Lisa Melts Her Pen

Happy New Year!

2011-01-03T09:05:00.000-08:00

Greetings People of 2011!
For the technical-minded among us (my husband tells me) this number marks the true beginning of the new decade. For me, I am completely jazzed and excited as this week heralds the beginning of San Mateo County's new composting and recycling program. Yay!!!! Our bins have been ready for weeks and finally it is time for the real separation to begin. And not a moment too soon. We just spent a week at a Club Med where there were unbelievable buffets for every meal...and so much food waste. I am planning to be the cheerful garbage police and pail organizer in my own home--though if the kids want to take it on as part of their allowance chores (those things they are supposed to do every week to earn an allowance that hasn't completely caught on yet) we can share the duty.

As I'm still on Domincan Republic time, 4 hours earlier than here, I keep waking up at 4 or 5 a.m. and being ready for bed at 8 or 9 at night. It feels great to be so awake in the morning (how long will this feeling last?) though I don't really go to bed at 8 or 9....I find it hard to get up in the dark though, so I lie there for a while first. People seem to love early mornings to get their favorite things done -- exercise, or writing time, or getting things organized for the day. My New Year's resolution is to make quick, good decisions. Here I come, New Year.

Room

2010-09-24T09:45:00.000-07:00

The moment I read the first NY Times review of the new novel Room by Emma Donaghue, I hopped on my bike and rode off to the library. It was so new it wasn't even there yet but two days later I had it in hand. I'm not usually much of a new book reader, but this one sounded...different.

And it was. It is narrated entirely through the POV of a five-year-old boy, in first person present tense. I felt I thoroughly knew this boy, and I vividly understood his mother and his environment through him.It was quite amazing and had the mark of a truly fine book -- I've been thinking about it ever since. The characters and places have stayed with me. So many books and movies disappoint in this -- they might be great as page-turners or exciting in their use of cliff-hangers and drama -- and don't get me wrong, I admire and envy them for that--but they're gone the moment you close the book or leave the theater or turn off the TV.

Here's what was most compelling about Room's story for me: in spite of being told by a small child, it was never once darling or precious in its telling. It would have been so easy to go there. And believe me, my radar was up. I keep looking back at it (even though I should really get it back to the library asap for the next person) to try to figure out how this was accomplished. The boy's speech patterns are childlike, and he is darling, but that's besides the point. He is doing his best to interpret his world. We see him turn five and start to ask questions. He is held captive with his mother in an 11x11 room with no way out, and not even a window. He has never been outside or seen another person. From his perspective this isn't a problem--it's all he knows--but he has new questions about things now. Questions that lead his mother to start planning a "Great Escape." There's a lot of dialogue, and thoughts morphing into dialogue, and Donaghue never loses that train of thought. It is completely logical given the context.

There are some beautiful moments:

When they finally get "Outside," and the doctors are evaluating all the interventions and therapies this bright, precocious but sheltered (in the strangest sense of the word) boy will need, his mother says, "I thought he was okay...."

When the mother finally consents to an TV interview, and the interviewer callously asks her one sensational question after another (including asking if she sometimes misses the simplicity of her old life being locked in a shed), she turns to her lawyer and says, "Is she allowed to ask me such stupid questions?"

It's amazing how the world they escape to is so flawed. It's a world we recognize. Everyone's there, but distracted by their own lives. Sure, they are happy to see Ma and Jack, but they still have to stop at the mall for party gifts, book club members still show up at the door, parents still have their own biases and there are a lot of stupid assumptions. There's also a lot of effort and love. It's a familiar place to us -- full of imperfect beauty, good intentions and best efforts, all kinds of people, cracks, flaws and hope. Jack notes there are a lot of amazing things in the world, but coming from a tiny world where there is only one of every necessity, there's also a lot of "repeats." He forgets that if something is in a new place it won't be in the old place anymore. He doesn't understand how a book he had back in Room could have gotten somewhere into a store and assumes it is his. There's a lot to get used to. There's a lot for us to recognize -- of how much we have, how much we take for granted, how much we don't see or recognize.

Anyway, enough spoilers.

Many books when you get toward the end, you can feel yourself being eased out of the story -- airlifted, or pushed toward the door, or a tiny voice saying, okay now we're going to tie things up! Sometimes endings are abrupt and unsatisfying. Sometimes they are beautiful but not fully earned. Sometimes you realize the author has nothing important to say at the end but has to stumble towards one anyway. Room ends in the most perfect, fully earned, and resonant way. A way that balances the arc of the book, is utterly faithful to its characters, and best of all, exhibits their growth right up to the very last moment. This is a complete rarity and wonderful gift.

Well done, Emma Donaghue. My sincerest thanks and appreciation. Everyone else, read this book!

Molting

2010-07-01T14:05:00.000-07:00

I've always held a fascination for molting. Squirming out of your skin and leaving it behind. Maybe because I've had psoriasis since I was 18 this seemed very appealing if I could figure out how to do it. This week one of our hermit crabs molted, leaving behind its entire skin intact. It looked exactly like a crab and barely weighed less. I couldn't figure out how another crab got in the tank! But then Aaron figured it out.

The same week, after doing my proper bending and glide-walking and building up my gluts in the Esther Gokhale 8 Steps to a Pain Free Back process (which, let me tell you, is worth the whole thing even without the posture and other health benefits - you get a great butt!), I actually split my pants.

Okay, stop laughing. It might have had just the tiniest, tiniest bit to do with gaining a few extra pounds over the winter or the jeans getting worn and old, but for me, I prefer the molting scenario. There was not, alas, a new pair of jeans underneath, or even a new skin, just shell-colored underwear. And my husband and kids each took turns poking me through the hole in my pants on the way out of the Chinese restaurant.

But still, I was pleased in an odd way. And I fared better than Spikey the hermit crab, who sadly didn't survive long after molting. (R.I.P. Spikes). Except now I have to go shopping.

In memorium of Effie Lee Morris

2010-06-13T22:21:00.000-07:00

In honor of my old friend Effie Lee Morris, children's librarian and tireless advocate for children and literature who died this winter and whose memorial service is being held Monday at the San Francisco Main Library, I am re-posting my June 9, 2008 blog post:

Two Old Ladies

More stuff has been crammed into the past week than I can believe. End-of-year parties, Sophie's 8th birthday, Aaron's preschool graduation, a full weekend workshop for me, and grabbing hold of its foothold tenaciously, the San Francisco Chapter of the Women's National Book Association's 40th birthday party, which I almost couldn't squeeze in. But heck, it was on the calendar for longer than some of the rest!

I was exhausted--Jon had been traveling and I'd been single-parenting all week-- but Saturday night found me at the historic Sir Francis Drake Hotel in San Francisco sitting around a table with women from all over the country. We were moms, grandmas, writers, agents, publishers, book lovers, and chapter presidents. With, of course, lots of combinations of the above.

This was an historic event. I don't know what it is about 40th's. They somehow seem like a bigger deal than 50th's, more of a magical number. Like 40 years wandering in the desert.

Anyway, we hard a great speaker -- humor writer Beth Lisick. She was very funny and genuine and started off with, "I feel like I'm with my people." There were speeches, food, books. At the end, almost delerious to get to my car and get home and fall into my bed, I got on my jacket to walk the couple of blocks to the parking garage. Effie Lee Morris, our founding member and president of 40 years ago, and Adele Horwitz, a member and former president for about as long, were heading to the garage, too, so we walked together.

Adele walks with a cane now, and both of them are slower than they used to be. I thought of myself as their escort, but they didn't need me, not even to lean on an arm. I refrained from offering my arm, even though I felt like I should. After all, they were old ladies. But some old ladies! Effie Lee still serves on several boards, has a special collection named for her in the San Francisco Public Library as well as an annual children's book lecture there. She held forth on the podium that night on the history of the WNBA SF chapter and its many members and glories. She would have talked all night if we'd asked. Adele was driving an hour home and does it all the time. She has raised her children, her grandchildren, and now in her retirement, her great-grandchildren as well.

These two old ladies ARE supports in their homes and communities, with experience far beyond mine, and I knew I could lean on them if needed and they wouldn't bat an eye.

Fire!

2010-03-01T21:21:00.001-08:00

Of the 3,000 blog topics that are swirling around in my brain...I will select: Fire.

Specifically, toaster oven fires, of which I now have direct experience. Friday I had a school Read-A-Thon meeting scheduled at my house right after the kids left for school. For breakfast, I popped some Trader Joe's mini morning buns into the toaster oven and went to get dressed while they baked and the kids got ready. Less than 10 minutes later (the buns were scheduled for a 15-20 minute snooze in the toaster oven), smoke was pouring out and flames leaping up inside as the black plastic tray designed to go into the oven melted to pieces. Then those pieces flew all over the kitchen, settling everywhere.

The funny thing was (the only funny thing) the theme of this year's Read-A-Thon is "Fire Up With Reading." I really didn't mean to take it so literally.

The best part: some really nice firefighters came by a little later to make sure the kitchen wasn't toxic. By then, three other women were here for our meeting. I wondered later if the firemen thought I had called all my friends from the neighborhood for their visit.

The worst part: the fire made a big mess, but did not ruin our kitchen cabinets which need replacing anyway.

The really best part: no one was injured and our house didn't burn down.

The disturbing part: smoke alarms didn't go off and my 7-year old was so intent on studying the boxes of cereal in the cabinet across the room that he never noticed the smoke and flames.

The second best part: a professional cleaning crew has been cleaning up the last 3 days.

The second worst part: it comes out of our insurance deductible.

It's a little scary to think about. Fire, I mean. How fast things can happen and go wrong. I always think of it as such an unlikely thing, but it turns out it isn't.

Happy New Decade

2010-01-07T21:50:00.001-08:00

Happy New Year to everybody - slightly belated. My computer is not going to make it very far in this decade, I'm afraid. But I'm on-line for now.

Stay tuned for:
My Most Romantic Moment of the Year so far...
Updates on Lisa's Bookstack (lots of YA and more evolution!)
Thoughts on the Blackberry and other screens
Embarrassing truths revealed...
And More, coming your way soon!

What was the first thing YOU did in the new year/decade? I always think of the story of the baker who was all out of flour, sugar and all his other ingredients. He shared his dinner with a weary traveler, and the traveler told him whatever he did first the next morning he would do all day long. Well, the first thing he did was open his flour and sugar and ingredient bins to see what he could scrape together, and they magically refilled themselves and he baked all day and sold everything and bought more ingredients and had a fine year!

My first action? I'd forgotten to turn off the heat before going to bed. Our furnace is in a hall closet and is old and loud. Think vacuum cleaner noise rushing through the house. It came on at 6:45, which is fine during a week when we have to get up at that time. But of course, New Year's Day we didn't. So my first moment of the year was waking with a start and shouting, "I hate the heat!"

A couple of hours later, I tried to counteract that "false start" by going for a nice walk in the new day, the new year, the new decade, the neighborhood. It was quiet. The air was fresh and a little misty. Only a few others were out, on bikes, walking dogs. We greeted each other peacefully. I walked over hill and dale, and back through the shopping center to pick up eggs and a Starbucks nonfat double capp for Jon on my way home again.

Lisa's Bookstack

2009-11-25T08:34:00.000-08:00

After 3 years and as many attempts to read it, I finally plowed through the first 100 pages of Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children and on to the end. Those beginning pages kept stumping me for years -- telling the story of the story before the story. I get impatient. But I was told it would be more than worth it, and it was. Reading it almost 30 years after its publication, I was struck by how much history on which I have only a tenuous grasp. The heart of the story is that one man, since his birth, and all the events for two generations preceding his birth, is the personal mirror of all the events of modern India, and all the events and details of those whose lives have touched his, have conspired to shape his own. They are in the story insofar as they are needed to reach whatever events and circumstances that meet that need, and then they are discarded.

It's a great book. A gleeful and deadly serious romp through history by a narrator who redefines "unreliable narrator." The storyteller, Saleem Sinai, is constantly pointing out the inaccuracies of his tale, and how his mind is rearranging things, or at least fine-tuning them to suit his needs, but as a way to make a greater sense of them. As the tale goes on, there is an ever-more-desperate and ever more transparent need to swirl the events of history around him, until, finally, he reaches a scene where he's too tired or too far in his tale to fold one more "event" into his own.

Next book: evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins' The Ancestor's Tale: A Pilgrimage to the Dawn of Evolution. He begins with a short romp through other evolutionists' human-centric "conceit of hindsight" view that all evolution has been leading to its final, finished product: us, and how we tend to assign value to all events and species and ancestors that lived for this purpose - to be a signpost to modern humans. Dawkins begins with us humans as a "starting point" for his journey backwards in time, but points out he could just as easily begin with elephants or bumblebees. We're all going to converge in a short time anyway on our trip backward through time.

The book before these was Marilynne Robinson's Home, which was a microcosm of one family, with special emphasis on the wayward black sheep of the family, Jack Boughton, with his story not so much told, as divined from around the edges of the family history, which itself is told only around the edges of heartache, regret and love, wrapped in a blanket of religion and an almost desperate search for God and meaning.

Different lenses, same need for meaning, misguided or not. Meaning is the construct we humans search for endlessly. Living in the moment is another construct we seek, but separated from meaning, I don't know what that would look like. We wouldn't have a concept of living in the moment without meaning. It's certainly what most animals do - live in the moment - because they have no other choice.

To "wrap in" one more piece, last night Jon and I watched the movie Groundhog Day with the kids. We hadn't seen it in years and though it would be fun to share with them. The ultimate movie about living in the moment AND doing it with meaning. Bill Murray is consigned to living the same day over and over until he gets it right. Letting go of everything and embracing everything is his task. After thousands of attempts, he finally nails it, not because of the details but because he finally really cares. It's when he resigns himself not to trying to get out of the endlessly repeating day but to really living in the day that something changes.

It does make me think of the endless cycle of history, how things repeat, how a million years is just a day in the larger timescale of the universe. It's a little TOO big for me to ponder further right now, so I'll leave that for Saleem, Jack, Richard and Bill Murray. I have to eat breakfast and get to a dentist appointment and pack for Thanksgiving weekend in L.A.

But it's been fun visiting. Nice to see you again, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Leaves, Rain, Curtains and Prayers

2009-10-26T12:50:00.000-07:00

We just got back from Syracuse yesterday -- on a pre-dawn flight. The kids and I went to bed at 1am and got up again at 4:30am -- or 1:30 am west coast time -- though Jon doesn't agree with me that that means we only had a half hour of sleep.

It rained much of the few days we were there for my nephew David's Bar Mitzvah, but I got to see the leaves changing! No jumping in them or raking up big crunchy piles, but lots of beautiful color. Beautiful gold, some orange, a little red creeping out. The reds weren't in full force yet -- we managed to arrive before the peak, which was fine. I was happy. I didn't even mind the rain and clouds. It's the feel of home. It wasn't sunny all the time when I lived there, after all. And I saw the trees changing their colors from the car window as we went back and forth to the temple.

I also appreciated our temple, Temple Concord, which is one of the oldest congregations in America, founded in 1839 and in this location for almost 100 years. Most other temples I've been in are new and modern, and never feel quite the same to me. Temple Concord is old and stately, with cream-colored pillars against light blue walls, and super high adorned ceilings. It also has, I remembered, many nooks and crannies, and rooms down all kinds of hallways, and layers of heavy curtains on the stage in the social hall, where I remembered hanging out in its dark folds with other teenagers during youth group meeting breaks.

The women's room off the big social hall I remembered was another favorite, with a lounge area and couch, and about 20 degrees hotter than the larger room. It was still a sauna. Toward the end of the party I went in there and found two 14-year-olds stretched out on the floor like they really were taking a sauna.

David did a great job at his Bar Mitzvah, and I felt the deep emotion of a centuries-old tradition. There is something about those traditions that is so deep and sometimes so unexpected for one who doesn't even belong to temple these days. When Aaron was 8 days old we held a bris, the Jewish circumcision ceremony, for him. It hit me way more powerfully than I'd expected. I felt in that quick, practiced moment of cutting, and the rabbi's prayers, and the friends and family gathered, the generations that had preceded us, the great history and belief that had guided us to that moment. It was visceral. My very body responded with blood and milk.

Every thing and its seasons.

African Fortune Cookie

2009-10-12T21:13:00.000-07:00

Let your love be like the misty rain, coming softly, but flooding the river.

The loveliest fortune I ever opened.

A gift Saturday night at the end of a benefit concert by the lovely (at 8 1/2 months pregnant, no less!) Omega Bugembe Okello and Village Enterprise Fund for Anti-Poverty Week to help fund start-up enterprises in Africa.

Tonight fall breezes touched down and the gentle rain began.

I'm Talking About the Weather

2009-10-09T09:47:00.001-07:00

You know how when you've been out of touch with someone it's kind of hard and embarrassing to get back in touch...and then you stay out of touch longer, and then it's even MORE embarrassing? That's how I feel right now. I've meant to blog. In the summer I managed to blog every day about filing, but then skipped right over whole blocks of incidents and more important subjects in the fall.

So I'll do what people have done for years to get to know you again: talk about the weather.

Our northern California edition of the New York Times shows our weather on the top right of the front page. At the beginning of this week it read:

"Abundant sunshine and very pleasant...tomorrow, more of the same."

This made me laugh. Such a cliche, and so desirable, and in some way, so boring, all at the same time! As if it was a lack of weather that left it the same. Perhaps I am just permanently shaped by growing up in cold, cloudy Syracuse, New York. The weather report there NEVER said that -- not once.

This morning is still cloudy here in Northern California, and strangely, I feel a little happier. I find it so hard to stay inside and do work when it's so obnoxiously nice outside! California, I like you, but sometimes I don't really love you.

Then again, it's always this time of year that I miss the east coast -- October, fall, the changing leaves. Maple trees are planted along some of the streets of our neighborhood, but they are petite, and the color change polite. The east coast may get bitter winters and rainy springs, but fall -- at least outside of the cities -- is a blast of brilliant color and crunch whose least concern is politeness. And you don't get the state of fall without the the rest of the package. And then there are apples, and cider.

In any pros and cons list there are trade-offs. Pretty much anything can be a pro or a con.

9/11

2009-09-11T09:55:00.001-07:00

I'm feeling overcome by emotion all over again. Things have gone on, but I remember this day the same. I remember being at home with my 1-year old early in the morning and getting a call from my husband on his way to work telling me something terrible had happened and to turn on the TV. I remember finding out a week or two later that an old friend I didn't think even lived in NY anymore had moved back, and didn't make it out of the towers.

Thinking about it all makes me incredulous that we're even considering a move back to the NY area. Except, of course, that it could happen anywhere people live.

For years, the imagery worked its way into anything I was writing. The sense of falling and crumbling, of destruction and loss, the revealing of a chaos we couldn't shield from that reached all the way to California. But the image of the two towers falling exists as a simple image. Whatever its ramifications, whatever happens in the future, however we interpet the events, that symbol endures.

And with one look at the calendar or the New York Times, it's powerful enough to draw the whole emotional body back again.

Secret Spaces

2009-08-23T21:22:00.000-07:00

Every time I start to clean up one little area of the house, I am dismayed to see the areas radiating out from that one that also need attention. I'm still admiring the kids' cleaned-up art bins -- my paradigm of perfection.

Today the kids cleaned their desks. Unfortunately, they did not bother much with the stuff that came off the desk and landed on the floor and all around. At least Aaron's room doesn't have any paper to speak of in it yet. Toys are easy to put away. Paper is not.

We went to the Farmer's Market today and sampled grapes. It's amazing how the little grapes burst with flavor in your mouth. The rest of the day was pretty boring, I'm sorry to report. I was hoping to go to the beach with the family, but it was kind of windy and cooler over the hill, plus Jon had to do work most of the day (Yep, on the weekend, too) and the kids were no help at all. It's so weird to me how they don't want to do things. But then if we go and do them anyway, they usually have a blast.

Yesterday was swimming, following by a couple of hours on scooters and bikes with a visiting friend at the playground up the street. Sophie and Aaron have discovered a "secret" area to hang out in there, and I watch them circle around once in a while. I love secret areas. Watching them is almost like having my own. I don't mean I spy on them, I mean knowing that they have one. Kids are supervised so much more now than when I was a kid and roamed my neighborhood undisturbed. I can appreciate the wonder and excitement of found spaces. It's especially cool because we've been going to that park since the kids were babies but they just discovered these new parts.

The Other Side of the Office

2009-08-05T17:39:00.001-07:00

It's amazing how many areas of one room can hold their own backlog of mess and clutter, layers of pesonal history and mismanagement. I so envy organized people. In the same way that some people envy creative people, I envy the magic and simplicity that is organization. Not that they are exclusive. I must keep reminding myself of that. It is a sick and twisted belief that they are separate characteristics. At least I have to keep telling myself that.

Today was spent cleaning up the other side of my office, a.k.a. the kids' art and homework area. After all, school is starting up again in a few weeks. 21 days to be precise (which I guess I was the first time....) First off, it is so great to throw things away! I listened to NPR for 3 1/2 hours straight while I cleaned. I organized and reorganized and scrubbed until the art bins are gleaming and beautiful in their beautiful organization. Sophie is making labels for the bins of markers, colored pencils, etc..

After effectively blocking out "the other" areas, they have somehow made it into my field of vision. The stack of 4 file boxes in the corner. Yes, I said file boxes. I can't believe there are more. They're not all files. There are some 25 or 50 old notebooks, and what the heck do I do with them? And I don't know what else as I am afraid to open the lids. There is also a whole closet on the other side of the office, with miscellaneous bags, hats, books, envelopes, and stuff spilling out of it (a blond wig, a bag of socks, a 20 year old thesaurus, greeting cards, and much, much more).

Is this really just one room?

Bring Back the Erie Canal!

2009-08-05T10:48:00.000-07:00

I am posting a link to today's Syracuse Post-Standard where I go to bat for reviving the history and coolness of the Erie Canal and Canal Days! Click here to read my article on the Opinion Page!

And if you're from Syracuse or anywhere in New York State and you agree, please put your comment with the Post-Standard and let's make things happen!

Also, I blogged a while back about cookbooks and my friend Ann Hodgman's book "Beat This!" Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks she's cool. Check out this link to find out more.

Ta!

Jack London Writers Conference: Call of the Wild Mind

2009-07-29T14:15:00.000-07:00

In honor of the upcoming Jack London Writers Conference Oct 10-11 in Foster City, CA

I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark
should burn out in a brilliant blaze
than it should be stifled by dryrot.
I would rather be a superb meteor,
every atom of me in magnificent
glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The proper function of man is to
live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days in trying
to prolong them.
I shall use my time.

-Jack London

Bring Back the Music

2009-07-27T11:08:00.001-07:00

Lest you think I have completed my filing project, I have not quite.

Since I last blogged, my poster of Pele, the Hawaaiin goddess of the volcano, won't stay on the wall, and my inspiration has fallen. Also, I forgot to turn on music. Those things combined made filing a very dreary task the last few days. I am getting close to being "done" though. I've gone through every file except for one that is vaguely labeled "Story Parts" and has various envelopes, stapled together notes and partial scenes. I think I need to take a walk before tackling that one. Everything else is either thrown out or back in the cabinet, but I need to make a trip to the office supply store and get my file label maker working so I can get my new system in place. Pretty simple stuff, but it's the last step, and it will mean I have a place to put things the right way. Maybe I CAN do it. I got a website up, and I didn't know how that would happen for a long time.

It is good to rid myself of a lot of old paper. I kind of wish I could throw it ALL out, but I can't quite. Besides, there are those gems.

So can I actually get to my "real" writing this week? I'm a little obsessed with filing now. I get a little overly focused....My "Organizing" file did yield detailed notes from a professional organizer on how to put my files together. Some other organizer advice a long time ago suggested I do away with the hanging files altogether and just use manila folders. So half of one drawer is like that and all those files do is slide down and become mush. So, back you go, green hanging files.

Gems and Duds

2009-07-23T14:00:00.000-07:00

The truly horrible thing about writing workshops, is you end up with 12 or more copies of the same story, with markings and notes here and there. Most people probably go throught the notes, use what they want, and discard the copies.

Not me. I carry the whole set from place to place. All that paper is heavy. I just dumped a bunch of copies, keeping just the page of notes at the end. Even so, the story I just looked at is not one I might want to go back to...it seems the first file I went through had the best "gems" so far.

The Lisa Files

2009-07-23T12:53:00.000-07:00

I am going through the files from the back of the cabinet. The ones that have been shoved back their for years. There are stories and essays from 1999 when I first started taking classes at San Francisco State.

I was delighted to see that there was a whole bunch of stuff I'd forgotten about, and some of it I really like! Now why are they sitting in the back of a file cabinet for the last decade instead of being sent out to be published? I mean, really! It is high time!

More Filing Revelations

2009-07-22T17:12:00.001-07:00

Apparently FILING blogging is as prevalent as SANDWICH blogging was earlier this year. Am I a bit OBSESSIVE?

I just HAVE to say, though, that the BEST, BEST file I came across in my file cabinet, which had gone unopened and un-added to in too long, was "FLATTERY AND PRAISE." There is some really great feedback in there for me as an editor.

Yay, me!!!

Party On, Moms and Dads!

2009-07-22T14:07:00.000-07:00

Still filing.

The most fun thing so far about today is that "Parenting" is now followed in the filing cabinet by "Parties." Now wouldn't that be something?

Aaron's Wish List

2009-07-21T13:10:00.000-07:00

Aaron had this wish list on the wall before his 6th birthday and I came across it again today while cleaning my desk (one of the "pearls").

1. I don't want Nicholas to always be so fast. I want to be as fast as Daniel.
2. I don't want Daddy to yell at me. I want Daddy to talk more quietly to me.
3. I want to get stronger than all my friends and smarter. I'm going to do lots of reading, writing and drawing.
4. I want a Black Spiderman costume and a Red one.
5. I always want to get braver and cooler and have big claws like a bear.
6. I want to be scarier.
7. I want to be as strong as Daniel and Nicholas.
8. No waiting for the bathroom.
9. No kissing Aaron.

The Most Boring Post in the World

2009-07-21T08:47:00.001-07:00

I am cleaning my desk. I cleaned my desk all day yesterday, and I'm going to clean it all day today. This will include filing the stack of things that need filing. It is partly the same stack of "to file" items left in a pile from my last semi-annual cleaning.

I wonder why I created files with labels like "Activities: Jon" (Was I planning to hire a P.I.?), "Books" (could mean a lot of things), "Disputes" (Am I looking for trouble?) "Gifts to Give" (Would I ever think of looking in the file when it is time to give a gift?) "Lists to Post" (Please! If I was going to post them they'd be posted! But where would they be posted...?) "Someday Maybe" (Yes, that's a real file in there), "Writing: Published" (Published writing deserves more than a file folder!), and my favorite, "Organizing." Yes, I really have a file called "Organizing." It's secret, apparently.

Here is my theory: if I actually file all that stuff on top of the desk, and clean up the files themselves so there's more room and they make more sense, then the new stuff that hits the desk heretofore will have no pile to grab onto and therefore no pile will form. It will just magically be put in the proper place, hopefully the recycling bin. Kind of like an oyster forming a pearl -- if there's no grain of sand, no pearl can form. Not that my messy desk is a precious stone, but there are good things in there, if I can find them in time. Twice a year when I do this I have hope I can get it right this time. I kind of know it won't happen by magic, if at all. But I have to have hope. I need to clear the decks for real work!!!

I am carting out the 6th bag of papers to the recyling bin now...wish me luck!

Aaron's Deep Thoughts

2009-07-20T22:22:00.001-07:00

"If a pig was acting like a pig, what would he be called -- a cow?"
-Aaron

"Sophie disat bley en you batido
-SOPHIEAARON"
("Sophie doesn't believe in you but I do." Aaron's note to the Tooth Fairy, or was it Cupid or the Leprachaun?)

Cleaning my desk and came across these notes from my philospher boy.

A Moment

2009-07-15T14:16:00.001-07:00

My thought and desire for the day is to rid myself of the constant nagging at the back of brain reminding me what I "should" be doing, and just do what I'm doing. Including relaxing now and then in the living room with a cold glass of hebal iced tea and some catalogs, with a breeze coming in the front door-- which I just did.

Love, Lisa

Facebook

2009-07-14T11:00:00.000-07:00

I keep hearing people say they got on Facebook and old classmates contacted them but they didn't really care because they weren't people they liked then so why should they care now?

I have to differ. I've enjoyed hearing from people -- old friends and acquiantances and classmates. Some I would say hello to in the halls or sit next to in a class. Some were best friends in elementary school, even if we went our own ways in high school. My point is, there are a lot of connections points, even if it's just a quick post-card like correspondence. Living across the country from where I grew up, it's kind of nice getting those blasts from the past and hearing what people are doing now and thinking about, and what they still think about from the past. Some I don't really have anything to say to, but it's still fun to peek at a profile and see some pics.

We have all different segments of our lives. Sometimes friends are embraced and then forgotten, but they were still important in those times. My point is, we're not an end product.

Save our Schools!

2009-07-14T10:51:00.000-07:00

We just got back from a trip to the east coast, where one activity included driving all over Westchester with a real estate agent looking at different towns and properties and being appalled at how high the taxes are. However, that tax money does go into the schools and therefore they have good schools. Then we came back to California where Prop 13 still rules, taxes are low and our state and education system is going bust.

All I can say is WAKE UP, CALIFORNIA! Good education is not a frill!!!!!!!!!!

Bookstack

2009-06-07T10:39:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading The Red Tent, which I'm sure you all have heard of. It was so good! My mom and I exchanged books -- she mailed me The Red Tent and I sent her Water For Elephants. She finished before I did, mostly because my reading glasses went missing for several weeks.

I really appreciated not only the story and the telling of The Red Tent, but how the author brought it to closure. I've read a lot of good books in the last several years that fell a little short for me at the end. Endings don't have to be heavy, but they do need to be faithful to the weight and composition and circle of the story. This one was pretty much perfectly done in this respect, and carried a lot of resonance for me, the reader.

I enjoyed reading The Hakawati, but the ending left me a little sour. Water for Elephants had well-deserved ending, and that was fine, though it didn't reach deep into me. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle was terrific, but I was very bummed about the ending and felt a little betrayed. It did fit, I guess, but I would have liked to see it end a little happier or something. The thing that really bugged me with that one, though, was the Reading Group/Book Club questions at the back of the book. I HATE that! It makes it feel like a textbook. Yuck!

I have Marilynne Robinson's Home waiting for on my night table, and she always balances story elements well, so I look forward to that one, though it is a story that is so slow-moving that I put it down a month or two ago and haven't felt I needed to get back to it immediately. Her writing is so good, and so quiet, that it can wait, and I know it will still be there for me when I get back. It keeps on living. Quite an excellent quality in a book, even if it isn't fast-paced and a page-turner in the same sense as The Red Tent. I also have Geri Spieler's Taking Aim at the President waiting for me to come back. It's nice having books in waiting. Like modern-day ladies in waiting?

Loverboy

2009-05-26T13:08:00.000-07:00

Wow, it happened again -- I ran to my computer to blog, poised my finger over the keys, and my new thought jumped out of my brain and is gone!

Therefore I will report on my darling 6 1/2 year old, Aaron, who once every couple of weeks at bedtime poses the question: Can you guess who my girlfriends are? Loverboy keeps a running list. Last night's included: a girl in his class (I will keep her name private), a friend's 2nd grade sister, a third grade girl who he knows through his own sister, the "unknown girlfriend" who he says he met at the park once last year and tried to track down through the neighborhood (he had me inquire at one house where he thought he'd seen her go, but no children lived there), Ginny Weasley (from Harry Potter), and my current favorite, "dream girlfriend" who he met last month in, of course, his dream! Apparently she was very nice.

He prefers them smart, pretty, confident, a little bossy, and usually with an older brother at home so she's not fazed by Aaron's antics. I believe this is what having an older sister does to boy. Being fictional, imaginary, or quasi-imaginary does not get in the way. He's an open-opportunity boyfriend.

Lisa's Deep Thoughts

2009-05-22T16:34:00.000-07:00

Hi. I've been told I'm not blogging enough. I AM SORRY! Sometimes it feels as if all my time gets sucked into a black hole. It certainly hasn't been used cleaning my desk. I had my list of 34 things to do to day -- lots of mini projects. Today was the only day all week where I had several hours to get things done. I thought I'd make the list and do a few things, then get to the "real" work. Guess what? You probably guessed. I only got to about 20 minutes worth of "real" work before school pick-up.

It was a beautiful day. Somehow I thought get a bunch of the aforementioned things out of the way and head off for a swim at the JCC or to the beach, and still have time to get to Aaron's teacher conference. Hmmm. I stood outside for about a minute. I brought in the mail, I think. OH, no, wait, that's the mail truck pulling up now -- hold on--

Okay, now I brought in the mail.

I read part of the New York Times while drinking Numi chai tea, looked at a graphic of California falling into the sea and dragging the rest of the country with it. I didn't know that we (California) have the lowest credit rating in the nation. Yikes!

I've been having a lot of deep thoughts lately. But when I go to the computer they flee and I'm left staring at a blank screen.

I've been taking a 6-week posture class with Esther Gokhale. Her book Eight Steps to a Pain-Free Back is pretty darned compelling. I've looked at the photographs on her walls for years and it's giving me a completely different perspective on posture in our culture and other cultures. So much to relearn! She teaches posture secrets from traditional societies, including our own pre-1920's, and babies. Yes, babies. Apparently we are born doing the right thing but lose it along the way because everybody's slouching here. This is no sitting-up straight manual, though. You have to see it. The pictures say it all I'm still a newbie and getting used to it -- lots of years of incorrect posture plus back and knee and now shoulder problems -- to overcome. But I feel the difference already. The coolest part is what I've never heard talked about before -- it all starts in how you orient your pelvis. Apparently the tuck your pelvis to avoid back sway is all wrong! The evidence isn't so much convincing as it is obvious once you look at diagrams of the spine and discs. When you tuck your pelvis you're not resting on the base of the spine. It's been a century of bad posture and back problems. In traditional societies, even older people are free of back pain and disc problems, where here about 90% of us end up with some kind of back pain. Crazy, crazy, crazy.

So, I'll try for some deep thoughts next time.

Happy Memorial Day.

Homework vs Play

2009-05-04T18:50:00.000-07:00

I thought this New York Times Magazine article from yesterday was interesting on homework and academic work starting younger and younger...and the balance of play and stress-free social time for kids. Should elementary school kids have more time to play and have free-choice time and less homework?

Kids' Cookbooks

2009-05-01T09:32:00.000-07:00

I decided to try Jessica Seinfeld's cookbook, Deceptively Delicious. The idea being that you puree up various vegetables and sneak them into recipes the kids are sure to adore. So far we've sampled:

-tofu nuggets rolled in broccoli and breadcrumbs (thumbs down all around).
-sloppy joes with red pepper and sweet potato purees (I thought it was pretty good but my kids detected pieces of onion which apparently I should have pureed, too, or left out entirely, and wouldn't eat it. Sophie also refused to eat her sloppy joe on a hotdog bun, even though Jessica said kids would think it was "fun." Really, I should have known better.
-green eggs (spinach puree) and ham. Kind of souffle-like. Aaron ate a little. Sophie - none.
-pink pancakes (with beet puree, ricotta cheese and grated apple). Aaron and I liked these for dinner last night. Sophie ate none. (Are you detecting a pattern here?)
-A few more left to try: A fruit punch, a fruit and yogurt combo that gets frozen like popsicles, and an artichoke and chickpea dip for veggies. *Update: Sophie refused the dip and the yogurt pops, too. After I pureed away the afternoon. So predictable.

So, not a huge success overall. Though sometimes I wonder if Sophie will eat anything.

I MUST put in my two cents about something, however (*updated with links): I have SO MUCH MORE FUN reading Ann Hodgman's cookbooks. One Bite Won't Kill You is obviously for kids and is fun to read whether you try out any of the recipes or not. Ann is happy if you put bacon or chocolate in every recipe. She includes a recipe for deep-fried onion rings and serves them for a main course (with the caveat "No way am I doing all that work for a side dish.") She does use spinach in some recipes. Her (adult) cookbook Beat This includes cool recipes like "Best-Named Recipe - Gall Bladder Cake." Okay, I contributed that one. It's a plug for my grandmother's recipe. She made it when my grandfather, who was a doctor, didn't need the buttermilk for a gall bladder x-ray for a patient. (Apparently drinking buttermilk makes the x-ray show up much clearer - but sometimes the patient didn't need the x-ray after all, or there was some leftover.) It's a nice plain chocolate cake, really. "Suitable for breakfast," Ann says. Check out Beat That also.

See, Ann Hodgman is much more fun than Jessica Seinfield, whose book is, you have to admit, kind of prissy, with lectures about table manners and how her kids just love those green eggs.

That is all I have to say today, because I am off to revise my book manuscript once again. Happy May Day to all!

Pools of Worlds

2009-04-10T21:58:00.000-07:00

Pools of worlds
between worlds.
Stories, ideas, places I visit.

Choosing or being pulled to a pool and I don't know what I will find
but things bubble up and I am pulled.

And when I refuse,
then this world is just a world between places.
Rather than the rich place I know inside myself it is.

(From the sock drawer)

Post BSG

2009-03-21T16:58:00.000-07:00

Battlestar Galactica had its series finale last night. I am basking in the fullness and glow of a well-earned completion. Ron Moore said no one had guessed the ending, though once seen, the ending would seem inevitable. I didn't blog about it on the BSG blogs, but three weeks before the ending, I DREAMED THE ENDING. The details weren't all the same (for example, Dwight Shrute from The Office was there with newfound heroic qualities-- I was quite sure that wouldn't be in the script, but the trajectory and events and outcomes were dead-on.

I have a history of dreaming into greater forces and happenings. This is the first time I've connected in this way to a television show, but then, Battlestar Galactica isn't just a television show. It has transcended television in the way that fine literature transcends the mere title of "book." A rare thing.

I've had various favorite shows throughout the years -- usually just watching one special one at a time. Jon still laughs that one of my favorites was the Beauty and the Beast series. But I loved it. Most of them deteriorate as they go, or have less resonance. Some stay good, but none has had such a profound impact on me as Battlestar. I feel a personal debt of gratitude to Ron Moore and the amazing actors who have brought this series to life. Having channeled into it through my dreams, I feel bound to it in a way that is beautifully clear and fully mysterious at the same time.

A year ago I visited a shaman and psychic healer in Beverley Hills. I was told I was part of a visionary group who incarnated together -- including John Malkovich and Salman Rushdie. Ron Moore, I think you are part of that group. Perhaps someday we will work together on a project. For years, I've seen myself moving to film or TV at some point (though not quite yet.) First, I need to solidify my writing and "vision" through books, I think. Though if Ron calls me after what I hope is a nice rest, I am willing to reconsider.

Melts Her Pen Goes International!

2009-03-19T21:31:00.000-07:00

Exciting news: As of this week, Lisa Melts Her Pen has an international readership! A long-lost Spanish friend found me through my blog -- how, I don't quite know, as many of my friends here haven't even found it (possibly because I neglected to mention where to find it).

So, a big shout-out to Carmen Gutierrez in Madrid! I am so happy to be back in touch after more than 20 years! I lived in Salamanca, Spain for a year and a half during and after college. Carmen and I were "intercambios," language-exchange buddies. We took turns stumbling over our words in English and Spanish until we finally didn't much notice which language we were using. It's a beautiful thing when another language ceases to be the thing you notice and the meaning of what you're hearing and saying moves to the forefront. And then when you stop noticing even that because you're too busy becoming fast friends and going out on the town (and the farm), well, that's just the best.

If you want to read about a cool event I participated in at Carmen's parents' dairy farm in the beautiful north of Spain, look up "Special Delivery" in the awesome book Travelers Tales: Spain. It's in the original edition, but not the later one which was edited down into a smaller book. I have another story, "Toro, Torero" that is still in the second edition, which you can also check out. You can click on a link on my website: www.LisaMeltzerPenn.com under "Writings" to preview a big chunk of "Toro Torero" if you're not already running to the bookstore. Or, just click here.

So, Carmen, THAT'S actually your surprise, and a long-overdue copy of the book will be on the way to you soon!

Love, Lisa

Pot 'O Gold

2009-03-03T23:28:00.000-08:00

I could have blogged last week. But it would have been from a strange space-cadet kind of place with a weird reverb from Vicadin and muscle relaxants and lots of Advil. Normally I don't take even one Advil. But when I need them, I'm pretty desperate. The whole right side of my back was in muscle spasms all week after "ski week" in Tahoe. I wasn't actually skiing, just trailing the kids around the mountain dragging a heavy tote bag on my shoulder. It had my whole book manuscript, which I decided to revise again and somehow thought I would have hours a day to work on while everyone else skiied, and a heavy journal, again that I would theoretically be writing in, plus all the miscellany and water bottles and extra jackets, etc.

So this week, instead of blogging, or doing much of anything else, I spent the week moaning, napping, and eating. A lot of eating. "Oh, yeah," my doctor told me when I went in for my yearly physical today and almost passed out when I saw the number on the scale, "Vicadin does have a munchies effect." That would explain the loaf of bread, two sticks of butter, and "secret" chocolate stash that mysteriously disappeared in the middle of the week.

This week it's just raining a lot. Except for having to drive in it, I don't mind it so much. It reminds me of home. We also saw two rainbows today. And that's pretty lucky.

Parent Appreciation

2009-02-10T16:10:00.000-08:00

I always thought I would have a daughter, and I did have her first. Then I had a son. Though I've had him for more than six years now, I am constantly surprised who he is. He's a joyful ball of energy. More energy than I know what to do with sometimes. Sometimes I get impatient with his loud exuberance. Sometimes we get mad at each other for not understanding the other or listening well enough.

But then he's in the kitchen in front of me with his playdate asking for hot cocoa. And they don't just ask -- they are literally bouncing up and down like they're on springs and saying, "Please! Please! Please!" as they bounce. (This is pre-sugar, mind you).

And then it's bedtime, and Aaron wants me to snuggle with him, and tell him a story in the dark, and half the time he'll give me a big hug and say, "You're my best mom!" Last week he said to me, "Thank you for everything you do, Mom."

I was shocked. I couldn't even believe I was hearing that. Sophie, who is more like me and I understand more, has never said a thing like that, even if she has thought it (which I like to imagine!). I have to remember Aaron's words in the moments I don't feel appreciated. Because I am.

Uni-Tasking and Cats

2009-02-02T10:04:00.001-08:00

Everyone is always talking about multi-tasking, as if it is a goal for us all to survive in today's frenetic world. But I'm tired of multi-tasking. I keep finding myself in the garage or my room, or most often, in front of the computer, not remembering what the heck I went there to do! I want to uni-task, to focus on ONE thing and do it well, and finish it!

I would also enjoy not living by a list. Wouldn't it be nice to have stuff done and then live the day? I looked out the window a while ago and saw one of the neighborhood cats wandering around. I'd like to be that cat, living in the moment, living through the senses, being outside.

Therefore I will eat breakfast, then go for a stroll, then dive into my projects one at a time. I have two and a half hours before Kindergarten pick-up.

Ta!

Drugstore Dreams

2009-01-18T17:25:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I enjoy trips to the drugstore -- today I stopped off to pick up a prescription -- by myself without the kids pleading for things from the shelves. I was wearing designer jeans and a new cute top my sister gave me for my birthday, and a cool new necklace my mother-in-law gave me for my birthday, and a cute cap I gave myself for my birthday, and there's music from the 60's playing -- X and Y -- and I start singing along because no one else is in the aisle. It sounds totally dorky but I felt the music flowing through me and I didn't care, and I didn't feel at all dorky. And I wandered through the aisles and picked out a a fresh colorful box of Crayola crayons, some new pens, because I'm always out, some mechanical pencils, because they always disappear, too, some letter and number stickers for the kids' art projects, some general house supplies I think of as I stroll the aisles. And all the stuff I get to look at and consider.

I'm a sucker for the miracle item of the moment -- the "Ped Egg" that will keep your feet smooth and callous free -- without making a mess! The lip balm that will keep our lips smooth and soft. The toe separator that keeps your feet healthy (but doesn't actually fit your feet unless you have really big feet). The promise of so many things. I love the promise, and I can fork out $9.99 for a promise, a dream, even when I know it will dissolve into the everyday and probably unsatisfactory, but a dream is a dream. A small dream offers a moment of possibility, which in its own way, is priceless.

50th Post

2009-01-16T10:33:00.000-08:00

This is my 50th post! Kind of an anniversary.

What is it about lists? I just opened a fresh new notebook and declared it for writing only - not for lists and miscellany. I drew a bold box around that declaration. Then I proceeded to make a few lists: goals for the year, summer plans, lessons for the kids...does life exist in the lists? Or are the lists everything preventing life?

Oh, that's a dumb question. Lists disappoint me. They are everything that hasn't been done yet. There is no point listing what's already been done, is there? Unless it's as reference for a current list.

Lists feel like hypnosis to me. Even if I never do all the things on the list, they've been acknowledged as existing ideas. I'm ready to start something new. Okay, I don't really expect the pages to stay pristine. But please let them hold something that matters.

Goodbye, Flower

2009-01-09T09:27:00.000-08:00

We went back to Bunker Hill Preschool this week to pay our respects to Flower Sweetie Hill, the class guinea pig, who visited our house a few times, and inspired Aaron to eat lettuce. Aaron was very sad when he learned she had died over the holiday break, and got up out of bed that night to make her a card.

It was our first visit back since he began Kindergarten. Aaron was excited to impart knowledge to the Pre-k'ers, though most of them were busy playing. We went up to the playground to see the new and improved sandbox which is now HUGE and wraps around the gazebo. He hopped onto his favorite double trike fire engine he spent all of last year speeding around the track with, accompanied by one or another of his high-energy friends. He did one lap, then said, "Hey, Mom, this is too small!" We went back in to impart more knowledge and he read the signs on the walls. His hand-made cards were already tacked to the bulletin board over where Flower's cage used to sit. "Mom, all the kids are so little! said Aaron. " I stood in the center of the block room and looked out the windows onto the trees and missed the place.

Happy Birthday, Michelle Obama and Me!

2009-01-09T08:59:00.001-08:00

I found out yesterday while reading the New York Times that Michelle Obama and I share a birthday -- same day, same year: January 17th, 1964. The NYT article was about fashion, and M.O.'s influence on it. I was thinking, it's a good thing they're not writing that about me -- there would be little to say! "She wears nice fleece pullovers and cordoroys and sneakers. Except the days she wears that old, worn-out fleece and yoga pants. She takes her influence from L.L. Bean and occasionally steps it up a notch to Nordstrom's or Title Nine or even a boutique every couple of years or so..."

Jon said if I was on my way to being first lady, I would have people who would shop and put my wardrobe together for me. Then he apologized that I married the wrong person. I said it was okay. Then we went to see "Slumdog Millionaire" and after that I finished reading the very long, very amazing book "The Story of Edgar Sawtelle," both raw, sad and beautiful. When I went to sleep, I dreamed the protaganists were the same person.

Bullies, Forgers & Thieves

2008-12-19T10:23:00.000-08:00

Labels aren't everything. I got to the end of the day yesterday -- Thursday -- and realized the following:

1) Aaron was sent to the office for pushing a kid down.
2) Sophie forged Jon's name on the bottom of her reading log.
3) We got the the car after leaving Children's Place yesterday, and I realized Aaron was carrying a pair of pajamas we hadn't paid for.

So, am I raising bullies, forgers and thieves?

Nah! I felt good to realize these are all teachable moments -- perfect opportunities for parenting. None of them were done with malice. Aaron was frustrated because the special day class joins their class for activities, and the boy he pushed makes noises instead of talking and Aaron lost patience and wanted his personal space back. After the holiday break, they're all going to get practice in how to work together and respect differences. (Planned before the incident). Great training for life, where someone is always in your face, or facing different challenges, or you are, or anything else.

Sophie wanted to turn her homework in complete. She'd forgotten to have one of us sign. We insisted she write her teacher an apology note and let her know we'd talked about forgery and she wouldn't do it again.

And of course I'll have to trek back to the store with Aaron and pay for those pajamas.

All in all, a great learning week! And once again, I am grateful for the training I received during my preschool co-op years so that I can automatically view these moments as opportunities, not problems or just bad behavior.

Notes to the Tooth Fairy

2008-12-18T14:32:00.001-08:00

Aaron recently lost his first tooth and was very excited. Actually, he really lost the tooth. It came out during recess at school and he didn't even know it right away. He had several things to write to the tooth fairy explaining the situation, and he was hopeful that she would be able to find his tooth and return it to him, as Sophie always requests to keep her teeth and the tooth fairy has complied with her requests in the past as well as delivering a gold dollar.

He got a note back, plus payment, then wrote another, again asking about the return of the tooth. At some point he asked me if the tooth fairy was real or if it was me. Do I look like the tooth fairy? I asked.

Aaron then wrote up this note, after Sophie questioned the validity of the tooth fairy (upon which I had to inform her that the tooth fairy does not issue payment to non-believers):

SOPHiE DiSAT BlEY EN YOU BATiDO
-AARON

(Sophie doesn't believe in you but I do.)

Happy December!

2008-12-01T09:53:00.000-08:00

Well, I missed November altogether. I'm still sending out letters to agents. I hope to find an agent this month! Keep your fingers crossed for me!

So back to the book shelf. I had a stack of books I intro'd a while ago. To follow up:

1) The DaVinci Code: This was a fast, enjoyable read. I don't really see what all the fuss was about, though.

2) Palace Walk: This one took me 60 pages or so to really sink into, though I liked it from the start. It slowly lowers you into the vat of this conservative Egyptian family 100 years ago. I felt like I lived in that house by the middle of the book. The women were not allowed out. The father was a philandering tyrant beloved by all and feared by his family. It was weird to realize that this is how many people live still. Excellent portrait of a family and a history and an Arab culture.

3) Run: Ann Patchett strikes again. I want to read more and more of her. Again, I was dropped into a close-up view of a family, with lots of juicy secrets. It's a story of family, politics, and a tiny drop of mystery in the form of a family statue passed down through the generations. I heard her non-fiction "Truth and Beauty" is great. And Bel Canto is still my favorite.

4) The Hakawati: I'm still toward the beginning of this one. It's a big book and I saved it for last. Hakawati means storyteller and I'm enjoying the stories weaving through the text.

And now back to work. Happy December!

Halloween

2008-10-31T11:35:00.000-07:00

The neighborhood yards have been transformed into graveyards, ours included. The rain began yesterday, so it's a real change of seasons as we move out of October. "It's the most wondrous day of the year!" I woke up saying. Sophie proclaimed it the best holiday of the year and both kids were ready in their costumes to get to school early. Let me tell you, that doesn't happen often.

Why? Why is this THE holiday? In our neighborhood, it's especially big, and kids and parents come from all the neighborhoods around to trick or treat on our flat, sidewalked, decorated streets.

It's not tied to anything religious, at least not in this country. People get to embody whatever character they want -- and often, the darker the better. My kids left as a Dark Skull Warrior and a Vampire. Anything goes. A house on our block is transformed into a haunted house each year, actually too scary for most kids -- those that go in come out crying.

Is it more about candy or roaming the streets in the dark, with access to every house's front door, and the only requirement to say thank you for the candy, at least when prodded with your parent's glow stick?

What IS it? I think that's what great about Halloween -- there's no hidden agenda or message -- it all flows from the subconscious out onto the streets, something out of our deep pagan past, and so satisfying.

Gettin' Back on Board

2008-10-17T12:09:00.000-07:00

Delinquent, that's me. Books due back to the library, permission slips to the kids' teachers, and that desk, that desk I can't find anything on. Oh, and the laundry -- but at least it's clean, just in need of folding. Of course the longer you wait, the less there is to fold as things get snatched out of the basket. But right now, I'm settlin' the score with this blog, and gettin' back on! (I thought I'd try dropping a couple of 'g's, since that seems to be in vogue.)

God, I was sick of talking about sandwiches! And now I'm in the antithesis -- a "Fall Detox" diet with no bread or sugar, among other missing things. But I do get to keep chocolate -- as long as it's unsweetened. And I'm drinking a lovely coffee substitute called Tee-chino, mixed with hot almond milk. The thing is, I'm not a caffeine addict -- really I just enjoy hot drinks -- so that works for me.

I was LOVING sitting at my desk working every morning for a couple of weeks. Then I went and added exercise back in to the equation, and this is my first time at the desk (except checking email) the whole week! Plus I worked in Aaron's Kindergarten classroom Monday - but that was so fun! And, oh yeah, I had to do online traffic school, too.

Last October we had an almost real fall here on the Peninsula, due to an uncharacteristic California cold snap. I love seeing the leaves changes color. I love the feel of fall. I'd hoped to see some change on the way to Lake Tahoe last weekend, like last year, but there wasn't much of anything to see. It was a great weekend, anyway -- a moms' weekend away to scrapbook with a close-up view of the lake and a nice walk thrown in. I laid down pages in our family album for January through June, 2008, so it was like a slowed-d0wn, sped-up version of the first half of the year -- reorganized and stylized and frozen in time on 22 pages. Scrapbooking is a great way to complete a book! While I work on getting my "real" book out into the world. I am still looking for the right agent for the job.

And the Winners Are...

2008-10-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

Sandwich Week has drawn to a close and it's time to award prizes to the winners!

1st Place goes to Joyce!
For the best and simplest classic sandwich with the best description that made me want to drop everything and make it right away. Also, she said it was "no contest" so I had to give her a prize. And she's my mom, and when I saw the words "no contest" I thought at first I would have to cancel my contest, but luckily that wasn't what she meant. Joyce says:

No contest. The best sandwich is on white bread with a little mayo. Hellmans of course. The sandwich consists of a few slices of fresh tomato(right off the vine) and some lettuce. The secret is the warm tomato right off the vine.

2nd Place goes to Wendy!
Wendy submitted several entries, but the one that caught my eye was this one. Wendy says:

A Hummus-sprout-type-thing with homemade seedy bread that I had in Mexico at a restaurant in the village called S'nice.

Both winners will be receiving a crisp $10 bill in the mail to spend at your favorite sandwich place. Congratulations!

By the way, I had to disqualify Jon (my husband) from entering, as during sandwich week he brought me a sandwich from the local deli - pastrami - which, like Wendy, I haven't had in a long time, but I'd started thinking about. The problem was, Jon had them make it on the usual wheat bread I get sandwiches on, but you must never, never make a pastrami sandwich on anything but rye! Jon made a mistake, and I have forgiven him, but I can't forget how he brought a temporary cloud over sandwich week for that day. But it was nice of him to pick up a sandwich for me. And now, it is time to move onto other things, as this really isn't a recipe blog after all!

Sandwich Contest Deadline Extended to Oct. 3!

2008-09-30T11:31:00.000-07:00

If you've been perfecting that sandwich recipe all week, today is the day to submit! Don't be shy. The SANDWICH CONTEST closes tomorrow-October 1. So far there are a couple of really good entries. By "a couple" I mean TWO, so you are not too late! Oh, what the heck, I'll extend the contest deadline to October 3rd! So now you have no excuse.

The winner will be determined by quality of sandwich, heartfelt description of sandwich, and any and all other creative elements.

Also, I've been told that, um, I need to offer an actual PRIZE to the winner. That my making and eating a sandwich in my kitchen does not constitute a real incentive....

So, as far as a prize...drumroll please...I will send you a crisp $10 bill for lunch at your favorite sandwich shop. Please sit at the counter if possible. And please eat at Eisenberg's Sandwich Shop if you can! Which by the way, I looked up, and it sounds like it is still alive and well and much-loved by (almost) all. The official address is:
174 5th Ave, New York 10010
Btwn 22nd & 23rd St

Sorry if you have been wandering around Broadway looking for it. I'll check my addresses in advance the next time!

Cheers! And L'Shana Tova to all the Jews today!

Sandwich Week Continues: What's Your Favorite?

2008-09-24T09:28:00.000-07:00

Welcome back to "Sandwich Week!" Enter exciting CONTEST below!

When I was a kid, I did not like peanut butter. I did like peanut butter commercials, though, and even produced one at school which a classmate and I read over the intercom for the whole school. It went something like: "Hi, try Pan Peter Butter Peanut..." I finally convinced myself as a teen (the power of advertising) that I SHOULD like peanut butter, that it was un-American not to. And it worked! I started eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches! Now my kids have peanut sensitivities and get a rash around their mouths and/or gastrointestinal problems from peanut butter, but they still beg me for it even though I buy them almond butter, which really, is much better (really, it has to be -- it's 4X the price)!

For a while, it was the BLT, because it's so sublime--the opposite of a stuffed-full New York deli sandwich.

In high school I made lunches for myself and my younger brother. I have no idea what I put inside the bag, but I liked to decorate the outside of the brown bag, and Robbie lived in fear of what I would do to his lunch that he had to carry to school where people could see it.

This could go on and on, but just to mix it up:
WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE SANDWICH? WHAT SANDWICH TRANSCENDS ALL OTHER SANDWICHES FOR YOU? POST THEM HERE AND I PROMISE TO TRY THEM IN MY TEST KITCHEN, JUST 15 FLOOR TILES AWAY FROM THIS BLOG--AND POST THE RESULTS!

Rules:
1. Must be a sandwich, not any other favorite food.
2. Entrants must be 5 years of age or older.
3. You may enter as many times as you like.
4. Deadline is October 1, 2008. *DEADLINE EXTENDED TO OCTOBER 3RD!!!
5. Must be a sandwich you've actually eaten. So if it's fried worms on toast that's your favorite, I want evidence!

There, my first blog contest, official rules and all. Come one, come all! Tell your friends. Something to debate about between presidential debates (because they're not likely to cover this topic).

Eisenberg's Sandwich Shop

2008-09-22T09:50:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my very talented writer and artist friend Wendy Wax today, and she'd read my "sandwich" post and reminded me of my favorite sandwich shop when we used to work as editors at Byron Preiss Visual Publications in New York -- Eisenberg's Sandwich Shop, somewhere around Fifth Ave & 21st (thanks for address correx, Wendy!). I used to plan my day around it (well, not really, but I'd think about it a lot) and go there to grab a sandwich two or three times a week. I LOVED that place. It was still there the last time I checked. I hope it's always there.

Sometimes I went with a co-worker, and lots of times I went myself, to just be able to not have to think or talk for 20 minutes, and found a seat at the counter of the old place.

California's great, and there are lots of things I'll never miss about New York City, but that sandwich delivery system was one of the best things ever. If you ordered a tuna on rye bread, the order was shouted out down the line by the old guys who worked there as "tuna on whiskey!" The younger guys behind them assembled the sandwiches and about a minute later there it was in front of me, with a slice of real New York pickle on the side. And by the way, it was REAL rye bread, not a slice of something resembling white or wheat with a couple of caraway seeds pushed half-heartedly into a soft crust and labeled "rye," but the real thing -- a hard crust, soft but substantial middle laced with caraway seeds all the way through. Oh, it makes me want to bite right into it. The loss of good rye bread is one of my few regrets in moving here. New York has better bagels and brick-oven pizza, too, but for me, it's been 13 years in exile from rye bread.

But I digress. The other great thing about Eisenberg's was the really old woman who took orders at the 6 tiny tables shoved against the wall running opposite the counter. A narrow place to walk ran between them, and this ancient woman came to the table and announced the special of the day, which invariably was either meatloaf or pastrami. "The special's meatloaf. You can have it in a sandwich or on a plate. It's very good," she said, order pad in hand. I can still hear the timbre of her voice -- a little shaky but unconcerned, sincere, and on with it. I don't think I ever ate meatloaf any other place. It was banned from my house growing up. My father hated it, and the only time my mother ever served it to him was just after they started dating, the very first time she ever had him over for dinner in college at her parents house. He told her it was "delicious" and hid it in his napkin. From then on, whenever Dad described something as "delicious," we knew it was not so.

But now and then, I did have Eisenberg's meatloaf, in a sandwich, on rye. And it was good.

Meatloaf on "whiskey": this one's for you.

Exalted Sandwich

2008-09-19T08:45:00.000-07:00

Can a sandwich be exalted? Perhaps. I saw someone making something like this at a cafe, and I decided to try it at home, as I had just picked up real farm-fresh organic eggs from the farmers' market.

The recipe:
-Two slices whole wheat (I use Beckman's Honey Whole Wheat, also from the Farmers' Market, but at some stores, too), toasted
-Spread one slice of toast with hummus (I used one with capers)
-A couple of thick slices of fresh red tomato (get 'em at your Farmers' Market if you can!)
-And fry up a couple of those fresh eggs, flip them to over medium or over hard. Add to sandwich.
-Add a slice of swiss cheese
-opt: some ripe avocado slices (I didn't have any that day but the guy at the cafe did, but mine was sure good without them.)
-Cut in half and eat

Wa-la. A sandwich to feed a king. Really, it was SO good. I give it 5 stars.

Lisa's Book Stack

2008-09-15T10:25:00.001-07:00

Sometimes a stack of book sits on my nighttable for months as I eye it suspiciously before going to sleep. I picked up some new ones and starting ALL of them last night, so I'm happy to have rotated the stack!

They all started off with a bang, seductively drawing me in like a box of chocolates, which is a delightful thought while lying in bed. Seriously.

Books are in order picked up:

1. THE HAKAWATI (Translates from the Arabic to "The Storyteller") by Rabih Alameddine. I bought this because it had such a BEAUTIFUL cover...pretty sea blue with swirling gold designs and tree roots and birds and hints of red...as well as a great first line: "Listen. Allow me to be your god. let me take you on a journey beyond imagining. Let me tell you a story." Who could resist that invitation? Though so far I keep getting impatient with the "modern" tale that is interspersed with the old tale. I just want the old one, which has a totally fabulous and totally in control slave woman named Fatima running the show.

2. RUN by Ann Patchett. I loved her novel BEL CANTO so much, that this was an easy sell, now in a nice trade paperback, also with lots of pretty blue and hints of trees. Seems to be a tree theme all around for me today. This one begins with a family rivalry for ownership of a small statue handed down through the generations to the person it looks most like. I thought of Cinderella's stepsisters trying to shove their big feet into the glass slipper. But only now, while thinking about it. Last night I just wanted to hear the story of what happened.

3. THE DA VINCI CODE by Dan Brown. Amazingly, I have not yet read this, though it's been on my "list" for years. I finally signed it out of the library. I didn't want to buy it. Begins with a slow, painful death. I left the poor guy bleeding out even longer as I left the pages of that book for...

4. PALACE WALK by Naguib Mahfouz, winner of the Nobel Prize for literature. Originally published in Arabic in 1956 and here in 1990 (wow, long wait!), it was loaned to me by my friend Wendy who was wholly absorbed in it on the porch of her little cabin when we met at Oakland's Feather River Family Camp north of Tahoe in July. We finally got together for dinner over the weekend -- we'd all gotten to be good friends but travel and out-of-town company schedules conflicted till now -- and I got to take this book home for a spin. It's a WOW so far. Set in old (but not ancient) Egypt, I think, it begins with a wife who exists solely to serve her husband. I can't wait to see what cracks begin to open up in this existence. It's quiet, and yet pulls me right into the scene and the story. I love that.

Interesting how two of the four are translated from Arabic!

I keep trying to read Salman Rushdie's MIDNIGHT'S CHILDREN. I've talked to at least three other people recently who have been trying to read him, and having difficulty getting pulled into the story. I WILL try again, because I love his writing, I just can't seem to stay with it so far, but that doesn't mean it isn't worth it to try to get there.

THE TIME TRAVELER'S WIFE was also recommended to me by a couple of different people, so I'll see if I can get that one to land on the nighttable soon. All so much better than (most) TV!

I'm a little sad I'm through the WRINKLE IN TIME quartet. I enjoyed it so much. I also figured out why I hadn't read some of them before -- they weren't written until I was in my twenties!

Gratitude

2008-09-15T09:36:00.000-07:00

Monday morning. At the risk of this sounding like a gratitude journal entry, I LOVED MY WALK!

The kids were picked up for school, I had tea (Numi Green Jasmine Organic Monkey King -- Jon likes to call it "Monkey Brains tea"), ate breakfast (Sophie's leftover egg in a cup - she always leaves the white and half the yolk), read part of the newspaper, then went out into the world of the neighborhood and the streets and the fresh air of morning. It really IS a new day every day. Everything I saw and felt, I couldn't have from the car, when we are hurrying by, and the kids are bickering and punching each other in the back seat.

The young girl sticking her blond head out the window and calling back inside "I think it's jeans weather!" The baby crying from inside another house, and the young boy on the porch smiling and saying "Hi" to me as I went past. The way the streets felt to me when they were flat, and when they went uphill, how I had to lean into them and notice them with something besides a gas pedal. The older couple walking by with their little dachsund who kept stopping to sniff everything. The fresh paint on one house - a striking rich blue the color of the sea way out. And always the trees and flowers along the way, the twisting branches, the care people take (or don't take) with their gardens and fountains, the people I said hello to on the way.

A good start to the week.

Reflections in the Rear-View Mirror

2008-09-12T11:33:00.000-07:00

This week I was driving Sophie to soccer practice, and dropping off her friend Melissa on the way. I picked up my water bottle and tipped it back to take a drink. As I did, I caught my reflection in the rear-view mirror, tipping back her bottle.

Except something was different. My face looked different, my skin softer, my hair...blonder! (which is strange, as I have brown hair). Was it time to clean the mirror? No, I was looking at Melissa's 8-year old reflection. She was simultaneously drinking from her water bottle, following the exact same motion.

It's strange and wonderful sometimes to catch yourself unawares. Even when it's not yourself.

Variable Distances

2008-09-08T08:57:00.000-07:00

My title sounds like a math construct.

Finally I was able to give myself the small but wonderful gift of a walk in the cool morning air after the kids were picked up for school. Beds are made, I have my chai tea, and I'm warmed up for the day!

I miss my walks greatly. My thoughts get moving in a flow and I get to think them instead of feeling at the mercy of them.

So, Madeleine L'Engle's "A Swiftly Tilting Planet" is pretty awesome. And you know what, I don't think I ever did read it when I was a kid. Maybe it wasn't in the library when I was looking for it. I stayed up late reading it, and only have six pages to go, but stopped because Jon finally arrived home a little before 1am and then I realized how much I missed him. Not for the logistical stuff and to get me out of survival mode, but for him. Worth putting a book down for. But I'm finishing it right after this. Another small treat for myself, all before 9am or so.

It's kind of nice to see some clouds again and coolness, it's been so hot.

While I was walking, I got to thinking about how when we got back from Family Camp, where we'd been walking just to get to the bathroom or breakfast, walking seemed much more natural to us. We walked to the farmer's market that weekend instead of driving, and it didn't seem far it all. It isn't. It's less than a mile, but we usually drive. It's all relative, isn't it? Walking should be totally natural to us. Didn't kids used to walk miles to school all the time?

One of my neighbors was talking about a "Walking Schoolbus" to relieve some of the congestion at drop-off and pick-up time. A parent or parents would don an orange vest, routes would be marked, and a line of kids would walk the route to school. It's a little far, and would take some time. Also there's a hill and not many sidewalks till you get up the hill. So some safety concerns. Maybe there could be crossing guards along the way manning their posts, the way it used to be done, I think. Just some thoughts.

Now back to Madeleine L'Engle and work!

Good morning!

The Reluctant Housewife

2008-09-07T17:45:00.001-07:00

Straightening up. I did a lot of that this week. And surface cleaning. And lots of laundry. I can't wait for the housecleaners to get here to do the real stuff, but really I tried hard to keep the house looking NEAT. I had a roommate in college who always said she was "neat but not clean."

Jon's been out of town for a full week. Sophie was home from school (or I was being called to the school to pick her up) with a bad stomach several days. I feel like the reluctant housewife. I don't want the mess to take over, so I'm trying to deal with it on more of a daily basis. But it's all ME, so it's more time. And with all of that, I had ZERO time to do any of my own projects, in spite of looming deadlines to get stuff out to agents, write some ad copy that was due Friday, and start editing Bruce Coville's Unicorn Chronicles Book #4 for Scholastic.

By 9:45 pm, all I could do was collapse into bed and read Sophie's library books she'd already finished -- this week the Wrinkle in Time quartet -- I'm on A Swiftly Tilting Planet. I haven't read these in years-- plus one night of indulging in TV. I did go out one night also for a WNBA (that's Women's National Book Association, not basketball) mixer in Menlo Park that was a lot of fun at Kepler's Bookstore. All in all, the week went fairly well, considering. I just had to embrace my mom role more than ever.

I mean, yesterday the kids had their first soccer games of the season. The temperatures were in the 90's, so after running back and forth between their games and having some sandwiches in the park, I took them out for ice-cream at Baskin Robbins and then swimming with their friends for the rest of the afternoon. Determined to get the kitchen cleaned up so I wouldn't have to do it after putting the kids to bed -- as it always seems much more daunting then and I tend to move much more s l o w l y -- I cleaned up and didn't get Aaron into the shower until 9pm. He was tired out by then and got cranky quickly, and before they went to sleep, both kids were telling me I was mean. So even ice-cream and swimming doesn't guarantee anything.

BUT MAYBE THIS WEEK I CAN PUT ON A DIFFERENT HAT THAN RELUCTANT HOUSEWIFE OR ONLY-PARENT-IN-TOWN MOM.

Wonders of the World

2008-09-03T16:22:00.000-07:00

It's 4:30 pm. I'm late for the party! My wonder of the world is:

Lying down on the grass under the trees, feeling the breeze on my skin, and watching the leaves dance around. It's wonderful. There's nothing, nothing, nothing better than this.

Also the way even a dopey dog can cock its head and look at you and seem momentarily intelligent.

Can you tell I'd rather be in the park?

To link to more wonders of the world, visit my new friend Becky's site

Moment of Power

2008-09-01T12:49:00.000-07:00

Is the summer over yet? The summer is over.

The kids started school last week. I parked and walked them to the playground, where, miraculously, we were so early it wasn't even open yet! But soon it was, and the kids had fun playing before the bell rang. Sophie's 3rd grade class is right next to the playground in a portable classroom. Aaron's Kindergarten is around the building, and I called him over five minutes before the bell so he could walk with his friends to class and be ready to head in. Then I called Sophie's name loudly so I could let her know I was going and to have a good day. She came over, and the other hundred or so kids on the playground structure looked up as well, thinking it was time for school, and all came running over and headed to their class lines where their backpacks were already holding their places.

I was dumbfounded. At home, I might call my child's name ten times and get no response. But one name called on the playground opening day netted a hundred children!

I felt so powerful and capable, that I imagined the whole year would be charmed. Let that thought be released into the universe!

Transitions and Reindeer

2008-08-18T16:11:00.000-07:00

Ah, back at last. We went off to the east coast for a week and a half, then I spent last week in a jet-lagged funk. I think it's a transitions thing. I've been looking forward to Aaron starting Kindergarten and school starting up again with both kids in one place for so many months, that now that's it's immenent (next Wednesday!), I'm impatient for it to happen already. That, combined with my great aprehension about getting the kids out the door and to school on time every day.

I need to be firm about my schedule and actually know what I'm doing each morning -- all FIVE of them when the kids are at school. I don't want to waste any time. But I usually forget to account for stuff like excercise time, putting away the dishes, phone calls for doctors' appointments, clean-up the desk so I can work, fresh air walks, and the new one: don't give into distractions...time.

And this business of writing time versus handling the business of writing - how to divide that time. Well, I'll have a long stretch of 8 weeks after I send off a batch of query letters.

It's just so hard for me to focus when the kids are here that I haven't sorted any of this out yet. In spite of the fact that they want to just hang out at home all the last week now that camps are done for the summer and I can actually sneak off to my desk when I'm not settling disputes. We are going camping this weekend, and a bunch of visitors are coming, but then, in a couple of weeks, the new schedule will be in place. I really am SO HAPPY about it. I'm just not feeling it as a reality until it's actually here.

Though I avoid making my blog about the "cutest things" my kids say, because, blech! It's not as fun about someone else's kids! I'll throw one from today in for fun, just because it makes me laugh:
Aaron's friend Riley came over and Aaron showed him where he could stash his shoes on Aaron's shelf in the garage (he has fewer pairs of shoes than the rest of us and actually has guest space). He showed Riley his almost in perfect condition dress shoes, and said:
"These are my wedding shoes. I don't marry, but I was a ring bearer for my uncle's wedding."
Well, I'm glad to know he didn't get married without telling me!
Then Riley misunderstood "ring bearer," and said, "You were a reindeer?"

For Grandma Florence

2008-07-25T19:57:00.000-07:00

Today I was looking out the kitchen window at the big oak tree shifting and swaying in the breeze. The view is marred by thick black telephone wires cutting through some of the farther reaching branches, but they don''t get in the way of the tree much, even though they're ugly. Suddenly I found myself thinking of my Grandma Florence. Grandma has been gone since I was in my early twenties, so it's been twenty-odd years. I still miss her. I often feel like she's watching me, rooting for me in everything I do, enjoying watching me live my life from some other place. Today, I felt her strongly, like she was almost really here, and that was comforting. Nice company. I felt like I should ask for a sign or something to see if it was really "true." The branches swayed again, but they were already doing that. I imagined her face appearing in the branches, but that would have been a little creepy. I know Grandma Florence would never want to scare me, so a "sign" was unlikely to come. And what would I have done with it? Told my family I had a message?

My "sign" is that I feel her presence, and that is a gift in itself, whether it is made up of spirit, memory, or some combination.

Grandma Ann, my father's mother, lived till she was 99. For her 99th birthday, her wish was to not be around any longer. She died just two days before her birthday and got her wish. I miss her just as much, but I know that Grandma Ann is not hanging around watching me, because she really was done. She said so. She'd had enough visits, and grandchildren, and weddings and great grandchildren. We strung her along as long as we could with promises of more milestones. She'd had enough of her walker and her failing vision and dwindling health. It was enough. I don't blame her for not hanging around -- I'll probably make the same choice myself someday.

But I appreciate Grandma Florence being in the trees across the street now and then. Once I was strolling Sophie around the neighborhood when she was a baby and I met an old lady who had gotten disoriented on her way back from church and couldn't find her way back to her son's house. I pointed her in the right direction and then kept walking, and suddenly into my head came Grandma Florence's voice, more stern than I'd ever heard her in life: "You go back and find that lady and walk her to her son's house. Directions aren't good enough -- you should know better." Or something along those lines. She was right. I walked around till I found the lady again, asking people as I went if they'd seen her. Several of them had given her directions as well, and were concerned for her safety. We were all her good friends now. Finally I found her a couple of blocks up, and we walked up the hill till we got to her son's house. Her daughter-in-law greeted me and thanked me for getting her back. The old lady was so nice. She was grateful for the help, but in the most gracious way. She said I was "her angel" and blessed me and pulled out a little packet of wooden rosary beads from her coat pocket (It was a very warm day but she wore her wool coat). I thanked her and I kept those beads. They are still in my jewelry box. I'm Jewish and they're the only rosary beads I've ever been given. My grandmother kept me on the right path that day. I told the old lady before I left that my grandmother had sent me back to help her get home and she blessed her, too.

Gosh, that sounds so schmaltzy, but really, that's how it happened. I'm glad my Grandma Ann got to live so long and get to know my children before she left. And I'm glad my Grandma Florence can still be around even though she never did.

Good Girl Gone Bad

2008-07-22T13:21:00.001-07:00

I've done something terrible. I can't believe I have succumbed to this, but my kids leave the healthy stuff sitting in their lunch boxes all day until the carefully, lovingly chosen and prepared items are dumped out after camp. I, previously known as the organic girl, the healthy mom, who lived in a house where juice boxes and Doritos were not permitted, have just purchased at the local grocery store: White Castle hamburgers, Banquet chicken nuggets, a Ritz snack assortment pack of things like cheese nips and "snack mix," and also a six-pack of those little fruit in jello servings. I also bought fresh fruit and good wheat bread, and our Planet Organics produce box arrives tomorrow, but still, I am ashamed of myself.

But maybe my lean and mean kids will eat something?

The Main Conflict Is...

2008-07-19T15:45:00.001-07:00

I have just completed a brand-new version of a letter to send to prospective agents, and it is kick-ass! It totally clarifies my vision of the novel and the internal conflict, twists and turns. Finally I have distilled a complex and dreamy narrative to something I can actually describe to someone! That is major for me. Because, after all, I had to write the whole book to say everything I needed to say.

Last month I attended the Women's National Book Association's 40th anniversary party for the San Francisco chapter which coincided with the national organization's annual board meeting. I was sitting around a big table with a group of fabulous women from all over the country dedicated to women and books and all aspects of publishing. Someone asked about my book and everyone was interested when I started describing it. However, when I was asked to simply state the main conflict, I couldn't. I almost started to bullshit my way through, but decided against it.

The problem was, there are so many layers of things going on in the novel, I wasn't sure which one to emphasize. I had kind of known this, but was trying not to think about it.

THANK YOU to all the women at my table that night. This was a great opportunity for me to go back and finally resolve this. And now I can use this as a blade to sharpen up the whole book.

To draw it as tight as I can:

"A storyteller grows impatient with her characters and plunges into the world of her own story to take their place."

Back From Family Camp

2008-07-14T22:07:00.001-07:00

Oakland Feather River Family Camp. We all went. And then we returned.

In-between: The best part was not having to drive anywhere or rush anywhere. Everything was right there, and on a pretty relaxed schedule. We walked a lot. Not all hikes, but just back and forth around camp, so that when we got back, the first day I wanted to walk, instead of drive, to the Farmers' Market, and it felt easy and fresh and good. The kids scootered and didn't complain.

I learned a lot about trees and plants. We made some new friends and ate a lot of food. We all ate ice-cream every day at the camp store. We slept in a rough-hewn cabin in sleeping bags, or on sleeping bags, as most nights were quite hot until the wee hours when the middle of the night trains went by. I was glad to be at camp instead of in my house. I was tired of being inside anywhere, and it reminded me how I want to live more outdoors, and how much more natural that feels. And this IS California. It doesn't get that cold here. When people say they're "freezing," they're not really. It's almost always well above 32 degrees.

There's a lot more to say, but I'll say it on another post, as I'm back to making lunches for camp and waking up the kids and hustling out in the mornings again. And cleaning the kitchen and the laundry. I'm kind of a good tired today. Tomorrow I hope to get back to work. Today was all doctors appointments and kids' stuff and haircuts. Aaron started JCC camp all scruffy-haired today and will return tomorrow with a new crew cut so I wonder if anyone will recognize him.

If anyone from family camp is reading this, hello, greetings from Belmont, and we miss you!!!

-Lisa

Off to Family Camp

2008-07-05T08:56:00.000-07:00

We're heading out for "Family Camp" this morning. Jon's running around trying to find a roof rack because we don't know if we can fit everything in the car. Kids are still sleeping. It's 9 am. Packing seems to always be such an ordeal. I need to learn to do it more effortlessly so that vacations can be more relaxing faster. More when we get back.

Plotting Fate

2008-06-29T10:31:00.000-07:00

Greetings! Lest you think I have forgotten you , I have not. I decided last week to plot out a short story. I miss writing! I have these blog posts, and other little things. I have my Siren Dialogues novel that is revving up to make its grand entry into the world (the doorway to this "world" at the moment being the access to top literary agencies). But I miss writing stories. So I overcame my prejudice against plotting and outlines and sat down at my newly cleared-off desk (which I couldn't work at until I could see it!) and wrote an outline. Okay, I started the outline at Starbucks, my old "office" but I finished it at my own desk, which I would like to make a friendlier work place this year so I don't always have to leave my house to write.

Rather than going out to seek the perfect place to work, my inner voice gave me a little kick and said, "Hey, you've got yourself a great office right here at home -- how about using it?" So I'm listening to that voice. Clearing the desk was the first step. Next is some necessary filing and stuff, but then decorating, getting a plant or tree to bring in some nature, maybe a fountain (not near the papers or computer of course), putting something on the wall over my desk so I'm not looking up at a blank wall between the windows. A different "window" to the world. I can make it anything I want it to be.

It could work. I can put on music, make myself a cup of tea, even close the door and light a candle (with the window open a little of course). I can kick the kids out, too. It is MY office, after all. I set up an art area for them in the other half of the office, as the room is quite long, but I don't need to give them unlimited access. Because it is MY office. Let me say that enough times that I hear it.

Anyway, outlining: I did make an outline. It's for a story with several characters interacting during a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek. I'm trying to open up my stories beyond one-character monologues and musings. I'm writing down story ideas as I think of them. And maybe I don't need to leave all my ideas to "fate." I've left a lot of my life to fate: When Jon and I would get together (he finally gave fate a gentle shove), what direction my stories would take, what decisions would be made about the most minute things about my life because I didn't want to interfere with "fate...."

I am fate. Isn't that obvious by now? Even if that doesn't make total sense, it gives ME something to think about...and report in about at a later date when I melt my pen again.

Giving Myself a Break

2008-06-19T16:16:00.000-07:00

I took last week to rest, and to feel just how tired I was from the whole year. I let the dishes and laundry and unmade beds sit. Enough of it got done somehow by the end of the day. I just relieved myself of all the "shoulds" and let myself sit in the garden and enjoy it, lie in the garden, take a nap, read a book, let the kids watch TV, get into a little mischief (like inadvertently painting their whole bodies with black paint -- and I'm NOT talking body paint) and really just give myself a break.

I needed it. I so needed to feel that.

This week is organization week, preparing and gearing up to actually do something. But it can't go on much longer. It's time to jump in and get to work!

Two Old Ladies

2008-06-09T09:36:00.000-07:00

More stuff has been crammed into the past week than I can believe. End-of-year parties, Sophie's 8th birthday, Aaron's preschool graduation, a full weekend workshop for me, and grabbing hold of its foothold tenaciously, the San Francisco Chapter of the Women's National Book Association's 40th birthday party, which I almost couldn't squeeze in. But heck, it was on the calendar for longer than some of the rest!

I was exhausted--Jon had been traveling and I'd been single-parenting all week-- but Saturday night found me at the historic Sir Francis Drake Hotel in San Francisco sitting around a table with women from all over the country. We were moms, grandmas, writers, agents, publishers, book lovers, and chapter presidents. With, of course, lots of combinations of the above.

This was an historic event. I don't know what it is about 40th's. They somehow seem like a bigger deal than 50th's, more of a magical number. Like 40 years wandering in the desert.

Anyway, we hard a great speaker -- humor writer Beth Lisick. She was very funny and genuine and started off with, "I feel like I'm with my people." There were speeches, food, books. At the end, almost delerious to get to my car and get home and fall into my bed, I got on my jacket to walk the couple of blocks to the parking garage. Effie Lee Morris, our founding member and president of 40 years ago, and Adele Horwitz, a member and former president for about as long, were heading to the garage, too, so we walked together.

Adele walks with a cane now, and both of them are slower than they used to be. I thought of myself as their escort, but they didn't need me, not even to lean on an arm. I refrained from offering my arm, even though I felt like I should. After all, they were old ladies. But some old ladies! Effie Lee still serves on several boards, has a special collection named for her in the San Francisco Public Library as well as an annual children's book there. She held forth on the podium that night on the history of the WNBA SF chapter and its many members and glories. She would have talked all night if we'd asked. Adele was driving an hour home and does it all the time. She has raised her children, her grandchildren, and now in her retirement, her great-grandchildren as well.

These two old ladies ARE supports in their homes and communities, with experience far beyond mine, and I knew I could lean on them if needed and they wouldn't bat an eye.

7-Up

2008-06-03T13:29:00.001-07:00

It was this game we played in elementary school. We'd close our eyes and lay our heads down on our desks. The person who was "It" would walk around the room and lay their hand on the heads of 7 people. I lay there expectantly each time. I loved the feel of the strange hand bearing down gently on my head, brushing against my hair. I was a sheep in a play once, wrapped in a tangled ball of yarn, and it was the same sensation, a hand pressing down on me. It's funny. Something about closed eyes and darkness, about simple touch serving a simple purpose. It was the waiting for it, the wondering if it would come, because it didn't always. It was a craving, pure and simple, a yearning and reaching out from my body and heart.

I remember it when I'm in yoga class now, decades later, and experiencing the same anticipation of soft connection and touch when the teacher comes around and adjusts my posture, laying hands on my back or hips. Is it the anonymity, I wonder? The darkness, the whisper?

Report on the Horse Races

2008-06-03T01:13:00.001-07:00

I never did report back about the horse races. It was fun, it was the last Friday night they were open before being torn down to build condos and stores, Jon made me gamble a bet on my own. We lost several bets, then I made him reduce the bet from $20 to $5 and that was the one we won. Well, it was good to win, even though we only got $7 and lost $80.

Our one mistake: it was kind of cold out that night and we were in the cushy club area with a big buffet. I missed the first race because I was getting dessert. Huge windows looked out onto the track, but it was far away and people watched the little TV screens at the tables, and we couldn't hear the noise of the horses thundering by, or smell any of that sweat. Of course, we were more likely to smell the beer in the cheap seats. The mistake was, we were going to go outside for one race, but then we just decided to stay in where it was warmer. That was plain silly. It's California for God's Sakes, we weren't really going to freeze to death!

So perhaps the races in the summer time some other place some time. Still, I'm glad we went. We were there at the end of an era.

Imaginary life

2008-05-29T13:44:00.000-07:00

I had my last volunteer day in Sophie's 2nd grade classroom this morning. I've had the privelege of working with the kids 1 on 1 and in small groups in Writers' Workshop. I'll miss it. I got all teary as I was meeting with the teacher before we started. 1st grade is all about learning to read, 2nd grade is learning to write. They've been creating their own fairy tales and are now laying them out as a book with illustrations, cover, etc. The process has been what's so exciting, getting them to think and imagine, so that whatever comes out on the page this time, they'll have a place to go back to to imagine again. At least that's my goal. It's a new trick, and one that some of the kids haven't gotten yet. But imagine learning to find the place inside yourself that is imagination and that can create. It's a real, real place, and I can only hope that they all find and inhabit it throughout their lives.

3rd grade is all about reinforcing and developing reading and writing skills. 3rd grade is the year I distinctly remember waking up to find myself a sentient being, not a little kid any longer. As I became aware, I also became shy, which was an unfortunate side effect. But a whole creative process was unleashed that's been going on ever since.

I wonder what next year will bring for my daughter, who hugs me some days, and other days proclaims she is dedicating her life to evil. She was born on 6-6, so what am I to make of that? She likes the villains of stories. She finds the elixir of life in them.

It does not faze me. I knew what I was getting into with this one. Even though I can't believe I just wrote that. As overwhelmed as I sometimes get with raising kids, apparently some part really did know. This child is my child, whoever she may become.

Image, memory

2008-05-27T14:40:00.000-07:00

I'm still trying to get used the idea of writing "short" things. I don't mean to be obsessive about this. It's just a little weird to go from a dense novel to a breezy blog. Not that I don't write short stuff all the time along the way. And the novel itself was written in short stages -- mostly in one or two hour segments perched over my notebook at a Starbucks table. Is a blog more like a postcard or note left on the table? I keep trying to think of it as a "column" but I suppose that's more formal. What do you think?

The other morning I was having breakfast with Aaron, my 5-year old. I'd poured the water into my tall, insulated mug (because if I use a regular mug, I never quite get to drink it while it's hot) and we were admiring the way the steam curled out of the top, curling and twisting into thin air. In a life that consists of driving back and forth a lot between schools and activities with the kids, the steam, the thin air, can be an anchor for me, something more solid than the rest, as an image I can hold onto. The simplest things spark memory. And sparked memory is simply a cracking open of an experience in the moment, like Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine, where each day of summer can be bottled and savored another day.

What I love about writing is discovering as I go that "saved" and "savored" sound the same, and in this case, mean the same thing. I love that -- the unbottling of a word.

Visit My New Website!

2008-05-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

I've been told I should post more often. And more succinctly. I think of myself as sort of a quiet person, but when I get on paper (or virtual paper), this flow starts going, and a short thought takes a lot of twists and turns and gets long.

It's funny how writing and editing are such different activities, even though they often take place in tandem. I'm a great editor for other people's work. But when I wrote up a wedding newsletter before Jon and I got married, my mother had to inform me that the bio I'd written for myself sounded like an obituary, and my sister rewrote the story of how we got together to avoid highly embarrassing statements like, "When we skied down the mountain, one knee went one way and the other went the other way. And then we fell in love." Really I was trying to convey that I tore my ACL ligament and had to later have knee surgery and Jon took good care of me when I was laid up and our fondness for each other as friends blossomed...." See what I mean? I mean, stop already!

The latest complaint was about my newly minted website. It's been online for a couple of weeks, but has been undergoing design revisions. Now it's undergoing final edits, and, man, did we cut out a lot of junk last night! (Thank you, Webmaster!) So, we're almost there, just a little more to go to a concise and vibrant representation of me as a living, breathing writer.

Please come for a visit and let me know what you think! You can also pick up a free subscription to this blog onsite.

Going to the Races

2008-05-09T10:26:00.000-07:00

I had a strange choice of activities for tonight. Bay Meadows for the final weekend of horse racing before they close -- I've never been to the races and have always wanted to go -- or a unique "Poetry Walk" through the deYoung Museum with Poet Laureate Robert Hass and other Bay Area poets. Jon and I haven't been out on a date in what feels like months. We used to go every week but now, with no regular babysitter, that has fallen by the wayside. We're going to the races. I finally got a sitter confirmed at 7:30 this morning. I was going to go anyway with a group of the preschool parents but it will be more fun to have Jon there. There are so many poetry and literary events in this area and I don' t think I've made it to a single one this year, though I get announcements of readings and activities every week. That makes me sad.

It's been a tough year. Not tough as in too much work, but tough in that I never could get the schedule to work for me. Afternoon Pre-K at a parent co-op and another child in elementary school has meant constant driving back and forth and lots of volunteering. I liked every volunteer activity I did this year. They were all worthwhile and important causes, such as promoting literacy and parent education, running the elementary school Read-A-Thon and helping to keep our libraries open, and being there with my 5-year old son as he develops into a child equipped to handle the challenges of the next 17 years of school -- good groundwork for a lot of years. He has the skills now to work out conflicts and solutions with his friends and "not-friends." He has learned to hold a pencil pretty well and draw and write a little. He's been encouraged to get dirty and muddy and climb trees and learn all about the natural world. He's still a work in progress, of course, and his solutions are not always successful, but he has the skill set and knows how to practice it.

But I keep finding myself with nothing, or close to nothing, left over for me, for my own writing projects, for my own imagination, for friends, for even a walk. I went to the dentist yesterday and after the examination and cleaning, while I blissfully laid back and watched The View on TV (the bi-annual visits to the dentist the only times I ever watch daytime TV) the dentist informed me that my teeth were being ground away in the back and if I didn't stop I'd have to get crowns on all of them. "But I don't think I'm grinding my teeth," I exclaimed. "Just pay attention later," he said, "and you'll notice." I got home, and within the hour I found myself grinding my teeth. And my jaw ached. And I realized I'd been tuning it out because I "didn't have time."

So what the heck does all this have to do with anything? I don't want to grind all my teeth away. Every day for months I've been reciting my mantra, "August 27th, 8:25 a.m." That's when school starts up again (though it's not even out yet for this school year) and my son starts Kindergarten, and I can drop off both kids at the same place and same time, and I have every morning "free." Will I be able to say no to volunteering? It's going to have to be "No" to big events for sure. What about the pile-up of daily requests? I'll have to think about it. For sure I'll want to work in the classroom sometimes. Maybe an hour or so a week will be do-able. Maybe with less driving back and forth I won't be grinding my teeth to stubs. Maybe I can reclaim my life. This IS my life, I know that, and I want it that way -- this family, this life. But I'm desperate to get some balance, to not grind myself to dust.

I wish I could do the poetry walk, too. But I'm going to the darn sweaty racetrack tonight. I've been to bullfights in Spain but never the races here. I've always wanted to. And I'm going to love it.

Standing Up to the Monsters Under the Bed

2008-05-02T11:48:00.000-07:00

At the age of 44, I have finally decided to take on what Beverly Cleary's inimitable Ramona Quimby learned at age 6: to stand up to the monsters under my bed. Once again, here is a phrase that can be taken literally. Instead of jumping into my bed before turning the light off, or admonishing Jon for turning off the light before I’m safely under the covers, I recently decided I could stand there, feet planted firmly in the dark, for as many seconds as I wanted. Maybe this sounds silly at my age. It's not that I actively imagine monsters under the bed. It's just that in the moment of sudden darkness, I entertain the possibility that they could be there, ready to grab me by the feet and pull me under.

Because really, how can we know that for sure they're not? I would never tell my kids that. I've never swept for monsters in the closet before bed, or patiently explained that a bad dream "isn't real." In context, monsters are real, dreams are real, fiction is real. And I refuse to take that away. What my epiphany means for me, is that should there be the presence of monsters, I can remember that I am BIG. I am not small. If they are squashed under my bed, how big can they be? If one tries to grab me, I'll kick him! It's my bed and I’m not going anywhere without a fight. They feed on fear, and not one would dare take me on when I am standing there ready.

My kids like scary stuff. If they hear a story or see a movie and there’s nothing scary, they’re asking, “Where’s the scary part?” I look back to Bruce Coville’s introduction to one of his Book of Monsters short story collections for kids which I edited years ago when I worked in New York publishing, and that is good grounding for raising the right kind of kid for me. He talks about the delicious tingle of fear you get from a good scary story. I know plenty of kids who don't feel this way, but it seems to work for mine, and I have to say I’m kind of happy it does. It seems like it’s good preparation for a world that isn’t always nice and kind, and also a world that is full of possibility. Let’s get a little scary. Let’s get some adventure. Scare them, not too much, but not too little either. An ounce of this, a pinch of that, and it will get them through the early years and they’ll be ready to stand up to the monsters under the bed even faster than I was.

April Fool's

2008-04-23T14:01:00.000-07:00

Before April comes to an end, it is time for me to own up to something:

I woke up on April 1st and thought, “Who could I play a joke on today?” The answer came just a little bit later, when I began a day of hilarious and outrageous jokes, all played on ME! After dropping the kids at school I discovered an opera CD I’d forgotten in the car at some point, and put it on. The beautiful, sonorous voice of Andrea Boccelli filled the car, and I loved listening to something I had chosen rather than what the kids wanted. I actually smiled on the way to class! What a great way to start the day! Until, uh-oh, I realized I’d been so blissed out with Andrea that I’d missed my exit to the JCC and yoga class. But I couldn’t just turn around because that exit was the last one before heading over the San Mateo Bridge, which runs TEN MILES across the bay into the east bay. I knew from previous experience that there was no way out, I was going across that bridge. So I relaxed, listed to Boccelli, and enjoyed the view, for ten miles across and ten miles back again (plus $4 for the toll).

I got back fifteen minutes into class and it was full, but never mind, I’d do my weights anyway. First I stopped in the locker room to dump off my yoga mat, and proceeded to lock it and THEN set the combination. Oops.

Later my pen ran out of ink and then the toilet paper ran out.

My streak of good-natured fun continued as I raced from elementary school pick-up to preschool pick-up only to realize upon pulling into the parking lot that I’d already arranged a ride for my son. After that, kids recovered, I drove them to their ice-skating lessons, leaving my purse behind.

There was even more. Mostly, I felt a little off-kilter, as if anything could happen. Like backing the car over a nun. Which luckily, did not really happen, as she saw the car and waited, but I didn’t see her until I was most of the way out of the driveway. Granted, she was old and short, and I was very apologetic and she was very nice about it, and did I mention it didn’t really happen, but I’d better get the hedges trimmed lower.

So, with the exception of the Sister, I’m sorry if you were waiting for a joke and I didn’t play one on you. There was no short-sheeting or broccoli in the cereal bowls.

This year all the jokes were reserved for me.

Sleep, Perchance to Dream

2008-04-12T21:35:00.000-07:00

Sleep. I want to talk about sleep because I’m starting to believe in the vague notion that more of it is better. For instance, I did an experiment last week. I went to bed at 10:30 instead of the usual 11:30-12 creeping toward 12:30 – which usually is for no good reason except I need a certain amount of non-kid time at the end of the day and as daylight savings glows brighter each night, they go to bed later and later, even when I start baths, etc. at 6:30.

Anyway, I went to bed at 10:30 and lights off before 11:00 and nothing after that, just blissful dark, and I got my husband to go to bed early, too, because otherwise I can’t sleep, and the next day was, and this might be coincidence, I don’t know, better. It was a good day. I got the kids out the door on time without major fights or yelling. I dropped Aaron at preschool and he extracted a plastic butterfly from his jeans pocket (the jeans were, remarkably, clean enough to wear a second time and it was in the pocket from the day before). Then his face became very sad and he looked at me sadly and held up the butterfly, which was missing an antennae. “Are you sad?” I asked. He nodded. We tried to think up a plan to fix it, though I couldn’t see how to make another antennae that would stick. Maybe trace it and cut out the piece of paper and decorate it? No. I knew I had to leave, but we walked over to his wonderful teacher and I turned him over to her to continue the brainstorming process. Later, she told me they figured out a way to attach a piece of yarn, and happy enough, he left it behind and went off to play something new. It was a good day for him.

I picked up him and Sophie later from school and we hiked around in the local park, climbing up into the scratchy, trail-less woods looking for leprechauns, a year-round activity for my kids. A spinning leaf in a ray of sunlight is always a sign that they are there.

At the end of the day, I felt better than I had in weeks. I was tired, but I hadn’t become a stark-raving lunatic, a desperate, overwhelmed mom too tired to come up with anything to do and bickering with my kids over little things.

It’s little things all the way. I don’t want to be depleted this early in the game. They are only 7 and 5 and we have a long way to go. The only problem was, and I was afraid this was going to happen, as soon as I had one good night’s sleep, I was more tired that night. How much sleep will it take to catch up? When I don’t sleep enough, I’m too tired to notice my tiredness and I don’t know if I want to know. But I want to be a better mom and a better person. So I know I have to give in, and dream.

Write Down Your Password!

2008-03-28T11:47:00.000-07:00

I followed the instructions exactly when I created this blog. They said, "Don't write down your password anywhere." So I didn't. And then, when I didn't blog for a little while, my automatic sign-in didn't work, and guess what? I didn't have a clue what my password was. So I haven't blogged since November! So let's call that whole period my test-blog, and now I'll get it going for real and even tell people I exist. And I'm writing down my password. Which by the way only took a few minutes to reset -- so I've decided I've wasted a lot of time on feeling embarassed when I could have been writing. Look for exciting things to come here!

Late Night

2007-11-30T21:15:00.000-08:00

When I used to be up late, Jon was the one I would call. He was in California, and three hours earlier. I could stay up late from a caffeine high, or nerves, or fear of New York, or whatever, and I could call Jon and talk to him about just about anything without fear of judgement. He was my friend and guardian angel. And he was awake. That in itself was perhaps the most important virtue. He was awake and far-away, a disembodied voice in the darkness, in the privacy of my tiny studio apartment the size of a dollhouse.

And Jon was the one I would write to in letters, pen on paper, an old art form we used to practice before electronic mail had buzzed into consciousness. Yes, my computer is buzzing at me. The dark chocolate I keep sneaking out of the drawer, my not-so-secret stash, is buzzing in me. But otherwise the house is quiet. Aaron is asleep. Jon is out at an office holiday party with Sophie. Aaron was sick today so he and I stayed home. It's almost 9:30 so I guess they are having a good time. I hope Jon is playing his guitar. When I hear him playing guitar, it's like hearing his voice through the telephone. Far away, but a voice melodious in the otherwise quiet dark, intensely private, like your blood coursing through you.

It was quite something for us to come together. Through the darkness and distance, from disembodied to body. From paper and pen and licked envelopes to blood and oil and sweat and vapors; to life.

No Comment

2007-11-29T21:35:00.000-08:00

How the heck do you get comments on these things anyway? I suppose I could start by sending the link to people I know. Also by checking out other blogs and commenting on them. That's what I was told. I guess people don't just find you automatically. Oh, well.

Leaf Change

2007-11-25T10:32:00.000-08:00

In California, fall isn't like it is on the east coast. Most years, a line-up of maples planted along half a block get a little giddy and turn a pretty orange. If I limit my field of vision to just that section of street and squint my eyes, and it's an overcast day that highlights the color, I can imagine it's a real fall. I have a good imagination. But I keep walking and it's over too soon.

This year, however, it really feels like fall! It looks like fall! It smells like fall! I'm happy. On Thanksgiving Day, two men were standing in front of our house photographing the tree across the street with the longest lens I've ever seen. It was about two feet long. I finally asked them what they were doing, and the photographer answered he'd never seen a tree with red, orange and gold leaves. I'm glad I'm from the east coast. I'm glad I know what true fall is. And I'm glad I get to have some of it for real this year in California. Watching the leaves let go of the tree and float down. My feet crunching them as I walk. The kids collected them from all around the neighborhood in a bag like they were gold. And they are.

Lobster

2007-11-18T18:03:00.000-08:00

Five years ago today, Jon decided out of the blue to make lobster for dinner. When I told him I thought I was in labor (3 1/2 weeks early) he said, "You can't be in labor--I'm making lobster."

Right then that lobster was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen and the last thing on earth I wanted to eat.

Everybody's tired today. We had Aaron's birthday party a week ago, and stuff during the week, and by the time the real birthday came it kind of felt over. We went for a little expedition around the neighborhood with his new strap-on microscope, and then went out bowling, some presents and another cake (a mini one). But the kids were bickering and the grown-ups (that's us) both fell asleep on the floor and the couch around lunchtime like old people.

But when I think back to labor, it was only starting. We still had four hours to go. It was exciting giving birth to Aaron -- fast and action-packed. It was my second time so I was more excited than nervous, and held court in the living room till I really had to go to the hospital, where I just made it up the elevator and into a room and he came shooting out a few minutes later at 10:15 pm.

This morning I woke up bleeding, my body remembering letting go of him. I've felt like I've been about to get my period for the last two weeks and didn't know why but now it makes sense. Five years is definitely a milestone and the final vestiges of toddlerhood -- the size 4T clothing -- is cleared out. I feel it in my body. Everything's always been so physical with him. When he was born, I hardly needed to look at him right away, just hold him to know who he was. (I had dreamed we looked each other right in the eyes weeks before and knew him that way already.) During his bris, I started to cramp up. Before he was born he used to kick me in the same spot in the belly all the time. He reminds me that I live in my body, here on earth.

Next week we are hosting Thanksgiving, and my sister Dana and her husband Adam are driving up from L.A. Jon and Dana decided between them to make a lobster Thanksgiving dinner instead of the traditional turkey (which Dana doesn't eat anyway). It will be the first time in five years they will be cooked in our home and I wonder if I will want to eat one this time.

Are you here to be obnoxious?

2007-11-13T21:41:00.001-08:00

I'm stalling, I know it. The dishes are in the sink and it's almost 10pm. But then again, I've been stalling on my blog during the day, spending time picking background colors but writing nothing. I'm used to my thoughts being private. I'm used to rambling, rambling.

My two kids are loud, so loud. Aaron's always loud. Today they were both loud. They kept singing songs in the middle of dinner instead of eating. But they're asleep now, beautiful and quiet. I look at their faces, even when they're making a lot of noise, and they're incredibly beautiful, with light and life shining out of their faces.

One day Sophie came in my room when I was getting dressed. Then she came in again and again asking questions and needing me to do this and that, so that I couldn't ever get fully dressed. Finally when she came back again, I asked her, "Do you really need something right now or are just here to be obnoxious?"

She took this question and ran with it. The next thing I knew, she was performing a song, no, a whole musical it seemed, titled, "Are you here to be obnoxious?" She threw back her head. She added air guitar. She jumped around on the bed. Then she taught it to Aaron, who added his own flavor (namely, "Are you here to throw up? Blahhhhhh!) It had song, it had dance, it could be jumped up and performed at any moment and for any crowd. It was the answer to a question, and therefore was above reproach.

First Post 11/8/07

2007-11-08T11:18:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure where I am because this doesn't look like my spiral-bound notebook. I am not sure where this will end up. I want it to stay private for now, and I'm not sure if I have set it up correctly, or if that feature is available on this blogger site.

I've been reading Anna Quindlen's essays Life In the 30's, which is not about the decade, but about being in her '30's. I am no longer in my 30's. She sounds so wise, like she has really thought things through, though I know that for a writer, it is the process of writing that "thinks things through."

There's a yoga class in 35 minutes so I have to decide whether to go or whether to stay home and really I want to just stay home and rest and write. There are so few days when I can. So few of quiet and peace. Last night was Family Connections Authors' Night, so my volunteer obligations for that are finished, except for a debrief final meeting and party Monday night next week. It was the first year I didn't buy a bunch of books and wait in line for them to be signed. I'll have to visit Linden Tree with the kids. They apply the contributions to FC for the rest of the month, according to Dennis. They won't be signed, but that's okay. Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll have book plates. I didn't actually meet the authors this time. It felt like enough to just be there, and be involved. Each author had so many books! Not sure how to choose, so didn't know how to go about it last night anyway.

I called Mary E. before starting this, just to let someone know what I was doing in case my computer exploded and I was found slumped before the screen. I haven't posted yet, so I don't know what will happen or how quite to do these settings. Can this be just a personal journal for me until I'm ready to make it something else??

I'm sure Jon will find something I've done wrong with it. I can change the settings later, or delete the whole thing if I want. Maybe I'll start taking my laptop with me if I'm going to be doing this. Though I wonder if I have to be online to write a post, if I can just post it when I get home? I like being at home lately. I'm glad I moved the desk around. It was a hassle for Jon. I'd still prefer the computer against the wall. I think. I'm not sure. Maybe I should have tried it out as a laptop first to get a feel for it before moving around all the darn wires. Hmmm. It's all a feel thing for me, not a map on paper. That organizer person who cold-called me was a rip-off. Way, way too expensive and I didn't really want her here once I thought about. So I feel like I kind of wasted my money and time, but she did suggest the idea of turning the desk around, even if we didn't pursue it that day and she drew up plans another way which are useless to me now, so maybe it wasn't a complete waste of time.

I "bought" some consulting services from WNBA members last weekend at the Fall Preview of Books (I think that's what they still called it). I get an hour with Joan Gelfand and another hour with Teresa Le Yeung Ryan. Let's make them useful! It would be good for me to be accountable to someone!

Let's try this post thing now....