Slow Motion Race

Play Fair

Wed, 25 Jan 2012 12:16:29 -0500

My greatest interest beyond my children is transpersonal psychology so navigating social networks like Facebook is a challenge I enjoy. This machine with the screen allows me to have relationships with many people I would not otherwise know, specifically, friends from my hometown and friends from other places very far away from where I now live. I have to tell you internet friends - The majority of you... Well, we are not alike.

A Well, Not an Onion

Wed, 07 Dec 2011 13:21:33 -0500

The weather, the rain, is forcing me to think back. I hate it when that happens.

Because of the way my life is now I am sometimes slightly shocked to remember how it was. I am surprised when I read an old poem I wrote, detailing the measure of my feelings from back then. Shrek says ogers are onions. I hear that on my children's dvd and I nod to myself. I am a well. A dee, deep well. I shudder when I think of what's down there...

The Daughter

Am not a flower

And I am not the thorn of your rose

Am not your lover

This is not the way the ballad goes

Am not the answer

And I cannot bother with more lies

Am not the cancer

And I am not the babe who sweetly cries

Bring to me

All your misery

For I am not the sunshine that you see

Hold me down

This your holy water

Cause I am not the sun, but the daughter

Am not a story

And I am not your moment of regret

Am not a warning

This too I’m sure you will forget

Am not the data

I am not merely DNA

am not the pattern

and I am not there when you pray

Bring to me

All the misery

For I am not the sunshine that you seek

Hold me down

In unholy water

Cause I’m not the sun, but the daughter

am not your crisis

And I am not the secret to be told

Am not a player

I never learned how to be so cold

Am not the mistress

I am not the reason for your lie

Am not returning

I have already made up my mind

You have brought me

So much misery

And I tried to be the sunshine that you seek

I am swimming through

Your unholy water

I am not the sun but the daughter.

Get OUT!

Mon, 14 Nov 2011 13:52:27 -0500

My sister and I took a much needed weekend away to gain some focus. For those of you unfamiliar with the life of a stay at home mom, that means we drank adult beverages, slept in, and and enjoyed full control of the TV remote. We watched Hangover 2 at normal volume. I showered with the door closed. I wore bling when we went out to dinner. Alone. It was very nice.

Of course, being the digital age, and being the slaves to our media that we are, we documented every meal, every drink along the way via Twitter and Facebook. Because somehow it didn't really happen unless I took my internet friends along for the ride.

As I write now, I can hear my friends John Laney and Stephanie Connor, screaming at me to take a real vacation and leave the damn phone off. You have your ways. I have mine.

Anywho, it was really good to be with my sis. To be with someone who laughs at herself the way I laugh at her/myself. I mean there is no one who can make you feel quite as sane as your sibling can. Those habits that mom passed on to us... Such as flipping our husbands the bird when they leave the room, researching people from our past and the ever annoying struggle to convince our children that we are NOT SLAVES; well, knowing I am not the only one in this makes me feel all warm inside. Or maybe that was the Chardonnay.

The Before and AFTER 9/11 - My Personal Story

Sun, 11 Sep 2011 07:34:32 -0500

On September 10th, 2001, I wrote this in my journal:

"I was walking to my car this morning when I felt a cool shift in the air, bring about little goosebumps on my arms. I smelled September.
Suddenly I was back in Midwest City Oklahoma and my mom was calling me in the house to set the dinner table. Our green and white checkered curtains above the sink that she made herself were so vivid to me. And the quirky table with the matching vinyl chairs that left their swirl pattern on the backs of my legs were almost real enough to touch. I remembered it all in a split second – the backdrop of my childhood on Willowbrook Drive. And with the memory came such a longing to go back – just for one dinner.

I thought about what I would say to me as an eight-year-old. Knowing what I know now, would I look into her overly lashed brown eyes and give her a good dose of the Truth? Would I name the people she should not trust, the people who would hurt her? Should I tell her to forget about Jr. High and High School and College as being the places she would find self worth? Should I beg her to be more cautious about the boys and men who are capable of breaking her heart? And still, would I give her a list of people she should spend more time with – Grandma Ruby K, her big sister, Alice, Grandpa and her namesake, Grandma Rene? If I had one night with eight-year-old me, what would I do with that precious time?
At that age, I was, by most accounts, completely innocent. I did all the things that kids do and I took the time to know what September smelled like. As I sit here now thinking about it, I guess I might’ve been happy. So I can’t help but wonder if maybe I would reveal nothing to Penny Rene age 8 if I saw her. Maybe what I would be wiser to do is ask her what her favorite book is, what she likes about her big brother, what’s her mom’s specialty dish, and - Isn’t Grandma Rene funny? And I would ask her what she wants to be when she grows up.

Sigh…. Lately, when everybody looks so tired and my pen feels like a toothpick hurled at my giant ego, I cannot help but miss that innocence. Today I have been trying to remember how all my big dreams of being a writer began. One little girl in her Robin Egg Blue room, with a shelf full of books that would all be read and a pine cone tree hideaway across the street where she could find some peace. It was a good time."

"Don't Knock If The Door To My Suite Is Closed"

Wed, 13 Jul 2011 11:32:32 -0500

One summer I was laying on the bank of the Rhine in Schaffhausen and the next thing I knew I was 40 years old.

That's exactly how it happened, I swear. Enter the Mid Life Crisis....

I'm hard on myself. Or, I used to be. There was a lot I wanted to do. A very long agenda, if you will. And though, it can be argued that I have done a lot, it will never be enough. Lots of people my age feel that way. It's easy to get discouraged now. Heck, we're halfway to 80. The grey hair is no joke. The achy joints have to be oiled and worked. You don't turn 40 and get all Zen. You turn 40 and you say, "Wow, I'm 40! Can you inject this caffeine right into my arm, please?"

So, I thought I would tell you a secret today. In honor of my wise old age and your old age and the fact that nothing truly wise is coming into my brain at the moment...

I wanted to sing on stage with LIVE. I wanted to be the Bob Geldof of my generation. In fact, in my great fantasy of my perfect day, I am onstage with ol' Bob as he pats me on my back in front of millions of cheering fans. Bono is there and so is Lenny Kravitz. I have orchestrated the largest fundraising event ever in the history of charitable causes. MY charity, the one that educates volunteers on civil rights issues around the world by providing opportunities for cross cultural living, is the recipient of these funds. We are a magazine, a non-profit company of 36 employees and hundreds of volunteers. It's more effective than the Peace Corps, more real than missionary work, and it's changing the whole damn world.

In this vision, my children are toddlers. My husband orchestrated the PR for the whole campaign. I have long, dark hair. I am a size 6 vegetarian and never before have I been more vibrant and inspiring. In fact, I am in serious demand to speak at university graduations. Tina Fey and I are close friends and Sting invites my family out for a holiday.

Need I go on?

Let me tell you what I am doing today. This morning I opened the most awesome birthday presents from Mike and the kids and my daughter sang me the Phineas and Ferb version of "Mom It's Your Birthday". Right now I am typing this blog, then picking up my kids from day camp and going swimming at my in-laws. I might order pizza for dinner. If I'm lucky, I will listen to some music in the car that was a birthday gift from my friend James. Before I go to bed, I have my new Endurance Training Program to do. It's going to kick my ass.

Life is never what we expect. But it is what we make it. If you are as "old" as I am today I want you to know that we're all in this together. Whatever you thought you'd do by now and didn't - well....there's still time left on the clock.

There may be a geriatric version of my fantasy day in the future. I'm not quite ready to give up. Until then, poor Ed Kowalczyk will have to wait.

PS - Ed turns 40 on Saturday, so we're cool.

Now You Wanna FRIEND Me?

Fri, 01 Jul 2011 10:12:44 -0500

Several years ago a man that I loved very much broke up with me. While this is something that I hear happens in life with alarming regularity, for various unworthy reasons, it is not something that has happened to me much. I was the Ender, the Runner, the Non-commital one in the majority of my relationships, both big and small. After that break up, I wrote this depressing little diddy called Every Word You Said. Aside from venting my frustration about being left flapping in the wind, I had much to say about the apparent lies the man had fed me during our long relationship.

All the late night guilty pleasure
you had the balls to sulk
While I put to rest my demons
You saw not me, but my ghost
When all else was confusing
Tell me, how clear was my touch?
It was nothing that you'd known before
And still was not enough

Merritt Malloy said, "Relationships that do not end peacefully, do not end at all." Social networks like Facebook are booming, in large part, because of the regret that lingers for years after we have walked away from each other. Oh, we say we have no regrets because having regrets is immature. Ironically, immaturity is at the core of most of those bad break-ups, isn't it? But, like it or not, all these relationships have an impact on us. All those people are not just mistakes, but teachers too. We learned. And we should be thankful.

For a long time it felt as though every one of my relationships ended because I went on auto-pilot with one the one goal of proving to my other half that he did not love me as he thought he did.

I was young. I was dumb. I was not easily guided.

While I couldn't focus on the solutions to my relationship struggles, I was able to navigate quite well through the debris after. For me, the years after a relationship ended were like the moments after a hard storm. Everything looked bright and I was thankful for being alive. I clearly remember one significant other angrily screaming at me during our break up, "I know YOU'LL be fine! YOU are always fine!"

Still, I was not always the one dealing the blows. I've been the bird in the cage, the stunned victim of abuse, and the one who was betrayed. I know what it is like. Very hard to look at your demolished life and imagine doing anything with your abuser other than pushing him off the nearest cliff. That's why I'm thankful for time. Time to process. Time to accept. Opportunity, no matter how many years have passed, to say I'm sorry. Opportunity to forgive. That may be why I still keep contact. I am looking for the moment when we can both say we learned from our failure and did not let it make us bitter.

Yes, I'm THAT woman. The one who remembers all the past loves and wants us all to be Facebook Friends.

I am confused by the lack of clarity with which people regard their past lovers, friends and ex-spouses. When someone speaks hatefully about an ex-spouse, especially if the couple had children together, I am... well, lost. I can't fathom it. I can't understand it.

I read the profiles of my exes. I sometimes read the Twitter updates and the blogs of those in their lives too. It is a casual and non-consuming thing I do - checking in on the lives of those who once considered me family. While I don't use a great deal of time doing this, I am also not ashamed that I care what happens to these people. I am not ashamed that, though my love for them is changed, it is not gone. I quietly rejoice in their new loves, accomplishments and happiness. And I even more quietly, still feel their sadness when things are not so right for them.

I have been told by some that this is not a normal thing to do, that it's unhealthy. But I can't imagine that it would be healthy for me to connect with people and disconnect like love is some sort of switch that I can flip on and off.

After the end of a relationship, when the dust settles, you should take another look at that person you extracted from your heart. You should also take another look in the mirror. And if you are the compassionate, honest person you attempt to be, you will find a way to look past the stupid things you both said and did. There are a million reasons why relationships don't work out. Unfortunately, we often get so fixated on the debris of a fallout that we forget that at the core of the situation are two people who wanted to make each other happy.

If we forget the laughs, the irreplaceable happy moments that a past love brought to our lives, the least we can do is this. Acknowledge that we did learn from that person. That, in itself, is valuable. Those lessons, it seems should generate enough respect for those in our past that we regard them with smiles instead of anger or fear or complete apathy. No, we don't have to be Facebook Friends. We don't have to "pretend nothing ever happened". But we can be gentle and kind. We can move on without destroying all the good that once was.

I recently heard from an old friend of mine who was once an integral part of my daily life. We hadn't spoke in four years. We talked about the past and important things we did together. It was nice. And then he said something I wasn't expecting. He said he learned a lot from me. I can't explain how wonderful it felt to have that nostalgia, that friendly thank you, returned to me. Becoming friends with an old love isn't necessarily going backwards, you know. It's more so moving forward, when you do so peacefully.

When people ask me why I am still friends with my exes, I explain that it's because I CAN. And I'm happy about that.

30 + 10 = Winning, Part Two

Sun, 15 May 2011 19:27:39 -0500

This is the second installment of a three part series I wrote for women in their 30's. Well, women of all ages, really. I'm quite shy in person. Ok, maybe not shy. But I have been told that I am quiet? I can be bossy and annoying when I care about what I am saying - which is often.

But sometimes, I'm right.

If Mom's Not Happy...

Sun, 08 May 2011 10:00:33 -0500

It's Mothers Day and I hope that most of you mothers were able to sleep in this morning, at the very least. At best I hope you received flowers, breakfast in bed and a one hour spa massage.

When other mothers tell me they don't like to make a big deal about this day I simply do not understand. Mother's Day should be a monthly holiday in my opinion. I don't know about you, but I sure as hell earn it.

30 + 10 = Winning, Part One

Wed, 13 Apr 2011 09:09:32 -0500

Recently, Penelope Trunk wrote a little piece about turing 30. She's got some good points there, for sure. But I have a different take on this aging thing.

Let me first admit that turning 30 was traumatic for me. I'm mortified to recall my thoughts in the weeks leading up to that birthday. I was an asinine tart regarding the actual celebration with friends and I thank my stars that my good friend Laurie is forgiving. I had resolved myself to a life without passion having thus far used up all my Walks of Shame and would officially be of an age when I should Know Better. I also believed I was destined to a life without marriage. I had only days prior watched my best male friend go back to the UK, knowing that our Next Best Thing romance was not likely to pan out.

If only I could stand to identify myself with religion, a nunnery would have been my next step.

Watch This!

Fri, 01 Apr 2011 09:41:47 -0500

Thanks to Netflix I watch TV again. Only I do it two or three episodes at a time, whenever the kids actually go to sleep in their own beds and I am still awake enough to hold my iPad. So... not often.

But still. There are two shows that I have found fantastically funny and I wanted to share them with my American friends who may not know that there is entertainment beyond the horrible Sex and The City Movies and John Stewart. If you are bored with the same old crap that comes out of LA these days (excluding Showtime series, of course) please do yourself a favor and look up these two comedies from the BBC. YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT.

Pulling:

Gavin & Stacey:

27 And Counting

Sun, 27 Mar 2011 11:14:37 -0500

I was 19 years old working at the Athletic Village in Crossroads Mall. Other than the managers, I was the only full time employee. Having dropped out of college the previous winter, I was struggling to make my way in a business filled with testosterone oozing, sports loving, OU graduates who had yet to find real jobs using their fresh degrees. It was a cush job for them. I imagine they didn't love having to train a bright eyed ambitious teenager who knew almost nothing about sports. But it was money and when our manager wasn't around, everyone slacked off considerably.

Gil, at 27, was the oldest and ironically, most juvenile of the bunch. The lanky blue eyed UPS employee hung around as a part-timer for the extra cash and the extreme discount on merch. He took nothing serious except for our stock room debates which were, for me, in all my naiveté, confusing yet addicting.

Every day that I worked with Gil I thought two things: Yay, Gil! And Wow, 27, that's OLDER.

Penelope

Sun, 20 Mar 2011 11:56:15 -0500

I've recently gotten into Penelope Trunks blog. It's a blog of career advice, which is a bit like me reading the courses of study at Strathclyde University. But I do that too (still) so it's not that weird.

Penelope's' posts are enjoyable for me to read because she really cuts to the point and writes in such a way that I don't feel my time is wasted. She leaves out a lot of the hand holding and politically correct sentence formations in favor of speaking what's really on her mind. I totally love this. I totally get her. And she totally has Aspergers.

She does. Have Aspergers that is. I'm bringing this up because, frankly, it interests me. I don't know a lot about Aspergers. Just the basics of Wiki and Google. I know that for many people it sucks. But Penelope is making it work for her and I am benefiting from it. If anything, she might be the first blogger that I've read who I find refreshing and familiar at the same time. So, being me, it occurred to me that the similarities could be more than that. I'm not kidding. I took a few online tests and I guess, in my very unprofessional opinion, I am closer to the Asperegers diagnosis than I would have thought.

I am not suggesting I have Aspergers. It's a serious thing - I get that. Nor am I suggesting that having Aspergers is some sort of cool thing to be associated with. I am simply saying that Penelope- I love her blog for more than educational purposes. I appreciate her style.

I've always wished that people could say what they are really thinking, that the code of being "nice" could be loosened up a bit. I'm the kind of person who loves it when someone tells chatty movie patrons to shut the hell up because they are being rude. (Hi Heather!) I appreciate friends who tell me they don't want to go do something with me because they don't feel like it, rather than making up a bullshit excuse. I HATE pretend friendships and pointless dialogue.

I don't think that putting an end to some of these wasteful social rituals has to mean that people are rude. I mean, what is more rude than lying and wasting someone's time?

My friend Heather's son Jackson has Aspergers. I took some cupcakes over to their house last Valentines Day and before they had been on the counter a minute, he asked for one. I loved that. You want a cupcake, ask me for one! I didn't bring them for us to stare at. I feel the same way when I make a meal for my family. If you come to my house and you don't like what I cook, please just say so. Don't suffer through. I didn't ask you over to suffer through my cooking.

When did lying get to be a form of being polite? How is that helpful?

Penelope Trunk has a new book out, btw. She should totally send me a copy for free for writing this.

On that note, if you don't like reading my blog, don't read it. Very simple. (:

Dear August Moon - Five Years Old

Tue, 08 Mar 2011 20:52:36 -0500

Tomorrow you will celebrate your fifth birthday. I won't say that it doesn't seem possible because it does. In fact, you sometimes act wise beyond the five years and your wondering questions send a shock through me. Already, you are curious about death, God, love and old age. I don't know how you are handling it, but I am exhausted now just recalling our conversations. I stumble over what to say to you because so much of those things are still a wonder to me. I want to give you solid answers, but I find I am incapable of lying to you. There are a lot of "I don't know"s tossed out there by me and I have to hope it will be enough until I can come up with a way to explain such things. Will that day come?

Speaking of world peace and such, your favorite cartoon is Pink Panther. Yesterday you told me that you wish he could come live with us so that you could teach him some manners and so he wouldn't bother "the white guy" in the show. I love that you have no idea how that sentence sounds. At this point in your life you have no idea what racism or sexism or homophobia is. You picked a Barbie with your Ma Lynn at the store and later pointed out to her that the Barbie was black. Just something you noticed at the later moment during play. This Barbie has on a pink shirt and she's black. You have also mentioned that two of your dolls are in love with each other, that you don't understand slavery (even after I explained it to you) and that daddies really should be allowed to stay at home like mommies. Now if I could just put you in a bubble and keep you this way forever, I could sleep at night.

My Post Secret

Sun, 27 Feb 2011 17:04:20 -0500

I can't tell you how many times I have wanted to title a post "Because, really? I kind of think you SUCK"

Or a brief FB update: Suck it!

That may come as a surprise to those of you who see me as a calm, demure sort of girl who always knows just what to say. Ha! I even made myself laugh right then.

Thing is, my life is very good. It's so good at times that I almost feel guilty. And that was fun to read, wasn't it? Snore right there on the desk. But there are little parts of this glamorous living that get to me like paint under the nail. You know? Of course, it's always the shit that I am not supposed to talk about. (Like the fact that I HATE that cussing on the internet is somehow worse than cussing in person.)

My friend Yosi has an ongoing FB list about things he loves. It's wonderful to read because his list is so similar to things I love. It's like a tour through the good bits of your memory on a sunny day. Old man clothes, soft warm bread, well fitted gloves, the click of bicycle gears, old men in sophisticated hats, etc. It's an interesting read.

Me, I have this mental list of the crap. It's all stuff I have thought of sending in on a postcard to Post Secret.

I am annoyed that I restrain myself from making more jokes about Christianity because I view my Christian friends as far too sensitive to think them funny. Christianity IS FUNNY when you stop and think about it.

I am praying I'm past the point in my life where men think I am hitting on them when I sincerely compliment them or have more than a ten minute conversation with them. I have some sincere compliments to give, but I'm scared of freaking people out.

I often tell myself that the local women I know do not have a lot of time to talk about anything other than their kids or their marriages, but I'm not sure that's true.

I would rather spend time talking to friends 1000 miles away via the internet or my phone than trying to click in the environment I have here.

I'm not a "clicker".

People who start dropping friends from their lives because they have fallen in love with someone new really piss me off. It's one thing to not spend so much time with your buds because you are building a relationship. It's quite another to alienate old friends due to some imaginary threat they pose to your current relationship.

It's my experience that all threats of a former lover/close friend interfering in a present healthy relationship are IMAGINARY.

I know more about you than you think I do. And I am more compassionate than you think I am.

Your inability to deal with the past as a valid part of who you are today both disappoints and confuses me.

I am better with age. I thought that was bullshit, but it's not.

Seriously. God + Science = Science.

There's so much more but dinner is waiting.

Ahh, I do feel better. (:

Snip Snap

Tue, 22 Feb 2011 20:29:22 -0500

So, I did it. I cut off my hair. I realize this isn't a big deal to any of you and, frankly, it's less of a deal to me than I thought it would be. If it was life changing, geez, that would mean I haven't a lot going on in my life other than how I look and that would be ironically sad. You've met me, right?

But I thought I would tell you how it went because somewhere out there I am just sure that one of you is thinking of making a similar drastic change to your appearance. Intuition. Or something.

Anyway, I called to make an appointment with my stylist, Carly, thinking it would be a month forward that I would have to wait for a weekend appointment. Lucky me, she had an opening THAT Saturday. Saturday, the one coming up? Yes, this Saturday at 9 AM. Um, ok.

So, I go back through my computer folder of hair photos I have been collecting. What? You don't have a folder like that? Well, you should. I had thirteen photos and one Pages document in there. I look again at the youthful, smiling girl sporting the punkish pixie cut, the demure photo of the model with the barely there bob and the various photos of redheads that I envy for their healthy glow. I then frantically research the web for more photos of Winona Ryder and Michelle Williams and then I save them to my iPad so I can show them to Carly.

Yes, I brought my iPad to the salon with at least six of those photos on it. Yes, I flipped through them with Carly like she had all the time in the world to do it. Yes, she consoled me, coddled me and asked if I needed a Xanax. No, she does not get paid as much as she should.

The point is, I did my research. If research is the above and asking a few trusted individuals several times if they were SURE I wouldn't be mistaken for a man if I cut off all my hair. And were they SURE I could pull it off. POSITIVE? And could they handle a little breakdown by me a la Julia Roberts at the salon in Steele Magnolia's if things went south?

In the end, it all came down to what my mother always said to me when I was afraid to do something: What's the worst that can happen? If you can handle that, do it.

So, Carly tells me she gets what I'm going for and starts cutting in the back and gives me this reverse mullet. All the while I am thinking "Hmm, I have no hair back there." And it seems like a small fact. Then she goes to cut the sides. That first glimpse of my head.... Fear shot up through me. And then.... And then.... it went away.

She cut and talked and cut and talked and cut some more. An entire wigs worth of my hair lay on a little towel at her station. There were times I leaned toward it all being a huge mistake. It reminded me of when I first went to Romania and certain moments would be so surreal that I couldn't decide if my decision to be there was awesome or really fecking stupid. Either way, I was proud of myself for taking a chance and relieved that I was NOT where I was before.

Now, I have REALLY short hair. Most women I know do not. I like that.

As for wether or not I look like a man or if I am successfully pulling of this look - neither one of my kids ran away or cried when they saw me so I'm gonna hold off on that drama while I still can. Besides, who can do a fauxhawk? Me! And you can bet your cha chas, you'll be seeing it.