Confession: I used to be a bit of an Eeyore. Just like the famous stuffed grey donkey, I was prone to gloominess and pessimism. I may not have said aloud, like he often did, “thanks for noticin’ me,” but that could sometimes describe my vibe.
So one year on my birthday my husband surprised me with a spontaneous trip to Austin, Texas for the annual Eeyore Birthday Bash.
The title of my first book, Hello Loved Ones, comes from an “endearment “ used casually by the father of the narrator when he comes home drunk after long unexplained absences. He tosses these words at his children, who are starved for his attention, before leaving them again. The novel looks at the importance of love in action and questions whether love is determined by blood or by choice.
A Course in Miracles teaches that love is always a choice and that, in fact, nothing exists except the choice between love and fear.
I heard comedian Yakov Smirnoff on the radio talking about his career and how he was invited to write jokes for Ronald Reagan during the Cold War. Before immigrating to the U.S. from the Soviet Union, Smirnov had been required to submit all his jokes to the Department of Humor in his communist country. Sex, politics, and religion were off-limits. Now he was being given the creative freedom to write a joke for the president of the United States to deliver at the 1988 Moscow Summit.
Three rabbis walk into a coffee shop. No, it’s not a joke. Three rabbis are sitting at the table next to me discussing a problem at the synagogue. Judy Feinstein has done something wrong. It seems to be a problem of paperwork. Where did she get the information to fill out that form? one asks. And the young one says let’s just cut through the mustard.
Hey. I’m trying to write here. I’ve got my laptop charged up and I was about to unleash some edgy dialogue. I resent the distraction, but only mildly. Mostly I’m interested.
Have you ever had that experience of seeing an old friend or acquaintance out of the blue, maybe in the grocery store or at the gym, and ducking before being spotted? Why do we do that? For me, there’s always the certainty that of course so-and-so won’t remember me. Nevermind that we sat next to each for three semesters and I know the name of her first pet (Ginger) and that poor Ginger was run over by my friend’s dad in their driveway. No, I am the owner of a sort of invisibility cloak.
So I’ve made it one of my goals recently to approach my life with a little more presence.
Every now and then, I feel myself gently drawn back to one of my favorite stories, Pride and Prejudice. It holds special appeal In the last lazy days of summer, when I want nothing more than to read all day, or take a walk, or sit in the sun, and by night to don a pretty dress and dance with a handsome man.
Such is my romantic view of Victorian life.
These days, being a mother requires the memory of an elephant—and the thick skin of one too. Thanks to a recent scene with my 15-year-old son, I won’t soon forget that most of us are simply lumbering our way through parenthood, and life.
While my son was at school I was supposed to drop his laptop off at his dad’s house, but I was engrossed in listening to a book-on-tape while driving across town, and it completely slipped my mind.
I’m not proud of the fact that there are unwashed dishes in my sink, a pile of unfolded laundry on my bed, or a family of dust bunnies under my dresser. But I’m writing. And when my writing time increases, my usually high cleaning standards take a dramatic fall.
You’ve learned a thing or two in this lifetime. Maybe you know the secret to making the perfect souffle. Or how to be a stepparent to kids who refuse to say your name. Or maybe you want people to know how prayer has changed your life. Whatever it is, there is some message that you feel called to share in a blog.
The first day of school holds a lot of significance– new friends, new experiences, new shoes (and new undies too!). Even if you don’t have kids, you probably feel that brisk energy and resolve to get ‘er done that comes back around each fall.
What you don’t need stuffed into that new backpack or purse is a sense of helplessness.
That’s what I felt when my oldest son told me about his first day as a high school junior.