“Some nasty things are being said about you….”

I should have known better; and in fact, my first instinct, I am grateful to say, was who would want to say nasty things about me? But then that little voice (and my creativity) kicked in and I came up with all sorts of answers. So, of course, I went to look at the supposed site where these statements were coming from….

And guess what?  I got scammed. The response from my Twitter friends was very supportive. Although they were sent a similar mass email from my account, they all reassured me that it happens all the time on Twitter. It is sad, but true, our world is filled with people who use the most obnoxious means to inject themselves into our lives. 
 
But, while these people might be obnoxious, they are also very clever; because they have used the psychological phrase most likely to get click-throughs…. Even by people who know better. The idea that people could be saying mean things about us hits on many different levels. At the top layer, is the obvious desire to be liked… to be held in high esteem by others. But even more fundamental, this idea threatens our need for belonging (if friends believe these thing they won’t be our friend anymore) and on an even deeper level threatens our need for personal safety (if my readers believe this they won’t want to buy my books anymore). 

It is a solid offense designed specifically to get our instant reaction. Now, if a salesperson used it on us, we might, at first, react as they wanted… check out the car or the house or the time-share they are selling; but I imagine once we knew it was only a ploy, our response to that person would be swift and negative and they would not get our  business.

Ah… but here is where the internet is so useful… because, I have no idea where this phishing scam originated, nor how to stop it.  Twitter, the company, knows it exists, but they are unable to catch-up with the perpetrators. And there is no one to confront and call foul! 

So, we change our password, we apologize to those affected, and
we go back to business as usual, thinking all the while, but what if…. Part of
my psyche now holds the idea that floating out there is someone who wishes me
harm; whether in the form of nasty statements or access to my twitter list.



The good news, though, is that either way the damage is offset by
the community of supporters who reaffirm those needs that were threatened. They
reassure us that although nasty stuff happens, we need not feel
alone.

 Pre-quel to the Squirrel-whispered post

The scratch-scratch of squirrel feet running across the attic to avoid the kritter-control dude.

Ohhhh, that waskely wabbit. Why do I suddenly feel like Elmer Fudd? It seems like every year these dang squirrels take their winter holiday at our house. It must be like Palm Beach or something to them, because I swear they get a deal on Orbitz and arrive with fully packed bags and squirrelettes in tow.

As you can probably tell, I am not a fan of rodents visiting my house. I can’t think of many people who are. But I have reached a new level of disgust with squirrels in general. Let’s review the facts: 
-Even though they are already fat, they steal the birdseed out of the birdfeeder for the lovely, helpful birds that roam my garden. 
-They run along the fence and taunt my poor dog with their annoying chatter.
- They gnaw through my eaves and into my house so they can wake me up in the middle of the night with their little squirrel fiestas.

Is it any wonder that I went out and did a happy dance the day I heard one of them fall two stories through one of the internal walls of my house. I was thrilled…. Two seconds later, I’m not kidding, I hear a squirrel yelling furiously at the house from a low branch on a nearby tree. Now, I can’t know for sure that it was the same squirrel, but when I went outside to see… it didn’t run away and in fact seemed too dazed to move.  I’m still trying to figure out how it
made it outside so quickly.

When my daughter was young we had an ongoing story about the squirrels in our backyard. The were named, (don’t ask me why) Samantha, Sam and Magpie. They each had very unique personalities…. Sam was always hiding, and
  then losing, his food; Samantha would help by coming up with outrageous ideas for finding it and Magpie would ultimately come in and save the day. It was very amusing, and probably my own, passive aggressive way of making fun of the ridiculous creatures.

The problem is, my daughter now considers squirrels part of our family: sort of like a backyard pet. And, in any case, I really can’t fight her on this. The little squatters move in every winter as if indeed, it is their  home also. The pest guy has assured me that the one way door will get rid of
them. Ha!


The good news is they’re totally quiet today… the bad news is
that I figure they’re coming up with their five point plan for how to circumvent
that door.

“Maybe they all snuck away on a secret guy trip together.”

We actually first began talking about this on Tuesday during the Valentine’ s Day party at school. Four of the moms there had husbands who were traveling all week… missing Valentine’s Day in the process. This didn’t really concern any of us, though. We’d all had enough VD’s with our significant others that it had lost its luster a while ago.

But… a week of single parenting can wear on you, and by last night three of the four of us had decided that it may have been an evil plan to escape together. In truth, we weren’t all that suspicious really. The husbands know each other in passing, but not enough to mastermind this kind of scheme. Besides this, I had gotten enough pictures of Tokyo to see that, indeed, my husband was thousands of miles and a day apart from me.

Fortunately, these types of weeks don’t happen very often; certainly not as frequently as they do for others. (Two of the other women had their husbands turning around for another trip next week!) And, in some ways, a trip for a week is almost easier than a day trip…. We get into a rhythm, and plow through as opposed to the fits and starts of having my husband gone, then home, then gone, then home.

Still, single parenting is never easy…. and is even more difficult for those who have multiple children. Trying to figure out how to get them all where they need to go, take care of the pets, take care of the house, not to mention get our own work done, absolutely makes me, at least, appreciate all that my husband does to keep our lives running
smoothly.


And perhaps this is why a long trip, even for fun, every now and
then is a good idea. It is easy to take for granted the hard work of our
  spouses; and there is no better time than Valentine’s Day to gain a new
  perspective on why we are still in love after all these
years.

“Do you have a ‘porta-potty’ in the car?”

I remember those days as if they were a… well, something between a dream and a nightmare. The girl I overheard and her husband were meeting with a realtor to look at homes in our neighborhood. It was very cute… that freshness of starting out and having such big changes ahead of them.

What a joy pregnancy is, huh? I mean, I know for some people it is… for example the girl in my labor class who didn’t want to stop being so connected to her ‘little buddy’. But for most of us I think it is more like fighting through a wind and rain and ice storm but knowing there is hot chocolate on the other end.  Of course the hot chocolate turns out to be so hot it scalds out mouths… but while we are in the midst of the freezing storm that is not what we are thinking about. All we can hold onto is the thought that at some point we will, again, be warm.

Mine wasn’t the worst pregnancy ever. I can acknowledge, even bow down to, the poor women who carry twins… or are sick the entire time…or end up in preterm labor and struggle to hold onto the baby. These, obviously, are the
most difficult situations. But I, like I think most women, had the normal amount of angst; all-day sickness (who ever thought to call is morning, anyway?), aching hips and back, sleepless nights, swollen feet and hands… and they wonder why we want birth control? It is an exercise in acceptance and mindfulness; a chance to practice the very skills that we will need as moms!

And the thing is… it does end, and for the most part we forget the really awful parts and remember the way the baby kicked, or the first time we find out the gender or hear their little heart beating on the ultrasound, or find the perfect nursery set and watch our husband set up the crib knowing this is a right of passage along the lines of a tribal first hunt.

 We forget, that is, until we get the stomach flu and think, oh yeah… I remember why I am not going there again; or until we overhear a young girl, waddling through Starbucks, drinking her green tea while longing for coffee, and hoping she doesn’t pee in the back seat of her realtor’s car.

“Just checking in to see how your squirrel problem is doing. Give me a call to let me know if you’ve heard any more from them. BEEP.”

Now I know why the squirrels were running away from the pest person a few weeks ago (see previous blog) … apparently word gets around in the squirrel community that this is the guy to watch out for. He must be like the squirrel whisperer or something because even the ones in the backyard won’t come anywhere near the house anymore.

It is driving our dog crazy. The squirrels now sit on the back fences, staring longingly at the house, and don’t even blink when Summer, our dog, barks at them. I think perhaps they are waiting to see if the pest guy will come back, but it is hard to tell what goes on in the manipulative little mind of squirrels.

As much as they bother our dog, however, I am glad that they have not moved back in next door (we seem to be trading the same squirrel family back and forth, like a cup of sugar). I am glad of this for two reasons….One, because I am a good neighbor and don’t like anyone to have to deal with the little rodents…. But two, because the neighbors seem to play a lot of violent computer games and I don’t want the squirrels getting any ideas. 
 
I am pretty sure, if all our neighborhood squirrels ganged up on us, we’d be toast. The winter has been very mild here and you should see how fat they have become.  They’ve got some serious bulk that we’d have to contend with. 
 
So, I’m off now to return the squirrel whisperer’s phone message. Even though I haven’t heard any scampering around, I think it’s time we made sure that the squirrels knew the pest guy was still on the lookout.

"We're doing all Gershwin right now. It's such fun."

I am in the midst of work overload right now. Betting Jessica is free today on Amazon and I am trying to promote that; my second book is at the stage where I am scared it may never be good enough to publish; and someone just published their own, nicely written (she says sulkily) book using the working title for my second novel… so now I must come up with a new name and cover art (in case it ever is good enough to publish).

Interestingly, though, my overhear at Starbucks yesterday was a wonderful reminder of how different it is to be busy, even stressed, when you love what you do and what you produce. The woman who was talking clearly loved the choral group she was in. You could tell she was passionate about music and singing and wanted to share it with everyone. 
 
In my earlier years, the stress of being overworked almost flattened me. It never seemed like I could get on top of my job or my career. I felt totally overwhelmed, and worried constantly about disappointing my boss or colleagues.  

Now, because I love writing, that stress has turned to energy; that worry to passion. I sincerely want everything I produce to be the best it can be (which is why it is so difficult to publish knowing it will never be perfect).  With some maturity has also come a better understanding that I am still learning as I go. This is the thing that ultimately helps me let go of my work…. Knowing that by putting it out there I am freeing myself to continue to grow as an author.  

And I try very hard not to take any of this for granted. I am very lucky and I appreciate all of the support I get from friends, family and especially my readers.  

So, it’s easy to say: I was doing all right, but now Things are looking up, because, although it Ain’t necessarily so, I’ve got beginners luck and have landed It’s nice work if you can get it. And no matter what… They can’t take that away from me.


Sorry…. I had to:>)

The ringing telephone, early in the morning.

It is never a good thing when the telephone wakes you early….Even worse when you see it is your husband’s parents who are calling, even though he just spoke with them over the weekend. The bad news was somewhat expected, Gram had died. She was 90 years old and had been suffering for a long time, so we know she is in a better place.

But still….

I once wrote a sestina, a certain type of poem, about death…and the part that continues to stand out for me is the line: Framing life is death, a boundary of time. I have found that line repeated in my writing since then…. This idea
that even as we live life we know that our time here is limited. And, as importantly, it cannot be far from our minds that this holds true also for the people we love. If we are lucky, we may share their life for a long time. And these shared experiences help create the depth in our own lives. 
 
I think this is especially true of grandparents. I lost my own grandmother a little over a year ago, and I remember it took me a while to come to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t be part of my life anymore. The memories created over the early years together frequently reach out to me, like a whisper from a close friend. I can be in the midst of doing something, like cooking, and a thought of her will make me smile or sometimes even laugh. 
 
So, although death does frame life, the boundary it creates is more fluid than I realized when I was younger.  And, as I just read on a twitter post today from @rainbowkate:  In the end it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years. - Abraham Lincoln 
 
I think I finally understand what that really means.

    Barbara Jean Sherwood Wilsted
    b. July 30, 1921 - d. Feb 6, 2012
           (you will be missed)         

“I’m take Summer for a walk.”

Let’s get it out there…. Oh yeah, the Giants won, Baby! It was an awesome (if a bit strange) game and we were at home, in peace, able to completely focus on it. The better news, an attempt at healthy snack food kept us from the typical Super Bowl diet of beer and Dorritos (who, btw had the best commercials of the game in my opinion).

The bad news was that it came on the tail end of a weekend of overindulgence. We are truly blessed with a circle of friends who, for the most part, are gourmands. Truly, it is scary the quality of food I was served this weekend; beautiful stewed chicken over collard greens and white beans with a fennel gratin one night and then prosciutto stuffed turkey breast with garlic  spinach, wild mushroom risotto and roast potatoes the next. Add to it the  wonderful wines to match and you can see where my husband barely got our daughter on the bus before heading out on a marathon walk (I am sure he’ll still be out walking even after I am long finished with this blog.)

So, when my daughter, in a fit of pique, tells me that money is the most important thing in the world because it buys food, water and shelter, I find it very hard to sympathize (she was miffed she didn’t win the Superbowl pool). While I agree that for many in our world this is true, I had to wonder when the last time was that she actually felt any kind of real hunger pang… probably not since she was a baby in fact.

I like to think I am raising a child who has compassion and Christian values, but every now and then I get a glimpse of her inner thought process and am confused. Can she really imagine that happiness comes from her toys and other things? The answer, sadly, is yes. 

Things clearly need to change and I hate to tell her, but I think there is a painful purge in her future. The overflowing playroom reflects the binge of her early childhood years. Now though, it is time for all of us to practice a new diet and exercise routine. Ours will include long walks, while hers will be an exercise of compassion. 
 
And at last this is something I can sympathize with. Workouts are never easy or painless, but the results are worth  it.

“A local teenage girl took her life last night after being bullied.”

Just when I think there will be nothing for me to write about, something like this pops up on my radar and I realize it is going to be one of those days where, in fact, I have so much to say I will have to edit.

Bullying is discussed so openly now that it is a wonder these things can still happen. My own daughter is still only seven years old; but I am curious… at what age do parents stop looking at the emails and facebook posts of their children? At what age do parents stop seeing behavior that is cruel or snarky and say, “well, they are a teenager after all”? What is the psychology of our humanity that we fall back on bullying as a way to make ourselves feel better?

These questions haunt me… and not just today because of this local news. They have haunted me ever since my daughter was born. More than drugs or sex or grades… my worry is that she will either be bullied or become a  bully. Almost every moral lesson I teach has an element of this in it; at least in my head.

Last year a fantastic author, Trudy Ludwig, came to our school to talk about bullying. She spoke with the kids during the day and then the parents at night, and I was so grateful that I took the time to attend this amazing session. One of my biggest take-aways was how wrong parents are when they tell their kids to simply ignore the bully and they will go away. She said this is absolutely untrue. (For more on Ms. Ludwig and her books see the link below.)

Few of us escape the trying years of childhood without at least a few emotional bruises from being bullied. I am guessing a little of it helps to form our character; to give us compassion and understanding that in a world where celebrity status is worshipped, not everyone is going to like us…and that is okay; we can deal with it ultimately. The truly sad thing is that we have all been there when it crosses that line. We have stood by and watched, or, possibly
even participated; relieved that it is not directed at us.

Do we need to legislate this? Can we even? Certainly no one should have to go through any of their life questioning its immense value. If you are pro-life…. You have to be pro every single life!!! Even the ones that are different than your own. This debate is happening all around us, in states like Michigan which just passed a bill in Dec. 2011 after much debate over language and first amendment rights.  (see the Bully Police Link below.)

I look back on my life and I thank God that I had the strength to make it through the middle-school and high school years. I am sad for my involvement in hurting others, and sad for my own attachment to the hurt that others caused me. But I am also proud that I made choices to care for myself, even when it felt as if others weren’t. 

Today my heart goes out to the family of this young girl and the loss to our world of what her presence could have contributed had she lived. I once heard a story about a teenage boy who was so lost in his own thoughts that
the kids he carpooled with would sometimes drop him off far from his home, and he wouldn’t notice till they had driven off. A clear case of bullying… but thankfully Bill Gates survived it. Let’s all work to make sure every child
around us does!

Some resources for those who are interested:

- http://www.bullypolice.org/mi_law.html
- http://www.stopbullying.gov/
- http://www.education.com/topic/school-bullying-teasing/
- http://www.trudyludwig.com/

“What kind of vegetable is that?”

I’ll admit…. It was a strange looking veg. Bright green with pointy spikes all over it. It could have been a green cauliflower if all the sharp parts were squished down. And in fact, as I learned after looking it up, the Romanescu is similar to a broccoli or a cauliflower. It is frequently seen in Italy and prepared roasted or steamed (like the other vegetables mentioned). Of course…. With lots of good olive oil!

The interesting thing about this overhear, though, was that coming from many children, including my daughter, it would have sounded like… “What kind of vegetable is that?”  In fact, though, there was nothing derogatory about how this young child asked the question. It was pure curiosity and it made me think that someday I will be eating in a fantastic restaurant this budding gourmand owns.

Fostering a sense of curiosity, rather than contempt, for the unknown is one of my most disappointing failures so far as a mom (I am sure there will be more as she gets older). I am not sure how it happened…. I’ve tried to expose her not just to interesting new foods, but also new places, things, people. Still, maybe it is her age, 7, or simply her
personality, but she already has that tone when faced with something strange. You know the tone…. It is the you
have got to be kidding one.

We have been talking a lot about curiosity lately because she is considering her next science fair project. The very best scientists, in my opinion, were able to ask questions no one else thought of…. And this was due to curiosity. It requires imagination, certainly; and this is one quality my daughter definitely has. But beyond this, I think it also requires faith….  

Quick freedictionary.com definition: Faith is a belief that does not rest on logical proof or material evidence.  

Discussing science alongside faith may seem like a contradiction, but in fact I think the relationship is mutually  dependent.  Recently, at a Catholic school open house, someone explained it this way: As Catholics, we believe that  neither science nor faith alone can explain our world; they depend on each other. But Albert Einstein, as always, said it best; "Science without religion is lame. Religion without science is blind."

We don’t always need to know the name of the vegetable to know it is delicious… but it certainly helps when looking up recipes for how to cook it.