shoes off" kind of childhood. Even when my own parents tried to keep me safe, I flocked to my peers and their houses where children fell down, picked themselves up and moved on.

I worked downtown before our downtown was revitalized. For many years I walked 5 blocks to and from my parking spot. Gasp! I was unarmed. I used to beg to walk to school and occasionally my parents let me do it.

Here's what I believe and the statistics prove me out.

A child is more likely to be kidnapped by a non-custodial parent than a stranger.
A child is more likely to be molested by a family member than a stranger.
A woman is more likely to be raped by an acquaintance than a stranger.
Anyone is more likely to be killed by someone texting while driving than all of the above scenarios.

Most people are good. They will call 911 if something seems amiss. They will administer CPR or the Heimlich maneuver instead of stealing your wallet. They will risk their own lives to save yours.

In the 70s, a very young John Travolta starred in a movie, "The Boy in the Bubble."

I refuse to be the woman in the bubble.

Falling Away

No, I didn't fall off the face of the earth. But I've had a few days lately that I want to.

So, please forgive this little unplanned break while I regroup. I will be back with new posts in a few days.

As Arnold says, "I'll Be Back!"

Marry the Geek

I met someone the other day and we chatted about clothes, favorite vacation spots and fun restaurants. In the course of the getting-to-know-you conversation, I asked what her husband does for a living. He's head of IT for some fancy shmancy corporation.

I am officially, over-the-top, out-of-my-head jealous.

Please remember that I have never met this man. But I am starting to think with my head instead of my heart. And I am not interested in how much money a man makes or who he knows at the country club. I don't care if he can get the governor on the phone or get free tickets to whatever hot act is coming to town.

If I ever date or marry again, I will be practical. I want the guy who can work the remotes or fix my computer when I'm having a meltdown at 2:00 AM.

You Gotta Love the English Language

Once again, I am blatantly stealing. I don't know where the credit for this should go. Otherwise, I would give credit where it is due.

I loved this and I hope you do too.

Reasons why the English language is so hard to learn:

1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce.
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to
present the present.
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail
18) After a number of injections my jaw got number.
19) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
20) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests
21) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France
(Surprise!).

Burn, turn, fern, learn, urn, stern, --- Why do we use the "e" the "u" or the "ea" for the same sound?

Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat.

Quicksand works slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?

If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth?

One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese?

Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend.

If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it? Is it an odd or an end?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?

If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?

In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Park in the driveway or drive on the parkway? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?

How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down,

In which you fill in a form by filling it out, and in which, an alarm goes
off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the
creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all.

That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.

Why doesn't "Buick" rhyme with "quick?"

Looking Back; Looking Forward

There's nothing wrong with walking along memory lane. It adds perspective and let's face it -- it's fun. But lately, I am trapped on that street. Time may not heal things but it's supposed to add perspective. I'm not sure about that either. With me, it's much easier to get wrapped up in the good times, the easier times, the days that I thought all was right with the world.

This is why we have girlfriends.

And parents. And dogs.

Did I mention I had a date last night with the love of my life? The man I have shared most of my adult life with and the man who is capable of evoking every emotion and feeling with a glance or a touch...

Scary stuff for the faint of heart.

I recently plopped myself in my minister's office. I pretended to talk about committee stuff for a while until I gathered the courage to ask him (again!) for guidance about my marriage and impending divorce. Like all talented and well-schooled counselors, he was useless. I believe he said, "You're looking for me to tell you what to do and I can't do that." (He's not useless -- that was a joke!)

What he said, and it resonated, was this:
"You've already made your decision. You just need to act on it."

Yes, I do know it's time to look to the future. I may never love another man the way I loved this one.

But who knows? Maybe some really good stuff is out there once I choose to look forward.

Dinner Date

One of the most talented writers I know is my aunt. She has been my inspiration for a long time.

Tonight I am having dinner with a man. It's not a date; it's not a meeting. I don't know what it is. It's not just any man -- it's the one I've lived with for 18 years. I think we're both trying to learn from each other so we don't repeat the same mistakes. I don't think I can open my heart to anyone again until I truly understand this relationship.

As I'm pondering all of this, I reread one of my aunt's poems. It's about theft and I love it.

HELP STOP CRIME
by Cecily Crossman - 1972

I accused you of a felony,
I thought you broke my heart,
And ruined my life.
But,
After thoroughly investigating the crime,
I will concede,
It could have been an inside job.

Elvis in Common

Yesterday I had a job interview. I think it went well although I did not take the advice of the friend who told me to "ugly up" and tone my personality down. I figure Mother Nature is taking care of the "ugly up" part and people who apply for marketing jobs are not expected to have demure personalities. If they are, I will never work again.

The woman CEO that I interviewed with explained why she had a Thomas Kincade picture of Graceland on her office wall. It's a long story, and really not mine to tell, but the bottom line is her mother loves Elvis. Not misses him terribly and wishes she had met him -- no, this is the type of over-the-top adoration that makes this CEO daughter take her mother to Memphis every year for Elvis Week. I was happy to be able to say, "My mother was in love with Elvis too." (I did not point out that my mother is normal and does not feel the need to trek to Graceland once a year.)

If I get the job, I will have to thank Elvis.

Sorry Buddy

Recently while having dinner with my parents at MCL, they told me a story about another gentleman in the restaurant. Seems he was dining there -- alone -- and having a lengthy and loud argument with himself. Eventually he calmed down and said -- to himself: "Sorry Buddy, I didn't mean to get so angry."

Today I went with my mother to the doctor. In the waiting room, a man had a conversation with himself at the water cooler. Later he coughed but instead of covering his mouth, he flailed his arms wildly, as if to herd the germs away.

I think we're hanging out in the wrong places.

Learning to Fly

Sometimes you just want to check out. I don't mean suicide or drugs or even grave depression. I mean more of the nagging feeling that everything is going wrong, you can't catch a break, you can't find your center, every smile is forced. It's not getting up on the wrong side of the bed; it's not wanting to get out of bed.

There's an old saying that goes something like this:

Sometimes the only way to learn to fly involves being pushed off a cliff.

That's the way I'm feeling these days. I so want to fly. I want to soar. I'm just not sure how. (I'm also not sure I've actually hit the edge of the cliff yet.)

Then I feel incredible guilt at the selfishness of these thoughts.

I'm not loving these extremes. Yet, I am clinging to my belief that I will fly again.

I do not recommend the combination of quitting smoking, finalizing a divorce and job hunting.

Comfort Food

Like most people, I have certain trigger foods that immediately imply comfort. Some love mashed potatoes -- I guess I do too. But mainly, I crave gooey and cheesy. I could eat macaroni and cheese every day. I don't allow myself to do it but I could.

About a year ago, I was slightly underweight for my size. Those days are gone. I've enjoyed mac & cheese, ice cream, and other guilty pleasures quite often. Now that I've balanced back to the normal range, plus quit smoking (Day 19!) I know the weight will begin to pile on.

I had three bites of mac & cheese tonight with my dinner. I probably won't do that again for a while.

But life cannot be all torture. I will still have some ice cream.

Tired and Cranky

Aren't there always days when you're tired of being tired? This is one of those days. I'm tired of wanting a cigarette. I'm tired of looking for a job. I'm tired of waiting for my divorce to be finalized. I'm tired of catching a glimpse of me in the mirror -- looking tired.

And yet, I've gone two weeks without a cigarette and I haven't killed anyone yet. I have a couple of promising job prospects. I have a meeting later this week that will bring the divorce closer to closure.

I'm starting to believe I'm one of those odd, ridiculously chipper people. I took my dog this evening to a small street festival. I ate bad food and listened to a band. I was the only one who started dancing.

I will never be too tired or cranky to dance.

Random Thoughts about TV

With too much time on my hands, I'm guilty of one eye on the television.

TV is truly one of my guilty pleasures and I admit I always anticipate the beginning of the new season. Yesterday I watched the premiere of the Dr. Oz show. He's the doctor who rose to fame with regular appearances on Oprah. I've seen him on Oprah a number of times and liked him but his show isn't going to make it. I don't care how knowledgeable or charming you are, it's pretty tough to make health care interesting for a solid hour every day.

I also watched Whitney Houston on Oprah. Well, I watched Part One. I think she's still as messed up as she was when she was married to Bobby Brown. I think Oprah is so in love with her that to call it an "interview" is a serious stretch. It was more of a mutual fan club meeting.

Jay Leno is not doing anything new or dramatic. His new show is nothing more than The Tonight Show airing 90 minutes earlier.

That's all I've caught but it's early yet. Now I must turn off the television and take some dogs for a walk.

Another Loss

We woke up this morning to the news that Patrick Swayze lost his battle with pancreatic cancer. Not a shock to anyone but sad nonetheless.

His two big movie roles, Dirty Dancing and Ghost, remain two of my I-can-watch-it-over-and-over favorites. Especially Dirty Dancing. You know I love almost any form of dancing. Who would not have wanted to be Baby in that movie?

He seemed to be very humble about his weaknesses: smoking and drinking. He was passionate about his work and many causes. He seemed genuinely in love with his wife of over 30 years.

It will make me a little sad the next time I watch one of his movies.

Words of Encouragement

This morning I went out on the deck and found a note in the dew -- not the first one this week. Today's note said, "Day Nine -- Doing Fine."

It's amazing how something that simple and sweet can set your mood.

I promise not to make this entire blog about my efforts to become a nonsmoker but for the record, it is day nine. And I am still doing fine.

Thanks Dad!

Day Six

Still not smoking! I guess it's getting easier. I feel like it is and then I have a wave of something that makes me want to rip someone's face off. So far, I have been able to control myself.

Interestingly, I am craving the nicotine less than I'm craving the habit. I guess the Chantix must be doing its job. I still have my triggers:

Getting in the car
Leaving someplace where you can't smoke
After eating, etc.

My buddy is also hanging in there. She has a lot of nervous energy and is funneling it into home improvements. In a few days, she'll have remodeled her entire home.

I'm not deceiving myself -- there are lots of hard times, cravings and temptations ahead. But I'm starting to believe I can do it this time. If you understood how down I am about where my life is, you'd understand that feeling this hope is a gift.

"We Always ..."

It's slowly closing in on one year since my marriage ended. While I am still legally married, the beginning of the emotional end started in the Fall of '08.

Since then, we had another anniversary; we did not spend it together. We've both celebrated birthdays and his was a milestone one. We didn't see each other for either. Separately, we acknowledged the one-year anniversary of the deaths of his parents, my original oldies. Not to mention kids' birthdays, friends' anniversaries and the holidays.

Not that this is any harder for me than it would be anyone else but I love routine. I cherish tradition. And I love the idea of knowing our favorite menus, our regular vacation buddies and our holiday traditions.

We are not enemies and I don't think we're going to be. We're friendly but not friends. "Acquaintances" feels wrong -- it implies knowing someone but not well. We know each other scarily well.

So what are we? We are no longer a we.

Quitting Smoking

I am quitting smoking. Tomorrow is my first smoke-free day. I am excited and scared.

In my early years of working at the bank, everyone smoked. Right there in their offices -- it seems unheard of now. Conference rooms were decorated with huge crystal ashtrays. My boss and I spent countless hours working on budgets, plans and solving all the problems sharing a pot of coffee and filling the ashtray.

A few years later we moved into a brand new building -- Gasp! Nonsmoking! He decided to quit and we all cheered him on. But, I'll never forget him saying to me, "If I'm diagnosed with lung cancer, the first thing I'm going to do is buy a carton of cigarettes and smoke them all!"

Ok, he was in withdrawal. But I do understand the power of addiction.

Tomorrow is my turn. I've taken my Chantix even though I despise pills and I have a buddy enduring this with me. We figure we can hold each other accountable and also take our bitchy moods out on each other.

I'm telling you this for a couple of reasons:

I would appreciate support and prayers.
It's highly likely the mood of the blog may turn a little cranky for a bit.

The Lion Sleeps Tonight

After writing about Eunice Kennedy Shriver's death and how much I admired her, I also want to acknowledge the death of her brother, Senator Edward Kennedy.

The news broke this morning and the reporter said, "The nation is mourning the loss of Ted Kennedy."

Ok, wait a minute. How do they know the whole nation is "mourning?"

Ted was not my favorite Kennedy. Maybe it has to do with Chappaquiddick. I'm big on forgiveness; I'm equally fond of accountability.

I've always found him a little slimy. The whole rape trial, Uncle Teddy helping out his nephew, William Kennedy Smith, didn't help.

But, I must certainly admire his passion in the senate and his endless works in the areas of health care, the poor, the disabled and more.

And let's not forget he left a wife, an ex-wife, children, step-children, nieces and nephews. By tragic default, he was the family patriarch. He rose to the occasion and they were some pretty steep shoes to fill.

I guess I am mourning. I'm in awe of of this family that I do not know. I'm astounded that he is the last of the nine siblings and now the torch of this family -- America's royal family -- has been passed to the next generation.

My generation.


(Correction: Jean Kennedy Smith, Ted's sister and mother of the accused rapist, is the last living Kennedy of that generation.)

Doodling in the Dew

Sometimes I go out with the dogs in the morning. I love being outside early. I love the promise of a new day.

The dew is beaded on the deck rails and everything feels crisp.

When my dad goes fishing, he leaves the house very early. But, I've noticed he doodles along the deck rails. Usually he doodles one word: Sandy.

Self Defense

Do you own a gun? I know lots of people who do. Some responsibly; some not. I'm very mixed on this issue.

I'm tired of watching the news and hearing of drive-by shootings or drug deals gone awry. On the other hand, I'm tired of learning of innocent people harmed. Would they have been better off armed?

This is on my mind because I am being cautioned a lot lately. At some point, I will be a single woman, living alone. I'm armed. I have pepper spray that I will eventually blind myself with. Or, confuse it with Binaca and have zero taste buds. I have a dog who will warn me of a disturbance and then in real trouble, lick the intruder to death. If he's smart enough to carry treats, (isn't everone?) she will just go move in with him.

What's our next job? Do I get more treats?

Truthfully, you'll never know what I decide about the gun thing. And, I'm making jokes about my dog because she will always follow me. You may or may not have treats in your pocket. But I am a sure thing.

Grab a Shovel

Growing up, I was used to my parents saying "no." Now I live with them again and we play the fun game of saying "no" to each other. I try to be the Food Nazi; occasionally I get to be the teenager (at 46!) in this home. I recently spent the night with a girlfriend -- dog in tow, not a danger in sight -- but my dad told me the next day that we need to revisit the curfew discussion. We will decide if I am allowed to have overnight camps when I am 50.

There are times when God says "no." Frankly, we all should know that but we continue to bargain in prayer.

Please, God, make it right.

And of course, we mean right to us, at that moment, not necessarily right for our lives or His plan.

Most of us wait for some big, huge, life-altering sign from prayer. The odds are pretty good that we won't be the chosen one who gets the burning bush or the parting of the sea. In the quiet moments, we might get the realization that we're praying really hard for something and the answer is no.

One of my dad's favorite sayings is, "If you pray for a garden, you'd better grab a shovel."

There's also the folklore tale of the olden country village, stricken with drought and holding a revival for a rain dance. (Every oldie in the world has told this story. Movies have been made about it.) The rain comes at the end.

Nobody brought an umbrella.

The Mindset List

Every year since 1998, Beloit College releases the "Mindset List." What started as a cultural reminder for teachers of incoming college freshmen has grown into a document used around the world. It's a touchstone of the rapidly changing frame of reference for this generation.

It's filled from the silly to the serious. Most of the students entering college this fall were born in 1991.

Members of the class of 2013 won't be surprised when they can charge a latte on their cell phone and curl up in the corner to read a textbook on an electronic screen. They live in a world organized around globalization with McDonald's everywhere on the planet. Carter and Reagan are as distant to them as Truman and Eisenhower were to their parents. Everybody knows the news before the evening news comes on.

Here are a few of my favorites from the list:

They have never used a card catalog to find a book.

Magic Johnson has always been HIV-positive.

Babies have always had a social security number.

The American health care system has always been in critical condition.

Women have always outnumbered men in college.

There has always been a computer in the oval office.

Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream has always been a flavor choice.

The list is not intended to make the rest of us feel old but that's exactly what it does to me. It's still fun to read. To view the entire list, go to: http://www.beloit.edu/mindset/

The Kennedy Mystique

With the death of Eunice Kennedy Shriver this week, Ted Kennedy is the sole remaining child of Joe and Rose Kennedy. And, I suspect we'll be eulogizing him soon.

I've always had a fascination with the Kennedys. Some writers refer to them as American Royalty and I tend to agree. Yes, they have their scandals and their bad seeds but they also have done some pretty amazing things.

Eunice was known for founding the Special Olympics and championing the mentally challenged. We all know this passion was born of her love for her older sister. This may be how she will be immortalized in the history books but I was most impressed with her role as a mother. Her four children adored her and more importantly, wanted to live up to her expectations. Her expectations were huge. There was a quote from her daughter, Maria Shriver, at the memorial service, "If my mother were here today, she would be pounding on this podium and asking all of you what you have done today to change the world."

Good question. Probably one we should all ask ourselves more often.

Fair Time

My mother and I went to our state fair yesterday. It ranks pretty high on my list of annual fun things. My "sister" and another friend joined us and a good time was had by all.

My friend had a list of things she wanted to experience. (She had not been to the fair for a couple of decades.) Her expectations were pretty high:

The dog-faced boy,
The two-headed pig, and
The potato chip that looks like Jesus.

Alas, none of these were there this year but we did get to experience:

The gigantic sculpture made of cheese,
Several barns, along with their lovely smells,
An exhibit about the space program,
Gigantic vegetables, and
All the fried food you could ever think about eating.

This year, our fair has added a few extra days to the schedule. I may have to go again.

When Your Presence Is the Present

We all get in situations where we are asked to attend something we would rather not. Maybe we have something more fun to do. Maybe we just flat out, don't want to go. Maybe you're like me and your mother pokes and prods and reminds and uses guilt trips until you just do it so you don't have to hear about it anymore.

It can be anything: a wedding of a coworker, a business dinner for a spouse, a hospital or nursing home visit that feels uncomfortable, a committee meeting that you know will drag on forever...

I'm getting better at setting boundaries for myself. I say no more often than I used to. But I will always be the person who can usually slip into the other person's shoes and ask myself, "Is this important to do?"

Yesterday while I served as liturgist during our worship service, I saw two faces that don't normally attend our church. They were there simply to support me.

Their presence was a gift that I cherish and I thank them.

Let's Dance

It's possible that I dance every day. If you know me, you've seen it. I dance alone; I dance with strangers. I dance in supermarkets and I have left my footprints on more than one tabletop.

This is the part where I'm supposed to be sorry. Oops, I'm not. Dancing is who I am. I have been teased and shamed. It doesn't work. People who dance often make others uncomfortable. Here's a few things you should know:

I realize I'm not a good dancer. I don't care. The spirit moves me and I go.

I don't expect you to participate. I love it if you do. I am not hurt if you don't.

The true release of dancing is not always happy.

I can only speak for me but I feel sorry for people who don't know the soulful release of a good dance.

I had an iPod issue earlier this summer and I had to use my goddaughter and her boyfriend's good nature to fix it. I felt like an oldie because it was an easy fix but I needed young people to chart the course.

Now I am back in business. Flicking on my music and dancing to my heart's content.

Oh, %#*#@!!!

The other day I received an email from my girlfriend and she told me about her rotten day. Later she forwarded an email she received from her company's email techies -- seems they frown on using expletives on the company email. It is such a part of my vernacular that I didn't even notice it in the email.

I know better. I was taught (by parents, teachers, adults I admire)that swearing was unladylike and a cross between laziness and ignorance. I failed that lesson and I fail it often. (Although I am extremely careful around children and in business situations.)

There's an article in this week's Time magazine that quotes a study in the journal NeuroReport. The study found that cussing does more than vent frustration; it can actually reduce physical pain. The example used is women giving birth are far more likely to blurt out a choice cuss word -- or a string of them -- when the same woman would never use such language on a regular basis.

In a moment of complete insanity, I volunteered to serve as liturgist in church this Sunday. My recurring nightmare is flubbing something and then dropping the F bomb.

I won't. But my peon brain is having a party making me think about the possibility. I'd really hate to have to find a new church.

Gone with the Wind

Gone with The Wind was on last night. I love it. Not only do I own it but I watch it every single opportunity I have to see it on tv. (TCM runs it without commercials.) I also read the book once a year or so.

Every viewing or reading brings something different. For the most part, I fall in love with Rhett again (he reminds me so much of my soon-to-be ex-husband) and I relish the stories of family, the South, Scarlett, and of course, the pageantry of the whole thing.

Last night I was bizarrely frustrated with mealy-mouth Melanie. Would she please just take her drab self and go away? Not that I wanted Scarlett to end up with Ashley. Would he please just figure out that he's gay?

The most quoted line from the movie is:

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

But one of my favorites is the exchange between Rhett and Scarlett:

""You sir are no gentleman."
"And you miss are no lady."

The Scary Side

The other night I was sitting with my friend in the Flamingo Lounge, aka her family room. We were recounting our day. Mine basically boiled down to a couple of episodes where I wanted to scream, "Move aside incompetent people! I will handle this."

She calmly said, "That's your scary side."

I come by this honestly. Everyone is afraid of my mother. (Some of her friends pretend like they're not but they're not fooling me.) Even my goldies -- my friends who have known her since our childhood -- are still afraid of her. They tread softly. A wise choice. My father who was struck with the thunderbolt, freakish, out-of-this-world love potion of adoration for her knows when to clam up and move on.

I must admit she is still capable of scaring me with a look. I think all parenting skills should be modeled on the Boy Scouts/Girl Scouts. The scary look is a badge to earn.

We celebrated her birthday earlier this week. Then we had a minor health scare. In the heat of the moment, I forgot to keep my cool and my scary side came out. I believe I said something like, "Please stop doing your hair because when you're dead, they have people at the funeral home who take care of that."

Happy birthday to my scary mom and genuine thanks for the DNA.

Suddenly Single

Well, it's starting. People told me it would happen and I disagreed.

More than one man has requested my company on a date.

I hate it. I hate me for questioning motives. I hate that I have lost the protective cocoon of marriage. It allowed me to be friendly and silly. It allowed me to dance when the spirit moved me -- as it often does.

I know I'm not married but I don't feel single. I feel like a bratty 5-year old saying, "I don't want to date and you can't make me!"

I don't date. Don't ask me.

But put on the right song and I'll dance like a fool.

Don't Rewind

Many phases or decisions require a leap of faith. Some do it with a prayer while others adopt a "what the hell!" attitude. As I am continuing with my soul-searching, what-am-I-supposed-to-learn journey, I'm learning that it takes a dose of courage and a leap of faith to confront the icky underbelly of choices gone awry. It also takes a leap of faith to move ahead and believe there are better choices and days ahead.

Here's a lesson I'm pondering:

I've noticed that a lot of what passes for conversation only involves one party. The other person isn't interested or has heard the information before.

I am guilty of both sides.

And, it occurs to me that most of the spirited discussions toward the end of my marriage -- the last three years or so -- required neither of us to be there. We'd said it all before. We should've kept a tape of it so we could rewind, hit "play" and find something else to do.

There's a lesson in there that I'm trying to learn.

Look at me -- I'm leaping and learning.

Tainted Dolls

I played with dolls and especially Barbie dolls way too long. Loved the hair, the outfits, the playhouse and all the accessories. Another memory tainted! Mattel is introducing "Tattoo Barbie."

Tattoos are not my thing. But, in all fairness, I know some people who have some cool ones. My goddaughter comes to mind.

Dolls and playthings are supposed to give you something to aspire to. Ok, maybe that's absurd when we look at Barbie -- 6' legs, 16" waist and breasts that Dolly Parton might aspire to have -- but she was reasonably wholesome and her only fault was her relentless play time with dorky Ken. (In my childhood, we threw Ken away and paired her with GI Joe -- way cooler!)

So now Barbie has to conform with the times. She's free to maim her body with tattoos. I'm sure "Pierce me Barbie" is right around the corner, complete with needles and fun jewelry for all body parts.

Little girls will have enough time to experiment with tattoos, piercings and other things in Pandora's Box.

Stuff You Should Love But Don't

Many years ago, my mother made the mistake of admitting to a certain affection for some particular trinket or doodad. Don't ever do it -- especially if it has a theme. You will be inundated with them for every Christmas and birthday forever more. You are stuck.

I've also decided you should never tell people your hobbies or interests. "What? You like the Beatles? I will never again struggle for a gift! I will buy you every dorky gift produced by The Franklin Mint" -- (only 9 million produced -- you, my friend, have a collector's item!)

I am in a unique position of figuring out what is important to me from the home I used to share with my husband. I am running out of time to gather and sort many items. I'm also lucky because eventually I will start anew in a place I will call home. I already know that I have some general guidelines:

Things with huge sentimental value will make the cut.

Practical things with sentimental value get top billing. Most of my grandmother's dishes that she gave to me came from garage sales. They're in.

I will be ruthless with things I don't like or have no use for.

I must admit. This is the fun part of starting over.

Responsible Pet Ownership

During Hurricane Katrina, I had friends and family who went down to help. I had family who lost their home and jobs. I had friends who doled out food, water and the occasional cash gift. I had friends or people I knew who spent their time to help people and animals in a serious crisis.

Katrina's over but we still have an animal crisis. There will always be people who take pet ownership less seriously than I do. Or maybe you don't spoil them the way others do. Maybe they don't sleep in your bed. Maybe you get a little miffed at people who don't think it's ok that they come into your home and shed all over the place. I respect your feelings; I comply. Just be responsible if you choose to own one.

Last week, I had to deal with a dog in the park that had been dumped. He was scared and lonely and slightly aggressive -- probably because he was hungry. The week before, we had two pit bulls loose in our neighborhood. Again, lonely and hungry and not super aggressive. But (and this is big!) aggressive enough to scare a hearing-imparied woman who's just trying to get some exercise.

Please don't get a pet if you don't want it. Please don't dump a pet if you can't handle it. Please get your pet spayed or neutered -- we have enough out there that need a good home.
And when the two dogs of this house get a little pushy, I wish they had brains bigger than a peanut so I could explain how lucky they are.

Bass-O-Matic

Remember Dan Akroyd doing the Bass-O-Matic skit during SNL's heyday? It was gross and juvenile and over-the-top funny.

My father loves to fish. If there's a stronger word than "love," it applies. At this time of year, he's in his heyday. He brings his catchings home, cleans and fillets them. And he really enjoys eating them the old-fashioned way:

Fry those babies up!

I don't fry. I could be all holier-than-thou and pretend it's a health thing or a weight issue. It's neither. If someone else wants to fry food, I will eat it.

My mother has significantly cut down her frying since my childhood. (I'm sure my memory is skewed but I remember fried chicken, fried pork chops, fried cubed steak, fried whatever plus mashed potatoes and gravy and mushy vegetables.) Lucky for my father, she loves him enough to stand over hot grease and fry his fish.

I announce, "I'm not cleaning up!" while I shovel it in.

The fisherman of this family has been reeling them in. The cook of this family has a new appliance. It's better than the Bass-O-Matic. It's a big ol' deep fryer. One big batch and we're in no-greasy-stove-to-scrub heaven.

All I have to do is show up and eat.

Rocking in Memories

Don't we all have the fantasy of kicking back in old age? Rocking next to someone we love? Sharing memories and sharing stories.

The thing that gets me about the rocking chair fantasy is I don't want to sit beside someone who doesn't share my history. I don't want to learn his stories; I want to know them by heart. I want to interrupt and say, "No, it wasn't New Orleans; it was Las Vegas." I don't want to tell someone that I was once younger and cuter and smart and capable. I want someone who remembers when I was all of those things.

You're probably thinking that I'm melancholy and muddled in memories because my divorce is progressing. You would be correct.

Just because my divorce is the right thing doesn't make it hurt less.

Endless Possibilities

Remember earlier this spring when I wrote about wanting to be "In Bloom?"

Perhaps I might really be a Pollyanna. Although lots of people bother to tell me I am not. Confused? I am. But in a really good way.

I am seeing blessings and possibilities everywhere. And I am grateful.

My marriage is ending. It's been a huge chunk of my adult life -- I'm 46 and I started dating my husband when I was 27. Sure I'm sad but mostly I'm grateful for what we had and the ability to move on.

I still don't have the job of my dreams but through the occasional frustration I realize that more opportunities are coming my way every day. I've had some good interviews and some doors opening.

I've spent the last several months living with my parents and I would not trade the experience for anything. It is not for sissies! You better know yourself and have a darned good relationship before you climb aboard that boat. Lucky for me, the relationship I remembered from my childhood was a dim comparison to the one that has resurfaced.

Before you barf from the "good time Sheri" comments, I will admit that the dog gets a little damp sometimes. She's my occasional cry pillow but that's the price she pays for getting to sleep in the bed.

I'm enjoying reconciling things in my mind and my heart. I see love and enduring friendships. I see God at work in my life.

I'm not married; I'm not single.
I'm not young; I'm not old.
I'm not rich; I'm not poor.

I'm in the in-between spaces, wallowing in the in-between places and I'm loving the possibilities.

Thrilling

Anyone with half a brain is now supposed to be completely appalled and sick of the overwhelming attention to the sudden death of Michael Jackson, aka Wacko Jacko. If you're a baby boomer or older, you've lost a few music icons ... Elvis, John Lennon, and more.

Yes, we (as a society, as a star-obsessed culture) have forgotten that the Supreme Court has a full docket ahead of them in October. The transformation of health care is going to kill us or make us stronger. Our new president has a task more overwhelming than most people care to calculate. We're still at war. The planet is possibly freezing or boiling at any given point and 99.9 percent of us who would really like to find a reasonably good fit for a reasonably good job still have not found it.

Is the untimely death of Michael Jackson worth the diversion?

Oh, probably not.

If you had asked me two weeks ago if I was a fan of his, I probably would've shrugged and said, "He's ok. I like some of his music." I would've probably added that his fascination with remaking his face gives me the creeps and the endless accusations and out-of-court settlements give me pause.

But a funny thing happened while I watched glimpses of the endless coverage of the past couple of weeks -- I was shocked at how much his music has been a part of my life. From buying a 45 record of "ABC" by The Jackson Five to associating certain songs with high school and college. The first music video I was ever interested in watching was "Thriller." I watched it again (the long version) the other day.

Of course I watched the funeral. I was touched once again by his music and by his legacy. Turns out, I'm a much bigger fan than I thought.

Word Games

You know I love word games. I do the crossword every day. I watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune (which will always be "Hangman" to me.)



My dog has been going to an obedience class. Of course, the class is really for me so I can learn everything I've done wrong and try to correct the error of my ways. All I know is we're both exhausted when it's over.

I've read several different opinions on how many words that dogs can really recognize and understand. I'm sure it varies by the breed and other factors. I just want my dog to master the basics. Maybe she needs some word games.

Whoa Betty!

I just saw The Proposal with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds. It's predictable and yet, worth it. It's funny and a feel-good movie when I suspect we all crave feeling good.

Betty White made the movie. I want to be like her -- in almost every character she plays. Everyone knows I love the TV series, The Golden Girls and no, I do not refer to my nearest and dearest friends as my goldies because of this show. But the show is hysterical and it has stood the test of time.

I really started to follow Betty White in the 70s when she played the man-starved harlot, Sue Ann Nivens, on Mary Tyler Moore. I wanted to be Mary and I wanted to know Sue Ann.

Fast forward a few decades and I have known a few harlots. I've known a few ditzy gals, like Rose on The Golden Girls. I've known some really cool old women. Betty White seems to be one of the coolest.

It's A Wonderful Life

As I write this on my birthday, I must admit to a few thoughts of "what if..."

So. let's play George Bailey. What if I'd never been born?

I did not (and will not) discover a cure for any disease. I did not invent anything that will improve mankind. I did not spread the gene pool. I did not do a lot of things that I hope I may have the ability and the time to do.

Tonight I will say my prayers and I will start them with the same prayer I have said and amended since I was a little girl.

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

I go off on my own from there so I won't bore you with that. But, most of my follow-up is about the gifts of my life and the abundance I have. Oh sure, I throw a few things in that are extremely and vitally selfish -- I'm human!

As another year has been acknowledged in my fleeting life, I mostly marvel at the gift of time. I hope I have more.

Even if I don't, I can put my head on the pillow, say my prayers and know that I have a wonderful life.

Happy birthday to me.

Birthdays

Of my group of golden friends, my goldies, three of us have a birthday within 9 days. Jan comes first, then me, then Lynn. Just to be different, Deb was born in October.

So, we're older and hopefully wiser. I know we are full-fledged adults but we still feel like kids a lot of the time. Our personalities and certainly our senses of humor have stayed intact.

In honor of the goldies, here are a few of my favorite quotes regarding birthdays:

"Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time."
Jean Paul Richter

"Growing old is like being increasingly penalized for a crime you have not committed."
Anthony Powell

"The forties are the old age of youth; the fifties are the youth of old age."
French proverb

"You are only young once but you can be immature for a lifetime."
John P. Grier

It's Gotta Be Weird -- Even for Cher

(Photo from People Magazine)

For the record, I am in no way making fun of homosexuality. I have known many gay people in my life and sexual orientation is not a factor in deciding how I feel about someone. I also think facing the fact that your child is gay is often a horrendous challenge for some (most?) parents.

But this isn't about most normal people who go about their ordinary lives and then get bashed in the head with the knowledge that their little Suzi likes girls or Bobby likes boys. This is about Cher -- a rather "out there" person in her own right.

Chastity, daughter of Cher and Sonny Bono, has long been out of the closet. Cher opened up years ago that this was tremendously difficult for her but she accepts it. (I have been to Cher concerts -- her most loyal following is people with alternative lifestyles.)

Now Chastity is in the midst of becoming a man. Apparently, this is not a simple surgery but a rather lengthy process.

Here's what I don't understand. If a woman is a self-proclaimed homosexual, what happens when she becomes a man? If the man now likes women, does that mean he is now heterosexual? Just curious.

I Love You Philip Gulley

Did I ever mention my obsession with Philip Gulley? I admire him. I read his books -- even the ones he receives death threats about. I identify with him. His Indiana childhood seems to be my Indiana childhood although in moments of clarity I realize both of us are doing a lot of editing. If he is speaking nearby, I go. I once introduced myself to him as, "Hello, I don't mean to keep stalking you."

That's his latest book in the photo above. Please read it, although he does not need my endorsement. It will be a best seller along with the others.

The other day a car pulled into the driveway. My father-in-law stepped out with arms stretched -- reaching for a hug at the sight of me.

(Ok, technically he has not been my father-in-law for 23 years since I was stupid enough to divorce his son and cause great pain all around. Whatever. I still think of him as Dad.)

In the midst of the bear hug and wonderful feelings and the tugging of tears, he handed me this book. Not only does he know how much I love Phillip Gulley -- he is friends with him. Not only does he forgive me for being an impetuous, self-centered human being -- he still bothers to love the woman I want to be and try to be.

So, he handed me this book and said, "Happy Birthday."

I try not to use names on this blog. I figure if you out yourself in a comment or by sending me an email, I have still kept some weirdo blogger-journalist code of ethics. But I am making an exception.

I love Philip Gulley. I also am truly blessed because I love Bob Friedly.

Days When Nothing Works Out

Lately I've managed to string together quite a number of days when a pity party is in order.

I still have not found a full time job,
My divorce attorney fouled up the filing so I had to start from scratch,
My nerves are on edge and I'm already a pretty hyper person,
And more...

Worrying and fretting solves nothing. I know this. Doesn't stop me.

I am learning to appreciate what I do have. And, I have a lot.

But on certain days...

Giving it Back

When my husband and I married, it was important to him that I take his name. I was a little hesitant. I really did not want to go through the hassle of changing my name. Again. I also have maintained an odd affection for my given name.

But, I am a pretty traditional person and I appreciate the symbolism and simplicity of sharing a name with a husband. A marriage -- a couple, a shared home, a shared last name.

I have used his last name for more than 16 years -- most of my professional life. More people know me by that name than my original name although thankfully, I've always held onto my maiden name as my middle name. I hope I have used his name well but I know now it was not meant to be permanent. It was given as a gift and I no longer want it. I'm thinking of it more as a loan and now it's time to give it back.

Once the nice judge says it is permissible, I will begin the lengthy (and somewhat cleansing) process of changing my name. Again. This time it doesn't feel like a chore. It feels like returning home.

And to all of you who have never quite given up calling me "Sheri Lynn" or referring to me as "Riley," I want you to know that all three names are music to my ears.

Pop Goes Reality

One of the greatest gifts that has been bestowed on me during this separation and divorce thing is a reconnection with an old friend. Before I take this too far and someone goes, "Whoa! I invited you over, I said you could stay here, I bought you a drink," let me say thank you and allow me to single out one friend among many.

She is one of my goldies but unlike the other two, I have not been a part of her life for oh so many years. I was not there as her children were growing and I did not call her with my life milestones. We cannot make up that time.

But just like with my other goldies, she gets me. We forgive a lot. Our expectations in this friendship are pretty damn high but our expectations of what the others should do with their choices in life are amazingly lenient. I have made the sad mistake of thinking other people in my life had earned this privilege (or I had earned it with them) but it is not true.

Sometimes people like to point out the errors of my ways. Let's be honest. Some days I'm more open to that than others. I might start blubbering and say, "Oh my gosh, you're right -- I completely messed that up!" Other days, I might do my best to head butt the person and cause serious pain. Or, I might just walk away with feigned deafness.This friend has a tremendously funny way of scolding me, hugging me, etc. with one gesture.



Make a circle with your thumb and forefinger (like the universal symbol for "ok") and then take your index finger from the other hand and stick in in the middle.

POP!

It's her quiet way of reminding me that life is different now. If I start a story with, "I used to ..." or "I have always done ..."

POP!

In some ways, we could not be more different. In many moments, I am slapped with the clarity of our sameness.

The Marrying Kind

I still refer to my husband by the title "my husband" for two reasons. First of all, we are still legally married and secondly, I probably won't ever refer to anyone else by that title again. Well, unless it has "ex" in front of it.

Although you might think that's silly coming from someone like me. This is not my first marriage or my first divorce. But, I do believe it is probably my last one. It's sad because I really like so much about being married. I never intended to be anything but married, especially this last time. Sometimes things just don't work out as planned.

I am a great studier of other people's relationships. And I know a lot of people that probably should not be married but somehow they've made it work and I haven't.

Someone very near and dear to my heart is also my idol. She was a wonderful wife and mother while still maintaining her own identity and sense of self in a role that sometimes chews up other women. Once her husband passed away, she was content to view her role as someone's wife as completed. She even said to me, "I enjoyed our many years together but I will not be anyone else's wife."

When she recently announced that she is marrying her boyfriend of several years, it made me rethink a few things. Like, I probably shouldn't make grand pronouncements of never marrying again.

Shopping at the Wal Mart

(You'll have to double click on the image above to read each box.)

Try to avoid it all you want. Odds are you will find yourself at WalMart for something. I don't know anyone who enjoys shopping there. Usually people talk about going there by saying, "I hate it but ...

it's so cheap."

it's on my way home."

they have everything."

These statements are all true and that is how this one company with no regard for customer service has managed to hold us all hostage.

George

Much to my dismay, I was bombarded with country music in my youth. Of course, today I love it. Years ago, it was not cool and I aspired to be cool.

In my house, we watched "Hee Haw" on Saturday night. And if my dad was driving the car, we listened to the country station.

George Jones was, and is, one of my Dad's favorite artists. We have been to his concerts. For the record, "No Show Jones" usually showed.

When George's ex-wife and love of his life (Tammy Wynette) remarried, George referred to her mate as his husband-in-law. I have often borrowed a version of that term.

He has jillions of great songs but the one that makes me reach for the tissues is He Stopped Loving Her Today. It's morose -- a love carried until his dying day:

"...They placed a wreath upon his door
Then they carried him away
He stopped loving her today..."

Today I went to the house to deal with stuff: his stuff, my stuff, our stuff, stuff nobody wants ...

And I admitted it to myself:

She stopped loving him today.

Don't Look Ethel!

Appropriate is a lovely word. It rolls off the tongue easily. It sits nicely in the gut or the soul until someone or something nudges: "Made you look!"

Like the truth, appropriate is self defined. For all our sakes, I'll err with brevity.

I am truly bone tired of the following:

Doing a visual inspection of anyone's tattoos.

Diverting my eyes and struggling to understand a conversation because a tongue implement has now become a speech impediment.

Guessing the circumference of any upper thigh area that I should not have to see.

Wondering why anyone would be so disrespectful to wear that (fill in the blank) to church, a funeral, a job interview, a dinner party, or anywhere in public.

I am a great fan of, "To each his own." Do it, live it, celebrate it.


Everything has its place. You can have it. Please don't make me look at it.

In Bloom

Yesterday was a day of endings and beginnings. And, time for a few memories.

The first thought that hit me was the date. If I had remained married to my first husband, yesterday would have been our 25th wedding anniversary. So I thought about him. I remembered that day and many other good times.

Then I went over to the house that I used to call home to help with sorting and cleaning, as we prepare to put it on the market. I spent the bulk of the day in the same living space, with the same man that I have shared the last 18 years with.

For extra fun, I went to the attorney's office to have my signature notarized to begin the divorce process.

As I reflected on all of these things, I decided:

My first husband was a really nice man but our marriage was not meant to be. I think his wife is really glad.

The house no longer feels like my home.

The man I am married to no longer feels like my husband; He feels like a stranger.

It felt right to sign the papers.

Later I walked the dog and tried to appreciate the beautiful day. So many gorgeous flowers opening up.

I want to be in bloom too. Time to get started.

Sleeping Like a Dog

I often struggle with sleep. I have my routines and some nights they work more than others. Lately, I'm sleeping better.

I sleep with my dog, Gabby. She's a good sleeper -- the kind that gives you a friendly warning growl if you try to shove her over. She sleeps best when she's had lots of exercise.

Yesterday, we did our daily walk in the park. Then a friend stopped by with his dog and they ran around the back yard.


They had such fun that I loaded Gabby in the car and headed to their neighborhood so the play date could continue.

There was no need to count sheep last night. We both slept like dogs. Maybe we both need more exercise.