Reinventing My Life...One Day at a Time

EXCITING NEWS.....

2010-03-28T12:14:00.000-05:00

But we aren't very far....our new home is www.ChicagoNow.com/ReinventionofLife

The house warming party is just getting under way so, please, come and join the fun.

The Honest Scrap Award

2010-03-15T08:00:00.003-05:00

So in my journey of reinvention, I frequently stumble upon great and wondrous participants in the journey along the road. Some touch me with their words and passion deeply. One such traveler is Bonnie from http://www.windshieldthinking.com/ . Her words and thoughts resound with such a level of relatedness for me. And in our respective journeys, she has become a cyber friend....a woman I respect and admire and look forward to hearing from. Recently, she shared a story about a friendship born on Twitter with a woman from Australia who sent to Bonnie an award of sorts....The Honest Scrap Award. And Bonnie has decided to send this award on a journey of its own.... a sort of traveling award. Bonnie’s words follow:

“The award above was given to me by Nicky Tillyer @artrox who I met pretty early on in my twitter-life. I loved Nicky’s creativity and energetic whimsical design so I began following her blog and we became twitter friends – she’s in Australia and I’m in the U.S. & I just love that! Very wonderful how one can meet others in this fashion! Thank you, Nicky, for the award! The “rules”:

The award has two components. You have to first list 10 honest things about yourself (and make them interesting), and second — present the award to seven other bloggers”

I was fortunate enough to be among Bonnie’s seven chosen bloggers.....and this touched me deeply because the bloggers that I was included with are some amazing writers. So, without further adieu, and in keeping with the “rules”, here I go.

Ten Honest Things About Me

1.) Animals: I am crazy in love with animals. This was definitely a process (see blog post “Hello Animals....Bye Bye Animals) that culminated in a love affair with all furry creatures great and small. I think animals sense my comfort and love for them because most animals seem to gravitate to me as well. I am outrageously lucky because my partner in crime helps me to be able to give many needy animals a loving home. As a result, I have horses, donkeys, mini horses, goats, sheep, cats and dogs whinnying, braying, baa-ing, maa-ing , mewing and barking their thanks and love each and every wonderful day. And I marvel at their presence in my life daily....honestly.

2.) Music: I am surrounded by music in a multitude of forms constantly. I do believe I even dream with music in the background, almost like a musical, because I will often waken with a song running through my head. It’s like I have my own Muzak© station in my brain and each day brings a new theme song. I crave music. I have music on wherever I am. My fantasy is to perform in some coffee house again one day. Music helps to define me....honestly.

3.) Numbers: When I speak to the music in my head, I can’t help but address the rhythmic counting that beats on subliminally. I feel that the music and the numbers are related because they have to do with timing...rhythm....beat. I am not even usually aware of the counting cadence that is going on within...only once in awhile do I catch a soft awareness of numbers being counted in a soothing tempo...honestly.

4.) Phones: I hate phones. Well, to be clear, I hate talking on phones. I love my cell phone.....but I look at it as a communication device of the highest technological order. I am an amazingly fast texter, I whip out emails at the speed of light on my phone and I can take awesome pictures and send them in a flash with my Droid. I just hate having to talk on a phone. I never had a bad telephone experience that scarred me for life so I can’t really explain my disdain for calling....it’s just one of those quirky things that makes me lovable.....honestly.

5.) Writing: Along the lines of communicating, I have to share that I am passionately in love with writing. I have always loved to write. In school, I looked forward to writing assignments. I never was a journal keeper in my youth and now that I write with the aid of my trusty computer, I think that the attraction to electronic journaling for me has to do with my attention span. Writing with pen and paper was too slow. My thoughts speed by so much faster than my painfully slow hand could ever write. And blogging? I just wish there were more hours in the day so that I could get all that I need to done and still have time to pour my words out onto the screen. Words and the combinations therein fascinate me....honestly

6.) Feelings: Some people live through their intellect...others live through their emotions/feelings. That would be me. I feel through everything. Most often that works for me. Sometimes I would rather feel intellectually however, wisdom and age have granted me an acceptance of my emotions. I no longer repress my feelings...rather, I almost luxuriate in them...embrace them.....honestly.

7.) Solitude: Which brings me to my comfort with being just by myself. An amazing thing has happened in the maturation of me. I find that I like being with me. I fill my day with people, family and friends while at work and events and I am sated with their love and kindness. But, at the end of the day, when life slows its weary self down, I am grateful for solitude....for the friendship of my thoughts....honestly.

8.) Mothering: I am a Mother. My children have blossomed into amazing, complex, soulful, giving, intelligent, accomplished adults. And I was a major player in the first acts of their lives. I constructed the stage sets, I painted the scenery, I created the costumes, I was the make-up artist and I cued the lines. I produced and directed and made cameo appearances. I flubbed my lines. I made poor directorial decisions. I miscast a few players. I even tried hogging the stage. But through it all, I loved being a Mother. And I did it well. It was a role I took on with gusto and confidence. It was a role that fit me like a glove. I only take bit parts now which gives me the chance to sit back and watch as they star in the roles of a lifetime. I am proud on so many levels.....honestly.

9.) Technology: I am turned on by technology. I am a fake techie. I really don’t have any training in technology and I really don’t know a thing about it, but that doesn’t stop me. I crave the latest in computers and phones and electronic readers and cameras. Once obtained, I play and err and succeed and grumble and delight. I love technology. I am inspired, challenged and stimulated. And sometimes I am defeated. But always excited about the newest available technology....honestly.

10.)Journey: And finally, the journey. I am on what I hope is, a never ending journey....a quest for awareness, a search for inner peace. Along the way, I cherish the wayside stops where I quench my thirst for knowledge and information. I pull off to the side of the road when I need to rest....to lay in the arms of the familiar for a bit before I have the energy to resume the travel. I always head for the sun and when clouds darken my journey, I learn to drink from sorrows well. I soak up the rains of uncertainty so that I can grow. I journey.....honestly.

And so, with my final honest revelation, it is time for me to pass on the Honest Scrap Award. It was not an easy choice because I have crossed paths with so many scrumptious words and delectable stories. But here they are in no particular order.

Amanda from http://www.vanityfairest.com/
Busy Mom from http://www.busymom.net/
Sara from http://www.walktalkchewgum.com/
LaTosha from http://www.targetstars.com/
Karen from http://www.whatiate4dinner.com/
Leyla from http://www.sundaymorningsoliloquy.com/
Dwana from http://www.healthierhappierhouseonahill.org/

Share with us ten honest and interesting things about you and bestow the honor of the Honest Scrap Award upon seven deserving bloggers.

Honestly.

And Now for Something Completely Different....A Few Words

2010-03-13T16:44:00.000-06:00

Just a few words. I know, I know…..anyone familiar with me knows that expressing myself in a “few words” is a challenge. I’m okay with that. Really.

Of late, I have become a social media maven of sorts. I probably don’t fit the typical age demographics but I have definitely found a new passion in networking. It all began with LinkedIn a few years ago. It was easy to justify my toe-dipping into the social media ocean with a professional networking platform like LinkedIn. Business owners and employees could post their job related statistics in an open forum so that connections could be made that may enhance ones professional growth. Voila. Easy.

And so the social media journey began for me. Soon I was on Facebook and creating a Facebook Fan Page for my business. I could be found busy tap tap tapping away on my keyboard updating my status, adding pertinent articles to my Fan Page and tweaking my website. As if my time wasn’t filled to the brim with these seemingly very important tasks, one day a dear patient of mine introduced me to the possibilities of Twitter and blogging. And because I hold this sweet woman in high regard, I spread my arms and held my breath and trusted my cape (a tip of the proverbial cap to Guy Clark author of the great song,“The Cape”). I started a Twitter account and a blog for my office. And my passion’s fire was fueled. The words began to flow and the connections began to develop. Friends were made, blogs were subscribed to and relationships flourished. I gave birth to a personal blog and nurtured my love for writing.

And to where are these "few words" leading? One of the many new friendships that came my way via Twitter is with the very savvy and successful LaTosha Johnson who is the owner of TargetStars, a marketing company. Not only have I benefited from a Twitter friendship with LaTosha, but TargetStars blog is one that I have found very helpful and informative. So, when LaTosha recently asked me to “guest blog” on TargetStars, I was extremely honored.

So an invitation….check out TargetStars and while you are there, take a peek at my first guest blogspot “On Brushing and Flossing and…Social Media”

….just a few words.

http://www.targetstars.com/

Packing Overkill

2010-02-15T08:40:00.000-06:00

There has been a distinct packing evolution in my life. Phases if you will. This occurred to me as I was stuffing...cramming....my freshly cleaned shorts into their overfilled drawer.

Phase One. Back in my happy hippie days , I had nary a care . My long haired, hip-hugger jeans, halter-top wearing college friends and I would plan (and I use that term very loosely) a camping excursion. I'd throw a pair of frayed, heavily worn jeans, a couple of tops, Blistex™, toothbrush and soap and towel (I may have been a hippie but I was a clean hippie with fresh breath and unchapped lips)into a knapsack (I don't think they were called backpacks then)and I was ready for the road. Other than the clothes on my back, that was pretty much the extent of my traveling needs. Man....life was so simple then.

Phase Two. Once I started playing house as a real grown up, my packing took on a different flavor. The traveling containers were large pleather suitcases that had no wheels or extendable handles ( I so wish I was the person that patented THOSE products). For some reason, and this may be reflective of me and not of my generation, shoes became a huge part of the packing adventure. And shoes in that era were particularly heavy. I'm talking three inch platforms of various styles and colors. All packed in my pleather suitcase along with clothes for every possible permutation of activities. Like the Boy Scout motto.....I was always prepared. And air travel in those days (excuse me while I lean on my walker here) had very few restrictions. So if I could lug it, I could claim it. No extra charges. No bag searches. Ah....those were the days.....those days of shoes.

Phase Three. Packing with children. 'Nuff said.

Phase Four. Fast forward to the present. We are RV-ers now. I remember how I used to snicker at people with Airstreams when I was "real" camping with my college friends in tents and sleeping bags. We would take surreptitious pictures of us standing next to Airstreams in mockery. And now? I am the traveling antithesis of camping. My co-traveling guru calls it condo-ing . He's right. I feel like such a hypocrite to the person I was in my camping days....I feel that I have let that free spirit that dwells within me down. But I have told my free spirit over and over again that my days of laying on the ground in a sleeping bag are so over....unless my free spirit plans on helping me up and unkinking my back each morning. But I digress. Packing. I have drawers now. I no longer need pleather bags or Andiamo luggage with extendable handles and wheels. I just traverse back and forth from my house to the RV with stacks of clothes for the drawers. Back and forth....back and forth. Clothes for the cold weather we leave in, clothes for the in-between weather we travel in, clothes for the hot weather I am longing for. Boots for the snow we are leaving in, shoes for the muddy interim traveling weather, flip flops and sandals and gym shoes and Crocs™ (shoes glorious shoes.....just sayin') for those long romantic strolls on sun warmed sand. Every nook and cranny in the RV is filled with foldable, stuffable clothes. And the closet? Dress outfits for those warm nights out, dress shirts, dress jeans, dress blazers, sarong skirts and halter dresses.

We are winding down in this wonderful three week journey to the Keys....we will be returning home in four days. And, truth be told.... I have worn about five outfits. Total. The whole three weeks. In the interest of full disclosure, I do have access to a washer and dryer. And I knew that. And yet I trudged back and forth with enough clothes to stock Kohls™, only to wear......roughly five outfits.

Sigh. I need a twelve step program but I don't have the right shoes for it.

Packing overkill.

The "H" Word

2010-02-13T11:29:00.000-06:00

No, not the "H...E....double hockey sticks" "H" word. The "H" word that makes Floridians tremble with fear. The "H" word that sends quivers down the spines of coastal cities and the owners of beautiful ocean front property. The "H" word that embarrassingly creates no relatedness for me any other time in my life....except now.

I know in the part of my brain that deals with logic that this is not hurricane season. Really, I do get it. But when locals talk all day long about the storm that's coming in and when the manager of the RV park we are calling home has her computer hooked up to a weather tracking service so that she can watch the progress of this "Big Storm" and when an RV neighbor knocks on our door to share with us tips on how to batten down the hatches, I can't help but think of the "H" word.

It had been the warmest day of our vacation so far - the kind of day you associate with the tropics. Warm, sunny and slightly humid. We spent the day with the dogs on a semi-deserted beach we found, thanks to a local's suggestion. There were kite surfers taking advantage of the increasing winds. The mile or so stretch of white sandy beach that we walked was interrupted only occasionally with other beach walkers. The girls were on high alert. So much for their senses. Watching that odd bird with nylon wings take off and come back down again over and over was so interesting to them. The waves that licked the shore and licked their curious noses was odd to them and extremely salty....so unlike their motionless fresh-water pond back home. The winds started to pick up while we were on our beach trek so we decided to head back home. (as an aside, I've become very aware of the fact that I now comfortably refer to the driving behemoth as home....interesting)

There was a buzzy feeling at the RV park. Hard to put my finger on it exactly but there was an underlying current of electricity that I hadn't felt before. Neighbors were more chatty. People were grilling earlier than usual, as were we. While grilling, the winds really started whipping. When we finished our dinner, my tour director took the girls outside to sit and watch the storm come in. That lasted for about five minutes. The skies swollen with rain that had been saved for days, opened up in one releasing deluge and the race was on. Because my loving tour director is so intuitive about these things (crises in general) our antenna and satellite dish had already been retracted. We sat together, the four of us, as we rocked and rolled gently and became hypnotized by the steady beat of the rain. The power of the "H" word had not yet settled into my brain. Things actually seemed cozy and safe....for the moment.

By the time we went to bed, it seemed as if the storm had been spent. A lot of hoopla for nothing it seemed. And so, in the quiet dark, we drifted off to sleep.

About an hour later, we woke at the same time....my crisis intervener and I. Our home was really rocking and rolling now to some unseen rhythm and I just wasn't feeling like dancing. Waves were angrily slapping the pier, palm fronds flapped furiously and I had a growing awareness of the "H" word. An executive decision to collapse the RV so that wings that might have enabled us to fly in these winds, would be retracted. The dogs, confused and perhaps a little concerned couldn't figure out why we were up in the middle of the night....did we want to play?

In collapsed mode and feeling a little claustrophobic and yet at the same time safely cocooned, we fell back into bad. Crisis seemingly averted, my intervener picked up on where he left off in dreamland. I kept vigil. My sleep deprived brain exaggerating every sound and movement. I wondered what it would be like when we landed in Oz. And somewhere along my fret-filled musings, I drifted off as well. I woke to the tour director padding about opening wings, freeing us from our cocoon. We became the beautiful butterfly home again. The winds were not gone but were less angry...less possessed. The breezes from our windows seemed almost soothing. And yet again, we drifted.

It's gray and windy this morning but there is no longer a sense of urgency or electricity. It is a normal late winter morning in the Keys. A day for reading. Or writing.

A day to be grateful for that which I take for granted.

Super Bowl Sunday on the Road

2010-02-09T08:25:00.000-06:00

We are definitely in an area that LOVES to party. We spent our first Super Bowl Sunday on the road. Not that my sweetness and I have ever been big Super Bowl Sunday revelers. But you know what they say....while in Rome....or Grassy Key as the case may be. So while much of the country was struggling with record breaking snows and mud slides as they prepared to hunker down in unity to celebrate and watch the Saints take on the Colts, we softly and with great guilt, grumbled about having to wear a light jacket to stay warm as we prepared for our first "on-the-road Super Bowl Party". The RV park that we are calling home for the moment had a sign-up sheet in the "club house" for those interested in being part of their Super Bowl party. After a little sideline huddle, we decided to join in the fun. Signing up required committing to bring an appetizer to share. The genius that I hang out with reminded me that my family owns the rights to the PERFECT Super Bowl Sunday Snack...My Aunt Marilyn's totally awesome "Football Rounds". Really, can you think of a more appropriate appetizer for a football gathering? I grew up on these scrumptious appetizers and, when old enough to start in on the party circuit myself, began bringing "Football Rounds" (recipe to follow) . I became known in my circles for this culinary offering to the point where, if there was a party, it was assumed that along with planning my outfit, I would also be planning on bringing the "Football Rounds". So, we headed on over to the local Publix (stop it) and bought the ingredients for these most delicious appetizers. Well, I had to do a little recipe modification. Grassy Key-ers must not have a lot of recipes that call for cocktail rye bread and, in my vacation reverie, I forgot the green onions. Once back in our traveling time capsule, the preparation began.

Aunt Marilyn's Awesome Football Rounds

1 2 C package shredded cheddar cheese (purists are welcome to shred 2 C of cheddar cheese)

1 can large black olives pitted

2-3 green onions (if in vacation reverie, 1/2 of white onion chopped will suffice)

Miracle Whip

Loaf of Cocktail Rye bread (if in Grassy Key, may substitute with regular size loaf of marble rye - your creative cutting skills will be required later)

Directions:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Place the 2 cups of shredded cheddar cheese in a large bowl. Slice up the black olives and add to the bowl. Chop up the green onions (or white onion) and add to bowl. Then add enough Miracle Whip to coat the entire mixture evenly and lightly - you Miracle Whip fans....go easy here. Place Cocktail Rye on a cookie sheet all lined up neatly and drop a spoonful of the mixture onto each slice of bread. If you are using a regular size loaf, be creative. Use the top of a glass to "cut out" round pieces of bread or use a cookie cutter in the shape of a football - hey....that's a cool idea...hmmmm. Put the Football Rounds in the pre-heated oven for anywhere from 4-6 minutes . They need to stay in the oven until the cheese is all gooey and melty. Serve warm.

Now, it is possible that your taste buds have partaken of this culinary delight and if so, I would like to take some of the credit for that. I'd like to think that since introducing Aunt Marilyn's Football Rounds to the world back in the seventies, this recipe has been passed on and on and on and on. But, in honor of my wonderful Aunt Marilyn, I want you all to know that the first batch of Football Rounds were concocted in her creative kitchen.

Back to the game. Armed with these tantalizing appetizers and each of us carrying a glass of libation of choice, we walked on over to the "clubhouse" to party. The place was packed and in stereo-typical, but not necessarily politically correct fashion, the men had hogged the television and the women were chatting elsewhere. The room was pretty much dominated by Colts fans....our cheers for the Saints seemed lonely. There was a lot of food. I found a home for my contribution. We made small talk. We drank our libation of choice. We nibbled. We squeaked some NOLA (for you acroynym-neophytes that's New Orleans LA) support. Common conversation thread? RVs....well duh. So we spoke RV-ese to show we belong. It was hot and musty but, here's the best part, almost everyone was older than us. That hasn't happened in a very long time. But it was time to go. The game wasn't over yet, but it was time to go. The Saints desperately needed us back in our dwelling place. And so, sans Football Rounds (they disappeared .....they always do)without anyone even noticing, we slipped out. And we screamed and rooted for the underdog from the quiet of our little piece of heaven.

And, by the way, the Saints won!

On the Road Again

2010-02-07T09:27:00.000-06:00

February 2, 2010

Groundhog Day to some....first day of vacation to us. Long planned, long anticipated and...ultimately, never long enough. We have taken on the occasionally overwhelming challenge of RV ownership. The obvious perk is the ability to vacation with our home accompanying us. This is our second big trek in Bella Vista. My sweet co-conspirator in life is fearless in tackling the little glitches that come up with managing a behemoth vehicle. He is my hero. He is the reason we forge on.

The journey begins.

We left at 5:30AM on the dot in three inches of unplowed snow. I'm pretty sure that the whole concept of vacation implies relaxation and contentment. Tell that to my clenched jaws and white knuckles. Once we got on the highway (twenty five miles from our home) things improved immensely. If you were listening to the radio this morning you may have heard about a multi truck accident on southbound 65. What would you like to know about it? I can tell you specifics. I can tell you the colors and conditions of the trucks. That would be because we believed with all of our naive little hearts that the accident would be cleared by the time we got to that area. Our first clue that this was not the case was ....well, all traffic was stopped. You don't have to hit US over the head with a two by four to catch onto the obvious. Forty five minutes and a few philosophical conversations later (hey come on...I'm traveling with a master in the art of the spoken language ) we were on our way again. Today's destination. ..Nashville

Onward .....

February 3,2010

We're rolling through the Smokies this morning. Its gray but, and this is a very important but, there is NO snow. Just about ten minutes ago, we're pretty sure we saw the last snow that we'll see for at least fourteen days. We're also pretty sure that as soon as we cross into the sunshine state this evening, we'll only experience sunshine. I'll send a picture of the sun to help refresh your memories.

So we woke up at 4:30 this morning....yes, on purpose. Our RV is still "winterized" at this point. Simply put, this means we can't run our water or flush our toilets the usual way. We're roughing it. Pffffftttt.

However, trying to maintain some sense of routine definitely demands a certain level of organization. To shower this morning I had to collect all of my toiletries and clothes and towel and trudge through the dark to the campground bathroom. The toilet room was a large well lit extremely hot place with those funny toilet seats that have automatic plastic seat covers that rotate with the push of a button to provide "fresh" plastic on the seat. I'm highly suspicious. It really looks like the plastic wrap just keeps re-rotating. I think the manufacturers of this technology meet over coffee every morning to just snicker at us suckers. Ha.I am so on to them....I put toilet paper on top of the plastic.....I'm no fool.

To shower you must leave the hot bathroom and pad on over to individual shower rooms on the outside wall of the building. The door lock will say "occupied" once you lock the door. I guess this is supposed to make me feel safe and secure. It made me feel like one of those idiot women heroines in the scary movies who always venture where you just know they shouldn't because you just know something bad is going to happen. I sort of laugh nervously to myself as I lock the door. I feel for my cell phone for the third time.....knowing that slashers always allow you plenty of time to make your last call for help. The shower stall was perfect.....plastic shower curtain so that when he comes in weilding his knife, we will get tangled in the shower curtain and I will get totally disoriented. The single hanging 60 watt light bulb will most certainly be smashed so I won't see my attacker. The small size of this shower room allows plumes of steam to smudge up my visual acuity. I shower with eyes and ears at full alert and at a speed rivalling any shower I've ever taken. Laughing at myself.....nervously. Of course I was fine. Of course I was being silly. Of course there was nothing to fear. But I will be glad when our RV is "de-winterized". Tomorrow's shower experience will most likely be similar to this. I won't be so silly though. I'll know what to expect. I'll be prepared......

I'll take a knife.

February 4,2010

So I wrote new lyrics to that famous Stephen Foster song (our campground was on Stephen Foster Drive BTW). All right, I admit it. This may, in fact, be an age related issue. But the truth is, I never thought that I would be among that group of people (and there are many. I know.) who love Florida in the winter and head down there in droves. In the past, I had an excuse of convenience to not experience Florida during our bitterly cold winter......I don't like to fly. And my sweet co-conspirator in life never pushed the issue....too much. Until the day that he walked into the house wearing a sheepish grin as he motioned to the huge RV that had followed him home. Look, he said. I couldn't say no and hurt it's feelings, he said. I promise I will take good care of it and feed it diesel and clean up after it, he said.

*Way down upon the Suwannee River
All full of foam
That's where my heart is yearning ever
Where pollution has a new home*

Yup, the beauteous Suwannee River with rapidly moving water is heavily dotted with soapy foam. There was a "scenic" overlook at the camp where one could become mesmerized by the white puffs of soapy water clouds. Sad.

On a happier note......all that were concerned about any further potential encounters with Freddie Kreuger can relax. My hero and official tour guide/driver kindly "de-winterized" our roving home last evening. I think he was inspired by the 50 degrees and sunshine that bathed our winterized bones. An hour of flushing pink smelly chemicals out of our faucets and toilets and washer/dryer and we're back in business. My hero also decided to rid the RV of any residual Chicago salt and scrubbed it so that it shone like a new penny.

We changed up the itinerary a bit too. We decided to stop tonight in Fort Pierce (about halfway from where we spent last night and the Keys). The drives will be more enjoyable for my tour guide since they will be shorter......after all.....we ARE in Florida now....and wasn't that the whole point? Hang on....I have to push up my sleeves and adjust my sunglasses.

So we're on the road again. The girls are stretched out on the sofas sleeping, Frank Sinatra is on the radio and......

....life is good.

February 5,2010

How could I say no?

So now, I was faced with a dilemma. Actually, more accurately, I was faced with the truth. I now had no reason to NOT go to Florida sometime during the winter. I had to put my faithfulness to Chicago winter to the test. I had always told people that I love winter. I love the snow. I love winter sports. I love making a fire in the fireplace and relaxing with a glass of wine. The truth is, as I get older (ouch) I do love winter..... for about 3 weeks. I love snow......as long as it falls on Friday and is melted by Sunday night. I love winter sports.......on TV. And I love making a fire in the fireplace and relaxing with a glass of wine.....well, okay, I DO love that.

We are now in Florida. We aren't quite to our destination yet, but as I type this, the ocean is playing with the white sand just one block away. The windows in the RV are all open and I am wearing summer attire. My love circle up north are bundled up against the bone chilling, seemingly unrelenting cold. The forecast for tomorrow here? Sunny and 78. The forecast for tomorrow in Chicago? Snow and high of 34.

Who am I kidding? I love this.

Hello Animals..... Bye Bye Animals.... A Tribute to Thunder

2010-01-24T19:04:00.001-06:00

I am a lover of furry quadrupeds big and small. My heart opens its doors to critters that need a home and when my heart’s door opens…..well, you know what happens. But it hasn’t always been that way.

Story has it that I was not always so enamored by my four footed friends. Turns out that when I was a wee thing (on all fours myself at the time I believe) whenever I would see an animal, I would anxiously wave to them and say, in what I can only imagine was an angelic little voice, “Hello animals.....bye bye animals”. Precious, I know. For me, this invokes images of family visits to the zoo with Mom and Dad pushing my stroller, unaware of the panic in my eyes as we amble along. Aware only of my sweet toddler voice emanating from unseen clenched teeth, that now fabled expression, “Hello animals.....bye bye animals”.

A few years later, when it seemed to my insightful four year old brain that we were a happy and complete family of five bipeds, our first furry quadruped entered my life. Not just any furry quadruped. A quadruped of great enormity. A dog. A Boxer dog to be specific. To be fair, this Boxer was just a puppy at the time but to me he was huge. Gigantic. Ferocious. And as if his mere presence wasn’t frightening enough, he was named Thor God of Thunder. Seriously. That was his registered name. Thor God of Thunder. Training a dog with such a cumbersome moniker proved inefficient. So we called him Thunder.

For three long, harrowing years, Thunder tormented me. Not intentionally, mind you. Insidiously. As he grew into his huge paws, my fear of Thunder increased exponentially. My sweet innocent little sister would shriek in glee when Thunder lumbered over to her in our yard and playfully pushed her little 18 month old self down onto the grass and proceeded to slobber all over her. This I observed from the safety of our family room window shuddering with apprehension. My caring parents, desiring nothing more than for me to work through my fear, respected my albeit somewhat unreasonable trepidation and housed poor Thunder in our basement in what would forever be called “Thunder’s Room”. He had a finished basement all to himself and yet he felt compelled to be with us constantly. Compelled, I believed to torture me. I couldn’t understand his greed. One day, while in my six year old reverie, I nonchalantly opened up the basement door, completely forgetting that Thunder was a tenant and out pounced a completely joyful Thunder. Right over me. Barreling through the house with giddy abandon. While I lay frozen in fear on the kitchen floor. Stunned. It wasn’t long after that paralyzing episode that good friends of our family with six dog-loving children welcomed Thunder into their fearless hearts.

I have to admit that Thunder really did change my life. I owe that big beautiful Boxer a great deal. One would make the supposition that I should still be in therapy today working out my childhood memories of big paws and slobbering jowls. Quite the contrary. Thunder, it turns out, was my therapy. Despite his exuberant but short stay with our family, somehow, thanks to Thunder, dogs didn’t seem so bad. I don’t recall the exact moment of my epiphany but Thunder was a turning point in what would become a never ending passionate desire for animals in my life.

And that particular door to my heart has been open ever since.

Hypothetically Speaking

2010-01-18T18:55:00.000-06:00

So, let’s say hypothetically that your offspring makes an unusual decision to open up the door that is their life to you just a little bit. A smidge. And let’s just say, hypothetically of course, that this decision involves being introduced to a person that seems to be becoming significant in your DNA’s life. And let’s say that now suddenly, after twenty six years of said person cringing each time you go out in public, they have decided to take the leap of faith that perhaps you aren’t going to embarrass them. Because, after all, for the past twenty six years, you have been a scarlet letter of shame that was emblazoned scathingly on their sweet forehead. And now, when you least expect it, you are asked to come up to the proverbial plate to bat. And that wouldn’t be so bad actually. It is the expectation that comes along with batting. You are, of course, expected to hit a home run.

Now, in this hypothetical situation, let’s say that that said offspring has rules. Not the usual rules that come with the ball game of life. Made up rules. You know. Rules of behavior and appearance as specified by your progeny. What if said offspring texts the rules to you throughout a period of two weeks. Texts the rules and gives periodic surprise quizzes to make sure that you are capable of handling this oh so delicate situation. And, hypothetically, as part of these rules, the house must look amazing. And if you have a less than amazing looking house, this is a bit of a predicament for you. It is hard to convince the Extreme Makeover producers to drop everything and rush over to your house for this most obvious of emergencies. But you try. And you fail. So you have two weeks to spruce up your home and self. Two weeks to lose that extra and very embarrassing twenty pounds and create a six pack where only jelly rolls previously existed. Two weeks to scrounge through your wardrobe and come up with something other than frayed shirts and dated shoes. Two weeks to create a living space that screams comfort and ambiance and not animal shelter and snack shop. Hypothetically.

And imagine, if you will, that you have been encouraged to behave properly and to speak in sound bites and given a list of what NOT to say. And all of this time, you foolishly thought that you were sophisticated enough to be taken out in public. Said offspring’s concern that you might say the wrong thing inspires you to wear stylish but practical boots to this casual meeting lest a well placed kick from under a table might come your way. You are thinking extra strength antiperspirant may also be in order as you plan your day, worried that the stress of being calm and casual might just cause you to become drenched in serene sweat. And while you are not a drinker, you think that perhaps you might take it up on this evening to relax a bit but then you remember that potential kick from under a table and, despite your protective boots, it just might hurt. Hypothetically.

And because you love your offspring with all of your heart, you choose to attempt to not let them down. You begin the remodel. You hide shoes from the hallway and coats from the hooks on the wall. You hide the animal’s toys and you burn incense and candles for three straight days to allow the house to soak up that warm cozy natural cinnamon smell. You make banana bread and hope that it tastes as good as it looks. You brush the dogs and vacuum the rugs and wash the car and clean the windows. You clean stalls and brush out tangled manes. You look through your old DVDs for fun movies in case the lull in your sound bites becomes painful. You try on twelve different casual but elegant outfits that say “I have my life together” and you settle for one that says “I tried”.

And on the big day, you put on soft new age music and light a fire in the fireplace and resist the temptation to begin pouring the wine before they come. And, you look around and you wonder. You just wonder. Can this new person that has crept into the corners of your offspring’s heart know just how much went into the planning of this casual meeting? Are they nervous about meeting you? Will they even notice the cute new hand towels you placed in the bathroom? Will they think that you always sit in front of the fire place with freshly groomed dogs lying at your feet whilst you sip wine? And let’s just say hypothetically……..

I’m a wreck.

The Bliss of Natures Morning Concerts

2010-01-11T21:40:00.000-06:00

Don’t for a moment think that as I lie in our bed in the early morning I take any of this for granted. I do not. There is not one season, not one weather event, not one second that I don’t appreciate the gift that is morning on our farm. Each new day, morning brings new smells, new sounds and new sensations into our world.

The bedroom windows remain open to varying degrees at all times – even on the chilliest of nights, we crack the window just a hair to let in not only fresh air, but nature’s essence as well. In the winter, you will find our cold noses peeking out from between the feather bed and feather comforter. We can see our breath on these mornings inside our room and it is often hard to get motivated to get out from under those warm covers. Summer mornings, the windows yawn widely accepting any hint of breath from the still air to cool our sticky warm selves. And so it is that morning enters our room in so many ways.

Herman the rooster doesn’t always obey the rising of the sun rule – apparently no one ever told him that a rooster crows at the crack of dawn. If Herman is up, then so is our world. It matters not what time it is. He is a bantam rooster and his call in the morning is as puny and shrill as his beautiful multi-colored self, but it is a call of great pride. When you watch Herman perform his variation of cock-a-doodle-doo, he struts and puffs up his colorful little chest and bleats out his cock-a-doo. No, there is no typo here. Herman was never tutored on the importance of finishing with the doodle. So, when our neighbor’s roosters are practicing their early morning scales, I can always distinguish my Herman’s from the others by his omission of the doodle. And so it begins, in the darkness of pre-dawn before we are at all interested in rising, the morning serenade. Herman the rooster solos for awhile. The stage is all his in the misty mornings. Soon though, not to be outdone or overlooked, the crows tune up. First soft and distant a three beat caw and a rest. Then another three beats of cawing and a rest, far away in some other’s field floating much louder into some other person’s early morning bedroom. And as if on cue by some unseen conductor, the caws crescendo and build in numbers. There is always the respectful pause after the three or four caws as if not wanting to talk over one another. The conversation brightens and increases in speed with staccato caws . During the crows energetic practice, Herman the rooster hasn’t missed a beat in the morning voice drills but as the crows get louder, you have to almost squint your ears to be able to hear his small contribution. I like that about Herman. He may be small but he has tenacity.

When I lie within the warmth of our comforter and close my eyes while listening to our morning serenade, I can visualize the large black wings of the crows as they soar between the fields stretching their wings and their voices. The rhythm of their movements is like the pedal on the piano that modulates the sound allowing it to swell and then soften. By now, the sun is beginning to color the walls of our room a warm and rosy red – even in this glowing beauty of newly painted walls with sunrise colors, I prefer to keep my eyes closed. As if to remind us that the concert is far from over, songbirds begin to join in. Fortunately, the conductor, an excellent musician, knows which bird to cue in and when. I recognize the persistent ‘yoo-hoo’ of the black cap chickadee as he joins in the chorus.

The concert continues to swell and recede occasionally punctuated by the bark of a neighbor’s dog or the short rapid blast from a hunter’s gun. The smells that permeate the air in the morning are a large part of the sensual experience the dawn offers. I smell crispness in the air in the fall. I smell yellow and red leaves and mist hovering over the fields. I smell grass growing in the spring and new blooms pushing up and out of the aromatic soil. I smell heat and dampness as it hangs heavily in the morning in summer. And snow . The smell of freshly fallen snow before opening my eyes on a winter’s cold morning is a quiet smell. Sometimes the aromas of morning are so intoxicating that I drink in as much of the scented morning as my senses can handle.

And as the rapture of the early morning concert comes to an end, my day has just begun.

Such bliss.

I Digress #2

2010-01-09T20:08:00.000-06:00

It is with heavy heart each Sunday that I perform the alarm ritual. This ritual consists of me unwillingly setting my alarm clock for 4:15 AM so that I will rise at that time on Monday morning. As far back as I can remember, Sunday afternoons carried with them a certain gloom... a sort of foreshadowing of what was to come, if you will. Monday morning. It's not a pleasant feeling, this dread, this gloom. I want to be able to give my alarm ritual a new spin. I want to give Monday morning a mental face lift. I need to figure out how to do that.

Here's what I do know. I love life. Well, duh, right? But sometimes I feel so greedy in the face of life. I want to be everywhere, do everything and know all there is to know all at once. There lives a child inside me that does not want to miss out on a thing. And while that may seem like a good thing, that child can be a bit selfish and demanding. So, I am trying a new tact that with my inner child. I am pulling back on the reins a bit...slowing my child down. Because what I have been finding is that in my inner childs naive effort to do it all and be it all, ironically, I have missed so much. I have forgotten how to just stand still. Just stand and look around me and smell the smells and listen to lifes music. I am relearning that life isn't all about hurrying up and getting it all in under the wire. Because if you live life that way, there is a chance that when you reach the end, you will still think that you are missing something... missing out. And a feeling of emptiness may ensue.

So, today when I was doing twelve different things on my computer and mentally planning the dinner menu and figuring out when I could play with the dogs, my sweet love asked me to join him for a ride on our ATV. Normally, I might have kindly begged off suggesting that the work I had to finish was just to demanding of my time to leave it. But I stopped. I stood still for a moment. An extraordinary thing happened. I realized that I was standing in front of the really important thing in my life. That going for a ride on a snowy trail in the evening as the sun was setting was just about as good as it gets and why....why would I deny us that time. And so I uncharacterstically said sure. And for thirty minutes I gave my mind a vacation. I took in the beauty of the snow and the orange dreamsicle effect the sun painted on the drifts. I allowed myself to feel the sting of the cold on my jean covered thighs mentally noting that at the next ATV invitation I'm given, some long johns may be in order. I reminisced about the smell of breath-damp scarves covering my mouth as I laughed in my sweet drivers ear. I cherished the adrenaline rush and the trickle of fear as we skid around snowy embankments. Mostly, though, I made a promise to myself to really try to stand still in life more often. It is meant to be taken in fully.

And tomorrow, when I partake in my Sunday alarm ritual, I am going to muster up a positive feeling. The joy that I may find in Monday morning may not be an ATV ride in the snow, but it will be an adventure of some kind...another opportunity to slow down, stand still and really breathe.

I Digress #1

2010-01-07T21:42:00.000-06:00

Just a few words about....well, words.

One of my earliest memories is sitting on my Dad's lap while he taught me how to count and recite the alphabet in English, German, French and Italian. No, Dad wasn't multi-lingual but he had a passion for words. A passion that is, apparently, contagious - or at the very least, a dominant gene. I love words. I relish the feel of words as they skip over my tongue. I love onomatopoeia because it is so true to itself... it IS the definition of what it is. I am compelled to dissect words to their very core, finding the meaning of its tiniest fragment and then rebuild it piece by defined piece and make it whole again. I subscribe to Merriam Webster's word of the day and know that when my phone notifier goes off at 6:00 AM, my new word is ready to greet me. I crave crossword puzzles and delight in the challenge that is a diagramless puzzle. So, imagine my joy when my Mom recently sent me an email from my Dad's only brother, Uncle Don, that reminisced about their childhood games that they used to play with words. I remember Dad telling me about these word games they created to amuse themselves in a world without computers and video games and iPods. I so enjoyed this story as Uncle Don tells it that I decided to share it in this post.

In days of Yore, as a little kid, when I discovered a substance I couldn't understand or know what it was named, I invented the moniker, "Skizzophyte," to cover the base.

In our family, we called an enameled chamber pot (that fit under the bed when there was no indoor plumbing) a, "Thunder Mug," for auditory reasons. To retain a modicum of poetic continuity in my life (as a very little kid) I would say, "I gotta go Mumber."

In the very early times, I had a couple of home-made soft stuffed toys my mother sewed for me as bedtime comfort companions...a crescent moon and a star. I named them, "Sovival and Kickkie." Go figure.

When I was twelve, and had a Kenosha Evening News paper route, there was another older kid also named, "Don Anderson," who waited for our papers to be delivered to a group of five of us. We waited in an old abandoned shed (our Clubhouse) next to a pond, named , "Anderson Pond," no relation. It had an old wood burning stove, a blessing in Wisconsin winters. The other Don was a pluperfect Schmoe, nee Schmuck. As an example, he showed up one cold evening with a handful of bullets of different calibers, which he had probably stolen. As we were lounging around the hot stove, he opened the lid and tossed all of the bullets into the flames. As we all bailed out into the snow ,the bam, boom, bing, ping went off. Nobody was hit...the stove was cast iron, and retained the slugs.

But I digress. Since the other Don was older, he didn't want us both to be called, "Don," so he asked me what the middle, "C," in my name stood for. Duh. I told him it was, "Sclerotus." (In my class in school, we were studying the human eye.) He said it was a weird name and couldn't pronounce it. So I was thereafter, during my newspaper carrier career, known as , "Scarlotti."

Anyway, odd words have always crept into my life. Some little kids like to have secret calls or phrases. We were no exception. Our secret call was, "Hip ta minnie gazinni gazock tra lalla boom, Yoohoo!" In the 21st Century, that would sound quite odd. And, by the way... when you are hollering, what's the secret?

My big brother, Ken and I wanted to be able to communicate big secrets, from time to time. Pig Latin was out, because everybody knew that stuff. Arp Latin was rejected for similar reasons. We heard about, and adopted Goose Latin, but our parents were no dummies and we thought they were on to us on that one. So, with considerable difficulty and concentration, we combined the Goose Latin and the Arp Latin to form what we called Turkey Latin. Voila ! Mission accomplished ! Nobody could catch on to Turkey Latin, and to be honest, we had a lot of trouble with it at first. To this day, I find it a real linguistic and pronunciation challenge. And my dear departed brother Ken was the only other cognoscenti that could handle it. Now I just have to practice it in the shower.

So, here's to my Dad and Uncle Don for unknowingly passing onto me a fascination for words. I am eternally grateful and hope that my progeny find the gift of words equally stimulating.

Let it Snow Let it Snow Let it Snow

2010-01-06T19:33:00.000-06:00

Persistent without being pushy. That would be the phrase I would have to use to describe him. Persistent without being pushy. Because, that first date? It never really ended. We saw each other every day from that point on. No kidding....every day. Who does that? I was intrigued because he never ran out of things to say or to talk about. I think he was intrigued because I was such a good listener ..a good audience. I kept waiting for him to run out of thoughts, ideas, words, opinions but it never happened. Each time we got together, I laughed more, I learned more and we grew closer. To outsiders, it seemed intense. To us, it was as natural as rain. Nothing felt righter. He never ran out of places to go, things to see and adventures to fill our day. He can talk to anyone about anything anytime. I never tire of hearing his stories. Never. I guess that is a good thing because they do get repeated.

As my feet continued to be swept off, he shared with me a story. It turns out that the New Years Day of 1999, three months before our March encounter, we had a huge blizzard. Huge. Nineteen inches of incapacitating snow. Roads closed. Drifting. Events cancelled. Me? As I remember it, I loved it. I put on my little parka and warm, functional boots, took out my shovel and went out into the silent snow. No one was driving down our normally busy street. The only evidence of the spent blizzard were a few quiet flurries dusting my hair. I poked my puny shovel into the snow and scooped out an appropriate amount and tossed it off to the side. I continued this effort making a straight but not very deep line of clearance from my doorstep down along the front of my house. I knew it was virtually ineffective but it was an attempt. The effort I put into snow removal was more about a desire to be a part of the virginal whitenss than to completely remove it from my property. Mission accomplished. I went back into the house, put a fire into my fireplace, made a pot of hot chocolate and snuggled in with the kids to watch movies all day. All in all, it was what I would consider a most wonderful winter’s day. I couldn't have designed a better New Years Day.

Apparently, whilst I was snuggled with the aforementioned children watching the aforementioned movies, a man desperate to date me (go figure) was out in front of my house with a snow blower making wide swaths in the snow, effectively obliterating the measly attempt at snow removal that I had made earlier. Back and forth and back and forth he went. The story goes that he kept glancing hopefully at my window thinking that I would perhaps hear the loud motor of his snowblower and, in pity and gratitude, offer him a cup of hot chocolate. This shivering stranger who was so kind to the single woman down the street. This kind stranger who toiled for just a hint of recognition. Sadly, no hot chocolate was offered. I actually never even noticed that the front walk had been completely cleaned of snow by some kind snow blower. It never occurred to me to look out the front window because the decibel level of the movies we were engrossed in was, apparently, higher than the decibel level of a kindly, well meaning snow blower. Alas, this sweet desperate man’s hard work and effort went totally unnoticed. And while my mother always told me that I should never talk to strangers, I think I would have at least thanked him – with an appreciative wave through a partially closed door.

Lest you worry that this kind man was discouraged, let it be known here and now. There is nothing that stops this man while in pursuit of his dreams. Unbeknownst to me, for the next three months he was trying to come up with a way for us to meet. While I continued my life as a Mom and career woman, he was designing an event that would change my life...our lives.

The times, they were a-changin’. My life, it was a-changin'.

Indeed.

A Reinvention of Gustatory and Imbibing Pleasures

2010-01-05T17:38:00.000-06:00

When Friday came, it felt like I was going on my first date ever. I guess in a weird way, I was going on my first date as the person I had become. However, all of that confidence and self assurance I had nurtured in the past few years washed right down the drain as I showered that evening in preparation for my date. How odd that sounded. My date. Especially with kids. Mom is going on a date. Hello, I have a date tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you about my date. Exciting and foreign. My daughter wants to know details and my son wants to know.... well, nothing. It’s not that he didn’t want me to date. He truly just didn’t want to know. Denial. I myself have contributed so many chapters in the book on denial that I just had to respect his way of handling a Mom who was going on a date. Plus, this was just going to be one date. No big thing. Have dinner, a few laughs and back home to the safety of my cultivated sanctuary.

I found myself wanting to look my best. Boy for someone who was just going on this ONE date, I was sure putting a lot of effort into it. What would Dr. Phil say? Eye make-up and contacts ( I had to find them in my bathroom clutter) hair worn down and curled instead of pulled back, and cologne that smelled way too good for the office. Black stockings, black dress, those all-important accessories and my little black heels. I was ready.

But are we ever really ready for what is to come?

A gentleman from the start. An easy laugh and greeting with my daughter, a pleasant hand shake with my son, small conversational formalities and we were off. He was taking me to a restaurant that was in a hot area of Chicago. He knew the owners. He KNEW the owners. I knew the owner of the hot dog stand next to my office. I knew the owner of the gas station across the street. But I never knew an owner of a high end restaurant. As we drove, he talked and made it easy for me to talk. The lump that I had been fighting in my throat since I woke up that morning began to disappear. He was confident. He even drove confidently. And, he confidently, yet kindly, took my hand as we drove in his car. I was surprised but I liked it. I felt safe. Taken care of. He told me about his work. He told me about his passions in life. He told me about his family. I finally laughed and said alright already, I like you , I like you. Years later, he would love to tell people that I told him that I loved him at that point. I didn’t, but I don’t mind him telling that story.

With purpose, he pulled up to the restaurant and tossed the keys to the valet – valet! I park and walk. I don’t valet. We valet-ed. We walked hand in hand into the restaurant and were greeted warmly by one of the owners and one of the managers. We were taken to the bar where it was like old home week for him. I watched as he chatted with the people. He introduced me with what looked like pride. The TV show “The Sopranos” had just started their first season and, being an Italian restaurant and he being Italian, the conversation focused on this new program. I hadn’t even heard of the show, let alone seen it but I enjoyed watching these new people talk and compare notes about the characters and storyline. We drank wine ( I later learned that he doesn’t usually drink wine – it gives him headaches- but he wanted to share wine with me on our first date). When we were seated the owner came and sat with us. I felt like a star struck kid. A celebrity. We were given appetizers on the house. And the food? I know it was wonderful but I can’t even remember what I ordered. I was having such a wonderful time. All of my plans to keep this simple and one date of one, were rapidly melting away.

When we finished, in my heart I felt strangely sad that the evening was coming to an end. I hadn’t expected that feeling. We got into the car and he drove further into the city. The evening wasn't over after all. He had a surprise. A surprise! The surprise for me was how much I was liking this. Dessert at the Ritz Carlton. Who goes to the Ritz Carlton for dessert? I have been to Baker’s Square for dessert but never to a five star hotel for dessert. Did you know that the Ritz Carlton has a dessert bar? Well they do. It specializes in decadent chocolate desserts. Yep. Unbelievable. Again, I can’t even begin to tell you what I had – it had to be sinful. And if I asked him, he would remember. He remembers everything. Each sweet delectable detail. What I DO remember is how wonderful it all was.

And that is what really matters.

My Style..... Reinvented

2010-01-04T18:03:00.000-06:00

Stunned is all I can say to describe how I felt. I sat at that phone after hanging up and stared at it as if it was all the phone’s fault. Catatonically stunned. Now what? And the worst of it? I had to admit to my anxiously awaiting daughter what had just happened. I had to prepare myself for some gloating and a lot more unsolicited advice to come my way. And my wonderful, somewhat protective son? I had to tell him in a more gentle way. Wasn’t my life supposed to become less complicated as I got older?

Snap out of it - buck up. Focus. It’s not the end of the world. I do get a dinner out of it. And some good conversation. See? There you go. It could be fun. An adventure. A time away from the mundane-ness that had been creeping into my life. A time to dress up a bit. Dress up? Dress up? Arrgghh. The panic begins to set in again. The closest I can come to dressing up is throwing on some pearls with my jeans and tee shirt. My life was kids and kid related activities and pizza. And he definitely didn’t strike me as the fast food type. Quick. Think. Wait a minute. Breathe. Relax – I have a daughter. I just knew she would come in handy someday.

Okay, Mom. This is so great. Black. You have to wear black. It’s slimming.

Slimming???? Now she stammers. Sexy – I meant it’s sexy. Everybody looks great in black. I’m not quite sure how to take that last statement.

I have not looked at my closet with a discerning eye for years. I have two modes of dress. Office wear which consists of cotton scrubs and comfortable shoes and non-office wear which consists of jeans and cotton tee shirts and comfortable shoes. My credit card statements would argue that I do, in fact, own other clothes but I have all but forgotten about them. It was like shopping in my own closet. My daughter was on a mission. Clothes flew in frenzied forms all over the bedroom floor. I heard frequent tsk-tsks and saw disapproving head shakes. I felt like such a loser. When did I lose my sense of style? Did I ever actually have one? And just when, in exhaustion and mild desperation, I was about to call it quits, I heard a jubilant yelp. Eureka! Well, that’s not exactly what she said but it was what my tired old brain yelled out. Eureka! We were done.

I am such a fool. We had, apparently, just begun.

Try this on. This is great. We can accessorize and you will look so hot. Accessorize? Hot? These weren’t terms that ever ran through my head when I glanced in the mirror on my way down to the office in scrubs and comfortable shoes. I slipped the black dress on and felt transformed and silly all at the same time. How can I pull this off at my age? Admittedly, the black dress did look good but I had forgotten how to dress up. How to allow myself to feel pretty and dare I say it? Even sexy. We will accessorize with silver, I was told firmly. Silver earrings, silver necklace. It will all come together. Now, where are your shoes? My comfortable shoes? No silly, your black heels. It was the first belly laugh that I had had all day. Black heels? I wasn’t even sure if I owned black heels anymore. That, and, maybe more importantly, I wasn’t even sure how tall he was. He had been sitting in the dental chair for most of the visit and I don’t remember standing next to him. I am pretty tall and can feel self conscious when I am taller than people – especially male people. Panic was setting in. She had me sit on the bed and take some deep breaths. I think she was being so nice because she was afraid that if she pushed too hard, I would just say forget it and call him to cancel. I was definitely being treated with kid gloves. She focused. She had purpose. She was going to get me out on this date if it was the last thing she did.

Success. I guess I do own a pair of black heels – not too high either. I think that was by design. As I got older, balancing on higher heels became not only more of a challenge, but more dangerous as well. So, there it was. My all black date-night outfit interrupted by small glimmers of silver.

Now all I had to do was get through my date.

He Had Me at Hello...The Reinvention Begins March 1999

2010-01-03T15:42:00.000-06:00

Ask anyone. I was never going to get married again. It’s not that I don’t believe in the institution of marriage per se. I DO. Yes the pun was intended. It’s just that at 44, I had finally achieved some level of self acceptance and peace. I actually liked my own company and loved my life. I had two great kids, a cute and loyal dog, a wonderful career and my whole life ahead of me. And then…..

He walked into my office – into my life ultimately. Who would have guessed? Okay, he was funny and charming, talkative and persuasive and……he had great teeth. That wouldn’t seem to be a realistic criterion, but, I AM a dentist. That turned out to be his downfall – or maybe mine. His plan to see me again as my patient was foiled. Waiting six months for the next appointment was just not an option for him – did I mention that he is very persistent? The next day, he left a message on my office phone. He needed to speak to me - not for professional reasons – it was for personal reasons. Could I please give him a call? This was NOT part of my plan. I was happy. I was settled. I didn’t need this. What was I going to do? Ignore the message. That was it. I would ignore the message.

Those two great kids that I had mentioned? They are a son and a daughter - a teenage son and daughter. More specifically, one was a teenage daughter who was excited about the prospect of a dating Mom. A teenage daughter who decided that it was her turn to give ME advice She had had 15 years of getting advice from me - both solicited and unsolicited - and now it was her turn. To be fair, most of the advice that I had given to her over the years was unsolicited. She owed me. Her advice? She was adamant that I return the phone call. It could be fun, she said. You said he was funny and nice, she said. What harm could there be in calling him, she said. Three days of this constant “advice”. Non-stop. Harping. Almost nagging. Was I really this bad when I was giving her advice? No - impossible. So, alright. Okay. I will give him a call. But understand this. Be very clear on this one point. I am calling and I am going to let him know that I am NOT interested in dating at this time. I don’t want him to think that I am rude but I have to make my position clear.

Did I mention that I don’t like phones? Well, actually, I have nothing against the phones themselves. It’s just that I don’t like phone conversations – particularly long conversations. I use the phone for 30 second information snippets. Greeting, message, good bye. The phone is an informational tool at best. So, my plan was to call him, thank him for his message and explain my position. Good bye.

Deep breath. Ring, ring. Come on, come on. Ring. Hello. Now, there is a very over-used line from a movie – I think it’s” Jerry Maguire”- where the heroine tells the hero “You had me at ‘hello’”. Downright corny. I’m a practical sort. I love romance but, come on. That stuff only happens in books or the movies. Right? All I actually remember, I swear, was that I laughed a lot, we talked a lot, I listened a lot (more on THAT later) and before I knew what was happening, at the end of the conversation, he snuck in, oh so slyly, “May I be so presumptuous as to ask you out for dinner for Friday night?” It was all so smooth – so slick. It was part of the hour and a half (yes, I know- informational tool) conversation. Without thinking – was I actually thinking at all during this conversation? I can’t remember- I said “yes”. Oh my God. Where is the rewind button? Help. Wait – did I really just accept a dinner invitation for Friday? Where did my plan go? What the heck just happened here?

Damn - he had me at hello.

First Post of the Year.... and In This Invention

2010-01-02T16:49:00.000-06:00

I'm so inspired by people driven by change and energy. I DO believe we can change and I am a walking example of re-invention....just ask my Mother. More on that later.

It's 2010, the start of a new decade and a perfect time for me to enter the blogosphere and use that desire to explore the possibilities of change and energy and share the results. In an effort to maintain full disclosure, I am a blog addict. There is SO much good writing and delectable information available out there.... I often just lose myself in other's words. And now, the adventure begins. Or continues. Reinvention is ongoing and I, for one, love every minute of the process.

Here's to an amazing journey.