Daddy-isms

As I'm mentally preparing for my father's funeral, I've been trying to think of his "catchphrases." Things that other people might not "get," but the family knows what they mean. I'm sure I'll think of more, but these are a few lines or events or ideas that will stick with me.

• Stay with the group! Started when we went on school trips, then it became part of the standard good-bye.
• Don't breathe! When we were kids and it was bitter cold out, he was just trying to keep us healthy as we dashed from the house to the car. It made sense at the time!
• Depending on the weather... Travel plans were always tentative until we knew what the weather was on that day. The Weather Channel was checked often.
• Stove off? Candles and incense out? Before we left the house to go anywhere, there was always the final safety check. It's stuck with me. I check the stove every day...and I hardly use it!
• Watch for deer! It's Wisconsin. Always a good idea to stay alert, especially when travelling north or at dusk.
• Yeah, OK. My dad was never much of a "phone" guy. He might answer, but it was understood that Mom would be getting on the extension shortly. But when the conversation with him was over, he would never say "good-bye." It was always an "OK" or something.

So I guess I'll simply say to him, "OK, Daddy."

Sad Part of Being a Grown-Up

You know how when you're a kid you can't wait to grow up? Then you can stay up late, get a driver's license, have a cocktail? Your parents try to tell you that adulthood isn't all it's cracked up to be. There are more chores and responsibilities, roommates in college, and coworkers you can't stand.

But one of the hardest parts, I think, of growing up is dealing with mortality. My father passed away this morning. Even when you know it's coming, it still hits you like a ton of bricks. His health has been declining over the last year, so it's not completely unexpected. And I know he was...if not "in pain" certainly in "discomfort." But when we saw him at Thanksgiving, it didn't seem that this time would come so soon.

I'm thankful my brother lives in our hometown, because he can be with our mother as she begins to make "arrangements." She's got girlfriends who have been through it and will be there to support her. We live close enough that we'll be able to join the family in a day or two (barring another blizzard). Christmas will not be the same this year, to be sure.

My grandparents have all passed away, and I have friends who have lost their parents. I sort of know what's coming, what to expect. This is all a part of life, but I don't have to like it. Times like these I kind of wish I wasn't a grown-up.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm glad there's one day a year to remind me to be thankful. Oh, I count my blessings sometimes, but it's good to have a holiday to help me focus on it. And even when it's easier to count things that have gone wrong or things I don't have, I can look at the bigger picture and put it into a more rational perspective.

It's so easy to sound trite when you try to be thankful. You go through an average list, without really acknowledging to yourself that even on your worst days, there is something good about your life. So next time you catch me complaining about something, remind me to step back and say, "Today isn't really as bad as it seems."

I am thankful for my family, both by blood and by choice. Some people have to look farther to find people with whom they can share their ups and downs.

I am thankful for my home. It's not a big house, but not everyone has a bed and a roof every night.

I would be thankful for my job, if I had one. But I am thankful that I have a direction in mind and have skills to use.

I am thankful for my health. I know plenty of people struggling with short-term and long-term issues.

I am thankful for the Internet, as odd as that may sound. But it allows me to communicate with so many more people than I could if I had to rely on letters and phone calls.

I am thankful that some things change, and that some things stay the same.

I am thankful that life isn't perfect...really...I am. What would be the point if each day didn't bring something to learn and grow from? Each experience is a thread as we weave the tapestry of our lives. I don't want mine to be only one color.

Don't Forget Thanksgiving!

I'm as much a fan of Christmas as anyone. I'd love to have the space and the money to go all out decorating. But today, November 21, I saw homes with outdoor Christmas lights already lit. Hello...can we celebrate Thanksgiving first?

It seems that Thanksgiving was a bigger holiday when I was a kid. I admit, my perspective may be clouded by the nostalgia for childhood. But I remember making turkey and Pilgrim decorations. I remember watching the Macy's parade when it was primarily a parade; there were floats and balloons, and not so many pauses for songs and dance numbers.

I understand that the Thanksgiving story I learned in school may not be historically accurate. But the general idea is the same. There were people who weren't satisfied with their lives, so they took action. It wasn't an easy path. But somewhere along the line, they realized that things were going to get better. They had hope for the future, and paused to give thanks for what they had at that moment in time.

Time permitting, I'll write more about reminding myself to be thankful. But for now, I just want to speak out on behalf of a celebration that seems to get squeezed out more each year by Christmas. If you don't look closely, you'll only see back-to-school followed by Halloween sliding right into Christmas.

Don't forget about November! Don't forget Thanksgiving!

So, This Is What Freelancing Feels Like

If you know me personally, or via Blogger/Facebook/Twitter, you may remember that I was laid off earlier this year when the ad agency I worked at was sold. Didn't exactly throw me into a state of panic, but I was forced to reflect on my employment life.

I've been looking for a job using the traditional resources. But there aren't many places looking for an actual proofreader. Many businesses are too small to warrant a full-time person. Larger companies may have a system already in place. And honestly, I'm sure a lot of organizations don't realize the value that a fresh set of eyes can bring to their printed (and web) materials.

Having some time off has given me more time to spend with a friend who would also do well being self-employed. It's been helpful for both of us to identify and discuss our talents and skills, exploring options together. We're both good at what we do--it's just tough trying to define what that is and translate it into a way to make money! Another friend was recently laid off, so now we've got three great minds formulating a plan for mutual success.

I had to miss our last two "freelance staff meetings," however. I was busy...freelancing. A local marketing firm had a big project in-house. I have worked with a few people there, so my name came up when they determined it was time to have someone else take a look for little things that might have been missed. So I got the call. As luck would have it, I was available. For eight days, I went to their office and read every word that was put in front of me. Then I set upon my task of adding hyphens, deleting commas (just because I'm a fan of the serial comma doesn't mean I can't ditch a few sometimes), capping and un-capping, noting typos, and making sure that things were stylistically consistent.

It was really kind of a rush, making notes with my red pen. I know spelling and punctuation isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I truly enjoy it! Sort of a treasure hunt...looking for little things that other people might not see. Even though I was in unfamiliar surroundings on a strictly temporary basis, I was in my element, doing what I know how to do. And when I'd finished reviewing, I packed up my copies of the AP Stylebook and Grammar Girl's Quick and Dirty Tips and went home. Sent off my invoice and officially completed my first freelance project.

I know the life of a freelancer has its ups and downs. Sure, there's some flexibility, but there's also less reliable income. It's truly performance-based pay. You don't get a check if you don't put in the time. Am I still looking for a "regular" job? Definitely! Unless I buy a winning lottery ticket, I've gotta continue to bring in some cash. But I think I could get into being an independent contractor. We'll see where this road goes.

Thanks to the people close to home for their encouragement and support. And thanks to my Twitter friends, too. They really know how to build you up. And since a lot of them are also in the freelance world, I know that I can learn a lot from them.

I can't wait to see what's next!

Just Pick Up the Phone!

Why am I so bad at making phone calls? We have a land line, and I have a cell phone. It's certainly not physically difficult for me to get to a phone and "dial" a few numbers. (Yes, when I was a child, our phone had an actual dial!)

I had things to talk about this week. A friend took a trip and I wanted to travel vicariously. I got a freelance proofing project and had lots of stuff to share with my girlfriends. But did I call them? Noooooo. There's something inside me that always says, "Oh, don't bother them. They could be busy." How silly is that? These women would have no problem telling me that it's not a good time to talk. I think most people will freely tell you if they're in the middle of something, especially when you start the conversation with something along the lines of, "Do you have a minute?" or, "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

I'm pretty sure I've been like this since I was old enough to use the phone. In high school, I don't remember being the type to call my buddies and spend an hour on the phone each evening. Of course, there was a 15-minute limit on calls at our house. And my brother and his sweetie were usually on the phone anyway. :-) My sister and I have been known to talk for an hour or more in one sitting about nothing in particular. But I've never been good at initiating the call. There's just something in my subconscious that prevents me from picking up the phone without a specific question or bit of information to share.

For better or worse, I'm a big fan of the more "modern" forms of communication. I'll send a quick text message, just to touch base or when I see something that makes someone cross my mind. If I have more to say, I'll send an e-mail, which gives me a chance to do sort of a rough draft and make sure everything's right. Then the recipient can read it when they're ready, respond if they want to and when they're able. (Oddly enough, I was never good at actual pen-and-paper letters. Couldn't find a good way to make small talk in writing.)

I guess I need to change my perspective. Rather than thinking I don't have a particular reason to make a call, I should see it as a chance to show that I care or that I was thinking of you. It's not intruding...it's staying connected to people that matter.

Is anyone waiting for a call from me?

Feeling Young AND Old

I recently attended my nephew's wedding. It was a fabulous event! Oddly, it made me feel young and old at the same time.

My little nephew couldn't possibly be old enough to get married, much less date the same girl for eight years. When did he get to be 25? If he's aged, then so have I (though my grandmother was eternally 39). I'm the aunt, and the godmother. I even got to wear a flower to show that I was "important." It was a little strange to not be in the same generation as the bride and groom. I remember attending weddings of my friends, people with whom I'd gone to high school or college. Here, I was in the older group. Sure, my parents were there, and other relatives of that age. But still...I'm one of the grown-ups!

On the other hand, I sometimes feel like one of the "kids" when I get together with the extended family. During the reception, I was sitting with some of my nieces and other folks, average age of about 20. I honestly appreciate that we have some shared interests and can have actual adult conversations. We like some of the same TV shows and movies, and we all spend some time on Facebook. They can chuckle at how slowly I send text messages. But I must be a little bit cool. They insisted I get out on the dance floor for the "cha-cha slide." I'd never heard of it, but it was kind of fun. It's just a line dance where you do whatever the song tells you to do. Nothing too complicated. And I did also participate in the dances virtually required at a Wisconsin wedding: locomotion, hokey pokey, and chicken dance. Another nephew even got me to dance to "Footloose." That's a lot of exercise for me in one evening!

With age, I am also less self-conscious. I wasn't embarrassed when the usher told us--twice--that we had to switch pews. Oops for him! There were two empty pews in front of us during the ceremony. I didn't hesitate to get up with my brother and his wife and other son to sing some of "The Lumberjack Song" at the head table. (The happy couple would kiss only for a song, not for the old-fashioned tinking of the glasses.) And just a few years ago, I'm not sure I would have gotten out on the floor during the "fun" dances. But it didn't bother me! I was surrounded by people I didn't know and by people who love me no matter what. It barely even crossed my mind what any of them might think. (Hey! I'm wearing a corsage! I can dance if I want to!)

You spend years waiting to get old enough to not sit at the kids' table at family gatherings. But with the kids in my family, that is really the fun place to be.

I'll Write Soon

I know, I know. It's been three weeks since my last post. If you've been checking out my blog periodically, thank you. Sorry there hasn't been anything new.

Obviously I haven't gotten into the habit of writing on a daily, or even weekly, basis. I still seem to think I need some sort of "inspiration." And since I don't have a concrete theme or topic, I don't have a laundry list of subject matter.

I'll get better...I promise.

Talk Like a Pirate Day

Surely you knew that today was a holiday! Every year certain geeks celebrate Talk Like a Pirate Day and pepper their conversations with ahoy, avast, and maybe a shiver me timbers. (You can visit the official site if you feel the need to know more.)

I must admit that I didn't start every sentence with arrrrr, but I did try to have a little fun on Twitter. Our language can be both a tool and a plaything! Perhaps you'll be amused (though if I make myself laugh, I consider that a success). If not, then you shall walk the plank!

Arrr! Avast! Jolly Roger! Walk the plank! Scurvy dog! Is that how to #TalkLikeAPirate?

Columbo, the lost episode: Falk Like a Pirate.

Rock would have, but Doris couldn't get into the role-playing so they never made the sequel: Pillow Talk Like a Pirate.

If you want to join the crew in China, you need to be able to wok like a pirate.

It took awhile for the captain to hire a plumber. He had to find one who could caulk like a pirate.

If you want to make the baseball team in Pittsburgh, you'd better be able to balk like a Pirate.

The captain had to clear his throat after yelling at the crew. Good thing he could hawk like a pirate.

The crew was apprehensive about getting their polio vaccines until they learned their doctor could Salk like a pirate.

Just called my mom to wish her a happy #TalkLikeAPirate Day. Can you believe she didn't realize it was a holiday‽

----

I tried to be punny for the ides of March, too. You can check out that post here. What did you do to celebrate Talk Like a Pirate Day?

A "Hair-Raising" Day

Yup...my hair has been raised. About eight inches.

You may have guessed that means I got my hair cut. Seems pretty mundane, right? But I've never been one for high-maintenance hair. I skipped the Aqua-Net fad, though I did enjoy my share of perms in the '80s. It was never my way to go to the salon every month or so for a trim. Too much money just for hair. So I let it grow longish, below my shoulders. And I think I might like it that way and all the styling versatility that comes with it. But then I get positively sick of it and have to get it chopped off! So now, my hair is above my chin. Cute and sassy and bouncy. It will, of course, get a little longer, and I'll try to keep it sleek. And it will continue to grow, and get wavier as it goes. (Seems like length would weigh down any curls, but my hair seems to have a mind of its own.) I get to enjoy a variety of looks from short to long. Once or twice a year, I'll visit the same stylist I've seen for 20 years. She happily snips and styles. We wonder at the pile of hair on the floor before she sweeps it into the vacuum chute.

For me, a haircut is an event. Sort of like New Year's. My hair gets a fresh start and so do I. It's oddly invigorating and empowering. Time for a new attitude to go along with the new hair. Let's see what I can accomplish before it grows another eight inches!

Awe-thors

The more I write in this blog, the more I am in awe of authors. People who write books and stories and plays and movies and poems. Characters, scenes, backstories, dialogue...where does it all come from? Whether it's a weekly opinion column or "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy, it's a lot of ideas and words. I can hold my own in the 140-character world of Twitter, but hundreds or thousands of pages? If I compare myself, I feel like Wayne and Garth: not worthy (and like the typo I just corrected, not very wordy, either).

But then again, I never claimed to be Agatha Christie or Arianna Huffington or Dave Barry. I'm just me, throwing a few sentences together when something hits me. And I'm doing it without a net. I have no illusions of writing fame, and certainly none of fortune. But the fact that I'm putting some thoughts "out there" is--for now, anyway--success enough for me.

For the record, the idea for this post just came to me within the last hour. No notes, no rough draft and revisions. I surprised myself with my own spontaneity! And...time to hit Publish Post.

Expanding My Comfort Zone

One of my best friends sent a mock news story to a few of us yesterday. It told of how many people die each year when they step outside their comfort zones. Hmm...methinks my girlfriend knows that feeling, and knows that some of us, too, feel a wee bit of trepidation at taking those few steps outside of "the way it's always been." I've never done that before. What if I'm not any good?

Luckily, as friends, we have a support system. We throw out ideas to each other for things we can try. We help to bring logic to the discussion when one of us has some irrational fears. It's easy to forget your own strength; our friends are there to remind us.

I was very comfortable in my job of 11 years. Then, that job was gone. Starting a new job, when I find one, will be outside of my comfort zone. I've only had two long-term jobs since college. Going to a new office with new people and new tasks will take some adjustment. But I'm confident that I'm in a good zone now to succeed.

I've been doing a few things lately that would have definitely been outside that zone just a few years ago. The most obvious? I started this blog. I'm still finding my way, but when an idea comes to me, I write about it. And some people read it. Not so long ago I would have trembled at the thought and not typed a word. But with a little encouragement, and that rational perspective from girlfriends, I just jumped right in. I've even tried a few poems. It keeps me connected to my creativity. And the more I do it, the more writing settles into my comfort zone.

Just this evening, I took some more steps outside my zone...literally. I walked up to the store to pick up something for supper. In the past, if I had found myself without a car I would likely have had peanut butter or whatever else I could dig out of the cupboards. But I felt like something else. (Now, don't judge me for picking up a microwave meal with a side salad from the deli. I didn't say I went to get something to cook for supper.) I've never been much of a "walker." It's not that far away, but I don't know if I would have even tried to walk to the store last summer. But it was still light outside, it's a decent neighborhood, and I've been walking every day (almost) for the last few months. Instead of assuming that I couldn't do it because I hadn't done it before, I assumed that it would be no big deal. And as for my walking routine, I've increased my distance, and am working on upping my pace. I'm a far cry from an athlete, but I keep going because I know that I can do it.

I'm broadening my comfort zone and becoming a better broad because of it. People don't die just from trying something different. What's the worst than can happen?

Have you stepped outside your zone and found that the usual routine you were accustomed to wasn't all you thought it was cracked up to be?

What is a Word? (poetry)

A word is letters
and sounds.
Thought given form.
Words that mean love for me
can mean hatred for you.
A word can soothe a soul
or pierce a heart.
Put a dream into words
and hope it comes true.
Put a curse into words
and wish you could rewind.
A word cannot take life,
but to words you can give life.
Words are alive.
And with them,
so am I.

Is it the Right Stuff?

Boy, have I got "stuff"!

I seem to remember a George Carlin routine about stuff. How we like to collect stuff and sometimes need to move into bigger houses to hold more of our stuff. I can totally relate to that.

I was at my parents' house for a few days. Yes, even at my age.I still have a few items there. (Don't make me define "few.") There are some Spanish literature books from college, my solo/ensemble medals from high school, postcards and such from childhood vacations. You'd think that with my fondness to take a red pen to the written word I'd also have no trouble deleting some accumulated stuff. But alas, that's not the case. I must insist that it's not entirely a flaw in my character. Looking around my parents' basement and cottage, I am convinced that it's in my "genes." (My sister should catch why that's a bit of a play on words.) We seem to be a family of savers. "Don't throw that out. I might need that some day!" "Oh, I remember when I got that (insert miscellaneous item here)!"

Luckily, my sister seems to have broken the cycle. She keeps the good stuff, but she is better able to determine the difference between memento and junk. With her help, I'm getting better at seeing that getting rid of the princess mirror, brush, and comb set won't mean that I'll forget what it felt like to be a little girl. That bowl that Mother put our baby food in is neat, but I don't remember using it. I don't have lots of shelf space for nostalgic items. It's best to sell/give/donate it and let it become someone else's treasure.

I've already identified the boxes my sister and I will investigate next time we're at my folks' house together. I think I'll be ready to get rid of some books (since I could no longer read Spanish), I can pare down decades-old souvenirs, and I'll bring my medals back to my house. I don't know if all of my stuff is right, but there's certainly some comfort in knowing it's mine.

What You Want

"They" say that you can't always get what you want. Ain't that the truth! But you will almost never get what you want if you don't ask for it.

Knowing that you need to ask is only one step. First, you need to know what it is that you want. Could be something as simple as a dinner choice or a birthday gift. But there are the big wants, too, like what you want out of life. And of course, everything in between. The little things I want change from day to day, sometimes hour to hour. And my big goals in life have changed numerous times since I was a child. Sure, I still want the generic "happiness." It's how to define happiness that seems to be the question. That's a personal journey that everyone needs to take for themself.

So let's say you know what you want. And you know you have to ask for it. The next questions is whom to ask. (I think "whom" is correct. Forgive me if not.) When you're a child, you ask your parents for what you want. As you get older you ask your friends, your spouse, your boss, God. I'm learning that I probably need to ask myself for a lot of things, too. If I want something, I need to make it happen. Other folks can help, but I must take responsibility for my own happiness.

I think the hardest thing has been giving myself permission to ask. Perhaps it's a "woman" thing, or perhaps it's just me. But we're so used to giving to other people, and so hope that those closest to us already magically know what we want. But you know what? It's OK to ask. It doesn't make you weak. It doesn't make you selfish. If anything, it shows you're not afraid to open up to people around you. It shows that you understand yourself well enough to know what you want. I've found that my circle of girlfriends is great for this. Number one, I don't have to be afraid to ask them anything! And I know they'll tell me their honest opinion (even if sometimes it's brutally honest, bordering on evil.) And by talking it through, we can more easily identify what we want and from whom.

I still don't know what I want as a career. I do know that I want to blog, but I'm still trying to figure out in which direction to take it. So I ask you this...I'm ready to hear feedback. Thanks to those of you who've already obliged. But if you're just randomly stopping by, I'll take some comments, even anonymously. Or you can e-mail me from my profile page. Feel free to share!

Clear Your Mind

Since I've had some time on my hands, I've started taking a daily (almost) walk around the neighborhood. It's by no means long-distance, I'm not power-walking with my arms a-swingin', and I'm only out for about a half hour. But for me, that's almost a workout. In reality, I'm a bit of a couch potato. I guess I figured that I could be a bit more productive with my time.

I've discovered something interesting. While I'm out and about, I'm not even thinking about anything! I'm not listening to music. No societal or personal issues run through my head. I'm not even layouting out my next blog post. Oh, I try to think about something. The next housecleaning project, next steps in the job hunt. But the thoughts won't stay in line! I don't think that it's because I'm easily distracted. Sure, I notice the birds or the landscaping or the car coming down the road. But I don't literally stop to smell the roses.

My mind, it seems, is just behaving like it has...well, a mind of its own. My walk is a time to just be. Perhaps one of these days I'll have some grand moment of inspiration or clarity.  Or not.

In the meantime, I'm going to leave my mind's curtains open and enjoy the fresh air.

Poetry...in Motion

Did you see that?
It was like poetry
in motion.
Poetry
is motion.
From heart and head
to pen and paper.
From lips to ears.
From wish to word to whisper.
The poet is moved.
The believer is moved.
And the poem
continues to wander.

I Wasn't Nervous!

I wrote this week about how familiar I am with self-doubt stifling creativity. What if people aren't interested in what I write? What if they think it's stupid? Then I remind myself that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks at this point. I'm just writing for me. If I gather an audience, so be it. We'll cross that proverbial bridge when we get to it. (Thank you to those of you who already consider my ideas worth an occasional peek!)

I overcame another small-scale self-doubt issue this afternoon. I wore shorts...in public...at the store. Now, that may sound foolish to you. But for a long time I've allowed concern for my appearance to come before my comfort. What if people laugh at my pale legs? Well, you know what? Who cares‽ It's over 80 degrees out there! (At least the humidity is back down to a mere 39%.) I'm finally getting to the point where I realize it doesn't matter so much what other people think. It's summertime: Time for shorts. So there.

At my age, don't you think it's about time that I start being...me?

Superpowers

On July 4th, I caught an episode or two of The Greatest American Hero on SyFy. Oh, c'mon; it's sort of science fiction! And it works for an Independence Day marathon. It's "American," after all!

If you're not old enough to remember the show, or have just forgotten it, it's a simple premise. Aliens visit and give a superhero costume, complete with cape, to high-school teacher Ralph. I've forgotten the details, but somehow Ralph connects with FBI agent Bill, and together they spend an hour each week catching the bad guys. Unfortunately, Ralph doesn't have an instruction manual for his suit. Anything it allows him to do--fly, run super fast, or exercise some sort of telepathic vision--he's got to discover by old-fashioned trial and error.

I remember enjoying the show back in the day. You should know I'm a sucker for nostalgia, especially the '80s. (Was this really from 1981‽) I remember enjoying the show back in the day. William Katt's hair was adorable! And who doesn't love Robert Culp (RIP)? Poor Ralph. He just wants to teach his class of misfit kids, but has to do the right thing and fight crime, learning as he goes.

It dawned on me that Ralph isn't the only one without an instruction manual. Isn't everyday life like that? Sure, we know what we're supposed to do. We learn that from family, friends, school, church. But how do we know what we're capable of? How do we discover our superpowers and how to use them? Just like Ralph, we've got to keep trying. You don't know if you're a good cook until you try. And you may only learn the difference between a bulb of garlic and a clove of garlic by making the mistake once. You might be born with incredible musical talent, but you won't know until you sit in front of the piano or pick up a guitar. Your friends might consider you a supportive and empathetic listener, but you won't know how to do it well until you've had some practice. How to be a good parent? Read all the books you want. It just takes time to find out out what works best for you and your child.

Sometimes it feels like I'm wearing a cape but don't know how to access all its wondrous powers. How come everyone else seems to know what they're doing? Then I remember that nobody really has an instruction manual...we all have to make our own journey to discover how to do what it is we're meant to do. Try, try again.

Don't Be Nervous

"The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” -- Sylvia Plath

I caught this quotation in my Twitter feed earlier today. I felt like DiNozzo just getting slapped on the back of the head by Gibbs. (If you watch NCIS, you know what I mean. If not, the names aren't important.) Cue the Twilight Zone music: Those words are exactly what I needed to hear.

I was thinking just the other day that it had been a while since my last post. But I didn't know what to write about. There hadn't been anything particularly eventful. I didn't have anything especially inspiring to write about Independence Day. And I'd sworn to myself that my blog would not resemble some of my junior-high journal: Nothing happening today. Need to get a life.

Then I saw the "self-doubt" bit. Duh...this is certainly not the first time I've dealt with that! (And I know at least one friend in particular who can totally relate.) I'm not writing for a legion of followers. I'm not writing a great American novel. I'm just writing. Working on getting my ideas out there. Sometimes I might have something emotional, or intellectual, or spiritual, or poetic, or enlightening. But until those moments hit me, there's nothing wrong with just writing for the sake of writing. They say you've got to spend money to make money. It only makes sense that you've got to write something to get more ideas to write something else.

And so I shall write. But don't be surprised when I occasionally write about nothing in particular.

Firefly

I could perhaps write an entire post on Joss Whedon's Firefly, but not tonight. This evening I saw an actual firefly in the front yard.

We don't see many around here, and rarely more than one at a time. But they are mesmerizing! I think I've caught one out of the corner of my eye. So I keep looking in the same vicinity. No...a bit to the right. So I watch that spot. Nope...now on the lilies. Blink. Blink.

It's so fun trying to keep up! They virtually disappear for a moment, then surprise me when they reappear. I think it's a courtship behavior for them. But for me it's pure entertainment.

Fireflies remind me of the magic and miracles that surround us every day. An insect...that blinks...really. That is simply magnificent. And I'm thankful for those moments that remind me how amazing life can be.

I have to remember to not look necessarily for a big, dramatic sign of something. The little signs can sometimes shine just enough light on things.

My Boy's Growing Up

My son is 15 years old. I should certainly be used to the fact that he's not my "baby" any more. We both made it through his freshman year unscathed and are getting settled into summer vacation. I'm sure he'd rather I didn't write too much about him specifically, but I'm having an incredible "proud parent" moment.

This afternoon he attended a concert by Midsummer's Music, a chamber group based in Door County. I've never had the pleasure of hearing them, but they must be fabulous. After the concert, my boy wanted to pull out his violin and start practicing right away. Now, during the school year he'll practice periodically without much urging. But it's sporadic. I suppose, like a true artist, he needs to be inspired. This group apparently touched a chord in him. It makes me so proud as a mother to see him so enthused about something of his own choosing. Naturally, we encouraged him to try an instrument back in fifth grade. He made his choice and is in his fifth year playing. He's good at it, he enjoys it, and he's voluntarily spending time at it. How incredible to see my child growing into his own identity!

Every now and then there are things that remind me that he's growing up. Oh, they aren't as monumental, perhaps, as first the first smile, steps, or words. But they seem to make me just as proud. Last week one of his friends dropped by and they headed out on their bikes. I've always been on the overprotective side, I admit. But as he matures, so do I. They spent the afternoon just out "bumming around," then came back to the house for a few hands of cribbage on the porch. He's got his own friends, his own interests. He's a regular human being, well on his way to becoming a regular, well-adjusted adult.

I can't take credit for all of it, but I sure enjoy being a part of it.

Does This Mean I'm a Writer?

As my friend and I were talking about which career paths interest us, and which employers might find us useful, she repeatedly told me that I would certainly be qualified for a position that involves writing.

I thanked her for her confidence in me, but assured her that I was more of a proofreader and an editor. Since my college days, I hadn't spent much time coming up with my own words, but I could be pretty good at correcting and improving the words of others. She has written as part of a job, my other girlfriend has written as part of a job, but my experience was minimal. In spite of my own objections and apprehension, I created my first blog post. Then another, and another...and now, almost three months in, I've published 14 entries. I'm surprisingly proud of myself!

Do I write every day? Not even close. Do I write about "important" political or social issues? Not really my thing. Do I write about my fondness for the Oxford Comma, even if only to annoy those who are opposed to it? Not yet (but don't rule that topic out). But I engage my brain and put my fingers to the keyboard and type. I might let a post sit overnight before I publish it, just to make sure I haven't left out anything I wanted to say. But I don't write a draft, then edit, then modify, then revise... I just write. I'll occasionally make notes about something I might want to talk about, but I don't have a journal filled with ideas. And no one is giving me money to write about their product or service.

I've realized that I was letting the title "writer" hold me back. I figured I wasn't a writer because I wasn't writing press releases or poetry or novels. But just because I haven't doesn't mean that I can't. I think that everyone can be a writer. It's not about making money at it or anyone thinking it's "good" or even having an audience for it. It's just about collecting your thoughts and transferring them to paper (or the electronic equivalent thereof). Heck, I can do that!

So now, I am a writer. And my cheerleader/coach is rediscovering the writer that she has always been. What shall I write about next?

Closet Cleaning

Since I've got some free time lately, I decided it was time to take on one aspect of spring cleaning: the dreaded closet.

I am by no means a clothes horse or fashion plate. When I buy clothing, I tend toward the most basic styles. They rarely look dated, so I just wear the heck out of them until I can't any more. I'm sure it's because of how my mother trained me. "You want to buy that? How many things can you wear that with? Where would you wear it?" I have no problem browsing through the clearance rack. Then I don't feel as guilty if I splurge on an outfit for a special event.

So my closet was getting full. Warmer weather meant it was time to pull out my short-sleeved tops anyway, so I figured I'd weed through everything on the rod.

A few shirts were a bit too short, and I'd gotten my money's worth from them. Into the "donate" bag. Some that I hadn't worn in a year or so. Also into the bag. Wow...it's really been some time since I've done this!

Then it was on to the pants. Do I really need this many jeans? I didn't know I still had that pair of dress pants! It almost felt like I was shopping and finding great bargains! Like any smart shopper, I needed to try on my items to help me decide what to keep and what to send on to a better place. To my utter surprise, a distressing number of pants...didn't fit me! And it's not just that they were snug and hard to zip. There were way too many that didn't even make it up far enough to attempt zipping! Welcome to the "Amazing, Expanding Ass Show"! (Thanks to one of my dearest friends for using just the right words to describe the occasion.) I admit that I'm what you might call a couch potato. I'm not much for outdoor activity. And that has worked for me for years! I'd watch what I eat only as far as watching it move from my plate to my mouth. But here I stood in disbelief. My butt and hips have betrayed me!

But I made a conscious decision: It doesn't pay to hold on to these things "just in case" I lose a few pounds. I'm not going to start working out. I'm not going to give up my beloved chocolate. My weight isn't at an unhealthy point. I've just filled out a little bit. So now I've got two trash bags with items to donate. Admittedly, I still need to drop them off at Goodwill, but I've at least made the first step. I practiced my ability to "let go." There's no need to keep the average pair of pants when there's no particular significance attached to them. They're not souvenir T-shirts, after all! It felt good to just get rid of them. I've got some room again in my closet! My own personal clothing catharsis.

More than just a sense of accomplishment from completing the task, there was also a certain liberating feeling. The clothes don't fit any more? No need to panic! So my body has changed a bit. No big deal! It's such a non-issue for me that I even wore shorts in public. Granted, it was just a quick run up to the drug store, but I haven't done that in years. I don't need to be so self-conscious and critical. One step at a time...I'll keep getting better.

I may still be discovering what type of job is the best fit for me, but at least I'm more comfortable with what type of pants are the best fit for me.

Live Together, Die Together

Last night was the much-anticipated series finale of "Lost." I, too, waited with bated breath to watch the end, gain some closure as it were. Answers? Some. More questions? Definitely. Good TV? Yes, in my opinion.

I have been a steady fan, virtually from the beginning. I remember trying to watch the premiere. But daily life didn't allow me to watch every episode. I liked what I saw, though, and caught up with repeat airings. My sister's family watched, I had friends who watched. LOST always made for good conversation. I enjoy freestanding shows, too. The kind where you just laugh and go about your life. No real brain work required. But I liked that I had to think while watching LOST. Be more of an active participant than just a passive viewer.

But I never blogged about it. Never had any grand theories about it. Only pondered what would happen "next week." I thought I was doing a fairly good job of keeping track of the characters and their backstories. Always kept an eye out for "the numbers" (4-8-15-16-23-42). Tried to see hidden meanings in seemingly trivial background images and props. Didn't miss an episode. Many times I was left scratching my head. Some were better than others, but I can't say that I ever felt there was one that wasn't worth watching.

The enhanced ("pop-up") shows could be helpful. They pointed out some of the big things, just in case you missed it. And I always enjoyed the recaps. Helped get my brain back into LOST mode. Sometimes it was fun to see how much I'd forgotten! (Really? Nathan Fillion was in an episode? How did I miss that‽)

Yesterday I was sure to finish my household chores early in the day. My laptop battery was charged so I could check in with Twitter and chat with my sister and niece. I put on a LOST bracelet I'd bought. (Unfortunately, I'd never quite gotten around to making the Shrinky-Dink earrings I'd planned. Only had six seasons, you know.) I was (figuratively) glued to the TV for four and a half hours. And I loved every minute of it. Action, romance, sci-fi, mythology...filled with fabulous moments.

The end confused me at first, but that didn't make me like it any less. As I checked the message boards, it made more sense. I believe that part of the magic of this show is that it doesn't have to mean the same thing to every viewer. You can take from it what you put into it. But boy, there are people who are terribly upset by the conclusion. Many feel they "wasted six years" watching, and that the writers "copped out" at the end. I disagree.

Some tried, both before and after watching, to compare it to other memorable series finales. Bob waking up next to Emily. BJ's stone "goodbye" to Hawkeye. The group hug and turning off the lights at WJM-TV. Seinfeld's gang in a jail cell. (That one didn't really do much for me.) These seem to have wrapped up their storylines nicely. But really...how did the MASH crew fare stateside? We don't really know what happened to the characters once the cameras were turned off. So why is it so hard for some people to deal with LOST's ending? We know where most of the people are, and can infer that the other "minor" characters followed a similar path. The entire show was mysterious. Should we have expected any less at the end?

First, let's not forget that above all, it's just a TV show. And on free network TV, at that. Sure, we invested time in it, both watching and theorizing. But at least it didn't hit you in the pocketbook like a night at the movies can.

From the beginning, Jack tried to impress upon the group that if they didn't live together, they would die alone. In an odd way, this show brought people together. Not in a kum-ba-yah sort of way. But it got people thinking and talking and sharing. We didn't right any wrongs against humanity, but perhaps we connected in ways we hadn't before. And even though they didn't all die at the same moment, the survivors still found a way to die together.

Who honestly expected or wanted to have everything sewn up in one fell swoop? That would have been out of character for the show. Sure, romantic comedies have the starring couple living happily ever after. A murder mystery might have our hero solve the crime and leave the evildoer in the capable hands of the justice system. Enemies are defeated, lovers are reunited, and all is right with the world. But we all know that's not real life. LOST left questions unanswered and friends unaccounted for. People are imperfect and scarred; sometimes they're redeemed, sometimes not. Even with all of the sci-fi elements we're asked to accept (e.g., time travel, smoke monsters, polar bears), these people were real. A cross-section of humanity. Their experiences weren't necessarily like yours and mine, but they dealt with universal emotions. It was fun trying to keep up with the hidden meanings. But I would have gotten bored with and confused by the mythology if the story didn't revolve around the characters. It's the lives of these people that kept me coming back. I wanted to know where they had been and where they were going, what they were feeling and learning.

You and I may never crash on a freaky island, but we all have a past...and a present...and a future. I'm sad that it's over, but I don't regret watching it one bit. And if you didn't like it, well then I'll just take my Jesus-stick and go home.

"New" Math

Don't worry: No algebra or trig in this post. In my youth, I was a good math student, but I never really enjoyed it. But as I age, numbers have started to mean something different to me. Their values seem to have changed.

The most noticeable to me has been the concept of 28 days. As a younger woman, 28 days was a pretty reliable time frame. It always meant a four-week period. (Yes, that play on words is intentional.) But over the last few years, I've noticed that what used to be "28 days" can now mean anything from 18 to 38 days. What's up with that? There was a time I could practically set my watch by it. Now, my calendar runs independent of standard time. Frustrating. Perhaps you can empathize. If you're not a woman, I guess you'll never really know.

But that's not the only number that seems to have changed value. I remember things about being 15 years old. Stretching my wings, nearing adulthood. But now, my "baby" is 15. There are days when it's not possible that he could already be that age. Involved in school activities, planning for his future. Seems like it's too soon for all of that. He's certainly mature enough, but I guess I wasn't ready to be old enough to have a child at that stage of life already. When I was 15, my mother was about the same age as I am now. I don't feel as "old" as I imagined my mom to be at that time. She's happy to remind me that her "baby" is 46...I think she has as much trouble with that as I do dealing with my child being a teenager.

Here's another one. I have known one of my best friends for more than...25 years! How is that possible? I never could have imagined a friendship of that duration. Believe me, I treasure our relationship and realize how rare and special that is. But has it really been that long? Who knew back when we had our first two classes together in college that we'd still be spending time together. Another close friend? That's been almost 11 years. Time sure flies.

Speaking of time, the clock ticks at a different pace, too. I remember back in the day when we'd go out to a club...at 10:00 at night! Now I sometimes fall asleep before the end of a TV show at that time. I guess I shouldn't make fun of my folks for heading out to a restaurant at 4:30 in the afternoon. Starting to make sense that you'd want to beat the dinnertime rush.

I know...a minute is the same as it was back in the '60s. A year is still 365 days, just like in the '80s. Maybe I just need to stop looking at my watch and my calendar so much and just live each day like it's...today.

What is a "Real" Housewife?

I don't think I've ever watched a full episode, but I'll occasionally spend a few minutes watching some "Real Housewives" on Bravo. Orange County, New York...I'm not picky. Now and then it's just funny to watch one woman create drama by complaining about how much drama one of the other women brings with her. I suppose these women are as "real" as anyone on any "reality" show. But are they real housewives?

Ask a hundred people to define "housewife" and you'll probably get a hundred different perspectives. And each one would be correct. But for me, I'd hate for the TV version to be seen as the norm. Television has always defined women in whichever way made for the best storyline. There were the ideal housewives like Harriet Nelson and June Cleaver. Even Laura Petrie was a perfect housewife, though she dared wear capri pants.

TV housewives started to develop more as a reflection of the times. Samantha Stephens and Carol Brady morphed into Roseanne Conner and Debra Barone. These women seemed more believable!

Of course, my image of an ideal housewife is my mother. Cleaning, cooking, shopping, attending every school event. I remember her being my patient when I played with my new "nurse kit." (Yes, at that time, boys were doctors and girls were nurses.) I remember her teaching me how to iron. Everything was taken care of, and she still had time to regularly have coffee with the girls. When the kids got older she got a job with a payday, working outside the home while still taking care of everything inside the home.

I always considered a "housewife" as a woman who took care of everything for the home. That's her "job." Perhaps my perception is wrong. Merriam-Webster's Online Dictionary defines a housewife as, "a married woman in charge of a household." Nothing there about having an outside job or not. Hmmm...so perhaps my girlfriends and I are housewives after all, even if we don't wear dresses around the house.

We've had times when we've been employed and times when we're not. We've had times when being a full-time mom was our sole job. (Don't worry. I know that being a mom is always a 24/7/365 full-time job.) I think today's housewives are more concerned with caring for their families and their homes, and not so worried about keeping the house. And we make sure we take care of ourselves, too. We might go shopping for something other than groceries (and sometimes we don't even buy anything!). Where our moms may have had a coffee klatch, we might find a few hours to share a bottle of wine or two. Some enjoy taking a run, others would rather curl up with a book. We're housewives, but we're not as narrowly defined as was once the case.

I suppose I'll have to admit that the women on Bravo may indeed be housewives. But I'd love to see more "real." Women who don't spend $1,000 on a dress. Women who don't have private parties at private clubs. Women who don't wear 4-inch heels every day. How about real housewives who make meatloaf? Women who do laundry, clean the toilet, plant a garden, mow the lawn? Housewives who pick up sick kids from school or homeschool their children? These are the real housewives in my world.

It can be funny, or disturbing, to see how the other half lives. I wouldn't mind watching, though, some real housewives getting through life like the rest of us.

I believe that I am a REAL housewife. Do you know one?

Home "Office"

I've spent the last few days cleaning up my desk at home. It's a far cry from an "office," but it's where I can do my "work." This is where I open the mail and pay the bills, where I update the family calendar and send e-mails. It's where I tend my Farmville land (yes, I spend some time on Facebook) and where I try to keep up with my favorite tweeters (twitterers?). It's where I look online for jobs and where perhaps I'll someday work on a freelance project.

It may not sound like that big of a project. It's not a huge desk...more of a computer workstation, really. But I had neglected it. "Disarray" would be an understatement. Additionally, I had items from my last job to merge into it: red pens, sticky notes, a few copies of AP Style, my personal laptop and my iMac that I bought from my former employer... Trying to decide which to keep, which to store or file, which to discard. But I think I've got everything in its place. I think I can actually accomplish some things here. I know where things are, tucked away as needed yet still within reach. A nice mix of the practical and the usual bric-a-brac. I wish I had written "Organize Desk" on a to-do list so that I could cross it off. But it feels good to have it done nonetheless.

But the best part is...it's my system of organization...it's my stuff...it's my desk.

Black Jelly Beans

When you see that title, your immediate reaction is likely either an emphatic Yum or an equally emphatic Yuck. I don't find many who are neutral. People have strong feelings about these licorice-flavored tiny treats!

On Easter, I saw a tweet that called black jelly beans the worst candy ever. Naturally, out of the goodness of my heart, I offered to take all of the black ones away from that person to ease her suffering. If I were offered my choice from a dish filled with all variety of jelly beans, I would choose as many black ones as I could get my hands on without fingering the entire bowlful!

How could that be? How could I enjoy them so much and someone else dislike them so much? Candy makers would stop making them if people didn't eat them, right? (Of course, snack makers keep producing corn nuts and pork rinds, so I may never understand them.)

Well, at least I'm not alone. And the "haters" aren't alone, either. I posed a simple question online, just to satisfy my own curiosity. Out of approximately 230 FaceBuds and Twitquaintances, I managed to get 32 responses. That seems like a respectable number. It's not like I was offering a chance at a fabulous prize for completing my "survey." And obviously no one was paid for their participation. (It's only a question about jelly beans, for Pete's sake!)

Turns out that it's a fairly even split: 47% hate, 53% love. Some lovers prefer a bag of just black, without the distraction of the other colors and flavors. Sounds good to me! Some of the haters were quite enthusiastic in the other direction, even suggesting that the black beans were created "to spread misery and gross teeth around the world." For me, they spread joy. And the gross teeth are no worse than Oreo teeth. Your smile might look bad, but if feels so good getting it to look that way!

So what was the point of this little social experiment? Hmmm....it was completely self-serving, really. I guess I thought that black jelly beans were more popular than that. I had no clue I spent time with so many people who had different candy tastes than mine. But I promise to put those differences aside and not let it affect my realtionships. It's not unusual to agree upon topics to not be discussed in each other's company. I won't think less of you, and you won't judge me.

Now excuse me while I pick through our remaining jelly beans for some that will make me happy. After all, it is really all about me, isn't it?

Gonna take...a sentimental journey...

That song, for some reason, planted itself in my brain Sunday. An "ear worm" I think I've heard that phenomenon called. I don't even know the words, and only some of the melody. I don't remember hearing it on TV or anything. So where did it come from? Why has it popped up now, seemingly out of the proverbial blue?

I suppose the Easter holiday has brought out some sentimentality. It doesn't take much to make me wax nostalgic, and holidays just magnify it. I think about the excitement of getting a pretty new dress, dyeing eggs, the aroma of all the lilies in church, searching for my Easter basket, the big meal with cousins and grandparents. As an adult, I was in the church choir for a few years. I'll never be mistaken for a morning person, but there's not much that can match the joy and emotion of a 6:00 service on Easter morning!

The dictionary defines sentimental in part as "marked by feeling or emotional idealism." That makes sense. I don't have memories of any particular new dresses or colored eggs, and I couldn't tell you what specifically was on the menu at Easter dinner. But I seem to have memories of how those days felt. There was that feeling of springtime, and of "new" things. Kind of like the "fresh start" you get at New Year's but with warmer weather. And of course, that feeling of community, of family, of togetherness.

So I'll pause and fondly remember those things. We had a lovely ham dinner this year. The weather was nice, and the lilac bush is budding. I shared some love with family on the phone, via text, or online (ways I couldn't have imagined back in the '70s). The family has grown with nieces and nephews and in-laws and dear friends. I remind myself of the deeper meaning that Easter has for many of us...the glorious resurrection. Yes, Easter now is different than when I was a child. But Easter now can still be worth remembering. Ask me in 35 or 40 years and perhaps these are the Easters I'll be treasuring.

And after I take that sentimental journey to my past, it still feels good to get back home to the present.

What? I'm aging?

OK, so I realize I'm in my 40s. But some days make me feel that more than others. Today, my back seems to be older than the rest of me. Out of seemingly nowhere, it tightened up like crazy yesterday afternoon.

I suppose moving around some boxes in the basement is what triggered it. It's a bit on the sensitive side since I strained it a few years ago. I helped a friend move. None of the heavy stuff, mind you. And it didn't start aching until a few days later, but that's the only logical cause. I eventually went to the doctor and got some muscle relaxers to use as needed. Haven't had cause to very often. I think I even have an unused refill left. But boy, I'm glad I've got some in the cabinet now. Sitting isn't bad. Standing isn't bad. Walking is so-so. But those transitions between are nasty! Sitting down and standing up take a lot more effort than I'd like. So I do the routine of some ice, move around a little bit, then some heat, then move around a little bit...lather, rinse, repeat.

Maybe if I promise to do some stretching exercises regularly, or go for a walk as the weather gets nicer--perhaps that will appease the back muscle spirits. I'm just not prepared for these things that start to happen as we get older. Then again, I'm not ready for my son to be a freshman in high school, either. I suppose it's all a part of growing up...for me.

Dancing With Myself

No, not a double entendre. And not an homage to Billy Idol. Just thinking aloud...or on paper...or onscreen. This is my sixth post. I don't think of something to write each and every day, obviously. And I'm OK with that. I haven't set any informal word-count goals for myself. Just trying to find my groove. I know that one of my best girlfriends has read some of my posts, but I don't know if anyone else has stumbled across me. I sometimes do click on "next blog" to see what else is out there to read. But I have yet to actually search any keywords for things that might interest me. I follow the blogs of a few people that I "know" from Twitter, and I expect I'll find more that way. But I wonder...am I ready to let them know that I'm writing? These are people whose work impresses me. They write for a living, or write as a part of their daily lives. I don't consider myself in the same league.

I think I'll keep writing for myself for the time being. Just for me and my hypothetical potential audience. I'll let you know when I'm ready to take off the training wheels.

Hashtag Happiness

If you had said the word "hashtag" to me a year ago, you would have been greeted with a glassy-eyed blank stare. "Hashtag game" might have led me to question your mental state. But now that I've been comfortably tweeting for about a year, hashtag games are a part of me. I think of them even when I'm not online. Yet, they aren't exactly witty out of context.

I don't know that I can define it effectively as I am in no way a Twitter expert. For me, it was more of a learn by doing sort of thing. At its most basic level, it's a word game, filled with clever puns. A hashtag (#, what many of us might recognize as a pound sign) is a way of tracking topics on Twitter. For example, I have been known to tweet thoughts about the TV show LOST. (As if you didn't know it was a TV show. Where have you been‽) If I add #LOST to the end of my tweet, that's a hashtag. Any tweeter can click on a hashtag and be shown all posts with that tag. That way you can find what other people are saying about a particular topic, or find other tweeters with similar interests.

But hashtags don't have to be so practical. They can also be used to find people who share your sense of humor. I've never started a game personally, but I've joined many. Someone is inspired (or possessed) to start a topic. I imagine they think of something random and post it, then hope it catches on. Tonight, I came across #puddingdialogue. Yes, you read that right. What on earth is "pudding dialogue"? I was drawing a blank. Until I read a few:

Guess I chose the wrong week to quit pudding.
Mr. DeMille! I'm ready for my pudding!
Go ahead, make my pudding.
Soylent Green is pudding!

See? It's just plain silliness. It's pudding...added to dialogue.
I did whip up a couple, too:

Nobody puts pudding in the corner.
Love means never having to say, "you're pudding!"
How many can I kill, Chino? How many and still have pudding left for me?

Other recent games include #decoratingsongs (Someone to Swatch Over Me, The Man Who Shortened Liberty's Valance), #piratesongs (Shake Your Booty, Peg Leggy Sue), and #meatmovies (Akeelah and the Beef, Kiss the Grills).

It's incredible how many people jump on the hashtag wagon at any moment. If you're busy, you don't have to play. Nobody will be offended by your absence. For me, it's fun to get my mind working that way, getting caught up in the goofiness. Helps me stay in touch with my creative side, even if it's just the bad pun part. And if someone retweets it (copies and shares your post with their followers), that's just like applause for me. Just a little validation that somebody else found worth in what I said.

It's not everyone's cup of tea, and that's perfectly OK. But I make myself chuckle, and that has to be a good thing.

The "other" ides

The inspiration did hit me for a few puns to post on the Ides of March (if you're interested).

If it's a hot, sunny day at the playground, beware the slides of March.
If rollercoasters make you sick, beware the rides of March.
If you're watching your diet, beware the Kentucky Frieds of March.
If you have an injured hamstring, beware the strides of March.
If you're on your first lion safari, beware the prides of March.
If it's your first visit to Haight-Ashbury, beware the tie-dyeds of March.

Figured I'd Caesar the moment...

Beware the "I'ds" of March

I was trying to come up with a Twitter hashtag game appropriate for March 15. Beware the Brides of March...the Tides of March...the Slides of March... Clearly, I didn't come up with anything that memorable. So my mind went to all of the I'ds in my life.

I need to be more aware of I'd as an excuse, something undone in my past, something that isn't "my fault." Works especially well with but. I'd have read Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, but the professor didn't assign it. I'd get in better shape, but a gym membership is so expensive. I'd be great at that job, but they're looking for a degree I don't have. I'd be a happier person, but sometimes it seems the universe is out to get me. I'd start writing again, but I've got kids to raise. I'd like to see my girlfriends more often, but it's so hard to coordinate calendars.

So how about turning some of those negative I'ds into positive ones? Taking some responsibility for my life in the present and the future. Now, I'm no motivational speaker. And I can't say I've mastered this art. But I'd like to try.
I'd be happy to help with the bake sale. Our kids aren't this age forever.
I'd be crazy not to apply for the job. It can't hurt to try.
I'd like to learn the secret of your coffee cake, Grandma. Will you teach me?
I'd love to hear what you've been up to. Margaritas Friday, coffee Saturday, or Bloody Marys Sunday?
I'd rather not wake someday, older and grayer, wishing "If only I'd..."

Foggy Friday

It was a rather gloomy day today, much like the rest of the week. Luckily I had no traveling to do (not even to a job, unfortunately). But if I were to look for the bright side, at least the day lends itself to alliteration. Foggy Friday. I'm an alliteration aficionada. I'm a grammar groupie. I'm a language lover. And I'm learning to embrace it!

I suppose I was always this way. I did win (or was it place?) in a citywide spelling bee in middle school. I will always remember the word I missed somewhere along the line: flivver. Who knew there were words with two v's?! (Gotta find an interrobang shortcut.) But my inner red pen really started to emerge, naturally, when I was hired as a proofreader. Someone was actually paying me to make sure words were spelled correctly and sentences made sense! People would ask me how to spell things or for an opinion on phrasing. I felt like an expert, at least in my own little world. Then I discovered that there were other people who cared about the same things. I had friends who would cringe as much (almost) as I at an incorrect "its." And for those who didn't get it, at least they knew that it mattered to me and humored my borderline obsession.

Then...I met...Twitter. At first glance, I wouldn't have thought that I could learn much or say much in 140 characters. But lo and behold, there are grammar geeks who are geekier than I am! Editors and writers and people of all sorts who respect the language yet know how to have fun with it. People who celebrate Grammar Day (March 4) and Punctuation Day (September 24). People who can correctly use the words tautology and virgule. People who who "get" why apostrophes matter.

I am but a small fish in a very large pond. But I am tickled pink to be swimming in the same school.

Hmmm...seems to no longer be Friday. But there's nothing wrong with a showery, slushy, soggy Saturday.

So...this is a blog

I was talking to a friend last week about what we want to do with our lives. Sometimes it's difficult to pinpoint what sort of career you'd like (not to mention actually getting a job in that field). But doing what you enjoy can help point you in the right employment direction. And if it's what you want to do, then it's not really about the money. So we both decided to write more often. Not because we're getting paid to, not because someone gave us an assignment, not because we pinky-swore we were both going to do it, but because it's a part of us. A part we need to explore more often. So it begins.

I was a proofreader (the "red pen") at a small advertising agency for 11 years. Due to circumstances beyond my control, as they say, I've been laid off. And I'm OK with that. I was darn good at it, and I liked the job and the people; it was...comfortable. But perhaps the universe is telling me that it's time to try another path. (I would have appreciated something less drastic, though I suppose it's possible I missed some more subtle signs.)

There are myriad topics I could write about. And I honestly don't know how often I will be moved to actually put those thoughts down on virtual paper. But there's a saying, something about long journeys starting with a single step. This is my first step.

If you know me, then some of these thoughts may make sense to you. If not, then check back now and then to see how they fit into my life:

MBT...best girlfriends...Oxford Comma...the Slasher...not a dog person...LOST...Nathan Fillion...David Cassidy...Barry Manilow...the grammar of Twitter...Chinese buffet...wine snob...grammar snob...blue glassware...window clings...I know there were many more ideas running through my head last week. I'm not worried; they'll come to me.