I'm gonna wash 2010 right out of my hair

The first monday after Christmas and 2011 is less than a week away. I cannot wait for 2010 to be done! I want to finish everything from this year that is still hanging over my head: three more chapters in the "Red Book" to study for my exam, several blog posts to prepare, sales and inventory to total up for Medusa's Muse, my overflowing pantry to organize, all of the laundry finally done, my house scrubbed until every drop of dust from 2010 has vanished.

None of this will happen of course. With my daughter home 24/7, I'll probably get one more chapter read before New Years, if I'm lucky. Plus, my washing machine broke two days before Christmas, so the laundry won't be finished. 2010's dirty socks will most likely still be lying on the hallway floor in 2011.

I always feel this way at New Years. Instead of feeling excitement for a new year, I feel relief the old one is over. Whew! I made it through another year! Then I plop on the couch, open the champagne, and mentally prepare myself for another frickin year.

New Years is not my best time. Some people get the blues at Christmas, I get depressed on New Years.

Today, I'm taking Queen Teen to Santa Rosa for a little post-Christmas shopping with her holiday money. Tomorrow I'll study Chapter 10 (Environmental Accessibility). Some time this week, I'll do a couple of loads of laundry at a friend's house and perhaps on Thursday visit my brother and his family. Queen Teen's best friend is her cousin. I'll do my best to wipe away 2010 and accept the fact that some of this year will still be there on Jan 1st. It always is. Like my gray hair and extra pounds.

Peace on Earth, Good Will to All

Christmas Eve, 2010. Cajun music is blasting while my husband and I make Alligator Gumbo, Red Beans and Rice with Taso, vegetables boiled in Cajun spices, and Bread Pudding in Whiskey Sauce, plus a shrimp and spinach quiche for our friends who can't tolerate the spices of Cajun cooking. In a couple of hours, several friends are coming for a Cajun Christmas celebration. My husband is from New Orleans and loves to cook, so Christmas Eve is the perfect time to cook all day and try new recipes. The house smells of onion, bell pepper, cayenne, chicken stock, and Andouille sausage. The champagne is on ice, the house is clean, and I just changed my clothes into something more festive. It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas...

I've been trying to write something meaningful and important about the season, but so far all I can manage is this:

Whoever you are, and whatever holiday you celebrate, may your days filled with joy, laughter, and love.

And here's a bit of Cajun Christmas to get you in the spirit:

Bonne Christmeusse!

It's a Wonderful Life

Right now I'm watching It's a Wonderful Life, starring James Stewart,  Donna Reed, and the brilliant Lionel Barrymore as evil Mr. Potter, who I imagine Scrooge would have become if never saved by the ghosts. I watch it every year at Christmas, reveling in classic tale of a man who's dreams never come true, but who discovers that his life has meaning after all. In fact, when the movie debuted in 1946, it was panned by critics as too sentimental and "sweet,"despite the fact it was nominated for 5 Academy Awards. But over the years, the movie has become one of the most beloved films of all time and is considered a master piece of American movie-making.

Directed by Frank Capra, famous for creating sentimental movies even by 1940's standards  (You Can't Take it With You is one of my favorites), It's a Wonderful Life tells the story of George Bailey, a man with big dreams that never come true because the needs of his family and the community of Bedford Falls always supersede his own. For the most part, George gives his time willingly, because he is blessed with a generous spirit. But when a crisis threatens to destroy his own life, George is filled with rage and in desperation considers suicide. That's when his Guardian Angel appears and through a series of miracles shows George that his life does have meaning and how much of an impact he has had in the lives of the entire town. It's the kind of movie that makes you cry at least twice, especially at the end.

Here's a clip from the movie, when George sees Mary again.

2010 hasn't exactly been a picnic. In fact, it's right up there with one of the hardest years of all, including 1996, when I got a divorce and discovered Queen Teen had medical problems. And maybe it's a mid-life thing, but I feel as if my life hasn't gone in any direction I had hoped for. Sometimes I swear I'm living someone else's life. When I was a kid, I didn't think about college, I planned to act and travel the world. Instead, I'm a middle aged mom working on a possibly useless Graduate degree, stuck in a small town, slowly putting on weight while I clean house and raise my daughter. I feel an awful lot like George Bailey, stuck in Bedford Falls, hearing the sound of his lost dreams in the roar of trains passing by.

George's dreams of travel and adventure didn't come true, but his life was far richer than he realized. He made a difference in the world, and he was allowed to see just how much he mattered. He had love and an entire town who called him friend, and when things were bleakest, they were there for him. As his brother said, George Bailey was the richest man in town.

So see the movie, and then think about your own life. I know I will. We may be surprised at how rich we actually are.

A mobile life needs a mobile blog

It's Christmas break and I'm playing catch up. I recently saw that I can blog from my iPhone, so I'm giving it a go. Will this help me keep up with my blog? Probably not, because typing on my phone is no fun. But it will be nice to jot down thoughts and read all of my blog friends posts. Has anyone tried using mobile blogging? What do you think?

This is a test, a warm up, as I gather my thoughts and stretch my writing muscles. Looking forward to spending lots of time writing here again.

Does keeping a list of blog topics mean I'm still blogging?

Here it is December and I still have two pumpkins on my front porch. November flew by so fast I barely remember what happened. I think there was a party of some type in there that involved lots of food. Or was that last year?

I've been jotting down topics for blog posts on a scrap of paper I leave by my bed in the futile hope I'll actually be able to write them. So far I have :

• bras
• skin care
• "we could use some boys around here"
• when fish try to commit suicide
• more classic movie reviews
• absinth
• "I can't sleep and rest at the same time"
• the bathtub opera
• I think my hair is falling out
• Why did I go to grad school?

When I actually have the time to sit and write some of these while I still remember them (why did I want to write about bras, though?), I'll be flooding my blog with enough posts to bore entertain you all. But today, I'll get back to studying for my certification exam, surviving my internship, ignoring spending time with my daughter, and now preparing for the holidays.

The holidays... there are a few more blog topics in there for sure.

Thankful for such a full, prosperous life

And there they go again, more weeks flying by. My days are filled with learning and work, my evenings with family and home. I am weary and frantic most of the time. Some days I drag myself out of bed, unable to open my eyes until I've had more than half a cup of coffee. By 7 PM I'm ready for bed again, my brain overwhelmed with everything it's managing at once.

For all of this, I am thankful.

It's funny that I'd feel this way. Maybe it's the holiday. Today, despite my fatigue, I realized that I am this tired because my life is filled with prosperity. Not the monetary kind (that sure would be nice someday), but the learning, growing, adventuring, challenging kind. When I step away from the stress and frustration of grad school, I am able to see how much both my child and my self are thriving. The reason I am so worn  out is because of the possibilities in my life. My world has gotten bigger with more opportunity.

All I have to do is figure out how to get through this time with my sanity somewhat intact.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all. May you know your own blessings, including the ones you might think are so hidden it's a wonder you can call them blessings at all. Those are where the real riches of life lie buried.

It's Haiku My Heart Friday

What's Haiku my Heart Friday? Head over to my writing/publishing blog Medusa's Muse to see the poem I wrote this morning, then click on the Haiku My Heart link for more info. Some of my favorite Bloggers have also joined in the fun, including Ms. Moon and Elizabeth.

Nothing cures a cold like The Thin Man

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm sick. Sick-as-a-dog. Queen Teen has been sick for a week and I've busily been caring for her while guzzling tea and sucking down Vitamin C and D to hold back my own stuffy nose and sore throat. For a while it looked like I had fought off the bug, but on Saturday it knocked me flat on my ass like a germ-infested Sumo wrestler. Queen Teen went back to school today, still a little stuffy, but in good spirits and fever free. I climbed into bed with a box of tissues, the portable DVD player and a stack of old movies.

I am a 1930's and 40's movie fanatic. My favorite movie of all time is The Thin Man (1934), followed in close second by The Thin Man Returns (1936) with Myrna Loy and William Powell.

Originally a book by Dashiel Hammet, the Thin Man is a comedic, mystery movie featuring husband and wife crime fighting duo, Nick and Nora Charles. Nick Charles is a former P.I. with a love for alcohol and a reputation for solving the unsolvable. After marrying his heiress wife, Nora, he gives up fighting crime and instead pursues the perfect cocktail. But Nora won't let him retire. When an old aquantance disappears, Nora badgers him to take the case. Nick reluctantly gets pulled in by the police and the missing man's family.  Eventually he solves the mystery, effectively coming out of retirement, even though he continues to deny wanting to be a detective again. Nora is thrilled by the excitement of solving mysteries and lends a hand whenever she can, or when her husband is unable to stop her. 

But it isn't the mystery that makes this series of films so memorable. It is the quick wit and hilarity of the characters, Nick and Nora.

Nora: Take care of yourself
Nick: Why, sure I will.
Nora: Don't say it like that! Say it as if you meant it!
Nick: Well, I do believe the little woman cares.
Nora: I don't care! It's just that I'm used to you, that's all.

Nick: I'm a hero. I was shot twice in the Tribune.
Nora: I read where you were shot 5 times in the tabloids.
Nick: It's not true. He didn't come anywhere near my tabloids.

Nick: The important thing is the rhythm. Always have rhythm in your shaking. Now a Manhattan you shake to fox-trot time, a Bronx to two-step time, a dry martini you always shake to waltz time. 

Besides being a brilliant detective, Nick is an alcoholic. If he isn't drinking, he's looking for a drink. Some people may find the constant reference to alcohol and drinking offensive, but in the context of the time period, it's hysterical. Remember, The Thin Man was made only one year after prohibition ended, so alcohol had just returned to the main stream and being a drunk was considered funny.


Nora is that rare 1930's movie wife who is beautiful, funny, adventurous and smart. She keeps up with Nick's wit and drinking, and their chemistry together is what really makes The Thin Man a classic. It isn't the mystery that keeps us hooked, it is the romantic relationship of Nick and Nora. 

Proof I'm still a bit batty

I've been feeling a tad overwhelmed lately. Too much to do, all of it important, all of it needing to happen today. And the fatigue has come back with a vengeance. I wake up in the morning and actually feel pain when I force myself out of bed. I'm back on coffee just to get my body into some kind of shape before I tackle the day (but not so much caffeine that I turn into bitch-mom. It's a fine line).

"I feel like such a wimp," I whined one day to my husband. "Other people can do this, why can't I?"

He nodded sympathetically, but went on working on his computer.

"I know I'm doing a lot, but I'm so frickin tired all the time. Seriously, how do people raise kids and work?"

"You've got a little more on your plate than most people," my husband said, still working on his computer.

"Yeah, we do. But I know people who's kids are more disabled than ours and they can manage to hold down a job. I'm just a wimp."

He just kept working on his computer.

I waited for some kind of response, for him to say, "You're not a wimp, honey."

Nothing.

"Your silence makes me feel that you think I'm a wimp."

He glanced at me quickly, gave me a quick smile, then went back to working on his computer.

My mind went into panic mode. Oh my God, my husband thinks I'm a wimp! He's afraid to say anything because he doesn't want me to feel worse, but he's too honest to say he doesn't think I'm a wimp if he thinks I am one, so he's just pretending that I never said anything and then maybe I'll go away. I'm a wimp. I really am! Here's the proof! He won't even look at me...

I got up from the table and walked away, feeling like the bottom of my world had dropped 100 feet and the walls were too slippery to grab a hold of. The feeling stayed with me for two days, a crushing depression that grew as that evil voice in my head chanted loudly "You're a wimp. You're a wimp. You're a wimp..." It got meaner after a while. "You're a loser, a wimp, a weakling, a nothing. You can't do anything. You are the most worthless human being on the planet."

Do you know how much money I've spent on therapy in the last 20 years to get this voice to shut-up? I don't even know where it came from! No one ever said that to me. My parents never sat me down on the couch when I was 5 and declared, "You are nothing." So why do I have the meanest, cruelest, evil inner voice in the world?

After 36 hours, I'd had enough. "Shut up!" I told that voice. "I'm not listening." And I didn't. It took an enormous amount of energy to redirect my thoughts away from that cackling mantra of failure. I forced myself to think of what I had achieved (Grad school, motherhood and a publishing company... Hello!). When that inner voice got extra sadistic and shouted, "And your fat too," I told myself I am beautiful and stronger than I've ever been in my life (which is true. thanks to Kettle Bell, I can now lift my 90 pound daughter over rain puddles without hurting my back, something I couldn't do 2 years ago). Very slowly, that voice lost some of it's power and returned to that nagging whisper that is easier to ignore.

Therapy didn't get rid of that voice, it taught me how to manage it.

I still have a feeling that I am lacking, though. No matter what I do, that feeling just won't go away. I guess this is why I do so much. Time to stop.

Maybe with a little more practice, I'll be able to just live and not have to prove to myself that I deserve to live.

And maybe I'll learn not to try and talk to my husband about something important when he's working on a computer. He probably didn't even hear a word I said. 

Yep, I am still a tad batty. Maybe we all are.

Full Circle - Interning with Laura Fogg

The first book I published through my press, Medusa's Muse, was called Traveling Blind: Life Lessons from Unlikely Teachers, written by my daughter's Orientation and Mobility Teacher, Laura Fogg. A memoir about her 30 years as a teacher of visually impaired children, Laura shares stories about many of her students and what each child taught her about life, joy, grief and hope. My own daughter's story is one of the chapters. I had watched her for 10 years working with my daughter, but publishing her book gave me a clear picture of what being a teacher of visually impaired people was like. Shortly after the book was released in November, 2007, I applied to the O and M program at San Francisco State.

Last week I started my internship with Laura, riding with her all over Mendocino County, teaching toddlers and high school students, both multiply disabled and able bodied, English and Spanish speaking. She also works with other teachers to help them understand a child's vision issues and parents to help them communicate their child's needs. She eats lunch in her car and rarely takes a break. Occasionally she works 10 hour days. But through it all, she seems joyful and tireless. Even when she's starting to feel the stress because everything happens at once, she has a smile on her face. 

I want to be just like her when I grow up.

Life has come full circle. Queen Teen was born visually impaired. Laura has been her teacher for 12 years. Laura wrote a memoir. I published it. Her book inspired me to go to school. Laura is now my Master Teacher.

Hey, someone tell Oprah. I think our story would make an excellent feature for her magazine.

The other perk to this internship is I now get to work with my own daughter. It kind of feels like cheating taking Queen Teen on shopping trips and nature walks after school. Queen Teen is in heaven. She likes going on outings with Laura, but with Mom in tow, it's that much better.

And this is Laura's office

Anderson Valley in October

And this...

And here's one more shot of Laura Fogg's office, which is mine for the next five weeks...

The Village of Mendocino

No wonder she loves her job.