Predictions for 2008

No one's reading this anyway, so here are my predictions for...me!

1. I'll kick things off with an appropriate topic for this blog, my own health. In 2008 I will master the art of self care, forget I know anything about it, pretend I never learned it, and then find it again. I will also lose 92 pounds and gain ten, but not in that order. Monthly facials, biweekly massages, regular pedicures and manicures will be the standard, and I will have great, comfortable shoes. Wait, is that health, or fashion? I don't do fashion, so it must be health.

Here's a photo of "me" this time next year:



Okay, that's Rebecca Field from the badly written show (that I secretly watch online), "October Road." I love how the writers say, "but WE talk that way." Hmmm...

Anyway, I think she's cute, and they make a big deal about her being the "plain" girl the hot ex-quarterback STREET SWEEPER dares to date. Right. She's totally hot. I want to have her bod and my face, except maybe a bit more up top. Actually, a dream body would be Susan Sarandon, but I'm try to be practical in even-numbered years.

2. Family. Just putting "family" at the number two spot is a good sign. Usually, I have to remember to put it on the list. Which isn't to say that I don't love, care and sacrifice for my family. It's just I don't always think in terms of how my family could have more fun and love, or rather, how I could be more fun and loving to my family.

We've got our summer trip planned, and for once, I'm going to leave work at home and jump in the lake. Which means, I will purchase a swimming suit, and take the stick out of my ass. Here's a photo (of the suit, not the stick):



Maybe that's me in 2009, but a girl can dream. I will likely have a cover up on most of the time, but I will get in the lake. And that will mean more fun and love for me and my family. (It's a metaphor, try and keep up.)

3. In 2008, I will embrace my own voice and step out of the shadows. No, not karaoke. My career. Time to pack up the invisibility cloak and start this party. If any of my clients are reading this, don't worry. I'm not ditching you. I'm just growing up.

Here's me in 2008:



Ooops. That's David Sedaris. Try again:



Nope. That's Tracy Letts. One more try:



Beth! Beth Henley! At last a woman. But alas, not me. But somewhere in me is a mix of all of these luminaries and more, much more. Some Faulkner, some Erdrich, some John Patrick Shanley; some Kushner, some Maupin, some Ira Glass.

Let my voice ring true and strong in 2008.

4. Bank. I will make bank in 2008. I'm changing the financial blueprint. I'm signing on the dotted line. I'm breaking free of fianancial beliefs and getting brand spankin' new ones.

So. Big stuff.

Bye, bye 2007.

Balancing (Act)

December kicked my ass. Birthdays, holidays, visitors, sickness, more sickness, and still more sickness, topped off by my back going out. Nice. I'm giving up on December. Thankfully, there's only one more day left.

I went looking at Free Range Stock to find a photo that represented wellness and vitality, and stumbled upon this image of rocks balancing. Balance is not something I do well. It's not something I do, period. I was struck not so much by the smaller rocks, but by the larger one. And how MUCH larger the larger rock is in comparison to the small rocks. So I ditched the image of a strong woman flexing her muscles, and went with the rocks.

Top of my list for 2008? To be the larger rock.

Modern folks, especially women, very often feel that they need to learn better tools for effective stress management, how to master multi-tasking, and how to be better organized. But that way of thinking just leads to more stress, because it suggests that if we just did more, or better, or faster, we could pull it off. It suggests that we're the problem, when in actuality, it's the circumstance.

Well, I say to hell with all that! I know for a fact that my mother, the poster child for women's liberation, never intended for equality to mean, "do it all, or be damned." Don't we all just want to get off the ride? If even for a moment?

So, I'm going to find me a big rock, and balance all my little rocks on it. I'm going to work on caring for me, so that the big rock, that is me, is stable. And if there are too many rocks, I'll have to put one (or five) aside.

Big talk from a gal like me, I know. Big talk runs in my family. (Yes, I am talking about you...fill in the blank Harpers.)

The thing is I can't get a handle on my health, without changing my environment. Not sure what this means yet. But I'll let you know.

Happy New Year!

Pants

Monday morning, and my thoughts turn to pants. It's a small thing, but my pants are fitting better. No idea if I've actually lost any weight, but the extra room feels good. Like most women, finding the right fit in pants is a problem. But when I am smaller, it won't be quite as challenging. Anyway, here's my pants wish list for the bright shiny day when I can fit into them:

1. A great pair of sexy jeans. NOT skinny jeans, NOT low ridin' jeans, but something else. Sexy on my terms, like a pair of button-down men's Levi's, oversized. That's what I like on my girl, and that's what I'd like to see on me.

2. Yoga pants, black and loose.

3. A pair of cashmere lounging pants (and matching hoodie) to wear around the house. Also a velour track suit, the tacky kind that I see on so many moms at the Palisades Mall. I'd like to get up in the morning, put on my cashmere (or velour) pants/track suit and spend the whole day hanging with my kid, writing, and puttering around the house. I need at least five of these things (plus some pants I can wear in public...).

4. Several pairs of wide-legged, flat-front linen pants from J.Jill.

5. Sweat capri pants from Hanna Anderson. I hear they're fab.

Put the wish list in writing, so the gurus say. Although I'm not sure "pants" is exactly what they had in mind.

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy

Jack is three! Yippee! We made it through babydom and now we are firmly ensconced in childhood. Childhood. Sometimes I think about his childhood, and the memory of it, as it happens. How will he file it all away?

I made it through his birthday party without indulging in one of two cakes, or a slice of one of nine pizzas. But the day after, I fell off the wagon. This month has just done me in. I'm just done in. Stress, writer's block, squabbles, financial challenges, blah, blah, blah.

But my boy, oh my baby boy. I am so proud of you! He is such a star. Some of the parents of his friends call him, "The Mayor." Who would ever think this former wallflower would birth such an outgoing kid?

Jack had a blast at his party, and that's all that matters. As for me me, I'm looking to January already. It's the first year I feel like skipping Christmas....

Death by Baked Goods

I really should title this post, "Triumph Over Baked Goods," but "Death by Baked Goods" is a much better title.

Tonight I went to the famous Rockland Bakery to order a sheet cake for Jack's party. We're making him a Lightning McQueen cake for his birthday, but it will feed just a few kids. Apparently, grassroots organizing rules do not apply to a kid's birthday party, because everyone is coming. You want 12 kids, you invite 24, right? Wrong. We now have 24 kids, plus Jack, and so I needed another cake.

Traffic being what it is at 5:00 PM, I waited a long time to turn left into the bakery parking lot. But it only took two minutes to wake up my olfactory nerves to the yummy, evil smells emanating from Rockland Bakery. Right then and there I knew - I was not going to make it out of there alive.

The place was swamped - have you ever known a bakery to be open until 10:30 at night? Well, this one is. The joint was jumpin', but fortunately I didn't have to wait long to put my order in. Even with the speed of the delightfully competent staff, I still plotted my demise. Layer cake? Black & White? Napoleon?

I kept saying to myself, "There's no way you're making it out of here without a bag full of death." As I signed the slip and handed my credit card over ($52.50 for a sheet cake!!!!), I thought to myself, "You're not strong enough. Just decide on a six-pack of cannolis and be done with it."

Waiting for my receipt I calculated how I would hide the treats from Polly, and which ABC.COM program I would watch while I ate them. By the time the sales person returned I had already rehearsed my "get back on the horse" speech, the one I would tell myself post-binge. I kept thinking of cookies, and layer cake, and buttercream frosting.

And then...I was outside. I was walking to my car. I was putting the keys in the ignition.

I was so wrapped up in my lack of willpower I forgot all about my craving. I had made it out...alive.

Okay, so I was saved by my own wandering mind, not by my hurculean will. But hey, you take what you can get. Now let's see if I make it through two birthday cakes, nine pizzas, and twenty-five three-year olds (and their parents). I think I need a relish tray.

Thanks to Free Range Stock for the photo of delicious baked goods.

:)

Oh Ye Of Little Faith

I've been out of sync, out of touch, and out of my mind (once or twice) since my last post. So many emotions to process from Santa Fe, where it seems I left a piece of myself and only recently got it back. Seeing my dear friend Zoe allowed me to reclaim the place that part of me calls home.

I have a little story about faith. But the story has no ending - yet.

If you read my last blog post, you know I went to see Dr. M. while in Santa Fe. Of course, I came away with a renewed dedication to my own personal health, and I trusted in the plan. Back in New York, I stayed on the plan, but got caught up in the craziness that is being a working mom (out of sync), and so forgot about the meaning of what I was doing (out of touch), and once or twice, felt a bit out of control and panicked (out of my mind). I started to think of myself as stuck again, even as I dutifully took my supplements and avoided ice cream like the plague.

Meanwhile, I went to see Dr. J for my weekly "adjustment." (You know you're a New Yorker when you plan your coffee date with a friend based on the fact that you have therapy appointments at the same time in the same neighborhood.) Toward the end of the session she offered that I have great ideas (i.e. good intentions), but something happens that stops me from executing them. And she's not talking about my brilliant business ideas or plot twists, she's just talking about my plan to pick up quilting again to stave off late-night binges, or my brainy idea to wake up at 4:00 a.m. to write "something I care about."

At some point I forget my idea/intention, and get caught in the swirling of emotion. In other words, I lose faith. Faith in my own ideas and intentions, which basically means I lose faith in myself.

The next day I woke up to a repeat performance of my dreaded "throat thing," this nasty sickness that had me in the emergency room earlier this year - and caused to me to lose weeks and weeks of work. I panicked. I knew the Dr. M. didn't want me to take any antibiotics, but at the same time I was cursing the moment I threw the the half-full bottle away in his office trash can. I plotted how I could get my hands on a new bottle.

Sure, alternative medicine is good for general health and well being, but my throat thing - no way. It was as if I had forgotten everything he told me, and everything I believed. But before I could make an appointment with an M.D., Polly convinced me to call Dr. M. for his advice. He told me to take this thing and that thing from the health food store. I did. Next morning, I wake up with tonsils the size of plums, and an earache to beat all earaches. I fantasize about antibiotics. I panic. I forget all of my ideas, all of my intentions, and I contemplate when I should go to the doctor - before or after we drop Jack off at Patrick's office. I go for after.

We're driving into Manhattan on the West Side Highway and Dr. M. calls me again. He assures me antiobiocs will be counterproductive, and gives me three more remedies to try. I hang up and think about faith. How I lost faith in him the minute I got sick. I feel a bit ashamed. I decide to give it another try.

When we get to the office, Graham has left me a present of homemade Thieves Oil to help with my sickness. When I get home, I notice the remedies - those of Dr. M and the Thieves Oil - are working. I feel a bit better. I expect to feel worse in the morning.

In the morning, I feel a bit better still. The swelling is actually down. I am shocked. When I had this earlier this year, western medicine's methods seemed to only make things worse, to the point where I could not talk or swallow or think. I try another remedy. I can talk. I can swallow. I can think. I can get through the day. Tonight, Polly tries another remedy for me, where she massages my neck and shoulders with hot ginger oil where my tonsils hurt. I feel markedly better. I am actually better.

I can hear my mother now: Oh ye of little faith. (She loves to say anything that starts with, "oh ye.")

But she's right (don't tell her, she already knows). I need to get me some more faith. And Dr. J is right too. I drop my ideas and intentions before I act on them. More faith is required.

Years ago Patrick and Polly and I met up in Santa Fe for a vacation, and I went to see our meditation teacher who was also doing astrological readings. I came back excited about all of the possibilities and probabilities, and again, a renewed sense of dedication. More great ideas. More great intentions. Patrick said, "But you already KNOW this is true. Why do you need him to tell you what you already know?"

I was irked at him at the time, but he was right (don't tell him, he already knows). Something happens to me in between hearing or getting a great idea, promise, intention, or notion. Something that leads me to abandon it until I receive another revelation from an expert, a friend, or the stars above. I look for wisdom everywhere but inside myself. I trust everyone but my own self (except with this mothering thing - I feel pretty good about that so far).

I need more faith. In me.

See how there's no ending to this story?