Another Birthday

Today I am 49. It’s amazing what a difference a year can make. In the whole scheme of life one year is such a short amount of time, yet while it was passing it seemed so long. And now that it’s gone, it went by in a heartbeat.

The year between age 47 and 48, I spent crying. I cried the entire year and on my 48th birthday I was still crying. I can distinctly remember the three days prior, crying off and on, not feeling as if I had made enough progress in my quest to get a new life. Feeling frustrated and unhappy with where I was at. The day of my birthday I was either sitting in my computer chair, crying, or laying on the couch, crying, or laying on my bed crying, or driving in my car, crying. I wrote about all that crying last year in this very spot.

On my 48th birthday Jane happened to call me, not realizing it was my birthday….. and she listened to me sob about how I couldn’t stop crying. (It was the psychic twinkle thing that made her call me, that I’m sure about.) She sent me “Happy Birthday” flowers that very afternoon and they sat on the dinning room table where I live, long after most of them had died.

Last year was the year I wanted no birthday at all. No cake, no presents. Of course my mother was having none of that and we eventually got around to cake and some presents, but that was a few days after the birthday and by then, I had recovered and resolved to stop all the crying.

This has been a much better year! It has been a year with no real crying to speak of. It’s been the year when I’ve made all sorts of progress…..the kind that I can see. My biggest accomplishment has been school. This is the year that I will finish a degree started long ago. It’s been the 13 year Bachelor’s degree (with an 8 year break in the middle….what was I thinking!). And, with that degree, I can move on to look for a different career path to take….in the hope of being able to finally afford an apartment of my own to live in….. a home of my own…..I think that my 50th Birthday might possibly be even better….. At one time I dreaded the idea of ever being 50; to think that I might now actually be looking forward to entering my 50th year is more progress that I ever thought possible.

I am however, making a birthday resolution, similar to the New Year’s resolutions that people make and never keep. I do really try to keep mine and actually am somewhat successful at the whole resolution business.

A new friend that I made this past spring told me that one of the good things about me, is that I see the potential in people, even if they haven’t reached that point yet. She said that’s it’s a wonderful quality, yet at times does not work to my benefit. I have trouble letting go of those who have yet to meet the potential that I see in them. I need to let go of a few people in this new birthday year. I'm not waiting for them to "come around" any longer.

So, there you have it, another birthday, with a resolution to boot. And new plans being made. I wonder where I will write next year’s birthday blog from. I truly am hoping that it will be from some nice little apartment in NYC….. Only time will tell that story.

This is enough writing about a birthday for one year…….

A birthday present from my daughter...

For my 49th birthday my daughter took me to get my nose pierced. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while and for some reason, today seemed like the day to do it. It just felt like it was the “right day” to get my nose done. I can’t wait until it’s healed and I can get a little tiny diamond to wear in it. Of course my parents will be appalled. I am, however, entering my 50th year. If I want to have my nose pierced…then that’s what I’m doing. It’s not a tattoo!

Maybe I’m in yet another of these “life crisis” I seem to go through from time to time. Over the course of this past year I’ve had so few of them that I’m almost feeling normal again. Normal in the sense that my life feels like my own, like I recognize who I am. I think having a small diamond stud in my nose is part of who I’m meant to be.

When I called Erin at work this morning to relay my piercing epiphany, she was right there with me, having had hers done over the summer. I mentioned going tomorrow, on my birthday; she said we should go today. I think she was afraid that I might change my mind again if I waited until tomorrow. I made this decision at 9:30 this morning while sitting at my desk. There was no more debate. It was a done deal.

Yes, I do believe that I was meant to have my nose pierced. Radical for an almost 49 year old…yet it feels right to me. And it looks so cool!

I AM A NEW YORKER

We collectively mourn today, in varying degrees of separation. Those families who were directly affected "that morning" five years ago, loosing husbands, wives, sons and daughters, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends and coworkers....first responders, there to save others, and just ordinary people, trying to make a living.... who vanished into thin air...we can't feel the depth of the pain that their families experienced, yet we can understand it.

We can understand the anguish felt by emergency personnel who spent hour upon hour, days upon days, searching in the massive pile of smoking, pulverize rubble......their mission always to save....... and knowing that would not be the case.

We mourn in degrees of separation.....those who can still smell the burning jet fuel, or who walked the area of lower Manhattan, pictures in hand, endlessly searching for their lost loved ones. They mourn the most fiercely.

We mourn in degrees of separation....those of us who watched helplessly on our televisions...further removed, yet mourning nonetheless. No, we could not smell the smoke, nor *feel* the wailing of the sirens....yet we mourned too.

We mourn in degrees of separation.......those of us who live in tri-state area, but especially those of us who are New Yorkers. We mourn in a different way than the rest of the country. Just as those in Washington D. C. and in Pennsylvania, and all those with loved ones on four planes mourn. We collectively mourn together in a way that the rest of the nation cannot. Oh, yes...the rest of the nation mourns....but from further away....Separated by many degrees from the anguish that we, as New Yorkers feel.

The following was posted on My Space as a bulletin. The author is unknown....

I AM A NEW YORKER
-author unknown

I am a New Yorker. I was raised on Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and Rockefeller Plaza, the Yankees or the Mets, Jones Beach or Smith Point, or one of the beaches on the sound or the bay. I know the "THE END" means Montauk. Because I am a New Yorker.

I am a New Yorker. When I go on vacation, I never look up: skyscrapers are something I take for granted. The Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty are part of me. Taxi's and noise and subways and "get outa heah" don't rattle me, because I am a New Yorker.

I am a New Yorker. I was raised on cultural diversity before it was politically correct. I eat Greek food and Italian food, Jewish and Middle Eastern food and Chinese food because they are all American food to me. I don't get mad when people speak other languages in my presence because my relatives got to this country via Ellis Island and chose to stay. They were New Yorkers.

I am a New Yorker. People who have never been to New York have misunderstood me. My friends and family work in the industries, professions and businesses that benefit all Americans. My firefighters and police officers died trying to save New Yorkers and non-New Yorkers. They died trying to save Americans and non-Americans because they were New Yorkers.

I am a New Yorker. I feel the pain of my fellow New Yorkers. I mourn the loss of part of my beautiful city. But then I remember......I am a New Yorker.

And New Yorkers have:
Tenacity, strength and courage way above the norm
Compassion and caring for our fellow citizens
Love and pride in our city, in our state, in our country
Intelligence, experience and education par excellence
Ability, dedication and energy above and beyond
Faith--no matter what religion we practice.

Terrorists hit America in its heart but America's heart still beats strong. Demolish the steel in our buildings, but it doesn't touch the steel in our souls. Hit us in the pocketbook; but we'll parlay what we have left into a fortune. End innocent lives leaving widows and orphans, but we'll talk care of them, because they are New Yorkers.

Wherever we live, whatever we do, whoever we are. There are New Yorkers in every state and every city of this nation. We will not abandon our city. We will not abandon our brothers and sisters. We will not abandon the beauty, creativity and diversity that New York represents. And most importantly, we will never forget.

Becasue we are New Yorkers.

And we are proud to be New Yorkers.

Me and Gloria

For some time now, I’ve been wondering about Condoleezza Rice. Wondering why her name has all those e’s and z’s in it? Don’t they seem unnecessary? One each would certainly do. I’ve been wondering other things too though. Like why she never looks happy. Or why I’ve never heard her speak about women’s issues at all….even in the context that one might speak about women’s issues as a Secretary of State. Yes, it’s possible she’s done so and I’ve just missed it, but I read the news on a daily basis and don’t recall reading anything she’s ever said in this regard. And even when she’s smiling, she just never really looks happy.

However, she does play the piano well… and we can all assume that she’s a very smart woman, considering she is the Secretary of State. We, as women can be proud of that accomplishment. She does not appear to be one of those warm and fuzzy people though and she certainly does not seem interested in women’s issues. Here she is, this really smart woman, who seems so out of step with the rest of her gender.

Gloria Steinem is wondering similar things about Condoleezza.

New York Times Magazine, September 3, 2006, “All About Eve” an interview by Deborah Solomon (excerpt):

“Q: Is Condoleezza Rice and ally of women?
Gloria: I wish someone would write an article called ‘How Did Condoleezza Rice Get That Way?’ She’s so separate from the welfare of the majority of Americans and especially the female and African-American communities to which she belongs.”

How weirdly cool is it that Gloria is in her house thinking about this, and I’m in mine, doing the same thing? (And she looks damn good for 72!)

Fortune Cookie Fortunes

My order of steamed vegetable dumplings from the local Chinese restaurant came with the best fortune tonight!

"Life is not a problem to be solved but rather a mystery to be lived."

How cool is that? I’m going to tape it somewhere so that I’ll see it on a daily basis. Sometimes *my life* gets in the way of my ability to remember these more inspirational points. I wonder if it might be possible to live your entire life, based upon these little strips of paper that inhabit fortune cookies. I imagine that one would have to eat a whole lot of Chinese food in order to collect enough of them to make it worth while. Maybe not though……I think I might possibly be able to live the rest of my life based upon that one little fortune that is written above.

I wonder who thinks up these little sayings and who decides if they’ll make it into a cookie.

I’ll bet there’s a book out there somewhere in the world that is just filled with the sayings that pop out of fortune cookies. I must admit, the cookies themselves do nothing for me. Mainly because there’s no chocolate in them. They don’t really have any taste at all. Actually, they might rival the taste of a Communion wafer….and somewhere out there, there’s a Christian Fundamentalist from the Bible Belt, saying to themselves, “She's goin’ to hell talkin’ like that.” Once again I have digressed though. Christian Fundamentalists are an entirely different story.

I break open fortune cookies, trying to make as little mess as possible, slip out the strip of paper, and read. If I were a gambling person I might also consider playing the numbers written under my fortune. Has anyone ever won the lottery based upon the use of those numbers? All these questions that have come to mind, all because of a little piece of paper, hidden inside a stale, hard, very crunchy item, that pretends to be a cookie. I have just spent way to much time thinking about fortune cookies….and now writing about them as well. Possibly I should move on, get out the tape and find a place to immortalize my one and only cool fortune cookie fortune, and continue on, living my mystery.

The Gym...and Salt & Vinegar Potato Chips

How I wish I were one of those people for whom a love of exercise came naturally. I am not. I’ve learned to appreciate it over the past two years and think that I can say with all honesty that I like it, but doubt that I will ever love it. I am not one of those chicks that dress in their color coordinated spandex outfit and do an hour on the elliptical, while their pony tail swings back and forth to the rhythm of their work out. Having a sense of fashion in the gym is not high on my list of priorities, although I am really into wearing cool sneakers.

My first priority in regard to the gym is to get in the car and drive there. Once I’m there then everything else falls into place. That is unless the battery has gone dead in my mini disc player leaving me without the Goo Goo Dolls, Matchbox Twenty or Third Eye Blind to work out with. Then, I either have to go and buy batteries… or go home. Without something other than the Dance Party music they play in the gym, I can’t concentrate on what I’m there to do. It’s hard to work out when you are perseveratively thinking about how crappy the music sounds. My second priority would be making sure I have a pony tail holder so that as I sweat, my hair is not sticking to my neck, driving me crazy and causing me to loose my concentration, or the Zen place I sometimes manage to achieve as I climb treadmill hills. And my third is to work hard enough to actually sweat.

Tonight was the first night I’ve been to the gym in a month. It’s been a long *gym vacation*. The longest I’ve had in the two years that I’ve had a membership, and I’ve missed it. Some of what I consider my best writing has started in my head while on the treadmill. After walking up and down hills anywhere from two to four miles I find myself sitting in my car, scribbling down all the random thoughts I’ve thought about while sweating. I’m not sure why that happens. Maybe it’s because I walk with my eyes closed, music in my ears and no other distractions, allowing my mind to free associate and go where it wants…. running amok without a mother to say “stop that…you can’t possibly think you can do that!”

My original purpose in joining the gym was to become healthier. I made a decision that I did not want to become permanently imbedded on a couch, only to get off of it every ten years to shop for a new one to sit back down on. I did not want to wake up at 60 with diabetes and a heart condition and not be able to participate in my life, nor end up with the osteoporosis that the women in my family seem to be prone to…..so the only choice was to get off my butt and get to the gym. A recent consult with a cardiologist, that required me to participate in a bit of torture called a Thallium Stress Test, has proven that the gym works. (And I do thank all of you who I moaned and groaned to about “the test,” calling you all to say my final good-bye’s, thinking I might die of the side effects of said test. I would like to add here, that for me this particular test rated right up there with child birth, and I’m still not sure which I think was worse.)

I am in excellent cardiovascular shape. That alone should be enough to keep me going, and actually it is. Yet, the benefits for my mind far surpass the benefits for my body. In the first year of my “getting a new life,” I cried….a lot. Without the gym I would probably never have gotten out of bed. Some days, other than work, the gym was the only place I went, at times working out very late at night in order to be exhausted so that I could sleep. Physical exertion made me feel better. I even experience from time to time “runners high.” I may not run, but I work hard and once through that wall of resistance I feel as if I can go on forever. I think…. I meditate…. I visualize my new life…a new job….a new apartment….new people in my life….I write. I do all of this with my eyes closed, music in my ears and beads of perspiration trickling down my neck.

Yes, there are some days that the only thing I’m thinking about is that Quizno’s is next door and they sell small bags of Salt & Vinegar potato chips….which I really love and rarely ever buy. Once in a while I'll play “Let’s Make a Deal”…….walk 800 calories worth and buy a bag of chips. It’s not like buying the big bag in the grocery store. I can have the small one and be content, knowing that I didn’t just consume 800 plus calories worth of a food item that is horrible for me. And, that’s OK. I like the gym and I like the Salt & Vinegar potato chips and if I want, I can have both. My days of thinking about all the other things I think about, far outnumber the Salt and Vinegar Potato Chip days. And, it’s probably a good thing that they do....

Building sandcastles

This afternoon as I sit here on the beach, sand sifting between my purple polished toes, I am watching as the sandcastle that is so diligently being built by a young father and his children continues to wash away a little at a time. Yet, it seems to matter not to them. They dig the trench around it deeper, and pile large buckets of sand onto it in order to shore it up; squeals of laughter from the children and smiles from their father, neither caring that the waves steals bits of their ocean front home with each roll onto shore.

Sitting on my borrowed sand chair, I watch three, thirty-something father’s play with their young children. One holds his daughter who looks no more that four on a Boogie board as it skates around atop the small waves that curl near the shore line. Little boys, also with Boogie boards run out to meet these waves and ride them back onto the beach, future reflections of the older men who are playing with them now, and I wonder…..how do my children feel about their *not so long ago* childhoods? Just the other day my daughter declared that she does not think she like’s being an adult and I felt a sense of relief after hearing that.

I’ve been wondering lately if my children missed that they didn’t have parents who “played” with them. Sure, we had fun from time to time, but most of what I remember was tinged by stress, those foreboding feelings that always existed for me as an adult. If I could go back and rewrite any part of my life and theirs, this is the part I would rewrite….the childhood of my children. I would go back and try to have more fun with them, not letting those adult stresses that I felt so acutely in the past, impact on them, or at least trying not too. Yet given the fact that my daughter would like to go back to her childhood, maybe my stress didn’t affect her or her brother as much as I fear that it did.

Do my children remember their childhoods with fondness? Perhaps they do. Erin could not wait to grow up and become an adult and do the things that adults get to do. And here is she, now an adult, wishing to be a child again.

I’m hoping to be in a position to one day have fun with my children, even if they are grown. To do some of the things I would like to have done with them when they were young, but that for reasons beyond my control and theirs, we did not. To one day be able to take them on a great vacation and have fun with them, free of the worry about what shoe might possibly drop next.

Erin’s desire to go back to that place and time gives me hope that both she and her brother did have childhoods that they will cherish as they grow older. Maybe it’s the *mother guilt* that I suffer periodically from that colors my perception of what their childhood was like?

For now I’m just going to enjoy watching these young men playing with their children and hope that one day, my adult children will be on a beach somewhere, playing with theirs, and that their children…my grandchildren, will have a grandmother who has learned how to laugh and have fun and play. (Let me just add here though, I am not in any rush to become a grandmother!)

Stop messing with our staute!

In today’s New York Times there was a story about a church in Tennessee that took it upon themselves to remake Lady Liberty….you know, *The Statue of Liberty.* I understand the concept of this being a free country and people are at *liberty* to express themselves as they wish, as long as they aren’t endangering others that is, but this make over is just WRONG and I doubt that the Ms. Liberty would appreciate what they’ve done to her one bit. Jane and I certainly don’t.

“As the congregation of the World Overcomers Outreach Ministries Church looked on and its pastor, Apostle Alton R. Williams, presided, a brown shroud much like a burqa was pulled away to reveal a giant statue of the Lady, but with the Ten Commandments under one arm and "Jehovah" inscribed on her crown.

And in place of a torch, she held aloft a large gold cross, as if to ward off the pawnshops, the car dealerships and the discount furniture outlets at the busy corner of Kirby Parkway and Winchester that is her home.” (July 5, 2006, NY Times, Shaila Dewan)

Jane is a New Yorker who through no fault of her own, has had to relocate to Tennessee. To the Memphis area of Tennessee which is where Arkansas, Alabama, Mississippi and Tennessee meet. For Northerner’s this part of Tennessee is a forbidding place to live. For months now, Jane has sent all of her friend’s horrifically humorous emails about what living in that part of the country is like. I sent her the NY Times article this morning to see what she thought and found out that this particular version of the lady, is five minutes from her house and her husband drives by it every day on his way to work. Needless to say, she is less than pleased.

As New Yorker’s I think we have a special affinity for the Statue of Liberty, after all she does live in New York. Collectively we have become very protective of our landmark statuary and very possessive of it all. I also believe that after 9/11 we became bigger New Yorker’s (if that’s possible). I often wonder if that has any bearing on this huge desire I have to move to the city. That I can’t truly feel like a New Yorker unless I have actually lived in NYC. Jane is a big New Yorker who for now, lives in Tennessee. Here are her thoughts on the recent make over and what it’s like to live in the Bible Belt. Keep in mind please that Jane is a very religious woman, much more so than me:

Given further thought...I have some observations about the "Bible Belt".

Living in the Bible Belt seems to give people license to create new religious sects that single out certain people either for an "Up" elevator ride or a treacherous "Down" trip upon their demise. Proximity to "The Belt" allows you to express very twisted, prejudiced and in many cases outlawed ideals by which society should abide.
Perhaps my affinity to Lady Liberty as she stands was reinforced the day I cried for our lost friends and feared that some unknown, perverse enemy might fly a plane into her next. To mutate her for religious cult purposes seems obscene.
We sat at dinner with a lovely couple we met last year. They never appeared to be substance abusers or in any other way criminal. All of the sudden, in the middle of a sentence, the gentleman took his beer (the only beer he had all night) and tucked it behind the salsa and chips in the middle of the table. He hastily explained that their pastor had just walked into the restaurant and if he wanted to be allowed to volunteer for any groups in the church, he'd better not be seen drinking. And I thought "Or cavorting with sorts like us!!". He explained that Southern Baptists only drink in their homes so as not to be found out by their co-congregants. There are a bunch of restaurants down here with little sectioned off rooms for privacy. I thought it was for the old Southern gentleman's discretion with his mistresses (which is probably also true), but our friend explained that the little booths were designed so that your neighbors couldn't see you imbibe. The rooms are still very much in use.
One of my male friends from work (another director) made several rude jokes and comments about homosexuals while in my company during our training in Chicago. I said to him at one point that I found the jokes unfunny and that we had left a church in Memphis due to anti-homosexual remarks made during a sermon. It took him 4 months to tell me that he is gay; he was afraid if anyone knew they would ostracize him. He acted in a self-hating way because of the sick, antiquated ways of the South. I found that so painful. If I was him, I would get in my car and drive North or West or East...I don't know-anywhere but here.
I hate that so many down here truly believe that they have more rights, deserve better access to services and luxuries... freedom to speak their minds (no matter how narrow they are) based on the color of their skin. And it's the same color as my skin and I am embarrassed by that.
So, these are some of the serious reasons I would like to leave this area someday soon. I have met people from Georgia, SC, NC and Oklahoma. They all feel the same way, as though we are caught in some kind of time warp. Memphis as Time Warp....sounds feasible. Even people from Nashville claim a different mind set entirely. We are in the vacuum that is Arkansas, Alabama, Mississippi. Places where time stands still.
Beam me up, Scotty!!
-Jane

The Meaning of Peace

Someone sent me this in an email. It hangs on the bulletin board in my office so that I can glance over at it, and remind myself that yes, despite how overwhelmed I feel at times, I really do feel peaceful.

There was once a King who offered a prize to the artist who could paint the best picture of peace. Many artists tried. The King looked at all the pictures, but there were only two that he really liked, and he had to choose between them.

One picture was of a calm lake. The lake was a perfect mirror for the peaceful towering mountains all around it. Overhead was a blue sky with fluffy white clouds. All who saw this picture thought that it was a perfect picture of peace.

The second picture had mountains, too. But these were rugged and bare. Above was an angry sky from which rain fell, and in which lightning played. Down the side of the mountain tumbled a foaming waterfall. This did not look peaceful at all.

But when the King looked, he saw behind the waterfall a tiny bush growing in a crack in the rock. In the bush a mother bird had built her nest…..a perfect picture of peace.

Which of the pictures won the prize?

The King chose the second picture.

Do you know why?

“Because,” explained the King, “peace does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. Peace means to be in the midst of all those things and still be calm in your heart. That is the real meaning of peace.”

That is the REAL meaning of peace.

-Author Unknown

Red Corvettes and Yard Sales

This is my third "guest column" as published in the Long Island Advance on June 22,2006.

“IHD2HVIT” was what was written on the license plate of the red Corvette that pulled out of the 7-Eleven parking lot in front of me. It took me a few seconds to figure out exactly what it meant, and when I did, I laughed out loud and thought to myself, “how very creative.” While riding down Roe Boulevard behind the “I had to have it” guy, I continued to smile and decided he would be my act of bravery for this day.

Recently a new friend suggested to me that in order to continue down this path I’m on; there are some things I need to do, with becoming fearless in the forefront. Although much braver than I have ever been, I’m still nurturing this trait that in some ways is so foreign to me, yet in other ways, not. My friend suggested that I could either ask myself in certain situations throughout my day, “What I would do if I were not afraid,” or I could actually do one brave thing every day. I haven’t actually done one brave thing every day, but on the days that I haven’t, I do ask myself that question.

My act of bravery for this day was to pull up next to the man in the red corvette, lean out of my car window and compliment him on his license plate, telling him that it made me laugh. I should also have thanked him for giving me something to write about, but at that time had no idea he’d be making an appearance in this piece of writing.

I am much more comfortable initially being an observer, a watcher… prior to opening my mouth to express an opinion. I like to have a sense of who people are and where they’re coming from before I reveal myself. But, certainly there’s no reason to hold back complimenting someone on an item such as an amusing license plate, or a cute dog they might be walking, or in my case a really nice pair of shoes or a bag they’re carrying. My friend Nina will chat with anyone, on any line, at any time, and by the time she’s done paying for her purchases, will know all kinds of things about them. I have not completely developed this skill, and I’m working on it as a means to change old patterns. And although sometimes just a little stressful, it’s very exciting as well.

The same friend who suggested that I might want to try being brave on a daily basis, also recommended that I clean out my closet. Somehow, at least in my mind, these two ideas go hand in hand. She said that I should get rid of anything in my closet that is no longer “me,” regardless of what it is, or how much it may have cost, and to wear what I want to wear, no matter what anyone else may think or say. This would have been my sister’s philosophy as well, so I’ve decided to adopt it and think that I may very well shop for that black tulle skirt and combat boots, an act of a woman not afraid to be who she really is. Maybe they won’t be items of clothing to wear to work, but I would certainly wear them to lunch in Chelsea.

Also in that closet are many, many boxes filled with items from my old life. For some time now, I’ve been thinking that I needed to go through them as I cannot possibly take all that’s in them, to a small apartment somewhere. The other reality though, is that so many of those items in those boxes, no longer “fit me,” physically or emotionally.

So, I’m going to continue to compliment creative men in red corvettes, women who have their own sense of style and don’t care what others think, and practice chit-chatting while waiting on lines. I’m also planning a really big yard sale in July in order to finally divest myself of all those items that are no longer me. And, if I see the man in the “IHD2HVIT” red Corvette tooling around town, I might just have to beep my horn and wave at him.

One year ago..it began

I started this blog one year ago today. And, I'm still here. I've looked back at this past year of writing and realized just how much I've changed. How much more confident I am about where I'm going and what I'm doing. I'm finding that living my life on the edge is a very cool place to be. I've grown so fond of edges over this past year and have a far greater appreciation for those people in my life, who have them.

Once you start to take the risks, they get easier, and in my case, have become a part of who I am *becoming*. I just joined a writing group, and am looking forward to writing and reading my work, out loud and in public. The idea of possibly reading something I've written, out loud, would so not have been me one year ago, yet now I find myself open to the possibility of doing so. To surrounding myself with others who can appreciate what it's like to have something to say and a huge desire to say it in a more public manner. To be able to say, "Hey...here I am. Listen up....please read me."

I can look back on this year's worth of writing and see how I've grown and how happy I've become. I am jazzed about my life and about all the possibilities that still remain. I love all of you, my old friends........those of you who read me and cheer me on and who have so many times dried my tears and called me to make sure I've left the house once in a while, or fixed me tea. And now I add all the new friends I've made over this past year, those of you I'm still getting to know and whose potential I see, even if you may not see it in yourselves or have reached it yet. I adore each and every one of you, old and new....and hold you all, close to my heart.

And my children, who know nothing of this blog filled with writing....maybe this will be the year I share it with them. They, who have become so supportive of me and who I am hoping have come to the understanding that I was not abandoning them, but trying to save myself. And that by saving myself, I will always be here to catch them if they fall. Dramatic..yes, I know. But, that's who I am....I am dramatic. I have lived my entire adult life, not being who I was meant to be.....I was the person who never made waves, never expressed an opinion, never felt as if she really existed.....that person is gone now, she exists in memory only....how wonderful it is to be free! And, yes.......it is....dramatic!
~Susan~

Memorial Day 2006

Although very small compared to the protests of the 60’s and 70’s, peace groups have sprung up all over Long Island, as well as all over the country since the beginning of the war in Iraq. One hour before dusk on the last Sunday of each month, those riding through the four corners of Patchogue will find members of Pax Christi, South Country Peace Group and Women in Black, standing vigil. For two and a half years they’ve stood on this corner, holding signs among lighted candles and reading the names aloud of all who have died as a result of this war. And on this night before the national celebration of Memorial Day, with its waving flags and marching bands, they are a much more poignant reminder of why we honor those who have died in the service of this country. Through the reading of those names, these people standing here on this one small corner of America..... as evening turned to night; remembered in a much more concrete way, than the most of us ever will.

For many of us, *war* is just a word. For those who have lost someone they knew or loved, or who have never been the same since *coming home*, it has a far different meaning.

New adventures in food....

You know, I'm living my life on the edge these days. Or probably pretty close to the edge. Here is a helpful hint when dining out with new people, and in places that are sooo not suburban. When the menu says "pan seared tuna," that does not mean it's cooked. It really means that it's more sushi-like, than not. I also had edamome (which I am sure I have not spelled correctly). Edamome sort of look like a bigger version of snow peas. They arrive at your table steamed with some salt on them and you suck the soy beans (cause that's what they are) out of the shell. Another food adventure yesterday included a piece of fried calamari...can you imagine that? And I think I should learn to use chop sticks. Having the basic idea, is just not enough. I will need to practice with everything I eat from now on...it's going to take me a while to perfect that technique. (Can real sushi be far behind?)

Once upon a time....

.....in a lifetime far, far away, someone saw me and "saved me from myself." The song lyrics below are very special to me. It's as if they could have been written about me. How grateful I am that someone saw me then.

Yes, I know this is cryptic and someday maybe I'll write the story about it, but for now it will remain inside of me, still tangible and bittersweet, and slowly fading into the past. Yet when I hear this song on the radio, I can't help find myself back in that place and time, remembering what it felt like to have someone who had the capacity to see who I really was. To be seen for the first time was such a profound experience. Oh, I'm seen now....there is no hiding.... no..... *not being who I really am*. Maybe it was a question of finally finding someone who not only saw who I was, but who woke me up and gave me the ability to see her as well.

bring me to life

how can you see into my eyes like open doors
leading you down into my core
where i've become so numb without a soul my spirit sleeping somewhere cold
until you find it there and lead it back home

wake me up inside
wake me up inside
call my name and save me from the dark
bid my blood to run
before i come undone
save me from this dark nothing i've become

now that i know what i'm without
you can't just leave me
breathe into me and make me real
bring me to life

wake me up inside
wake me up inside
call my name and save me from the dark
bid my blood to run
before i come undone
save me from this nothing i've become
bring me to life

frozen inside without your touch, without your love darling only you are the life among the dead

all this time i can't believe i couldn't see
kept in the dark but you were there in front of me
i've been sleeping a thousand years it seems
got to open my eyes to everything
without a thought without a voice without a soul
don't let me die here
there must be something more
bring me to life

by Evanescence
Copywrite 2003 Wind-Up Records

Title of the Book

So…today three people who I did not know, but ran into through the course of the day, wanted to know the title of the book I wrote about in my second column. How absolutely cool is it that people other then my friends and family actually read that piece?!

People that I… do…not…know…read the column! And really liked it. WOW.
The title of the book I refer to is “Dancing Naked at the Edge of Dawn,” by Kris Radish. For those people needing or wanting to get a new life, it’s the perfect start to being able to picture yourself in a different light.

Living Outside My Box

This is the second of my two guest appearances filling in for Brian Curry in the Long Island Advance. I'm hopeful that there will be others.

My life over the past year has been one of risk taking. It’s been a process of finding out who the woman is that’s buried deep inside of me, just screaming to get out. Well, maybe she’s not screaming, but she’s knocking very loudly for me to open the door.

Last summer I read a great book that had a significant impact on my view of life. I could not resist the temptation to break out the yellow highlighter, normally reserved for text books, and turn lines and paragraphs of that book iridescent yellow. It was a story told about a middle aged woman who one day finds herself in the position of having to get a new life. Wow, how familiar did that sound?

While sitting around reading with yellow highlighter in hand, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to hang out with this woman. And as I read, the realization hit that I didn’t have to go looking. I was this woman, that somewhere inside of me, she already existed. I just had to figure out how to open the door and let her out. It also made me realize that I did not have to limit myself to the box I was living my life in. That there is an entire world outside of my comfort zone and I needed to go and find it.

I’m a planner, which also leads to a tendency to over think things. I’ve discovered that if you want to be a risk taker, sometimes you just have to “do,” instead of think and plan, and then think some more, to the point where you have “thought” yourself out of doing whatever it was you wanted to do. Planning is not a bad thing and I still do it, but I don’t “think” myself out of things anymore. If my intuition feels right, my new policy is to just forge ahead.

For me, the gradual method of risk taking works best. I’ve spent this past year looking for activities that are of interest to me, but yet are things that I have no experience with and have hesitated to do on my own. Taking the train to New York City alone and making my way about using the subways and buses was a huge undertaking, as was my recent field trip to City Island, which required me to drive over a very large bridge, also alone. Sure, sometimes I get turned around and a little lost in the city, but I keep managing to find my way back to Penn Station, and as it turned out, driving over the bridge was a breeze and not one of the many car dilemmas I have feared for so long came to pass.

Writing as a freelancer for this newspaper is yet another example of doing something risky. Encouraged by a friend to write for someone other than myself, when I saw the ad for a freelance reporter I applied, even though I had not one shred of experience with news reporting. So often we limit ourselves by never taking chances and risks and in no way, taking the smallest step outside of our boxes. It was a big risk to step outside my comfort zone in such a public manner, but has turned out to be great fun and has been a wonderful new experience.

So far, all these steps outside of my box seem to have worked out. I now travel to and from the city by myself without giving it a second though. My drive over the Throgs Neck bridge gave me the confidence to believe that I can now drive myself anywhere, and here I am for a second week, writing in “Brian’s box.”

The most valuable lesson that I’ve learned over the past year is that I can dream big, but without an ability to take chances and risks, that’s all they’ll ever be, dreams. It’s not easy to live outside the box, but so far it’s been well worth the effort, and it gets easier with each passing day. Many small steps later, I have left the box I use to live in. It’s so far behind me now that it’s no longer visible.

Stepping into My Space

The other night, instead of doing homework, I took a tentative step into the world of “My Space.” It wasn’t tentative for very long though. In a matter of minutes I was hooked. Just the idea that I might actually have a blog on a website that did not require me to know HTML (Hyper Text Markup Language, or language of the World Wide Web…..which I have recently learned about in my Computer Applications book, but cannot read, write, nor speak), was exciting.

I joined My Space last September when my son’s band, New Piracy, put their website on there. I joined so that I could comment to them, but then never did. The login process was easy once I remembered what my password was, or rather, tried a few of them until I hit upon the right one. And there it was…..a blank profile page, just waiting for me to fill it out. All I need is a profile form asking me questions about myself, and I seem not to be able to shut up. Actually I think I did a pretty good job of describing myself and what I wanted from my, My Space experience. (I secretly love to fill out forms and am usually very thoughtful and thorough. However, in one portion I was just a little too detailed.)

My daughter came over with the digital camera and we took pictures. Since I’m going to be a guest columnist in the Long Island Advance for two weeks, my editor thought a picture to run with the columns would be a good idea, which was the reason for the picture taking. Not one who really enjoys having my picture taken, I figured if it was OK, I might be able to use it for any number of reasons….to run with the column, to finally post on this blog and on My Space, and to use for online dating…should I ever choose to get back on that Merry-Go-Round. Apparently though, there are many people on My Space just for that reason, the Merry-Go-Round ride. And I had slipped up and clicked on “Serious Relationship,” along with “Friendship” and “Networking.” Big mistake….

I had no idea men were really going to try and be my “friend!" There was one who lives in Denver, one in Florida, and a few more, mostly from the Bible Belt. Most were “Christian, God-fearing men, looking for a good woman.”

“OMG…have they not read what I wrote,” I asked myself?

“Do I sound like some chick who wants a God fearing man to take care of her?” I think not, and besides….who wants to “fear God,” not me.

Three earrings in each ear and purple polish on my toes should speak volumes about me….and how did they miss the part about me wanting to move to Brooklyn, Queens or Manhattan?

“They cannot read…that must be the answer,” I though.

Please believe that truly, I am not making fun, or being mean. I’m sure they are lovely men and hopefully they will find a “good woman” to hang out with, but that would not be me. Being a bit of a Goth woman (this would be a good place for me to insert a link back to “She Wants to be a Goth Girl….maybe one day soon), a geek and loving rock concert-going, my attraction is for the verbal, well-written, smart geeky men, or the verbal, well-written, smart rocker guys. I’m not into bowling, hunting, or fly-fishing, nor am I looking for someone to take care of me….in my opinion, that should be a mutual endeavor. Plus those of us born and raised in a Blue State do not transplant well into the Red ones…my friend Jane can attest to that.

I have now un-clicked Serious Relationship on My Space. It’s not that I don’t want to eventually have one; I just want it to be with someone who has read and actually heard what my profile has to say.

I will continue with my Computer Applications class in the hope of learning a little more about how to personalize this particular blog. I have managed to insert my picture into this profile and all it really took, was an ability to read and follow directions. Links cannot be far behind. In the mean time, feel free to check out www.myspace.com/crazygoogrl. That particular space really does rock. There are family photos, music and the start of some writing. I’ll probably post a few things on there that will also be here, but this particular space is still my favorite….and I’m confident that one day it may even look the way I see it in my head.

Writing life

Tomorrow I'll be a guest columnist for Brian Curry in the Long Island Advance. I'll be published for the first time having written something *in my own voice.* No, it's not Newsday or the New York Times, but who knows.....it's a place to start.

Writing is all about just that, writing and then rewriting, and rewriting again, often times discovering that no matter how many times you’ve printed and read you still sometimes have a stray typo. Or rewriting to the point that the original idea, or piece you started out writing, has become something very different from what you expected it to be.

Life is sort of like writing. You start out going in one direction, and then at some point in time you’ve found that you’re either completely lost and have no idea where you are, or that despite the wrong turn you took three, or five or ten years ago, you’ve somehow managed to end up somewhere cool anyway. Life is like writing in the sense that there are things you can change, or do differently, in order to affect the outcome of the story. You just have to be brave enough to do them. To risk rewriting a story that is not going in a direction you intended, or expected, or wanted.

I’m not really sure how novelists do it. Do they see the whole picture in their heads and write their way to the end? Or, do they just sit down and start writing, hoping the story will end up somewhere? The nice thing about writing is if you don’t like the direction you’re taking; you can throw the piece away, or hit the delete key and start over. Life is a little more difficult to rewrite though. It takes effort and can be dramatic and heart breaking, yet often times, the rewards can be great.

I’m spending a lot of time rewriting these days, articles, essays, term papers and my life. The rewriting on paper, or in my case, on a computer is much easier than the rewriting of my life. Changing the outcome of a life story is much harder than catching those annoying typos, or eliminating a line or a paragraph that just is not working. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing. It is worth taking the risks and chances that are necessary to write a great article, or essay, or book, or even a life.

No, I can’t hit the delete key, or go back and erase, nor actually would I even want to, but I can choose to take my life story in a different direction. I can keep some of the old characters and many of the story lines, add some new ones, and not continue to develop others. Sometimes writers block gets in the way, which is where trips to the gym help, as are reminders to do things like breathe. But, despite the stumbling and writer’s blocks, I am writing myself into a new life story that I could never have imagined before. Just look at where this piece of writing ended up. I have just written a guest column for Brian Curry. I’ve somehow managed to write myself here, so I guess I’ll just keep going. I’ve always just taken life as it comes and never really given any thought to the direction my story was heading. Now, I’m visualizing what I want it to look like and will write my story in that direction. Sure in life, as in writing, there will be stray typos and deleted lines and paragraphs along the way, but it’s all about the rewriting anyway.

The World Community Grid

“World Community Grid's mission is to create the largest public computing grid benefiting humanity. Our work is built on the belief that technological innovation combined with visionary scientific research and large-scale volunteerism can change our world for the better. Our success depends on individuals - like you - collectively contributing their unused computer time to this not-for-profit endeavor.” -World Community Grid Website

The above is a very, very cool idea. I was hesitant to participate, of course always being afraid to download anything onto my computer, especially something that will somehow, do things with my computer when I’m not looking. But, I decided what the heck….live dangerously and maybe even help humanity out while doing so. I downloaded the program a few nights ago and am now completely fascinated with this whole process. I check the points I’ve earned and I become engrossed watching the screen saver-like box travel slowly around my computer monitor. Of course I have no idea what exactly I’m looking at, but it really doesn’t matter…researchers know what it all means, so that's what counts. What I really want is to start a “group,” or join a group, but for now I can be happy to just have my single little laptop computer, hooked into this huge worldwide community grid..... helping to solve complex problems that could effect us all. It's globalization at its best.

Visit the website. Think about joining. It’s easy. Believe me, if I can do it, anyone can do it.

www.worldcommunitygrid.org

Life, Dreams, Realities, Choice, Happiness and Sailing

"Let us think of Life as a process of choices, one after another... at each point there is a progression choice, and a regression choice. There may be a movement toward defense, toward safety, toward being afraid; but over on the other side, there is the growth choice.
"To make the growth choice, instead of the fear choice, a dozen times a day, is to move a dozen times a day toward self-actualization."
ABRAHAM MASLOW


"To have dreams is the first step toward making them realities. Once you have squared yourself with your past, approved of yourself, and committed to seeking self-fulfillment, next allow yourself to dream. Chart your course. Envision yourself achieving those dreams. Once you have dared to dream, I believe you MUST pursue that dream. If you do not pursue your dreams they will consume you; the knowledge that you had a dream but did not pursue it is killing knowledge. Consider it absolutely necessary to go after your dreams." - Les Brown, Best Selling Author, Life Your Dreams


"If you step back for a moment and witness the choices you are making as you make those choices, then in just this act of witnessing, you take the whole process from the unconscious realm into the conscious realm. This procedure of conscious choice making and witnessing is very empowering. When you make any choice - any choice at all - you can ask yourself two things: First of all, 'What are the consequences of this choice that I'm making?' In your heart you will immediately know what these are. Secondly, 'Will this choice that I'm making now bring happiness to me and to those around me?' If the answer is yes, then go ahead with that choice. If the answer is no, if that choice brings distress either to you or to those around you, then don't make that choice. It's as simple as that." - Deepak Chopra, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success, Best Selling Author


Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
-Mark Twain