Pasadena Peeps

(Thanks to Kim for this title)

If you look me up, here's some basic things you'll find. I went to Howe H.S. on the east side of Indianapolis and then on to I.U.

It's too bad that your online profile and public records only reflect education and employment because we are all so much more than that. We are formed by parents, family and friends. And if you're really lucky, you are also formed by a great neighborhood.

Maybe I'm jaded but I don't think neighborhoods have the same kind of intricate bond that they did in my childhood. We were quintessential throwbacks to:

kids in and out of each others homes
parents sitting on the front porch
shared babysitters
grandparents who knew all the neighbors
porch lights indicating when it was time to come in

I wish every child in America could grow up in a great neighborhood. Here's what makes it great in my mind:

The core people rarely move and if they do, they want to come back.
The neighborhood children who still love to come back and tell their version of the stories. And they bring their children.
Pulling on the street and waving at neighbors who you have known forever.

I say once a peep, always a peep. I can get annoyed with some of them but I love them to the core. And that includes my parents.

There's great comfort in people who love you -- warts and all.

More Ponderings

I'm kind of stressed and one of my favorite ways to deal with it is let my mind run free. It can be fun and it can be dangerous. Feel free to weigh in.

When Bad things happen to Good People
I'm very scared about the health situation of a good friend. Actually, I have a couple of friends in scary health situations. It makes me angry. It frustrates the control freak in me. My minister told me it's perfectly okay and normal to rant and rave at God. Somehow, that made me feel better and guilty at the same time.

I Miss My Parents and my Other Dog
The time I spent living with my parents was truly a gift. We all knew it would end (we had no clue how it would end) but I truly miss my little bedroom, our teasing each other and the rediscovery of each other on a day-to-day basis. And their little dog stole a piece of my heart.

My New Job
I start my new job tomorrow. I'm nervous. I'm not afraid of my ability to do the job; I can handle it. It's more like a child on the first day in a new school. Will I fit in? Will they like me? How will I adapt to this total upheaval of my schedule?

Posture
I have always prided myself on my posture. All those years of ballet paid off in some way. And I've always ridiculed people, especially teenagers, with horrible posture. Tyler probably has permanent wounds from me poking him and hissing,"Stand up straight!" But lately I've got glimpses of myself in the mirror and I'm slightly slumping. What is that about?

Houses
Since we've reconciled, we have been making some changes to our house. With the market the way it is, we haven't decided if we're making these changes with the intent to sell or the intent to live here forever. We prefer the term "updating." It's an open proposition for now. But it feels good. I love this house. I love the changes we're making.

Shopping
Does anyone make reasonable clothing for a woman my age at a reasonable price? I refuse to dress like a teeny bopper and I'm not quite ready for stretchy pants and the sweatshirt with kittens and bunnies. Guess my current wardrobe is going to have to do for now.

Giving Up. Giving In. Going Home.

Sorry for the long delay since my last post. Quite a bit going on.

Is your marriage certificate just a piece of paper? If so, is your divorce decree just another one? I've had people make comments of that sort to me and truthfully, I don't agree. I appreciate the legalities involved but I also know the emotional importance of both.

I am back with my ex-husband -- the love of my life. For both of us, it represents exactly what the title of this blog post says. We are giving up, giving in and finding home again. And, redefining it. We are two people in various stages of mid life embracing our past and determined to celebrate the good parts while not repeating the bad parts. I met this man when I was 26 and married him when I was 29. He has been my husband, lover and friend for most of my adult life.

Perhaps this marriage had to run into a ditch for us both to realize what we have and what we screwed up. I'm not big on trying to figure out God's plan -- I'm not that smart. But with hindsight, I can see we needed the break to appreciate what we had and what we have found again.

A couple of years ago, we were at a lake cottage with friends. Gabby on his lap and all of us having fun on the pier. We will do that again next weekend but oh how we have grown and changed.



I'm giving up. I'm giving up things like pride, my control-freak tendencies and my judgemental ways when he says or does something I don't agree with. I'm giving in. Giving in to the pure, raw feeling that says to me, "This is right."

I'm home.

Being Wooed

Here's a little quiz. Just whisper the answer to yourself.

Do you like to be told you're attractive?
Do you enjoy feeling smart?
Do you like someone laughing at your humor?
Do you like to fall asleep when someone has just said, "I love you."

Well, of course you do. We all do.

I'm no expert at marriage; I'm probably a better expert at divorce. Yet I do know that anyone who consistently makes you feel smart, funny and attractive is wooing you. And if you could bottle that phase of respect and appreciation, no one would ever need a divorce lawyer.

Prejudice

Everyone pretends they're not prejudiced. Myself included. Yet we are all a jumble of life experiences, family history and whatever else has jaded our minds.

Here's how honest I'm willing to be. I think women are smarter than men. In a jam, I will pick a woman EVERY time to get me out of a mess. Or, at least hold my hand through it.

I can honestly say I don't pass judgement based on color. On the other hand, I pass a ton of judgement based on language skills, how someone dresses, the number of tattoos, and if their underwear is showing.

I'm terrified of teenage boys. Especially if they are traveling in a pack. If they are tattooed and showing their ridiculous boxer shorts, I want to run. (Really, I want to grab them by the scruff of their necks and have a serious talk with them but then I remember that I value my life.)

I'm old but I'm learning. I helped to raise a baby who became a teenage boy and is now a full-fledged adult. Often I get out of my car and three little boys -- staying with their grandparents who live across the street -- come running toward me. I adore them. They will all be teenage boys the next time I blink.

And I will start to trust teenage boys again.

Just Beneath the Surface

Some people are stoic. Or good actors. Or totally in control of their emotions. I am not a member of any of these clubs.

Regardless of the emotion, I have no control. I have broken into hysterical giggling at church and even had a couple of Mary Tyler Moore moments at funerals. During the children's portion of worship last Sunday, one of our boys developed an amazing fascination with his genitals.

And I can cry for no reason or every reason. The best thing about showers is the ability to cry and no one can hear you. I cry at touching commercials or songs that remind me of fun times, bad times, people I miss, etc. That commercial with the dogs in shelters sends me running for the Puffs.

Today is my 47th birthday. As much as all my Facebook friends think I'm hung up on the age, I'm not. In a weird way, I like my age. I'm certainly proud of my accomplishments and old enough to know I've lived (so far) an extremely blessed life.

When my stepson (I HATE calling him that!) was little, we would say our prayers. When we would get to the "God bless so and so and so and so" he would be so exhausted just trying to get through the list. I cherish that memory and I hope he does too. I also hope he still says his own version of that prayer. His statement to me, "I have so many people that love me" resonates with me today. Cards, Facebook notes and more have made my day.

Vanity is supposed to be wrong and I guess it is. Where do we draw the line? Am I not supposed to notice that I've aged 10 years in the last year and 1/2?

I've laughed today. I've cried in the shower -- mainly because of one email that reminded me of what was. Every emotion has reared its beautiful and ugly head.

It's my birthday and I'm embracing the emotions.

Suicide

Yesterday, I put my head in my hands and said a prayer for a lost friend. I received the information that someone I cared about committed suicide.

Very shortly after my ex-husband and I separated, we lost a friend to suicide. This is always heartbreaking and perplexing to me. Is it money? You can't handle that your life has taken a tragic turn? Is it love? Is it having no one in your corner?

Frankly, I believe that every single person has SOMEONE in their corner. Just look around a little harder.

My Aunt Grace committed suicide in my childhood. I was at Aunt Hazel's when we received the word and I'll never forget it.

Take your religious beliefs, your family history and a million other thoughts about suicide. Roll them around your brain. Ok, now you're in my world.

I believe the lyrics from the Kenny Chesney song, "Everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to go right now." I believe that Jack Kevorkian (Dr. Death) is onto something when he's helping terminally ill people make the transition.

To the best of my knowledge, my friend did not fit either of these situations. He was divorced -- sad but not terminal. He had two teenage daughters who worshipped him. He may have lost some money, a big title and a lot of the perks associated with being a Big Player.

Now he's dead. I will go to a funeral this week. I don't understand it at all.

It's Not Really a Phone

I love that Zits comic strip. Even though my stepchildren are of legal age, it gives me little glimpses and reminders of the teenage years.

My latest fave featured the teenager ignoring the ringing cell phone. In the final frame, he tells his father, "If it was important, they would've texted me."

I'm about 50 years and a hundred light years away from this fictional character. Yet, I get it.

Remember the big freakin' deal when President Obama didn't want to give up his Blackberry? I get it.

Charleton Heston said he would give up his guns "when they pried him from his cold, dead hands." I'm starting to have that kind of attachment to my phone.

Except, it's not really meant to be a phone. It's a message receptor. I can get emails and text messages. And like Zits, I am far more likely to respond to an email or a text.

My reception must be horrible. My mother tells me this all the time.

But for those of us who tend to speak without thinking, the keyboard has proven to be a Godsend.

Not a Failure

In the interest of full disclosure, I am not a fan of Al Gore. I think he may have good intentions but, like a lot of people, is caught in the whirlwind of political life. I don't like it that's he's all about green living, yet seems unconcerned with his carbon footprint. And for the record, I'm not super concerned about mine. But I'm not making money and collecting prizes talking about global warming. I'm making this up but it seems to me that he is pontificating while he owns about 5 mansions with the staff needed to keep everything running while he burns fuel on private jets so people can knight him and grovel about how his varied causes will save the world. Not buying it.

Also for the record, I have nothing against rich people with a cause, private planes and the many perks that seem to accompany them.

I seem to always like political wives more than the politician they married. I think Tipper seems like someone who would belly laugh, take to the dance floor and then take a photo of the good times. She also seems like someone who has jumped through hoops as a political wife while tending to kids and carving out a niche for herself.

I can only imagine him (wooden reputation & stoic persona) telling her, "We must show that I am passionate!" That clip of their on-stage make-out session at the Democratic National Convention will never die. I am humiliated for her and with the news of their separation, it runs over and over and over.

(Here's an even weirder thing: I like Bill Clinton more than I like Al Gore. I know ... makes no sense to me either.)

But back to the Gore's public separation. It's two-weeks after their 40th wedding anniversary. They successfully raised four children and have amassed riches most of us will never know. They are going their separate ways and the public statement says, "No adultery" (HUGE!) and no hard feelings. I tend to believe it.

Sometimes people aren't meant to be together forever. I was with my ex-husband for almost 20 years. My in-laws (my oldies) were together for over 60 years. My parents are approaching their 50th anniversary. Contrary to my personal history, I am a great believer and great fan of marriage.

But I cringe when anyone associates the end of a marriage with failure. Forty years together is not a failure. I doubt they look at each other and their relationship and think of it as a failure.

It's a marriage that ended. That simple and that complex.

Passwords

In this age of rampant access to everything under the sun, I admit to being a little perplexed. When we were young (and I use "we" collectively -- all of us over the age of 35) there were very few things you needed a code to access. Want to enter the house? Use the key. And probably, the door wasn't locked anyway.

I spent years with unlocked doors and open access.

I'm probably more terrified of my sinuses exploding, getting diagnosed with cancer, date rape or identity theft than I am of some random person walking into my home and causing harm.

The odds are in my favor.

The world of passwords is approaching insanity. Most people started out using a simple one like your date of birth, your SSN, your mother's maiden name, etc. Now, every website, every account, every access code to absolutely anything requires a random sequence, including letters, numbers and symbols. On top of that, we are all advised to not use the same one for everything.

I am still job searching and that involves a lot of websites that want me to establish my password. My two favorites don't always work because they don't have symbols.

When I'm feeling goofy, I like to mix it up. Like when they ask for your mother's maiden name as a fallback for resending you your super secret password, I mix it all up. My current favorite is listing my mother's maiden name as SmithEllisjones.

Of course, I no longer have the brain capacity to keep all of my passwords and secret codes in my head. I have a little notebook to keep things straight. I have no fear of someone stealing my identity;I have a great fear of someone stealing my notebook.

Bragging Rights

Do you get annoyed with people who send holiday newsletters telling you of their travels to Europe, peppered with the news of Jr. becoming a vice president and baby girl junior is president of the local Junior League? Grandchildren have all made the honor roll and at least one is certain to be the president of his or her fraternity/sorority. For that moment in time, their biggest problem might be grubs in the lawn.

One of my favorite traditions, and one I miss dearly, was when the girlfriends/workout group would gather in my kitchen and vote on the most obnoxious and braggy Christmas letter received. My friend Big Sal always won -- she knows a lot of important people who feel the need to brag about it. She could not be more down-to-earth and that's probably why people are drawn to her.

We all read between the lines when someone is bragging.

The bragging is often earned because something was survived. Maybe the children simply survived divorce. Maybe the unexpected pregnancy turns out to be the valedictorian. The grandchild with the learning disorder might be fueling his brain cells in a Bill Gates direction. Or helping the homeless. Or simply being a smart person who doesn't wear a hoodie and pack a gun. Or finds hope in a world that can sometimes seem hopeless.

Even though I make fun of it, I understand the need to say, "Look at our family -- look at this great thing that happened in our life."

I've had the honor and privilege to be a co-mamma, and a stepmother. And one of the issues brought to my attention during the divorce was my family/stepfamily/co-family did not always appreciate my thoughts going out there for the world to absorb. So, I have tried to comply but now I'm going to backslide for a quick second.

My stepdaughter eloped recently. I watched her through high school, college and law school. I cheered her a lot and we traded "what is wrong with you" conversations at times. I'm proud of her and this marriage she's chosen. I'm bragging.

My stepson was just accepted into the accelerated graduate program. He is starting his senior year in college and one year after that he will earn his master's degree. Not only will it save time but having those credit hours working double time will save a phenomenal amount of money. His parents have earned the bragging rights but I'm feeling the need to puff out my lungs and shout a bit too.

And Next ...

My father and I have a running debate about using the term, "Next." Imagine it's a Wednesday and you refer to plans on next Saturday. In my mind, this is not the Saturday that is three days away; it is the one that is 10 days away. I'm talking about this Saturday. He thinks I am crazy.

His analogy is standing in line at the bank. When the teller yells, "Next!" you don't turn around and look at the person behind you. I get the logic but he is still wrong.

I'm truly struggling with what is next for me. Is it right in front of me or is it the hypothetical ten days away? I had several job interviews last week and one of them is a job I really, really want. I've had five interviews for this job. Yep, five. Let me tell you again, FIVE!

I have friends going through awful things... cancer, childhood diseases, bankruptcy, estrangement from their families, etc. You name it, I can tell you about it.

My little simple life seems ... well, simple. And I'm tempted to call the prayer chain to put myself on the list. That seems lamer than lame.

But if I don't get this amazing good fit of a job, I might have to take a vacation and breathe differently for a while.

Why We Celebrate

Illusions, Delusions ...

I'm thinking about holidays and traditions. You know how I love those and you know that I have spent the last year and a half redefining them. I'm thinking about how quickly things change.

One of the hardest things for me going through this divorce has been figuring out traditions and holidays. I still am a little perplexed that I'm not going to my friends' lake cottage over Memorial Day to help open it for the season. And come Labor Day, I'll be equally confused that I'm not breaking my back to carry the furniture to the boat house.

At Halloween, I'm supposed to be coordinating (or at least helping) with the costume golf outing and the dinner/entertainment to follow.

Thanksgiving was at my house for about 18 years or so. And, what do all those people who used to pop by my house on Christmas Eve do now? When our mutual friends get together for New Years, do they celebrate the anniversary that is no more?

Part of the reason we are adaptable is we all love illusions and shun the delusions. The illusion lets us play the role of keeping it all together, putting up a good front. And yes, we delude ourselves.

That teenage girl we know is pregnant but thank God my child isn't having sex.
My son seems a little depressed but suicide doesn't run in our family.
My child isn't a bully.
I don't know anyone who does drugs.

And when we're lucky, smart and all the gooey things in between, we celebrate:

My son just got into the accelerated master's program.
Someone's daughter gets to choose between three schools and great scholarships.
A godchild just got the internship of his dreams.
An anniversary of a marriage that has navigated disaster.
A best friend's child is headed for the Peace Corps.

And that's why we celebrate. Maybe it's a minuscule child hitting his first ball at T-ball, maybe it's taking your mom and grandma to lunch on Mother's Day and realizing a whole bunch of your friends don't have moms or grandmas to celebrate with.

Maybe it's just acknowledging that tomorrow is on the horizon with miracles, disasters and whatever else may come. We celebrate. We love. We delude ourselves and we illuminate our lives. As we should.

The Pull of the South

My roots are in the South.

I can still see my Uncle Ken preaching.
I see my Aunt Wanda in her kitchen asking all the men, "Four eggs or five?"
I want to sit on that front porch where my in-laws lived.

I am a firmly-planted Midwestern girl. When I travel, I become a chameleon. I love Manhattan and I love Mexico and the Caribbean. If you gave me a ticket to Europe or the Mediterranean, I'd be packed in 10 minutes and on the next plane.

The South has my pulse. I'm drawn to it...favorite memories and lots of my favorite people still live there. I was in a bookstore recently and noticed I am magnetized by southern writers.

I'm pretty sure I will live out the rest of my life in Indiana. But, I am happily headed south in a few weeks to visit one of my dearest girlfriends. I would visit her anywhere...Gosh, I think I have.

The fact that she's pulling me south is a spectacular benefit.

If You Don't Know Me By Now

For someone who has spent her entire adult life making a living in communications, it occurs to me that I may not be a great communicator in my personal life.

I have a sassy mouth. I have spent many years learning to temper it. The tendency to (as my ex-husband used to say) "Ready, Fire, Aim!" has been somewhat stifled. I truly try to engage my brain before I open my mouth.

Yet, I am still me. I will continue to be an open book. I will tell you what I think if you ask me a question. If I love you, I will spend countless hours trying to craft a proper response in the kindest possible way. Or sometimes I will blurt out what I really think and apologize for the manner in which it was delivered.

I have a wacky sense of humor that I inherited honestly. My parents are two of the funniest people on the planet and even when we jab each other, it is done with a foundation of love, respect and a little bit of attitude. "You can't get rid of me!"

My family is my family. That sounds idiotic but it's important that I put it out there. I have cousins and distant relatives that I go years without seeing. But they are in my prayers and I would be there for them in a heartbeat if needed.

I have an abundance of friends and acquaintances. Most of my friends have been with me for decades. We have had the joy and the pain of watching each other experience every possible scenario. Occasionally my sassy mouth or distracted brain or wacky sense of humor gets me in trouble. I have total respect for anyone who calls me on it:

You hurt my feelings.
You shouldn't have done that.
I need you right now.
Why did you say that?

But lately, I'm copping a little attitude.

If I've been your friend (or family) for decades, shouldn't you know that my loyalty is with you? Shouldn't my best judgement count? Shouldn't you trust me that my intentions are pure?

I'm getting tired of explaining myself and my decisions. I am living with my parents because I need to do so. It is not just for financial reasons -- I could move out tomorrow and eke by for a while. I am looking for the right job, not just any job, because it is the right decision for me. I am not looking for a new husband. Having coffee or a drink with someone does not an affair make. But I also could have an affair with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and I'm pretty sure it is no one's business but mine. (and God's)

Live and learn. I lost some acquaintances in the divorce. Ok, I can live with that. But occasionally someone just blows me away with a comment or a question and I think,

Wow, you don't know me at all.

The House that Built Me

The wonderful thing about country music is the stories. Heartache, mischief, loves gone wrong, etc.

Miranda Lambert's latest, The House That Built Me, is my new fave. How does she know this much about me?

Here are some snippets:

I used to do my homework in that little room.
My favorite dog is buried in your back yard.

And the best part is the chorus:

If you'll just let me in, I swear I'll leave ... with nothing but a memory.

She needs to be in her childhood home. Touch the walls, feel the aura, put a hand on the concrete.

I'm in touch with this. My life fell apart and guess where I ran?

I'm long past the time that I should've moved on. Call it lazy or call it crazy ... I don't know.

I will move on. I will redefine the life I need for myself. But right now, I'm indulging a need. I put my head on a pillow, say my prayers and take great comfort in returning to the house that built me.

Miss, Ms., Mrs. & Ma'am

I'm big on titles; I truly believe they are a sign of respect for lots of things. You don't have to respect the person -- sometimes you're respecting their age, their position, etc. Regardless of your politics, I think the president of our country should be referred to as President Obama, not Mr. Obama. And let's face it, "Yes sir, Officer, should be in every teenage vocabulary lesson.

When I hear women say, "Don't call me Mrs. Smith; it makes me look around for my mother-in-law," I cringe. It doesn't make you old to be addressed properly. It is some well-bred person being respectful. I have been a Mrs. more than once and I liked it. Say what you want about country clubs but they do cling to the respectful titles. I've seen more than one child hauled to the side of the dining room to have a quick lecture about proper name etiquette. My stepson was so ingrained in this that when one of our best friends encouraged him to call her by her first name, he stumbled, tried again and finally gave up.

I like being called ma'am. In addition to a title of respect, it keeps me in touch with some of my southern roots. "Yes ma'am and no sir" are the norm in the south and God, I wish that tradition would fly north.

I'm old enough now that almost everyone expects me to call them by their first name. And I do. But sometimes I catch myself going back to the title -- like with the lady who lives across the street. I see her in church. She's watched me grow up. I'm in my 40s, she's in her 80s and I enjoy addressing her with the respect she's earned.

Miracles

Sometimes you can get bad news, especially a scary medical diagnosis, about someone you love. It stops you. It grips your heart like a cold, clammy fist pulsing the fear through every vein in your body. Our human tendency is to ask, "Why?"

This scenario happened to us this week when a dear friend and even-though-he's-not-blood-related family member (he's family to us) was diagnosed with stomach cancer. And then the miracles started to occur:

Thanks to the diligence of his wife, he saw a doctor and it was caught early.
It has not spread.
Deep-seated family wounds that seemed super important are now irrelevant and the healing has begun.

I don't need to know why; I'm just grateful to witness the miracle.

Doggie Guilt

I don't believe in reincarnation but I've had more than a couple of people tell me that they'd like to come back to earth as my dog.

Since I've invaded my parents' home, I have become incredibly attached to their dog, Harriett. And I suspect they are crazy about mine. Their dog is a fluffy, needy-but-charming little thing. She looks like the dogs you see all the stars carrying through airports.

My dog is a workhorse. She has known from day one that I will take her everywhere she is allowed to go and some places I will just fake my way through it. My friends are either frustrated or kind or both but most say, "Bring Gabby!"

Neither dog is confused about ownership. But Harriett stalks me. She knows who feeds her, grooms her, etc. and it is not me. But she follows me and she paws at me. Then she looks at my parents as if to say, "Would you make that lady that walks a lot take me to the park?" And I do.

This weekend is the Mutt Strut and I really considered taking both of them. But Harriett's legs can only go a mile and I can't fathom maneuvering Gabby and carrying Harriett for the extra 1 1/2 mile. Plus, we might go out for drinks afterwards and I don't think my parents want Harriett in a bar.

I'm super careful with my money these days and the Mutt Strut is an event I totally support. Some women of my age and marital status might seek events with lots of men. That is kind of a nightmare concept for me.

But an event that supports a cause I believe in, plus I can walk my dog & meet up with girlfriends and their dogs ... sign me up!

I'll make it up to Harriett another time.

Beauty Rituals

I have never wished to be anything other than the woman I am. But I confess to a few moments of envy:
Men who can shower, dress and walk out the door in less than 20 minutes.
Women who are firm, sun-kissed and bright eyed. (Of course they are all way younger!)
Plain women who have an extreme level of confidence and think they look ok.

Social Networking

A couple of years ago, I wrote this thing that appeared in our local paper, The Indianapolis Star and it was all about how people (especially politicians) throw around the greeting, "Hello Friends."

I don't remember exactly what I wrote but I remember it had to do with the definition of friendship.

Enter social networking. I was a hold out to Facebook. I am still a hold out on Twitter. (Really, my day is not that interesting.) But, I am a marketing person and I am supposed to reasonably keep up with the times. So, I joined. And now I am addicted a little bit.

At first, I thought it was amazing that someone, anyone!, would want to friend me. Then I would catch myself in a lazy evening or at couple of stop lights, I checked Facebook. Now I have something like 200 friends and I promise you, I do not have 200 friends in real life. It's fun to see what's going on with high school & college friends, old business associates and cousins I don't see very often.

But sometimes I need to remind myself that this is not reality. Running over to a girlfriend's house is friendship. Planning a trip to the girlfriend who has been there since I was 5-years old is reality. Worrying about medical tests for a person I love is friendship.

Sometimes you get one of those prodding things: "You should be friends with XXX -- you have 18 friends in common." I clicked "Yes" a couple of times. Never heard back and you know what that means ... Ignore! Guess he forgot we were married for a couple of years.

Social networking is fun but I still know who my friends are.

What if We All Kicked it up a Notch?

I'm all for comfort. I own my fair share of jeans and sweatshirts. But unless I'm cleaning or painting (stop laughing now) I try to kick it up a notch. When did it become acceptable to go almost anywhere looking like you just rolled out of bed or the nearest gutter?

I agree that it takes a village to raise children. I was blessed to have such a village -- every mother in my childhood neighborhood was intimately involved (much to our dismay) in the comings and goings of various children. When did it become ok to continue to birth children but have no real interest in raising them to be responsible adults?

Fresh from a devastating divorce, I feel free to say this. What if I had tried harder? Yes, I can throw a million stones but the bottom line is two people who were an incredibly good match contributed to a marriage in the ditch. Maybe we should've been more concerned with each other than the issue at hand. All I see is two people who won various battles and ended up losing the war.

Religion and politics will always be touchy. But why is it tit for tat? I'm reasonable firm in my political opinions and I'm very comfortable in my faith. This does not mean I won't hear your opinion, read a different book and embrace the questions that pepper reasonable people. What if we kicked it up a notch and actually listened to the pleas beneath the shouts?

And while I'm ranting:

Why can't we all get our pets spayed and neutered? There are free or low cost clinics everywhere. Kick it up a notch.

When did running from the police become a viable option?

Why does every participant deserve a trophy/medal? Kick it up a notch and suck it up. Sometimes that's the best lesson. You lost!

Support local stuff. I am hardly a "green" diva. But if your local library is important to you, write your congressman, go there. If your favorite neighborhood store is struggling, make your grass roots effort and talk it up. If there's a farm stand or public school or community project that needs your support, go out of your way to make it a priority.

That sounds sort of preachy and I don't mean it to be. I know we're all just doing the best we can with what we have.

Imagine if we all kicked it up a notch.

Car Memories

Lately, I've been thinking about cars. We're no Michigan, but a lot of our industry in this state started with cars and spun off into various manufacturing. Now we're courting advanced manufacturing -- lots of definitions for that. My last few cars have all been run by a computer in its belly so if that's not advanced, I don't know what is.

Currently I drive a Toyota. Not one that's been recalled but I'll check again tomorrow. I've owned more than my fair share of cars. Sorry to all my union friends but my best cars have been Japan or German models. Change the oil regularly and they run forever.

My first one was second-hand (third? fourth maybe?) and it was a stick shift and great fun. Girlfriends and I used to tool around, listening to the 8-track and singing our lungs out. During which, I was also rolling backwards and restarting the engine because it's hard to carry on a conversation, sing, work all the pedals and primp at the same time. My dad taught me to drive it because the first and only time my mom tried she got a massive headache from screaming "Look Out!" We were in a parking lot.

Before passing driver's ed, which I took in high school, Gary MacPherson used to let me drive his Chevy Nova around the parking lot. I later learned that he did that with lots of girls.

My dad used to have this GTO that all my friends thought was very cool. He thought it was cool too and so the story goes, he got so many tickets that it had to go. That's my memory and I'm sticking to it.

I've never understood people who don't have memories of making out in a car. Were you all born with your own apartment? One of my first memorable kisses was in the back of my dad's truck. Greg Davis planted one on me while his sister (Angel) looked on. We were stuck back there like cattle and she retreated to her own corner.

Keith Taylor had a cool car. Even though I knew my bff had a crush on him, I said yes when he asked me out. (She forgave me.) His brother had a better car -- a Mustang Fastback and we made out in that too. Later my grandfather had a few belts, took a neighborhood kid's bicycle and rammed it into the car. Lesson: God is always watching.

In my memory, Jan always had a different car/truck every six months. They broke down and we didn't care. We didn't have cell phones. It was a friggin' adventure. We also had a few car episodes (oops, didn't see that garage door!)

My most-of-the-time boyfriend in high school (and all-through-college guy) used to take me out in his parent's Honda. Hmmm. Maybe that's why I still lean toward Japanese cars.

Yes, thanks to Facebook, I'm using names now.

"Sort of'' Christians

Today is Easter Sunday and my little church was filled. It was a beautiful service, abundant with a baptism, children in their Easter finery, welcoming new members and communion. Our minister delivered a great sermon -- touching, funny and heartfelt. For a small church, we had lots of activities to recognize this magnificent day.

During Sunday school, we got into a discussion about the people who only show up twice a year. Ooops! It's Christmas Eve. Ooops! It's Easter. Better suck it up and go to church! As it happens, we are studying Romans and the whole not passing judgement thing.

I pass judgement all the time. Bad hair, bad outfit, I can't believe your kid did that -- you name it. Even if I don't say it out loud, it is screaming in my head.

There are people who say us church goers are a bunch of hypocrites. Yes, we probably are. And I do love the sentiment that church is not a temple for saints but a hospital for sinners.

Lots of people love to tell you that they can worship anywhere -- the fishing hole, the golf course, wherever. Of course they can. But, do they?

I don't go to church because it's the only place I can worship. I go to church to be with my fellow worshippers and take the time to reflect on this magical/sometimes horrible/astonishing life. I go to church because I have learned at this age, I need it. And someone misses me when I am not there.

I have no judgement about the Christmas Eve and Easter Christians. I just hope the seed is planted that makes them want to come back more often.

Ponderings

Wish I could take credit for this but it was passed along to me. It's worth sharing.

POINTS TO PONDER

1. Part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

3. I totally take back all those times when I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

4. There is a great need for a sarcasm font.

5. How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

6. Was learning cursive really necessary?

7. MapQuest really needs to start their directions at #5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

8. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

9. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.

10. Bad decisions make good stories.

11. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.

12. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after BlueRay? I don't want to restart my collection...again.

13. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of WORD and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

14. "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this -- ever.

15. I hate when i just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Damn it!) but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What did you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?

16. I hate leaving the house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

17. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

18. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lite than Kay.

Kudos to the anonymous author of this.

Forever Friends

My oldest and dearest friends (my goldies) are still the ones I count on -- pretty much every day. I could not have gotten through the last year, and countless other periods of my life, without one or all of them.

We are all so different now. And we're honest enough to admit that if we met recently, at this ripe ol' age, we might not see the connection. Different jobs and different lifestyles ... different religions and different family situations ... different wants and needs ... different geography ... different politics and different beliefs. You get the point.

Sometimes a shared history IS the connection. And it is a sheer act of bravery to say to someone, "I will share this with you. You get to see the real me, warts and all." It's implied between children and parents. It's rightly expected with a spouse (although we all know how well I do that one!) With girlfriends, it is a choice. Not nature/nurture/genetics and not a social/legal/moral contract.

You get the good and the bad. You get to be one of the first to know that your girlfriend lost her virginity. You get to stand beside her at her wedding(s). You get to be in the delivery room or be a godmother. You get to watch her have a diabetic attack. You get to watch her yell at her husband and/or children. You get to watch each other get too thin, too fat, drink too much, battle smoking addictions and find your way back. You get to watch each other's parents get old and make odd choices.

Sunrise. Sunset.

And then, a girlfriend hands you a copy of a poem (because she will not give up the original) that you wrote to her when you were about 14 or so. One of my bffs handed this to me last week. It said:

I have this friend. You probably know her because she is recognized everywhere she goes. With one smile, she can make everyone's day a little brighter. If something's wrong, she's always there to help work things out. She knows just what to say whenever I need a little pep talk and she knows when to say nothing because I just need someone to listen. She is the type of person who comes along once in a lifetime. And I'm so grateful I found her now.

Ok, forgive the schmaltz. I was fourteen. But the message is I knew a gem and I knew I was lucky.

Secret Crush

The title might be redundant. Aren't all crushes secret? Otherwise all single people would act like third graders -- throwing spitballs and passing notes.

I have a little crush, a flicker of interest. And miracle of miracles, it's not on the man who has owned my heart for the better part of two decades.

It really doesn't matter if my crush ever notices me (but I hope he does.) It doesn't matter if we ever go out for coffee or brush knees in a movie (but I hope we do.)

What matters is I find myself thinking of him. I want to look nice in case I see him. I like hoping that he's as nice as he seems. I fantasize that he likes dogs.

The miracle is a heart that was crushed and pulverized now has a blip of feeling.

I've got a secret crush.

Daddy's Girl

Today is my father's birthday.

As Frenchy tells Sandy in the movie Grease:

"The only man a girl can really count on is her daddy."

Of course, I don't believe this is true. He's not the only man you can count on. But if you're like me and you are blessed with an exceptional father, every other man in your life has a pretty tough act to follow.

Happy Birthday to my dad.

Joys and Concerns

I am starting a new book, Secrets of Eden by Chris Bohjalian. He wrote Midwives, one of the few Oprah book selections I enjoyed.

And it starts with this:

As a minister I rarely found the entirety of a Sunday service depressing. But some mornings disease and despair seemed to permeate the congregation like floodwaters in sandbags, and the only people who stood during the moment when we shared our joys and concerns were those souls who were intimately acquainted with nursing homes, ICUs, and the nearby hospice. Concerns invariably outnumbered joys, but there were some Sundays that were absolute routs, and it would seem that the only people rising up in their pews to speak needed Prozac considerably more than they needed prayer.

I practically had to break my fingers to stop myself from calling my minister. Look at this! Read this!

We do joys and concerns in my church every week. Some people love the microphone and some people share very intimate, gory details. I embrace learning about people who need prayers but I am mindful of those who never raise their voice. I rarely take the microphone but I'm not above planting myself in our minister's office and bawling my eyes out.

Joys and concerns is a weekly audio newsletter. Sometimes it's messy; many times it's too much information. Often I don't make eye contact with anyone because my eyes are rolling out of my head. More often than not, it makes me put silly issues in perspective.

And here's the next part of the book:

On those sorts of Sundays, whenever someone would stand and ask for prayers for something relatively minor -- a promotion, traveling mercies, a broken leg that surely would mend -- I would find myself thinking as I stood in the pulpit, Get a spine, you bloody ingrate! Buck up! That lady behind you is about to lose her husband to pancreatic cancer and you're whining about your difficult boss? Oh, please!

As my minister pointed out on Sunday, we are blessed that we can't read each other's minds.

That doesn't mean we don't carry each other's joys and concerns all week long.

I've Been Thinking About ...

While I've been immersed and stewing in my own juices, I've occasionally paid attention to some local, national and international stuff. In no particular order of importance:

Conan O'Brien got screwed in the NBC/Tonight Show/Late Night/Jay Leno fiasco. Conan signed a contract years ago that gave him a guaranteed hosting position on a certain date. He lived up to his deal. Jay's prime time show didn't work (not his fault) and suddenly all contracts are treated about as ironclad as professional sports contracts. Whatever happened to a deal is a deal?

Ellen DeGeneres is a great come-back story. I liked her as a stand-up comedienne and loved her sitcom, Ellen. Then she came out as a gay woman, her show was cancelled and her movies were not getting a lot of attention. Now she is happily married (regardless of how you feel about that) and hosting the top rated day time talk show and the newest judge on American Idol. I am not gay (she is) and I am not married (she is) and I am not employed (she is) and I am not funny (she is.) Some days, I want to be Ellen.

Our state is trying to legislate some new stuff on how the kids are tested. We're also constantly debating the length of the school year and when it ends and begins. You would think I don't care about any of this but I do. Beyond the obvious -- our tax dollars support the school systems, this is the future of our society. I read an editorial lately about teachers who spend their own money for basic necessities like notebooks and craft paper. I thought about our church and the things we are asked to provide to a few schools: uniforms, underpants, etc. To echo the editorial I read, when did supporting the next generation become the responsibility of volunteers?

I think John Edwards is skunk and a scumbag. I'm very glad he's been outed. I'm equally sure Elizabeth could be/might be a b*#+h and a control freak. Everyone involved in this sordid mess is slippery and opportunistic. All in all, there's a moral lesson in the wreckage of so many lives.

Gosh it's fun to look at some other lives ...

Time to Move On

Well, the Super Bowl is over and as the whole world knows, our Colts did not win. I admit that I wanted our team to come out on top but I also understand the excitement for the Saints. And I admit that if a city ever needed a sports team to bring them some good news, it's New Orleans. So, it's time to move on.

My divorce is final. It fell together pretty quickly a couple of weeks ago and then I promptly fell apart. There's a lot of two steps forward, one step back. It's hard and it's sad and it's the right thing. I'm still allowed to hurt and I'm still allowed to be mad at myself and my ex-husband. It's also time to move on.

I've allowed myself to be coddled and pampered by my parents since the separation. I am upping my intensity on the job search because I have to take something. I have to get out in the world and I have to start somewhere. I can't start rebuilding my life until I actually go out and make a new one for myself. It's time to move on.

It's also time to move on from the pity party so future posts will hopefully be much more uplifting.

Believe in Blue

I started doing laundry this morning with one mission -- my lucky Colts sweatshirt must be clean for the big game on Sunday. We're all a little Colts crazy right now. Even the dogs have outfits to cheer on our team.

Go Colts.

Pants on the Ground

Ok, I admit it. I've been watching the auditions for American Idol. Except when it becomes cruel, I am enjoying it.

Now a 62-year old civil rights activist had started a You Tube sensation. Larry Platt performed "Pants on the Ground" which includes my favorite lyric:

Looking like a fool with your pants on the ground.

Since I have never been a fan of the gansta' rap, in-the-'hood dress code, this has become my new favorite song. Football players were singing it in locker rooms last weekend. My mom and I have been singing it in the car.

I highly recommend you google "Pants on the Ground" and watch the You Tube video. You might have a new favorite song.

And So It Goes

I've been lapse in updating the blog because my new year did not start out as I had hoped. I wanted to give you all sorts of good news and positive, uplifting comments about moving forward.

Instead, I was dealt a few setbacks. And I felt sorry for myself a bit.

With all the tragedy and despair in the world -- Hmmm... Haiti perhaps? -- it is indulgent and ridiculous to get depressed over little things in life. Or is it? The little things that go wrong seem very big at the time. Guess that's just human nature.

I don't live in Haiti; I live in Indiana where I came in second (AGAIN!)for a job I really wanted. I negotiated and signed divorce papers yesterday for a marriage that is long over but with a heart that is still wounded.

My heart breaks for the devastation in Haiti and yet, it is uplifted by the miraculous stories of rescue and the humanitarian efforts. My heart is broken by some things in my life right now but I know tomorrow is another day and my spirit is resiliant.