Strange but True

So I was downstairs watching "True Blood" and all of a sudden Kealoha's computer came on AND THEN THE MOUSE ON THE SCREEN STARTED MOVING and things started opening and closing and Twitter popped on the screen and then off and then the iTunes store came up while I could see the little arrow on the mouse MOVING ACROSS THE SCREEN and I  thought "Maybe I'm doing this with my mind" or "Maybe this is a Ouija board-like computer" or "The computer's possessed! It's like in True Blood! The Wiccans have come!" or "Wait a minute! His computer is moving and opening things and maybe someone from a small island is acessing all of his account information which is now my account information too and maybe they're taking EVERYTHING WE OWN!"

 But then I crept up to the computer and discovered that Kealoha was controlling the computer via remote control (there was a note on there that said so. I waved at the screen in case he was watching).

 So I guess the power of my brain had nothing to do with it, nor was anyone hacking into our account and stealing our very meager savings and identities.

I'm relieved, but a little sad it wasn't my mind power. That would've been really cool if I could operate a computer just by thinking about it. There are a lot of other mechanical devices I'd like to do that with...uh...like the TV.

Chicago Trip--Part Two

I fully intended to finish this yesterday, but I was narrating by day and momming by late afternoon and evening. Not a lot of time in there to do any of my own stuff. So. We got to Chicago and went directly to the Field Museum. By this time we were already a little tired from a three-hour road trip, but the kids were excited.

(Getting the kids anywhere is always exhausting. I tell my students to avoid words like ‘anywhere’ and ‘always’ but here it’s valid. I’m constantly saying things like “Come on! Let’s move! Let’s go!” I feel like I should wear a whistle and a tacky track and field outfit.)

We parked in the belly of a parking structure. It was dark and moist and dripping with humidity. There were also plenty of shadows. I figured there were probably a dozen or so creepos lurking so I started saying things like “Let’s get out of here fast! We won’t see any dinosaurs unless you move it! Come on!” Finally, we got the kids upstairs, walked to the museum, paid $50 for admission and there we were: Big Sue looking down at us.

I don’t know what I was expecting. I knew that our family vacation wasn’t going to be this perfect vacation of bonding and cheering and general high-fiving. I knew there’d be tantrums and stress and all that. I just didn’t know I’d be the one having a tantrum or feeling stressed. Mostly I just felt old. And fat. So I wrote an opening to a story. Maybe I’ll use that somewhere.

The kids pulled us from exhibit to exhibit. We saw lots and lots of taxidermy animals. That’s a little creepy if you think about it, so I tried not to. Still, the size of those things were pretty staggering and I started to slip into this whole writer-mode thing that sometimes happen. I imagined these animals alive and in their environment and what happened to them and who shot them and what time period was it and was it a safari or an architectural dig and where are those people now….and then Simone had to use the potty.

We loved the evolution exhibit and the animals and the dinosaur bones. My favorite was the skeleton of a giant sloth. I mean, really? They were that big? Crazy to think about.

While the kids tugged us around, I looked at other parents. All the parents had the same expression of fatigue and stress and I could hear random things like “Hurry up! Let’s go! Let’s move it!” and “Don’t touch that!” and “Put that down or you’ll poke out an eye!”

There was a younger couple making out by the stairs and it was nice to see at least two people in the museum not utterly stressed out. (Or stressed out, but in an entirely different way.)

Then we had to take the kids to the gift shop. A mental cash register started tinging off in my brain: Lunch: $50, Tickets: $50, Gift Shop: $30, Parking: $16….and that was just in two hours. That doesn’t include hotel, gas, parking, restaurants, the Cheesecake Factory, and The American Girl Store.

I can’t tell you how much we spent in Chicago. Let me just say that Illinois should thank me. Please send me a ribbon.

The rest of the vacation is your normal family stuff. Lots of walking, tired kiddos, lots of eating and waiting, and jumping on the bed in the hotel.

I took Simone to the American Girl Store and I was horrified at all the creepy dolls in display cases. At least they didn’t all scream “Mommy!” in that scary-doll-voice I sometimes hear in my head. Uhm. Yeah. She loved it though, and I guess when you’re a parent, you do things that make you uncomfortable. She got her first grown-up doll. I talked her into the Emily doll because I liked the 1940s dress. Then I got freaked out because I was actually into that doll and her dress and a little table and cute tea set that you could buy. We didn’t, but it was a close one.

Kealoha took Louis to see The Blue Man Group. Louis came back to the hotel buzzing with delight.

Finally, we came home. Kids passed out in their rooms. Kealoha and I sat on the couch. “Hi,” I said. “I know we were just in Chicago together but I feel like I didn’t even see you.” I guess that’s part of the whole family vacay thing too.

I have to say, even though it was overpriced and exhausting and stressful, I still loved it.

When I was a kid, we were really poor. I cringe when I say things that hint at my poor childhood and some of the stuff that went on. It’s all very old-school Oprah. But it’s true. We never went anywhere and there were too many other issues to ever have a family vacation. It may be average, and everyday and a little bit boring, but this trip was a big deal for me. I was able to give my kids something I never had: a family trip.

We’re going to go again in another six months or so, or a few years, depending on when we can save up enough money.

Chicago Trip--Part One

This weekend, Kealoha and I took the kids on our first Family Vacation. (It deserves to be capitalized.) Of course, we’ve gone up north to visit family for morel hunting, but this was different. This vacation included Chicago, traveling, the Field Museum, hotel, restaurants, and god help me, The American Girl store. Here are some highlights:

ONE

The morning of, Kealoha was so excited. We finally got the car loaded, everyone buckled in, kids hooked up with DVD players and emergency snacks, and Kealoha cried: “Alllll riiiight! Road Trip! Who’s excited?” (Silence.) Kealoha: Okay…who’s excited for their first road trip to Chicago!! (Silence.) ME: Yay.

TWO

Louis makes this begging-face he discovered on the 4^th. He wanted more candy from the Hollyhock Parade so we told him to look, you know, like he really needed candy. He tilted his head, made his eyes look real big, and held up his hands to his chin. Then he sort of just sat frozen there and groaned a little bit. He does this all the time now when he wants something and I can’t help but think that people will think he’s ‘special’. Not that there’s anything wrong with ‘special’ kids, but you really shouldn’t steal their candy.

He did this face in the car and Kealoha and I started cracking up. Then Simone says in her 1930s Hollywood starlet voice “Don’t make fun of my bruder!” (I don’t know where she got this accent, but it’s achingly cute.)

THREE

Conversation with Louis in the car.

LOUIS: Mom? Mom! Mom, what’s the biggest hour?

ME: What do you mean what’s the biggest hour?

LOUIS: You know, what’s the longest hour? Like the biggest one ever?

ME: I don’t know how to answer that. An hour is a constant. Every hour is the same. The DEFINITION of an hour is that it’s sixty minute so no matter what country you’re in, your hour is always the same. It’s one hour.

LOUIS: Yeah. Okay. But what’s the LONGEST hour?

ME: (sigh) I don’t know. The longest hour I ever had was last year getting a root canal.

LOUIS: Mom.

ME: Okay. Okay! Louis, the longest hour is fifty-nine. It’s fifty-nine.

LOUIS: Wow. That’s long. Fifty-nine.

SIMONE: Do they speak a different language in Chicago?

(Part two coming later. I've got to get ready to narrate.)

In Search Of The Perfect Font (warning: mildly offensive)

Along with working like mad, writing, exercising, and wrangling children, I’m also planning a wedding. Now, I’ve done plenty of event planning in my day (I have a background in fundraising) so I didn’t think any of this would be a big deal.  

I totally underestimated that. There are a million ridiculous decisions to make AND THEY’RE ALL EXPENSIVE. I never thought I was a cheapskate, but apparently I am. I just can’t pay $3,000 for a photographer. Now, I know it’s an important day and all but I can barely look at myself in the mirror in my underwear and I don’t really want a photographer to capture me in my undies pulling a dress over my hips while I repeat “Dear Jeevus, let this bastard fit me”.  Nor do I want pictures of jumping bridesmaids, high-fiving grannies, or a picture of my aging hand over Kealoha’s hairy one in an awkward embrace signifying our future together. It just makes me uncomfortable. (Not that Kealoha is hairy. He’s not. That’s just an example.)

We’re pretty much behind on everything….but we’re getting there. I ordered my dresses, planned a menu, we’ve got the venue, fixed a glitch at the hotel so our peeps can actually reserve rooms, and the invitations go out tonight. My mom and future Mother-in-Law are coming over to help me. If we drink enough wine, we’ll all be real relaxed.

I wanted to address the invitations by hand, but Kealoha was hesitant. He very delicately said maybe he could find a cool computer font that would make the invitations look really professional. In my mind, I quickly used my Star-Trek-like Universal Translator to understand the following: “Tanya, please don’t address the invitations. Your writing is just shy of looking like you’re entirely nuts and possibly have palsy.” Kealoha has a point.

So he’s been looking for fonts while I’ve been throwing a hissy fit about a photographer. (Finally found a great one.)

I was on the couch last night watching “Chopped” and then “So You Think You Can Dance” while Kealoha researched fonts. There are a million fonts. Seriously. And each one says something slightly different about you and your wedding and who you are as people. Arrrgggh! Why does it have to be so hard?

This one says we’re more sophisticated than we are:

This one says we drink champagne and are skinny:

This one is disturbing but also makes me laugh:

And then these…THESE are just so wrong, I can’t even describe it!

But they’re also intensely funny. I'm not sure what the 1st and 3rd fonts spell out, but it certainly is, uhm, educational. What is wrong with me? I actually want to write a letter in these fonts! I mean, take a good look at “Cocksure”. This will send a message that we’re kinky and/or looking to procreate. But the idea of sending out invitations like this also makes me laugh. Maybe for my bachelorette party…Hmm.

No. Kealoha assures me he’s found a good font that says we’re stable, fun-loving, non-kinky people and that our wedding will be relaxed and fun and a celebration.

That’s what I keep reminding myself.

Now, back to my To Do List. It involves calling my doctor for some anti-anxiety medication. Ah, wedding planning.

43 Things I Did On My Staycation

Well, my staycation is over. That’s right. It’s done and done. It was really good while it lasted, but I was ready for it to be over. I’m really not the type of person that can relax. I mean, I was on a week-long vacation and I still had to start my day with a To Do List. In my head, I was going to accomplish a lot. I was going to read five novels, find an agent at last, lose ten pounds, and totally change my eating habits, and finally put my telekinetic powers to work. I’m certain I have telekinesis because wherever I go, things fall over.

So. Yeah. Those were my goals.

What did I actually accomplish? Here’s my list:

 43 Things I Did On My Vacation

ONE

I read two hundred more pages of that fucking “Sarum: The Never-ending Novel of Fucking England”. I may be paraphrasing that title a little. The blasted thing is nearly 1,000 pages of really small print. It’s like “War and Peace”  only I can’t cross it off Harold Bloom’s list of the Western Canon that I should be reading because this is just a regular old book. Muther humper. It’s killing me…but at 357 pages in, I CAN’T STOP.

 TWO

I prepped an audiobook.

THREE

I walked fifteen miles (total). I walked while shimmying for .025 miles. Don't ask.

FOUR

I lost three pounds and gained two. So, yeah, 1 pound.

FIVE

I didn’t get an agent, but I did eat a burrito. Not sure how those are connected.

SIX

And this morning a lamp fell over while I was downstairs. I wasn’t even around it. That’s how strong my brain-power is. Feel it? It’s giving you a massage on your back. I’m not very good at it. If you feel slightly uncomfortable and like you’re developing a slight rash, don’t worry. It’s just me.

SEVEN

I played Scrabble with friends and found out they both read my blog but never comment on it. Weird.

 EIGHT, NINE, TEN, ETC.

I took forty-two naps.

FORTY-THREE

I did other stuff too, but it’s all random. I did relax. I really did. And at the end while I told Kealoha to pass the chips and dip and rub my feet, I realized…yeah. I need to go back to work. And I needed my kiddos.

-End of List-

They kiddos are back now. Sleeping upstairs after throwing colossal tantrums. Kealoha is downstairs working on wedding stuff. I just had a nice walk with my sister. This isn’t big important stuff like I’d thought I’d ‘achieve’ on my staycation…still, today I feel like I accomplished a lot. Tomorrow…it’s back at it. I’ll be narrating all day long, and touching people in my mind.

I’ll try not to be creepy about it.

Bring on the Dips

I was going to blog today, but I've been too busy setting up my other-blog...a little experiment that's all about dips. Read about it here http://dips.tanyaeby.com/ and make sure your click on About the Dip Master. Trust me.

Scenes From My Life

I am on day four of my staycation and weird things are happening. I think I’m relaxing. Seriously. I know it’s hard to believe but I’m starting to feel the way I feel after taking a Valium to visit the dentist, you know, all loose and totally okay with someone sticking foreign objects in my mouth. Huh.

Maybe that’s not a good comparison. Let’s just say I’m feeling good. I'm "chillaxed". Like this dog:

I’m also accomplishing my daily To Do List of read, write, and work out. I usually throw five or six other things on the list, because, well, that’s what I do.

I mixed a new audiobook demo in hopes I can branch out and get some more work. I’d love to install a home recording studio. Here’s the demo if you’re curious. Oh. Wait. I can't upload it. Damnation! Anyway, it has excerpts from “Exclusive” by Sandra Brown, “Blunder Woman” by some freak, and “Ice Cold” by Tess Gerritsen. I wish I could’ve put her new one on here that I just recorded because I LOVE it. Ah well. *Kealoha rocks! Here's the demo.

I’ve also developed some kind of alien cold. When I breathe, I make this whistling wheezy sound and I’ve started coughing like an old smoker; you know, that kind of cough when you hear someone do it you think, my god, they’re going to cough up a baby. It’s super sexy. Kealoha can’t keep his hands off me, especially when I’m all hooo-waaahh. Yummy.

I took my mom out to lunch to smooth some things over with her. Found a home for one of the cats, and might have a home for our three-legged one…that leaves one more home to find for sweet Mercedes. She’s a cat that likes to sit on your shoulder and stick her butt in your face. Want her? She’s awesome.

And I sent out 5 agent queries on the 4^th of July. One of them wrote me back that day and said: “First I have to congratulate you on one of the best queries I’ve read in some time. I’d love to read your novel.” Now, if I can just get her as excited about the novel as she was about the query.

Today it’s Movie Day with a girlfriend, tomorrow it’s Polish Sausage Night with Kealoha’s parents. The excitement just keeps ticking.

Oh. And I bought my wedding dress. I couldn’t decide which to get so I bought two. I’ll wear the one that makes me feel pretty and thin and the other one I’ll just pull a Miss Havisham (as suggested by writer Jennifer Armintrout). Yeah. I’ll put the wedding dress on and go grocery shopping, or to the dentist, or to the allergist’s, and pretend that it’s TOTALLY NORMAL.

Then I’ll hock up a loogie. Just for that final touch.

Loogie. Ew.

That was probably too much information. I should probably go sit in a moist, hot room or something for a while. See if I can birth me an alien baby.

In love and light, Tanya

Bring on the Staycation and Charlton Heston

Tomorrow, I start my vacation—or rather, my STAYcation. I’m not going anwyhere. I’ve had a few days off this week…but nothing like what’s coming. What IS coming? Uh….er….nothing. I mean it. NOTHING.  

I have six days with no teaching, no narrating…and no children. They’ll be with their dad and stepmom at some cottage. I haven’t had a week to myself with no obligations in, oh, nearly eight years.

I’m a little terrified, frankly.

I don’t think I know how to relax. I certainly don’t know how to not obsess. I’m obsessing even as I write this. I have a meeting with the company I narrate for on Tuesday. They need to talk to me about some ‘issues’ they’re having with me. I’m already thinking of how I can grovel and plead so that I can keep narrating. It’s like I’m suddenly in a dystopian novel and I will accept responsibility and do whatever they want me to, but please let me be safe. And by ‘be safe’ I mean, please let me keep narrating. Yeah. Just like a dystopian novel. Please keep me safe and don’t feed me people…as in ‘people-burgers’…as in ‘SOYLENT GREEN.’

That makes me think of Charlton Heston.

Man, I love his overacting. Even the Christian epics. Maybe I should watch a marathon of Planet of the Apes, Soylent Green, and then top it off with some Ten Commandments. That’ll fill some time.

Right. Where was I?

Instead, my plan for the week: I have a daily schedule so that the lack of things to do doesn’t freak me out too much. Each day I want to read, write, and workout for an hour each. That’s three hours of the day structured, and the rest I can do whatever. I will try not to make complicated To Do lists like I usually do. (Today’s list has ten or so items on it.)

I plan on going to the gym for three of the six days, even though I’m freaked out by the buff housewives and the scary senior citizen who works out so hard that I’m certain he's going to have a heart attack while on the elliptical. I will brave these intimidating people because I want my body back. The one I abandoned like over a year ago for this hippier body. (Note: I said hippier, NOT hipper.)

So. Reading. Writing. Working out. I’ll throw in a matinee or two, some general napping, and trying to stick to my Eating Healthy plan for the week.

I’m so excited/terrified I can barely stand it.

Bring on the staycation! I’m ready. I really am. I can totally do this. Yep.

(Now adding to my To Do List: #12. Remember to Breathe and #13 Watch Omega Man.)

Tunnel Vision--Chapter 20 & THE END

1938, Northern Michigan Insane Asylum Three hundred and seventeen souls took flight during the tuberculosis epidemic. Ama and the rest of the team of nurses and volunteers tended to them, cleaned their beds, soothed their coughs, and prepared bodies for burial. She worked endlessly, at all hours of the day, and took over for Nurse Kolenda when she developed the telltale rattle in her chest. Nurse Kolenda recovered; many others did not. And when the epidemic passed and the halls emptied and were washed and polished again, the hospital returned to its former state as an asylum. Patients were locked in their wards. Treatments for their mental ailments resumed. And a new doctor arrived on campus. He brought with him knowledge of a new technique that would cure the most violent of patients of the terrible spirit writhing within them. By drilling holes into a skull, the mean spirits were released and the patient returned to life quieter, simpler, and (Ama thought) without any personality left. Later, the surgery would be replaced with the simple use of an icepick through the eye and into the frontal lobes of the brain. This, though, would be a decade yet before coming.

Ama grew big with child and though everyone at the asylum knew she was pregnant, knew in fact that Doctor Kinney had placed it within her womb, the nurses and doctors responded with silence. They did not acknowledge the pregnancy and so it was as if it didn’t exist.

Mallie Lyn Peters returned to work at the asylum where she would take up duties as one of the cooks in the three cafeterias. She placed the food order with George who brought her baskets and baskets of meat, cheese, fruits and vegetables. And one day, he brought her a ring.

The moment he slipped the ring on her finger, far away, in the belly of the hospitals, Ama bit her lower lip and began to push.

Her daughter entered the world much as she did…in the shadows…but this time, there were hands to welcome her as several inmates had followed their favorite nurse down into the tunnels. They had not turned their backs to her pregnancy. In fact, they awaited it with anticipation and Ama’s daughter was greeted with laughter and joy.

Ama gave her new child her nipple to suckle. She pulled on it and her lips smacked. The pain that ran through her breast struck her as proof that her child was alive and fierce with longing. She would grow strong and healthy, but she would not grow up here.

On their wedding day, when George carried Mallie Lyn over the threshold and into the small dusty space that was their kitchen, a basket greeted them with a small child wrapped in hospital cloth. Mallie immediately heated some milk and soothed the screaming babe with milk dribbled from a cloth. The newlyweds did not discuss it. They looked at each other and simply nodded. They would call her Elizabeth. She was their daughter, for what does it matter where a person comes from or how they’re brought into the world as long as once they are in it, they are swaddled in love.

Chapter Twenty-One

1957

Now I know. I know the truth of my past, the place where I started, and how my parents came to raise and love me.

Am I better for knowing the truth? Yes. I think I am. I have always felt different from my family, and now I know why. I refuse, though, to believe that I am an abomination. I am not doomed to repeat the mistakes of Dr. Kinney, my biological father. Nor am I doomed to remain trapped in a place like my biological mother, Ama. She was trapped, I think. Or maybe not. Maybe giving me up was a choice that allowed her to do good work at the hospital. She stayed at the asylum until her own death twenty years ago.

To think, I missed knowing her by one year. Had I found this out last year, I might have tracked her down. We would have shared tea and…what? Conversation?

I cannot answer all the questions I have about my birth, but I can answer the ones my daughter will have about her own.

I will tell her that when she was but one month from being born, her grandmother (Mallie Lynn Peters) and I packed my belongings into two suitcases and I left that house on 2^nd Street. I left to dishes crashing and my husband screaming and as Ama did so many years before, I heard the echo of my footsteps as I walked away from him.

We are not who our parents were. We are unique creatures and worthy of love.

Now, as I write this, my darling girl Ama Lynn naps next to me. I can here the soft puffs of breath from her. My mother works in the garden. And I think of what is to come next. I, too, am no longer trapped. I do not know what waits for me and my daughter, my daughter who represents the best parts of me and her father, the best things in life. My daughter represents hope. I will love her. I will tend to her. And when she grows up she will have choices before her, and she will not be afraid.

There is no reason to be afraid.

We will not hide in the tunnels anymore. We will be fiercely happy. We will move forward, into the light.

THE END

What A Difference A Year Makes

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 38. This year, it wasn’t a painful birthday. There was no angst, no tears, no feelings of being ignored. Man, what a difference a year makes.

I like to stop every now and then and look back a year ago to where I was. It helps put things in perspective.

So….

A year ago….

1) I was in a really turbulent relationship. It wasn’t the relationship I wanted, but I felt it was all I deserved. I tried to be okay with not having little things that were important to me. I kept working and working and working on the relationship. I’d break up with him, then take him back, then repeat the process. It was exhausting, and I was miserable, and I stayed in it because I was terrified of being alone. Mostly, I just didn’t think I could have a good relationship, so I should be happy with what I did have.

2) I was five pounds lighter, but my foot still ached every time I walked even a little over a mile. It was like a sharp spear of pain in my foot. (The one I broke.)

3) I just started writing a new book that I posted online called “Tunnel Vision”.

4) I’d been in my new house for just a few months.

5) I was still trying to figure out how to be strong in a relationship.

6) I was teaching summer classes at Kendall.

This year….

1) I’m engaged to a terrific guy who loves me and treats me well, and has all those ‘little’ qualities that are important to me. When I say ‘little qualities’ I actually mean qualities that are a big deal to me. He’s empathetic, kind, emotional, masculine, supportive, and loves me exactly as I am, even with the extra five pounds. I don’t have to work at the relationship because we’re a good match. We respect each other, cherish each other, support each other.

2) Okay. I was five pounds lighter. But I wasn’t happy then. I am now. And happiness is harder to achieve than losing weight. I’m back to working out now and ran a few miles last week. It’s taken over a year and a half for my foot to heal enough to handle this. But finally, after a year and a half, there’s no more pain in my foot.

3) I wrote THE END on “Tunnel Vision” last week. I also finished “Foodies Rush In” in November. I’m rewriting both novels and looking for an agent and publication. Next month, I hope to start on book #6.

4) I’ve been in my home for over a year. I love it. It’s the safest, nicest place I’ve ever lived, and now it’s a home to me, Kealoha, and my kiddos.

5) I’ve finally figured out how to be strong. Not just in a relationship (although Kealoha makes it easy) but in ALL my relationships. I’ve discovered that curious thing called ‘boundaries’. I should get a blue ribbon in therapy.

6) I finished my summer classes at Kendall and for the first time in over two years of nonstop constant working, I am taking a week-long vacation. It’s a staycation, because I’m staying home. I’m reading, writing, re-energizing.

My point is, that no matter where you are in your life right now, it helps to see where you’ve been. So much can happen in a year. Sure, I’m older and a little heavier now, and I still haven’t achieved all the things I want…but I’m happy.

I don’t know what’s going to happen this year, but I do know that Kealoha and I are getting married, I’m going to keep writing and trying to get published, I’m going to keep trying to improve on teaching and narrating, I’m going to hug and squeeze my kiddos as much as possible…and…well….so far, it looks like I’m going to keep on being happy.

Just a year. But, man, what a difference a year makes. And according to Dinah Washington...you don't even need a year. You just need twenty-four hours and your whole world can change. Let's hope for the better. :)

Happy Meal Toy FROM HELL

Yesterday, I took the kids to McDonald’s. They wanted to go because Louis saw that they had Pokemon Happy Meals and Simone said they had Doll Happy Meals for the girls. I figured, hey, it’s the beginning of summer and let’s celebrate with a trip to Hobby Lobby for some crafts and finish it off with a trip to McDonald’s. This would be like a kids’ Double Rainbow Day. Hobby Lobby went off without a hitch…but McDonald’s…man. Let’s just say that my daughter now has a deeper understanding of the violence of mankind.

As I was driving, I heard Louis say “Yes!” (I imagine with some air-fist-pumping). I waited to hear Simone’s reaction to her toy. She screamed. Really! There was this high-pitched, terrified scream from the back of the car. “What’s wrong?” I cried.

Then she showed me.

I can’t blame her. Imagine opening your bag of heavily processed food to find THIS:

That’s right people. A decapitated Barbie. I guess it’s never too early to introduce kids to that scene in the Godfather. Got to prepare them for life. Life is brutal, man. Brutal.

“Where’s her body, Mom?” Simone cried. (She really was crying, like tears and everything.)

I tried to explain (while navigating the road and 28th street traffic): “Honey, she’s supposed to be that way. You’re supposed to pretend you’re learning to do hairstyles and you just, you know, work on her hair.”

“Oh.” Simone didn’t sound convinced. “Mom, could you go back to McDonald’s and get me one that has a body? I don’t like this one.”

I assured her I would.

Later, looking at the doll, I realized that not only is she decapitated, but she’s black. Now, I’m all for diversity. I’m glad that McDonald’s is now offering dolls in a variety of cultures…BUT SHE’S DECAPITATED. They better have some white dolls decapitated too. What are they thinking? Seriously? I bet you anything that the white dolls have entire bodies that are skinny in trendy outfits and they’re carrying like a puppy and a latte or something.

I’m still shivering just thinking about that. I have now enrolled Simone in therapy. We’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.

But I do have to go back to McDonald’s and see if I can get the rest of the toy’s body. That’s how they get you to keep going back. Fuckers.

Review "The Tiger's Wife"

For my Slow Down And Read campaign, I'm slowly working my way through a list of summer reads. Some new, some classic, some literary, some popular. And some of the books I'm listening to as audio versions. This way I can read one book and listen to another. Here's my review of Tiger's Wife:

The Tiger's Wife by Téa Obreht
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I sorta don't get it. True, I did listen to the audio version and that can be different. I don't know. I just expected...more. I thought that there was some terrific writing in it (and the voice of the grandfather will give you chills) but it felt really fractured to me and the payoff wasn't what I was hoping for. The narrator is enjoyable. I think she narrated the Hunger Games series too and I like her style. I liked Obreht's blending of fairytale/folklore with aspects of the war, but all in all, the piece felt too disjointed for me to be left with much of a payoff. It is enjoyable and worthwhile. Maybe all the hype just made me think it was going to be something more than it was.

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Tunnel Vision--Chapter 19

1957, Traverse City, Michigan In my mind, I hear my mother’s footsteps echoing in the very corridor I’m standing in now. My adopted mother has taken me on a tour of Munson Hospital, formerly known as the Northern Michigan Insane Asylum. It is not the facility we’re looking at, but ghosts. I see my father in the shadows. He is a threatening force. And I see my mother in the way the light pours in through the windows.

Of course, I am not sure if I should even call Ama my mother. Isn’t a mother the person who raises you, who loves you, who tends to you? Is a mother purely biological, or is it a choice?

I run the palm of my hand over the smooth curve of my belly and within me my daughter shifts.

Something else shifts in me too. An idea, maybe. Something about life. How much of our lives, our happiness, is a choice? And how much is forced upon us? The woman who stands before me now, her shoulders hunched, her face lined with age and worry and the pain of giving birth to six children (only three who are still living), this woman…what choices has she made in life? I am almost afraid to ask her.

It turns out that I don’t have to.

“Come on, dear,” my mother says to me, her voice lilting with the brogue of her youth. “Let me grab my shawl and we can walk home and have a cup of tea. It will soothe the little one within you.” She smiles briefly and for a moment I catch a glimpse of the woman she was before my father died. “Perhaps it will soothe me too. Let us have the rest of the story. I will tell you what happened next.”

She tells the head nurse that she is leaving for the day. I follow her out the door, leaving both the darkness and the light of the asylum behind me.

As we walk down the long path that leads to the gate, I realize that even this place has undergone a transformation. There are no longer cries from crazed spirits, but the hollow silence of a hospital ward. Things are sterile now and humane. Some say it is on account of the frontal lobotomies practiced here. They say modern science has brought a great calm. I don’t know if that is true.

Sometimes when there is silence, trouble boils underneath.

I know this, because there is something boiling within me.

The gate is iron and twenty feet high. It is open. We walk through and turn the corner. My mother’s house, my old house, is only two blocks away. While we walk, I slip my arm into hers. We walk home in silence. I can wait a few minutes more for the rest of the story.

No.

Not ‘the’ story. I can wait a few minutes more for ‘my’ story. That’s what this is about after all. It’s about me. The place where I began. Was I a choice or a curse? Did I begin with hope or with fear? Does it even matter? For me, it does. I am so close to deciding what I must do, but before I can think of the future, I have to fully understand my past.

It’s waiting for me. Just there. Shivering in the distance.

I can almost touch it.

Diet Update

Not that you NEED to know this, but I've finally lost some weight. Nearly 3 pounds. Sure, it took a month, but consider that I was narrating during that month. Now that I'm on my super vacation (meaning no teaching and no foreseeable narrating) I'm going to up my workout time, and down my potato chip time. Not 'down' as in 'snarf'. 'Down' as in reduce my time with potato chips.

I can do this. I can totally do this. My stomach is already thanking me.

On Furniture And Happiness

I had one of those “old habits die hard” moments. Or maybe it should be “I’m still acting and responding in old patterns” moments and “I really need to stop doing that”. My writing space is tucked into the corner of the kitchen. I have a cute little antique desk (which is really an old sewing cabinet). I like the desk and being where there’s lots of light, BUT I don’t have any space for a printer, or my writer-type stuff.

It occurred to me that maybe I should get a new desk. So, I planned it all out…how I would talk to Kealoha about it, how I would justify it, etc. See, when I was married, getting furniture became this huge symbol. I wanted a new couch and my ex refused. We never had enough money. Actually, we had enough money but he didn’t think my wanting a new couch was important.

Near the end of our marriage, I had pleaded for new furniture so frequently that my ex finally gave in…but only after I’d saved enough money from narrating to take care of the cost. We finally got the new couch and chairs, but at that point no furniture could fix what was missing from our relationship. When I left, my ex refused to let me have any of it. It became this whole symbol of not feeling cherished or listened to. I was a stay-at-home mom and was inside constantly raising our two kids (who are only seventeen months apart). I just wanted a new couch. Something without stains on it. Something that didn’t come from my ex’s previous marriage. More than that, I just wanted to be taken care of.

So when I decided that I’d like a new writing desk, I had everything planned out.

Kealoha would come home and this is what I would say:

“So, I’d really like a new writing desk. I want something that has drawers and I can put paper in. And I’d like it big enough so that I can have the printer next to me and space for some other things. It will be a business expense so it will come out of my business account. It’s not superficial. I need it. It’s important to me. I spend so much time writing and working that I want a space that allows me to do this. If you want, I can save a little longer, but I do have the money to cover it…."

I had everything planned. I would make my need known and demand that I get a new desk. I would not wait another five years for something that was important to me. This time, I would be heard! I was already getting a little angry and I hadn’t even talked to Kealoha yet.

Kealoha came home. Armed with my arsenal of reasons I said: “I’d like to get a new desk and…”

He didn’t let me finish. “Sure. You want to plan a daytrip to Ikea?”

Just like that.

My mouth dropped open. I stammered “But I need it and I can pay for it and…”

He just looked at me. “Let me check the calendar. We could look for some stuff for the kids’ rooms too.”

It sort of makes me cry. It’s just another reason why I’m crazy about this guy.

And so it begins...Again. Again to the power of 4.

Damnation!  I promised I was through with dieting! I swore to the air gods above and said: I! WILL! NOT! DIET! Then I ate a ton of crap and couldn't fit into any more of my pants.

Now, with the wedding looming in just 98 days (holy shit! That's less than 100!) I've realized that I just have to suck it up, because if I want to wear the wedding dress I've got my eye on...just sucking it in won't be enough.

So I'm starting a diet. Again. But, yeah, I'm trying to be all healthy about it and not actively DIET--more like just stop eating all the crap and exercising more.

If this works, I'll turn it into a book and sell millions. It will be called "Stop Eating Crap. Exercise More". That'll be the whole book. I'll just fill the other 300 or so pages with lots of meaningless stuff about buffalo and bigfoot and then put in some recipes.

So. Here I go. Starting right now. I'm going to put down my chip and walk away. Walk slowly away.

I probably better step away from the bacon too. Hmm. Make that run away. Run so FAR away. And with that, I leave you with this:

Ah, Summer. No work. No income. Gah!

Around noon today, I’ll finish narrating the last novel I’m booked for. That means at 12:01 today, I officially begin my summer vacation. Well, sort of unofficially. I still have one day left of teaching, but that’s just exams and grading. I don’t have to plan anything. So. Summer vacation. Two months of not teaching…and no narration booked. Part of me is having a panic attack, I have to admit. Usually with narration I have something lined up, but nothing yet. It’s entirely possible I could go two months without work or income. I’m a little bit terrified. Both of not working (how DOES one relax?) and not getting paid.

At the same time, I’m really excited. I have two months to focus on reading, writing, and just recharging. It’s time to get my writing house back in order, and slip into some good novels. I’ve already started “Sarum” (a novel about England). When it came to me in the mail via Amazon, I opened the box and was shocked to find out that that muther is almost 1,000 pages of very small print. 1000 pages! And it begins with like the Ice Age or something. I guess there’s a reason it’s called the Novel of England. If I make it through that, I think I’m going to read some Carson McCullers and some other classics.

I should be excited. I really should. And I think I am it’s just…well…trying to find a home for the cats is depressing. There are no takers yet. My daughter is heartbroken, so is my son and Kealoha. Where are the Crazy Cat Ladies when you need them?  And then the concept of two months without an income is terrifying to me. What if I’m never hired to narrate again? What if teaching falls through? What if I can’t write a single word in my new literary novel?

I’m trying to tell myself to shut up. I talk too much. I worry too much. But then I just start talking again.

I’m trying to use that whole ‘affirmation’ thing and remind myself that this is just a vacation. I can take a vacation. And someone, someone will want to give my cats a home. And my kids will start getting better. And Kealoha and I are going to have a great wedding. And I’ll lose the five pounds I’ve been trying to since I broke my foot. And my mom will find an apartment that works for her and she’ll stop stressing me out. And I do believe in fairies, I do, I believe in fairies so much that I’m just going to clap my hands right now! clapclapclap

Yep. I’ll just repeat these things endlessly until I get so tired of listening to myself obsessing that I just plain shut it.

I’m thinking that’s going to be at 12:01 today. At 12:01 today, I’m going to sit outside and just breathe for a while and enjoy the start of my vacation.

And I’m going to turn the next page in my book.

Meet Mist & Peanut. They need a home. They will love you.

MEET THE CATS

If you want to know why I’m giving away these adorable kittehs, check out the previous blog HERE. We love these cats, but my kids have developed pretty severe allergies.

Mist and Peanut are adorable cats. They’re one year old and were littermates. They’re so cool, they have different dads. They’re as quirky as can be.

THE MIGHTY MIST

Mist is a boy cat but was named Misty. So, yeah, a boy named Misty. He’s part Siamese so that means he’s a climber. He will play and snuggle with you when he wants to. He’s spirited (that’s the part-Siamese in him) but sweet. He likes to look at you like he’s stoned, but really he’s just thinking about stuff. He’s not very bright, but he has a good personality.

THE SUCKLER--PEANUT

Peanut is Mist’s emotionally needy sister. She still suckles when someone will let her. (Not your nipple, people; she suckles blankets.) She needs a little extra love because she only has three legs. She’s got a pirate stub. I’m sure she gave part of her leg up to another animal because she wanted to make that animal happy. She’s a giver and not real clear on dysfunctional relationships.

Both cats are used to kids. They are great pets. We’d love to find a home that will take both of them since they’ve never been separated, but if we have to split them up, we will. We just don’t want to take them to the pound.

Mist and Peanut come to you with toys, litter boxes, a scratchy thing and a giant cat tree if you want it. We’ll even throw in some food and cat litter.

I’ll write about Mercedes later, but she’s Kealoha’s cat and we still have to make some decisions. We might be able to find her a temporary home until we can figure something out.

So. Two spirited cats from Blunder Woman. Let me know if you can help.

My cats need a home. Here's why.

It’s with a heavy heart that I’m writing this blog, but I’ve got to do it. I need to find a home for my lovely, quirky, sweet cats. Trust me; I don’t want to give them up…but because of my kids, I’ve got to.

If you read my blog then you know I’ve been struggling with this issue for some time, and have had 'discussions' with my ex about it where I was accused of being selfish. I wasn't selfish. I really was thinking about the whole picture: how much the kids love the cats and what cats teach humans about empathy and love.

We found out a few months ago that my son who is 6 suffers from allergies and the allergies cause his asthma to flare. He’s allergic to the air basically. Broken down it’s cats, dogs, dust, weeds, grass, trees and mold. I decided to keep the cats because since he’s allergic to basically EVERYTHING and has to be on allergy shots anyway, then I thought we could manage the cats and keep his allergy symptoms under control.

But his allergies are getting worse, the circles under his eyes deeper, and he’s having more asthma attacks.

And then today, my daughter (who is 5) had her appointment with the allergist. While she’s not as severe as my son, she’s still allergic to cats, dogs, dust, mold, two kinds of trees and mold. Not weeds for some reason. A good thing too, because she likes to pick dandelions and random weeds to decorate our house with.

Her allergies are still developing but the doctor said if we can reduce her exposure, she might not need allergy shots.

When I look at my kids, when I see how much they’re sick and how often, how many times they wake up (and wake me up) in the middle of the night coughing, and how dark those circles are under their eyes…well…I love my kids so much that I just can’t justify keeping the cats anymore.

And it’s a little bit devastating. I’ve tried everything though. Cleaning, vacuuming, etc…but it doesn’t help.

So…I need to find a home for Mist and Peanut and possibly Mercedes.

Please CLICK HERE to meet Mist and Peanut. They need a good home. Can you help?

On Weddings (more deep thoughts)

WEDDING

This weekend was a weekend of weddings with a heavy side of expectations and disappointments. Now there’s a sentence that will make you want to keep reading. It’s not depressing; I promise you.

We went to a friend of Kealoha’s wedding. Funny thing is, once upon a time, she was friend of mine. In fact, she was a housemate of mine fifteen years ago, in the very house I met Kealoha. She was the owner of the house and the hot tub (from which I emerged wrapped in towels). I lived with her for over a year or so and it was the first time in my teenager and young adult years (I was 22) that I lived in a home that was both beautiful and safe.

She was older than me…I think she was 35 to my 22 and I remember thinking how ‘old’ she was, something I laugh at now. Watching her get married, a peculiar thing happened. I was flooded with happiness for her, but I also felt regret…for ways I’d behaved when we were roommates. In my early twenties I was particularly self-centered. Lots of reasons for that, but a lot of it came down to immaturity. I didn’t understand loneliness at that time, or wanting to find a life partner, and I wasn’t very sympathetic to her wants.

Now, at almost 38, having felt deep loneliness and luckily having found my ‘life partner’ I can look back and think: man, I was an insensitive little turd. That’s right. A turd.

So I attended the wedding as I am now: 37, with my 2 kids and Kealoha and lots of learning under my belt, but my younger self was there too…in how people I haven’t seen in a decade or more responded to me, and that little ghost whispering behind my ear.

My roommate did eventually find love. She married and was happy for a time, and then became a widow. Then she found love again and the couple beamed with good humor and love and warmth. It was lovely. Plus, there was a crab boil afterwards. I don't know. It gave me hope for my girlfriends who are still searching.

It was light and summery and fun….and I just thought for a moment that isn’t life funny, the way it works out. 15 years ago, I never thought I’d have a family of my own, never imagined my life would turn out the way it has. Thankfully, where I’m at now is exactly where I want to be, even if all the details are different than I imagined.

WEDDING ALBUM

Then for father’s day, we went over to Kealoha’s parents for chicken and corn and pie. Mmmm. After dinner and while the kids played over and around Kealoha, his mom and I went into the basement to look at photos. She showed me their wedding album from about 45 years ago. It was actually really interesting. I loved her dress and the bridesmaid’s….and how everyone was just plain young. She pointed out people in the wedding and on the dance floor and told me of their future.

Some of them divorced; some remarried. Some stayed single. Some were gay. Some died early; some died after a long life. Some struggled. Some were happy. Some she never saw again. It’s all very Our Town.

It was all so random…and then I had one of those moments thinking about the wedding we were just at, and the wedding we’ll have in October. How all these people will come together to help us celebrate. For that one moment, we’ll all be frozen in what will be (hopefully) a joyous occasion…and then life will go on. There will be heartbreaks, and disappointments and joy and love and twenty years from now who will be left? And who will be living exactly the life they envisioned they would?

Kealoha’s parents thought they’d be grandparents by now, but they aren’t. I feel for them. It's hard to have expectations and dreams that you have no control over. By this time, I thought I’d have a bestseller and a huge house and a kitchen with an island so big you’d get lost on it. (Actually, that was just a dream, not an expectation.)

I don’t know. I guess what I’m saying is I realized that even though you plan your life out, you never know what’s going to happen. I guess there’s something beautiful to that too. That life will, no matter what, surprise you.

My roommate found love not once, but twice. I’ve found love at 37.

We’ve all grown up, lived, suffered, rejoiced. I find this to be really, really comforting.