Embracing the Absurd

Relatively Maternal

2012-01-25T11:17:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago I had the good fortune to be in NYC and saw the Broadway production of Relatively Speaking. The show is a collection of one-act plays written by Ethan Coen, Elaine May and Woody Allen with Direction by John Turturro. Actors include Marlo Thomas, Julie Kavner and Steve Guttenberg ... wow.

Naturally I walked into the theater with expectation of being royally regaled. I was not disappointed. However I was completely taken off guard by the force of emotion that railed through me during the second performance. The PR blurb states "In George is Dead, Elaine May explores the hilarity of death" and that is what I expected.

But that's not what I got.

Marlo Thomas (a hero of mine from days of That Girl and Free to be You and Me) doesn't disappoint as the incredibly spoiled socialite and suddenly widowed Doreen. But the real star is Lisa Emery who plays Carla Kerns, a frazzled woman desperately trying to make everyone happy - all to her own detriment.

The story is doled out slowly, delicately, and then, shocking in its revelation of how these characters are related. It is not at all about the "hilarity of death" and I wonder how or why Elaine May allowed those words to describe her work.

In fact, George Is Dead isn't about death at all. It IS about a middle aged woman's desperate, and ultimately fruitless, quest for maternal approval. Her crusade is so encompassing that it destroys her marriage, career and self confidence. The failures are hers.

I sobbed after that play. Couldn't catch my breath. People stared. I didn't care.

What does that say about me?

The Homeless Man

2012-01-06T14:48:00.000-08:00

Every day when I take the kids to school we walk by a homeless man sitting in his wheelchair holding out a paper cup. I never give him money. I don't have any to spare.

Yesterday I spontaneously stopped and said, "I'm sorry, I walk by you every day and I never give you money. I wish I could, but I was barely able to pay my rent this month."

He said "Oh NO your family comes first! What's your name, I'm Walter."

So I shook his glove-covered hand and introduced myself.

"Cori," he said, "someday I hope to be in a position to help you. Yeah, I'd like to help you. Have a wonderful day."

And I did.

So he did.

A Flaw in The Golden Rule

2012-01-04T10:08:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I wrote about my 2012 resolution to be kind and I claimed The Golden Rule as my definition of kindness.

I'm wrong.

The Golden Rule (in all it's incarnations) asks you to do to other as you'd like them to do to you. In its simplest form this can be beautiful – a well-meant smile or a sincere compliment – but the phrase itself is selfish. Who's to say if others want to be treated the way you like. For example, some women think that a gentleman should open the door for her and others accuse the act as a statement of implied weakness.

Kindness and The Golden Rule, I've decided, are not interchangeable. Instead, kindness – in the deeper sense than general politeness – means to do to others as they'd like you to do to them. It means looking beyond yourself and standing - as best you can - in their shoes. Respect the person to whom you are communicating by having due regard for their feelings, wishes, rights, and traditions.

Maybe you're the kind of person that welcomes a warm hug as a greeting; others don't. If you know someone isn't a touchy person, greet them with a smile and (if you must) a pat on the shoulder. A mundane example perhaps, but it illustrates my point.

And so I revoke The Golden Rule as a definition of kindness and place in its stead politeness and respect. My revised 2012 resolution.

Be Kind

2012-01-03T10:42:00.000-08:00

In addition to choosing a theme word for 2012, I've also resolved to be kind.

Kindness means all sorts of things to different people. For me, it means to do to others as I'd like them to do to me. If I were Christian, I'd point you to Luke 6:31, the Golden Rule. As a Jew I might tell you read Leviticus 19:18 and hope that I am close enough to be considered a neighbor. Of course, you don't have to dig far to see that every religion has a version of this commandment in its scripture.

When I lived in New York City, a gazillion years ago, I had a roommate from Wisconsin who would say, "kill 'em with kindness." I loved the phrase and began the practice myself. Very quickly I learned that kindness is an extremely effective weapon. A grumpy cab driver or store clerk would visibly relax when greeted with a genuine "hello" and a smile. Saying "thank you" or "I hope you have a great afternoon" would illicit a surprised grin. Smiles are contagious and excellent for maintaining mental health. Did the next customer receive a smile as well? How many people "caught" the original smile bug that began with me?

Being kind also means taking a moment to think before reacting or speaking. My first response to someone being crass might be to defensively return the sentiment. But if I can remember to pause and consider this person's stories (known and not) I might be able to forgive the words and respond with kindness. Perhaps they are dealing with life changes, maybe they got some bad news, it's possible that someone just insulted them or yelled or ... the point is, being kind won't add to their misery and it might just help.

So, if I'm called a bitch by the gardener? Instead of yelling back or taking it personally I could say, "oh gosh, I'm sorry you're having a bad day." Do you think my response would incite him to call me more names? It's possible, but not likely.

Be kind and thrive. It's my 2012.

Sophia from Mugglesam's YouTube Channel

UPDTATE: Shortly after writing this I decided that there is a major flaw in the Golden Rule and kindness is not its equivalent. You can read it here.

Thrive

2012-01-01T16:21:00.000-08:00

The first man I dated after leaving my marriage told me I was a wreck and that I wouldn't be normal for two years. He said it with such certainty that it couldn't be anything but true. This statement - which I took as fact - carried me through the weeks and months that followed. Everything would be OK by the end of 2010 <video>. "I'd be normal."

Funny thing. He was right.

So by the beginning of 2011 I'd reached a new normal. I'd gotten through the divorce and its aftermath. My ex had settled in with his girlfriend - a woman liked by both the kids and me. Online dating lost its intrigue and I gave it up in the first quarter of the year. Concentrating on my new(ish) roll of single mom, I tried my best to conquer the challenges and relish the joys. It's a journey that won't end anytime soon, but it's no longer one that scares me.

So now it's 2012 and I can confidently claim that this particular stage in my life is over. All the energy and effort placed on pushing through the last three years can be forayed towards living a better life. There is a lot I'd like to accomplish in the next several years. I've got things to do and places to go and children to raise and a business to grow. And there isn't anything holding me back anymore. There are no excuses.

On December 31, 2009 NPR suggested summarizing the year in a single word. I chose "transition". And then, in an exercise suggested by a group of friends, I decided on a theme word for 2010 - it was momentum. A verb that I carried all the way through 2011.

Momentum has pushed me along for two years and I've come out the other side. The time has come to change the word and move forward and grow strong. Thrive.

Thrive. It's my theme word for 2012. What's yours?

A Life, Dichotomous

2011-12-17T17:56:00.000-08:00

dichotomy (daɪˈkɒtəmɪ)

— n , pl -mies

1. division into two parts or classifications, esp when they are sharply distinguished or opposed.

Juggling has become a skill in which I excel. Every month I strategically buy groceries, pay the bills, fill my gas tank and somehow manage to pay my outrageous Bay Area rent. Sometimes it means borrowing money until the next check comes in (I work freelance). Sometimes, when I juggle, things drop.

On the other hand, if you follow me via social networks like twitter, facebook, google+, instagram, flickr, foursquare or here, you might see status updates indicating the opposite: gourmet restaurants, exclusive events, theater seats, trips to Mendocino, Montana and NYC.

How is this possible?

There are a number of explanations. The first is work. I have many fabulous clients that do a variety of wonderful things - such as supporting cultural arts - music, food, dance, wine, performance, etc. I'm lucky enough to be able to attend these events - some of which are exclusively for donors who wear pinky rings worth more than my yearly earnings.

Second, many of my friends have been successful in their careers and work in high places. Maybe they have expense accounts. Sometimes they invite me to their company events. Or they take me to lunch. Either way, I'm the recipient of perks that probably weren't meant for me. And I'm alright with that.

I also have very generous friends. And I'm not just talking about corporate accounts or holiday Secret Santa stuff. In addition to surprise gifts, sponsored vacations and emergency funds, these folks believe in me. I have worth to them. At least this is what I tell myself. In turn, I, myself, begin to feel worthy and THAT is the real gift. The idea that I'm thought of well enough to be gifted an iPad or flown to NY for the weekend. That there are people out there who like to see me happy. Wow.

Finally, as you may expect given the first paragraph of this post, I'm not skilled at keeping a personal budget. As a freelancer there are times that I have lots of work and great big checks appear in my mailbox. But sometimes it's slow and I can barely meet my rent. Why not save the "big checks" for slower times? Because when they arrive I get very excited and after paying off everything I owe, I might think there is enough left over to, say, go to Montana for a few days to hang out with a friend. A smart person would put that money away. So I'm not the smartest. But I'm learning.

In the meantime I lead this dichotomous life - one minute deciding which Broadway show to see and the next selling belongings to come up with money for gas and electric. And that's ok. Half the time.

Cornflake Chicken

2011-12-09T09:07:00.001-08:00

On the side of the Kellogg's Cornflakes box is a recipe for chicken. You can make that, or you can make mine. Mine is easier and the kids eat it.

• 3 cups cornflakes
• 1 package onion soup mix
• 1 egg
• half cup milk
• chicken tenders (package)
• olive oil

Preheat oven to 350.
Prepare baking dish by coating with olive oil.
In a large bowl crush 3 cups of cornflakes and mix in the onion soup mix.
In a smaller bowl whisk together the egg and milk.
Dip chicken tender in egg/milk and then coat in cornflake/soup mix.
Place coated chicken tender in baking dish.
When all are coated and in the baking dish pop it in the oven.
Take it out 30 minutes later (when the juices run clear.)
Serve with coleslaw.

Tastes delicious the next day on a sandwich with avocado and said cole slaw.

PS: if you are snobby about onion soup mix then leave it out and add your own custom spices. Just don't judge.

New York City and Me

2011-12-02T08:49:00.001-08:00

I posted this last year and someone flagged it for copyright. All the words are mine. The photo is from Flickr's The Commons Collection and has no known copyright restrictions. Last year I didn't have the time/strength to deal with the false claim. This year I do, so I'm putting it back up because - except for the part at the bottom which says it's my first time in NY on my own - it's all relevant. It's just that it's my second time.

High school wasn't a fun place for me. Rather than just plod along and deal with it I decided to find a way around the system.

New York City skyline from Queens, c. 1974
From The Commons at Flickr

My school offered several ways to get credits without being on campus. Working 15 hours a week counted as "work experience" so I took on a job (receptionist at a hair salon). Furthermore, I was able to work the system such that I was able to take community college courses at night in lieu of high school classes. As it worked out, I only had to be at school in the mornings. I left before noon and went about my life which, on a good day, meant putting in a couple of hours at work, going home to my apartment (yes, I lived outside my parents' home as a junior in high school - perhaps I'll write a post about that sometime), cooking dinner and then taking off again for night classes. I don't know where I got my energy. But then again, I was 17.

This isn't to say that I didn't have a healthy teenage social life. I did. But my friends were a little older.

Somewhere along the line I got it into my head that I "belonged" in NYC and so that is what became my goal. My grades didn't warrant Columbia and my SATs kept me out of NYU, so, thinking I'd study fashion merchandising, I applied and was accepted to FIT - Fashion Institute of Technology - a SUNY school that required general ed along with marketing, advertising and design courses. They also had dorms.

With all the extra courses I took (summer school included) I was able to graduate high school a semester early, so in January of 1987 - two months before my 18th birthday - I found myself on a plane to NYC.

We (my dad and I) flew directly into a wild winter storm and were stranded in Chicago for two days before we finally arrived. FIT was out of dormrooms, so they cleaned out a storage space and furnished it with a bed, a bunk bed and three desks. I was so pleased to actually, finally be there that I wouldn't have cared if they'd stuffed us in the basement.

My dad and I went shopping for bedding and such and then he had to catch a bus back to the airport. We said our goodbyes on the corner 7th Avenue and 34th Street. To this day he says it's the hardest thing he's ever done. Of course, my memory is absolute elation - I'd made it to New York. And I was on my own.

I lived there for two years. The only constant was my job at the New York Health and Racket Club and a wild ride. Let's just say that I moved through three universities (finally ending up at Hunter) and four apartments. While there I dated wildly, went "clubbing" with my pals and learned how to handle my liquor. By 1989 I was done.

I told folks it was the high cost of living. I was making barely $6/hour and my rent was $900/month. But really, the city was eating me up and spitting me out. It was the late 80's - AIDS had come into public awareness and Madonna was in vogue - Like a Virgin. Rudy Giuliani hadn't become mayor yet and the city was a mess. From my apartment window (granted this particular apartment was on 46th and 10th) I could watch the prostitutes and their pimps and learned who belonged to whom and how to avoid a police raid. Maybe it was too much for me. But looking back on it, I can't help but feel I gave up.

I didn't really make it in NYC.

I left and moved back to California where I worked through my last two years of college at UC Riverside (with a stint or two at Hebrew U) not dis-similarly to how I got through high school: head down, straight on.

Marriage - and the fact that my husband and his family were from New Jersey - brought me back East several times over the past 12 years, but I've not had an opportunity to spend time in New York on my own - without the arguing or the children. Until now.

The stars have aligned in just the right way to stick me on a cross country flight over a long weekend. I've got four days to re-discover New York as a woman more than twice the age of girl I was in '87.

I'm so excited.

Montana Part III - That Moment

2011-11-29T11:29:00.001-08:00

Last month my friend Jenna Skype'd to say she was getting her ovaries removed in (yet another) preventative measure to hopefully avoid a cancer relapse. I was in a rare position to afford the $300 plane ticket to Kalispell, Montana and decided to fly out to give her hand. This is the last of three posts about that trip. The first post is here and the second post is here.

A couple of days before leaving for Montana I received an email from Jenna saying that her cousin's daughter, Lillian, had gone to sleep on Halloween eve and did not wake up. Lillian was a healthy, 13-day-old baby.

Jenna (a graphic designer) volunteered to design the program for the funeral service and was able to complete it a night before she went to the hospital. Prepping for surgery should not include this sort of activity, but no one plans for death, and certainly nothing as unthinkable as this.

The funeral was on Sunday so, three days after her surgery, Jenna was sitting in the front of the sanctuary with her husband, while I stayed in the back of the room, sitting quietly with her boys.

"Let us not grieve that Lillian is gone, but celebrate that she was here. Look around this room, see how many lives she has touched in her short time with us."

Indeed, the room was full of people. Of course, I knew very few of them, and many (like me) had never even met Lillian. But we were all in tears by the end of the slide show that was meant to celebrate her life.

Later, at the reception, I heard Jenna say to her cousin, "I know what it's like to have everything be one way one moment and then totally different the next. Please let me know if you'd like to talk." Of course, the "moment" Jenna referred to was the one where the doctor told her "you have cancer." Those words spoken in that moment changed everything for her.

I'm grateful in my life to have not had such a moment (knock wood). Of course this is not to say that change hasn't happened. It has - but my "moments" have been longer - allowing space to adjust and become, eventually, comfortable. This, I've learned, is a luxury.

_________

My friend Erin Vang has just completed an amazing project called Kaddish in Two Part Harmony and she has dedicated this beautiful Kaddish to Baby Lillian. (A Kaddish is a prayer of mourning). Erin's french horn is particularly lovely.

Daily Kaddish for Lillian Isabel (October 18-21, 2011) (sound file)

Translation of the Mourners Kaddish:

May the great Name of God be exalted and sanctified, throughout the world, which he has created according to his will. May his Kingship be established in your lifetime and in your days, and in the lifetime of the entire household of Israel, swiftly and in the near future; and say, Amen.

May his great name be blessed, forever and ever.

Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, honored elevated and lauded be the Name of the holy one, Blessed is he- above and beyond any blessings and hymns, Praises and consolations which are uttered in the world; and say Amen. May there be abundant peace from Heaven, and life, upon us and upon all Israel; and say, Amen.

_________

Lillian's older sister (12) wrote this poem in honor of Lillian.

Lillian Isabel, Oct 18 - Oct 21, 2011

WE WILL ALWAYS HOLD YOU CLOSE

Lillybel, Lillybel

My oh so sweet baby

Our beautiful Lillybel

Come to us in our darkest

hour.

We showered you in love

For 13 days I held you

close.

Our sweet Lillybel

The more we cry

The more we love

It was and is all

for you.

Lillybel, Lillybel

My oh so sweet Lillybel

Our beautiful baby girl

Even if you cried

at night

Even if you need us

now

We are here for you

And you are up high for

I’ll pick a star up

in the sky

Just for you

And think of you all day.

Lillybel, Lillybel

My oh so sweet Lillybel

Our beautiful baby girl

You knew no cruelty

You only knew love

We shielded you from

loss

Just to save ourselves

Now we are hugging, kissing,

loving

waiting… waiting for

you to show yourself to

us again

Lillybel, Lillybel

My oh so sweet baby girl

Our Beautiful Lillybel

Our one and only

Baby

Lillybel

-----------

In loving memory of Lillian Isabel Nelson

I dedicate this poem to you

Your always loving Big Sister

Montana Part II: Kid Swap

2011-11-14T17:21:00.001-08:00

Last month my friend Jenna Skype'd to say she was getting her ovaries removed in (yet another) preventative measure to hopefully avoid a cancer relapse. I was in a rare position to afford the $300 plane ticket to Kalispell, Montana and decided to fly out to give her hand. This is the second of three posts about that trip. The first post is here. The third post is here.

Jenna grew up in Montana and moved back with her California-born husband in 2002 but they come back to the Bay Area every summer (mostly because her husband's job demands it) and I get to spend time with her then. Still, our schedules are busy (she works too) and we tend to plan our outings in such a way that we can be without children (and husband, in her case) to catch up and chat without interruptions.

Don't get me wrong. I love her husband and kids - and even their extended families - but when time is precious, I just want to hang out with Jenna.

This trip to Montana would be different. For one thing, I was going with a purpose. While I was absolutely looking forward to long chats on her recovery bed, I was also determined to make myself useful by entertaining her two boys and taking some stress off her husband who is working full time AND going to school. I wanted Jenna to rest and recover from the surgery. My job was babysitting and cooking.

Of course I've spent time with Jen's kids. I've watched them grow up. I hear about their triumphs and challenges from Jenna. They know me as "Mama's friend Cori" in the way that a lot of kids know a long distance aunt: I say things like "oh how much you've grown" and pinch their cheeks and make them give me hugs. I'm also the one who takes away Mama's attention - or worse - takes Mama away completely when she comes to my house for an evening away... So, the first sentence in this paragraph is actually false: I've never really spent time with Jenna's kids.

I arrived on Friday - the day after Jenna's surgery. The boys were at school so we took the opportunity to settle her in (she and her dad had picked me up on her way back from the hospital!) and get her set up with tea, water, snacks and all her recovery drugs. We talked about the forthcoming weekend and everyone's schedule. At 3pm she said, "the boys will be home in 15 minutes" and sure enough they came skidding up to the door on their bikes, happy for the weekend to begin.

Noah is 9 - born a year and a half after (my son) Joe - and Kai is 6 - the same age as (my daughter) Maia. The brothers are mirror images of each other in that the older looks just like Jenna and the younger, exactly like his dad. Their energy is delightfully "little boy" which was a welcome presence in the recovery room. They were excited to see their mom who had been at the hospital for the past two days and - after the necessary hugs and kisses - I harnessed their attention (thank you Smarties lollies!) and brought them downstairs to let Mama rest.

The boys warmed up to me quickly and we were soon laying next to the fire chatting about school and friends and the kinds of things they like to do. When their dad got home I brought out my iPad and they all got busy playing with Google Earth (big map fanatics, these guys!) By the next morning Kai and Noah felt comfortable enough with me to leave their parents home and take me around the hood while giving geo-caching a go. We didn't have luck finding a cache, but ended up at a cozy local restaurant for hot coco and grilled cheese. On Sunday we poked around the house - played with apps on my iPad, made fabulous marshmallow/toothpick structures (lots), did homework, played some word search and I may or may not have introduced them to The Simpsons.

More interesting than all of this is what I learned about the boys. Jenna had always said that Noah was smart, but the kid is actually off the charts gifted. He enjoys studying cookbooks in search of the perfect chocolate dessert and he plans biking trips through the Italian countryside. He asks questions like "why do people prefer push pins to thumb tacks" and he wants a serious answer. (my statement about using magnets was not accepted.)

Kai bursts with energy. He is self sufficient (sometimes to a fault, but we don't cry over spilt milk) and somewhat stubborn. He loved playing with TocaBoca apps on my iPad and excelled at creating marshmallow/toothpick structures. Someday he may very well be an engineer. Of course, the highlight of my time with Kai was when he snuggled up next to me at bedtime and - instead of reading a story - we worked out way, together, through a word search puzzle.

By Monday night Kai and Noah were asking why I couldn't stay longer. They thanked me (seriously unprompted) for spending the weekend with them and gave me hugs and kisses without me asking.

I wish I'd spent more time with them sooner.

Of course Jenna and her husband say that Noah and Kai were on their best behavior because I was a guest. Furthermore, my job was to entertain them - of course they were good - they were having fun! So it got me thinking... I should spend time with other people's kids more often. In fact - other parents should spend time with my kids as well.

As a single mom there are times when I'm with my children for days on end without a break. We all begin to grate on each other's nerves. But what if I take a clue from my experience in Montana and swap kids with another mom for a day.

Seriously.

Children always act best when they're not with their parents. Spending time with a new/different adult is a learning experience for them and fun - in that the activities are different than what they'd be doing at with their own folks. Really - just a change of scenery, a change in general, can be a relief for everyone involved.

So, the next time your kids are driving you up a wall (during the upcoming holiday school-break, for example), approach a trusted friend and suggest a swap. She may look at you like your nuts, but when you explain that you're talking about kids (not husbands) she'll be relieved enough to actually consider it. Try it once. I'll bet you'll do it again.

Montana Part I: Jenna's Cancer

2011-11-14T10:57:00.001-08:00

Last month my friend Jenna Skype'd to say she was getting her ovaries removed in (yet another) preventative measure to hopefully avoid a cancer relapse. I was in a rare position to afford the $300 plane ticket to Kalispell, Montana and decided to fly out to give her hand. This is the first of three posts about that trip. (Part II is here. Part III is here.)

Jenna and Me c. 1999
(yes, I had short hair.)

Jenna and I met 20 years ago when we both had our first "real" job at a well known San Francisco publishing house. Neither of us made enough money to live comfortably and we bonded over lunch strategies (soup or potatoes? Rice or beans?). We struggled through boyfriends and breakups - job changes and moves. We were first attendants at each others' weddings (neither of us like the term "brides maid") and we went through four pregnancies between us. She moved to Montana in 2002 but it didn't keep us from seeing each other - she visited the Bay Area often and we had our phones and computers to stay connected.

In 2009, a few months after I left my marriage, Jenna was diagnosed with breast cancer. It wasn't just a little lump that had to be removed. She was looking at a full course of chemo, a bilateral mastectomy, reconstruction, radiation, hormone treatment and (now) the removal of her ovaries. She was 39. We both were.

For me it was a reality check. I didn't think anything could be worse than what I was going through by attempting to end my marriage (though officially separated, my husband and I were living in the same home) but suddenly I was grateful for my health.

Because the hospitals in San Francisco and Marin County (where her in-laws live) specialize in breast cancer, much of her treatment was done there. For me it meant she was a mere thirty minutes away and I could spend some time with her. The chemo - she said - wasn't so bad. She was never sick. Just really really tired. Three days after returning from the surgery that removed her breasts, Jenna was up and around visiting with people at her mother-in-law's home on her 40th birthday. And no. I'm not kidding.

Jenna was a picture of graceful strength. Inspiring in her humble silence.

Furthermore, Jenna never made light of my divorce proceedings. She'd always ask how things were going, offer advice, listen to me cry. She never said "well at least you still have your boobs." If I were her, I'd have sure been tempted.

My divorce is over and my life, though different, is generally good. Being a single mom isn't as bad as being married to the wrong person. Yes -I struggle to pay the bills and juggle schedules but I'm not worried about a relapse. It's over.

Not for Jenna. Almost three years since her diagnosis and she made the decision to have her ovaries removed, a step to make permanent the depletion of estrogen circulating in her body since her tumor was one that feeds off her own natural hormones. In January of 2009, when she was diagnosed, I wasn't able to fly out to be with her. This time everything was lined up to make it work: a little extra cash in my wallet, a surprisingly affordable plane ticket and her surgery was taking place right before a weekend my kids would be their dad.

I was off to Montana.

PS - Here is a link with instructions on how to check your breasts for lumps every month. DON'T WAIT to see your doctor if you find ANYTHING suspicious.

UPDATE: From Jenna:

Statistically, younger women are diagnosed with more aggressive and faster-progressing cancers, so if a younger woman (pre-menopausal) feels a lump OR ANY MARKED CHANGE (mine wasn’t a lump) in her breast she should have it checked. Many younger women wouldn’t even really think that they have breast cancer -- “it’s an older woman’s disease”, “I don’t have BC in my family”, etc...First time I felt mine I never gave a serious thought that it might be breast cancer.

I honestly believe that if I had gone to the doctor early in December when I first felt the thickish firmer part of my right breast rather than a month later, I may have been diagnosed at stage II before it went to my nodes and the nodes are the big deal.

The 5-year survival rate between stage II and stage III is about 20% better and looking at a 80% survival rate is WAY better than a 60% survival rate. If you are younger and feel a change in your breast you can’t necessarily afford to wait. And even if they did mammograms on younger women, waiting a year between exams would likely lead to a stage IV or metastatic disease if you had an aggressive cancer.

I had even had my annual exam and my doctor had done a breast exam in September and it didn’t make a difference for me.

Occupied at Ten

2011-11-03T14:02:00.000-07:00

Driving home from school the other day I asked Joe (10) if he'd heard about the Occupy Wall Street movement.

"No."

They haven't talked about it in school?

"No."

So I started to explain that people are angry because of the growing divide between the rich and poor due, in part, to corruption of financial institutions and blah blah blah...

"OH! oh I think I know what you mean."

You do?

"Yeah. Remember when Grandma took me to open my savings account at Wells Fargo?"

Yes.

"We put in $30 and then the next time that Grandma came to visit we went back to the bank to put in ten more dollars but there was only FIVE DOLLARS left!"

Oh?

"Grandma was so mad and said it wasn't right and that I should be getting money: INTEREST. But the Banker told her it didn't work that way and there was a $10 fee every month the balance was below $100.... Is that what you mean by Occupy Wallstreet?"

Yup. He understands perfectly.

Rules and Routines

2011-10-25T17:06:00.000-07:00

(NOTE: This post was originally published at Single Mama NYC Single Moms Sunday series on July 17, 2011. I may or may not have taken the liberty to change certain facts upon this republication.)

Every parent knows that predictability provides a comforting familiarity that children crave. When my kids were babies, I made my plans around nap-time. Missing the afternoon siesta resulted in meltdowns at dinner that could take hours to tame. People thought I was nuts (can't they nap in the car? in the stroller? in my bedroom?) but I learned quickly not to change the things that worked. I learned that routine mattered.

I don't have babies anymore. My kids are 10 and 6 but routine still matters... more for me, than them.

It started with the garbage. Taking it out every Thursday evening had been my husband's job. Now that I was alone the job - like so many other things - was mine. Then one night about a year ago, as I dragged the bins the curb, it dawned on me that I hadn't thought much about the garbage for months. "Remembering" to take it out had become as second nature as bringing in the mail every day...

This was a huge revelation because, although the weekly "routine" seemed to be under control, daily activities were not. The worst of it occurred in the morning rush to school - what to wear, eat for breakfast, pack lunch, etc. DVD's were watched while eating and fights broke out when it was time to leave ("just five more minutes!!!") School starts at eight a.m. We were always late.

So I started to institute new rules and routines. Not just for the kids - but for me. Lunches had to be made and packed the night before - likewise for choosing my daughter's outfits. I had to get up earlier and shower before waking them. They are allowed one mutually agreed upon television show to watch while eating breakfast. But no DS, Computer, smartphone, or anything else that could result in a reply such as "let me just finish this level!!!"

The first month was hard. Like you, I'm tired at the end of the day. I've worked, carted kids around, made dinner, gone grocery shopping and any number of other things. But I made myself prepare the lunches every single night. Upon waking, the relief of having this chore done was significant.

Now it's been almost a year and I've got the routine perfected. I wake every morning pleased that the "night-time-me" took care of the "morning-time-me." My kids wake up to a smiling, un-frazzled mom. We don't have to rush or raise voices. Everything is prepared.

I've listed what I do below. What are your life-saving routines? (Not just morning routines - I'd like to hear about ALL routines that help you manage.)

Evening Routine
(while the kids entertain themselves after dinner and/or after they go to bed)

choose my daughter's clothes with her
clear table and clean dinner dishes
make lunches
prepare coffee maker
tidy up the living room

I allow one 15-20 minute TV show
while eating breakfast.

Morning Routine
(while the kids sleep *note I sleep downstairs and the rest of the house is upstairs)

wake at six and go upstairs
push the button on the coffee maker
shower
fill my mug with coffee, smile at the filled lunch boxes when I open the fridge to grab the cream, and go back downstairs
dress
sit down on my bed with my coffee and iPad or laptop and play (ie. Words with Friends, twitter, facebook, etc.) This has become one of my favorite times of the day.
7 a.m. I wake the kids and get them dressed
they're eating breakfast by 7:30 (and I'm finding I have time to make them pancakes if they want)
the agreement is no electronics but I allow one 15-20 minute tv show while eating breakfast. (I'd like to nix this, but for now it makes them happy and happy means a smoother morning)
and we're out the door by 10 minutes to 8

Braids Before Bed

2011-10-20T13:54:00.000-07:00

All ready for bed!

My daughter has a mane of thick wavy golden hair. Over her (six) years we've seen it through several styles. First, bangs with the classic bob. Then, after getting lice in preschool, we cut it all off and it curled up into a little old lady style that somehow suited her. Since then we've been growing it out. She has no bangs and it's gotten pretty long - to the middle of her back.

Getting to the point where I can actually comb through her tresses without tears has been a mess of trial and error. After years of fights, we've finally come up with a system that works for us and I'm sharing it here in hopes it might work for some of you as well.

Hair is washed every other night.
In the shower I put in shampoo and conditioner at the same time and, after scrubbing her head, allow it to sit on her hair while I wash the rest of her body.
Using a wide toothed comb I comb through her hair while the shampoo/conditioner is on her head.
Rinse it all out.
Towel dry hair by squeezing (not rubbing) into a towel.
Comb through again (should be super easy) and braid (this is a crucial step) before going to bed.
In the morning take the braids out and brush (should be very few knots because the braids have kept it from knotting up) and re-style for the day.
Evenings when it's not washed we brush and braid it before bedtime so the morning is easy and ready for restyling.

Following this routine has made our mornings so much easier. There are never tears and rarely arguments. She's become excited about trying different hair styles and tolerant to the time it takes me to achieve them. More important, bedtime hair-brushing before books has become a time for us to bond, chat about the day and plan for tomorrow.

It's amazing to me that something we used to dread so much has become a lovely end-of-day ritual that leaves us both smiling.

On weekend mornings (when there is more time) she
can take out the braids and brush her hair -get this -
all by herself!

There is Wine on the Ceiling

2011-10-19T14:07:00.000-07:00

While at shopping at Trader Joe's yesterday I decided to buy the ingredients for meat sauce. Along with ground beef, garlic, onions, beef broth and tomatoes, I usually add red wine so I picked up some Two Buck Chuck.

Once home I chopped up and sauteed the onion and garlic in olive oil for about 20 minutes - until the onion was translucent. I added the ground beef, breaking it up into small pieces and browning well. Dumping in one can of tomatoes and one can of beef broth I set about to open the wine.

Where was the corkscrew? I searched everywhere without luck. My sauce was simmering but a main ingredient was missing. Desperate, I grabbed a knife and stabbed it into the cork.

Obediently, it plunged into the bottle allowing the wine to squirt out freely.

Everywhere.

I need a corkscrew.

Where Did the Time Go?

2011-10-09T12:11:00.000-07:00

I made the skirt for six-year-old Maia with about a yard of fabric (given to me by an awesome friend), elastic for the waist and some red rik-rak along the bottom seam. The shirt she never wore because she didn't like the picture (it was Andy Warhol) so I covered it with a piece of the skirt fabric.

I kinda can't believe I made this.

I started at 10am and suddenly it was noon.

Cowgirl Skirt and Shirt Set

The Zone

2011-10-08T18:05:00.000-07:00

In seventh grade I somehow ended up in a sewing class. I don't even remember why I chose it. I'd never used a sewing machine before - let alone hand sewn a button. None of my friends sewed. It wasn't something that interested my parents.

But I found myself in the sewing class with a dozen machines, a bunch of girls I didn't know and a silver-haired teacher with glasses and a stern face. Our first project was a pair of shorts. For the life of me I couldn't figure out how the front and back came together to create something that could be worn. My mom took me to the fabric store and I chose a lavender cotton with tiny white dots. It wasn't a pattern I would ever wear, but I wasn't really thinking about that. It hadn't occurred to me that this new hobby could produce garments I'd actually be seen in.

Halfway through the semester, my parents and sister went on vacation (being an uncomfortably rebellious teenager, I refused to go.) A friend of my mom's had a daughter in college - Laura - and she came to stay with mr for the week.

Laura arrived with her sewing machine and a stack of Seventeen Magazines saying, "I heard you like to sew, so I brought these projects for us to work on!" The project was to sew two t-shirts into a dress and embellish with ribbons and such. The magazine photos were SO cute. We got started.

Sewing requires a lot of space so we set up on the long table in the kitchen. Snipping and seaming and gathering and sewing. I was fully involved and ended up with - if not an exact replica on the Seventeen model - something that was very close. Done! I looked at the clock and it was half past twelve. Midnight. The last time I'd looked it had been around 8. It was the first time in my life that I'd gotten so absorbed in a task (save reading) that everything else disappeared.

I call that place "the zone" and it's a wonderful place to be. There are very few activities that get me there, but the ones that do are my confirmed passions. Certainly reading was the first - getting so involved in a story that I entered the world inside the book. Then sewing, as I mentioned. In my late teens it became apparent that cooking and preparing for a party put me in that zone. Where others became frazzled and stressed at the thought of entertaining, I found the hours before the guests arrived to be similar to a solo dance around my home - cooking and cleaning and decorating - nothing else mattered. Then in my early 20s - three quarters of the way through a Masters in Jewish Studies - I got a computer and discovered a program called Printshop. It was my boyfriend's birthday and I had no money so I made him an extended card - a booklet really. It took me hours to complete - learning the program as I went along - but time stood still. Once again, it was almost midnight. Little did I know I'd discovered my career.

It took another three or four years before I realized that design could put me in that "zone" for which I longed. Then it took another few years before I understood that graphic design was a job and I could make it mine.

So here I am. It's 18 years later and I'm a graphic designer. I'm lucky that my work allows me to enter "the zone" on a regular basis. Don't get me wrong! It's not all timeless activity. Reaching that place is still a novelty but it's always a pleasure coming out of it with a beautiful product to show my client.

I bring this all up now because last week a friend bought me - I mean Maia - a sewing machine. I've been teaching both kids to make pillows and bags from scraps of fabric and old clothes. This weekend the kids are with their dad so I thought I'd try my hand at sewing from a pattern again -- first time in a couple of decades. I decided to go with pajama pants (which I needed) and bought a pattern and some gorgeous fabric on sale. I got started at around two pm. Next thing I know it's 4:30 and I have a pair of jammies that are über cool. The afternoon happily melted away. In fact - I forgot to eat - which is great since it's Yom Kippur and I was supposed to be fasting anyway.

How do you reach the "zone?"

World's Easiest Blackberry Galette

2011-09-21T16:56:00.000-07:00

Last week I walked into the local market to find mounds of plump ripe blackberries begging me to take them home. I'm a compassionate soul and complied.

Once home I perused the kitchen for ingredients to bring out the most flavor from the berries and found a box of pre-made pie-crust, sugar and ... yes, I had one egg left. All the makings for a galette.

Following the directions on the pie-crust box I unrolled it flat on a piece of wax paper. After gently tossing the blackberries in about a half cup of sugar, I dumped them onto the middle of my pie dough.

Folding it all up is easy - fold up one section at a time - overlapping like pleats so that all the berries are contained.

To save washing, I cracked the egg into the same bowl that was used to toss the berries. A pastry or basting brush can be used (as can the back of a soup spoon) to brush the egg (white, yolk or both - your choice) onto the dough. A final sprinkle of sugar and into a 350 degree oven for about a half hour - or until the crust is firm and golden.

Let cool slightly before serving with ice cream and shaved chocolate.

(Be sure to save some for the next morning - berry galette is gorgeous for breakfast with a strong cup of coffee.)

Joe eats his galette happily.

Sept. 29, 2011 - UPDATE:
Last night I made two galettes - one with peaches and strawberries and one with figs. The only thing I did differently than the blackberry galette is that I added brown sugar and butter to the top of the fruit. Raves.

Summer of the Fleas

2011-08-31T16:05:00.000-07:00

Back in May I volunteered to watch a friend's small dog because I thought it would be fun for the kids - Maia in particular. She loves little dogs. In fact - moving past the fact that the dog wasn't really house trained and that it irritated the hell out of Moses the Dog, our large Shepherd mix - we had fun with it.

The little dog stayed for almost two weeks and on the last day, while waiting for my friend to pick it up, I saw a flea scurrying across it's back. Whoa! I haven't seen a flea since I was in college when my cat had them. We used to give Moses flea medication, but since the marriage ended (three years ago) I've not bothered (that stuff is expensive!) and because Moses is basically a solitary dog, he's been fine. Nary a flea or tick in site. Ever.

I told my friend about the flea. She seemed to think it came from my backyard and shrugged it off. I knew my backyard was not responsible and also shrugged it off. The little dog left and the kids, Moses and I got back to our normal everyday routine.

Flea Trap made with a pie pan,
reading light and soapy water.

Towards the end of June small little bites started appearing on my ankles. They itched like crazy and I suddenly became aware of Moses's frantic scratching. Uh... do we have fleas? So I vacuumed, did tons of laundry and Ex brought me some topical flea medication to put on Moses's back. I even made a flea-trap. It didn't get better.

By the first week in July it was so bad that I felt like the little buggers had taken over my life. I was in pain and woke up every morning with new bites. A friend who had suffered the same fate years earlier took me under her wing and let me sleep in her guest room (while the kids were at their dad's). My first night there I slept for 16 hours - it was SUCH a relief to be rested and to wake without a new bite. She helped me devise a concrete plan to rid my house of the pests and gifted me $500 to help me see it through. (And thank goodness! See cost list below).

The plan of attack (literally) included an arsenal of itch-relief medications for me; medications, shots, baths, and boarding for Moses; flea bombs and professional treatments for my home. My friend recommended Fleabusters and I called to make an appointment. In the days before they came I boarded Moses and bombed the house. Twice. I did it again a week after they came because Fleabuster treatment takes six weeks to work and I was leaving town anyway... And then, when I returned, another friend helped me vacuum my one room with carpeting (the room that serves as both my bedroom and my office). Over and over. And over.

It's now the end of August and the situation is much better but it's not finished. While Moses is now clear (on a double treatment of Comfortis and Advantage), I'm still seeing a flea here and there and I definitely got a new bite last night. Yesterday marked six weeks since Fleabusters treated my home and tomorrow morning I'll call them on their one year guarantee. Hopefully they'll come and treat the house again and six weeks from now I'll really be out of the woods. What is that? Second week in October? Here's to a flea-free Halloween.

PS - for whatever reason, the kids were not bothered by the fleas and didn't get any bites. Or if they did get bites they had no reactions to them.

Summer of the Fleas: Costs
$425 Fleabusters
$300 bombs (3 each, 3 times) and sprays
$300 medications, shots, washing and boarding Moses
$80 professional housecleaning
$100 anti-itch creams and lotions for me
GRAND TOTAL: $1205 (and the reason I didn't get a new computer monitor this year.)
Note that this list does not include the many hours spent vacuuming, laundering and sleeping at others' homes.
Not to mention the physical pain suffered from the bites. Scars will last for years.

Breezy Birthing Day

2011-08-10T00:47:00.000-07:00

Pregnancy does not become me. Aside from the usual nausea and fatigue, I break out in acne worse than a pubescent hamburger flipper. It's nasty. Additionally, I'm a small person, so the last trimester is particularly painful. Maia (my second) would push at my ribs with her feet - as if she wanted to stretch out her legs. It became so bad that I had my friend, a midwife, strip my membranes to try and induce labor - something that was done quite successfully during my first pregnancy. It worked: two days later the contractions began.

During Contractions

Between Contractions

This is where most women launch into a diatribe about the trauma of their birthing experience. I know this because it's what I did after I had Joe (my first). Descriptions with details about episiotomy stitches and epidural headaches abound. I'm not gonna do that.

The contractions came exactly six years ago on a hot afternoon - soft and far apart - just like they're supposed to. I conducted my day as usual - worked (there was a deadline that had to be reached!), hung out with Joe, a new neighbor came by to visit. I called my doula - a longtime girlfriend who was coming up from Santa Cruz to help me out and take photos - so she could start her one-hour drive. My friend, the midwife, lived next door and checked in on me often.

It was late when the contractions became stronger and closer together. My husband (at the time) left me in the capable hands of my doula-friend and my midwife-friend who took shifts while he slept. It was wonderful. The labor was textbook - there was no pain between contractions and it was hard to tell when to leave for the hospital. Eventually my midwife-friend checked how far I was dilated and proclaimed us ready to go.

Once admitted to the hospital my friends and I lit a gardenia scented candle and tried to get some sleep (then-husband was at home with 4-year-old Joe). In the morning they offered pitocin to speed things along. When it was time to have the epidural I questioned it - maybe it's not needed? But the nurse and midwife-friend said to take it then or I there wouldn't be another chance. I took their advice.

My husband (at the time) arrived just as I was starting to push, and Maia slipped out fifteen minutes later. A beautiful healthy baby girl.

Easy, peasy, breezy.

Especially when you compare it to my first birthing experience: with Joe I had back labor and the pain was excruti----oops - I said I wasn't gonna do that.

What's your labor story? I know you want to tell it.

(All photos by Deborah Bresnick)

Guest Post and Pestilence

2011-07-18T12:49:00.000-07:00

My friend and fellow Single Mama Extraordinaire Issa Mas is running a weekly series on her blog featuring single moms from around the world. I was lucky enough to participate. My post was published yesterday and you can find it here. It's all about rules and routines and why it's important to have them both.

Flea Bites on My Legs

Sadly, since writing the post, my house (and myself) have been infested with fleas. While they don't ~~seem~~ to bother the kids, Moses and I are being eaten alive. Let me be the first to tell you that any kind of routine is ripped to shreds when faced with pestilence. And here I will complain: it is hard enough being a single parent in GENERAL - but when issues like lice, fleas, illness, or broken bones enter the picture the job becomes ginormous and overwhelming.

I'm very lucky to have a good friend who is helping me through this ridiculous ordeal. I've been sleeping at her house (to escape the fleas) and she has helped me organize cleaning and boarding for Moses (the dog) as well as coordinate a visit from fleabusters. Honestly, I don't know what I'd have done without her this past week.

We're supposed to be the strong-willed, hard-working, much-loving single parents.... but it doesn't always go smoothly. "Life happens" (quote from my mom) and it must be dealt with. But sometimes it just CAN'T be done alone, and it's OK to reach out for help. All those people who've said "I don't know how you do it, being a single parent..." Them? Those are the ones to ask.

Accountability and Why Twitter Should Have a Dating Component

2011-07-04T17:53:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that I spent several months testing my luck on a couple of dating websites. I met a lot of guys. Had a lot of fun first dates. A few seconds. And zero thirds.

A few weeks ago, a friend who's known me for years set me up with one of her coworkers. We met for coffee and got along well. Several enjoyable dates later it became apparent that we were not a match, but we had a few lovely meals, a couple of hikes and many long conversations. It was nice getting to know each other.

What's the difference?

Let's just say that the men I've met via dating sites were more comfortable cruising to second base (or stealing third) than men I'd met through friends. Why? Because he knew me from nothing - no connection, no commonalities - if he chose to attempt a homer and then never call again I'd be the only one to know he's an ass. No skin off his back.

The other guy - the one I met through a friend? He's accountable to her. He knows that if he's rude to me or does something unreasonable that it will be reported to our mutual friend. It could make him look bad if he tries to jump bases. He doesn't want to look less than stellar, so he's polite, nice, even chivalrous.

Where does twitter work into this?

I've been on twitter for several years (@berzerkeley) and have built up a wonderful community of friends. (People who don't tweet don't understand this, but those of you who do - and I'll bet there are at least a few of you reading this - get it.) Many are parents. Single moms and single dads. Some are from Berkeley. Most are not. But they all have a presence on twitter. Through this community I've met and dated a few different people. Because we followed each other on twitter we had a base understanding of each other and a connection via a common group of people. In other words, we were both accountable to the twitter community from which we met. If either went "out of bounds" there was a danger of it being reported publicly. In my circle this breeds good behavior. The experiences were excellent. Better than anything I ever found on OKCupid or jDate.

Back in 2008 I made a (fictional) video about just this. In the three years since then, meeting people through social media in general and twitter in particular has become a more acceptable venture. So I'm wondering, why hasn't this been mined.

Developers, coders, app-creators - whatever you're called - could someone please create a dating site from what already exists in the twitterverse? Can you make it easier to search single men my age and geographically near me, so I can stalk - I mean follow - them? And that's just the beginning. Hashtags and lists can be brought into the mix. Come now. It can't be that hard.

Get to work!

Appsperiments

2011-06-08T10:41:00.000-07:00

My Droid finally broke down and died last month. I took the opportunity to trade (up?) to an iPhone 4 - on the Verizon network. I've been a happy Verizon customer for 15 years.

What's the first thing I do with my new phone? I mean like - the VERY FIRST THING - before I make a call, send a text, set up email - before any of that - I download the application Instagram and take a photo of myself. Still in the parking lot.

It's why I bought the phone.

Seriously. For the past several months I've been admiring the stunning photographs posted by my friends via Instagram. I was dying to see how it worked and try it out. but the app isn't available for Android so, until I did the switch, I was helpless to participate.

Since that day, about a month ago, I might have gone a little overboard with the photo app purchases and downloads. Last count, I had about 20 of them. Aside from Instagram - which I adore - my favorite applications for photography are LensFlare, Blender, Labelbox, ColorSplash, Diptic and Camera +. I use them in combination to create what the iPhonographers call "appsperiments." Sure, I'm used to touching up photos in Adobe Photoshop on my client's projects, but altering them significantly - no way. Maybe this is why I so love this hobby: it's exactly what I don't get to do at work.

A flickr pro account (graciously gifted by a friend!) allows me to upload all of these crazy photos to one place to organize, label and tag. Finding flickr groups to join has been fun. Being invited to join groups: gratifying.

I love using this phone as a camera. In fact, I use it more often as a camera then anything else. It should really be called an iCamera with a built in phone.

But I digress.

There is a lot that I've learned about graphic design over the (ahem) 15 years in the business that correlate to composing photographs. With the iPhone apps, I can go beyond the capture and add elements that tell a richer story. Because, lets face it, a truly good photograph tells a tale. It speaks in larger ways than words.

Aside from great personal satisfaction with this new hobby, I've gotten some really nice feedback from the public specter that is tremendously encouraging. In the last two days:

Smarties posted the pictures I took of the candy and thanked me by name on their facebook page.
Lush Gelato "liked" my picture of their ice cream on their facebook page.
Berkeleyside published one of my photos on their blog.
I was invited to a couple of flickr groups and my Instagram following is growing.

So, if you're on Instagram, please follow me at berzerkeley. And just to confuse you, on flickr, I'm corikesler.

Let's share photos. Let's tell stories.

The Monthly Book Report

2011-05-30T14:47:00.000-07:00

Joe's fourth grade teacher has been very creative in the way she assigns monthly book reports. Rather then traditional written papers, the projects have ranged in style from cereal boxes, mobiles and book covers to board games and pinwheels. Each form requires the same fundamental items (setting, characters, etc) but the production and vehicle for communication is different.

At the beginning of each month Joe chooses a book. By the end of the month, he's read five other books besides the one he'd planned for his book report. It's amazing to me that he doesn't mix everything up. He remembers the details of the characters, plot, thoughts, ideas - everything.

We work together on the reports. It's often a challenge and it would be fair to say that there is occasional dread involved (from both of us) at the impending due date. I've found that each report requires at least four hours and is best to do over two days - usually the weekend before it's due. Getting through each project is gratifying and, despite (not) infrequent arguments, his pride in the creations is gratifying. The time spent together bonds us. It's been good.

The final report of the year was "free choice" and Joe asked if he could do a movie trailer (I've been working with the students on digital stories so this is an acceptable format of submission) We got to work - starting with a story board... we created our own, not realizing that iMovie offers templates for movie trailers - had I known we were going to use one, I would have had him start there. (Live and learn --- Learn and live!)

We decided quickly that the kinds of images that Joseph wanted were too specific to find in a creative commons search, so he decided to draw his own. BEST DECISION EVER! His artistic skills (in my humble opinion as his mom) are stellar. Because we'd taken the time to make the story board he knew exactly what illustrations he needed. It took out the guesswork. I taught him how to color his sketches in Adobe Photoshop - a program I use professionally. He was impressed with my familiarity of the software and he learned something about my field of work.

When he was done drawing, he took digital pictures of the illustrations and imported them to iPhoto, and from there to iMovie. Using the template provided, he chose the images he wanted; when he didn't like the number of images required by the template I explained how to add up the time of each clip provided so he could insert what he liked while keeping the movie in concert with the music.

Tomorrow Joe will turn in the dvd with the story board and notes in a plastic cd case What he created is really excellent. I'm a very proud mama.

Two Radicchio Recipes

2011-05-24T12:37:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been having intense cravings for radicchio. When I have a craving for something I don't question it - I go with it - so I've been eating radicchio. A lot.

Together with some staple items I have in my kitchen, radicchio can be salad or a pasta "sauce."

This is how I've been preparing it:

Radicchio Salad
1 head radicchio chopped
half cup crumbled blue cheese
1/4 cup currents
1/4 cup walnuts
1/2 apple, thinly sliced
1/2 avocado chopped small
juice of half a lemon
2-3 tbsp olive oil

Toss all ingredients, add salt and pepper to taste.
Serve with crusty bread.

Radicchio Pasta
1 head radicchio chopped

2-3 tbsp olive oil

1 clove garlic

half cup crumbled blue cheese

1/4 cup chopped walnuts

2-3 tbsp olive oil

pasta (I used spaghetti)

Heat olive oil and garlic in a pan (careful not to burn garlic)

Add radicchio and saute until limp - about 10 minutes

Add cooked pasta to the pan with the radicchio and toss
Serve with a sprinkling of blue cheese and walnuts

Reconsidering Malcolm X Day (Again)

2011-05-21T11:38:00.000-07:00

Malcolm X waiting at
Martin Luther King
press conference.
Taken by Marion S. Trikosko,
March 26 1964.

I was all set to sit down and write about the value of stories but then I glanced at my blog stats and saw that last years post about Malcolm X Day is getting a lot of views via google search.

Here in Berkeley my kids have Monday off of school in honor of Malcolm X. However, yesterday (Friday) there was an Asian American Heritage assembly and on Wednesday (next week) there will be performances in honor of Harvey Milk Day. Discussions with both kids' teachers confirmed that Malcolm X was not covered in their lessons.

So, dear Berkeley Unified School District, I implore you to reconsider this day. YES! Let's celebrate Malcolm X and his accomplishments. In fact, let's celebrate Rosa Parks and Booker T. Washington, W.E.B. Dubois and Harriet Tubman. There are at least as many African American heroes as there are Presidents and we celebrate ALL of them on ONE day in February. Can we not have African American Hero day in leu of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King days?

If there is a "need" for a holiday in May (aside from Memorial Day which is a week away) let's take off for Harvey Milk Day ... or better yet, lets have an LGBTQ Day and honor all the amazing people from that community.

Just sayin'.

Yes, "Just" One

2011-05-06T16:01:00.000-07:00

At the beginning of our "separation," Ex and I shared a home but still divided custody. This meant that on my days with the kids he'd go to his girlfriend's house. On his days with the kids I'd be at a friend's house, hiding in my office/bedroom.... or taking myself out to dinner - just to get out of the house until after bedtime.

I've always loved dining. Not eating, dining. To me that means a cocktail at the bar (martini-me!) with some house-cured olives, roasted almonds or some other finger food; salad and a main course; appropriate wine; dessert and double capp with a shot of amaretto.

Disclaimer: When I worked in a restaurant, during graduate school - first as a hostess and then a bartender - the meal described above was how every manager hoped a table would order for maximum money per cover. Servers pushed it for tips. I enjoy being on the other side of this rule.

Usually a meal like this is shared with a companion (date, friend, love....) but - I quickly discovered - can be equally enjoyable alone.

I choose nice restaurants close to home, tell the host I'd like to sit at the bar, make myself comfortable and order my martini with a menu... While I sip I'll survey the scene, both at the bar and in the "house" (again, harking back to my restaurant days, I feel a kinship with the staff and enjoy the subtle language between them). The bartender sets me up with a place-setting, some bread and I order my meal and request wine recommendations. By the time dessert rolls around I've become friendly enough with the people sitting next to me and the bartender that I could hardly call myself "alone" anymore.

To be clear, these aren't single-bar types of places. I often befriend couples sitting near me - sharing menu recommendations or experiences at other area restaurants (once, two men sitting next to me spent a lovely half hour sharing their wedding album with me.) Bartenders - male and female - are particularly accommodating when you take their wine or food recommendations. In general, I find, if I am friendly and enjoying myself the people around me are more open to an inclusive relationship.

At the end of my meal I leave alone. But never lonely.

International Women's Day and My First Job

2011-03-08T12:44:00.000-08:00

International Women's Day was not something that I'd ever heard of, but it was March 1994 and I was charged with writing flap and panel copy and a marketing campaign for a March-release book entitled THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF WOMEN. International Women's Day was to be my hook for enticing radio interviews, speaking dates and reviews for my author and her book.

The project was phase two of a job I'd been invited to apply for with a well known publishing company in San Francisco. My advising professor at the GTU Masters Program in Jewish Studies had a book being published with them and had recommended me for the position; it was the first (ie. only) interesting prospect that had come my way since graduating. The position's title: Marketing Associate, World Religion and Women's Studies Books.

Having never written "copy" in my life (academic papers don't count) I took on the task the only way I knew how: research. Mind you, this was before the Internet, so I couldn't just go online and google "how to write a book marketing plan," instead, I pulled out every book I owned (hundreds) and read flap and panels as if they were works of art (some were!). I went to the library and checked out books on copy writing, marketing and publicity. I studied it all and settled in to work.

I got the second interview. And honestly, I wasn't surprised. My writing was excellent - I'd agonized over every word - and the marketing plan was tight. It covered every form of media (at the time) and offered solutions to travel costs that included hi tech things like "radio phone interviews." If there was one thing I'd learned during all those years at school, it was how to research the hell out of things.

What I didn't learn was how to interview.

The hiring manager and I had met the week before (he gave me the test-project). He too had been a divinity student and we'd hit it off immediately. He gave me the lo-down on what to expect and sent me off. Over the course of the day I was interviewed by two editors, the publisher, the director of publicity, the president and human resources. I can think of a zillion things I said during those conversations that should have cost me the job. For example, when one editor said, "your writing is excellent, can you tell me why you want to go into marketing instead of editing?" In my head I'm thinking, "um, because the job opening is in the Marketing Department and I need a job?" Out loud: "Marketing just seems much more interesting and fun than editing." Yes, I said this to the editor. Or how about what I said to the president when she asked me what I do "in my spare time." Brilliantly: "oh, I read. One of my favorite magazines is xxx, isn't it published by this company?" "It may have the same name as us, but we've never had anything to do with that magazine." It gets worse. In Human Resources I was asked "how did it go?" "Oh, it went great. I especially enjoyed meeting with that woman who had the big fancy office." "You mean xxx, the president?" Uh. Yeah. Her. Can we say foot in mouth? Palm to face?

I was hired.

Hindsight isn't always twenty twenty and it's taken a long time for me to realize that I had some huge cheerleaders rooting for me behind the scenes. My professor - about to publish his first book with this company - was no doubt extremely influential: he wanted someone he knew to work on his book. It would serve him well if I were to get the job (and it did!) Furthermore, the support of the hiring manager, who seemed to think I was perfect for the job, was enormous. I imagine he had to do some pretty strong convincing to get me hired to that position. (Thanks Steve!)

The job was short lived (I was laid off with a third of the staff 8 months later) but what I learned about working with professionals in an office environment was invaluable for landing my next job and the next ....

So, International Woman's Day. It comes along every year ... I wonder if Terry Gross is interviewing anyone significant today ....

Tiny Pebbles

2011-02-17T14:54:00.000-08:00

"There's practically no water coming out of this faucet" my friend said, waiting for his glass to fill. It was true, I agreed, and it had gotten worse over the past few weeks.

"No wonder, check out all the gravel stuck in your filter." The faucet looked stunted from where he'd unscrewed the tip and I examined the part he took off - a metal casing enclosing a plastic nub full of tiny pebbles. We discarded them and screwed the faucet back together. The water flowed. His glass filled quickly.

It's been two days and my life has dramatically improved. Replenishing the dog bowl takes 4 seconds instead of 30. My dishwasher works again (it's the kind that wheels over to the sink and has a hose that manually screws into the faucet.) My glass fills quickly.

I was reveling in this small victory (while doing the dishes) and it occurred to me how much this relatively small fix had quietly helped elevate my mood. I took a moment to notice the water's rush over my hands, how quickly the suds moved from pot to drain, the consistent heat and pressure ... Perfection in a faucet.

Much of what I take for granted is perfect: a drawer that slides easily, a door that doesn't squeak, the sound of my car motor starting up. It's time to start appreciating these seemingly inconsequential moments and things because together they are the fuel that drive my day and give me strength to tackle the pebbles and stones that can sometimes block the path.

On(line) Generosity

2011-02-01T17:33:00.000-08:00

I've been involved with online social networks since 2006 and over the years I have continually been struck by the generosity of the people I've met.

In the "early days" I was heavily involved in YouTube. When it became clear that the people I watched (nalts, nutcheese, zipster08, mugglesam, etc.) actually got together and met in real life (there was video proving it!) I was - quite honestly - shocked. This stuff, these people, exist.

I became involved by commenting on and responding to videos created by people who interested me. In this way I was able to meet (many in real life) the people I most admired. We worked together on "collabs" (video collaborations) and created entire birthday channels for our friends. We raised money for causes we felt were important. We met in real life and made videos... or just hung out. It was a lot of fun.

Through it all what struck me was the generosity of the people I met. Not only were they freely giving of their time (filming, editing, etc) but they also provided unbiased personal support. There were real connections.

Transitioning to facebook and twitter happened when my friends from YouTube began experimenting outside the video box. I joined the convoy and started up my own accounts. We stayed together as a group. Following and friending each other, some of us spending more time tweeting then filming (me for instance) but we kept up with each other's lives in the same way that one does with an office-mate or neighbor. Mostly we became - continued to be - friends.

Twitter, for me, has been even more fruitful. I follow 1300 people and there is some percentage (maybe 10%?) that I know in real life. The communities or (as Shel Israel calls it in his book Twitterville) neighborhoods I joined were varied. Yes, there were YouTubers, but there was also geographically local businesses and people; mommy bloggers sucked me in; and then Tech News in general. Within each of these 'hoods were individual tweeters with whom I truly connected, befriended, and even dated.

Once again, the generosity of these people never fails to floor me. They take time to answer questions, offer advice and are the biggest cheerleaders when support is needed. And all that is from their hearts. My communities are equally as generous with physical things. When I lamented to twitter that I couldn't afford to buy Joe a DS for Chanukah a DM appeared saying, "hey, I have a DS I never use and would LOVE to give it to Joe." When I complained one morning about not having coffee, a peets gift card arrived in my email. A friend - who I know from YouTube and met once, briefly - saw my tweet "with all the iPad contests I've entered, you'd think I'd have won one by now." Guess what came in the post last month? Yeah. And these are only some examples.

I try to be generous also - retweeting, commenting, pointing, supporting, connecting. I don't have money or goods, but I do what I can because it makes me feel good and it will make me feel better if I can help them succeed.

What is it about my online communities that makes them so giving? Is it unique to the people with whom I choose to befriend? Or does generosity somehow feel better online than off? I'm curious if others have experienced this and to what, if anything, it might be attributed. Have there been studies done on this? (I'm not kidding!) Could it be an anthropological phenomenon? Or do I just have awesome friends?
______________________________________________________

FOLLOW UP:
This blog posts to facebook in the "notes" section and I get more conversation over there than here. One of my friends posted the following comment (copied here with her consent) and I think she makes some excellent points. Milo is her 10 year old son.

It is my personal belief that I would have lost my mind with Milo's Duchenne diagnosis, if it weren't for all the amazing women I have met who see me through every day. I do think some things are easier online. In real life, I am often struck by the divide of politics, or class, or midwest vs coast, or some nervous tic someone has that drives me away. Online we can hone our focus and look at just the one connection closely without being hindered by the petty reasons to disconnect. I live by the emotional support I get from other Duchenne moms.

Sadly, and probably more obviously, the lack of any social normative sense of politeness (the kind where you have to face one another) means some people mistreat each other easier too, as I have found in more than one occasion of total flaming and shunning because of a slight difference of opinion.

For me, it's both a haven and a pit of snakes and figuring out the difference is the key.

Putting the Proven Before the Potential

2011-01-04T17:10:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, without much fanfare or ceremony, I disabled my account on ~~xyz~~ dating site. I texted two (of the dozen fellows I'd met) to let them know how to reach me if they wanted, and that was it. Done.

I'm now relieved from cruising the site, searching for potential matches, refining my profile, fielding emails, and vetting "visitors." The time I've spent on awkward first dates (and the rare second), cursing the "three day rule" and hoping for an encouraging text message can be spent, instead, nurturing the relationships that already exist.

There are several friends I've been neglecting. People I've known for years who I'm not making an effort to see because I'm too busy trying to find a date. a mate. a partner. And that's not OK.

My aim now is to enrich the relationships that exist. Putting the same time and energy into these viable and proven friendships that I've funneled into online dating will, I think, result in sweeter fruit. These are the people who know me best, love me and want to see me succeed. They're the ones I want to cheer on and support. They're the ones I need in my life right now.

And I'm very lucky to have them.

Moroccan Spiced Root Vegetable Stew

2010-12-08T23:28:00.000-08:00

When deciding on something to cook, I'll spend hours, occasionally days, perusing recipes (online and in *gasp* cookbooks), studying them, examining the spices, textures, techniques. In the end, I pick and choose what appeals to me - maybe add an ingredient or two - to create a dish that is truly my own.

Because of rainy winter weather - and plans to entertain several vegetarian friends - I decided that a root vegetable stew was in order. But not just any stew - it was Chanukah and I wanted a hint of far away lands... rich, earthy flavors ... curry, cumin ... Morocco.

So I went hunting for Moroccan Spiced Root Vegetable Stew. There are many many good recipes out there, and I took the best from each one and created something worth sharing. Here you go.

Ingredients
• Root vegetables (suggestions below, but you should choose your favorites)

1 turnip

1 rutabaga

2 sweet potatoes

4 large carrots

4 large parsnip

• 4 large shallots
• 1 large head garlic, cloves separated but not peeled
----
• 1 onion
• 1 can diced tomatoes
• 1 can chick peas (drained and rinsed)
• zest and juice of one lemon
• 2 cups vegetable broth
----
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 1tbsp curry powder (plus dusting)
• 1 tbsp cumin (plus dusting)
• olive oil
• salt, pepper, chili flakes to taste

• 2 cups chopped fresh cilantro

Instructions
• preheat the oven to 375
• peel the root vegetables, dice them into uniform bite-size pieces
• peel the shallots but do not chop
• separate the garlic cloves but do not peel
• toss with olive oil salt and pepper
• spread vegetables in ONE LAYER in a baking pan or cookie sheet
• dust with curry powder and cumin (just a SMALLL dusting)
• put in oven for about an hour
• turn vegetables and rotate pan at least twice during cooking

While root vegetables roast:
• Heat some olive oil in a large pot
• Slice the onion and put it in the pot with a pinch or two of salt
• Saute the onions until transluscent - about 20 minutes.
• Add the tomatoes, chickpeas, zest and juice of one lemon, vegetable broth, cinnamon stick, cumin and curry powder to the pot and simmer for a half hour. Add salt, pepper and chili flakes to taste.

• When the root vegetables are finished cooking (they should be brown and carmalized, fork tender but not mushy) take them out of the oven and add them to the pot with the liquid mixture.
• Cook on stovetop for another 10 minutes so flavors blend.

• Serve with couscous, crusty bread, or latkes.
• Offer cilantro to sprinkle on top (or do it yourself but not everyone likes cilantro)
• Remind guests to separate garlic from the skin and spread the creamy goodness onto bread.

Bonus Leftovers!
The stew is even better the next day, but if you'd like to do something special you can easily create individual pasti-like pastries by mounding spoonfuls of the stew into the center of squares of puff pastry dough, bringing the corners up, sealing them witha pinch at the top and throwing it all into a 400 degree oven for 20 minutes. Talk about satisfying. And impressive.

Let me know if there is any confusing bits or if you have any questions about the recipe.

Recreating a Tart

2010-11-24T22:52:00.000-08:00

There is a cafe near my home that serves delicious, though overpriced, breakfasts and lunches. Because of the convenience, I find myself there about once a week. Smallish sandwiches are a hefty $8 which is more than I like to spend, but a slice of quiche or savory tart runs about $3.50 and provides me a perfect light meal.

Their menu changes seasonally so last week I was pleased to see a tart of Acorn Squash, Walnut Pesto and Sage. The flavors are rich and satisfying. A vegetarian's dream (no, I'm not a vegetarian, but if I were, it would be in my dreams.) It was delicious.

When I was assigned appetizers to bring to this year's Thanksgiving dinner I immediately thought about recreating the tart. There are essentially four parts: crust, walnut pesto, acorn squash and sage - and each requires it's own preparation, but putting it all together would be easy. I decided to do a test-run today (day before TG) and to make enough of everything to easily assemble another one tomorrow.

Here you go:

SAVORY TART: ACORN SQUASH WITH WALNUT PESTO AND SAGE

Crust: I don't bake, so I decided to use puff pastry dough. Get it in the freezer section of the store. Use one shet let it thaw per package directions. If you are an expert with tart dough, then, I say - go from scratch

Roasted Acorn Squash: Cut one acorn squash in half and scoop out and discard seeds. Place cut side UP in a shallow pan with an inch of water in the bottom. Place in 350 degree oven. Bake until tender but firm enough to slice. About an hour. After cooling, remove the skin and cut into half-moons.

Walnut Pesto: One cup EACH of walnut bits, parmesan cheese, olive oil and a quarter cup cream. Blend everything together. Consistency should be similar to natural peanut butter. Add more walnuts to make it thicker or more cream to make it thinner.

Sage Butter: Finely chop six fresh sage leaves. Put them in a pan with half a stick of butter and let them melt together. As the butter browns it will begin to smell slightly nutty. Be careful the butter doesn't burn.

--------------------------------------

Assemble and Bake the Tart: line a cookie sheet with parchment paper and dust with a small amount of flour. Lay the thawed PUFF PASTRY sheet on it. Spoon the WALNUT PESTO over the sheet and distribute all over in a thin layer. Place the ACORN SQUASH half-moon slices in an attractive pattern over the pesto. With a pastry brush, dab a generous amount of SAGE BUTTER over the top of the squash. Be sure that sage bits get brushed on as well. Fold the edges of the tart over and brush the top with the sage butter. Put into a 400 degree oven and bake for about 20 minutes - until the crust rises and the edges of it and the squash become golden. Serve at room temperature (with a glass of pinot).

Here is a (bad) picture of the test tart. You can see that I wasn't able to make nice half moons out of the squash (which kept breaking apart) so it's not as pretty as I envisioned, but it tasted surprisingly like the cafe's version.

Let me know if you make it.

A Life Online

2010-11-17T19:17:00.000-08:00

It's now old news that I'm experimenting for a month with an online dating site. The process has followed a predictable pattern: One of us contacts the other via the dating site; emails are exchanged; a date is set; phone numbers are traded in case of last minute conflict; a text message or email is forwarded before the date to confirm; the date happens; a followup text message or email is sent thanking the other for a nice time (or not).

Quick. Simple. Easy. Efficient. I love this.

So when someone wants to change the formula I'm put on guard - as happened with this one particular suitor who contacted me via the site. Let's call him "B." B wanted to talk on the phone. I hate the phone. I explained that my reception is bad and text is better but he called anyway. And he talked at me for 20 minutes. I shouldn't say that. He clearly had my profile open on his monitor because he was referring to things I posted on the site ("... here on page 2 you say ..."). At the end of the "conversation" he said that he is looking for "beauty with brains" and that I seemed right for the job ... er, date. Seriously - it was as if he were interviewing me for a business position - but telling me all about the company (him) without asking about the reluctant applicant....

After the phone call I considered breaking the date, but friends said that maybe he was just nervous ... give him another chance .... If nothing else, I decided to stew on it a few days and decide (a'la Ms. O'hara) later.

The next two nights, at around 9, I received text messages from B saying, "sweet dreamz... :)" On the third day a photo was sent... I downloaded it and was relieved to see a view of the SF Bay.... The whole thing was feeling kind of weird, but the date was a couple of days away and, I told myself, I could pull out anytime.

I didn't have to.

Just as I was snoozing off last night, at about the time "sweet dreamz :)" had been popping up on my phone, I received this instead (SIC):

U on Twitter now, tweeting about everything on ur mind, missing in life, ur lack of a relationship with a real and; highly employed Jewish man, about ur college date rape or near one in Israel, what u ate or drank in dirty Berkeley ....omg how PATHETIC.

Um, what? I was awake now, and texted back, "Really? Wow."

I made plans ... 2 meet a real high-end woman looking 4 a real relationship with a great guy. Take care get a highly talented PhD therapist, bye :)

I recognize that my online life is transparent - sometimes uncomfortably so - and I expect there will be judgements made. I'm also not naive, and am fully aware that if I give someone my phone number they can do a reverse search on Google and find me instantly. If a guy wants to stalk me --- I mean --- check me out before a date, they are privy to a lot of information. It's happened before - the reactions are telling.

Admittedly I've put some stuff out there that definitely could be considered pathetic, however, the post to which B. was referring is candid and raw. It speaks about deceit and violence and how events can twist your life in ways never expected. It's about growth. There is nothing pathetic about it. That he reels against this particular piece of writing reveals almost as much about him as the post does about me. Following it up with a crotch shot to my home town ("dirty Berkeley") was unnecessary and frankly, irrelevant.

Clearly this guy was not worth meeting in the first place. Perhaps my on-line life will continue to work as a screen to filter out the assholes, but I worry that it could scare some men off. And while I may be a reflection of what I put up here, no one can really know me until they spend time with me. IRL. And even then, I'm complicated.

Happily so.

Testing the Waters

2010-11-16T13:11:00.000-08:00

Regardless of what I may have claimed here, I am dating.

And, I've returned to the online search once again because it seems easiest.

In fact, it's really kind of lazy. Beyond writing the perfect essay(s) and filling out a few forms, there's nothing to it. You can sit around in your pajamas (or not), anytime of day or night, cruising (trolling) potential partners who "fit" your profile - according to the algorithm setup by whatever particular site you are using.

That said, I decided to notch it up a tad by joining a site that requires payment. Common sense dictates that someone who's forking out cash to meet dates is probably more serious about it than someone who's not. Right? RIGHT? Whatever.

Immediately, on these kinds of sites, I face a challenge: my profile reads "41, divorced, two children, self employed...." It's all there on the first page. Regardless of how attractive my picture may be, if I were a guy trolling the site, I'd likely click "next." Who needs the baggage? I lamented this fact to my brother-in-law who advised I change "divorced" to "single", "41" to "39" and "2 kids" to just "kids." Really? I consented to being single - because I am - but the rest is a lie, or close to it, and no way to start a relationship. Needless to say, I'm finding the proactive approach most fruitful.

It's been a couple of weeks and I've had a few dates. The experiences have been mostly rewarding in one way or another. I've not met anyone who is less than who they claim on their profile (which, I understand is unusual), so that's good. Furthermore, the diversion is fun. The site makes meeting people a game and there's something to be said for getting marked "favorite" or being "starred" that is stupidly satisfying.

I signed up for the one-month plan and have 14 days before expiration. I'm not going to renew (it's expensive!) but, as far as getting back into the dating pool, it does seem a good way to wet the toes.

Avoiding the Core

2010-11-03T15:37:00.000-07:00

Angela Pierce, the protagonist in the movie Catfish, is a desperate character who brilliantly paints a fictitious story on facebook. She also paints canvases. The artwork showcased in the film was not impressive to me. The film, however, was - which compelled me to Google Angela Pierce, leading me to her website.

One piece struck a chord and I clicked through to an online store of prints available for purchase. They weren't expensive. I bought it.

Why this one? I wasn't sure at first, but the print arrived almost a month ago and I think it's starting to make sense.

All those apples - symbolic, at least to me, of temptation and loss of innocence. Each fruit, unfinished - tossed aside before reaching the core, which itself is truth. As if she doesn't want to know - she keeps munching, losing innocence, avoiding the truth. Getting nowhere.

Yet those apples are still so tempting. She takes another.
Crunch.

My Catfish

2010-10-25T11:35:00.000-07:00

By now you've probably heard about the "facebook documentary" called Catfish. Maybe you've even seen it. There has been some debate about whether the film was staged, but honestly, I don't care. The story - the beginning and the end - was sweet and innocent; the characters naive and brilliant.

Sitting through the film was more uncomfortable than, say, watching porn with my dad might be. Seriously. It made me squirm.

Why?

At first I thought it was the text messages - familiar in their content - like a script I've seen bleeped across my smart phone... SMS intimacy that blooms to "sexting" things that might otherwise be left unsaid. Or maybe the easy way in which they shared (or so it seemed) such personal parts of themselves on social media platforms like facebook. But no. It was bigger.

There's a lot I want to say about this film. It'll take more than one post. I'm going to start here - with the story of MY catfish. So you get a sense of where I'm coming from.

----

It was early 1991 and I'd just completed college. As a mid-year graduate I had a semester and summer to kill while waiting to hear back from applications to grad school. My plan was to go to Israel (I'd been there the summer before and needed, for a variety of reasons, to return) but the Gulf War was in its fullest bloom and I was advised to wait - at least until the scuds stopped falling.

While waiting I lived with my parents in San Diego. I found a job at a gallery in a trendy beachfront mall and spent the evenings "babysitting" expensive Italian furniture and paintings. I'd sit there studying Hebrew and listening to the radio - practically praying that Bush (#1) would pull the troops out and officially end the war.

So it was on one of these nights that two young men walked into the gallery and, after chatting and flirting a bit, invited me to join them at a nearby restaurant for drinks. Which I did. One of them - Bill - and I hit it off immediately. We began dating.

Bill was a medical student at UCSD. He had class during the day, studied long hours and worked for his uncle selling mall jewelry on the weekends - to help pay the enormous student loans.

Still, we saw each other often and because I was living with my parents, he met them sooner than I might have felt comfortable. But they adored him (a doctor!) and immediately embraced his presence. Bill was invited to family dinners and parties with my parent's circle. I remember once, a long-time friend of my folks, a doctor's wife, said to me, "oh - where'd you find this one Cori? hold onto him!" Her husband liked him too and invited him to view a surgery.

All was peachy.

Soon enough, the war "ended" and I was accepted into a masters program in Jewish Studies, to begin in the fall. Despite being in love, I still wanted to go back to Israel to immerse myself in the language - attempt to learn it before diving into the primary sources written in ancient Hebrew and Aramaic.

Bill and I agreed to carry on our relationship while I was away. He was looking into transferring to UCSF so we could be together in the Bay Area when I returned. We wrote long love letters back and forth... he'd share details about his internship at the Salk Institute and I'd relay my adventures living in the most orthodox part of Jerusalem while learning Hebrew in a government run ulpan populated entirely by a newly settled group of Russians. It was quite lovely.

Exorbitant long distance charges kept us from speaking on the phone, so when he called one day - two months before I was due to fly back - I knew something important had happened. And indeed - he had something to say that he was afraid would hurt me. That's OK, go for it, tell me. "I didn't get that internship at the Salk Institute. I told you and your parents that I did because I didn't want you to be disappointed in me." Is that all? Oh. Well, I'm sorry you felt that way but it doesn't change how I feel about you. I love you whether you have a prestigious internship - or not.

He was clearly relieved and we said goodbye

I looked back over the letters and studied the details he'd written about the internship: specifics about his office, research partner, the items served in the cafeteria - even difficulties parking. It was all made up. Pretend.

But I was in Israel and would be for another two months. I put the lie aside. I studied Hebrew. I waited to go home.

Home -

When I arrived at the airport my folks picked me up. My mom said something snide about Bill - something I didn't understand. I kept thinking about it while I freshened myself up for our reunion. And suddenly it hit me. I went to my sister (several years younger than me, still in high school) "Bill isn't a medical student, is he?" Her face said it all - fear, sorrow, pity. "No. - But don't tell Mom and Dad I told you."

I didn't tell. And I didn't tell Bill what I knew when he picked me up that night. I let him suffer through the evening, watching him try several times to confess. Finally, midnight, and we went to the beach to watch the waves. He said, "Cori, I'm not in med school. I'm not in school at all. I just sell jewelry." Wow.

Later I found out that my dad and Bill had had several discussions - at each meeting Bill looked into my dad's eyes and lied. But the lies became obvious and my dad made some calls (no record of Bill ever graduating from the college he said he came from. No record of Bill as a student at UCSD) and finally confronted Bill straight on: WHO the HELL are you?

Imagine for a moment that you are my dad. Have a knot in your stomach? I know I sure would.

But I was barely 22 and wanted to believe the man I was in love with was simply misguided (and not a sociopath). I forgave him. Yup. On the beach that night I said, "Bill, I would love you whether you were doctor or a garbage man. I'm sorry you felt you had to lie." I'M SORRY!?!?! Yea. I said that.

Naturally the relationship didn't last. I moved up to Berkeley for Grad School. He visited several times but I couldn't believe anything he said. His lies were like truths to him and I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. Talk about a mind fuck.

It was, actually, more than that: the previous year at college, before I met Bill, I'd been raped on a date and not long after - during my first visit to Israel, at Hebrew University - I was assaulted by a naked man hiding in the dorm bathrooms. He tried to rape me but I fought back and screamed bloody murder They caught him running down the hall pulling his pants on. I spent the last weeks of my visit learning about the Israeli justice system (further complicated by the fact that my assailant was Palestinian....)

What Bill did to my mind was the same. I felt violated - and this time not by a date or a stranger - but by the man I loved. He'd stuffed a bunch of lies into my head and now he was slowly pulling them out - sharp edges and all. It hurt.

---------

The film Catfish brought all of this back to me. If you've seen the movie, then you know why. If you haven't, understand this: a catfish is something thrown into the mix to shake things up a bit - keep you on your toes. Bill is my catfish. And I say "is" in the present tense because his actions, 20 years later, still affect me. I could heal from physical assaults and even rape, but the way Bill managed to alter my perception... to fool me... I think I'll carry that around to the grave.

It's the Abstract that Hurts

2010-10-18T18:58:00.000-07:00

I've had a string of rotten stuff happen. I keep pulling myself up from feeling sorry for myself by focusing on people in situations much worse than mine - like the 33 miners in Chile. I mean, if they can survive a month under the ground, who am I to complain about a few days of crap?

I don't really have a right to complain about the gardener hired by my landlady who called me a bitch at 8am on a Saturday morning. Or the client who insulted me personally and professionally while "excusing me" from duties on a project for which he wasn't paying. Or how about the colleague who, while attempting to sniff out my business plan, swooped in from behind and stole the job.

More abstractly I could complain about how the gardener, calling me a bitch at my own home, enunciated the fact that there is no man living here (because if there were, he wouldn't have dared speak to me that way.) Or how the self righteous insults of the non-paying client had me questioning my professional capability at the same moment my "colleague" pulled out a knife and stabbed me in the back.

Or I could bemoan a lack of romance - real or imagined. The actuality I can live without - I've got more than a decade of practice. But the abstract romance keeps the pilot on. When it gets extinguished it becomes a hell of a lot more difficult to fire up. And the cooling is piercingly quiet.

But hey, the kids are healthy. The bills are paid. I'm going to see my favorite band perform tonight. (Never mind that I couldn't find a date and am going alone)

I'm not complaining.

A Reletive Lepton

2010-10-03T22:10:00.000-07:00

Quick background: I came to Berkeley in 1990 to earn an MA in Jewish Studies at the Graduate Theological Union. During my first week of classes I met a man, "T" who continues to be a close friend. Over the years we've studied together, encouraged each other's work, celebrated accomplishments.... He was at my wedding, heard Joe's first breath, supported me (without alienating EX) during the separation and divorce... my children have grown up with him. He's family.

Last night T and I went to dinner (as we often do) and I made a snide remark about the existence of God. "You don't believe in God?" he asked? My answer - "no" - had never flowed so effortlessly from my lips. It surprised us both.

We quickly fell into a familiar and friendly academic discourse about life, death, the "soul" and God. "Humans," he began, "are made up of all these little tiny molecules... we're just one giant mass of living organisms.... So, what if we are really just one tiny little molecule of a larger being. Just like we can be broken down to protons and neutrons, quarks and leptons, suppose we are that tiny of a reality.... Along with everyone else in the whole universe - itself only a molecule - we are one reletive lepton of God."

I kinda loved it. And like a child, I imagined a "god" of huge proportions - a giant - in which we are all swimming, floating, moving towards something blurry and abstract. Granted, we - collectively - may be only a cell in the digestive track, our existence is (still) necessary for its survival.

And *BAM*
We come back to that again.
God can't exist without us.

The answer is still no.

Vlogtober

2010-10-01T10:31:00.000-07:00

Some of you know that I used to spend a lot of time over on YouTube. I really enjoy editing video (though I've not done it in eons) and interacting with the YouTube community, but I've not made it a priority in the last two years for a gazillion reasons. That's not to say that I don't keep up with my old YouTube friends. We stay connected on twitter and facebook and various blog posts. I even "meetup" with them in real life when the opportunity presents itself.

Last night a YouTube friend, Mugglesam, suggested (via a twitter dm conversation) that I try doing a daily vlog for the month of October. Talk about the news - make it current, using tags that are likely to show up in searches - from a Mom's perspective. A mommy vlog. Evidently YouTube (the big "G") has made it known that they're interested in content for the Mommy Blogging community. I'm a mom. I also blog.... Albeit, I'm a divorced mom. Living in Berkeley. So my perspective might be skewed in that direction.

These videos are going to be pretty raw for a few reasons. First, I don't know how to use Imovie9 (yet) and editing is impossible. So - they'll be pretty much one-take one-sided conversations with myself (hahaha). Also, It's at the end of the day - I look tired (because I am) and I don't wear makeup (usually) and I'm not going to put it on for a video. So, there's that. Don't judge. You look tired at the end of the day too.

I'm not going to post all the videos here (in case it's not your thing) but here's the intro if you're interested. We'll see how it goes.

Brisket or Bust

2010-09-10T09:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Rosh ha Shana (5751) and, although I don't go to services, I do like to experience my religion through its food. The Jewish New Year is celebrated with sweets (for a sweet year) - sweet kugal, tsimmis, and apples with honey. I've had tsimmis where the meat is thrown into the pot, but it's not to my taste so I make the meat separately.

So - off I went to buy a brisket.

I called a local butcher who said, yes, they had some; when I arrived, however, I was told that it hadn't arrived yet but would be delivered in an hour. OK ... save one for me.... Off to the local high-end grocery store (the beef really does make a difference - I find that organic, grass-fed is best) ... they weren't expecting a delivery until Monday. Hm. Ok, it was early. I could wait an hour.

But brisket takes some time to braise - it's a tough cut of meat and needs to cook for a long time to become tender.

I called a third butcher - one attached to a restaurant - and they had 4 lbs. YES! Hold it! I'll come right over.

It was an end piece with a big cone of fat through the middle. Fine - I'd take it. Please cut out the lard (which they did and kindly shaved off a half pound from my bill).

I arrived back at my house at around four and immediately browned it up and started it braising.

My recipe is usually pretty straightforward, but this time I decided to add some sweet new year pizazz and alter the formula. The results were magnificent. So much so that I NEED to write them down so I can attempt to replicate it in the future. So - here you go:

BRISKET (or bust)
4lbs brisket
one can chicken broth
one package onion soup mix
one can chopped tomatoes
one cup Boffo Cart jarred tomatoes (or something similar)
one pint marinated figs and olive (bought at the olive bar at Magnani in Berkeley)
one cup water

• season meat with salt and pepper all over
• in a large sauce pan, brown the meat on both sides (about 5 mins. each side)
• add to the pan: chicken broth, onion soup mix, can chopped tomatoes and cup home-made jarred tomatoes (or appropriate substitute.)
• bring to a boil, cover the pot and lower flame to simmer
• simmer for 1 hour, then turn the brisket over, add the figs/olives and another cup of water and recover
• simmer for another hour
• check for done-ness - should be fork tender if not - cook longer.

Let it sit for a half hour in the pan before serving.
Remove meat from pan and slice across the grain.
Left in the pan is a tomato/olive/fig "jam" - serve it along-side the brisket slices.
Heaven.

On Dating

2010-08-26T23:53:00.000-07:00

Two years ago I left my husband.

Much to the confusion of everyone but me, there were no "other people" involved (neither one of us were having an affair). Overlooking the actual "why" of the end (which requires its own post), it's the "when" to begin that I want to address here.

EX is the type of man, he wouldn't be ashamed to admit, who "needs" a woman in his life and he quickly found a girlfriend to fill the gap I left behind. He was calmer and happier with her which made it easier for everyone. It was a good thing.

I, on the other hand, had a different agenda and got busy finding my way back to me. Mostly this involved meeting and spending time with a bunch of amazing women who supported and inspired me. It's true that along the way I met some nice guys who helped move the journey along, but serious dating - relationships - have held no interest.

The divorce became final a few months ago and, almost immediately, well-meaning friends and family members began to ask if I was dating... or looking to meet someone .... Even my kids, who have seen their dad in two serious relationships since I left, have began asking boyfriend questions.

So I took a step back and examined where I'd gotten (really only measurable by knowing from where I'd come) and decided that, indeed, there is space for a partner. Even more than space–desire. Perfect. I'm ready. How does one start dating?

As you may expect, I began the way I'm most comfortable - online. I put an ad up (on an unnamed dating site) and began vetting responses. The first fellow (#1) and I arranged to meet for coffee. Must have been the longest 45 minutes of my life. He spoke about the demise of his 17 year marriage, his job and then - more about him. I was surprised to receive an email the next day requesting to see me again. When I said no thank you, that I thought we were in "different places," he called me a "mean hearted bitch" and a "nit without feelings."

Once recovered from the misdirected anger of #1 I gave it another try. #2 was a nice guy - a gentleman. I was attracted to him, and the date flowed along effortlessly. When I got home there was an email waiting from him saying he enjoyed himself and was looking forward to our next meeting. I followed up in the affirmative. but the second date was difficult to schedule. He disappeared. Never heard from him again.

I took down my ad. ... but left myself open to possibility. Embraced opportunities as they've come my way. And I've met some incredibly warm and promising men, but no one who is available for a relationship.

Excuse the long winded story because in the end all I really want to say is that I've figured it out and here it is in a nutshell: I'm 41 years old. Men my age either want children of their own (and I'm not birthing anymore babies) or they don't want children (and I have two.) Either way, I lose. OH! there are men who are like me: divorced with children half time. I'm open to a blended family, but I've yet to meet a prospect. At least in my state.

My theory posits that when I'm 50-and my kids are basically grown–able to fend for themselves–I will find my dating pool expanding. Men in my age bracket will be too old to want kids and/or they'll have grown ones of their own. They'll be looking for straight-on companionship and love. From me.

It's all figured out now (tongue planted firmly in cheek): I spend the next nine years concentrating on my kids and my business. Building a firm foundation and fluffy nest for my forthcoming dating days. I'm looking forward to it. But in the meantime I've got a hell of a lot of work to do.

You Don't Know Me

2010-08-18T21:18:00.000-07:00

It was all bullshit.
If you only know me from my online persona then you don't. Know me.

The sound of my voice when I'm sad. The way I laugh when something amuses me.
Did you know that hosting a party puts me in a place of concentration and absorption that is the closest I get to meditation? Cooking puts me there too. Unless you've seen me in that space - you don't know me.

My tendency to tremble when I'm nervous, the way I turn to mush when my kids say they love me – you've never seen that stuff.

Not too many people have. But them, they're the ones that know me.

To you, I'm Berzerkeley.
And really that's just fine.

I Feel Like I Know You

2010-08-15T13:43:00.000-07:00

Blending online and offline life has become, of late, generally acceptable. Two years ago, when I made this YouTube video, it wasn't as true, but with the advent of "tweetups" and "gatherings" the tides have shifted and hearing "oh, we met on twitter" isn't so odd. At least in my circle ... er, bubble.

Amazing in so many ways, social networks have created opportunities for me to connect with moms all over the world, introduced me to the smartest people I've ever met, gotten me interviews, jobs, dates. Doors have opened; worlds (literally and figuratively) discovered.

I tend to be transparent to a fault when presented with a social media platform, so when I meet people IRL (in real life) the first thing I hear is "I feel like I know you." And in many ways they do. If they watch my videos on YouTube they've seen my kids grow up, if they read my blog they know my struggles as a newly single mom. My twitter stream has, at certain times, been more revealing than the diary of a teenager.

You'd think this would make me uncomfortable. On the contrary. Much of the awkwardness I feel when meeting new people dissipates when someone says, "I read your tweet about xyz - how was that?" or "I saw that video of Maia - she's so funny." It opens up avenues of conversation and encourages a more immediate intimacy than with those who don't have online connections.

I've been lucky to meet many of my online friends in person. Berkeley has a nice contingency of people tweeting about local news and events, lots of moms, and foodies. Some I see often, others by happenstance (I'm always surprised by the number of people who recognize me by my twitter avatar). I've yet to have a bad experience.

That said, I've also connected with people who, without the Internet, I'd have never met. Folks with whom I share experiences but live across mountains and seas. Lucky for me, San Francisco is a destination that's fun to visit and hosts many trade conferences – IRL meetings have been generous.

The sweet potential of connection via online medium opens up the entire world for exploration. Everyone is as close as the click of a mouse. It makes our planet seem so small.... and then, inevitably, so LARGE. Spending actual physical time with some of these online friends is SO comfortable that it begs for ... well... more actual physical time. Therein lies the conundrum: While allowing us expand our social reach, the Internet also reminds us of our limits.

A teleportation device has yet to be invented and plane rides are long and expensive. Furthermore, the trappings of life - work, kids, commitments - make even the idea of frequent visits impossible. And so there is a vague bitterness that follows some of these meetings. In this advanced age of the Internet, geographical limitations still apply. Mountains and seas remain obstacles, and someone on the other side of the world who might have become a best friend, flame, or companion is, in all reality, still on the other side of the world.

Kale Chips

2010-08-05T22:20:00.000-07:00

Last year the kids and I were visiting a friend at her Napa abode. Along with excellent wine, fruits, almonds, cheeses and breads she served kale chips. Delacate lacy leaves of salty crunch. The children devoured them

Recently I came across kale chips at a farmers' market in Palo Alto. Big jars of them. Super expensive.

Finally, walking along the side walk right here in town, I glanced in a shop window and saw a man busily making ... something. I got in close and started asking questions through the open window. "I'm making kale chips," he said as he brushed marinade onto a leaf. "We sell them all over the country." Turns out I was smack in front of Blessings Alive and Radiant Foods. I must have walked by the shop a thousand times and never noticed it. Unlike the chips I've tried, Blessings Alive dehydrates the kale. Making it extra crunchy.

So, kale chips seem to be a trend.

Of course I had to jump on the bandwagon and try doing it myself - starting with a thick hearty bunch of just-picked kale from my local market. Here's how I did it:

Ingredients
One bunch kale (thick leaves)
3 tbsp olive oil
1 garlic clove
salt

Directions
• Set oven to 250 degrees
• Pour the olive oil and the garlic clove in a large bowl. Let it sit.
• While it sits, wash and dry the kale leaves (it's important to dry them or they won't crisp)
• Remove the garlic from olive oil and discard (or use for something else)
• Put the kale leaves in the bowl and mix to coat with the olive oil
• Lay the leaves flat in a single layer on a cookie sheet
• Sprinkle with salt (and/or pepper, onion powder, garlic powder, chili flakes, etc)
• Put in the oven and let "bake" until crisp - about 20 minutes

Serve warm, or let cool and store in a sealed jar.
Also great crumbled over soup, salad or pasta!

Baby Baby Baby

2010-08-04T12:35:00.000-07:00

A Place Callled "Expectations"

2010-08-04T11:13:00.000-07:00

The first time I read The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster I was about eight. My parents had friends with teenage daughters that we visited often. I found the book in their room, made myself at home and opened it up. Honestly, all the backward words confused me, but I liked the idea of a land beyond the tollbooth... and the fact that Milo (the main character) was able to drive.

Like so many other great children's books (The Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, etc) The Phantom Tollbooth can be read on several different levels. When I picked it up last week I was planning on gifting it to Joe (DS), but then I took a peek and was immediately sucked in.

The hook? Upon embarking on his journey, Milo bumps into a little man - the Whether Man - who points the way to "Expectations." What? "Why, Expectations is the place you must always go to before you get to where you're going. Of course, some people never go beyond Expectations..."

I can't stop pondering his words. They roll around in my brain. What are my expectations for this little life of mine? And if I haven't defined my expectations, is it possible to move forward? Does expectation fuel the drive? What happens when expectations don't measure up? Or fall flat all together?

Now, reverse that: what if where get to exceeds Expectations. The roast is tender and delicious, the date went well, the raise was earned. Does it make you happier? By lowering expectations are we creating opportunities for success?

Reverse that (again): high expectations may result in defeat but do they push you beyond where you would have gone with lower expectations?

Confused?
Me too.

But I think the Whether Man is saying that the expectations we impose on ourselves can drive (quite literally, in Milo's case) us forward and perhaps take us to lands we never knew existed. The words have convinced me to raise mine - expect the universe - see how far I get. Watch me fly beyond Expectations.

How Does It Feel?

2010-07-04T19:25:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday morning the phone rang and my attorney said, simply, "You're divorced!" The judge had signed my petition and my divorce had been granted. Since then I've been asked over and over again: "how do you feel?" My immediate answer was "kinda relieved, kinda weird..." I couldn't really put my finger on how it felt.

But I've had a few days to process now - talking to friends, reading back on my old journals and blog posts, generally thinking. So I'm gonna tell you how it feels.

There are certain events in life that are of epic importance yet are not celebrated or even marked - at least not in the Western world. There are three that immediately come to mind: losing ones virginity, becoming pregnant, and getting divorced. If you've done any of these things, then you know how it feels.

Remember the day after the first time you had sex? Wondering if people could "tell." Or how about the first trimester of pregnancy when you carried around a little secret that no one could see or feel but you? And then there's divorce. A piece of paper signed by a judge; the news delivered with a phone call. Kind of a vacant hole in the face of a major transition, don't you think?

So how to "celebrate" or at least mark the moment? A lot of people asked if I was gonna go get drunk ... (which I did) or have a party (at the bar). Though fun, neither seems sufficient. Maybe I've not "processed" or thought through this enough to find a way to properly honor the event. It deserves a ritual or a yearly memorial. Something.

I'm looking.

The House Across the Street

2010-06-06T16:19:00.000-07:00

My house has a big window in the living room that looks east. In between the buildings I can see the Berkeley Hills which I find calming. Directly across the street is a lovely home with wisteria growing down the front stairs (left). I find it a source of intrigue and, recently, some sad nostalgia.

When I first moved in, almost a year ago, the neighbors in that house introduced themselves. Two school age girls, their dad and a male roommate. Their mom lived elsewhere.

We haven't talked much over the months but my "view" has made it clear that the girls live there only half time. Sometimes, during drop-off, mom and dad talked, or argued, on the sidewalk. The girls would disappear into the house. Moments like these would make me turn from the window, uncomfortable. Seeing something meant to be private. And so familiar.

Then, last month, there began a series of trucks coming to the house. Boxes and boxes of things being moved. On and off for weeks. Then, Memorial Day weekend, there was a big push. Suddenly mom, dad, roommate, kids and friends were working together to move everything out. It seemed an awkward collaboration where each was on their best behavior. Smiling extra wide.

Yesterday, bringing out the garbage, I had an opportunity to ask my neighbor if he was moving. "yes yes. I'm moving in with my girlfriend in Marin. Since the divorce, four years ago, I cannot afford this house."

WHUMP.

Like a time warp I'm brought back two years, three then four....

We lived in a classic Berkeley bungalow. Nine hundred square feet with a finished garage I used as an office. It worked well for many years. Then there was Moses (the dog), Joseph (first born) and finally, baby Maia, It became a squeeze. We considered selling and buying a new house - and even put an (unsuccessful) offer on one. Eventually, my husband, the architect, convinced me that he could add a second story to our existing house for under $100 grand. He introduced me to the contractor who would do the work. And so, the decision was made - we'd build up. Go.

We emptied the house and moved to a rental (oh how simple those 9 words are, the process was SO MUCH more, but I won't bore your here.) Construction began. When they ripped off the roof I was visiting my parents in San Diego and a friend sent me a picture. I gasped when I saw it. There was no turning back now.

Construction went on for 10 months during which time we plowed through two contractors and countless subcontractors. (yet another story) Eventually, my husband took over as GC and pieced together the work. It would save money, he said. But the reality was (is) that he is an architect and NOT a GC. And an architect who is given charge of his own project's construction is a dangerous proposition.

Needless to say we went waaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyy over budget. More than $250g over budget. The house (left) was basically beautiful (if finished quickly) but the situation itself was a disaster.

We scrambled to pay our new humongous mortgage just as the economy was sinking and our business were struggling. Our families were generous and helped us so we lived there for two years... and then I decided to end the marriage. It seemed sudden to everyone but me.

I moved into the garage, sleeping on an air bed and we struggled to find solutions as to how we might "save" the house.... could one of us live in it with a roommate? Could we rent out the garage as an office? None of the "solutions" came close to being able to cover the mortgage. There was no choice but to sell.

We were lucky. Even in the down economy we received four offers with one at sixty grand over asking and no contingencies. Done. HE and I secured our individual apartments and settled into being single parents.... (hahaha - that makes it sound so easy, doesn't it?)

Now, looking out the window has become like gazing in the mirror - a reflection of the pain of divorce, financial struggles, and finally, moving on (or out, as the case may be.)

I wonder who will buy the house across the street. I'm thinking it'll be a young couple, babe in arms. Maybe a dog. I'll bring them champagne and cookies and wish them the best. The window will cease being a portal to the past and, instead, a promise for a future.... at least for now.

Making My Bed

2010-05-25T16:21:00.000-07:00

I'm still not divorced and Sunday was my eleven year wedding anniversary.

Back in the day I'd be greeted on May 23 with a humongous bouquet of flowers - delivered to the front door. Nice, right?

It never failed to irritate me. WHY spend a $100 on flowers (that would die) and delivery when you live with me in the SAME house? What a massive waste of funds. Furthermore, floral delivery indicated that little to no time or effort was put into the gift. It was always a disappointment and it's probably jaded me forever.

Of course, THIS is "the day" NOW, and the anniversary was forgotten until the memory (upon looking at the date) assaulted me on Sunday morning... The wedding itself was beautiful. A sunny May day in Tilden Park's Brazillian Room. The band was great. Everyone danced. I hear the food was good, but I didn't have any because I spent half the night in the bathroom puking.

OK, maybe that's an exaggeration. It wasn't HALF the night. It about 45 minutes. And it happened after I was lifted up in a chair and flung around the dance floor like a giant beach ball. My girlfriend held my hair back as I heaved over the toilet. Somehow my dress stayed clean.

I tried very hard to keep the marriage together. Telling myself often, "I've made my bed, I must lay in it." It was absurd to think that I'd end what appeared to be the perfect success story (marriage, house, kids, businesses, etc etc). But it was all an APPEARANCE. A face for the world.

It wasn't until I EMBRACED the absurd - the end - that I was able to get out of the proverbial bed and start anew.

So, yea, my linens aren't silk and satin, but they ARE 100% cotton, the bed is ALL MINE - and I can make it any way I like.

Malcolm X Day

2010-05-18T23:17:00.000-07:00

In Berkeley the public schools and libraries are closed on "Malcolm X Day" in celebration of his birthday. In the past I've not questioned it. This is Ber(zer)keley and the city likes to make a statement. But this year I decided to refresh my memory about his life and and words, it's been more than 20 years since college and my "Afro-American History" courses.

My admittedly brief study led me to YouTube - with video and audio of his speeches, interviews, discussions. The first one I listened to talked about loving oneself; celebrating ones skin, hair, features as African and beautiful.

Nice. I AGREE with what he says. AND people NEED to hear what he's saying. It's the beginning of black pride. Is it worth getting the day off? Not in my opinion. So I search on.

I discover an interview in which a bunch of old white guys rudely ask Malcolm X to explain the "X" in his name. He does this beautifully. The first three minutes are gold.

Then I found this:

and this:

and I felt a little ill.

I'm not arguing that Malcolm X is an extremely important figure in American history. He was a dynamic speaker who knew what the people needed to hear. Brilliant in his own way. I should, as a friend on facebook pointed out, read his autobiography and put myself in his shoes.

In the meantime, it makes me uncomfortable that the kids got the day off of school in celebration of this guy. Surely there are other African American heroes that can be celebrated with a day off.... Rosa Parks? Markus Garvey?

Thoughts?

Mother's Day Coupons Get Real

2010-05-05T15:58:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday mornings I volunteer at Joe's school and today I was hanging out in the office putting packets together. A kindergarten teacher was making Mother's Day coupons for her students to fill out and give for presents. They were to get five coupons and needed to come up with a different offer for each.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Hugs? Kisses? Drawings?"

Well, those things are great, but I get them every day. Naturally I started to think about what I'd want if those coupons were somehow to come to me.... here's my five:

REDEEM THIS COUPON TO RECEIVE:

1. Clothes in hamper (as opposed to floor) for a whole week

2. Ten toys picked up and put away before bed for two nights in a row

3. One made bed three mornings in a row

4. A whole day without ANY whining (good for one time only) *I'm a realist*

5. An attention span longer than two minutes (for two minutes) *again, I'm a realist*

What do you want?

The Groove is Good

2010-04-30T22:44:00.000-07:00

The combination of Joe's 8am school bell and my lack of morning humor can add up to potential meltdowns, so it's no suprise that the most difficult days of the week for me are Wednesday, Thursday and Friday - the days the kids wake up here and I have to get them out the door by 7:45. Ugh.

In the old days, before we were separated, David - who likes to rise with the sun - would run the dog and take Joe to school. I'd stay home and have a leisurely coffee while Maia ate breakfast. Her preschool had a more flexible start time so we'd stroll in around 9:00.

Oh times have changed.

Getting two kids out the door is a challenge and I've discussed some of the strategies I use for coping in previous blog posts. But it's gotten easier. And this week, it was really easy. Like almost FUN easy. Everything was just smooth - like a well oiled machine. And I tell you, when the morning goes well, it makes for better day all around. And a better day means a relaxing evening. And that, in short, is how this week has been.

We're in the groove and it's really good.

Two Phases of Understanding

2010-04-28T21:33:00.000-07:00

Tonight, while tucking the kids in, we were chatting, as usual. Maia was having a hard time settling into bed. She said (whined), "oh... Mommy, when I'm with Daddy I miss you and when I'm with you I miss Daddy. I want you BOTH." Maia is 4. Her dad and I have been separated since she was two and a half so she doesn't really remember the four of us as a unit. But she DOES understand - and tonight was able to put into words of the first time - that she loves us both and wants us together. This comprehension of the nature of divorce is new and self-learned. It makes me sad. It would make me sadder if Joe didn't respond the way he did.

The 9 year old - who has always maintained his hatred of the divorce and its inane wrongness - said to his little sister, "divorce may not be happy for me or for you, but mommy is happier and that makes me glad."

Holy. F*cking. Sh*t.

My boy just forgave me. Not that I need to be forgiven. But if he WAS blaming me (and given that his dad told him that the I left the family on my own accord, I believe he did blame me) then he just then, in that moment, that sentence - that lesson to his sister - forgave me. He showed such immense empathy and compassion that I could do nothing but break down in tears and tell him thank you. He understood the significance because he hugged me tight and told me he loved me.

That boy of mine.
He is an old soul and I admire him.
We're gonna be ok. And Maia is damn lucky to have such and awesome big brother.

Quinoa Killer

2010-04-11T19:52:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I discovered quinoa at a potluck party. The dish was made with tomatoes, basil, garlic and roasted eggplant. I loved it and began replicating it at home. It became one of my staple foods.

Here it is a few years later and my kids won't eat it and I don't bother making it for myself. Until today.

What I really craved was a bowl of hot polenta with nuts, raisins, butter and maple syrup (a'la Guerilla Cafe) But I didn't have any polenta and it was pouring rain so there was no way I was going out. I DID have rice, bulgur and quinoa. I decided on the quinoa and cooked it up according to package direction, using apple juice instead of water and, at the end, mixing in walnuts, raisins, blueberries and butter. The chewy texture of the quinoa didn't satisfy the need for smooth hot porridge, but it tasted delicious and I ate a bowl.

Fast forward 2 hours and you see me in fetal position on the sofa. Moaning because my stomach felt like it was twisting itself in knots in an attempt to exit out my navel. The pain was excruciating. I won't go into the details of the illness, but it wasn't pretty. And it lasted all afternoon.

At some point I felt well enough to get online and google my symptoms. Suspecting the quinoa, I added that to search. Sure enough, I landed on a blog post called "Just Say No To .... Quinoa." Although the writer had different motives for consuming quinoa than I, she had the exact same experience - calling it a "quinoa hangover" and blaming it on saponin - the natural oily residual on the grain that needs to be WASHED OFF because it is bitter tasting and used to make DETERGENT.

I didn't wash my quinoa. My stomach hurt bad enough that I will not chance eating the grain again. EVER. Washed or not. There is no guarantee I can wash it well enough - each and every tiny grain. I don't want to take the chance. It's sad, cause I liked quinoa and it's very good for you (saponin not included). But, I stress again, for me, it's not worth the risk. Ouch.

Can't wait to get my hands on some polenta.

Not Watching TV

2010-04-01T19:14:00.000-07:00

Oh no... We're not watching TV. No. At this moment I am downstairs in my office and my children are upstairs. Joe is playing labyrinth. On my Droid (phone). Maia is playing with Barbie. On my MacBook.

Earlier, Joe and I were looking at Google Maps in 3-D. We're still trying to get augmented reality to work right. But, it's soon. As Maia would say, "is it tomorrow?"

Kesler Communicates

2010-03-02T16:05:00.001-08:00

Did you know that I have another blog-for my business. It's over on wordpress (to where I'll be moving this blog eventually) and I talk about graphic design and web 2.0 for non profit organizations and small businesses. Check it out or pass it along to someone who might like it. Thanks!

http://keslercommunications.wordpress.com/

A Mandatory Year of Service: Thoughts on "Class Dismissed" by Walter Kirn, NYT

2010-02-28T11:56:00.000-08:00

I hated high school. With a passion. So, by sophomore year I'd worked the system in such a way that I could leave campus every day before lunch. I spent the afternoons working at a hair salon (earning work-study credits) and nights taking classes at the community college. But it wasn't enough. I wanted OUT so I doubled up on classes, took summer courses, weekend intensive workshops and managed to graduate a semester early.

Finally free of high school I hopped on a plane and moved across the country to New York City. I was seventeen.

In his article "Class Dismissed," Walter Kirn posits that we should do away with the 12th grade entirely because it's become a "year of licensed irresponsibility." Is it true? I wasn't really there... Perhaps it would be best to offer students a choice the summer before senior year. Or ...

Could we possibly require a mandatory year of service before entry to college? Imagine hoards of 17-year-olds volunteering at elementary school, hospitals, farms (see "Plow Shares" - same issue NY Times Magazine), convalescent homes, and appropriate non profit organizations around the country. Can you imagine entering college after spending a year discovering how your actions help a person, community or even the world? Would this experience have changed the directions taken in university? Would NOT going to college become a viable option leading to long term, valuable, working posts? Would apprenticeships come back into vogue?

I kind of love the idea. What do you think?

Mom to Dad and Back Again - Easing the Transition

2010-02-20T20:48:00.000-08:00

Divorced parents are not the same as single parents.

Single parents are those who have either chosen to have their child without a partner OR those who have been left widowed. Single parents have their own set of issues and to deal with, but they are not burdened with co-parenting dilemmas.

Like it or not, divorced parents are CO-parents-particularly if they share custody of the children. What happens at dad's house does not disappear when the kids are at mom's. Rules, routines, discipline, even FOOD are different at each home. It might be difficult for a four year old to remember that it's ok to eat on the sofa a daddy's but not a mommy's... And with a schedule that has meant a shift every other day, MY children are really having a hard time of it.

Yes. Due to their dad's new teaching schedule, and our commitment to 50/50 custody, the children are sleeping Monday & Wednesday at Dad's and Tuesday and Thursday here. Still switching off Fri/Sat/Sun. It's not working.

Changing this schedule will mean that the kids will be with me a bit more than with their dad, but I believe it will end up being better for them. Making the transition is hard enough without having to do it every single day.

OH - the transition ... it's not just a changing of the guards, a handing off of responsibility.... It's bigger. Remember the KIDS. They have to adjust their entire being to live in a different home with an entirely different set of rules.

Over the last year I've learned some techniques to help ease transition days. Listed here are five that I find particularly helpful:

1. Be waiting for their arrival with a big smile and open arms.

2. Do not take it personally if they are grumpy or whiny or angry upon arrival. They (especially older kids) are pissed that you guys separated in first place and put him into this position of having to switch houses every day. Additionally, they could have been up all night, or doing errands all day ... you need time to gauge their moods and adjust accordingly.

3. Give them an hour to just chill out in their room or play with their toys. They need time to make the place their own again - they've been gone for many many hours. Sometimes days. They must make sure things stayed the same while they were gone. Consistency, when available, is vital.

4. Do not have guests on the transition days. The kids, even if they don't say it, really just want to spend time with you alone. To be with the parent they've been missing and to have that parent all to themselves.

5. Be prepared for the worst (overtired, grumpy, unhappy child). If the child comes home well-rested and happy, it's a bonus.

What do you do to help ease this kind of transition for your kids? What can you add to the list?

Free to Roam

2010-02-17T16:46:00.000-08:00

When I was young, I'd walk myself to and from school. Sometimes I'd go with friends, other times alone. I remember doing it as early as kindergarten. After school I was sent out to play. Everyone was. All the neighborhood kids would be out--tossing a ball, having snowball fights, jumping in leaves ... each season brought new games. We were never bored.

When the street lights came on, or parents called out from doorsteps, it was time to go home. Simple.

Here it is 30 years later. I live on the west coast (no seasons) in an urban environment with two children of my own. And times have changed.

Would I consider letting my kindergarten-age child walk to school alone (never mind that school is 5 miles across town)? No. No way. How about playing outside? I allow them to chalk up the sidewalk in front of our house, or ride down the block on a skateboard or trike... but I'm RIGHT there. Either outside with them, or watching, perched at the window, at the ready to tackle anyone who dares mess with my kids.

At the same time, I'm loath to instill this fear in them.

The New York Times recently took this topic on and opinions on what is “right” run deep. The article reminds us of Julie Pat who, 3 decades ago, let her six year old son walk to the bus stop himself. He was never seen again. However, Lenore Skenay, author of “Free-Range Kids: Giving Our Children the Freedom We Had Without Going Nuts with Worry,” argues that our fears and anxieties are negating the joys of walking to school and the discernment of self care. Independence.

So when my son, almost nine, said to me one day, "mom, I want a kaiser roll. Liam and I will walk to the bread store to get it." Oh, really? I looked at the boys, thought about the 2 block walk to the bakery and heard myself saying, "let me get you some money," and I sent them on their merry way. From what I gather from our conversation afterwards, they ran to and fro, were followed by "a crazy dude" and were faced with a major dilemma upon discovering the shop was out of kaiser rolls. You know what though? The DID it. And they felt proud. They also had something to talk about for the rest of the afternoon and at school the next day. It was an adventure.

Since then, on Wednesdays, when I volunteer at Joe's school and stop to get a coffee, Joe asks if he can walk to class rather than wait with Maia (age 4) and me for my drink. I let him. It's an active two blocks with lots of parents and kids on their way to school. I feel comfortable with it. Furthermore, those few moments that my son is alone, independent, free -- add significantly to his confidence and self esteem. He can do something by himself! Which means that he can do OTHER THINGS by himself. I'm also seeing a greatly increased effort on his part to make his own breakfast or read to his sister.

A lot of people may thing what I'm doing is wrong: turning my son free on the streets of Berkeley ... It's ok. Everyone is entitled to an opinion. I'm not sure mine is the right one. But it certainly is the one that seems best for my child.

The Morning Princess Dilemma

2010-02-17T16:43:00.000-08:00

When he was 4, my son, Joe, and I would spend a half hour in front of his closet every morning choosing the day's tshirt -- which usually included some form of superman, batman or spiderman emblazoned across the chest. A character that might have been acceptable last week would be villainous (and unwearable) the next. I'll never forget my frustration.

Here it is five years later and, just as Joe decides he could care less about what he wears, my daughter becomes obsessed with clothes. Super heroes aren't Maia's thing though; she likes princesses. Bonus points if it's a Barbie® princess.

Getting ready each morning was becoming a nightmare. Maia's in preschool. She should be wearing jeans but was insisting on dresses. And not just any dress... she likes the big fluffy ones with velvet and tuel. Too cold out for a sundress? -- no problem! She'll wear a long sleeve shirt and pants under it! Adorning herself with a tiara and assorted jewels (including plastic clip-on earrings) she comes to me with a comb and direction to do her hair so it "swoops" across her forehead, "like Barbie." She finishes her outfit with mismatched socks (on principal) and sparkly sneakers.

Never mind the obvious question (which is "HOW did this happen?"), we'll jump right to the "what do we do?" part. The answer: (almost) nothing.

One thing I've learned as a parent is that I MUST choose my battles with care. Some things are worth fighting for, others are not. As long as she's dressed appropriately for the weather, I say go for it! So what if it's the dress she wore to her aunt's wedding? Maia will be too big for it when the next formal opportunity arises. Why NOT get some use out of it?

The caveat: choose tomorrow's clothes the night before. Maia lays the outfit on the bed to admire and then crawls under the covers, looking forward to dressing the next day. No more wasting precious morning minutes arguing in front of the closet or searching through laundry for the "pink velvet" skirt she must have. Now we have time for breakfast and giggles before leaving for school. A much better start to the day than screaming and whining.

Learning to express oneself is a huge part of growing up. If Maia wants to pretend to be a princess, I'm not going to jump in and stifle her creativity (though I admit to being a bit disappointed that she hasn't embraced super heroes or fire fighters... a subject for another post, another time). I'm just happy we've learned how to make the morning hour relatively peaceful and calm. It makes getting to school so much easier.

Originally published in SchooGo/ParentsTown February 4, 2010

School Participation

2010-02-17T16:39:00.000-08:00

Before my child started public school I had all sorts of grand ideas of what I would do with the PTA. I would organize fundraisers, facilitate conversation between parents and staff, help out in the classroom… But when it came time to put my son Joe in kindergarten I found myself struggling financially, working 60 hours a week, and caring for a second baby. I didn’t have time for the PTA.

Here it is 4 years later. Joe is in third grade and Maia will start kindergarten in the fall. I’ve yet to go to one PTA meeting. I am a member ($10) - which is helpful to them because of National PTA funding – but I can’t commit to being part of its core group of volunteers (president, vp, secretary, communications liaison, etc) because I lack the time and energy.

Does this mean that I’m entirely absent from the school? Not at all; but rather than going to meetings and making fundraising phone calls, I’ve chosen to spend my time on three carefully chosen activities.

One shift (about an hour) at the school book fair which happens twice a year. The kids love the book fair and the PTA offers them one free book each session. It’s a great opportunity to meet other parents and see a bunch of happy kiddies getting their “PTA presents.”
Design the poster for the yearly fundraising Carnival. I’m a graphic designer so pulling together this poster is piece of cake. Additionally I get to express some creativity and see it taped up in all the shops around town. I’ve actually gotten one or two paying gigs from this project.
Stuffing the blue folders. Let me explain. On Wednesdays the kids come home with a blue folder filled with flyers, permission slips and completed homework. Someone needs to sort out all the papers and fill the folders and for Joe’s class, every year, that someone has been me. Being in the classroom EVERY week at the same time (first thing in the morning before taking Maia to preschool) affords me a chance to see Joe’s teacher in action, learn about the classroom dynamics, and get to know the other students. It is the most valued of my volunteering activities. The teacher is pleased to have this task taken off her hands, Joe enjoys seeing me in class, Maia adores drawing pictures and pretending to be a “big girl”, and I like listening to the lessons. It’s a win win win win.

Bottom line: I value (highly) the folks who make up the core volunteers of our school’s PTA, but I don’t feel guilty for not being part of it. I’m satisfied with my contributions to the school and love the activities in which I’ve chosen to partake - isn’t that the most important thing? To make the best effort within your means while taking advantage of the opportunity to be part of your child’s classroom experience.

How do you participate?

Five Droid Apps to Keep Your Kids Busy.

2010-02-09T09:39:00.000-08:00

My post for the DROIDIE.com blog about apps for kids can be found here. Check it out and let me know which apps you use to entertain your kids -- or just explain why you'd never let your kid touch your Droid. :-)

Massage Fairy

2010-02-08T12:19:00.000-08:00

Maia came into my room yesterday and said, "I'm the massage fairy." Then she began rubbing my feet. This is why I had children.

Dressing the Princess

2010-02-01T15:39:00.000-08:00

Another post for the SchooGo blog. I hope you'll cruise over to read, comment and offer your own stories about the princess living in your house. (click here)

Paste an iPad in Your Panties

2010-01-27T16:30:00.001-08:00

For those of you who read this and don't follow me on twitter, I began the day like this:

One hour till the mac geek collective orgasm. Foreplay has been going on for months so we're aiming for multiples.

About two hours later:

I'm actually finding this whole experience underwhelming. I thought we were supposed to see fireworks. "Premature Ejaculation Jobs."

And then the jokes about the name - iPad (gah!)

"iPad" ... the name sounds like it should be pasted into panties. Why?
cleaning an iPad requires douche.
everyone's iPhone is now just for your lighter flow days.

Those are just mine.
Here's a breakdown of some of my favorite tweets regarding the horribly named iPad:

xenijardin Prediction: DRM advocates who criticize Apple for lack of openness will make lots of jokes about iPad vs the need to Stayfree (TM).
summersumz I'm wondering how many women were on the iPad marketing team, and why none of them used their "big girl voice" to shoot down that name.
@Fritinancy What's this I hear about Apple breaking into the lucrative feminine hygiene market with new "iPad"?
@andevers ... there is rarely room for menstrual humor in broad daylight w/ mixed company. Forgive me Mr. Jobs or should I say thanks?
@gooddoug: Next year, it's the iTampon
@expatina Coming next: the new, slightly larger iDepends.
@RenovationTherapy Ipad, for your heaviest cycles.
@rebeccaforever: iPad? So what--you use it once a month?
@DrJenGunter: Do you charge the #iPad every 28 days? (via @dianefischler)

on and on ....

So it just makes one ask... WHY? Did you steal if from MAD TV when they came out with this video?

Oh well, if nothing else it provided a morning of collective adolescent humor.

Did you hear any good jokes about the iPad? Please, put them in the comments. It'll be a fun collection.

Minted Lamb Kebabs with Roast Vegetable CousCous

2010-01-17T13:37:00.000-08:00

I made this for some friends last night. It was a big hit and really easy so, here you go.

Roast Vegetable CousCous
1 large eggplant
1 small green squash
1 red sweet red onion
1 head garlic
(optional vegetables: red bell pepper, yellow squash, cherry tomatoes)
Olive oil
Salt/pepper

• Preheat oven to 375
• Prepare a backing pan with olive oil (Use a LARGE pan. The vegetables should be in one layer to roast properly. If they are crowded the ones on the bottom will steam and you'll just get mush)
• Cut the the eggplant and squash into small pieces - no bigger than 1 inch cubes and toss in the pan
• slice the onion into thin half rounds and add to pan
• separate and peel the garlic cloves and add to the pan
• sprinkle with kosher salt and a few twists of ground pepper.
• toss with a little more olive oil and put it in the oven.

While it cooks, begin prepare the

CousCous
2 cups CousCous
2 cups water (or broth)
2 tbsp butter

• Heat water and butter until boiling.
• take off heat and pour in the 2 cups of CousCous
• stir to coat
• cover pan

While it steams, you can prepare the

Minted Lamb Kebabs
1 lb ground lamb
1 cup fresh mint chopped very fine
1 inch round of fresh ginger or a tablespoon of ginger paste
1 tbsp cilantro pesto (or basil pesto)

Mix ingredients together.
Shape into sausages and put on squires. Flatten slightly.
Lay squires on oiled baking sheet. (OR put on the grill!!)

When the Vegetables are done (about an hour - don't forget to stir a few times) take them out of the oven to cool slightly and put the lamb in. Cook the lamb for about 15 minutes, turning once.

While the Kebabs cook fluff the CousCous with two forks and combine with the vegetables.

Serve it up with hummus or tahini and pita bread!

What's a Story without an Audience?

2010-01-08T21:39:00.000-08:00

My (ex) father-in-law is in town. I've always respected him, but it's taken 13 years to truly adore him. Last night I tweeted that I was picking him up from the BART station because, even though he is blind, he wouldn't let me fetch him from the airport. There really isn't' any arguing with Michael, so ... I was there when he arrived in Berkeley.

The short story: Michael survived the holocaust with his sister by living in the woods for many years, was saved by Hillel, shipped to America, where he worked very hard and completed degrees at MIT. He married an equally amazing woman (also a survivor who had worked her way up to be among the first women to graduate Harvard Medical School) and had four kids. Regina died tragically of breast cancer when she was 48. Her youngest son was 10. Bankrupt from medical bills, Michael started all over and triumphed once again. He's been married to his second wife, a journalism professor at Rutgers, for over twenty years and between them they have 11 grandchildren.

Since separating from my husband, I've had the opportunity to spend time with Michael alone. When he is in town we'll go to lunch - just the two of us - and chat about current events, work and family. He is 85 years old and sharp as a needle. I spent time with him today and we spoke mostly about his latest projects - he's writing. Books. (He said "what else am I going to do all day? I can't watch television, or read the newspaper, so I write.")

He's completed an, as yet, unpublished autobiography about his life and, most recently, he self published a book compiled from Regina's notes - a memoir. GRIT: A Pediatricians Odyssey from a Soviet Camp to Harvard. This afternoon he was consulting with me about ways to market it. Despite a front page story in the New Jersey Jewish News, a review in The Jewish State, and a couple of speaking engagements, it was not selling. "Cori," he said, "HOW do I market this book?" Drawing from my long long long ago stint in publishing, I began to answer, but he interrupted with the kicker question: from my very wise 85 year old FIL, I heard "and WHY does it matter to me?"

Um, wow. Marketing a book - now that's concrete business stuff - I can work with that - help him sell a few more books with publicity on social media channels and plans for November Jewish book month and ... (blah blah blah)... but WHY DOES IT MATTER? to HIM? I'm flabbergasted he asked. Me. I didn't know what to say.

Finally, "well Michael, you clearly want Regina's story told, and what's a story without an audience?"
He agreed. Quietly.

Then proceeded to tell me about his current project - an epic novel spanning 3 generations - a reflection of his life during the illness and after the death of "Regina." He explained the outline... I suggested he skip the novel and go directly to a screen play. It's a good story. It would make a great movie.

I wonder who would play me.
;-)

PS - before writing this post I (obviously) googled Michael. I was surprised to find he has his own website. I've no idea who made it or keeps it for him, but it has some interesting stuff on it. .

It's Not the Universe; It's the Machine

2010-01-04T20:59:00.000-08:00

With two kids in tow, the two most difficult times of day for me are (1) getting out the door in the morning for school and (2) completing the evening routine by 8:30 pm - bedtime. When these things are accomplished it like... well, it's as if all the stars have aligned themselves in perfect order and the universe is moving forward with me gliding effortless on its wings. Beautiful.

It happened like that today. By 7:30 am they were dressed, fed and brushed. They killed time watching Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory for 20 minutes until it was time to go. There were no fights. No yelling "hurry up! We're gonna be late." It was calm.

In the evening we had a simple pasta dinner and they played monopoly while I cleaned up. For a while we hung out in my bedroom, looking at knitting books - deciding what to make for their forthcoming cousin. Joe did his homework; Maia complained that she didn't have any. We all had a little laugh.

Bedtime stories, kisses, hugs, goodnight.

I look at my watch and it's 8:20. Did this really happen? Did we have good morning AND a good night? All on the same day? Well, that is something to blog about.

Fact of the matter is, it's not magic. It's not even the universe aligning itself with my aura. It's me learning how to make it work.

We weren't rushed in the morning because I'd made lunches the night before. Clothes had been washed so there was no searching for matching socks or a pair of clean underwear. The fridge was full of fresh fruits, vegis and the frozen pancakes they like for breakfast. Everything was EASY because I was prepared.

Same for tonight. Mondays are difficult - it's the first day back at school (and today was the first day back from two week holiday!) - so I made pasta. Everyone likes it. No one complains. It's easy on all of us. Often, after dinner, they'll watch a video on my laptop, but tonight they surprised me by pulling out the Monopoly board and engaging in old fashioned board game fun. Kind of shocking actually. I spent the time knitting. Knitting!

They got in their pajamas without complaint because they were tired. We read a couple of stories and turned off the lights. I closed their door at 8:20. Wow.

Naturally, I spent the next hour preparing for tomorrow morning - doing dishes, making lunches, folding laundry, taking kitchen inventory and planning what to cook for supper.

It all takes effort, but when it works, it's like a well oiled machine. Soooo smooth. *muah*

The Best Worst Year of My LIfe

2010-01-01T14:03:00.000-08:00

Someone I follow on twitter posted that 2009 was the close of the best worst year of her life. I keep thinking about that tweet and how true it is for me.

My decision to pursue a divorce came at the end of 2008. The house was sold at the beginning of 2009 and we moved into separate residences. The entire year has been one of transition: learning to be a working single mom of two and navigate the world from a different perspective.

The fact of the matter is that it's been hard as hell. Probably the most difficult year of my life. But here's the thing - commitment to the transition was the best decision I've ever made. And it's done. I did it.

If 2009 was the year of transition, then the #themeword of 2010 promises to be one of momentum. Growing my business, pursuing neglected projects; building relationships... moving forward. Full steam ahead.

My Droid is Pink

2009-12-29T22:41:00.000-08:00

I made a small contribution to the blog DROIDIE.
Check it out here.

10 Things I Learned from "Up in the Air"

2009-12-27T22:06:00.000-08:00

I've seen more movies in the last four weeks than the 11 months prior put together. So, here is another "review."

Up in the Air is one of those movies that I didn't know much about going in. Furthermore, I wasn't expecting much because as far as I could tell it wasn't about blowing up buildings, the end of the world or romancing an alien; but might measure up to a television "movie of the week" type thing.

I was wildly surprised. The film is rich in detail and beautifully constructed. The characters are well developed and and the acting is superb. The stories are huge... and there are so many of them. I came out of the theater having learned stuff. What, exactly? A list in no particular order:

1. on-line communication is not a substitute for face to face connection
2. unscheduled visits never go well
3. lists of character traits essential in a partner are sort of meaningless
4. sext messaging isn't just for teenagers
5. what feels right to you may not feel right to others
6. don't get sucked into the naive enthusiasm of youth
7. never assume
8. family is thick
9. never stand behind parents with small children in an airport security queue
10. we all die alone

Obligatory Avatar Review

2009-12-20T15:25:00.000-08:00

I saw Avatar in IMAX 3d a couple of days ago and, because it's all the buzz at the moment, I feel compelled to write about it.

The story line, from start to finish, is EVER predictable: protagonist is given a "second chance" at life and embarks on and adventure. He trains and learns and experiences and finally confronts an obstacle - an enemy - and fights for "right." Just as you think all hope is lost and the villain is about to win, the protagonist comes in from behind and saves the day.

That said, the artistry of the film was stunning. Serious work went into inventing a world that seemed truly organic. From it's wildlife and foliage to the way natives worshiped their deity - it was well thought out and beautiful in a way that went beyond aesthetics.

There was so much potential.

I think Joe (he'll be 9 in February) will enjoy the film. It's simple enough - like Star Wars or Indiana Jones films - that he can look beyond the redundancies of the story line and revel in the planet they present. The 3D enhancement will impress him even more - and rightly so: it feels like you're right there in the forest. It's quite amazing actually.

Maybe I'm jaded. I like less predictable films.
But that's just me.

Did you see the film? What did you think?

P.S. As a graphic designer I would be remiss not to point out my utter shock at seeing the font "Papyrus" used for subtitles. This was a $250million dollar project. They could have splurged and hired someone to make them an original... Sheesh.

Ballerina Maia

2009-12-08T15:59:00.001-08:00

Maia gave her first ballet recital yesterday.

Couple-Friends

2009-12-05T14:26:00.000-08:00

It started with an innocent facebook page post:

Hey you! I saw your son at the climbing gym today. I said hi, but I'm not sure he recognized me. He bend his head to the side, said hi, and then went running off with his friend. :)

The fellow who posted the comment is one half of a couple who my ex and I socialize with when we were married. Like many "couple-friends," there was awkwardness upon the dissolution of our marriage. I stopped hanging out with them so much... no hard feelings. Just how it goes sometimes.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I received an invitation to their yearly "Pajama Cookie Party" via evite. I hadn't responded so I took this opportunity to post on my friend's facebook page:

How are you guys? Thanks for the invite to the cookie party. Gonna have to decline this year but I'd love to see you guys. Joe's friend's dad works at the climbing gym so he is there a lot. :)

His response is what floored me:

We are great! Sorry to hear you will miss the cookie party. You were the early favorite to win the pajama award in the adult category. Hope to see you sometime soon.

HUH? The adult category? Did he think that I'd show up in a negligee ? (As opposed the the flannel panda pajamas I wore a couple years ago.) And why did he think I'd show up in such an outfit? Cause I'm single? Or was he flirting? Which is also unacceptable seeing how he's married and all. What the f*ck?

Several friends have told me I'm being too sensitive. That he didn't mean anything and was trying to be flattering. He failed cause men fail at these types of things.

But I'm kind of hurt and insulted. I wonder if it's how our other couple-friends view me as well. If that is why they've stop socializing with me.

Do you think I'm overreacting? What are your views?

Winter Salad

2009-12-04T17:30:00.000-08:00

Here in Berkeley the sustainable food movement is big. That means a lot of people grow their own food and those who don't like to buy local. We can do that at the many farmers markets around town and at several local grocers known for their work with local farms such as Monterey Market and Berkeley Bowl. This means that the fruit that crosses our plates changes with the seasons. Peaches, plums, apricots and berries in the summer; apples and pears in the fall; and citrus, in the winter. But winter comes with a little twist of a treat. Persimmons. Fuyu persimmons in particular are mother nature's winter apology for its lack of stone fruit.

My favorite winter salad is a mix of Fuyu Persimmons, fennel and pomegranate seeds (another winter delight). Here you go:

Winter Salad
2 large Fuyu Persimmons
2 small fennel bulbs
1 small pomegranate
1/4 cup orange juice
1/8 cup olive oil
2 tbsp apple cider vinegar
2 tbsp minced shallots
salt and pepper

• Remove the seeds from the pomegranate and place in a bowl
• Cut the fennel bulb into very thin slices
• Peel the persimmons and cut into thin slices
• For the dressing: whisk together the oranges juice, olive oil, vinegar, shallots salt and pepper and pour over the salad
• Toss and serve immediately

The Story of The House

2009-11-29T17:51:00.000-08:00

In August I moved myself and the kids from our small transitional apartment to a slightly larger nearby house. It's great because it has a finished basement that I use as an office. The main living area is small, the kitchen and bathroom pretty much suck, but it has a big yard, nice wood floors and gets a lot of light; I can see the Berkeley Hills between the rooftops looking east and pink sun-set skies looking west.

The landlady gave me little to no information regarding the last tenant except that "she" was here a long time. However, soon I met the neighbors and from them I've pieced together the real story of the house.

Mr. Henderson bought this house back in the 50's. He and his wife raised two kids here - until they got divorced about 15 years in. My landlady grew up here. She had the room I'm sleeping in. Her brother had my kids' room and her parents slept downstairs in what is now my office. At some point in her adult life my landlady became estranged from her father. I guess they didn't get along well.

This year Mr. Henderson passed away and his daughter inherited the house. She had the floors refinished, threw up a coat of paint, updated the gas heater and put it up for rent. I became the lucky tenant.

While living here over the past several months, I've developed a fondness for (the deceased) Mr. Henderson. His presence is everywhere. From the garden equipment stacked neatly in the garage to the wires and duck tape he used to keep the stair rails in place. Evidently he adored lanterns and decided to use these outdoor fixtures in all the hallways and several rooms. They jut out proudly from the walls. (Watch your head!)

Mr. Henderson did not believe in replacing things. If it was broken, he fixed it-any way he could. He also wasn't the best housekeeper and I have yet to get all the grime off the bathroom floor. His ex-wife had trendy taste in decor and I don't think Mr. Henderson ever changed what she did in the early '60s. So I live with fabricated plastic stone walls in the living room and wood paneling in the bedrooms. I've managed to mostly cover the mirrored gold-marble tiles around the fireplace with a piece of furniture, but some things can't be hidden and must simply be embraced.

Upon request, the landlady has replaced the stove/oven and added a portable dishwasher as well as a clothes dryer. I've cleaned what I can and made use of the space in a way that best suits our family. I hardly notice the outdated style anymore - leftover on my walls, in my bathroom, the yard. It's my surroundings. My life somehow meshed with Mr. Henderson's.... But when friends come over for the first time I can see they don't know quite what to say. The reactions are priceless and I'm reminded that the interior is a bit silly. I'm always asked why I don't change it.

I can't. Mr. Henderson wouldn't approve.

Cranberry Sauce II

2009-11-25T20:24:00.000-08:00

And here it is!

Cranberry Sauce

2009-11-22T14:42:00.000-08:00

Remember when you were little and cranberry sauce came out of a can? Looking nothing like a "berry" it slid from the tin with a suck, placed on a plate and cut into neat round slices, sweet and jello-like. I loved it, but didn't really understand WHY it was served with turkey. (Geez! don't let gravy touch touch the cranberries! Gross!)

In 1987 I moved to New York and began having Thanksgiving with my paternal aunt (and family) in Long Island. Aunt Renee was deep into the "new" Weight Watcher's culture (she was employed by them and led meetings, etc.) so she was always trying new recipes. One year she whipped up a home made cranberry sauce - made with real cranberries! It was delicious.

Over the years I've made it as a staple. As with all recipes that are carried around in the heart (rather than a notebook or card) this one has transformed over the years. At this point, more than 20 years in morphing, I doubt that it would qualify for anything related to Weight Watchers. Still, people like it and request it. So I thought I'd post it here. Let me know how you like it.

Cori's Cranberry Sauce

1 bag cranberries
1 cup crushed walnuts
1 oranges
1 small can crushed pineapple (optional)
pinch cinnamon
pinch nutmeg
honey to taste (I use at least a half cup.)

• pour the cranberries in a pot and cover with water
• put on burner hi until water begins to boil and cranberries begin to pop
• allow cranberries to pop for about 10 minutes
• meanwhile - prepare the oranges by cutting off the peel and cutting out the sections being careful to cut around the membranes around the sections. Squeeze out remaining juice from the orange and set the sections and juice aside in a large bowl
• drain cranberries and pour into the bowl with the oranges
• while cranberries are still hot add the walnuts, pineapple (if using), cinnamon, nutmeg and honey. Stir together. Taste. Add more honey if needed. Don't be shy with the honey. It should not make your mouth pucker.

Let cool and serve with the meal.

Hiss in the Hole

2009-11-11T19:15:00.001-08:00

In honor of Veterans Day: My dear friend Mike - a Vietnam vet - telling a rare war story with a happy ending.

The Maiden, the Bitch and Prince Charming (or, The Zombie Princess)

2009-11-02T21:53:00.000-08:00

Maia and Joe have been really into old Disney movies. Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White are favorites. Have you watched these films lately?

The casts are painfully identical. All star a poorly treated (dare I say abused) maiden; an evil older woman; and a man–but not just any man, noooo–this guy is Prince Charming himself!

Similarities continue with the plot: maiden lives under the control of the bitchy older woman, goes through a series of horrid events, makes some friends, is found by Prince Charming and lives happily ever after.

Of the three, I think Snow White is most disturbing. There is a terrifying scene in which she is lost in the forest, eyes stare at her from every which way, screeches and moans can be heard before she collapses into a heap of trembling sobs. It's like a really bad LSD trip.

Snow White makes friends with seven men, dwarfs actually, who live and work together in the woods (WTF??). The guys are slobs and keep her around because she cooks and cleans for them. Furthermore, ALL seven of them harbor secret crushes on her and fight for private places to get their nuts off (OK, I made this part up. But it could be true. We don't know that it's not.) Our maiden leads her little friends on by doting on them and kissing their little noses and ears, foreheads and beards. All the while she moons over a prince she met once and was too shy to even speak with.

Enter evil woman who poisons poor Snow White with a shiny red symbol of lost innocence–the apple. One bite and she drops to the floor. Dead. The dwarfs turn out to be necrophiliacs of sorts: embalming the maiden in a glass casket (above ground) so they can gaze at her body daily. Feigning grief while privately taking turns fulfilling their deepest fantasies (We don't know that this is true, but it could be, and that's all that really matters.)

And so it goes until, having heard of this odd freak-show of a story, Prince Charming rides his white stallion to the casket. Overcome with passion (necrophilia) the gentleman kisses the (DEAD) maiden who, to every one's surprise, blinks her eyes and awakens. At this point, we can argue, Snow White is a zombie, she is of the living dead.

This doesn't dissuade the Prince from gathering his prize up and whisking her away to his castle where they live–and this part is really true, cause it says so in the movie–happily ever after.

Make My Meatloaf

2009-10-30T14:50:00.001-07:00

Meatloaf goes over well in this house. Both kids like it. It works with pasta, broccoli, carrots, potatoes and a million other things that children will actually eat. One loaf lasts several days and is great on sandwiches.

So, here you go - my meatloaf recipe:

1 package (1.25 lbs) ground turkey
1 package (1.25 lbs) ground beef
1 package dry onion soup mix
1 cup bread crumbs (seasoned if you like)
3 eggs
2 cups chicken broth plus 1 cup for baking
ketchup
Root vegetables (optional)

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Combine the first six ingredients (turkey through 2 cups chicken broth)

The mixture will be very runny.
Pour the mixture into a oiled baking pan and shape it into a loaf.
Squeeze ketchup over the top -- as much or little as you like.

Pour 1 cup of chicken broth into the bottom of the baking pan.
Add root vegetables to the pan around the loaf. (if desired)

Bake for one hour or until cooked through.
If you find it is browning too much, cover loosely with foil.
Serve immediately with a glass of red wine.
(Or a glass of cranberry juice.)

Who's Confused?

2009-10-21T14:25:00.000-07:00

I'm angry.
Pissed.

All my life I've had male friends. PLATONIC male friends. But now, I've been told, that these guys are, in fact, out to jump my bones. Furthermore, I am "confusing [my] children" by having single PLATONIC males as friends.

On the other hand, the father of my children insists he is "exemplifying the importance of the family unit" by having group sleepovers with his girlfriend and her son. Yes, the two adults sleep in the same bed. Yes there is, what my daughter calls, "kissy kissy" between them. And this is a good example for my children. Right? RIGHT?

Honestly - I don't think either is bad. I believe that it's important the kids see us friendly with all types of people. Young, old, rich, poor, black, white, abled, disabled, gay, straight, divorced, single, widowed, female or MALE. They should see that men and women can be friends OUTSIDE the bedroom (*kissy kissy*). My gosh, my son's best friend is a little girl. I hope they are friends forever.

I'm not in a "kissy kissy" relationship right now - at least not one that I care to share with my children. The guys we hang out with were there BEFORE the end of my marriage. LONG before. They were ALREADY enmeshed in the lives of my kids. NOT seeing them would be weird. For all of us.

It baffles me that people don't understand this.
It pisses me off.

But I said that already.

Spinach Casserole

2009-10-20T14:44:00.000-07:00

Making dinner for the kids is always a challenge. There are only the three of us but finding something that we will ALL eat (and that's more or less healthy) is almost impossible.

Here's a dish that works for us:

Spinach Casserole
1 bag chopped frozen spinach
1 container cottage cheese (lo fat - NOT non-fat)
1 package grated sharp cheddar cheese
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
4 eggs

• Preheat oven to 400 degrees
• Combine cottage cheese, grated cheddar cheese and eggs in a large bowl and mix till combined
• Add the bag of frozen spinach and incorporate thoroughly.
• Pour it into a baking ban (the kind you make brownies in works best) that has been coated with olive oil.
• Cover with tinfoil. Remove tin foil about 15 minutes before done (to brown top)
• Bake for about an hour, or until the casserole is firm.

I serve this with meatloaf, but its perfectly fine all by itself as a light meal. It's even nice for breakfast/brunch.

At Passover I make this with a layer of matzo on the bottom - so it's a little like a pie. There are never any leftovers.

I know, I know, there is a lot of cheese and eggs which hardly makes this a lo-fat meal. However, there is also lots of protein, calcium and iron (from the spinach). Better than Kraft mac & cheese - right?

Racing From One Weekend to the Next

2009-10-05T21:13:00.000-07:00

There are a gazillion ways to arrange custody when divorcing. For us, a 50/50 arrangement was a given so we started from there. Because we have a little-one (Maia) we decided that a full week without seeing one or the other of us would be hard for her so that figured largely into the equation. In the end we came up with the following schedule: I have the kids every Monday and Tuesday. They are with their dad every Wednesday and Thursday. We switch off every other Friday and Saturday, and switch again every other Sunday.

So far the arrangement has worked for us (with minor tweaks and adjustments here and there to accommodate their dad's teaching schedule).

But it takes a lot of adjusting.

As it works out, every other week I drop the children off at school on Wednesday morning and don't see them again until 4 pm on Sunday. Five days.

When the 5 o'clock hour comes on Wednesday, the first day without them, I'm at a loss. I suddenly don't have to jump in my car and "play pickup kids." He's doing it. I can't pin down how this feels but the closest thing to describe it is anxiety. A pulsing in my veins, wringing of my hands, twiddling of my thumbs... What to do?

On Thursday evening it gets easier. By Friday, at 5, I'm lonely. Saturday rolls around and my objective is to get the house ready for them - laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping - so that on Sunday I can sit in my favorite chair and enjoy the New York Times with cup of coffee while KFOG plays the Acoustic Morning program on the radio. By the time they arrive at 4, I'm relaxed and excited to see them.

Until they arrive.

And I'm suddenly shocked into the reality of motherhood. Almost immediate whining, and requests for food, or gum or juice; quarrels between the two of them; very loud voices; screaming, crying, tantrums, defiance, anger, exhaustion. Wow. Mommying is hard work. Especially when you do it alone.

Monday morning, getting up in time to get to school by 8. I rise at 6 - try to get a half hour of time alone with my coffee before waking them at 6:30 to start getting ready for school. This morning hour is perhaps the most challenging of the day. Never mind me - I need to get two children dressed, washed up and fed in addition to making boxed lunches and tending to Moses the Dog. We leave the house at 7:50 and drive across town to Joe's school where we drop him off and then take off back across town (tracing where we've just been and passing our house) to Maia's preschool. Once there the ritual is that we spend about 10 minutes playing or reading together and then she "pushes me out the door" and I'm off on my own. An immediate sense of relief and freedom.

It seems to be one or the other - extreme stress or loneliness - I've not yet found a common ground. A place where one or the other is satisfying and fulfilling. Instead, one just seems like a race to get to the other. I'm constantly running and never winning.

When does this end?

Hello.

2009-09-07T16:48:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking of you and will write soon.

Taking Back the Park

2009-08-24T12:06:00.000-07:00

There is a park near my house that was a community project. For various reasons (subject of a future blog post) the City of Berkeley "gave" our neighborhood a plot of land to do with as we pleased. After many meetings and lots of work we created a wonderful sanctuary with a big grassy area surrounded by native fruit trees, plants and flowers. There is a tire swing and sandbox and a "mountain" to climb for the children. My kids and I go there a lot.

Last week Maia and I decided to take a walk to the "little park" (as Maia calls it) with Moses (the dog) and some toys for the sandbox. As we approached I saw three adults on the swing - drinking from paper bags and groping each other lewdly. Maia asked me, "Mama, what are they doing?" Fuming, shooting cold stares at the people, I told her that I didn't know. We spent a moment sitting on a bench across the lawn until Maia said she wanted to use the swing.

So we walked across the grass and I began to take back the park:

"Excuse me," I said, "my daughter would like to use the swing."
"Oh! sure, of course. Go ahead!" they said.
And they moved aside and Maia got up on the swing and I began to push her. The three adults (two men and a woman) moved a few yards away - near the sandbox - and lit up some cigarettes.
"I'm sorry," I said, "there is no smoking in the park" while pointing out the "no smoking" signs hung every 10 feet along the perimeter of the park. "There are ash trays just outside both gates if you want to smoke," said I.
"What are you trying to say?" said the woman.
"I'm just pointing out the signs." I said.
"You must be new to this neighborhood, right?" aggressive, accusations.
Me, "No, I've lived here for about 10 years now."
"WELL - I've been here for 48 years!"
"Wow, 48 years? You look awesome" I said.
She didn't know what to make of it. She cocked her head, like a dog. Her boyfriend, said, "Hey you guys, lets get out of here. We gotta go someplace anyway."
So they gathered up their stuff - including a bouquet of flowers. "Those are pretty," I said. "Yea - I know how to pick 'em." said the guy. "I guess so." My eyes glaring.

And they left.

I wonder if I'd have been so bold if I didn't have Moses with me - he looks scary. Big, dark and wolf-like. Or the protection of Maia - using a child as a shield - figuring that any decent person wouldn't hurt a mother in front of her kid.

I could have been wrong. It might have been bad.
As it is, I feel like I won.

Since then I've made the walk to the park an evening ritual. We use it the way it was intended. I'm going to start inviting the neighborhood families to join us. This park is important to me. I intend to keep it.

[Also posted on InBerkeley.]

Wordle Experiment

2009-08-20T13:25:00.000-07:00

I'm working on a magazine project for a client and they requested a "wordle" for the front cover. After exploring the wordle site a bit I thought it would be fun to make a wordle from this blog. Here it is:

I find it interesting that the largest (ie most used words) are home, house, family and two. (Two? Maybe I speak about my two kids a lot? Kids is pretty big too.)

How much will my wordle change when I make one from this blog in 3 months? Six months? A year from now? The wordle reflects my life, or at least the life that I record here. It's content, shape and emphasis will morph as I move forward. An experiment: create a wordle from your blog or twitter stream every three months. See where it leads, and what it says - both literally and figuratively - about you.

I'm game. How about you?

A New House to Call Home

2009-07-28T22:54:00.000-07:00

Six months ago I posted a video to my YouTube account called Apartment Hunting Persistence. I watch it now and see that I didn't seem terribly excited. Of course, part of it was moving out of my newly renovated home into a space that reminded me of my grad school days.

Yea. I said it.

The "duplex" apartment I've been living in has been uncomfortable to say the least. My office is in my bedroom. The common area is small-when we're home together we trip over each other constantly. Forget entertaining; don't even think about it. Furthermore, the view out the front window is a hideous old garage, falling apart, slouching sideways. The other window looks out over my driveway which might be ok if I drove a Maserati or a Jaguar; but I've got a filthy Subaru. The mommy mobile someone (a date) once said.

I'd only signed a 6-month lease and was looking forward to finding a new home in August. Which meant a July full of (more) apartment hunting persistence. I must have looked at a dozen places. I scoured CraigsList.com and broadened my scope - considered cities to the north and south of me. Anything to find a place that would accommodate two kids, a large dog, a work-at-home mom (that's me!) AND fit into my budget. When I did finally find something that I thought would work - a house in West Berkeley - I was declined because they didn't think I'd be able to maintain the rent. Moving forward I sought the help of my folks who agreed to co-sign a rental agreement.

When the next house came my way I was armed with copies of a standard rental application (all filled out), my credit report, proof of earnings and the all important co-sign agreement from my parents.

The landlady was impressed with my organization. I sat and talked with her for an hour. Explored the house ...

The House Despite being open to geographic change, the house I found is one block from my old place. It's a single family home that you climb a flight of stairs to get into. There are two bedrooms and one bathroom, a good size kitchen and large front window looking out over a charming cottage and the Berkeley Hills. Downstairs there is a single car garage, laundry room, storage areas and a finished office with two windows looking at the backyard. (YES! A large backyard with pear and cherry trees...) It's this extra office that makes it a good move. That, and the fact that the house is bright and sunny with lots of .... character. Retro charm, we could say.

Huh?

It's stuck in 1959. Think wood and "stone" paneled walls, mirror-tiled fireplace with gold marbling, and lots of other amazing quirks that make it so unique and lovable. I'm already cruising CraigsList.com for "mid-century modern" furniture finds. Just to keep the tone going ... :-)

So on Thursday I sign the lease, get the keys and set about moving my life into, what I hope to be, a long-term home. I feel really good about it and I can't wait to take the next step FORWARD in this absurd journey that I'm learning to embrace.

One Week Each July

2009-07-23T15:25:00.001-07:00

Last Saturday I woke at 5 am to take my kids and their dad to the airport for the "Kesler Vacation." Every year, for the last decade my (ex)husband's family - two brothers, a sister and their respective spouses and their parents - have taken a vacation for a week in July.

In 2000 year we took an Alaskan cruise. I was pregnant with Joe, and sick throughout the trip. It was our first time traveling as a group and we were all getting used to each other. The scenery was beautiful. The ride (to me anyway) was a wreck.

Over the years we met-up at some wonderful places - Whitefish, Montana; Kauai, Hawaii; Kiawa Island, S. Carolina; The Delaware Beaches; San Diego, California .... With each vacation the family grew. Children were born, cousins were created, relationships between in-laws were forged. Watching the children grow and play together was beautiful and priceless.

Last year they went to Lake Tahoe. It was the beginning of the end of my marriage and I decided to stay home. This year, they are at Lake Lur in North Carolina. They are telling me that it's beautiful and they are having a wonderful time.

While they've been gone I've been keeping myself busy looking for a new house (my lease ends 8/1); cleaning; and cranking on a ton of work projects. I've been extremely productive and pro-active (including finding a home, but that will be a separate blog post).

When I imagine the kids on Lake Lur, with their cousins and grandparents, aunts and uncles and all the love that is surrounding them I feel great joy. They are very lucky to have such a wonderful family. I'm saddened that I will not be able to follow the growth of my (ex) nieces and nephews who I still love. It is one of the lesser-known, lesser-spoken drawbacks of divorce; a reminder that there are always more people involved and effected than the couple themselves.

So now the week is coming to an end. I retrieve them from the airport the day after tomorrow. I can't wait to see them and hear all their stories and squeeze them and hug them and kiss them all over. :-) I'm very happy that they have this opportunity to spend time with their paternal family; but I'm overjoyed to have them home.

So It Is

2009-07-02T21:58:00.000-07:00

So the last two weeks have been challenging. If anything could go wrong, it seemed, it would. I'd like to make a list here - just to get it all out

• Woke up with ants crawling on me

• Was told that my health insurance premium would be twice as much as listed because of "preexisting conditions"

• Had a toilet clogged for four days to the extent that bowls were used for ... you get the picture

• Paid PGE to the wrong account number and had my electricity turned off

• Been told that my income and savings does not make for a strong rental applicant in the area I'd like to live (my son's school zone)

• Bumped a car while parking. The driver was in the car and asked immediately if I had insurance. When I protested there were suddenly 10 people in the street yelling at me. The word "bitch" was thrown around. I gave them my info and "ran"

• Discovered my purple bike was stolen from the backyard

• Was lied to by a close friend.

There's more, but I can't write it here. Trust me. It sucks.

So I'm feeling a bit like a punching bag. Waiting for the next blow. Bam bam bam.

Parenting, which is difficult in the best of circumstances, is extra challenging when the world seems to be crumbling. My children are wonderful. But they are kids going through a major life transition (living in two homes) and expressing their frustration in startling ways that, should probably, be expected. Sometimes they are hurtful. As much as I know they don't mean what they say, it still manages to beat me down and wear me out.

I've been trying to figure out where my bad luck - bad karma - is coming from. What did I do? Who did I hurt? What am I paying for? Have you read the book of Job lately? Sometimes there just isn't any rhyme or reason. It just IS what it IS.

Michael Jackson Eats Iran

2009-06-25T17:58:00.000-07:00

Those of you that know me understand that I monitor much of my world through twitter. (See sidebar for my twitter feed.) I communicate with friends (both virtual and IRL folks), promote my blog, youtube channels and business and get virtually all my news through twitter.

This past week I witnessed twitter become "the" go-to source for breaking news and first-hand accounts of the atrocities happening in Iran. My feed pointed to YouTube videos that provided witness to the carnage and violence in the region. There were riots, marches, stone throwing, gassing and shooting -- right there for the world to view. We saw Neda Agha Soltan shot in the heart and die on camera while her father desperately screamed "Neda, don't be afraid. Stay with me Neda." Beyond words; beyond heartbreaking.

And so all was a-twitter with the news coming out of Iran. It seemed like everyone was coloring their avatars green (in a show of solidarity). My "followers" brainstormed about how the world could help. We agonized together about our inability to come up with solutions. We fantasized about how it might end.

But today, when I logged on and found that Farrah Fawcett was the top trending topic I wasn't necessarily surprised - after all, she'd just passed away after a long battle with cancer. She was an American idol. She shared the column with #iranelection and #neda and the news from Iran continued.

But sometime after 1pm tweets started coming in about the (alleged) death of Michael Jackson. The rumors flew: he was dead, he was in a coma, he committed suicide... finally confirmation of death and then the tribute blips started, video tributes, fascination with death coming in threes (Ed McMahon, Farrah and MJ). It didn't stop. And then it rolled into ridiculousness as tweets popped up about Jeff Goldblum's apparent "plunge to death" while filming in New Zealand. Kevin Spacey finally put an end to that one ... but everyone was so busy with celebrities dying that trending topics swallowed up and digested any news about Iran.

I pleaded in my tweets:

two icons. one day. 7/25/09. Now lets get back to figuring out how to help Iran. Please. #iranelection

Iran has completely fallen off the trending topics list. In the coming year what will touch ur life more: MJ or Iran. Come on folks. Please.

RT: @p_sullyRT RT @kensands: Most significant death of the week? U decide: Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Neda Agha Soltan.

Thankfully, I was retweeted, and my feed started bringing thoughts on Iran back. Slowly, tentatively, #iranelection has snuck up to the bottom of Trending Topics. There it sits... like an afterthought.

I remain disillusioned and bitter. How could the world - at least my twitter world - be so incredibly shallow? Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett are dead. It's really sad. My heart goes out to their friends and family. But honestly, their deaths do not make much of a difference in my life or the lives of my children. The revolution happening in Iran, however, could change not just Iran, but also the world ... it may very well continue to be meaningful and relevant to our lives for years.

I leave you with this haunting video by Arian Saleh. Please show your support for his amazing talent by subscribing to his YouTube channel HERE (Warning: graphic images)

Flying Solo

2009-06-12T16:49:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago I flew across the country to visit relatives. I went over a weekend that the kids were scheduled to be with their dad. I've been traveling with babies or children for 8 years. I've forgotten that there can be productivity in the process. JOY even.

I traveled light. I took a carry-on bag and skipped the check-in line. Waiting in the security line was effortless while I read and responded to email on my blackberry - I had only MY shoes to take off and put on again upon inspection. Once on board the flight, I chose the emergency door aisle (it has more leg room but you can't sit there with children), I opened a book and spent the next two hours lazily reading. I slept, did work on my laptop, listened to my ipod and basically completely enjoyed the private quiet time.

Sooooo, you childless reader ask, what is the difference?

Here is a list of the things that I did NOT have to do:
1. pack and check bags
2. consider contents of carry on bags including but not limited to: crayons, coloring books, dolls, and lots and lots of snacks.
3. referee an argument about who gets to sit by the window.
4. feed, read to and otherwise entertain two children.
5. go back and forth to the potty with the toddler
6. apologize to passengers when my children kick the backs of their seat
7. sit uncomfortably while one of them sleeps with her head on my lap
8. wait for baggage
9. install the car seat in the rental
10. -- I think you get it.

For the past 8 years I've dreaded travel. It took flying solo to remember why.

Best. Mothers Day. Gift. EVER.

2009-05-08T16:12:00.000-07:00

Joseph, my eight year old son, stopped by today with his dad to read me this poem he wrote. He delivered it as spoken word. Beautiful.

MOMMY

She is magic
she is magic
like the hand
the hand of her soul
she is amazing
she is amazing
like the heart
the heart of her body.

It is HER
who warms me
it is HER
who sings me
yes
it is her.
yes
it is her.
Yes, it is you mom.
It is you. WHY
because ...
because ...
You are the angel in the cloud,
You are the devil in the ground.
You are yourself
and you are you.
Yes.
You are you.

by Joe

Rockin' 40's

2009-03-26T13:08:00.001-07:00

Remembering the Garbage

2009-03-06T21:00:00.000-08:00

Friday mornings, at around 6am, the garbage truck comes rumbling down the street. Not long after that the sound of crashing tins and breaking glass preclude the arrival of the city recycling service. In the past the noise was little more than a disturbance, lulling me out of sleep at about the time my alarm was going off anyway.

For the last 10 years my husband has been in charge of trash day. Prior to that, I lived in apartments with communal bins. No one had to DO anything-we dumped our bags in and the city took care of it. It's different now. For the first time EVER I am responsible for remembering to bring the garbage to the curb.

My newest residence is in a duplex. If I don't bring the trash and recycling out on Thursday night I awake on Friday morning with a panicked start - hearing the trucks, knowing that unless I jump out of bed and run outside in my pajamas and bare feet I'm doomed to a week of overflowing stinky garbage. It's not a pleasant way to start the day. Furthermore, failing at the chore results in a seven-day stint of unreasonable self-deprecation: cursing myself every time I try to stuff yet another bulging bag into the the bin. The waste becomes a symbol of my failed marriage, struggling career and the parenting snafus I FORGOT TO TAKE CARE OF!! Is it any wonder that my life is a mess? And so it goes until the week passes and another garbage day arrives.

On the other hand, REMEMBERING the garbage on Thursday nights has become an opportunity to pat myself on the back. In this way, the mundane chore has morphed into a celebration of my newly single status. Rolling the bins to the curb, in the dark cold of the night, makes me feel strangely satisfied: I've taken control of the trash and in doing so have reined in my failures and set them out neatly on the curb for someone else to dispose of.

Eventually, I assume, the Thursday night garbage ritual will become more automated - completed without thought or intention. I look forward to that time: when the rubbish is just rotten food, empty wine bottles and coffee grounds. But for now, this weekly accumulation of trash represents the mess I've created. Remembering to dispose of it brings me one step closer to cleaning everything up.

The Apartment Search

2009-03-04T15:40:00.000-08:00

Mr. President's Address to the Nation

2009-02-25T16:30:00.000-08:00

Let me start by saying I watched Obama's address streaming on CNN.com in partnership with Facebook which in itself, blows me away. Before he even began speaking I was watching opinions, hopes and dreams steadily dropping in on the status bar. On my blackberry, I was twittering with my "twibe" who I've shared thoughtful 140 character exchanges with during the debates, election, inauguration, and now this, Obama's first presidential address. The whole experience made me feel like the future had come and change is imminent - a sentiment that parallels the President's campaign message.

So it was with high hopes that I listened as he began his speech. Let there be no mistake, Barack Obama is an eloquent gifted speaker. He charmed us all - right off - by acknowledging his wife, the First Lady of the United States. He rolled beautifully from one topic to the next - pausing for each and every standing ovation (of which there were FAR too many.) But I was put off by his "ole boys'" banter in proclaiming that "nobody messes with Joe!" and it concerned me that there was no mention of the troops recently sent to Afghanistan.

When he was finished, CNN let the cameras roll with raw audio streaming as they followed him through the crowd. I read last week that Obama is more famous right now than Jesus, and indeed, it did seem like people just wanted to TOUCH him. Needed to feel his solidity, make sure he was real.

So, good? Bad? I'm a bit disappointed by the address. I was hoping for more answers and explanations. On the other hand he was a pleasure to behold. A man suited to lead. I remain positive and hopeful that he can reunite the country and ignite a spirit of solidarity and community service. We are, after all, in it together.

What's Normal?

2009-02-24T15:47:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago, my son Joe turned 8. About two weeks prior to that his dad and I moved into separate homes.

He's complained to me that we aren't "normal" anymore. Not like a family. It breaks my heart.

At his birthday party we had 8 children. A great mix of kids some who he's known a long time, others from school. They had a wonderful time playing with legos and flopping about in a jumpy house rented for the event.

Towards the end of the day, as the parents were picking up their children, something dawned on me. Of the 8 at the party, only one (ONE!) came from a "normal" nuclear family. Let me run down the list (names changed - obviously):

Janet: one mom (sperm donor)
Sonia: two dads (adopted)
Sean: parents divorced before kindergarten
Rick: parents divorced before kindergarten
Jason: parents divorced in first grade
Bill: parents divorced before kindergarten
Brian: parents married and living in one house
Tom: parents divorced before kindergarten

I told Joe my observation - how his friends come from all different types of families. If being with a mom and a dad was "normal" then our statistics told us otherwise. He agreed. (Fabulous math lesson, btw!)

I don't think it makes him wish any less that his dad and I get back together. But I do think the realization that there are MANY kids who have "two houses" and live sometimes with mommy and sometimes with daddy was helpful. If nothing else, he was able to see that he is not alone.

Keep in mind we live in Berkeley, CA where anything goes and views are liberal. It's one of the reasons I love it here.

<3

... and so it begins ...

2009-02-18T22:27:00.000-08:00

... on so many levels.

Uprooting oneself from a home of 10 years is difficult under any circumstances.
Looking back it all seems ridiculous. What were we thinking? What was I thinking?
Living the American dream? Not if its a nightmare.
Laying in the bed you've made? Not if your being strangled by the covers.

So now here I am.
Alive.
Seeing the absurd.
Embracing it.
Reporting it.
To you.