Stay Classy

Undefined

I do not feel funny or irreverent.

I do not feel reflective or insightful.

I do not feel creative or innovative.

What does one write about in such a mood?

I feel like I could jump in the car and drive to Alaska. Not to run, but just to see something wildly different.

Itchy.

I feel like whining, but know that I really have nothing to whine about. I am lucky.

I make very little sense sometimes.

Pay no attention. It's just a mood. It happens, right?

That is all.

My 1st Blogiversary!

One year ago today I started my blogging experiment. Could I actually stick with it? Would I enjoy it? And who in the world would ever read it?

One year later, I've discovered that I can stick with it (305 posts in the first year), I love doing it, and (strangely enough!) a couple of hundred people a day read it!

When I started writing I had no idea where my blog would take me, and most days I still don't. What I do know is that I've rediscovered my love of writing, met some really wonderful people, and built Brady one heck of a baby book.

So thank you for coming along for the ride. Thank you for reading, whether this is your first visit or you've been here for all my blathering and rambling and (occasional) whining. And an extra thank you to those of you who comment and share your thoughts and stories and make me feel a little less crazy.

Here's to year #2! I hope you'll stick around! 

Crashed, or I'll Never Make THAT Mistake Again

Remember how last night I mentioned that my laptop was acting funny?

I was totally in denial. It was dying, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was clinging to hope that Paul would use his magical computer powers (or, you know, call the Dell guy) and fix it.

No such luck. My hard drive is toast.

The good news is that it's still completely under warranty, so it won't cost us a penny-- Dell even sends us a box to pay for the shipping. The bad news is that I had been lulled into a false sense of security by the fact that it is a brand new laptop, and I hadn't backed anything up yet.

Every Friday when Julie watches Brady in the morning, I have been writing. Short stories, stories for Brady, articles I'd like to publish some day, even some poetry. It's all gone now, and I have no idea how I'll duplicate it again.

I know that in the grand scheme of things this is SO not a big deal. The economy is in the pooper, Americans are fighting in wars in scary far-away places, and there's still no cure for cancer. Believe me-- I realize that this ranks way down there on the tragedies list.

But right now, I just want my poetry back. Sigh.

The moral of the story-- back up anything you don't want to lose! Do it early and do it often! Stop reading this and do it right now! 

I Am From

Since Brady was born, I've done a lot of thinking about what goes into making us the kind of adults we turn out to be. Childhood is such a big jumble of wants and needs and people and places and changes and ideas, and it's always interesting to look back and see if you can try and pin point some of the specific things that made you the way you are today. In that spirit, I decided to try out an exercise that I found on this blog, which I stumbled on over at this site. It's a poem based on George Ells Lyon's "Where I'm From"-- you can find the outline here. If you decide to make your own, be sure to let me know that you did!

I am from my dozens of worn-out record albums, from Diet Coke and Mac 'n Cheese.

I am from the big old house on Madison Avenue that was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. I am from being terrified of the monsters that surely lived in the basement.

I am from the night blooming jasmine outside our back door, and the gardenia bushes my Nanny brought us.

I am from eating ice cream right out of the container, and emotional sensitivity to a fault, from my mother, who never slows down, and my father, who gives until it hurts, and my brother, who never ever forgets anything.

I am from dark curly hair and flat feet and a competitive spirit that borders on the obsessive.

From "just because they're different doesn't mean they're bad" and "make sure you're educated enough that you never get stuck depending on a man".

I am from putting up a Christmas tree next to the menorah, and being told that it didn't mean we'd get presents for both holidays.

I'm from Monrovia and California and New York, from latkes and tiny chocolate chip cookies.

From dancing to "The Rain in Spain" with my dad, from making up elaborate stories about the neighbors late at night with Heather, and from falling in love with the theater during matinees with my Oma.

I am from memories of the way my family once was, and the growing up I had to do to accept it as it is. I am from friendships that have lasted for decades, and inside jokes that are only funny to one other person in the world. I am from never giving up on the people I love, even when it really, really hurts. I am from dignity, and I am from hope.