Very Good Things

This morning, while it was still dark out, I could hear the rain hitting the roof. Laying in bed with a sleepy Mr. Rosenberg and two snoring dogs, it occurred to me, this - this is good. It's been awhile since I've written a list of very good things. Here are some recents.

My mom blowing out birthday candles.
My friend Chris' first art show. (More on that tomorrow.)
Coffee, always coffee.
Pajamas until at least noon.
Bob talking baseball cards and stats with his friend Ben.
The life of Mary Oliver who the world lost and found today.
The red hibiscus blooming outside the laundry room window.
Mr. Rosenberg playing the drums in the garage.
Levi and Teddy touching noses when they walk past each other.
My friends who make me laugh and cry and that sentiment may not be original but it's true.
The red candle that smells like mandarin orange.
Watching Friday Night Lights with Bob. (Clear eyes, full hearts, he's finally old enough.)
Sweater weather.
Andrew Bird all the time.
My umbrella that's a knock-off of Van Gogh's Starry Night.
The sweet book I just finished, The Red Notebook by Antoine Laurain.
You guys.

Half Full

People are being handed some heavy life stuff right now. That's true always, but this moment seems especially heavy-ish. So now, it's time to celebrate. Not the heavy stuff, the other stuff. Let's celebrate anything we can find, big things and not at all big things. You don't have to throw a party, just stop and recognize a good thing when it happens. (Or throw a party, if you want. I'm not stopping you.) What I'm talking about is a celebration that looks like inhaling deeply and taking a mental picture to revisit later when you're in need. Stuff like:

A lizard on the front steps doing that weird pushups thing lizards do.

The view of the moon unobstructed by clouds.

You stop the gas pump on an exact, even number.

Watermelon is still in season.

You slept in your favorite pajamas.

A driver in the next car is singing along to Foghat's Slow Ride.

An Irish wolfhound mix watching you from his living room window.

The library book you have on hold comes in.

A bath towel, warm out of the dryer.

You get the idea.

My New Creed

The only thing constant is change. And baseball. And dog hair.

Both

Some days are sun and some are shade and both are good.

You Are My Favorite

Thank you for this terrific card, Ann.

So you, you reading this? This is about you. (I think you will recognize yourself.)

You are smart and you know how to make me laugh.

You are kind, caring, and you have a beautiful smile.

You have a way of making other people feel important.

You are extremely creative.

You do many things well and the things you don't do as well, you make up for in joy.

You remember all of the important stuff.

You would rather get along than be right.

You have eyes that have seen the world.

You know how to have a good time.

I am so grateful to know you.

You are my favorite.

The List 54/74

I've never really had a formal bucket list. I've always seen my whole life as a bucket list. This has mostly worked out great and other times gotten a little dicey. I saw this :30 second video from entrepreneur/motivational speaker Gary Vee and it made me think that maybe I should be a little more formal about my list. I wrote down some of the things I've done already (I came up with 54) and put in bold the things I still have left that I would like to do. (20)  

I know I'll think of more to add as time moves on. For now, it looks like I'll need to start saving up my frequent flier miles. 

1. Ride in a hot air balloon. 
2. Go to a masquerade ball.
3. Go parasailing.
4. Be a bridesmaid.
5. Ride an elephant.
6. Visit Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.
7. See the Northern Lights.
8. Go to the top of the Eiffel Tower.
9. Write a book. (Working on it!)
10. See a Broadway show.
11. Travel to Ireland.
12. Meet David Bowie and Elvis Costello. (And see them both in concert.)
13. Go zip-lining.
14. Travel to Machu Pichu.
15. Ride in a gondola in Venice.
16. Travel to my dad's hometown in New Mexico.
17. Have a baby.
18. Go to the opera.
19. High tea in a fancy hotel. 
20. See the Grand Canyon.
21. Ride in a helicopter.
22. Walk the red carpet.
23. Kayak in Hawaii.
24. Attend a Native American Pow Wow.
25. Visit the Statue of Liberty.
26. Work on a pottery wheel.
27. See the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, Italy.
28. Walk Through the Wisteria Tunnel at Kawachi Fuji Gardens, in Kitakyushu Japan.
29. Ride on the back of a motorcycle.
30. See Stonehenge.
31. Feed the monkeys near James Bond Island in Phuket.
32. Stay in a castle.
33. Visit the Sistine Chapel.
34. Ride in a horse and carriage.
35. Go sailing.
36. Walk the Great Wall of China.
37. Ride horses at a dude ranch.
38. See Cirque de Soleil.
39. Travel to Positano.
40. Stay in Yosemite National Park.
41. Snorkel.
42. Ride the Orient Express.
43. Join a book club.
44. See the Mona Lisa.
45. Go camping in the Sierras.
46. Ride in a tuk tuk.
47. Climb an indoor rock wall.
48. Stay in a ryokan in Kyoto.
49. Be present at a birth.
50. Attend a music festival.
51. Ride on a cable car in San Francisco.
52. Stay at a Ski Lodge in Aspen, Colorado.
53. Go on Photo-Safari in Africa.
54. Party in Las Vegas.
55. Participate in a charity walk-a-thon.
56. Visit the Taj Mahal.
57. Be on stage with American Ballet Theater.
58. See the pyramids.
59. Visit New Zealand.
60. Stay in the French Quarter in New Orleans.
61. Ride a train through Germany.
62. Go white water rafting.
63. Go skydiving.
64. Travel around LA, doing good deeds in the station wagon.
65. Stay in Big Sur.
66. Drive a convertible. 
67. Karaoke. 
68. Ride the bullet train in Japan.
69. Adopt a pet from the pound.
70. Learn to play the piano.
71. Get a Thai massage in Bangkok.
72. Learn a second language.
73. Walk in the rain in London. 
74. Travel to Algarve, Portugal.

Good Stuff

"Mom? This bubble wrap is awesome.... I could pop this all day... Really, Mom... I mean it... this is the life."

Smacksy Saturday Photo: Backyard Blooms

Happy Valentines Day, Favorites!

Remember-ish

I have been talking about taking piano lessons for the past five years since we inherited our piano. Finally, last week, I had a piano lesson for the first time since I was twelve. I found out that I kind of remember-ish how to read music. I sort of remember-ish how to do scales.

The teacher has me working out of a "Returning to the Piano" book. It is kind of a refresher that ramps you up slowly from the easy stuff to the harder stuff. I ordered some other books too. I want to learn to play my favorite song,  Alison by Elvis Costello.  I looked at it today. It might take awhile to nail this one. It has a lot of sharps. I kind of remember-ish sharps.

At the Very End of the Year

"The days are long, but the years are short." Now, at the very end of the year, Gretchen Rubin's famous quote glows in uppercase in my mind. It's hard for me to grasp that all of those forever-ish afternoons of the past year have tumbled together to make another year that feels as if it has whizzed by.

There were milestones. I somehow turned fifty years-old.  My small boy impossibly entered the oh-so-grown-up second grade. Mr. Rosenberg and I marked ten years since our first date. We lost people and found others. We packed up our things and moved five blocks to the new house. We celebrated and mourned and made music.  We watched caterpillar turn chrysalis turn butterfly. We sang and blew out the candles.

I am left with pictures of us on front steps and on beaches. There are memories of baseball games and basketball games, soccer goals and foot races and trophies on the shelf to show for them. There are parts of busted water balloons left in the lawn from the hot summer.  There are haircuts and scars and marks on the wall to show how tall.

Rocky Voltolato sings,
Please slow it down
Theres a secret magic past world
That you only notice when youre looking back at it
And all I wanna do is turn around...

I have turned around. Now I will look forward to more long nights and long afternoons and hold out my open hands for this new year to land on. 

See you there. 

My Wish For Us, This New Year

I love a new year. I love fresh starts, clean calendars, and a new list of goals to help guide the way. I like the feeling of endless possibility. Yes, this year I would like to read more, write more, and learn to play the piano. I would like to spend more time holding my family and less time worrying about them. I'd like all of these things, but they are not my goals. This year I have one goal, just one resolution.

Recently, my dear friend lost her older brother to a long illness. A family man of faith and a Sergeant Major in the Marine Corp, he liked to use the expression, "Just sit in the truck and don't play with the radio."

We've all heard, "Don't worry be happy" and "Let go and let God," but I like his take best. I understand it to mean, don't try to control everything. Don't get in the middle of it all and muck up the works. There is a plan for me in this universe so trust the journey. Relax.

Sit in the truck and don't play with the radio.

These words are my map for 2015. I aim to internalize the idea that there is a lesson for me in every person, every thing that comes across my path. Each situation will afford me a new opportunity to align myself with God's will, knowing that whatever I might try to push, pull, and orchestrate, God's will is what's going to happen anyway.

Sit in the truck and don't play with the radio.

It's a call to faith. It's the call to action that is about inaction. It's the knowledge that I can stop carrying the weight of the world, it's okay - God and the universe have got this one. Its about trust.

Sit in the truck and don't play with the radio.

This is my wish for you too, my friends. Enjoy this life. Let the water of busyness move around you as it would a rock in a stream. Unclench. It's not all up to you. You are a big deal, but not The Big Deal. In this new year, close your eyes and hear the music.

Sit in the truck and don't play with the radio.

This Film, You Guys

Yesterday I saw a lovely short film about expression, community, and love. Directed by Jeannette Godoy, Free 2 Be Me, follows one season of a dance company populated by children with Down Syndrome. I watched it, crying happy tears throughout. Later, I watched it with Bob. He's never met anyone with Down Syndrome and it was a wonderful introduction for him.

October is National Down Syndrome Awareness Month so this is the perfect time to support this film, and these dancers.

Watch the movie here. It's a sweet half hour that will be impossible to forget.

Ten Years Ago

Yesterday was the ten year anniversary of when Mr. Rosenberg and I met. (Ten!) As tradition dictates, I'm re-posting the story of how that happened.

Ten years ago today, I put on my first date uniform (jeans/black high heeled sandals/black knit empire waist top), flat ironed my hair, and emailed my date itinerary to my friend Karen to make it easier for the FBI to track my whereabouts just in case this was the internet date that finally went wrong. This was to be my 53rd first date of the summer. I had a system. The system involved a spreadsheet.

I had been on some second and third and even fourth dates, but it almost always only took one date to “know." Know that his divorce is “sort of almost” final (#22). Know that he was gay as a box of birds (#15). Know that he had insisted on meeting for dinner at an expensive restaurant, then when the bill came tallied up my half – the only guy ever to not pick up the bill (#36). Know that I had dated his brother - awkward (#25). Know that he had looked at my resume on Internet Movie Data Base and oh-my-God was he actually pitching an animated sit-com to me over Korean barbecue? (#41). Yes he was.

When describing the guys to Karen, I used their identifying traits to label them. (Stalker Creep. Dude Looks Like a Lady. Mom Jeans Guy.) Like an FNG in Vietnam, better not to learn their names. Due to a story he had shared with me via email, #53 was identified as Naked Drummer. I tried to reserve judgment.

For some reason, I broke many of my first date safety rules with Naked Drummer. I gave him my address. I let him pick me up. When he came to get me, I let him into my apartment. We went to dinner at Noshi Sushi. None of that is prudent behavior (including Noshi) and I do not recommend any of it.

Naked Drummer and I talked until the restaurant closed around us. When the bill came, Naked Drummer totaled my half with tax and tip. Again, I knew.
I knew he was the best guy ever.

Reader, I married him.

Tomorrow I Will Be Fifty Years-Old

Tomorrow I will be fifty years-old. Fifty. This amazes me. I can't quite wrap my mind around it. When I look in the mirror, I often catch myself off guard, expecting to see younger me. Younger me is somewhere in her late thirties, I'm not sure why that age has stuck in my head but she's the me I look like in my mind.

Because of my dance with drugs and alcohol as a young woman, I never expected to live past twenty-five. After getting sober at twenty-three, I realized that I had no plan, no real concrete goals or any idea of how to get there. As my friends were graduating from college, I left behind my dodgy, short-lived college days and I went to work. I decided to wing it.

In my twenties and thirties, I traveled. I had curly hair and then straight. I enjoyed two careers that were fun and interesting. I spent time with some sweet dogs and cats. I learned to bake bread. I wore dangerous high heels. I made true friends. I had my heart broken. I drove a convertible. I read. I wrote. I stayed sober. They were interesting seasons.

Ten years ago, I met Mr. Rosenberg. Within the year, Bob was on his way. Thanks to an internet dating site and a game changing sushi dinner date in Korea Town, I had managed to stumble into the loves of my life. Now, is my season of motherhood. The soccer games and PTA meetings and wild boys chasing a dog through the house are everything. The tiny moments of folding laundry or helping with homework are lifted up in prayers of gratitude.

I think of a the final scene in Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory. Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka has just told Charlie that he will be inheriting the Chocolate Factory. Charlie is, of course, thrilled. Willy Wonka ends the conversation with, "But Charlie, don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he'd always wanted... He lived happily ever after."

Tomorrow I will be fifty years-old. I am living my happily ever after.

White and Pink

Yesterday I stopped in to a florist shop to pick up some birthday flowers for a friend. I picked out some lovely sunflowers for her and had them wrapped up. Then I noticed this glorious arrangement of hydrangeas, roses, and orchids being put together. It was large and I couldn't afford it. I bought it. For myself. For no good reason and every good reason.

I might make it my new Labor Day tradition.

About Summer

Summer is filling up water balloons in the kitchen sink. It's concerts in the park with grown ups dancing while you and your friends eat tacos from the stand in the blue tent.  It's belly-flopping when you're trying to dive. Summer is talking into a fan to hear your voice sound like a robot.

Summer is sleep-overs when it isn't even the weekend. Summer is watermelon for breakfast and the reading club at the library. It's hitting tennis balls in the backyard and one always gets stuck on the roof. Summer is holding your hand in the wind outside the window of the station wagon and feeling what it's like to fly. It's swimming in your grandma's pool while she sits in the Jacuzzi.

Summer is a hot storm at night and when your dog comes into the house he shakes off on your bed and gets you wet from the rainwater. It's YMCA basketball in the gym with the wood floors that make your shoes squeak. It's sleeping in your underpants with no blanket. It's riding to day camp in the backseat between two of your best friends. It's lizards under the porch. Summer is the smell of wet cement and the sound of ice in the drinks.

Summer is reading The Hardy Boys right before bed but it's still light outside. It's running through the sprinklers with your clothes on. Summer is flip flops. It's the beach and the taste of salt water in your mouth and real sand in the sandwiches. It's the sound of the back of your thighs as they peel off of the lawn chair. It's garage sales and lemonade stands and corn on the cob. Summer is the 4th of July parade and barbecues. It's fireworks that rain down ash on your head.

Summer is possibility and days that last forever.

I Will Remember

I set my purse down in the corner by the stage so I wouldn’t have to hold it while I was on the dance floor. The celebrity DJ was introduced and I was swept along into the middle of the audience as the growing crowd rushed the stage. I wanted to take photos of this: My group of friends, their faces, their unselfconscious moves. I could see them through my eye-lens and wished so hard for my camera. I watched as others took their group shots and selfies with the DJ in the background. My camera was in my purse, my purse that was nowhere near. I started panicking.

I have a faulty memory. I blog every day as a writing practice but I also blog every day so that I can remember my life. I make a lot of notes. I take a lot of photos. My phone, my camera, is an extension of my hand, my back-up brain. Without it, how would I recall this night? 

The party was outside, a large parking lot outfitted with tables and chairs, a DJ booth and a dance floor. Without a camera, I was on my own. I would need to remember this without a visual aid. I took a deep breath. I smelled night air and sweat, catered food and the scent of one hundred different perfumes.  It was hot. I was surrounded by backs, hips and elbows, clapping hands and waving arms. The dancing was serious. People sang along to the 80s music. “It’s tricky to rock a rhyme, to rock a rhyme that’s right on time it’s tricky…” I still knew all the words. 

Like a game of Simon Says, we did what we were told to do by the DJ. We jumped on cue. We raised our hands in the air like we didn’t care. We somebody, anybody, everybody screamed. I could feel sweat rolling down my back, soaking in to my blue dress. And I didn’t care.

I had forgotten about my camera. I had been forced to be in the moment and to actually live it without interruption, without trying to document it at the same time. It’s so much easier to dance when your hands are empty.

When the music ended and the crowd dispersed, I went to my purse. I pulled out my phone to take a picture but the moment was gone. I pressed that moment hard into my brain before it slipped away. 

The View From Here... And There

Friday night I had the great pleasure of reading one of my blog posts aloud, at the 2014 BlogHer Conference in San Jose. My post was chosen, along with eleven other blogger's work. The writers participated in a live reading called, Voices Of The Year. The post I read is titled "The View From Here," and I originally ran it on the blog last October. Since Friday's reading, a number of people have asked me to re-post it. Here it is.

The View From Here

Recently, Mr. Rosenberg was wondering aloud what it might take for him to become a Rabbi. He thought that first he needed to better grasp his world-view before he could counsel others. It made me question my own world view or as I like to think of it, my Miss America platform. 

I believe in the power of family and the many ways that they are grown and packaged. I also believe in the power of building a family of friends.

I believe in the power of prayer, good vibes, and mojo as healing balms. I also believe in the terrible power of disease, decay, and physical disrepair that cannot be helped, though we pray with all our might. I believe we can push for our will in a situation but God’s will is what’s going to happen anyway.

I believe in the power of a good dermatologist, a good psychiatrist, and rice pudding with raisins.

I believe in the power of a loving God. I do not believe that God is like Santa, rewarding the virtuous and punishing those on the naughty list. I know that sometimes terrible things happen to stellar people and that sometimes enormous good happens to those who seem to least deserve it. I don’t pretend to understand why this is true. God knows. And I believe that too.

I believe in the power of drugs and alcohol as an option to save people from themselves for a time, until they don’t. I believe in the powerful grace of recovery from those, and other addictions, that can be found in following the map charted by brave souls who have passed that way before.

I believe in the power of humor to get us through even the most excrutiating of times and that Tina Fey and Will Farrell and Patton Oswalt are seraphim zipped into people suits.

I believe in the power of animals. I believe that they, like all of us, are divine creatures and should be treated as such. I believe that the longer I think like this, the closer I am to becoming a vegetarian. 

I believe in the power of forgiveness especially when I am caught in the clenched fist of not forgiving. 

I believe in the power of compliments, giving them and also learning to receive them. I believe that compliments are a spiritual high five.

I believe in the power of time. I believe that time is relative and that someone we know for an hour can change our lives as much as someone we know for a decade. I do not believe that time heals all wounds, but it will at least scab them over if you allow it.

I believe in the power of help: Accepting it and also giving it without keeping a scorecard of who did what when for how long. I believe that kindness and attention and the offering of help to others can be our simple ministry to the world.

I believe in the power of music and poetry as communication and communion and that reading Rumi or listening to Nina Simone is a way God has of letting us peek behind the spiritual curtain.

I believe in the power of mystery to shape our days and keep us interested to see what’s next. We can have a routine and believe we know what to expect but it rarely goes that way, and that is a wonder and a blessing.

I believe in the power of teachers and that each person, each situation we encounter will teach us something. I believe that each day holds one sacred lesson for us and if we listen closely, we will hear God’s voice in some most unlikely places.

I believe in the power of the past and the importance of learning to look back but not stare. I believe in the power of this moment. And this one. I believe in the power of each of us to bring our unique story and brand of special sauce to this life and our ability to use that power for good instead of evil. I believe you are doing the best you know how. I believe today is a good day.  

Sunday In Review

Today
I let the dishes sit in the sink.
I left a full load of laundry in the washer and the dryer.
I did not get rid of the piles of papers, artwork, Star Wars action figures, Legos, and tubes of lipstick and loose vitamins that have taken over our dinner table.
I did not pick up the dog hair tufts that are floating through the hallway.
I didn't make my bed.
I didn't hang up yesterday's clothes.
I did not clean the fishbowl. (Sorry Max.)
I didn't polish the piano that's covered in fingerprints.
I left the dust on the shelves.
I never did water the backyard.
I didn't wash the car.

I had breakfast and dinner with people I love.
I had coffee with a friend.
I sang in the car.
I listened to wise people tell their stories.
I loved on the dog.
I had conversations about real things with my husband.
I read a book and ate a popsicle.
I had a Sunday. A real Sunday. An unremarkable yet glorious Sunday.

Smacksy Turns 5

Oh, man. You guys. It's May 16, 2014. This means I have been posting on this blog EVERY DAY FOR THE PAST FIVE YEARS!

High five.

The thought of this sort of takes my breath away. I remember the very first time I hit "Publish" on a post and how terrified I was. Back then, I had no idea that I would have a week's worth of stuff to say, much less five years worth. I soon realized that living with Bob and Mr. Roseneberg and Teddy and Max, I would have no shortage of material. (And of course Daisy and Vi and Pearl, God rest their souls.)

When I think of all the happy that this blog has brought into my life, I get teary. The beautiful friendships, the personal and professional satisfaction, the getting closer to far-away family, the constant creative outlet, the written record of my daily life with my family, all of these things are blessings beyond measure.

Perhaps the thing that has been the most valuable to me is that Smacksy has been an antidote for the isolation of being a stay-at-home mother of a small child. With Smacksy and you, I am not alone. You who read everyday, you who read sometimes, you who comment and email, you who happily lurk, you who I know well, and you who I will never meet - YOU are all so important to me. I have so much gratitude for the time you take to read what I write here. You have all been my chaperones through this five years of life. I thank you.

Now that I've got five in the bag, I'm thinking of going for ten. What do you say?