Still Snowing

February 8th, 2013 § Comments Off on Still Snowing § permalink

Despite the inauspicious start to our day, and a few tantrums by the girl, we weathered our first day of snow pretty well. The boy soon tired of Wii, and the girl and Tab decided that the outdoors was much more inviting than the indoors. All three spent a few hours outside making snowballs and snowmen and snow mayhem. I stayed cozy inside making hallah bread, fresh marshmallows, dough for hamentaschen (Purim cookies), and a turkey stock that made the house smell yummy (I froze the carcass of the turkey after Thanksgiving, and today seemed the perfect day to cook it). Then Beetle and I took a nice walk in the snow, and we had a lovely family dinner. The little ones are in our room tonight, as the wind is a slightly terrifying, but not so terrifying that we didn’t squeeze in a little after-dinner dance party.

Adam worked from home. He had a conference call this morning and I of course had my run, but the kids were still around. We threatened them with bodily harm if they interrupted Adam’s call. Well, not bodily harm. The only thing more scary than bodily harm. We threatened them with no electronics. Adam said, “Do not interrupt me unless the house in one fire.”

“What if one of us goes into cardiac arrest?” the boy asked.

“Fine,” I said. “You can get Daddy if you go into cardiac arrest.”

“What if we break a leg or an arm?” Pie asked.

I thought a moment. “If you break a leg or an arm, leave Daddy alone. Run across the street and get Beetle.”
They were not pleased.

We have enough supplies to get us through a while. Keaton and I stopped at Trader Joe’s after our run, and I grabbed milk (1%–the fat free was completely sold out). The bread aisle was decimated. As was the ice cream bin. Because isn’t that what everyone wants when it’s freezing out? Ice cream? According to our town e-mail list, we were lucky to get milk as most places were completely out. The line at Trader Joe’s snaked around three aisles, except our TJs doesn’t do one line and the frustrated cashiers kept telling everyone to simply pick a lane. Which we did. And we were in and out in minutes. Of course, Starbucks is one long line, and there was nothing to do but wait in it because you can’t have an 8-mile run without a post-run coffee. It’s illegal. Or so I hear.

No valentines were made today. The book report is undone. Science fair project? The topic hasn’t even been picked out. But we’re all still speaking to each other, so I guess we’re doing okay. And there’s always tomorrow.

The Best of Intentions

February 8th, 2013 § Comments Off on The Best of Intentions § permalink

In case anyone was wondering, 10:06 a.m. is when I caved. Pie is over at Tab’s house watching the American Girl “McKenna” movie. Doodles is on the Wii. And I just finished an amazing 8 mile run with Keaton and I’m headed for a nice long bath. But, dammit, we WILL have family time later. I think….

Blizzard of ’13

February 7th, 2013 § 2 comments § permalink

We threatened our son the other day with a cattle prod. Instead of becoming upset, he merely scoffed at us. “You know,” he said, “they don’t use cattle prods anymore. They use tasers.”

Adam and I are so trapped in the 20th century.

With school canceled, Adam’s office closed, and a snow emergency in effect, we’re guaranteed a nice quiet, sunny day tomorrow. I wouldn’t mind some real snow–my snow shoes are crying in the basement from lack of use and the kids have been looking longingly at their sleds. But I’m skeptical. Too much hype. Two feet of snow? We’ll see. But just in case, I did load up on hot chocolate and I’m steeling myself for the onslaught of “Can I go on the computer?” “Can I watch a show?” “Can I play Wii?” I plan on standing firm. The kids have valentines to make, a book report to write for the little one, a science project for the big one, and loads of books to read. So, yeah, we’ll be watching TV all day.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

I Heart My Writer’s Group

January 23rd, 2013 § 1 comment § permalink

My novel needed a new first chapter. I had one that jumped in time, and it was confusing. I had another that sort of plopped you into the novel in a way that didn’t draw the reader in. So I went back to the drawing board (or the computer screen, as the case may be) and wrote a new first chapter. I found the perfect point in time for the novel to start. I wrote beautiful words that just fell into place. I read it and read it again, and it was just right.

Then I realized that toward the end of my book, there was a scene missing. It wasn’t glaring, no one was going to read the novel and think, “Hey, why wasn’t that in there!” but it’s a scene that just makes sense to have, I thought. So I wrote it. Wasn’t sure about it. Did it come across as filler or did it really further my plot along? Was it believable? Did it drag?

This morning I had my writing group. Oh how I love my writing group. For starters, being in a room with other writers means being with people who simply understand. Who don’t ask why my novel isn’t for sale. Who don’t ask why I don’t just publish something. Who empathize that it takes years to–I almost wrote “perfect,” but to a writer, nothing is ever “perfected”–finish a novel to a writer’s almost satisfaction. Then, of course, is the feedback. My group has fresh eyes and can see things I miss, can tell me where holes need to be filled. The world of my novel is so firmly grounded in my mind that I can make leaps that a reader might not make. And the group can call me on those.

We went over my two new chapters. And as suspected, one needs a lot of work and one is great as is. But, of course, as you can probably guess, I had it backwards. They didn’t buy my first chapter. I think “baffled” was the word one of them used. Whereas for the chapter I was uncertain about words like “adored” and “loved” were bandied about. When they explained why they were confused by the first chapters, I wanted to smack myself on the head for not seeing it. And when they showed what they liked about that other chapter, it became clear to me that, “Yes, this really is a critical part of the story.”

So now, it’s back to Chapter 1, which isn’t as scary as it seems, because Chapters 2 through 22 are in great shape. I just need to get that Chapter 1 so compelling that the reader feels s/he must keep reading. Back to the computer screen!

When I Grow Up…

January 16th, 2013 § Comments Off on When I Grow Up… § permalink

On Sunday, Pie and Jasmine were making friendship bracelets in the kitchen while I was reading a book in the family room. I wasn’t paying too much attention, but I heard them say something about “fat” and “thin” so I perked my ears up. I missed that conversation completely, but I did hear this exchange:

Pie: When we grow up, we’ll have wrinkles.
Jasmine: Yeah, like your mom.
Pie: My mom doesn’t have wrinkles! Well, I guess she does.

Way to stand up for your mom, Pie!

And this was after Pie and I were reading Rebecca and the Movies together. It’s a story about the American Girl Rebecca Rubin, who lived in New York in 1914. She’s the daughter of immigrants, trying to lead an assimilated Jewish life amidst the goyim.

In the opening of the book, Rebecca is listening to a phonograph at the candy store with her friend. There’s a picture:
RebPhonoSet
Which led to a conversation:
Pie: Mom, you played records when you were little, right?
Me: Yep.
Pie: So you just put the plastic on the machine?
Me: Uh huh.
Pie: So did your record player look just like Rebecca Rubin’s record player?

Yes, sweetie. My Victrola was a hand-cranked machine that I used to listen to the newest Irving Berlin tune. Oh that Irving Berlin! He was so divine!

Of course, the reality of it is really the same to her. Irving Berlin and the truth–the first single I purchased was “Run Joey Run,” which is a hell of a lot more embarrassing than anything that came up in the 1910s–are close enough in her mind: They’re both ancient music.

This week I received my e-mail from Amazon: “Free MP3 Versions of CDs You’ve Bought!” Amazon’s new program searches your order history for CDs so you can download the MP3s. It’s a virtual walk down memory lane. Or in this case, a listen. Upstairs, in the dark recesses of a closet, I have all my CDs. I haven’t looked at most of them for years. So getting this visual of songs 1) reminded me how much music I have that I really enjoy but don’t listen to anymore and 2) brought me back to a different era of my life. My heaviest CD purchases happened when I worked at Amazon, right after it launched the music store. I had about three years of heavy CD purchases. All the various periods of my Seattle years lay before me: my chanteuse phase (Diana Krall, Edith Piaf, Karrin Allyson); my world music phase (Manu Negra, Youssou N’Dour); my hip chick phase (Belle and Sebastian, April March), to name but a few. Over 1,000 songs were added, reminding me of Seattle bars, ex-boyfriends, rain. That song list is a history of my life in Seattle. And I realized, nothing makes you feel older than seeing the music you used to listen to. Phil Collins and I’m in twelfth grade, catching rides at lunch to the Hoagie Hut. Mazzy Star and I’m in my illegal apartment on 10th Street in Alphabet City. Fun Lovin’ Criminals and Adam and I just started dating. I played some clips from the various songs until Doodles ran screaming from the room. Although it doesn’t take much any more to make the boy run screaming.

Last week Pie, Doodles, and I were driving, and while at a stop light, a group of girls slowly walked by.
“Hey, isn’t that H?” I asked.
The boy said, “Nope.”
“No, I’m pretty sure that’s her. You know who I mean. The sister of M. You know, M from Cub Scouts.”
“That’s not her.” The boy was certain.
“I really think it’s her. Hey! Look! There’s their mom! It is H!”
“It’s not them, Mom!” Doodles protested.
“What are you talking about? Of course it’s them!” I’m looking right at them and can clearly see who it is.
“Just don’t stop. Please! It’s mortifying!”
“Mortifying? You’ll be mortified if I speak to them?”
“Yes!”
“It doesn’t mortify you when I speak to other people.”
“Yes, it does,” he told me. “I just don’t tell you.”
And I thought, “Ah, we’ve now come to this,” and I flashed back to my father mortifying me by speaking to my friends. My father only had to suggest speaking to my friends for me to want to crawl into a hole with my humiliation. The torch has been passed. I am now old enough that I mortify my son.

The universe (or at least my kids) is trying to send me a message. I’m old. My music belongs on a Victrola. And it’s time I start using wrinkle cream.

More of the Same

January 9th, 2013 § Comments Off on More of the Same § permalink

Our thermostat has this nifty little feature that when we go into an energy efficient mode, it shows a little leaf. I think it’s for temperatures above 72 in the summer and below 68 in the winter. I can unequivocally say that I have yet to see that leaf this winter. Although by this weekend the temps will be spring-like, which will just throw my body out of whack. Pick a season, folks, and stick with it.

Sunday night my son wanted to stay up. “I’m going to watch Downton Abbey with you guys!” he announced.

“You really want to see it?” I asked.

“Any TV is good,” he told us.

I forbade him from starting Downton Abbey in the third season. So today, after school while Pie was at dance class, we Netflixed the first episode of season one. I will say, I now get all that entail crap that I found so hard to follow at first. What was up with me? It’s pretty simple stuff.

He watched the first episode. He was uncomfortable with kissing (both straight and gay, so at least I know it has nothing to do with his own burgeoning sexual preferences, and by “burgeoning,” I mean “nonexistent”), but seemed engaged. Yet, disappointingly, at the end, he declared it “kinda boring.” I was so looking forward to re-living seasons one and two with him, although I suppose the Turk dying in bed is best left unexplained to a 4th grader. Another touching mother-son experience lost.

In the meantime, 2013 is looking a lot like 2012. The girl won’t sleep. The boy is plotting plans too big for his britches. Adam is stressed. And my novel is not writing itself. Bummer.

Brrrr

January 3rd, 2013 § Comments Off on Brrrr § permalink

This morning when I woke up, I thought about a run. My general rule is that if the temperature is above 20 degrees, I’m willing to run in it solo. I’ll run in lower temperatures, but only with friends. A quick peek at weather.com showed the temperature was 23 degrees. I was excited for a nice brisk run. And then something made me look back and I saw that 23 was the high for the day. I had to click on the “right now” for the moment’s temperature. Which was 3 degrees. With a wind chill of -9 degree. Hello basement elliptical trainer!

I hate coming home from Miami Beach.

Miami Beach is such bliss. We spa’d it. We ate it. We drank it. We visited tourist sites. We visited friends. We had ice cream.

Making art with Nana

Making art with Nana

Fairchild Tropical Gardens

Fairchild Tropical Gardens

First year she made it up till midnight

First year she made it up till midnight

Kayaking on Biscayne Bay

Kayaking on Biscayne Bay

Relaxing on New Year's Day

Relaxing on New Year’s Day

But it’s not real life and as much as I always say I’d like to move back, I know that the fun we have comes only from being there once a year. Plus, as much as I complain about the cold, I have become fond of the change of seasons.

And coming back has its upsides. Right before we left, I sent my new novel to my agent and she responded telling me, “It’s not there yet.” I was blue about it for a bit, but then I gave myself the distance of the break and I have a whole bunch of new ideas I’m really excited to try. I’ve also been on a huge family history kick (but that’s a post or twelve for another time), and I met some relatives while home who showed me old pics and I discovered some relatives I didn’t even know I had, and it’s all providing fabulous inspiration for my novel, which takes place in 1935. With my bounty of information, it’s time to dig back into the novel!

So I’ll just make more tea, wrap on another scarf, and get back to business. 2013. It’s going to be the year of the novel!

Almost Done with 2012

December 31st, 2012 § Comments Off on Almost Done with 2012 § permalink

Top Chef should have a new quick fire: The contestants should have to cook a meal in my mom’s kitchen. It’s not that it’s small. Plenty are smaller. It’s that what you’ll find is hit or miss. Brown sugar from the last century. A teaspoon if vanilla, when you really need a tablespoon. A white substance that I’m going to assume was flour. But I muddled through. I don’t think those Top Chefs could have, though.

I feel like I should give some sort of poignant round-up of 2012, but that’s really not my style. So instead, I’ll leave you with a happy new year. Here’s to hoping 2013 doesn’t suck.

20121231-232751.jpg

Playing with Fire

December 29th, 2012 § Comments Off on Playing with Fire § permalink

Miami is the last place in this country that is full of smokers. And I love it! Okay, I don’t love sitting at a lovely bayside table having lunch while the table next to me lights up. And I don’t like the smell in my clothes and my hair after a night out at my favorite dive bar. But the matches. Oh the matches! I heart the matches. Whereas restaurants in the Boston area now have a delicate box of business cards and maybe some mints, the restaurants here have big jars full of matchbooks. And I can’t contain myself. Which makes Adam more than a little crazy, when I come home with a purse full of matches. BUT I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT MY MATCHES! I know I’ve said this before, but all those matches are going to be awfully handy when this global warming thing wreaks more of its havoc and we lose power or gas or something and we’ll need matches and I WILL HAVE THEM! Although that’s probably not something I should post on my blog because when that global warming thing wreaks havoc there will most likely be a run on matches and all of you will descend upon my house for my matches, but you won’t be able to get to them because there will be a moat of fire around my house created by a small fraction of those matches so you won’t be able to touch my matches. Mine!

What made it worse is that apparently Teener Tuna and Rach have a matchbook thing as well, although I don’t think their neuroses run as deeply as mine does. But when we went out for lunch yesterday with our daughters, we kept remembering, “Oh! I need matches!” and we’d each get up to retrieve a handful. As Adam said in horror when he saw my stash, “You guys are going to be in charge of the post-apocalyptic camp fire.” Yes, we are. And no zombie s’mores for you!

In other news, things are bigger in Miami. Well, not the buildings; they’re the same size. Not the food; portions are pretty reasonable here. Not the bellies; people are skinny, skinny, skinny. Just… things…

photo-6

I wonder if those things are flammable. I’ve got some matches to test that out…

Midlife Crises

December 22nd, 2012 § 1 comment § permalink

Adam: Now, I’m just warning you. This new decade? I’m thinking about trying some new things.

Me, thinking Skydiving? Polyamory? Quitting his job to “find himself”? : Um, like what?

Adam: Like sushi. I think I might want to try sushi again. Just letting you know so you won’t be shocked when I do it.

Baby steps, Adam. Baby steps in your 40s. Don’t take it so fast!

  • Who I Am

    I read, I write, I occasionally look to make sure my kids aren't playing with matches.

    My novel, MODERN GIRLS will be coming out from NAL in the spring of 2016.

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