Inspiring!

April 19, 2012June 10, 2012 / roughwighting / 9 Comments

I am thrilled that I was nominated for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award by Wendy Strohm (http://wendystrohm.wordpress.com/), whose blog I discovered through luck. I enjoy her poems daily. Thank you Wendy for this honor!

The rules of the award include that I share 7 things about myself, and then pass the award on to 7 other bloggers and let them know I have awarded them.

1. I live in the San Francisco Bay area (after childhood in southern New Jersey, college in Virginia and Pennsylvania, young adulthood in Delaware, and a 10-year-stint just recently in the Boston area).

2. I read at least a book a week. Almost all fiction. I roam from literary fiction, mystery, romantic suspense, chick lit, and sci fi/fantasy. Love it all!

3. I walk with my pal Henry (a 10-year-old golden) at least an hour a day on paths and sidewalks along the San Francisco Bay, where I hatch plots and ponder the secrets of the universe.

4. My man and I raised our two children in the Bay area, and now enjoy watching them raise their families in the Berkeley Hills and in Boston.

5. I work at the community Landmarks Society, where we small staff of five maintain four gorgeous historic sites, including the chapel where my guy and I were married, and then 28 years later, where our daughter was married. One of these days I’ll write about how we ‘live history.’

6. I’m afraid the 7 things about myself are boring. I don’t jump out of airplanes, sail the world, run marathons in Tahiti, nor do I bike races between SF and LA (all experienced by some of my friends!). Instead, I teach creative writing classes, I write, I read, I play with grandbabies, I walk, I love my man, talk to my kids almost daily, and, oh yeah, ponder the secrets of the universe.

7. I have completed my suspense novel, THE RIGHT MAN, and am in the process of deciding to self-publish. The book is fun, fast-paced, and I can’t wait to share it with you all!

Now, 7 bloggers who inspire me, in no necessary order:

1. http://wendystrohm.wordpress.com/ (accessible poetry)

2. http://compassionateteachersf.blogspot.com/ (delightful musings on the ‘Zen’ life)

3. http://www.hencam.com/henblog/ (a delightful blog about life in the Little Pond Farm coop)

4. http://telltalesouls.com/blog/ (wonderful insights into writing a mother memoir, as well as great book reviews)

5. http://upwoods.wordpress.com/2012/04/19/shanghai-and-away/ (heartfelt writings about life in Lake Superior)

6. http://www.dailylifestuff.blogspot.com/ (beautiful daily life photos and comments of family and nature)

7. http://www.abbyofftherecord.com/2012/04/18/work-worth-and-figuring-out-what-really-matters/ (fun and honest stories on young motherhood and LIFE)

To my readers, THANK YOU for sharing my muse.

Other awards I’ve received this year:

JOY

April 13, 2012 / roughwighting / 14 Comments

We greet each other with serene soft smiles.

“How was yours?”

“Fantastic. How was yours?”

“Unbelievable. I never had one of these before. This is so amazing.” Another smile and I laugh.

A special day out, just the two of us, away from other family members and work and stress and the daily detritus of living.

We walk slowly to the locker room, touching each other’s faces. “Wow, yours is so soft,” she whispers.

I peer into the large, round blue eyes of my daughter. Everything about her is soft – her lips, her smile, her heart. I touch her skin. “And warm,” I reply.

“Hot towels. The lady placed these hot towels over my neck and my checks and my forehead until only my mouth, nose, and eyes were exposed. It’s rainy and windy and cold outside. Do you know how good that felt?”

I giggle. “Not to mention the heated sheets we laid on, and the flannel blanket on top of us.”

“I didn’t want to get up,” my daughter, mother of two little ones, admits.

We stand in front of the mirror in the well-appointed locker room, checking out our newly puffed pink faces. Our eyes catch each other’s during mid-primp, and we grin even wider.

Mother/daughter joy.

Soft faces, happy hearts

Searching for Your “People”

April 6, 2012 / roughwighting / 7 Comments

Last night I went to bed early to finish a good book, leaving Henry (the dog) and the other man of the house watching TV in the family room. Suddenly I heard Henry bark. It wasn’t his “I have to go out bark,” or “Where’s my dinner bark,” but his “Help! I can’t find you, Where are you?” bark.

I laughed and called for him, and he came bouncing to me happily, tail wagging as if I’d been lost and finally found.

His reaction reminded me of how important we are to each other – “we” meaning our family members, our good friends, our “people.”

Almost two years ago Henry, my man, and I moved cross country, driving in our SUV over 8 hours a day, Henry sprawled out in the back seat happier than a clam in mud. After all, he had us, “his people,” alone in a small moving box for hours at a time. For once, he always knew where we were. He’d lift his head up from the little cave we’d built him with blankets, his water bowl, and a ball, and he’d smile so wide I realized that he’d be happy if we all lived in the car forever.

But within 6 days we arrived at Truckee, our last stop before reaching the S.F. bay area. Reservations had been made at the ‘dogs allowed’ hotel, and we were relieved to find our room on the first floor near the exit door and a good walking path.

Henry sniffed at his new spot for the night, a bit anxious that it smelled differently than the night before. My man took several trips to carry luggage and laptop and dog essentials from the car to the room, and then we unpacked the necessities, as had become our routine.

Until we heard an anxious bark outside our room from far away, and then another, and another.

“It is a dog-friendly hotel,” we both remarked to each other, smiling and looking for Henry’s perked ears and curious eyes.

But Henry was not there. He was gone! We searched the corners of the room, the bathroom, the closet.

The outside barks became more insistent. “Where are you?” the bark said. “Where are you?”

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “That’s Henry’s bark!”

We yanked open our hotel door. Way down the lengthy hotel hallway, we saw a yellow blur. Our 9-year-old golden was running up and down the long corridor, barking past each door, shouting “Where are you?”

“Henry, here!” I shouted. He flew toward us like a happy puppy, like a child who’s momentarily lost a parent, like a person who has been reunited with his loved ones.

We had a sweet reunion with hugs and licks and a tail wagging so hard it hit the other side of the hallway, causing a couple of doors to open with inquisitive expressions from the rooms’ residents.

“Our dog was lost in the hallway,” we explained.

“Ah,” the dog owners responded. “Now he’s found his people.”

Exactly.

Happiness is time spent with some of my "people."

Calm DOWN!

March 30, 2012 / roughwighting / 20 Comments

I haven’t seen my East Coat grandchildren in three months. Maybe, at the ages of 2 and 3, they won’t remember me.

So, like any self-respecting, upright, honest and upstanding woman, on this visit I bring 2 singing stuffed animals, 2 books, 2 lollipops, and a bag of my famous chocolate chip oatmeal bars.

They may not remember me, but by God, they will like me!

I arrive at their 1-week vacation cottage, a place where they’ve never seen me, so they could be even more confused about who I am and how I fit into the scheme of things. But as soon as I enter the front door, I’m greeted with “Madre! Come see my room!” “Madre, look at my car!” “Madre, can I have my pop now?” “Madre, let’s play outside!”

I breathe a sigh of relief as they cuddle with me, sit on my lap while I read stories, play with my sparkling earrings, and stroke my face like a blind person making sure my lips, eyes, nose have remained in place.

But.

Still.

I want to be the good Madre, because after this week, I won’t see them again for at least three more months.

So when they jump on the couch, I bite my lip.

When they eat their lollipops and touch the doorknobs with their sticky fingers, I only let an ‘ugh’ escape.

When Sophie brushes my hair and pulls too hard on a curl, I just laugh.

Until bed time.

The three of us are sharing the room – Sophie and I are in the double, Clark in his own little futon. The clock is pushing 10 and I’m exhausted, but Clark is yet again sneaking out of the room like a little munchkin looking for Oz.

“Clark!” I yell, scaring the poor kid into scampering back to his bed like a bird into his cage.

“That’s enough!” I continue. “Bed! Time!”

Sophie jumps out of her side of the bed and stands in front of me, chest puffed, hands held above her head.

“Madre, Madre!” she exclaims dramatically, moving her arms from the up position to below her waist. “C a l m D O W N! Just C A L M d o w n.”

“But…!” I begin to protest. But then I realize, what the hell, she’s right!

And I laugh.

And continue to be the good Madre the rest of the week.

Calming Down

Eating the Broccoli

March 23, 2012 / roughwighting / 19 Comments

I love broccoli and fresh green beans. I love cauliflower and Brussel sprouts, artichokes and corn, asparagus and spinach. Especially spinach.

But I didn’t always. Remember when you were a kid, and your parents made you eat those obnoxious green stringy horrid disgusting things called “vegetables”?

Why did we hate them so much? I remember plopping my peas into my glass of milk (whole milk, back in the day before the choices of non-fat or low fat) in order to hide them. Drip. Drop. Drip. One pea at a time. Thinking I’d get away with it. But my parents also made me finish my glass of milk every night. And surprise! A half dozen round peas lay in the bottom of my glass like tiny drowned smarmy green mice. My tears and histrionics drowned out the parental order: eat those mice or ‘NO DESSERT!’

When did I learn to appreciate the finer aspects of the green goodies that help us stay lean and mean like a well-oiled machine (wasn’t there an ad somewhere, sometime, like this for say, asparagus? If not, should have been.)

I can’t remember eating spinach enthusiastically until I was pregnant with my first child. Then, I couldn’t get enough of it. I’d stroll down the grocery aisles surreptitiously, sneaking into the freezer section, piling boxes of frozen spinach one at a time, looking right and left to make sure no one saw. After all, who eats spinach voraciously like a wolf attacking red meat?

I’d rush home and start a small saucepan of boiling water, dropping in that iced square of green stringy stuff, timing the steaming impatiently, sighing with satisfaction as I gorged on the delicious delicacy with pure delight.

Some say my body craved iron; I say I just finally learned to let go of my prejudices and discover the goodness of vegetables.

Aldous Huxley once wrote: “The charm of history…consists in the fact that, from age to age, nothing changes and yet everything is quite different.” Same with broccoli and childhood. My grandchildren are now squirming through the difficulties of eating their vegetables. Sophie, 3 ½ years old, shows her quiet resolve to make it through this ordeal with good cheer as she “eats the broccoli.”