AN INTERVIEW WITH SUZANNE FINNAMORE

As many of you already know, I have a love that borders on scary/obsessive with the book Split. What many of you may NOT know, is why. I have loved Suzanne Finnamore's writing since I first read Otherwise Engaged and later The Zygote Chronicles. She is a dead-on writer, and FUNNY, mercifully FUNNY.

And therein lies the major reason I love Split, she takes a subject so NOT funny - being unceremoniously dumped - and makes you pee your pants while you're wiping your eyes with the deep truths and profound insights she has. Deep and funny. What's better than that? Nothing. Not if you ask me.

When I first read SPLIT, I posted this 5 star Amazon review:

Brilliant look at divorce and the grieving process, October 13, 2008
By Carrie Link (Portland, OR) - See all my reviews

This review is from: Split: A Memoir of Divorce (Hardcover)
In her Anger section (Stage II) she says, "The snag about marriage is, it isn't worth the divorce. My new doctrine is, never marry. I won't ever again. It is absolute swill. It's not just my marriage. It's all marriages except a handful. Marriage is a conspiracy from Tiffany's, florists, the diamond industry, and Christian fundamentalists. The only thing good about it is the diamond ring, the wedding gifts, and the honeymoon. A, (the name she gives her son in the book) I could have gotten anywhere. I could have gotten A from a turkey baster and a lovely gay man with a college education and a pleasant disposition. IF ONLY I'D HAD THAT MUCH SENSE AT THE TIME. I'm sending turkey basters to all my single girlfriends, with holly tassels, for Christmas."

In Bargaining (Stage III) she says, "Sorry is the two-dollar bill of words. It's worth something, but in the end it's ridiculous, a souvenir at best."

Section IV: Grief, she says, "Grief, I understand with icy clarity, is simply information I allow myself to know."

And she says this, when wondering what she might say to her son one day when he asks about divorce: "I will say: 'You enter into - well. You enter into a kind of madness. You will make discoveries, not all of them happy. And the surprises are not staggered or regularly spaced, they are coming at you at light-speed, all at once, and you have to continue. You don't get to stop and say, I'll pick this all up in a year or so, when it isn't so difficult or painful or scary. When I'm ready. No no no. You have to go back in daily, until. Until it passes, or something happens to lessen its dark brilliance. you never know when this will be. You just have to keep meeting it. And gradually it disperses, leaving a small tear in your heart. A little hole, an aperture in you, as in a camera lens which, in the right light, can be perceived and accepted as a perspective-enhancing hole.'"

You don't have to be divorced, almost divorced, thinking about divorce, or even know someone getting divorced, to appreciate this book - it's about grief. And aren't we all grieving something, or someone? Or both?

The NEW YORK TIMES ran a whole chapter excerpt of SPLIT! And so did THE LONDON TIMES!

So, I was able to convince Suzanne to do a blog interview with me in honor of the fact that SPLIT is now available to pre-order (paperback) on Amazon! For those that can't wait, it's available RIGHT THIS MINUTE in hardcover, at the ridiculously low price of $7.49.

Get a cuppa, sit back and enjoy a funny and deep interview with SUZANNE FINNAMORE! The first part is a previous interview she did, then my questions immediately follow:

Q: ARE YOU WORKING ON A BOOK?

A: always and never. i cling to freelance advertising copywriting because
it's so much easier than writing. i write between the spaces of the
freelance commercial writing.

Q: DO YOU WRITE AT THE SAME TIME EACH DAY?

A: yes. morning. in front of the computer. coffee with cream, no food.
digesting food requires energy and makes one sleepy.

Q: DO YOU HAVE WRITING ROUTINES, OR DO YOU AVOID THEM?

A: no. routines are necessary. writing is a habit. a vice.

Q: DO YOU EDIT AS YOU GO?

A: never, ever. just spew it all onto the page. the more flawed and
outrageous, the better. there's always time later to organize and
edit. in fact, rewriting is the real work of writing. i may rewrite a
single page 60 times. but that comes later. after i've got, say, 400
pages of messy, senseless bile.

the only thing necessary is to spell check at morning's end, after
you've spewed. otherwise, you'll forget what you meant to say when you
wrote "sfghdllty ghyry tkissk!"

Q: DO YOU WORK FROM NOTES?

A: yes. i write down everything as it occurs to me. i slap it into files
on my desktop. i generally have 3 or 4 books cooking at once. the
strongest one will emerge in time. DIALOGUE is the most important
thing, i believe, it’s the engine of a book. inner dialogue or
caught-from-the-air dialogue. eudora welty knew this, updike knew
this. dialogue, if you overhear it or say it , must be captured word perfect
immediately. dialogue is never rewritten ---! dialogue is only cut or filled
in to capture meaning or further the plot. if i’m in a meeting and the
dialogue is fantastically perverse, i'll write down everything everyone
is saying. it's priceless, and in the end i have enough to write the
campaign and a book as well. much of my time in ad meetings is spent
capturing dialogue. the best opportunities are always agency- wide
meetings or "brainstorm" meetings. hell, all meetings are breeding
grounds for perverse and often hilarious dialogue. i also use dialogue
from my own emails and emails from writer friends or funny brilliant
friends. all writers need funny brilliant friends to steal from; write
to a close friend and in the process you discover what you know or
feel about an issue or event. Much of my books have come from emails
or phone conversations or meetings, and then i wrote the book AROUND
the dialogue. include body language and gestures in this as well. i use my
dates, my lovers, my family, my son, my dead relatives, i use everyone.
writers: we're vampires and grave robbers, is what we are. "journalists of
the human condition" is a nicer way to put it.

Q: WHAT ABOUT OUTLINES?

A: never, ever, ever. that presumes i know what will happen or what is
best at the beginning of the process, which i don’t. what i know is
nothing, except the subject matter of the book. it's best to retain
that innocence as long as possible. it's easier for me to deliver a
manuscript than an outline. even the word Outline smacks of fascism.

Q: WHAT ABOUT INDEX CARDS, ALA ANNIE LAMOTT?

A: sure. keep some around. always carry a pen and some paper of some
kind. ALWAYS. in the car is especially important. while driving, the
body is occupied and creative thoughts are free to roam exactly where
they should. keep a pen at hand, write things down at the red lights, or pull
over. never attempt to talk into a small hand held tape recorder: again, fascism and
pretense lives there, in those little machines: you will never transcribe them and if
you do, you've lost the gist. it’s blather and a lot of pipe dreams spoken aloud. it's
gaseous babble of the pissant.

Q: WHERE DO YOUR IDEAS FROM WRITING COME FROM?

A: i only write about what i know, what happens to me, and
what is making me live or die in the era i am currently in. i'd like
to be another kind of writer, but I’m not. you have to know what kind of
writer you are. are you a storyteller, or are you a chronicler? decide.



And my questions:



1) For whom did you write this book?

When my husband left me and I was caring for our baby, I felt totally alone and depressed and there was NOTHING TO READ about divorce that would lift me or make me laugh. (There were only clinical, dry self-help books and impossibly silly novels about divorce, where the heroine is swept away by her Portuguese gardener, etc. It wouldn’t do). I decided within 2 weeks I would write Split: A Memoir of Divorce for all the abandoned wives and mothers, because it was a necessary tool for them to survive. And I’ve gotten a lot of mail from women who say I accomplished this, that it saved them. It’s a tremendous honor.

2) The raw honesty and pain in the book, is so noteworthy because so many books lack that. Was writing the book cathartic, re-traumatizing, or a mix of both?

It was mildly cathartic but it was much more work than anything else. I wrote the entire book as a novel and then was asked to rewrite it as a memoir. It was a long process and yes – many days writing the memoir felt like going back into a dark cave and excavating the past and then coming out feeling traumatized and spent.

3) Sorry, but I got to have you weigh in on the "memoir debate." What's your philosophy of what to tell, what to leave out, and "subjective truth?"

My philosophy is that you own your experience, as a writer. I left a great deal out of my memoir so as not rock the boat more than I had to in order to tell my story with emotional honesty. As far as I’m concerned, all truth is subjective where writing and even remembering are concerned. The moment you try to pin an experience down on paper, it becomes fiction, because you’re only telling your side of things and some of that will necessarily be subjective. Also, once a memoir is accepted for publication, the publisher’s lawyer will usually legally vet the entire manuscript, to avoid issues of slander and liable.

4) And in that same vein, do you wish you could go back and re-classify your first two books, Otherwise Engaged and The Zygote Chronicles "memoir," and/or Split as fiction? Having written both ways, which do you recommend?

Oh I much prefer fiction. One has so much more leeway with fiction, and there is no second-guessing involved. Otherwise Engaged contains a lot of fiction, it is primarily fiction, and based on my emotional truth of that year I was engaged. But apparently in terms of the prose and the dialogue, I wrote it so well/close to the bone, that everyone assumes it’s completely autobiographical. It is not. Nor is The Zygote Chronicles a memoir. It’s a novel about a woman who happens to be having a baby close to forty, as was I. There are some autobiographical elements, certainly. But the only “true” part is the delivery scene at the end of the novel – that was pretty much exactly how it happened for the birth of my son.

5) How did you decide to structure the book around the Five Stages of Grief, and do you find yourself still moving back, in and around all five, or are you pretty much staunchly placed in Acceptance?


My close friend and mentor, Fay Weldon, told me that divorce is certainly like a death. That’s when I decided to section off the book into 5 chapters corresponding to the Kubler Ross Five stages of loss and death. It also gave the book some structure. And the arc of the 5 chapters/stages happily suggests the fact that divorce is a multi-stage process that passes… that its attendant grief and trauma is finite and can be quantified.

I’ve been blessed with Acceptance for many years, now. I talk to my ex almost daily; we’re good friends. And as far as romance, I’ve moved on. Boy have I.


5) In your Anger section you say you'll never marry again - still feel that way?

Of course not. That why it’s in the Anger section. People think and decide all sorts of radical things when they’re angry. It passes.

6) What's the one piece of advice you give to women in the grieving process - regardless of what they're grieving?

Find a grief counselor. I found a great one; she’s in Split and so is her advice to me. So if you read Split, you’ll get all the advice I paid $100/hour for!

7) I know you said earlier that you are always and never working on other books, like four. I get that. Can you just give us a hint what you think your next (published) book will likely be about?

THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK OF SEXUAL SIGNALS: The Neanderthal's Guide to Women Who Want You

It’s a guide for men who have no clue as to the signals women send out, Also, women can read it and see what their signals are telling men, A hand-sized book.
After that? A novel about finding love after 40—via the Internet and so on. The heroine will be a cross between a cougar and Pollyanna.

TO ORDER YOUR COPY OF Split, GO HERE. Or hardcover right now!

Dear Madeleine,

You just turned 21.
The world is yours.
You know that.
You're ready.

You also know that these days of relative care-free living are numbered.
And so you number them.

The friends with whom you now live and have fun that is big, they will mark your life forever.
Each one making a track that you will revisit and turn over.
And over.

When you're 30.

And 40.

And 50.

And always.

Someday years from now you'll do something simple, like just shaving your legs
and a bit of conversation from these days will float into your brain and take you back.
Right back. To the days that are now.

You'll think back on the men that were boys.
One will be gay and doesn't know it.
But you will.

One is hiding a deep and painful secret.
You will know that too, but you'll never be told what that secret is.
Never.
And you'll live with that unknowing and nearly drive yourself mad trying to guess.
But you never will.

You'll think back on the women that were girls.
One will develop an auto-immune disease. It will be progressive.
And your heart will break each time you hear it's progressing.
And progressing.

One will spiral out-of-control into alcoholism.
You will not be able to save this person.
But you will try.

One will become completely self-absorbed and self-destructive.
You still love this person anyway.

Some will stay just the same and you'll fall out of touch and back in.
Over and over again through the years.
Each time one of you calls it will be like a blink since you've last talked.
Right back where you left off.
You will always appreciate this.

You'll feel guilty for your health.
Your happiness.
Your relative "bliss."
Compared to the others, you got off easy.

Don't fall into this trap.

The world needs the well-adjusted.

The world needs those that are happy.

The world needs those that are givers.

And lovers.

And caretakers.

And soul-lifters.

The world needs you.

"What are reborn are our habits. Enlightenment is the ending of rebirth, which means a complete nonattachment or misidentification with all thoughts, feelings, perceptions, physical sensations and ideas." His Holiness, the Dalai Lama

BEST SHOTS FROM OUR TRIP TO THE BEACH

**JUST TO GET YOU REVVED UP FOR THE INTERVIEW IN THREE DAYS, A REPRISAL OF AN AUGUST BLOG POST...


SPLIT

Not enough can possibly be made of how much I love this book. First of all, LOVE Suzanne Finnamore. Love her other two books, Otherwise Engaged and The Zygote Chronicles. LOVE that she is BFFs with two of my fantasy BFFs, Augusten Burroughs and Haven Kimmel. LOVE that she asked finding a mate advice from Augusten Burroughs and this is his response. LOVE that she posted his response, because I'll be damned, it's about the truest and funniest advice I've ever seen or heard.

This is her first "memoir," although her first two "novels" parallel her life. She brilliantly organized the book according to the 5 Stages of Grief, which is so fitting, and which she makes so funny, while remaining so candid and heart wrenching, all at the same time.

In her Anger section (Stage II) she says, "The snag about marriage is, it isn't worth the divorce. My new doctrine is, never marry. I won't ever again. It is absolute swill. It's not just my marriage. It's all marriages except a handful. Marriage is a conspiracy from Tiffany's, florists, the diamond industry, and Christian fundamentalists. The only thing good about it is the diamond ring, the wedding gifts, and the honeymoon. A, (the name she gives her son in the book) I could have gotten anywhere. I could have gotten A from a turkey baster and a lovely gay man with a college education and a pleasant disposition. IF ONLY I'D HAD THAT MUCH SENSE AT THE TIME. I'm sending turkey basters to all my single girlfriends, with holly tassels, for Christmas."

In Bargaining (Stage III) she says, "Sorry is the two-dollar bill of words. It's worth something, but in the end it's ridiculous, a souvenir at best."

Section IV: Grief, she says, "Grief, I understand with icy clarity, is simply information I allow myself to know."

And she says this, when wondering what she might say to her son one day when he asks about divorce: "I will say: 'You enter into - well. You enter into a kind of madness. You will make discoveries, not all of them happy. And the surprises are not staggered or regularly spaced, they are coming at you at light-speed, all at once, and you have to continue. You don't get to stop and say, I'll pick this all up in a year or so, when it isn't so difficult or painful or scary. When I'm ready. No no no. You have to go back in daily, until. Until it passes, or something happens to lessen its dark brilliance. you never know when this will be. You just have to keep meeting it. And gradually it disperses, leaving a small tear in your heart. A little hole, an aperture in you, as in a camera lens which, in the right light, can be perceived and accepted as a perspective-enhancing hole.'"

You don't have to be divorced, almost divorced, thinking about divorce, or even know someone getting divorced, to appreciate this book - it's about grief. And aren't we all grieving something, or someone? Or both?

FOUR MORE DAYS UNTIL MY INTERVIEW WITH SUZANNE FINNAMORE  - AUTHOR OF SPLIT!

Whew! Busy day - didn't pull in last night until late, spent all of today unpacking, re-packing, doing laundry, grocery shopping, blah, blah, blahty blah!

Woohoo and her equally "excitable" friend and I are going to the beach tomorrow for the last 3 days of Spring Break. Love Woohoo. Love her friend. Love what I've packed so far:

TOP 10 THINGS I'VE ALREADY PACKED

10. Earplugs
9. iPod
8. Wine
7. Beer
6. Walking shoes
5. Coffee
4. Tylenol PM
3. Their warmest/driest coats - they're going outside. No. Matter. What.
2. Their iPods - with ear buds
1. Their walking shoes

HOME

STM and I have been making the three-hour drive over the mountain to this house since before the kids were born. My mom bought this house about 20 years ago. About six years ago she moved over to Portland to be nearer to us, but kept the house in SIsters - all paid off and a great escape, it was too hard to part with.

Now we never can.

This house has been dubbed the Healing House and I always feel instantly better the minute my car crunches over the gravel, and I open the driver's side door and get that first hit of juniper and pine.

When I open the door and see so many things just as she left them, I'm welcomed and reassured. In Rojo's room there is still a bookshelf full of children's books. Some of the same artwork, furniture, pots and pans, all bring a sense of "home." STM's parents still live in the same house they have lived in his entire life. He can go "home" anytime, and often does. A 10-minute drive and he's surrounded by his childhood memories, the familiar surroundings, the comforts.

But I have this house, and it's the same thing for my kids - they feel like they're coming home when they come here.

Rojo has a checklist of all the things he has to do when we're here, never mind that he's now almost 13, and not 3. We have to play with the same toy trucks, read the same books, get excited for the garbage truck on Monday mornings, go play at the park, pick up papers from the homes for sale, find public drinking fountains and eat French fries at the local hamburger joint. With 15 packets of ketchup. Exactly 15.

We have to swing him in the hammock and let him "ha" on us (breathe his garlicky breath all over us, forcing us to gag).

We have to let him drink water from the same cup that's been here for years - the one with the red plastic lid - and let him insert the Crazy Straw.

We're leaving today. He wanted to come for four nights. It's been four nights. He's done.

Not with being a little boy.

Not with being a slave to tradition.

Just done with this particular stroll down memory lane.

We'll be back.

Soon.

And we'll do it all again.

Home.

PROFOUND THING ROJO JUST SAID

Sitting me down to talk about the game schedule for the day, he prefaced by saying, "Mom, throw it down your heart to know this - way below your heart."

And the day is young, he'll probably say more profound things.

And I'll be trying to listen.

LIKE A ROCK

Nearly two years ago I came to Sisters a broken woman, and set to building myself back up.

I started with rocks.

Built a grid - something about harnessing the healing energy of these sacred grounds.

Came home and wrote a book about my holy, broken time in Sisters.

The book begins with the building of the rock grid.

Right now STM, Woohoo, Rojo and I are in Sisters.

Together.

Don't need the grid anymore.

Spent the day dismantling it.

Built something stronger.

A family.

HAPPY SPRING BREAK, EVERYONE!

I WILL THROW IT.

I had a song in my head all morning the other day: at the computer -even while other songs were playing in stereo through my headphones- through morning prayer, throughout my walk with Kathleen, back home, in the shower, etc., etc.

The song would not go away - Annabelle Chvostek's "Resilience," - and in particular the lines, "I'll throw it if you catch it."

Song kept playing in my head. Didn't think too much about why, but later when I sat down in my favorite big comfy chair to do some editing, I turned on my iPod, and WHAT song was playing (out of 111 on my cute little shuffle)? And which PARTICULAR words?

"I'll throw it if you catch it."

I considered crying.

I considered getting out my journal and writing something deeply insightful.

I considered closing my eyes and meditating on the no accidentness of the whole thing.

But instead I flew to the computer and fired off an e-mail to Kathleen, "Guess who is SO FLIPPIN' PLUGGED IN?" then proceeded to explain the whole thing to her.

And therein lies the rub. My need to be validated overrode the holiness of the moment.

Almost always does.

Gonna work on that.

Also going to work on throwing (love) even if nobody's really "catching."

Conditions are TFBS.

I think that's what I would have written/meditated on - only a little more eloquently. 

I think.

* Photo from www.allposters.com

Thank you for your patience while we tweak the blog!

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." Albert Einstein




* Photo from www.miraclestories.com

BREAKING THROUGH

The funk is lifting.

Ahhhh...

Feels like I'm getting out from under one of those lead aprons the dentist always makes you wear when they take your X-rays.

A week ago I was in it big, and determined to stay there. A dear friend called to cheer me up, "Bounce back" she suggested. "I don't WANT to bounce back!" I barked back, as one can only do with a really good friend.

And I didn't.

And because I didn't, I didn't.

But now I do.

And so I am.

BEST SIGHT EVER

So, today was day eight of driving around looking for the UPS truck so we could wave and let it "feel our energy."

We picked up Woohoo from school today at 3:30, on the way home we had our first sighting. We waved. Furiously. All three of us.

1 hour later UPS showed up at our door. I could have, and almost did, kiss the driver.

We are one Fightin' Blue Hens shirt richer. Only problem? I accidently ordered a women's shirt.

And. You. Can. Totally. Tell.

But he's happy, so I'm happy.

RIGHT ON!

So we just had family prayer time again, this time "love" was well-shuffled amongst the 71 other Angel Cards.

What did Rojo draw?

Oh, yea.

"Love! I drew love again! It's a love marathon! Right on, freaky bro!"

Can't talk now, gotta go join the love marathon going on in the next room.


(And the shirt? Still. Not. Here. Grrrrr...)

STACKING THE DECK

Rojo just ran up to tell me he'd gotten the cards all organized for morning prayer that starts in five minutes.

"Mom, I found 'love' and I put it on top, that way we'll pick it for sure."

Choosing to choose love - what a good idea.

BROWN TRUCKS AND BLUE HENS

Last Sunday Rojo woke me up and could talk of nothing besides the Delaware Blue Hens - apropos of nothing.

"Mom, can we go to the NIKE outlet and buy a Delaware Blue Hens T-shirt?"

"Well, sweetie, they won't have one, because we, um, live really far from Delaware, and all NIKE will have is University of Oregon and Oregon State stuff, because that's what the people around here want to buy - those are the teams they support."

"But I am a Delaware Blue Hens fan, and I think they will have a T-shirt that says Delaware on the front, and a Fightin' Blue Hen on the back. Let's go to NIKE at 11:00 when they open."

After working me from 6:00 AM to 11:00 I buckled and we went to NIKE, where, guess what, there was only UofO and OSU stuff.

We circled.

Re retraced our steps.

We asked everyone that worked there.

Nothing.

He was silent in the car when I finally forced him into it. After about 20 minutes, almost home, he said, "Mom, we will go to 'Just Sports' in the mall RIGHT when you pick me up from school tomorrow. They will have a Delaware Blue Hens T-shirt with 'Delaware' on the front, and 'Fighting Blue Hens' on the back, and you will pick me up and we will go right there and get that shirt. Promise. Don't forget."

I promised. I didn't forget, and we went.

No Delaware.

All the way home he was quiet, I know he was considering asking me to fly to Delaware to buy that flippin' shirt. Right. That. Minute.

Finally I convinced him to try what I'd been suggesting since Sunday - order the shirt on-line.

Found the perfect shirt and ordered it approximately 10 minutes after walking in the door on Monday.

And ever since then?

"Can we call UPS to see when my Delaware Fightin' Blue Hens shirt will be here?"

"Are all UPS trucks the same? How do they know which one to put my Delaware Fightin' Blue Hens shirt in?"

"Do the UPS trucks come every day?"

"Do the UPS trucks know where we live?"

"I was only a little serious yesterday, but now I am DEAD serious, I want that UPS truck to come to my house today."

"I prayed all day to Jesus Christ about that damn truck."

"When we see a UPS truck we are going to wave, then that truck will get our energy, and come to our house."

Ad nauseam.


If that damn shirt doesn't arrive tomorrow there will be hell to pay. And I am DEAD serious.






(Note says: DEAR BROWN UPS TRUCK COME TODAY AT 4:25 TO MY HOUSE DON'T FORGET LOVE)

CRAWLING BACKWARDS

After re-reading Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird, I decided to pull Operating Instructions off the shelf and re-read it, too.

Loving it.

STM gave it to me when I was pregnant with Woohoo. Wish to God I'd re-read it several times oh, say, twelve years ago when Rojo was killing me with his newborn colic, but who had time to read?

Anyway.

I pull the book off the shelf and notice a bookmark stuck inside.

"Snap out of it!" the bookmark instructs.

No accidents.

Start reading and again I've got the Post-Its marking all the amazing things Anne Lamott has to say - things that wouldn't have caught my attention twelve years ago, even if I HAD had the time to read.

"Anyway, I watch Sam be a baby and and crawl backwards, and it's such an alien concept because is seems so natural to think that all the action is forward. Actually, backwards is just as rich as forward if you can appreciate the circle instead of the direction."

Can't talk now - off to appreciate the circle.

And snap out of it - eventually.

VERY EXCELLENT DE-FUNKIFIER

OPERATION DEFUNKIFIER

1. Read this card (above) that someone wonderful gave me, every time I get discouraged and/or afraid.

2. When I get my you-know-what too far up my you-know what, read this: "What irritates us in the first place is that our wishes are not fulfilled. But remaining upset does nothing to help fulfill those wishes. So we neither fulfill our wishes nor regain our cheerfulness. This disconcerted state, from which anger can grow, is most dangerous. We should never try to let our happy frame of mind be disturbed. Whether we are suffering at present or have suffered in the past, there is no reason to be unhappy." HH the Dalai Lama

3. Remember: love.

TOP 10 THINGS I'M DOING TO MAKE MY FUNK FUNKIER

10. Drinking as much caffeinated coffee as possible
9. With cream
8. Taking everything bad for me and putting it in a bowl and eating it
7. With hot fudge
6. Complaining
5. Obsessing
4. Not being grateful that I went to the dermatologist and he said that none of the 1,001 moles I have are of any concern
3. Refusing to take Advil for my headache because I brought it on myself, and I want to suffer as long, and as much, as possible
2. Making a list of all the people on my last nerve
1. And why

OLD STORY THROUGH NEW EYES

HUGE "Sex and the City" fan here. Own, and have seen, every single episode many, many times. Throw out some "Sex and the City" trivia and I'll blow you away with my encyclopedic knowledge.

Went to the movie the day after it opened. Went with three beautiful friends, two other blonds and a brunette, we were our own version of Charlotte, Miranda, Samantha and Carrie (I get to be Carrie, obviously).

Saw the whole movie through their eyes, and especially "my" Carrie's. How DARE Big treat her like that? My outrage lasted for days.

STM was out-of-town on Friday and Rojo was at my mother's, Woohoo was otherwise engaged, so I rented the movie and watched it all over again.

This time alone.

Saw it differently.

Saw it through the eyes of Big, Steve, and Smith. (Still hard to see anything through Harry's eyes, sorry, Charlotte's just too darn happy - where's the conflict?)

Whole different movie.

Went to sleep and couldn't.

Woke up early Saturday morning and got my coffee - watched the whole long movie again before Woohoo woke up.

Whole different movie - squared.

What else am I seeing through old eyes, that needs to be revisited?

STORMS AT SEA

Could be helping at my son's school today - teacher needs some extra help from parents to make Egyptian masks.

That was my plan all along - be the mom that answers the bell and shows up with little notice because the class is making Egyptian masks, and Egyptian masks are very cool and labor intensive, and I, of all people, know what it's like to teach 6th grade and need all the help I can get.

But instead I'm home pouring my guts on the page - opening old wounds, rubbing in the salt, and then splaying them open for the whole wide world to one day read in a book. And probably judge.

What went wrong?

Where and when did I get so far off Plan A?

Chicken or the egg?

Did my life and kids veer me to Plan B, or did I veer us to Plan B and the kids followed?

I was going to be the classic stay-at-home mom. I was going to cook. Clean. PTA.

I still clean.

If my kids actually ate real food at real food hours, would I cook?

We'll never know, I guess.

The hours and hours other mothers are pouring over recipes, shopping, chopping, stirring and baking, I am writing.

Is it selfish? Who cares what I have to say?

Every once in awhile a sweet comment comes in, or an e-mail, or someone writes on my "wall" on Facebook, and I feel slightly vindicated.

But most of the time I feel like if I don't write I'll take that big step from keeping it together, to losing it.

Had to re-read an old favorite, Anne Lamott's Bird By Bird, just to check in. This time I got out the highlighters and Post-It notes. Found this quote that seemed to speak to my angst: "We write to expose the unexposed. If there is one door in the castle you have been told not to go through, you must. Otherwise, you'll just be rearranging furniture in rooms you've already been in . Most human beings are dedicated to keeping that one door shut. But the writer's job is to see what's behind it, to see the bleak unspeakable stuff, and to turn the unspeakable into words - not just into any words but if we can, into rhythm and blues."

She ends the book by saying this, "We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It's like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can't stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship."

So maybe I just like to sing during the terrible storms of life.

And maybe I'm just a lousy cook.

CLOSE TO THE AIR

For ALL of you mothers out there, you gotta read this. My friend Holly NAILS it in her piece that appears in Literary Mama this month.

Whether you're married, single, still in those "fun" toddler years or not, you'll relate. And today when I read this I related more than I cared to. Let's just say at times I have a toddler walking around in an almost 13-year-old's body, and I thanked the good Lord for 1 less hour of "enjoyment." I heart Daylight Savings Time.

For an absolute delight, click here.

So both kids are off their meds, we're having six separate and disparate conversations all at the same time, in the car, as I struggle to find a place I've never been before (hard for me under the best of circumstances).

"Grrrrrrrr... " I say, as both kids laugh. They think it's funny that I'm about to lose it.

"Can we try THIS? How about I say ONE thing, and the person to whom I am speaking RESPONDS APPROPRIATELY? That person does NOT ask a completely unrelated question. That person does NOT say, "What?" That person does not begin a whole NEW story in the midst of my question. Okay? Can we bleeping TRY THAT FOR BLEEPING ONCE? Grrrrrrr...."

Rojo convulses with laughter, seriously, he cannot catch his bleeping breath.

"Mom, you need to take a Grrr-tek for all your grrr-ing."

"Okay, I admit it, that was a good one," I say.

"Put it on your blog when we get home."

"O..." and before I can say "kay" he's already interrupted.

"Don't forget."

"O..."

"Promise you won't forget."

Grrrrr....

SPRING THAW

Here in the Willamette Valley we're starting to see signs of spring. Daffodils are up and will start to open any day. Twice now in March I've run errands without a winter coat on - just a sweater. Sunday we move the clocks forward and that coveted extra hour of daylight will be ours. Again.

Winter hit harder than usual around here this time - that big snow that landed and wouldn't budge - did a number on any number of things: the old recycling bins that now hold basketballs and footballs swelled with snow, froze with ice, expanded, contracted, then cracked down the middle. "Perennials" didn't make it - they need to be uprooted and laid to rest in the yard debris can. And our big front window in the living room got too much moisture smooshed up against it, I guess, when our window boxes filled with snow and were held there against the seams until they simply couldn't withstand the pressure. The seals burst, and our window moves through its day in an interesting pattern of clarity and blurriness.

Just like life.

When the snow was here there was nothing we could do about it - just wait it out. But now it's gone, the damage assessed, and the clean-up begins. Some things are easily fixed. Some things are harder, but still possible.

And some things might just need to remain in an interesting pattern of clarity and blurriness.



* Photo from www.oregonphotos.com/Resources/Spring-Thaw-Sisters

BEING OF SOUND MIND

Was in a mood all day, as you could easily tell by my blog posting.

Couldn't shake it, but also couldn't quite put my finger on what the problem was. My real problem. I had a lot of short answers to that question, but I knew something bigger was underneath.

Then I saw it there, underneath a stack of papers on my desk, the unmistakable manilla envelope holding a stack of ick.

A couple weeks ago we received the large envelope from our attorney. He'd sent us back our wills for review, just a thing he customarily does every five years, as in most cases people's situations have changed, their assets, their lives, the conditions and whereabouts of the people listed as guardians, trustees, etc.

Been putting off talking to STM about the wills, and finding out his thoughts on amending them, thinking the whole thing might go away if I ignored it.

Five years ago we had an almost 8-year-old and an almost 10-year-old. Our friend and family circle held a different shape than it does now. That shape no longer supports the needs of our now almost 13-year-old and almost 15-year-old.

We finally sat down and went through the changes and questions one by one. Do we now need a Special Needs Trust? How can we protect Woohoo? Those we trust enough to raise our kids, God forbid, if something happens to both of us, are raising kids of their own. Their lives are already stressed and their attentions already pulled in all directions, what would putting our two into the mix do to them?

"Adding Rojo to someone's family, could break the family apart," STM said.

Don't I know it.

"It could also save a family," he continued.

Don't I know it.

So that's my funk. Just the little question of who to give my kids to.

WARNING: I'VE FINALLY SNAPPED!

My tolerance was already low.

I cannot HANDLE it when people throw the word "retard" around - in fact, I've made it my mission in life to AUTOMATICALLY and VERY VOCALLY correct people the INSTANT the word mistakenly comes from their mouth (or their keyboards).

Likewise, "stupid," "idiot," and "dumb."

They are offensive.

They are inaccurate.

They are unkind.

They lack compassion.

They are antiquated.

Those with developmental disabilities are the last frontier - still fair game for many to discriminate against and BULLY, and feel superior to.

Trying to relax for a few minutes last night before bed, I flip through O, The Oprah Magazine, landing on an article on trust.

Lau Tzu's quote, "The Master...trusts people who are trustworthy. She also trusts people who aren't trustworthy. This is true trust."

So far, so good.

Then it says, "Many earnest do-gooders skew this to mean that everyone is noble at the core..." "... But that's not 'true trust'; it's another verson of denial, like the one Pema Chodron calls by the memorable label 'idiot compassion.'"

PEMA CHODRON IS SAYING IDIOT COMPASSION? Like only an "idiot" would feel this way?

WHERE DO I EFFING BEGIN?

Merriam-Webster has as its definition of idiot: "usually offensive : a person affected with extreme mental retardation."

I'll say it's offensive.

Pema Chodron is out.

O, Magazine - out.

You know who is NOT out? "Idiots."

Never met one yet I couldn't trust.

OUT WITH THE OLD

Woohoo turns 15 in two months.

Sunday she voluntarily cleaned and organized her bedroom, two things, let's just say, she never "volunteers" to do.



But she did, and she really got after it. She gathered her 1,001 hair ties, she grouped her shoes, she put like with like on her desk and in her dresser drawers. And I was one proud and happy mama.

Until I saw the books.

She opened her door and was dragging behind her the laundry basket filled with books she no longer wanted on the white shelves of the bookcase I painted for her when I was readying her nursery.

The one that held all the Beatrix Potter books.

And The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

And Goodnight Moon.

And The Runaway Bunny.

That bookcase.

It was hard enough moving those books off, and Junie B. Jones on.

Then came the Little House series.

My old Nancy Drews.

"Mom," if it's okay with you, I'd like to take these books off, make room for some of my newer books now, if that's okay with you."

I lied, and told her it was fine.

RED ROVER

As Kathleen and I were walking/solving all the world's problems the other day, we struck upon the perfect visual for raising teenagers. Between the two of us, there are three, almost four, and she has one who has "graduated" from her teens, so she knows what she's talking about. I just pretend that I do.

Teenagers are always looking for the weakest link, the boundary that's not well-defined, and that's the one they are going to keep "attacking."

Because they can.

It's like that old school yard game, Red Rover. No kid tries to barge through a place in the lineup that's rock solid. No, they go back, over and over again to where there's little resistance to their push.

And they push.

The part we didn't quite nail down, but we will, don't you worry, is where in the "line" to drop hands and leave big wide spaces for free will and budding independence to walk right through.