A Writer's Life

Make March Memorable

I was driving home from work last night, exhausted and cranky.  I thought to myself, "I just wish that I could snap my fingers and have March be over."  And then I started to cry because I realized that wishing away whole months of your life is no way to live.  It's really not living at all and that's tear-worthy.

The work is not going to let up.  I'm truly going to be in the middle of a March madness, but I've got to find some joy in the middle of all of it.  So,  that's what my blogging is going to be about in March: looking for the moments of happiness amongst the panic attacks and the hair balls.  I'm going to do my best not to complain in my blog once  for thirty days (I know, it will be hard) and to find something happy to write about each day.

My mom said to find a pot of gold, and that's what I'm going to do here this month, one coin at a time.

Love,
Rachel

Leftovers

I haven't been updating much this month!  I'm exhausted from bringing work home at night and on the weekends, and my schedule is going to stay tight until May.  I haven't been having whole creative thoughts--only fragments here and there.  C and I are doing great, J. is loving life, and I really like the Wii Fit.  I am still having allergic reactions to my contacts, and I quit eating sugar (again) two weeks ago (not that those two things are necessarily related, ha ha.)  I just don't have any really interesting  leftovers to share right now, not even any scraps. 

Conversation Hearts

What's sweet about Valentine's Day

• C.  giving me the new Notorious perfume from Ralph Lauren.
• Knowing that he fought the crowds at the mall to get it for me.
• Getting to wear the black dress that I wore on our second date and really tall shoes to the restaurant where we had our third date. :)
• The waitress at a local restaurant recognizing us as a couple. :)
• Sending C. a hand stamped card in the mail and getting a "love you" text from him the moment he got it from his mailbox.
• A card from J. saying that I'm the best mom ever.
• Seeing how happy J. was to find a gift bag for her in the back seat of my car. 
• Looking at all the cute Valentine's that J. got from her friends and cousins.
• The happy looks from my employees when they saw their Valentine's gift cards.
• My cat purring next to my side as I type this post.
• Having a whole afternoon to spend drinking a breve and looking at books at B&N.
• Watching a dumb Lifetime movie while working out to Advanced Step.

What's not so sweet about Valentine's Day

• Trying to take J. to a regular restaurant for dinner.
• Having people in line at the regular restaurant pushing into us and smacking us with their purses.
• Deciding that we couldn't handle the crowds and going for fast food instead.
• Having the crazy idea that TODAY was the DAY.  For what? To clean the stinky fridge and carry all the garbage outside.
• Hearing the young cashier at Target call me "young lady."  (I guess it is better than being called ma'am.)
• Shopping for a birthday present for J.'s friend at Justice for girls, where they were so overstaffed that we were asked, "what size are you shopping for today" fifty times.
• Responding to other people's expectations.
• Realizing that I'm out of coffee but not wanting to brave the Valentine's crowds to get more.
• Realizing that I'm out of litter but not wanting to brave the Valentine's crowds to get more.
• Valentine's crowds, period.

Valentine's Day, I LUV U.

Rachel

Observations on Poem Day

Every Wednesday, my daughter has to stand up in front of her class and recite a poem that she’s memorized for the week.  Although I have fond memories of recitations, it’s a weekly struggle for my daughter.  We’ve spent hours trying to memorize poems that make no sense to her.  We’ve drawn pictures of the poems.  We’ve cut them into pieces and moved the pieces around on the floor.  We’ve discussed what the poem actually means; I’ve had her visualize the words and think in pictures.  We’ve acted them out; said them dramatically; turned the lines into songs.  I’ve had her type the poems and write the lines in different colors of inks.  And still, it’s a struggle to learn the poems every Tuesday night.  (BTW, she doesn’t get to select the poems, and some of them are admittedly quite difficult to memorize.)

Although she may struggle to memorize the poems, her observations on poem day are always delightful.  She’s figured out how everyone in her class displays their own form of nervous behavior.  There are kids who twist their hands, others who shift their feet, and some who look up into the sky, like the remaining words of the poem are floating around in the air somewhere.  There are kids who look right; kids who look left.  Faces are scrunched up in miscellaneous ways: noses wrinkled, lips licked, ears tugged.  

There are statue-kids who freeze upon uttering one wrong syllable, and others who plunge bravely into the rhythmic waters, remixing the poem with bold confidence.  Some say “uh” and others say “um.”  Some search their memory banks for the missing words and others look straight to the teacher for a word-feed.  Some give up halfway through, and others just easily bop right through it every week.

All these observations on poem day might not get her any extra credit in class, but it’s surely blog worthy.

Love, Rachel

 

I've Missed a Movie or Three

C. and I have this funny little thing where he asks me, "have you seen this movie?"  And I just laugh, which means, "No, I did not see that classic movie, either."  After watching "A Few Good Men" a few good weeks ago, I mentioned to my mom that I was mystified about all these missing movies.  Was I in a movie-coma in the early 90's?  Or was I just so entrenched in my fast-tracked degree in elementary education that I'd ignored everything while I struggled to learn to play the recorder?  She suggested making a list of the classic films from that era that I'd missed, a task which C. took to his computer, to do the research that he does so well. 

Last night, we curled up on his couch with blanket, fireplace, and coffee (one of my most favorite places to be with him) and watched "Silence of the Lambs."  I had no idea it was such a powerful film.  I'd never wanted to see it because it looked so scary and gruesome.  But much of the thrill of the movie was in the unbloody interactions between Clarice and Hannibal, and the bizarre but oddly mesmerizing connection they shared with each other.  He touches her once in the movie, for maybe two seconds, but it was the way that she let him into her mind and the way that she gets into his...and the verbal interplay between the two of them that bonded them together in a strangely gruesome and yet unforgettable way.

I am still shaking my head over the fact that the cannibal who thought nothing about gnawing off people's faces and other horrible things was a more likeable character than his prison psychiatrist.  There were so many reasons to despise Hannibal's character and yet, there was still something fascinating about him, both to her character and to the audience (well, at least to me and to C.)  Of course he was having an old friend for dinner at the end of the movie.

BTW, I do not like violent films or anything with blood and gore.  But the psychological thrill part of this movie pulled me in.  It's a good movie for a writer to study--the dialogues between Hannibal and Clarice and the many layers of his twisted and violent personality make for a brilliant study in engaging the reader. 

Love, Rachel

Emergency Contact

This morning, I was at the new eye doctor's office, and I was filling out medical forms.  When I got to "emergency contact," I paused.  I was suddenly Sarah Jessica Parker, in an episode of Sex and the City that may or may not have existed.  I could hear her voice narrating the episode and discussing with her friends what it means in your relationship when you become each others' emergency contact.

I'm not sure what Carrie would have said about it in her column, but here, in mine, all I can say is that it's pretty wonderful to ask and get an immediate yes.

Love, Rachel

P.S.  I should have spun this off in some sort of emergency contact/emergency allergic reaction to my contact lenses.  That's something about this random writing that I do in this blog.  I don't always think of the clever spin until I've written something, and as tempting as it can be to go back and revise it on the fly, it makes this place less random.  

February was supposed to be the new January...

January was full of health challenges for me.  That's the nicest way I can say it.  J. came back sick from Christmas vacation, and I woke up sick on my last holiday day with C.  We got well just in time to go back to school and work, and then I got sick with a bad ear infection.  And then I spent several days in pain when I was having problems with a crown. 

So, my goal for February was to kind of restart 2009.  I started exercising daily at the end of January so that I'd be ready for February, no problem.  I studied up on healthier eating and added a couple of new supplements to help with energy and focus.  And I was already to kick February off to a super healthy start.

Then last Saturday, I took my contacts out after C. brought me home, and my eyes were seriously red and hurting.  I'd been having redness and irritation all month, but it was nothing compared to my other January maladies.  People at work kept telling me that I looked tired, and I was waking up every morning with severe eye puffiness and dark circles.  I even went and bought a special under eye moisturizer to help with how I looked.

On Monday, I gave in and went to my regular doctor, who'd RX'd me with a possible case of pink eye and gave me antibiotic eye drops.  She also told me to immediately get an appointment with a real eye doctor, so that's where I went today.  And there I found out that I DIDN'T have pink eye.  I have something disgusting called Giant Papillary Conjunctivitis, which was triggered by an allergic reaction to my contacts.

I am now using steroid eye drops to help with the puffiness, swelling, itching, burning, and blurred vision.  There are bumps under my upper and lower eyelids, which perfectly explains to me the fact that my eyes were puffed and that I looked tired.  After things clear up, I can start wearing my contacts again--but no more sleeping in them.  Not even the special "it's okay to sleep in them" kind of contacts which I was wearing.

If the allergic reaction continues, then I will have to try a different brand of contacts altogether or just go back to glasses.

Tomorrow I will be restarting February.  (Which is very interesting because last year, right about this same time, I said exactly the same thing.  Maybe February is a weird kind of leaping month for me, with the first few days earmarked for do-overs.)

Love,
Rachel

Tom

On Friday, C. and I went to the Olive Garden for dinner.  It's one of those places where you'd never believe that the economy was bad because it's always busy, and there's always a wait.  When we arrived, the manager told us to expect a fifty minute wait.  We went ahead and put a name down and accepted a pager, but we were having the "do we stay or go" conversation, anyway.

A man heard us talking, and handed us his pager.  I don't know if he'd decided he was done waiting or if he had an emergency at home or if his date stood him up, but he told us that his pager only had about ten minutes left on it.  So, C. took it, and we went and sat down on a bench, and ten minutes later, the second pager went off.

We took it to the hostess, and she looked at C. and said, "Tom?"  And he said "yes."

And that is just one of the many reasons why I love this man.

Love, Rachel

P.S.  I was teasing C. in the parking lot that I was going to start calling him "Tom."  I happen to know that it's a very good name. :) 

Silence

The world of the Internet is populated by chatter.  It's not a quiet place, even when you've got your volume set to mute.  Which makes it interesting when people pull back and don't post about potentially sensitive topics.  Of course, there's speculation about everything, with comments flying all about, but when principals (and I'm not talking about the person who runs the school) don't "say" a word, it amplifies the silence. 

I guess there's no need to say "no comment" or to plead the fifth when you can just make the choice to leave your essay answer blank.

Love, Rachel

P.S. I think that what you choose not to say is just as important as what you choose to say.