Old Bag

I have a favorite purse. It's red and big and holds everything I need. Or might need. Or will never need. My friends call it my suitcase but I call it my lethal weapon. No need to carry a gun when you've got a purse like this:

I've always thought is was so stylish and cute and such a pretty red. And I always carried it proudly.

Until today that is.

Today, I had two old ladies compliment me on my purse. The first one was at the grocery store and she was no less than 80 years old. The poor thing couldn't even walk normally. She just sort of shuffled. I had helped her get a few items off the higher shelves a few times as we both shopped and she kept raving about how GORGEOUS! my purse was.

Later, in the evening, I went to Target and another very old lady in the bathroom said, "I just LOVE your purse! Where can I get one like that?" I'm not proud of this but...I actually lied and told her I got it at Sears because I just couldn't bear the thought that this old lady would be bopping through life carrying around the same purse as me.

I still love my purse but I think I may need to re-evaluate my tastes a little bit. Do a quick inventory of my apparel and accessories. Make sure I don't have any elastic-waist pants or floral polyester "casual-wear" shirts in my closet.

The Week In Review

I said "so long" to an old friend...

This is sad. So very sad to me. I know this person cares about me down deep inside but doesn't have the courage to show that to me any longer. My hope is that someday that will change. I miss this friend very much and always will. There will always be a place in my heart for you, dear friend.

I said "hello again" to another...

An old friend got in touch with me this week. It's weird but oh so much fun to catch up.

Made a fool of myself...

As I wrote about earlier, I revisited the nightmare called middle school this week. Made a big fat fool of myself but still ended up laughing. Laughter is always a great place reach in any situation.

Resumed my Room Mom duties...

Yeah, yeah, yeah...don' t judge me. I've been Room Mom for my daughter's class every year since she was in kindergarten, and although it further exposes me to a lot of The Scary Moms, I keep doing it because it's a great way to stay in touch with what's happening in my daughter's life. You'd be amazed at what you learn and find out about just by being "around".

Refrained from giving my neighbors the finger...again...

I hate my neighbors across the street. And I hate that I hate them. It's a whole big cat fight thing - literally - a cat fight. (There will be more on that in a later post.) Anyway, every single time I leave the house or return home it takes all that I have to not flip them the bird. I know they watch our comings and goings and it would just feel so good to let them have it. But I don't because it would make me someone I don't want to be. No matter who they are, I still need to be who I want to be. Trying to be a good person can really suck sometimes.

Wrote a lot...

Both here and in my journal. This course I'm taking has been great for helping me to make it a part of my daily life. My hope is that simply by doing it, I'll get better at it. It feels great to really plug away at something and be okay with the fact that there will be good days and bad days, and continuing with it even after having what I percieve to be a bad day.

Became just a little bit prouder of myself...

Although some of these things have been hard - some of them extremely hard - I did them and I handled them well. I may not be a lot of things but it feels good to know that I am kind and decent and smart most of the time - and that I'm willing to try to do better when I'm not.

Onward now...

Devil In A Blue Suit?

I watched some of Barack Obama's speech at the DNC and he seems like a stand-up guy. Well spoken, intelligent, funny, sincere, good voting record, full of good ideas...the better candidate in my opinion.

Living here in god-forsaken Georgia, it's tough to be to the left politically. I was at a neighborhood party over the weekend and the HOA president (who is quite a character - worthy of a whole post dedicated solely to her someday) said, out of the blue, in her extraordinarily thick southern accent, "Obama is Satan."

Obama is Satan.

Sheesh. What does one even do with that? How to respond? I'll tell you how. Total silence. As soon as she said it, silence fell over the group. You know that saying, "heard crickets"? Well, we actually heard crickets as we stood there on that warm August evening. Even the Republicans (meaning all of the other people standing there besides me) just stood there and stared at her. It seems that the strong religious convictions of the crowd superseded their Republican passions and calling someone Satan, even if it was a Democrat, was taking it just one step too far.

It'll be interesting to hang out with all of my Democrat friends next week during the RNC. I can secretly play a game of "Top That" in the search for the winning commentary on McCain. It'll be hard to beat calling someone Satan though. But...then again, maybe not...for McCain, simply calling him a pacifist or something like that would probably be just as insulting.

It's going to get good people.

Some Things Never Change - More Middle School Reflections

Back in middle school I was always doing something stupid. Terribly shy, awkward, taller than everyone else, uncoordinated, didn't know how to do my hair, had braces,...the whole bit. Somehow, no matter how hard I tried to keep it from happening, I'd end up doing or saying something embarrassing. I'd think about everything I'd say in any particular scenario that could possibly come up - practice it, rehearse it - and then that scenario would become a reality and I'd fumble and mumble something inane and blow the whole thing. Or I'd trip or do a snotty sneeze or not realize that my mascara had smudged or that something from lunch was on my front tooth. Just killer humiliation.

My daughter is in middle school now. Seventh grade. She's taller than most of her peers, shy, uncoordinated...but she's better at doing her hair than I was, has a lot of friends and usually manages to keep food out of her teeth. To top it all off, she's a great kid. She can be a bit flaky though. Smart, but often in a state of mild confusion.

Last night was the parent orientation where we do a mock schedule of our child's day. Ten minutes in each class and the teachers give an overview of what material they'll be covering this semester. Emma and her friend Alexandra are in homeroom and the first three classes together so I was hanging out with her mom, Theresa, during homeroom. The principal announces over the PA system that it was time to move on to the next class. We all got up, I looked at Emma's schedule and see that the class for period two (yeah that's right - period TWO) is math in Mr. Varner's room next door. After chit-chatting for a couple of minutes with a few friends I bop off to math class. When I got there, the other parents were all seated already and Mr. Varner was beginning his presentation. The only seat left available was at the far end of the room in the back. I apologized profusely as I entered and mumbled something about being a slacker mom and how sorry I was to be late. On the way to the seat, I noticed a confused look pass over Mr. Varner's face as I walked by him, but I quickly dismissed it. He must just be a confused fellow, I thought.

He started his presentation again and I was determined to be a good "student" so I put a serious expression on my face and prepared to listen carefully. Suddenly, he's interrupted again by someone shouting, "RACHEL!" I looked out the door where the voice is coming from and there's Theresa looking at me laughing with a, What the hell?! expression on her face. "WHAT are you doing in there?! You're not supposed to be in there now! It's first period! We're supposed to be in BIBLE!!" She spat out the last word. (Which I think may actually be sacrilegious or something.) I realized with horror that I had mistaken homeroom for first period and moved on to second period too soon.

All eyes turned towards me. I saw familiar faces in diced up fragments - blond hair here, brown eyes there, blue shirt, red lipstick, green shirt, blue eyes, green eyes...too much input and so many embarrassing memories came flooding at me and I could feel the color rising up my neck towards my face as if the dye from the red shirt I was wearing was being sucked out of the fabric and seeping into my skin. There was no way to recover. I sloooowly got up, walked to the front of the room, squeaked, "This is so embarrassing! I'm so sorry again." and started to run out of the room. I could hear all of the laughter behind me (most of these people know me so it was all friendly, but still...). I almost got to the door and my escape when I hear my friend Andrea shout from her seat in the classroom, "AT LEAST NOW WE KNOW WHERE EMMA GETS IT!!" Which stopped me dead in my tracks and I burst out laughing along with everyone else. I couldn't even be offended because it was true.

Poor kid. She got some of the best of me and some of the worst of me. I know she'll survive this middle school business though - if I can do it, then she can certainly do it.

Oh, and Mr. Varner? So very sorry.

There's Gold In Them There Hills!

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm mortified by it, but I'll man up and admit it. I watch The Hills. Yeah, that's right, The Hills. And I LOVE it. Judging me for it would be the natural thing but you best be getting off your high horse about it because there's undoubtedly a show out there that you love that you're not brave enough to admit to. The Love Boat for you older folks out there perhaps? Or maybe even G's to Gents or Big Brother for you young whippersnappers? You just don't have the guts to 'fess up.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Don't let my bravado fool you into thinking that I don't know what an awful show it is. I know it's awful. It's really awful. Vapid and contrived and beyond superficial. But...COME ON, LC and Lo and Audrina and OMG, Spencer and Heidi - SPENCER AND HEIDI!! (aka: "Speidi".) It's just so good! I can't not watch it.

For 30 minutes a week (minus all of the commercials and teasers and b-roll) I go to Los Angeles and hang with the beautiful people. We have lunch and dinner and go to chic clubs and chill by the pool. Oh, and of course there's work and school and boyfriends and drama drama drama. This week Stephanie had a birthday party and invited LC, Lo, Audrina, Brody and Frankie, none of who like Speidi. Speidi shows up and everyone else leaves. Spencer gives Stephanie a talking to the next day telling her that if she "rolls with LC's posse" she is no longer his sister. He even tried to get all intellectual about it and compared their dispute to the Iran/Israel situation (there's a situation?) - "It's like Israel and Iran - the two don't mix." (Stephanie, to her credit, didn't seem too broken up about it.)

I'm not alone in my lust for The Hills. This show is not only the all-time top rated show for MTV, but it also had 4.7 million viewers for their season finale this past spring and won the top slot for all cable shows that night. The stats aren't in yet for the season 4 premiere but it had a lot of buzz and the chances are good that it topped all previous records.

What does this all mean? Well, for one thing, it means that the principals on the show are raking in boku bucks. LC just bought a multi-million dollar house and has her own clothing line that is a major success largely due to the media attention she gets which provides free advertising for her. The Speidi team are in talks for their own show as is Whitney, LC's best work friend. Audrina has won several acting gigs. And the clubs in LA are scrambling to get on the show via the gang hanging out at these various hotspots.

But what does it say about the viewers? Are we all just voyeurs living vicariously through a bunch of rich kids because their lives are more exciting than ours? Do we enjoy watching other people and their drama because it makes us feel so much better about our own? Is it simply an escape from the everyday for us?

It could be one or all of those things I suppose, but what I really think is that, in some twisted way, it's comforting for us to know that we're not the only ones that find ourselves in the middle of crappy situations. That even the rich and beautiful get embroiled in the stupidity of life. But most of all, it reminds us that really, all of life is just junior high. That no matter how old we get or how much we think we've grown up or how many responsibilities we've taken on in life, down deep, when you strip away everything else, we're all just a bunch of middle-schoolers.

Think about it, take any tough situation you have at work or in your marriage or with friends or at church or with your neighbors - if you dismiss the ages of the participants and all of their grownup trappings - what you have left is junior high. Junior high actions, junior high reactions and usually, junior high results. Thus the broken friendships, marriages, churches...not to mention the number of jobs lost to immature antics and political bullshit that we all go through in our adulthood.

What if we could see the truth of that and remember it before a tough situation comes along? Or, at the very least, during it? Maybe if we kept in mind how stupid we're probably being and if the other person involved could acknowledge how stupid they're being, we'd all get along better and have a better quality of life. Cut to the chase quicker - get through the muck to the clearer understanding faster.

Granted, there's nothing you can do if the other person doesn't want to acknowledge their own childishness. But, in the end, all you can do is what you know is true and right for you. Not being able to count on the other person to do that as well can be hurtful and annoying and frustrating, but at least you know that what you did was good and kind and with the hope of getting to a better place with that person.

Personally, I'm going to try to live my actual chronological age and not my sometimes middle school mental age a bit more. A lot more actually. I prefer to leave the middle school behavior in Los Angeles with the beautiful people. They can afford the therapy.

A Semi-Truck Going 100 Miles An Hour Straight Into My Gut

The hot water heater burst a couple of days ago. It's in the garage as I don't have a basement and the water had started to flood one side of the room. It just happened to be the side where there were boxes of photographs on the floor. (Don't get me started - I don't know why they were there EITHER!)

I rushed to unpack the pictures and lay the wet ones out on the kitchen table to dry. As I frantically laid them out, flashes of images came at me - Joanne sticking her tongue out playfully, Mom at her sewing machine, me looking short for a change standing next to a very tall Mike (6'8"), Gary with that grin that made the girls in high school giggle....

As I saw these split-second images speed past my line of vision, I started to feel this excruciating pain. I recognized it immediately even though the last time I felt it was when they had each died years ago. It was my heart breaking. It was such a devastating pain and it left me breathless and took me by surprise. It was a sudden tearing of my heart into tiny little pieces and it nearly doubled me over.

To see that part of my life again, visually in front of me - not just the little snippets I would very selectivley allow my mind to remember over the years - it nearly did me in. It left me shaking and pacing and finally, crumpled in a puddle of tears. It was the first time I realized how deeply I must have buried all of those memories. How far the human mind will go to survive....

I had a party a couple of years back and one of the guests asked me why I didn't have any photographs around - there were none on the walls, none on the end tables, none on the bookshelves - just...none. I mumbled and joked something about how I was too lazy to get them framed and up, but inside I knew the real reason. The real reason is because I couldn't stand to see the ones that I loved - that weren't around anymore - present in my daily life. I didn't feel that I was strong enough to see flashes of them as I ran back into the house to get Emma a towel on the way to swim practice, or while I watched TV or baked some cookies or or swept the floors or whatever else one does in their daily life. The memories of them - even the happy ones - were so terribly sad to me because they were over and there were no more opportunities to make any new ones with them. They were gone and it was forever.

The saddest part I realize now is that when I buried those memories, I buried some of the best parts of knowing these precious people in my life. My dear, artistic sister, Joanne; my tough, talented mother; my funny, eccentric brother Mike; and my brother, Gary, who was hard to live with but I believe (need to believe) he had a sensitive heart somewhere deep inside. These were members of my family. They lived and breathed and laughed and cried. They were real. They weren't people I read about in a book or saw in a movie. They weren't characters in a television sitcom or the latest dramatic film. I shared whole parts of my life with them. They existed in flesh and blood for me. The few memories of them that I would allow to bubble up to the surface of my consciousness weren't all that they were. They were so much more. To relegate them so the sidelines of my memory is so unfair to them.

I guess because their deaths just kept coming at me, one after another, in a relatively short amount of time (three of them in three-and-a-half years) my mind and heart were forced to go into survival mode which meant I was going to have to shelve my memories and grief about each one of them individually and just get on with whatever the next challenging situation brought me.

But the truth is, I am not doing them justice by merely surviving their deaths. I need to honor them by celebrating their lives.

So, in the coming months I'm going to spend some time remembering them here on my blog. I want anyone that might read this to know them better. And I want to remind myself how much I loved them and that it's okay that it still hurts to miss them.

I'm also going to cowboy up and make a commitment to try go through all of those photographs. I'm fearful about it from my reaction the other day but I think it's important to at least try. To let myself be reminded of all of those great times and those great people - those ones so dear to me. To let myself feel whatever comes. Frankly, I think it's going to suck. But, in the end, I hope that by doing it I'll be better able to get on with celebrating who they were and all that they meant to me. They deserve that.

And so do I.

Cuddles and Pudge

A few months ago, we had a double dose of sweetness come into our lives. Two gray kittens were born and they've been so much fun. It seems that these furry whirlwinds of life came to us just when we needed it - needed a reminder that new life happens and it's not always sadness and death.

We had to take them to the Humane Society today because we had no luck finding them homes. So sad for us. We trust that they will find good homes and be just as much of a blessing for two other families as they were for us.

Thanks Cuddles and Pudge. We will miss you.

Week Two

I'm in week two of my twelve week course and I'm already slacking off. It's the first week of school for my daughter so that has sorta taken over. I don't think I'll ever get through that first day of school without wringing my hands with worry. She'll be a senior in high school and there I'll be gulping down the Pepto.

Now that she's not here all day I really should be getting busy and focusing on my class and MAKING STUFF!! I just need to do. Stop shopping. Stop fussing. Stop stalling. Just DO!!!

I'm gonna, I swear.

What a lameass...

Oh My...

I'm a little worried.

A few weeks ago a new show came out on television called Swingtown. Have you seen it? I've been watching it from the beginning and I'm hooked. It's about these hip people in their thirties and takes place in the 1970s. As the title indicates, they have "open" relationships - swapping partners, threesomes, foursomes, orgies....

What concerns me is how much I like this show. I haven't heard any real buzz about it. My friends aren't talking about it. The few people I've mentioned it to look at me with their eyebrows knit and a barely masked look of concern on their faces. I feel like I'm the only one I know that watches it and it's become some dirty little secret of mine. But I can't help it - I really enjoy it. I can't wait to find out what happens between the married couples, Trina and Tom, Susan and Bruce and Janet and Roger. For that matter, I can't wait to find out what happens between Trina and Bruce, Trina and Roger, Susan and Tom, Janet and Tom, Susan and Roger, Bruce and Janet, Trina, Roger, Susan, Bruce, Tom and Janet....and on and on like that.

What does it say about me that I get such a kick out of this show? Am I a perv? Do I subconsciously want to swing? Am I a voyeur? It's quite disturbing for this nice girl from rural Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio.

My hope is that I'm just engaged by how smart and surprisingly kind and sweet the characters are with each other. (Although I will admit that seeing Grant Show in an orange and yellow Speedo is a motivating perk.) Plus, the 70s were such a fascinating time. So many changes and controversies that take the storyline beyond the sexual interplay and make it work.

Bet you're curious now, aren't you?

Perv!

Artist's Date or Merely Shopping?

Part of the homework for this course is to go on an artist date once a week. A couple of hours by myself doing something that "feeds me artistically" blah blah blah. I get why it can be valuable. Some dedicated time to explore what interests me in hopes that it will motivate, inspire and awaken all of that creativity that's been asleep for so many years.

That's good stuff. I get it. But I've gone on two of these dates so far and I've spent over a $150. Apparently the creative me is no cheap date.

Some of it is justified of course, being out of the artisitic loop for so long I need some new supplies. But some of it....well, some of it, I'm honest enough to say, is just me going shopping.

I learned years ago that, for people like me, a huge part of the excitement for any project - whether it's painting a masterpeice on canvas or painting the walls of a room - is the shopping involved. The going and looking at all of the options, dreaming about all of the possibilities - the buying of new things and nearly giving those things the power to change so much more than what they can actually change. It's exciting and fun. But is it getting me closer to my creative self? Um, not so much.

I mean, I'm getting ideas when I go exploring in these stores for sure. On my first date I went to the bookstore and looked at a bunch of books and magazines about stamping and paper crafts and art. It was great to find some things I liked and to learn what I definitely don't like. I even bought some of these books and magazines. But the truth is, I've only gotten halfway through one of them in a week's time. I'm not making the most of what these things have to offer once I've done the fun shopping part.

Today I went to a craft store and had a great time looking around at all of the pretty things, thinking of all of the possibilities. Then I spent sixty bucks. Which may not seem like much but it's really starting to add up.

I have to figure out a way to take the plunge and actually start making some things. Stop the dreaming and wishing and start the doing. So my goal for next weekend's date is to not spend any money at all but to simply create something. Not sure of the how or what yet but I'll get there. That's the journey, right?

What a Great Kid

I love my girl...

Maybe I'm On the Right Track After All

A quote from the book I'm reading as part of my twelve-week course...

"It is is important to remember that at first flush, going sane feels just like going crazy."

What a relief.

Jump

Okay, so I'm going away. In just two short months I'll be leaving my home and making a temporary one for myself one state - and a lifetime - away. I think it's going to be hard to explain this to some of the people in my life. Why I need this. So. desperately. need. this. There are times that I don't feel like I'm any different from many women in their early 40s - burned out, frazzled, lost, etc. It makes me feel guilty that I'm running away from it all and selfishly doing this when other women - women in tougher situations than mine - don't have, will never have, might-not-ever-take-even-if-they-ever-had, the opportunity to do this. It makes me feel like a spoiled brat.

But then, I think about all that I have been through in the last 25 years and I know that in many ways my life has been extreme. Extreme loss, extreme circumstances, extreme pain....and I know that I am truly empty. That it's not just motherhood or marital struggles or career blues that have me feeling this way. That it's over 25 years of events that have led to this. That the totality of it all has left me vacant and hollow and not believing in much anymore.

Especially myself.

Those 25 years of crappy events directly, and indirectly, led to situations in the last two years or so that have left me wondering who the hell I am. So many things that I held dear and sacred, things that I thought were firm in my mind, have come into question. Things I believed in steadfastly have become shades of gray that I don't understand anymore. What was once was so clear is now just fuzzy.

I know, I know, classic mid-life crisis. Next thing you know I'll be driving a red convertible, dyeing my hair black and having an affair with a 25-year-old hottie. Fun? Absolutely! But it won't solve any of my problems. (damn!)

What I really need is some space. When every day is about other people - their needs, their schedules, their expectations, their wants - there's no space to address what I need or want. I'm on this path in my life that I don't see being able to stay on forever so I need to figure out how to change things for myself.

The way that it all fell into place for me to stay at this condo for a month was really incredible. I kept saying to myself and to the people in my life that I wouldn't do it unless it "fell into my lap". For weeks all signs pointed to no. Things were just not falling into place. But then, suddenly, without any clear reason why, they all did. Door after door opened and I felt compelled to just keep walking through them.

Honestly, I think I'm a little insane. Who does this?! But maybe that's why I need to do it. To have this opportunity - this luxury - is really quite something, and I need to stop being so damn scared of everything all of the time and just take the leap....

Just jump Rachel.