Crash Course May 30, 2008

I had to have the paper notarized and everything.  The one that basically says I won’t hold anyone responsible for any life threatening or maiming injuries, etc. my son may incur at the off road racetrack tomorrow.  He has been invited to go with a relative to “copilot” the car (basically meaning he goes along for the ride).  If I had it my way, my 16-going-on-17-year-old would be wrapped in bubble wrap before leaving the house each morning.  I would still be carrying him around myself if he wasn’t bigger than me. The responsible relative assures me that the course is safe, (“even little kids go with their parents on this one”) and that this waiver is just standard protocol, kind of like the waivers you sign before surgery (Exactly!….has he ever read  those?).

I asked my questions, weighed the risks and decided that he could do it…..and haven’t had a good night’s sleep since.  My son, on the other hand, is very excited (of course he is….it’s not his  kid who is in harm’s way).   He will take all the necessary precautions including wearing clean underwear (I’m insisting!).  Helmet, harness, rabbit’s foot and lucky socks will all be secured and ensuring his safety. 

I partially let him go because I do not want him to grow up afraid to take (calculated) risks.  I do not subscribe to blindfolded naked skydiving or train chasing.  I just don’t want my kid afraid of his own shadow like I have been (…though it is a pretty big shadow these days…..)

So, I will clench my jaw, force a smile, and lie straight through my teeth, telling him how confident I am that everything will be great.  I won’t be fooling him.  He knows that I will be wringing my hands, fighting bouts of diarrhea and imagining the worst until I hear that it is over. 

Then he can give me the “I told you so” look and I can give a prayer of thanks.

 

A Brief Beckoning May 28, 2008

Well, I put on my big girl underpants last night and drove to NYC to hear Martha Beck speak.  Martha Beck, for those of you who may not know, is an author and life-coach (among other things) who is also a contributing editor for O Magazine.  Ever since I read her book, Finding your Own North Star,  I’ve been addicted.  A real groupie, you might say. 

The trip was kind of a big deal for me.  Though I have travelled in and out of the city, I haven’t done it by myself.  Generally unable to find my way out of a paper bag, I was a bit apprehensive about going it alone.  I was, however, determined to go as I was convinced that it had been divinely orchestrated.  I have always felt connected to Martha Beck in some strange (yet undeniable) way.  So much so, that I feel strongly that we are supposed to work together in some capacity some day.  (I also think Oprah will one day be my BFF, but I’m fairly certain that  is purely delusional…)  I just recently finished (devoured) Martha’s latest book, Steering by Starlight, and have been considering participating in her coaches training to supplement my budding speaking career (ok, so we just can’t see the buds yet…)

I arrived 2 hours early and stood in line (I was the line for the first hour and a half) waiting to claim a front row seat.  And it was from there, my front row seat, that I was inspired.  I was moved to laughter and tears, listening to this wise and funny woman.  Delirious with hope about my bright and shiny future,  I knew I had made the right decision to come.  Once the lecture concluded, Martha was available for autographs and a meet and greet.  As I approached the table, I frantically searched Martha’s face for the moment when she would recognize me, her soul sister, her lost tribal member.  I just knew she would have to see the connection I feel so certain is there.  

“Rochelle?  With an R?”, she asked, preparing to sign the well-worn, dog-eared book I had been sleeping with for the last 3 weeks.  No, it’s Michelle, with an M, like MARTHA?  Like you.  Just like you. 

This was my big chance to say the very thing that would jolt her into recognition.  So….. I babbled an incoherent question while she waved goodbye to an old friend.  I thanked her and extended my hand.  She shook my hand, smiled and wished me well.

 

It’s OK……I’m sure she just had a lot on her mind. 

Maybe I’ll bump into her at Oprah’s barbeque.

 

 

Howdy, Neighbor! May 25, 2008

I have lived in my neighborhood for just over 3 years and only know the names of my next-door neighbors because I accidentally receive their mail in my mailbox on occasion.  I moved from an isolated house in the country to this lovely little neighborhood just after my divorce thinking it would be nice to be around people and not feel so alone……though as it turns out, I might as well live on the moon. 

Do you know how cockroaches flee when the lights go on?  I swear that’s how my neighbors respond to my trips through the neighborhood.  At first I was certain that it must be my imagination.  I mean, after all, these people don’t know me well enough to decide yet that I am to be avoided.  Even my son agrees.  “Wow, Mom, I see what you mean.  They really do turn away.  Maybe it’s because you’re the only single woman in the neighborhood.”  Hmmm…  I see what you mean……Who wouldn’t be threatened by my aging, sagging, overweight physique and grey roots?

Look, I don’t want to be in anyone’s business and I don’t want anyone in mine.  I just thought, like when I was a kid growing up in a neighborhood, that we could all smile and wave from our mailboxes, at least pretend we are friendly people.  I practically had to assault the husband and wife duo across the street to get an introduction (which come to think of it, still remains one-sided).  Two years after moving in (waving each time I would see them) I happened upon them in the local ice cream shoppe.  “Excuse me, but I think we are neighbors”, I said smiling with my hand extended.  The man reacted as if I was about to put a double scoop of Doggie Doo in his hand.  “Oh, yeah?”, he replied. 

OK…..so I guess I won’t be nominating you for the Welcome Wagoneer of the Week…..

So here we are…..it’s another holiday weekend, and from the sheer volume of cars parked in front of my house it looks like another block party’s in session.  My invitation must have been lost in the mail.  Listen….I would do the inviting if they didn’t turn and run every time I approached!  I suppose I am feeling just a little sorry for myself.  But I’m a really nice person.  I make a mean bundt cake and would water anyone’s plants just for the asking.  I’d bring your garbage cans back up to the house when you go on vacation and I’d even drive your kids to soccer if you got in a bind.   

So how about it, folks?  Give a girl a break.  Would a wave and a smile really kill you?

One More for the Road May 22, 2008

I stopped counting after my 4th refill, and the caffeine had my heart racing almost as fast as the thoughts were running through my head.  We tried acting normal, though “normal” was just about to change.  The conversation had turned emotional, as it had so many times in our early morning coffee sessions, but neither of us mentioned the fact that this would be the last of its kind (at least for a while).

You see, my best friend is moving.  For the past 7 years, on an almost daily basis over coffee, she has witnessed my life “up close and personal”.   From tattoos and martinis, to kids and CAT scans, we’ve been through it together.  My cheerleader, skin care consultant, therapist and public relations manager, she knows me better than I know myself.  But now, the wind is blowing us in different directions.

Stop being so melodramatic, Michelle…..it’s not like she’s moving out of the country.  She’s not even moving all that far actually.  It’s just that I know we’re turning a page in the book of our lives and neither of us knows what the next chapter will bring.  I feel like somebody just packed up my security blanket and put it in a moving van on its way to some undisclosed destination.  Through some of the toughest years of my life, I needed only to look up to see my rock of a friend there for whatever I needed. 

I believe there are no accidents, and that we are exactly where we need to be in life.  I pray that this move brings my friend every joy she deserves, and proves to me that I can walk without my crutches.  I have no doubt that the friendship will endure.  After all, you can’t let someone who knows all  your secrets too far out of your sight, right?

So here’s to Freida and Rita.  I will never hold a mug again without feeling grateful. 

Thanks for Sharing May 20, 2008

I like to think of myself as a communicator.  Generally speaking, I am an open book about my thoughts and emotions.  Some find this unsettling and unnecessary (T.M.I. or “too much information” I guess).  I just see it as sharing myself and connecting with others.  Isn’t that what life is about?

I process things by talking about them to my friends (sometimes over and over and over and over again…sorry….).  I could talk to my best friend for hours and never tire of the banter.  It has been a difficult transition as my son has made his way through the teenage years as his “sharing” has become less generous and much less often.  As the only two people living together under one roof, I have mourned the fact that he doesn’t communicate  with me the same way as before, leaving me longing for the days when he, too, was an open book. 

As I sat in my office attempting to produce today’s blog topic from thin air, I could hear my son racing down the hallway towards me.  “Mom!”, he shouted.  Something’s wrong, I  thought.   “You’re not going to believe what just happened!”, he blurted.  Oh my gosh….he’s asked her out?….he realized he wants to go to school close to home so we can see each other often?……he’s overflowing with joy and can hardly bear not sharing it with me!……

As he busts through the door he is smiling.  Now I know this is gonna be good.  He’s laughing and almost can’t get the words out.   I just know that this is going to be one of those bonding memories I will cherish for a long time……

He starts….”I was just in the bathroom and…..”

 

OMG…

This kid generally can’t grunt in my direction and this is what he has to tell me?  I’ll spare you the details of what actually does NOT qualify as “cherished memory” material.  It was, I suppose (in a demented kind of way) slightly funny, and heaven knows he certainly was excited to tell me.  I guess some things you just can’t IM a friend about and I was available.

Ever longing for connection, I guess I’ll take what I can get. 

Thanks for sharing…..

Weeds May 19, 2008

I live in a neighborhood where lawns matter; where mulching and edging have become competitive events.  Driving to and from my house each day, it is mostly the husbands I see, changed from their business attire into their LAWNMAN uniforms, fertilizing, watering and weed-whacking.  I admire their pride and their work ethic. 

I, too, want a nice lawn.  But I’m not married to the nice man who keeps mine mowed.  He and his 2 sons show up once a week, and with two-mowers and a “whacker” (who does not appear to be related), they are loaded up and gone in under 15 minutes.  It’s been quite convenient, with only one problem.  They don’t do weeds. 

And it’s bugging me now.  At first there were only a few little green (blendable) bits that were easily ignored.  Now, the weeds themselves look like bushes that have taken over everything else.  I could pretend that they are meant to be there, but they are choking the prettier, original planter materials.

Here we go, she’s gonna try to turn weeds into personal development…..

These weeds, like the stray, unwanted and negative thoughts that live in my brain really need to be pulled out by the roots!  All the “I can’ts”, the “what ifs”  and the like are choking out the good stuff.   Sure, some of these mental “weeds” may look  like actual “flowers”, but we mustn’t be fooled.  For if left unchecked, they, too, will take the light and nutrients meant for the original flowers. 

As much as I hate weeding, it’s time to get to work in my garden (and in my brain).  Time to get my hands dirty, for it would be a real shame if the weeds won and I lost the original plants…..just when were about to blossom…..

 

The Red Bow Tie May 15, 2008

It was supposed to be a solemn yet celebratory occasion.  Last evening, my son was inducted into the National Honor Society.  As he came down the stairs ready to leave for this special event, all I could think was that he looked just like Pee-Wee Herman.  Black, straight suit, white shirt, bright red bow tie…..topped off (or bottomed-out I could say) with a pair of white gym socks and navy blue sneaker shoes.  

“You’re not wearing that, are you?”, I criticized.         

“Everybody knows these shoes, Mom…”, came his somewhat cryptic reply. 

“Pick your battles…”   I could hear my parents’ words of advice ringing in my head.  But everyone will think I’m a bad mother if he shows up looking like a lunatic to accept his award.  Why can’t he just wear that nice new shirt and tie we got for this occasion?…..and look…..I’ve already found his black dress shoes….

Time out.  The kid is getting an award, for heaven’s sake!  Frankly, one I never thought he would be receiving…..(just to satisfy my own insecurities here,  I need to add that my son is very bright-just never cared too much about making any specific grades-unless we are talking about “leveling  up” in Call of Duty 4, of course) 

He held his ground, I shut my mouth, and we headed out to the ceremony. 

Funny.  When I saw him coming down the aisle in the processional, I felt incredibly proud.  And once again I started laughing.  My crazy kid was just being exactly who he is.  It’s what I am perpetually tying myself in knots trying to learn how to do, while simultaneously trying to rid him of the very quality I desire.  The young man in the white socks and red bow tie was most respectful of the occasion and brought a smile to every administrator and moderator that shook his hand.  “Nice, bowtie, Gotay (pronounced go-tie)”, they’d whisper.

The kid knows who he is.   And last night he was a scholar with a sense of humor.                                          

I want to be like him when I grow up.

Caterpillar Goop May 13, 2008

I’m reading a new book (yes, as a work in progress I caved and bought yet another self-help book).  It’s by Martha Beck, an author I have come to identify with.  I didn’t even read the cover before purchasing.  I just knew that if she wrote it, I wanted to read it.  It could have been a cookbook for all I knew.  (I hope to have a similar following one day…oh, pardon me, while I ”manifest”…..)

In the introduction to the book, Martha talks about the proverbial metamorphosis one makes as they find their true path in life.  I was struck by her reminder about the caterpillar’s fate after spinning its cocoon. The caterpillar doesn’t simply sprout wings…The first thing that happens is a complete and total caterpillar meltdown.  The caterpillar literally dissolves (ick).  For the record, I, too, am dissolving.   And it ain’t pretty. 

The good news is, according to Martha Beck, I’m right on schedule for a complete metamorphosis. Woo Hoo!  The bad news is that no caterpillar that  enters a cocoon ever makes it out alive.  Joseph Campbell said, “You must give up on the life you had planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you.” 

Ouch.  My fingernails are clinging to the edges of the old and my arms are getting tired.  Pretty soon it’ll be easier to fall into the scary unknown than to hang on, fingernails ripping.  (How completely melodramatic, no?)  Like my mom recently reminded me…”the horse is dead, dear….it’s time to get off.”

So, pardon my goop, folks.  It’s just that I’m right in the middle of becoming magnificent. 

And we’ll all just have to be patient, for these things happen in their own time…..

Random Acts of Blindness May 13, 2008

We’ve all committed them…those random acts of blindness.  We make assumptions about others, or cast judgements without considering or looking close enough to see what lies beneath.  The crabby waitress who, unbeknownst to us, lost her sister a week ago….or the bossy co-worker who suffers from such low self-esteem that she drives us all crazy in her attempts to prove herself to (mostly) herself. 

Don’t get me wrong, I am well aware that plain old jerks exist, but I guess I believe for the most part that people are the best they know how to be.  I don’t suggest we need to hang around people who hurt us or abuse us, or in some way make our lives more difficult than necessary, but perhaps we need to remember that most people’s behavior towards us really has less to do with us than it does with them. 

I attended a humor seminar several years back where the speaker suggested ways to counter the upset dealing with “jerks” can bring.  She suggested we make up a story about the person (not to be shared with them of course…)  For example, a guy cuts you off in traffic as he races down the highway.  The story?  “Poor guy, if he’s not home by 5:25PM on the dot, his wife beats the crap out of him.”  (Poor guy is right….go, buddy!  You can make it!)  I have found it fun to make up little stories about miserable people who cross my path…..like the guy who was attempting to make the Guinness Book of World’s Records for the most stupid, insensitive remarks made in a 24-hour period.  I wished him well…wonder if he beat the record…..

When making fun of it doesn’t work, I think we just need to remember that not everything is personal.  I know that my life would be easier if I could remember that not everything is about me (GASP!).  Perhaps a little more compassion is the order of the day.  Perhaps looking at  (considering) what might lie beneath would benefit us all. 

Johnny One Note May 8, 2008

I just returned from the Holy Cross High School Pops Concert.  It was quite impressive indeed.  The musical director is a very talented man who is dedicated to these young (and surprisingly talented) musicians and singers.  The concert was unexpectedly enjoyable, albeit almost 3 hours in length. 

My son is not in the choir (though he has a nice voice) and not in the band (though he plays a mean guitar).  My son (only because he is in the music theory class) is in the hand bell choir.   This evening the hand bell choir played “Hedwig’s Theme” from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.  My son had ONE NOTE. 

Yep, 3 hours for ONE NOTE.   It was a good one, I assure you.  The bass bell that ended the song.  But ONE NOTE?   THREE HOURS?   As the song began, I sat alone in the audience and began to giggle.  The music of the hand bells  was magical.  I couldn’t believe how amazing a sound…..but as I stared only at my son’s bell for the entire song, I had tears running down my face.  I must have looked like a lunatic laughing uncontrollably by myself in that chair, afraid to blink or look away for fear my three hour wait would have been for naught.

The things we do for love, eh?  I love him to death and would sit for four hours for that one note, but it was pretty funny.  I was incredibly proud nonetheless, and personally feel that it was the best number of the night.  Of course, without that one note, the song would be incomplete.

The moral of the story?  If you only get to play one note….play it loud and clear.