I have been silent all week long, not of my own choosing, but because life and work got in the way of blogging. Crazy days, sleepless nights… You all understand how it can happen and so often does.  Nonetheless, the week has been a wonderfully blessed one, even though I had to remind myself of those blessings when my little one clogged the toilet a few too many times.

Last week (I’m always late, aren’t I? So sorry!) I received a spectacular award from a beautiful and glamorous blogger, and I’d like to share it with you all. Here it is:

Isn’t it the coolest? So is the giver! Her blog is filled with art, fashion, biographies, and glamour. Pop on by and say hello to beautiful Dash.

I guess I must tell you a bit about myself though. When I was young I used to be quite mean.  I like to blame it on the wacky church we attended, but I know I can’t blame everything on it.  But I did things, one of which was making my friends kiss my feet if they wanted something I had, and then after all that still not giving it to them.  I have since apologized and been forgiven, yet it hasn’t been forgotten, as someone just reminded me of this recently.

Somehow I grew up feeling entitled.  My parents, my Tante Marie and Grandmother certainly fed this to me.  When we came to the U.S. I was the adult, I felt, translating for every appointment, consulting with the doctors and teachers on the behalf of everyone else.  And I was praised quite a lot.  By everyone.  It was easy to see myself as privileged in every situation from home to school.

Perhaps that is why I am currently so against the “princess syndrome.” Fairy tales are fun to read, but in real life the beast remains a beast, while you may find that Prince Charming had been wearing a mask all along.  As a mother to a little girl I see how diva behavior and an attitude of entitlement may damage her as she becomes an adult.  It will make her believe that no one and nothing is good enough for her.  I do not want to raise the worst sort of a snob: a girl enslaved to an unrealistic image of herself and of womanhood; not in the least aware that she may be slightly delusional. She’ll be unsatisfied as a young woman, as a wife, and as a mother. Always expecting something more, and baffled and depressed when what she expects does not materialize.

Anyway, there you have it.  Now, all of you my beautiful readers grab the award, and have a gorgeous weekend!

There’s a thread of mental illness running through my mother’s side of the family.  When I was a child and would cry uncontrollably my dad would shush me gently and tell me that it wasn’t healthy to allow my emotions to run loose. “Just look at so and so,” he’d say.  And I’d think about so and so and stop.  Although my mother’s side is brilliant, and my father’s side more practical and hardworking, they are also very emotional.  I wanted to be safe.  I wanted to be practical and hard working.  I had seen mental illness and it wasn’t pretty.

Well, today I cried and cried all day, and at a certain point wondered if maybe I was finally losing my mind.  My head was exploding.  My throat hurt.  Even the skin on my face felt raw.  I could barely open my mouth to speak. So I went in to see the doctor.  I was relieved to find out it is only an ear infection.  A really bad one, which I’m sure isn’t helped by the fact that I have a horrible habit of cleaning out my ears with cotton swabs.  Obsessively.  I have a thing with cleanliness.  Which is something else my dad used to worry about me when I was young: my need to always wash my hands and make sure all facial orifices were free of gunk.

Actually, there was a guy once when I was in high school that I liked a lot.  I was beside myself when he finally asked me on a date.  While standing in line waiting for him to buy the movie tickets, I noticed there was something glistening in his nose.  For the entire duration of the movie I was terrified that his mucus would drip on me; I couldn’t wait for the night to end.

Anyway, Victoria from #mce_temp_url# tagged me in a note, wanting to find out more things about me, probably thinking that there might be something cool.  (Sorry to disappoint you Victoria, but there isn’t. And I’m so stuffed with antibiotics and pain killers that even if I had something interesting to say, it would not come out right.) Victoria, however, is super cool and sophisticated and next to her I feel like a bumbling idiot.  Stop by and tell her hello for me.

Thanks in advance for your well wishes.  They mean the world to me.  I will be back on Sunday with an Easter story.  Until then, be well!

Ever notice how when a few girls are out for lunch or dinner, no female walking by passes their inspection? In the split of a second that poor woman has been evaluated, judged, found lacking or viewed as a contender.  I was talking to a friend today about this and she assured me that her husband and his buddies are no different.  They just don’t say anything about it.  Not unless it’s something negative.  I don’t know though.  My husband isn’t negative or judgmental about other men.

I often wonder why women are so critical of each other.  Could it be just a learned behavior?  Something we’ve seen our mothers and aunts do?  I have a certain friend who scoops out double-edged compliments by the shovel.  It’s an art form.  Almost makes the one receiving it happy to be selected, until later when she realizes that there was a double meaning to the attention paid her.  I’m guilty of it too.  Every once in a while, I catch myself being unduly critical and am disgusted for sinking so low.  It really isn’t my business.

At this moment I’m sitting in a cafe not far from home and watching and listening as a group of girls are dissecting another sitting at a different table with her boyfriend.  I’m supposed to be working, yet I can’t help listening in.  I am fascinated by this characteristic so many females seem to acquire.  It is clear that they don’t know the girl in question, or her boyfriend.  What isn’t clear is the reason they feel so threatened. There is nothing about the girl with the boyfriend to make her stand out. Other than the fact that she has a man with her.

I will admit, there’s a certain bonding that takes place between us through our mutual consent to trash.  We feel part of a team, a bit more attached now that we’re all guilty by association.  It should make us question our friendships though. And how real and true they are.

I suppose it is inevitable, as I am surrounded by my wonderful sisters and so many good friends, that every once in a while my thoughts turn to the friends I’ve betrayed and those that have betrayed me.  I catch myself considering each failure in part and wishing for another chance at a friendship that ended based on a misunderstanding or childish tantrum.

Because even years later a handful of these failed friendships still consume, I imagine holding out the olive branch and sitting down together over a cup of coffee to figure out if the friendship is still worth saving, or if we had outgrown it and we need to both continue on our separate ways.  I am not so daft, as not to know that there are all sorts of friendships and that some are formed to serve some purpose and once that is completed the friendship terminates (had a few of those), while others are a connection between the souls, some sort of craving to share the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly. These fully dimensional friendships gone awry are what I’m talking about.

I admit that when younger, injustices against the goodness I saw so clearly in myself, brought out the petulance so near the surface.  It seemed a violation of the unconditional gift I was offering, and my reaction at the time appeared justified. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could take a friendship so lightly.

However, going our separate ways, I imagine we both felt lost and hurt. While I had been able to salvage one of those friendships a few years back, I’ve noticed that the trust is slower to build up and I have to remind myself to be patient and act my age.  The hesitant hand held out was grasped with the same eager uncertainty, and it gives me hope that the others out there, my long lost soul sisters might be just as enthusiastic to reconnect.

And so, that is what I plan on doing going into the month of February. I plan to love, to share, to cherish, to be patient, to be grateful and to rekindle those much missed old friendships.

my sister and her husband after their vows.

my daughter

Something very odd happened to me today.  Although I have mentally tried to prepare myself for such instances throughout my year of blogging, I was far from prepared.  Two emails arrived within hours of each other, patronizing in tone, almost verging on hateful.  The senders aren’t Peeping Toms into my life, I know them both.  And that’s why I am shocked and saddened.  Not to flatter myself in any way, but I know that the motive behind the snarky attacks are not due to a concern about whether my soul would burn in hell.  Rather they are about envy.  It’s as pure and simple as that.

I will not laugh them off, nor will I respond personally.  I do not owe anyone any explanations.  And I will not live my life excusing myself to others no matter how much they wish to condemn me.

You won’t hear me complain of this again.  It is no more than a footnote in the story of my life.

I am working on a huge project which has taken my creativity hostage. Some new thoughts, but the majority of this is a re-post.

I spend my days looking into mirrors others hold up. Am I doing the right thing?  Am I saying the right thing?  Am I wearing the right thing?  Am I a good enough wife, mother, friend, sister, daughter, neighbor?

So much concern with driving the right car and living in the right house. This anxiety to please.  To become what those around me want me to be. I’ve become enslaved to the opinions of others.  And aren’t I taking this inane obsession of comparing myself to others, a little too far?  As if all that matters is that I am approved and liked and put somewhere on a pedestal. The top of the invisible hierarchy is a nice place to be.  But it’s safe and boring and exclusive.  And it isn’t me.

But what is? I hardly recognize my true self these days.  Don’t get me wrong.  What I am: wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, I enjoy to the utmost. But I feel I have given up so much of that life inside me, that life that hasn’t had a chance to breathe, that life that hardly got to see the light of day.  And for what exactly?

I am reminded by something I’ve read in The Zahir by Paulo Coelho and it goes like this: No one should ask themselves: Why am I unhappy?  The question carries with it the virus that will destroy everything.  If we ask that question, it means we want to find out what makes us happy.  If what makes us happy is different than what we have now, then we must either change once and for all, or stay as we are, feeling even more unhappy.

Not an easy choice to make.  How do you tell your husband that you’re ready to sell everything, get the kids out of school and travel the world? How do you explain to your friends that you’re truly happier in a 1000 square foot house (provided that it’s gorgeous, of course), without seeing their eyebrows reach their hairline? How do you tell those who feel so entitled to making the decisions for you, to step back and let you act like the adult you are? And how do you tell your parents that all the questions they didn’t bother to answer raised even bigger doubts?

I am a little afraid of hostility, disappointment and lost friendships. But I need to free my true self somehow before I asphyxiate on the banality of the everyday.  And I need to find a way to do it.  Soon.

That’s what I said last year around this time. And still, I am stuck. Because roots grow deep, I guess.

(Huge Congrats to Karen of Surviving Motherhood for winning the $25 giftcard giveaway!)

Aren’t birthdays exciting?  That wonderful day which comes but once a year is truly the one time each of us gets spoiled.  And if we don’t, we should.  I always get a rush of unexpected happiness when my birthday comes around.  My lovely hubby and darling babies know just what to do to make it extra nice.  And then of course, my wonderful friends remember me with fondest wishes.  I float on this love and attention from the moment I open my eyes until I go to sleep.

One of the most amazing things about starting this blog, was meeting so very many like-minded people.  Each and every one of you has become a dear friend, and I am happy that you’ve selected me to become a friend of yours as well.  I have often cried, laughed, and smiled at memories resurrected through the sharing of your stories, and I hope you all continue to share your fascinating lives, adventures and advice with me and other readers for years to come.  And for all of you who read my blog and don’t comment, thank you too, for silently offering your support and friendship.  It is greatly appreciated.

I wish I could celebrate this first birthday of my blog with a huge feast, and all of you in attendance.  We’d make merry far into the night, ensconced in lovely gilded chairs, dining by candlelight.  Wouldn’t that be fun?  But since passing together such an evening is physically impossible, I’m settling with not one, but two  giveaways, to show my appreciation to you, my fabulous friends.  Thanks for the memories!

Unfortunately, the only way this works is if you leave a comment.  So stop on by and don’t be shy.  I’d love to get to know all of you.  Comment on any post until Monday the 9th of November to be entered into the drawing.

It is a beautiful autumn day in the Pacific Northwest.  Sun is shining brightly, the air is crisp, and there’s a scent of woodsmoke in the air.  Hubby and I are driving along.  I’m marveling at the fall foliage out of the corner of my eye, and because I’m actually seriously listening to what he is saying, I don’t want to be rude to point it out the beauty rolling by.  At the back of my mind though, runs a thread of an earlier subject we discussed.

“Well, that’s how they are.  You should know by now.  Don’t let it get to you.”  I say when there’s a break in the conversation.  Hubby gives me an odd look.  ”What are you talking about?”  ”You know,” I say as though it should be perfectly obvious, “so and so.”  He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head.  ”Didn’t we talk about that 20 minutes ago?  Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying since?”

Of course I have.  It’s just that I do this all the time with my sisters and my girlfriends and they have no problem making the connection instantly.  Naturally, I don’t say anything to him about this.  For one thing he won’t believe me, for another I don’t really feel like having a discussion.  I suppose it’s just another way women are wired differently than men.  But it drives him crazy.

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. (Henry David Thoreau)

Monday morning dawned cold and clear, a streak of pink across the sky.  I lay in bed a few extra minutes, loving the warmth of the sheets, hubby’s arm around me, and my youngest darling who had snuck in our bed sometime during the dark night.  It had been a restless night, characterized by much tossing and turning and checking of the time. As we were preparing the kids for bed we had received horrible news.  A close family friend had died after almost a year of fighting for his life.  He had been young, younger than me, and had left behind a wife, siblings, and aging parents.

And he had worked so hard, a most diligent student of life. First at his studies, then at his job, then at his marriage, and finally at what was slowly killing him. We were expecting this call to come sometime in the future. He had been doing so well lately, and the spark of loving life hadn’t left his eye. The news left us speechless, our thoughts meandering over the years of our lives.

How many of those we had lived carelessly and ungrateful for the miracle life is? We had hurt the ones who love us in our indifference and selfishness. We had worried about ridiculous things. We had overlooked nurturing relationships in favor of making money. And shouldn’t it be the other way? Why is it that the suicide rate had increased during the present economic situation? For that reason alone: a genuine lack of spiritual and human connection. When what one places one’s hopes in disappears, what is there to turn to?

As I am preparing to say my last goodbyes to our friend, I am making a promise to myself. I will tend to my relationships; I will be more thankful; I will forgive more quickly and apologize to the people I have hurt; I will love unconditionally; I will kiss and hug my loved ones even more; I will measure my words; I will act with compassion; I will stop worrying about transient things and instead focus on the eternal; I will live with a sense of gratitude and not one of entitlement; I will seize every opportunity to see the beauty around me and revel in God’s gift of life. And finally, I will live.  I will live passionately.

While at my mom’s this morning, I watched a little of the Kathie Lee and Hoda show (that may not be what the show’s called, but I’m sure it’s not far from that).  For a half minute they were talking about what constitutes a great friendship, and one of them, don’t remember who, said that a great friend is someone who is happy for you and cheering you on even when you are successful at what you do, or when things go well.  I got to thinking about it, because so often we, or at least I, have been under the impression that a real friend is the person who is loaning you the shoulder to cry on.  You know that whole, ‘friend in need, friend indeed,’ bit.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this woman was on to something.  Thinking back on not such pleasant circumstances in my life, girlfriends popped out of the woodwork, so to speak, whenever something unpleasant occurred, offering words of sympathy and kindnesses unheard of until then.  And I remember wondering then if they just needed fodder for gossip, secretly glad at what had befallen me.  Did my personal tragedies make them feel any more superior?  Did they pretend to be strong, because in reality, they were weak?

I can say in all honesty that when I myself have acted in such a way, it gave me a definite sense of power, and it made me feel privileged that the mean reality of the other person’s life, was not mine.  But to be truly happy (and I don’t mean half heartedly), for someone’s good fortune and blessings, now that is altogether different.  It implies a pure heart, free of envy, jealousy, or spite.  Love and encouragement in bad times as in good.  That is a true friendship.

I am so curious what you readers, think about this.