Ten on Tuesday - April 27, 2010

1. Songs get stuck in my head so easily. It’s particularly annoying when they stay there all night long, and at 3 a.m. when I’m up peeing, they’re still blaring around in my noggin. Last night, the song was “Joyful Sign” by the band Girlyman. I fell in love with their music on Saturday night, when they opened for the Indigo Girls. Amazing music; they are awesome. (Girlyman, and the Indigo Girls.) But I digress … “Joyful Sign” is about the way sometimes people leave you, and sometimes, that’s a good thing. It’s my new theme song.
2. What a whirlwind! I drove up to Madison on Friday, taking a half day off. The drive was interesting, because a rusty hunk of metal fell off my car. I don’t know what it was, but Frank will tell me when I get el guapo in to see him later this week. Anyway, I drove to Madison. Hung out with Elaina and her husband Chris (yes, she married not one, but two men named Chris) and their two kids. Then we were off to the show, stopping for sandwiches beforehand (grilled veggies and provolone, how do I love thee?). Amazing show. I laughed, I cried. No, really. Then on Saturday, we had breakfast (Elaina made homemade chocolate chip pancakes) and then she, the kids and I ran my errands. Beer for co-worker Lisa, bagels for me, Sonic goodies for all. By the time I got home Saturday night, I was exhausted but happy. Life sometimes twists and turns, but somehow it brought together two women (who used to be married to the same guy) and turned them into friends.
3. I either have nasty allergies or yet another cold. Just sayin’. And complainin’.
4. My budget is a constant struggle. I spend too much money on food. I like good food. Good food is expensive. I should probably eat less!
5. I started walking outside during my lunch break. There is a two-mile walking path near the office, and I’ve been enjoying a little sunlight each day at noon. Heaven, and good for me, too!
6. I dislike people who think they are more important than other people. This probably annoys me more than any other attribute. We all share the same world, and no one is more important than anyone else. Even on my princess days, I know that to be true. Why is it such a difficult concept? Why do people think the rules apply to everyone except them?
7. It’s a little after 3 p.m. and I’m already looking forward to going to bed tonight. Yeah, I think I have a cold.
8. Sometimes when I’m driving to work and singing along to the radio, I’m pretty sure anyone who sees me thinks I’m having some kind of psychotic breakdown. Then I laugh and keep on singing (and playing the steering wheel).
9. When I talk to my dad on the phone, often my brother is in the background holding his own half of the conversation. It is hysterical hearing him repeat everything my dad says, milliseconds after Dad says it. He absolutely cracks me up. (For those who may be unaware, my brother Mike is my twin and has cerebral palsy. My dad is his caregiver – yet another reason he should apply for sainthood. Mom took care of Mike up until she got sick, and I will always believe that he has the best sense of humor ever created. It’s been an interesting life.)
10. Smile more. It doesn’t hurt, and it makes other people smile more. We could start a smile revolution!

Grace

I'm not perfect.

But then, you knew that.

I am a work in progress, with oodles of ways I need to improve. Two major areas spring to mind: my physical health, and my financial health. I've come a long way in both areas ... and yet, I have so far to go.

When I'm not perfect in either of those areas - which is most of the time - I struggle to find the grace to let it go. I'm 43 years old, the little voice inside my head tells me. I should have my financial house in order. I should have built a strong and healthy body. But I'm trying.

It's a struggle.

I'm heading out of town this weekend, and I feel guilty doing it, because I don't have as much money in the checking or savings accounts as I wish I did, and gas to Madison won't be free. To say nothing of the fact that last year at this time I was showing up regularly for court date after court date, dealing with the bankruptcy while simultaneously fending off lawsuits from creditors. To say nothing of the fact that I now actually have a savings account. I've come a long way, and it still doesn't feel like enough.

I only made it to the gym twice this week. I feel bad missing my Saturday morning workout, because I'm missing a regularly scheduled gym day. Yet I can't seem to acknowledge the fact that two years ago, I was about 70 pounds heavier than I am now. All I can see is the 70 I have left to go. Two years ago, I didn't pay any attention to what I ate because then I'd have to be accountable. Those days, for the most part, are over, and it still doesn't feel like enough.

I know the road to both destinations will be long and often tedious. I know that anything worth having is worth the hard work it takes to get there. But I have such a hard time giving myself the grace to enjoy the process. Because I know that it isn't about getting there; it's about the lessons you learn along the way.

I've learned a lot, but there is so much left to learn!

So for the moment, today, this weekend, I'm going to find a little grace to share with myself. I'm going to set a budget for myself, and I'm going to eat with care, and maybe even take a walk around one of my favorite cities. I'm going to soak up the joy of spending a day with a most unlikely friend, revel in some amazing music, and let myself enjoy myself.

I'm going to forgive myself for my mistakes, and accept the opportunity to not make the same ones again and again.

Ten, on Wednesday

1. I’ve got to be a wee bit nutso. I’ve signed up to participate in the Chicago Muddy Buddy Race on August 1. It’s a relay, and my partner is co-worker Mike. The race is seven miles of off-road running and biking, and we trade off tasks; while he runs I bike, then we work through an obstacle together, and then he bikes while I run. My goal is to finish it, and not get injured. Or, ya know, die. In all honesty, I’m really looking forward to it. It gives me something to look forward to, a goal to keep my eye on so I keep plugging away at my fitness goals. Power on, Team Inconceivable!
2. Which reminds me … I started logging my calories and workouts again this week. Which sucks when you eat a half-pound cheeseburger, but I logged the calories anyway. (And it was worth it, lemme tell ya.) My re-established goal is to be in good enough shape to do well in the race on August 1, and be at my goal weight by Christmas. After all … 2010 is the Year of the Maggie. Might as well get everything I can out of it!
3. Blame is a waste of time. Just freaking move on.
4. My cubicle at work is in the flight pattern for planes landing at O’Hare. Anyone who really knows me also knows this is a horrendous distraction. I do love airplanes. And fire trucks. Although the office is not located in proximity to a firehouse, so I don’t see them nearly as often as I do planes.
5. It’s almost smoothie season! I got out my Jamba Juice recipe book and I’m fixin’ to make some delicious breakfast smoothies once the weather is warmer. May I say, yum.
6. I am headed to Madison this weekend. Just overnight Friday, when my ex-wife-in-law and I will take in an Indigo Girls concert; I don’t want to drive back that night, so I’m couching it at Elaina’s house. I’ll be missing my Saturday morning workout, but I think it will be totally worth it. I hope to get to Brennan’s Market to pick up beer for co-worker Lisa, and Gotham Bagels for a little somethin’ for me. It’s a little overnight vacation, and I’m pretty much ready NOW!
7. In July, my cell contract will be up, and by then I am determined to go iPhone. I’ve wanted one for more than three years, and I’m ready to stop waiting. The Blackberry has served me well, but it’s just wrong for a Mac girl to use a phone made by someone else. I have spoken.
8. I have a hot-pink streak in my hair. Just on the underside, so it’s understated. Well, as understated as hot-pink hair can be. I was at my friend Millie’s house over the weekend, and she wanted me to do her hair (all over pink streaks) so we did that … and there was bleach and color solution left over. Had to happen, right? I think it’s neat, and maybe even a little bit fun.
9. I don’t drink enough water. I drink water all the time, and still it’s not quite enough. I want to get my eight glasses in before the end of the work day, so I don’t spend the night peeing instead of sleeping. So far, EPIC FAIL.
10. I signed up to get travel deal updates from Travelzoo. It’s torture. I found a six-night Aruba vacation for $600, including airfare. Seriously? I may need to opt out of the e-mails just because it’s starting to feel personal!

Six years

Sometimes it seems like only yesterday Mom was sitting in her chair, wearing her "Queen" robe and watching baseball.

Other times, it feels like she's been gone for ages. So much has happened in the span of those six years, it's hard to believe that's all it's been.

Six years.

When Mom was sick, I began teaching myself to knit. Chemo took her hair, and she wasn't the type to wear a wig, so she opted for scarves and hats. My goal was to knit her the softest cashmere hat anyone had ever worn. But she was gone too soon, and the "hat" - really just 20 or so rows on double-pointed needles - is buried in a Zip-loc bag, waiting for me to find the courage to finish it. I made other hats; oh, I've finished countless other projects. But that hat defeated me. She left before the rows of yarn became anything at all.

I remember the day I shaved her head for the first time. Her hair was falling out in clumps and it was time to just give up the ghost. Her skin was so dry, I rubbed her noggin with mineral oil to keep it soft. She'd lost so much weight, but she never lost her spirit.

I remember making her chicken soup. I learned to make it, just for her. And she liked it. I felt like I'd really accomplished something with that first pot. I felt horrible when some of it spilled on the floorboards of my then-husband's car. (Looking back I think it's funny that in the summer his car smelled like an old refrigerator.) But Mom loved it (the soup, not the smell in the car) and I was so proud to have made something that she wanted to eat.

There wasn't much she enjoyed eating. It's odd all the ways the chemo/cancer combo affects the body; her sense of taste was just a mess. There were just a few things she really liked - namely, my chicken soup and brother-in-law Bernie's cherry cobbler. Any time she asked for either, we would make it. I think we both felt honored.

One day, her legs were so dry and itchy, she was uncomfortable. So I got some emollient salt scrub - I'm sure it was Kathie's - and I sat with a basin of water and rubbed her calves with the scrub, sloughing off the dead skin and leaving behind some rich moisturizer to hopefully keep the dryness at bay for the day. Sitting on the floor washing my mom's feet, I felt the role reversal. She who had once bathed me could now use a little help. And once again I was overwhelmed with a feeling of honor for being able to care for her.

At the time, I was only working part-time at the bookstore at College of DuPage. I had a little time on my hands, having been laid off by my fulltime gig a few months earlier. So I spent a lot of time at the house I grew up in, letting the woman who raised me lean on me when necessary and relishing the opportunity to be there with her, sometimes just sitting in silence.

And then that day came, all too suddenly for me, and she was gone. I was left with memories, a great recipe for chicken soup and a half-finished hat.

I think this winter, I'll wear it myself.

Ten, whenever

1. I have discovered what I consider the perfect pot of coffee. It’s a mixture of Starbucks House Blend and Café Du Monde’s signature coffee/chicory combo. I use equal parts of each, and it’s divine. I call it Maggie’s Blend. You should stop by for a cup.
2. Did you know they make vacuums specifically for bare floors? I didn’t; now I do. For $59.99 and a little elbow grease, I now have pristine hardwood. But I had to keep the beast so I could clean the area rugs. Or maybe I’ll just get rid of the area rugs.
3. With all the sickness and injury that has plagued me since November of last year, I’ve put on a little weight; all told, probably 10 pounds. Which is nice, coming in to swimsuit season. I’m trying to balance my need to take off the weight with my need to not overdo my workouts. This is not as easy as it sounds.
4. The gym. Oh, how I love the gym. Yes, I am being more careful, but I’m not missing my salsa/funk classes. I’m just having to be more careful. I am there as much for my mental state as I am for my physical health. I’d say it keeps me sane, but you have to have something before you can keep it.
5. Theater is like an old friend to me. To be sure, most of my experience of late has been as an audience member, but I truly love it. Which is why I get a little riled up when a self-proclaimed actor (whom I saw in a production in which he was one of the better performers, but when 99 percent of cast members make me want to read my book instead of watch the show, being “one of the better” is not good enough) decides to write a review blog and rips into actors who, on their worst day, were far and away better than he. He is the very epitome of douchey.
6. I’m writing a lot these days. I’ve hit my stride (finally) at the office and am being trusted to do some pretty cool projects, from naming jewelry to writing fresh copy for a super-cool upcoming launch of something … well … super-cool. I’m also working on a book project that details life in my world over the past four years or so. Will it ever be published? I don’t know. But it’s an interesting process, and one that I am enjoying immensely. And yes, in one way or another, you are all featured. The names, however, have been changed to protect the innocent. (Those who aren’t innocent, however, go by their real names.)
7. Forgiveness doesn’t come easily to me. But at least I’m an equal-opportunity grudge holder; I find it just as difficult to forgive myself as I do others. I’m working on it. Because it would seem that the first step in moving forward, putting the past where it belongs (ahem; in the past) is to forgive yourself. Then, you can have the clarity of mind to forgive others. Only then can the intense freedom that comes from letting go be yours. Or that’s what I’m learning, anyway.
8. I would really like to take a vacation. I don’t know if that will happen this year, because I’m trying to be verrry careful with my money. But I’m just putting it out there to make the universe aware.
9. My friend Russ is on a mission. He wants to collect a 10-line poem from every human being. You, gentle reader, are human … so go here and share a poem! Even if you’re not a poet; that’s the whole idea – that everyone has thoughts worth sharing. Do it!
10. Life is short, and words are powerful. The future is uncertain. Years ago, I saw an old friend for the first time in years. It was such a treasure seeing her - young Andrea, an amazing woman. I saw her in a musical and she was, as usual, stunning. We laughed a little, and when we said goodbye, I told her I was proud of her, and that I loved her. Days later, she was in a car accident that claimed her life. I remember that when I'm tempted to part ways with someone, having to have the last word ... the last, biting, sarcastic word. Life is short. Words are powerful. The future is uncertain. Leave people with words you would be proud to have them carry with them forever.

In review

Once I was just a little girl with a dream. A dream of being a princess. And an astronaut. And an astronaut princess. I knew I’d have to work hard to achieve my dream, because I didn’t know any princes, and was never terribly good in astronaut studies. But I did my best. And yet, I did not achieve my dream.

Alas, I became a writer, instead.

Trying to fulfill dreams and failing doesn’t seem to stop some folks, though, from continuing to pursue them. Even if they lack the talent required to be truly good at that which their hearts desire.

For instance, there’s this blogger. Let’s call him BB. BB wanted to be an actor, so he was active in community theater. He wasn’t very good, but that didn’t stop him from pursuing his dream. Then, he changed direction. “I think I’ll be a critic,” BB said. So he started a blog.

See, folks, you don’t have to be talented or even know how to correctly form an engaging sentence to get an audience on the Web. You just have to sign up for an account at www.blogger.com.

And that’s what BB did.

To say that he lacks finesse would be a gross understatement. To say that he doesn’t know the first thing about theatrical criticism would be another. To point out that he obviously is a throwback to the golden days of monospace type is blatantly obvious, as he insists on double spacing between every sentence. (This should provide a clue as to how “professional” he is, in case his uber-snarky 14-year-old-girl-with-a-slam-book delivery doesn’t do the trick.) But the real issue is his structure. He works through the show, character by character, constantly telling readers what he wrote in his notes.

The first rule of journalism is “show, don’t tell.” Don’t tell me what you wrote in your notes. If I gave a good God damn, I’d just ask to read your notes. Explain. Don’t tell me that an actor “never invests himself into the performance”; explain why that’s your opinion. And for the love of all that’s good and holy, do not criticize a teenaged actor portraying a teenaged character for needing “more time to mature as an actor.” At least not until the universe stops giving roles to Miley Cyrus. The teenager in question, while not perfect, gave a realistic portrayal of the angst of growing up.

To put it mildly, BB has no earthly idea how to write a review.

Would you let just anyone perform surgery on you, just because he or she had a scalpel? Get in an airplane piloted by someone who merely had a deep desire to fly? Probably not. You’d want to know that they had the education and credentials to carry out these tasks without incident.

Now I’m not saying that reviewing theater is a life or death situation. What I am saying is, if we’re going to take someone seriously, we should at least expect them to know more about the subject than we do. We should require them to be educated, write in a manner that is both fair and consistent, and entertain us. BB’s review is perhaps entertaining, but only to the lowest of his readership - those also willing to blindingly tear apart the cast, crew and staff of the show he most recently reviewed without any thoughtful analysis whatsoever.

I understand that any single review is also simply one person’s opinion, but unless you actually know how to write theatrical criticism, I won’t be taking you seriously. Dearest BB, I found your review to be froth with errors. Like that one; what you mean is “fraught.” But that’s okay. You can leave the actual writing to the actual writers.

The tough and the good

So I totally blew past my Tuesday posting. Could this be because my Tuesday totally blew?

Yes, yes it could.

See, here's the thing: If you're reading this, you know that I'm a sensitive person. Perhaps too sensitive. I've been advised on numerous occasions to gain a thicker skin, but it doesn't seem to be in the cards for me. Besides, science will tell you that as we age, our skin gets thinner, so it's probably not even possible.

Anyway, I accidentally stepped in it on Tuesday. I hurt a friend because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, doing the wrong thing. No, it's no like I kicked a puppy or anything. Oh, hell, if I try to describe it without explaining it, it's just going to be bulky and awkward, so here's the Reader's Digest version:

Tuesday was my Salsa/Funk instructor's birthday. It was also my first time back in class after missing two weeks. A group of classmates got together and bought gifts and things for the instructor, and made an announcement and had us sing Happy Birthday (with apologies to the representatives of Mildred and Patty Hill) and made quite a spectacle. A friend of mine handed me her video camera and asked me to tape the festivities.

Now, I hate cameras at the gym. They don't belong there. This is supposed to be a safe place, where we can jiggle and dance and not worry about being captured on film. But in the moment, I grabbed the camera and did what was asked.

Until my instructor looked at me and, in front of the class, said, "Maggie, please don't tape this."

It was a simple request. There isn't a nicer way she could have asked. And yet, I felt destroyed. Because I am such a sensitive girl, I shut down the camera, handed it back to its owner, and tried to hold back the tears. Now I know what you're thinking. "What on earth made her cry?" I'm not 100 percent sure, but I think it was the combination of being back after being sick and injured, the sensory overload of the celebration, and the knowledge that I had disappointed someone I admire greatly. And try as I might, I couldn't hold it together.

I made my apologies to my friends, and I got out of there. I drove home in tears. Because evidently I'm a 13-year-old girl. It was a perfect storm of emotion, and I got caught in the eye of it.

I'm okay now. I'm sad that my relationship with my instructor seems to have been damaged. I'm sad because I really try not to do things that upset people, and I failed miserably at that. And I'm sad because my apple cart got upturned. But life goes on, ever forward.

Back at the gym last night, I went to a class taught by a different instructor. Before class began, we were saying hi to each other, and I told her how pretty she looked, because she did - her hair was all curly and stunning and she just looked ethereal and beautiful. I just said it because it was true, and I certainly didn't realize how much it meant to her. But after I got home and logged on to Facebook, I saw the note she left for me, thanking me for my kind words, because they helped after she'd had a hard day.

And I thought to myself, sometimes, I get it wrong. Sometimes I miscalculate, and I make mistakes, leaving the people I care about wounded in some way. But sometimes, in a moment when I am just being myself, sharing the truth of life as I see it ... sometimes, I get it right.