Oooooo Origami*

My photos don't give them their full due, but the lovely, ornamental origami animal menagerie was the greatest surprise. They came with the journal, packaged separately, as if they might have a mind on escaping. I have it on good authority that they nearly didn't make it in the package. They created such a stir that one of the journal mistresses admitted to wanting them for her very own. I can certainly understand the impetus. I'm glad she resisted.

The artist who crafted the lovely, bejeweled creatures is married to a blogging fave. She, of the helpful and timely tips. We have known of one another since the beginning of my blogging days and beyond blogs participated in a shared project or two. It has been great, grand fun

getting to know them both. I don't have a permanent home for the folded

paper zoo (yet). But the fanciful creatures are hanging where I can see them and their message, the warm, caring, friendly gesture of a great artistic talent, and grand dame. Yes, I ♥ the bejeweled zoo and I ♥ the creator.

thank you.

*journal madness (7)

We Are Fam-i-ly*

When I first started following blogs way back when I sought out that which was most familiar to me, motherhood and mothers. Then, like now (I imagine) there was no shortage of so-called mommy bloggers.

Eventually, the focus was narrowed to lesbian bloggers, which ultimately led me to a bevy of women who are of a similar age and with similar experiences. Most are lesbians. Most are mothers. Most are writers and / or artists in some other medium.

That is how I became aware of and acquainted with Lori as well as other contributors to the journal. Lori has lived and continues to live a fascinating life. Here tales of family life and adventures in lesbian dating are of particular interest as well as sources of entertainment and information.

Lori is also co-editor of OBG and while we haven't met face-to-face, we have had occasion to speak on the phone. So exciting to put a voice to the face, some timbre to the words and their rhythms that are so familiar.

No question, I ♥ all the pages, and Lori's page is no exception. I ♥ you Lori for taking part and for sharing your thoughts and extending your friendship.

*journal madness (6)

Two-fer*

Joy. A short, simple word to express the range of emotions experienced when I saw the journal (and other package contents). Taking in each of the pages, absorbing the sentiments expressed and the care taken in creation brings me such J O Y. All of the women who participated in this project, delivering this joy, I know via blogging. Some, as mentioned previously, I've met in real life, real time, face-to-face. Others, like Tiff whose pages are shown here, I haven't met beyond the blog. Well, blogs really. Tiff was the creative force behind Wordsmiths Unlimited, which was so very fun.

Tiff was also instrumental in roping recruiting for the Shrinking Piggies, which not only helped me focus on weight loss, life-style goals, but also spurred some other exercising. Writing about The Quest enhanced the experience and allowed the opportunity to get to know Tiff even more. Win-Win.

I adore her writing, particularly her work-place and family adventures. Not to mention the word porn. Fascinating rhythms.

Tiff's sharing of her talents to help me celebrate my big day fills my ♥ with much joy. I ;hearts; her for that.

*journal madness (5)

Oom-Pah!*

It was summertime. We arranged to meet in Greek Town. I chose this neighborhood because it wasn't downtown, but near enough, just in case. And while trendy, isn't overly crowded. It is also fairly close to the public transpo option that was more-or-less a straight shot back to where she was staying.

I was nervous. Not first date or job interview nervous, but nervous none-the-less. Though I'd met three other bloggers and those meets had gone well, and she and I had followed one another through our respective blogs for weeks, months prior to this meet, I was still nervous of the unknown element. Meeting someone in real-life is very different than meeting the virtual them, to say the least.

It was the summer of 2007 (WoW, it feels like yesterday). We ate, drank, and made much merry conversation.

Tiff noted that I was a lucky girl. I agree. I do feel lucky and I'm glad to have been able to experience the 3,000th W*lgre*ns with you (she knows who she is*) that was such a treat! I'm looking forward to our next get-together. Maybe we can go in search of number 3,001 or check out that other passion of yours. Thank you so much for taking part in the project. I ♥ you, dontcha know.

*journal madness (4)

Friends Are . . . *

Four years ago (in March) at a time I was coming to terms with my identity, understanding more about the world (and technology) around me, and adjusting to life with adult children, this blog began.

Prior to blogging my thoughts (and writing) were relegated to paper in the form of a personal journal, meant for my eyes only. Blogging has meant that others now see my thoughts and words. Some of those others have reached out to respond to those thoughts and as has been reflected several times over, connections established, friendships formed.

One such friendship has an extra special connection to this blog. Nina is the third blogger I met face-to-face. The page she crafted in the journal points to a memory of that meeting as well as to how our meeting through a linked blogging community led to our reaching out to one another beyond the blogs. My friend Nina is a wizard with words and exhibits some command with a camera. I miss her voice and seeing her creativity on a regular basis. I am (beyond the journal) in possession of some of her work, for which I am eternally grateful.

I ♥ that she took part in this project. I ♥ (and miss) her, dearly.

*journal madness (3)

cuente a cincuenta*

My dear friend Maxine , the queen of zen, color, crafting with knitting needles and more, and well, flavor in every sense of the word, is quite simply, divine.

She and the lovely (or rather, dear sweet) elizabeth were the first (and second) bloggers I met face-to-face. I took a drive to blues and "Heartbreak Hotel" land and hung for a couple of days. Sadly, there was no treks to yarn outlets. But, I'm hoping subsequent get-togethers will afford that opportunity. Yarn adventures or no, I do get to enjoy my knitted by maxine bounty.

I ♥ qm's art. I ♥ the queen.

*count to fifty journal madness (2)

Blue Lady and A Butterfly or Two*

My friend Elizabeth is an artist. You should see her cars. I am so beyond thrilled to have some of her work. I will hold the journal near and dear to my heart because of what it represents.

But too, I cherish having a taste of eb art so close, within arms length. There is such whimsy and soulfulness. . . . I ♥ the art. I ♥ the woman who makes the art. Ok, stopping before I get all weepy (again). :)

*journal madness (1)

Day Five: Cheers!!!!

Over the next several posts I will be sharing the completed pages of this magnificent journal, a gifted inspiration from my good friends eb and queen maxine.

The lovely cheers to turning fifty project traveled around the country, pages being filled by some friends made through blogging. Quite the project. To say I was floored when I tore open the FeX packaging and spied the journal, not to mention the extras; supplies for me to do my own pages, and an origami animal menagerie adorned with jewels, would . . . well, let's just say, understatement doesn't even begin to cover it. Thanks have gone out to all participants but I thank you all here again: Nina, Lori , Tiff ,Chapin, M.A.W. (creator of the origami creatures--which were totally WoW) and of course, the lovely Elizabeth and Ms. serene Maxine. You ladies rocked my very colorful socks off and made turning half a hundred an absolutely delectable experience.

Journal Madness, as I am calling it, will be explored further in this space.

Now, for the chocolate martini taste tests: I tried the chocolate martinis several ways and have awarded stars (1--5) accordingly; one ranking as least favorite progressing to most favorite, five stars.

A. 2 parts vodka, 1 part Irish cream, 1 part Godiva choc liqueur : 3 stars
B. 1 part each vodka, Irish cream, Godiva chock liqueur: 2 stars
C. both of the above with a dash (or two) of cinnamon: 2 stars
D. same as A, B along with with equal parts half and half: 2 stars
E: 2 parts vodka, 1 part Irish cream, 2 parts Godiva choc liqueur: 4 stars
F: same as E except 2 parts each: 5 stars
G: same as E except minus the Irish cream: 2 stars

The half and half added a froth consistency to the drink and though not horrible, didn't appeal as much. I've lost count of how many chocolate martinis I've consumed over these five celebratory days but I enjoyed each and every one, some to a greater degree than others, but all YuM.

And re: Pretzel M&M's: I was all set to become quietly addicted to Pretzel M&M's as it sounded like a match made to assure snack nirvana. But, while like the half and half added to the chocolate martini mix, not horrible, did not knock my colorful socks off. If / When I'm choosing M&Ms as my snack candy of choice (rare as that is) I will likely choose the pretzel variety over the others, but no danger of forming any addictions.

Thus bringing to a close the five days of THE Fiftieth celebration(s) except for the elaboration of Journal Madness. Until then, let me leave you with the text of a card received from one of my cousins:

Turning fifty means

looking back at the choices you've made,

the places you've been

and embracing the amazing person

they've helped you become

It means wearing your confidence like a smile

and striding through your life

regret-free, fearless, and purposeful

Turning fifty means

appreciating just how far you've traveled,

yet realizing the best of the best

is yet to come

it means wrapping yourself in happiness

and celebrating every minute of being fifty

as if it were the best time of your life

because it truly is . . .

To which I say, hellz to the yeah. Cheers, Nifty Fifty.

Day Four: Whew, I'm Full

Day four of the five in celebration of the fiftieth opened with a short bus ride to meet mom for a longer bus ride to the downtown area. Tickets in hand we trek to screen seventeen.

I hadn't revealed to mom that this will be my second time seeing "The Kids Are All Right". Today's trip wasn't really my idea. Well, going to the movies was my idea (sort of) but I didn't choose the film. "Kids" won by virtue of the fact that it was not an animated, mind-bending drama, slapstick-ish humor featuring guys, action-packed thriller starring Angelina Jolie. My mom doesn't "know movies" but she does have very definite ideas about what she doesn't want to see.

If you haven't seen it I won't spoil it for you. I'll say we both enjoyed the film (me more than she) and no, I never told her this was my second time. I ate my weight in popcorn, which was a tactical error since the second item on the agenda was lunch. Another short bus ride leading to tourist mecca, Navy Pier. I have yet to decipher my mom's fascination with this place, but I decided to play along and be easy rider. Whatever, wherever.

We ordered sandwiches (me: Pesto Chicken Panini and mom: Italian Beef) from Connie's took seats at an outside eating area and set about to enjoy the weather, the food, the people watching, and more. Dessert (for me) consisted of a cup of ice cream. We walked a bit (more) and then boarded a bus and headed toward home.

An outing with mom wouldn't be an outing with mom without a detour or two somewhere along the way. On this trip we detoured to a discount dry goods store and then to a grocery store. Deborah was not amused, but she's playing easy rider today.

It was an all day affair and for the most part quite pleasant.

Day five is not yet constructed save a previously postponed errand. The bulk of the day will be spent (I suspect) wrapping my head around fifty and all that these days have brought, meant. There will be organizing for the week ahead and the final verdict on the chocolate martini taste tests.

And oh yeah, my thoughts on Pretzel M & M's. Another treat gifted by the new recruit.

Day Three: D Day

Meet Daphne. Daphne fluttered around one of the surprises of the season last weekend while I worked in the yard. She hung around long enough for me to drop my tools, trek upstairs, grab the camera and snap her portrait. She's an honored visitor and I am glad she took the time to feast upon my work in progress.






On to day three of the 5 days celebrating my fiftieth year. This is D day as it is the actual date of my birth fifty years ago. Per my certificate (once again, note to self, get that thing laminated or something) I was born at 11:50 AM. I am the second of what tapped out at three, the middle and only daughter.

This day began with a hug, kiss, and happy birthday wish from my D before she left for her half-workday, as we have a lunch date for later. No work day for me so the rest of the morning progressed rather peacefully. A light breakfast and some email exchanges wrapped around a mostly quiet, contemplative time. And oh yeah, there was also Project Runway re-runs from . . . I don't even know which season, or cycle, or what da what. Not quite sure what held me captive . . .

D and I lunched at Carnivale. I've been wanting to give Carnivale a go since it opened a few years ago. I don't usually go to new (new to me) places for celebratory type outings, but I decided this time to adjust my playbook. I'm so thrilled I did. We arrived toward the end of lunch service, so it wasn't hustle-bustle. The food was great and the company, well, you know.




The outing (or the chocolate martini before and mojito during ) tuckered me out and I slept for a bit.




Now I'm awake gearing up for more celebration tomorrow. Mom and I have plans for a movie and a meal in big city. The current plan is to see "The Kids Are All Right" after some back and forth over who the heck is "that Jolie, do you know her?" And then, some rest.




In the meantime however, some cake, ice cream, and chocolate martini taste tests.

Day Two: Cake and Then Some

Well into day two of five toward celebrating birthday number FIVE-ZERO and I tell you, it couldn't have been a better day two. Actually, since Michael is out of town, Dani at work most of the day, and considering I am single, I suppose it could have been better, but it has been pretty danged good.

This day didn't start with cake, but cake features prominently. But, I'll get to that later. I'd like to send big, HUGE, hugs, and kisses to a cache of friends, they know who they are, and I'll speak to take more prominently later, but for now...y'all ROCK!!

I remember telling someone, sometime that I didn't cry when I'm happy (don't -usually- cry much at all) only when I'm sad, but I shed tears today, of pure joy at the warmth and friendship exhibited by the ladies. I repeat, y'all ROCK!!

Now, about the cake. Mom ordered me a cake from a local grocer / baker. And to paraphrase a line from "Total Recall" , I asked her not to, but she did anyway. And as little related to my mom is easy-peasy, I ran into a big of a snafu when I went to pick up said cake. Yes, I had to pick up my cake because my mom is mobility challenged and getting back to this particular store which isn't on a major transpo route, would have proven . . . challenging, I offered / agreed to pick it up.

I got to the store after having consumed 1/2 of a kick-ass chocolate martini and proceeded to the bakery (after making a stop in dairy for half n half, I'll explain in a bit) where I presented the order ticket AND receipt. The clerk / baker who came over just after dusting some powdered sugar on some one's something or another, took the ticket and went to get the cake. Upon her return, the following exchange:

Clerk (to her associate, other clerk or OC): How much dis cake?

OC: $6.99

Clerk: but this is a two-layer, a'int they $14.99?

OC: yeah

Clerk: she's charged for single layer, $6.99

OC: yeah, the lady said she wanted single layer, paid and then called back and said, "get my baby that bigger cake."

Clerk: so she owe a difference...6.99, no..8.99, no...6.99 no, wait. . .

ME: HOLD UP... LET ME SEE THE RECEIPT. (half a choc martini voice)

Clerk: The receipt a'int gon tell you nuthin' see---it say one layer, but see, this a two layer.

OC: yeah, the lady called back said, "get my baby that bigger cake."

Clerk, yeah, so the difference is ... ME: WAIT..

My Aside: Mom didn't tell me I was going to have to put something ON the cake, she would have mentioned that (no matter how faulty her memory might be getting--she wouldn't have -made- me pay for my own birthday cake. Nope. Never.

ME: Well, let me call her because she never mentioned that to me, in fact she told me specifically that she'd gotten a small cake because, "really, you don't need that much cake" (a dig about my weight. Don't you love moms?).

Clerk: You know what? Fine. Here . . ::paid sticker on the cake:: Happy Birthday.

Me: Thank You.

Of course, I proceeded to muss the cake a bit during the bike ride home, but it is still mostly intact and still very much chocolate with yellow flowers and a "Happy Birthday Deborah" scribed on top. Cute.

Back to the chocolate martini. I hadn't, prior to today, tried a chocolate martini. As many of you know I haven't even been a martini drinker all that long, having been introduced to them by my former girlfriend.

Well, in addition to the tirimasu cake, the newest recruit gifted me with the ingredients to, in her words, "make the perfect chocolate martini." Those ingredients being, vanilla vodka, G*diva chocolate liqueur, and B*iley's Irish Cream. She hadn't included a recipe, but I figured it couldn't be too difficult. Still, a quick Internet search and suggestions from fb peeps indicated that in addition to the ingredients I had on hand a smidgen of half and half is usually part of the chocolate martini mix, one even suggested a dash of cinnamon.

I emailed the newest recruit* and discovered that she is not a fan of the half and half. She offered her recipe and suggested I try it a bunch of different ways to find out which is best for me.

So, I am. Today (so far) I tried her recipe with kick-ass results. Yummy. I will have another with a dash of cinnamon. My run to the store to pick up the cake afforded the opportunity to pick up some half and half. I won't try that concoction until tomorrow, maybe.

But, over the next few days I will try chocolate martinis several different ways to find the right fit. Something tells me every which way will be just fine and dandy.

Day two coming to a close and so far, so all good.

*much thanks to newest recruit. She also rocks.

Day One: It's About Cake

Well into and about to eke out of the first of the five day fiftieth birthday celebration I'm finding myself thinking, over and over, about cake.

I began day one of five going back to where it all started, mom's and she wasted no time talking about cake. In fact, this entire month many of our conversations led back to cake. She: what kind of cake do you like? Me: I Like ALL cake. She: ::raucous laughter:: ALL? CAKE? Me: Well, sure. I. Like. Cake. Sure, some are more favorite than others, but it there is cake, I'm there.

What is particularly funny (read: weird) about this conversation is that I don't recall any birthday of the previous 49 (ok, I have long forgotten the first . . . oh, 9 or so, but . . . ) that didn't prominently feature chocolate cake. Chocolate is my signature flavor. I wondered about her query and she replied, "I don't know what you like."

Me: Huh???

Mom and I talk every few days (the daily talks falling by the wayside) and see one another once a week (two, at the most) and short of perhaps knowing my preference for types of under-garments, whether it is brunettes, red-heads, or other that revs my motor, or if I prefer peanut butter over jam on my toast, she knows me. Or, should.

However, since coming out to her last Thanksgiving she's made this, "I don't know what you like" statement a few times. She's inquired as to my preferences over types of clothing, jewelry. skin products, beverages, and more. Partly, I see it as a function of aging (hers and mine) as her memory falters and tastes do change sometimes over time. But, partly too, I'm sure she is of the mind that if I could be gay and she not to have known this very fundamental thing about me, then she doesn't know anything.

I get that. But, gay or straight, I. Like. Cake.

Yesterday I got the surprise of all surprises when my newest recruit gifted me with the cake of all cakes, tirimasu (among other things, which will be addressed in another post). She and I were talking and as anyone who has had more than a 15-minute conversation with me may have discovered, talk came 'round to my mother.

I mentioned the cake conversations and that led to the admission that tirimasu was a favorite and dang it if newest recruit didn't bring one for me. And yes, of course I shared with the guys.

Her bringing me cake (and stuff?) WoWsome, that.

During my visit with mom today she handed me a receipt for the cake she'd ordered. I'm to pick it up tomorrow afternoon. It is a chocolate cake with yellow flowers, according to the receipt.

So, it appears day two of the five day fiftieth birthday celebration will have cake in the mix. Good thing I. Like. Cake.

Too Close, A Little Comfort

Few things relax and soothe me like a spin on my bicycle. Even when running errands, the time on the bike transports my mind to a much better place, making the dealings with bank tellers (and greeters) various retail counter personnel, and even rude and 'get the hell out of my way' motorists somewhat better, easier.

The Saturday of the my aunt's eightieth birthday celebration there was a morning of errands. They were all in town so I strapped on my helmet and set off on my bicycle.

Moving along at a leisurely pace, several blocks, about a mile into the trip toward the first of three errands, I approached an intersection along with a silver mini-van. While scanning the field, checking the signals, on-coming traffic, and various other possible impediments to my safe passage through the intersection I see what the mini-van clearly does not.

A green wagon (and older S*b*r* O*tback) traveling at a high rate of speed on the cross-street from me and mini-van. Me and mini-van had the green light. Clearly, the green wagon did not realize this and proceed through their own red light.

In my head I am screaming NO! NO! NO!! At some point the NO came from my mouth. The impact of the silver mini-van hitting the green wagon rocked both vehicles. The exploding sound of the air-bags deploying is a sound I won't forget anytime soon.

Did I mention I was but a few feet from the rear bumper of the silver mini-van? Well, I naviagated a safe stop, got off my bike, and retreated to a safer distance.

By this time (seconds, though it seemed much, much longer) the driver of the mini-van had exited the vehicle and screamed to all the passengers (her kids, I discovered later) to GET OUT! GET OUT! The older kids helped all the younger ones out of car seats, seat belts and the like.

One of the older (maybe seventeen?) kids, cleared and van, one foot shoeless, and got on the phone, calling the police, I presumed.

The other older child helped all the younger kids (there were 7 altogether) away from the van and onto the sidewalk, lawn of the house on the corner. The driver (mom) had exited the van at this point and followed the younger kids onto the lawn, clearly shaken. I approached, asked if she was ok, if the kids were ok, and she nodded yes, and reached for an embrace.

I obliged, for that seemed like an excellent idea.

The residents of the house had come out to see what the commotion was all about and as a couple of the younger kids were crying, attention went to them first. But all were tended; chairs, blankets, cups of water, and offers of food were extended. Later, the family was given bags for the possessions retrieved from the van.

During the usual post-accident fray; police taking reports, fire disabling the horn, dousing sand on oil, gas, and anti-freeze spillage, and paramedics seeing to all possibility injured I spied that Margaret donned a rainbow ankle bracelet and that her kids (which I noticed immediately, I just didn't know immediately there were all her kids) were another kind of rainbow, at least three different nationalities represented.

I say "usual" like this is a regular occurrence for me. It is not. In all my years of urban travel, bike and auto, I've never been thatclose to an accident of that magnitude. Of course, I've seen some aftermath, mangled vehicles on the side of the road and such, but never a front-line witness, with pictures and sound.

The good news, no one from either vehicle (the driver of the green wagon was the only passenger) was physically harmed (save a scratch on Margaret's left hand) the kids, well-tended by emergency respondents and neighbors, had all regained their composure, happier after the all clear to retrieve toys and keepsakes from the van was given.


I realized this past Saturday, when donning my helmet, about to embark on another round of errands, that I hadn't been on my bike all week. I realized that one of my three errands this Saturday was the same destination as the "accident Saturday" and that I deliberately traveled a different route.

I realized that Margaret's second embrace was as warm as the smile on her young daughter's face as she complimented my socks, as I was saying my good-byes, to move on with my day and how that memory has lingered.

I realized that if I go another fifty years without hearing the crunch of metal (or whatever the hell cars are made of these days) or the sound of air-bags being deployed, that would be just fine with me.

I realized that though it could have been very much worse, it will take a few bike before the soothing, relaxing feeling begins to work a way back into my consciousness.

Seventy, Eighty, Ninety, and the Brother

Most of mom's siblings gathered with other family this Saturday past to partake in an eightieth birthday celebration. My uncle, who is in his seventies (he's the only one of the group who doesn't discuss his age, I know he's older than my mom, but younger than the birthday girl) shared several of his many memories of his older sisters and life as their little brother. This is my uncle with his younger sister (my mom, who is seventy). The elder stateswoman, my 90 year old aunt with the new 80 year old celebrant, marveled at how tall all her sisters seem. At one time my aunt Betty towered over her younger sisters. Not so much anymore. Still, trust when I say she still possesses the largest personality.It was a grand celebration, with grand eats, and grand peeps. I'm sorry that the two other sisters (75 and 68) couldn't be in attendance, but it was a last minute gathering.

Diane, my aunt's only daughter, pulled the thing together hastily, waiting while her mom recovered from double by-pass surgery some weeks ago. All birthday celebrations are special, especially among this group, but this one had an air of something more. They were all in supreme story tellin' mode.

To my seventy, eighty, and ninety year old aunts (and uncle) and the baby aunt, Rose, happy birthevery day. Cheers!

Happy End O Day

There, underneath the bank of mailboxes is a carton, a delivery. The presence of the carton doesn't come as a surprise as there are eight other families in my building and there is often one delivery or another. I approach my own mailbox, insert the key, and remove the contents all the while checking out the name on the carton.

Bust my buttons, it is MY name on the carton! I hadn't ordered anything and when I do, I rarely choose my home address as the delivery option. I bend to pick up the box, all the while scanning the mental Rolodex of possibilities. Who has shipped me a s-u-r-p-r-i-s-e?

The excitement builds as I scamper (ok, not quite scamper) up the stairs. Once inside the unit I greet the fur babies, head back to my room, drop my bag and my pants--to change into shorts. Damn, it's HOT. Out to the kitchen to grab a glass, fill it with ice and then water, all the while my mind is spinning about what might be in the carton.

A few sips (ok, gulps) of water later, I address the carton, work the tape, finding it stubborn. I scan the area for scissors, a knife. Ah, KEYS.

Finally the tape is removed and the flaps un-flapped and inside . . .

The best belly laugh I've had all week.

You see there is a study being conducted. I'd forgotten I had agreed to participate. The instructions that came with the packages directed me to PLEASE START USING THE TOILET TISSUE IMMEDIATELY And so, I removed the packages from the box, carried them to the bathroom, removed one roll, stored the others, and re-placed the current selection, with the study selection. The research has begun.

Decisions, Decisions

Five: I know I'm biased, but my son is a very interesting, thought provoking man. And funny too.

Some decisions we make. Some, in effect, are made for us. M's current living situation was a bit of both. Much like moving back home, a series of events led to him deciding to go full tilt boogie with the pursuit of acting. Acting has become his "day job."

Since securing an agent in Feb./March he has added several items to his résumé, including some screen work. He is currently in rehearsals for a couple of plays, and will return to town with only a couple of weeks to lead into rehearsal for the next play on his calendar.

A flurry of auditions have led to his being "in the running" for roles in some major productions later this year and being in the enviable position of having to turn one or the other down due to other acting commitments.

M is not in able to fully support himself on acting gigs alone. Yet. But, he is building his résumé and I am absolutely certain that some day in the not too distant future . . .

Ah, but I'm his mom and I am biased.

Pinch Me, Pinch Me Knot

My co-worker's husband came by for a visit. She introduced him around, gave him and tour. He and I chatted a bit. After he left she told me that he commented about my age (and such). He said, "I thought Deborah would be older from your conversations. She's not that much older than you, is she?"

I'm twelve years older than my co-worker.

I was feeling pretty good until I got smashed by a hot flash. Though, flash is not really accurate. 'Tis actually a building of heat. More like a slow burn. Smoldering. And then sweat. Not, copious amounts of sweat, but certainly more than I've experienced my entire previous life.

An adjustment.

Speaking of slow, check out my take on speed dating. And while you're there, visit the other writers. Some kind of wonderful stuff happening over there where the queers write.

Five for FridaySaturday Sunday

1. Tomato, Basil, and Pasta Salad (this variation) was one of a few contributions to today's meal.

2. Dani is all about outdoor cooking, so she handled all of that bit.

3. She did so on a borrowed grill, which she arranged, because, yes, she is all about grilled meat/outdoor cooking.

4. I'm sweating* so, I'm having one of those moments, or it is hot (for real) or both.

5. Hot Dog Eating Contest. Precisely when did that become such a spectacle?

*historically, I'm not much of a sweater.

Weekend Wrap-Up, The Story

SUNDAY: The rain didn't start until after I left home at around 9 Sunday morning. I still could have turned back. The bus was still some minutes away. I sip my coffee, contemplating. I decide to go on. I didn't turn back toward home. I figured worst case I'd be damp at the parade, and / or I could always leave mid-parade if it got too bad. But, it didn't. The skies cleared and the weather was just gorgeous. As were the sights, sounds, and sense of community felt throughout the day. *that's my friend Goody, she took the pic.

The parade is as it always (well, the three I've attended) is...full of politicos, costumes, thumpa thumpa beats, and people. Lots and lots and lots and lots of people!!! What I've liked most about the three (well, actually 2 1/2) parades I've attended is the diversity. Younger, older, many cultures, truly a veritable, well, rainbow. THAT is simply divine.

Saturday: The sun was out in full force. I slunk around the condo much of the day, slinking myself right into a headache. My daughter needed her hair braided and while I love my daughter dearly, I no longer love to braid hair. After the braiding we had an errand and it is here I provided the opening for the headache to attack. I took a nap, woke to see USA lose to Ghana and nearly decided not to go to the Pride Fest. Not because of the soccer game loss, but because I was feeling sluggish, tired, and didn't really want to go alone. But, I bucked up, got dressed, and went. And I'm glad I did. It was great, great fun!

FRIDAY: I'd RSVP'd to attend a function after work which I rarely do because it makes for a really long day. But, it was Friday. I didn't have to be up early the next day, so I went to the world premiere of Genderblind.

Here again, it was nice to be among family and given that it was a predominately Black (or African-American) affair, felt even more like a family gathering. I enjoyed the film, but would have enjoyed it more if some technical issues had been addressed prior to the screening. The story is quite powerful and thought-provoking, but the soundtrack got in the way. I also thought the filmmaker a tad too ambitious as the story-line seemed to go off the rails a bit. But, I applaud her effort and diligence in breathing life into her dream. Bravura.

It was a wonderful event and I'm glad I participated, even if it did make for a long day / night (likely contributing to the headache on Saturday).

All-in-all, Pride weekend 2010 was colorful, robust, fun, chock full of a cast of characters, and good times which will blend into lasting memories.

Weekend Wrap-Up

Well, wrap-up is not quite correct. Or rather, not quite now. Until I can compose myself, let me leave you with this . . . Happy Days!

Good Golly Miss Molly

So, I'm walking down the street and I encounter a guy who is suffering the worst case of flop sweat I've seen in some time. He'd taken off his suit jacket, revealing his shirt which was drenched from his armpits, neck, and his stomach. It was only 2 in the afternoon. I sure hope he was on his way home and not back to the office.

On this out-of-doors excursion during my lunch-time, I saw a woman of indeterminate age sauntering along with her shirt pulled {too far} up either because her tummy and breasts {pretty lacy bra} were very, very hot {no, she was not--in that way} or because, well, just because.

And finally, navigating around vigorous bean bag toss game going on in front of a local sports bar, apparently closed for a private party--who thought it a bright idea to extend said party from the enclosed street side patio to the sidewalk--is worst than navigating around the sidewalk diners, waitstaff, and the like.

No Celebration

As long as the stars shine down from the heavens

As long as the rivers run to the sea

I'll never get over you getting over me *

The day started as so many others. I rose a tad sluggish but felt energized after a shower and hot coffee. Prepped and dressed with some pep in my step, I head to the train, picking up a RedEye , deciding I wasn't in the mood for the book currently in my bag, along the way.

The RedEye, with its brief spin on the news of the previous day, entertainment tid-bits, human interest items, devotion to photos, puzzles, and games is light and fluffy enough for my short commute. My usual routine is to thumb through the beginning on the way to the puzzles. Now and again, an article or feature, that I hadn't already read on-line, catches my eye.

Now and again happened on Friday. Kyra's column catches my eye. As I begin to read emotion I hadn't realized I was still harboring over my own father, and quite possibly all fathers, my kid's, my brother, an uncle hear and there, all the fathers who missed the memo on what being a father meant spilled out of my eyes. And wouldn't stop. I couldn't rein it in the entire way to my stop and even on the short walk to the office building.

As I read about lessons taught, traditions upheld, and times treasured I couldn't help but think about lost opportunity, wisdom, and tranquility.

Not to mention companionship.

One of the reasons I'm drawn to USA network's "In Plain Sight" is due to the portrayal of Mary Shannon's (played by Mary McCormack) relationship with her absentee father. She is resigned to his absence while be haunted by his abandonment. And though she has the resources at her disposal to look for him, she refuses. I think the fear of what she'd find in him is greater than the desire to have him back in her life.

My dad rarely crosses my mind, but it is clear from my reactions to other tributes, that he remains embedded and likely always will be.

*Expose: I'll Never Get Over

Five for Friday

One: Something I read on the way to work drove me to tears.

Two: Thankfully, various antics of various co-workers have turned that glum mood sunny.

Three: And speaking of sunny, WoW! What a scorcher it is shaping up to be.

Four: The scorcher days are my kinda days, generally speaking. Though, I must admit, something has changed with regard to my tolerance level.

Five: I know I'm biased, but my son is a very interesting, thought provoking man. And funny too.

Gratitude Friday

On this day, I am grateful for whatever city department / crew / workforce responsible for the cutting back of tree limbs rendering the traffic signal of at least one major intersection visible.

Oh sure, one can ascertain a safe / safer / safest time to cross the multi-lane roadway by checking on-coming traffic and carefully gauging ability to (win)? but having the visual cue has proven somewhat comforting for this pedestrian.

Lost In . . . Something

Yesterday morning my daughter and I were shooting the breeze, both of us in various stages of getting ready for our respective workday. Her (2nd) closet is near my bedroom and we often use the opportunity of her trips there to chit-chat over any given morning's animal antics and other things.

Yesterday, she asked after my face, skin. She commented that it looks better and wonder if it felt better as well.

I relayed that it did feel better. I launched into how I was staying away from acidic foods, trying various topical creams and lotions to combat not just the itching, but the dryness as well.

She picked up a small bottle of one such topical, something I was no longer using. I'd run into a store on the way somewhere, needing some kind of moisturizer for my bag. Seeing her finger the bottle, I said, "in fact, since I stopped using that stuff, my face and neck feel much, much better."

She looked at the product she was holding, making her eyes go wide. I could see the guffaw build up within her long before it blasted out of her mouth.

You see, instead of putting on a skin lotion from a similar line of products as pictured, I'd been applying a hair conditioner. To my face. I didn't even know they made hair care products. It was a trial size bottle and I admit I hadn't really read the bottle. (I was in a hurry, I saw the product line got it, and gone.) Even after deciding not to use it anymore, it didn't register that I should look at the bottle. I did make a mental note to check the ingredients before I made any future purchases.

Her hearty laugh and, "you put this on your face....for daaaaays???" is still ringing in my ears.

But, yes . . . looking and feeling, much better. Thanks for askin'.

Buttah Week

I made a tactical error. Well, I've likely made a few, but this one continues to come back up like curdled milk. Speaking of which, I stopped drinking cow's milk. I drink almond milk, vanilla flavored. Almond milk is reportedly more healthful but I switched mainly because someone suggested it, I tried it, loved it and now, it is my beverage of choice, along with water, wine, vodka, beer, gin, rum, and . . . anyhoo, where was I? Oh, tactical error:

Last fall, leading into winter I revealed to someone an introspection. A thought, a feeling, a, I don't know what, but let them in my head. Now, many months later, she won't leave my head. She's constantly asking IF? WHEN? WHAT? HOW? ~~I'd said something about feeling that changes (possibly big) were on tap for 2010 for me and mine. Just a feeling, nothing concrete that I could point to, outside of three milestone birthdays in 2010, work events that were pretty sure to bring some calculable changes, and events that had occurred just prior to making that statement that were more likely than not going to prove to be agents for some kind of change.

This person (who shall remain nameless) continues to query me because she is, "waiting" and "curious" about If. When. What. How.

I, on the other hand, am not waiting, I'm doing. I am not curious, I'm pensive, possibly excited, and absolutely sure that the change or changes, whatever, whenever, how many ever, will be received in the best possible fashion. Absorb. Adjust. Continue.

Not really all that profound when you stop to think. Who was it that said, "the one thing that is constant is change" ?

For The Record

The idea of drinkable yogurt is slightly repulsive to me. I can hardly eat traditional (American) yogurt due to texture issues. When I do partake I prefer the addition nuts or granola.

I am a fan of Greek yogurt, though I haven't tried the brand given two thumbs up by eb and qm. I will be seeking it out. I've already discovered my nearest local grocer doesn't carry that brand, but I'm sure I can find it in the city or at one of the larger stores in town.

And yes, I realize this post had nothing at all to do with Buttah, I just love that look on his face. He shares such a look, pose with me at least twice a day. I don't know what's on his mind. Heh, it could be yogurt.

Thought You'd Like To Know

A. I wasn't remiss in posting pics of the cat (either of them) all dressed up. That phenomenon has yet to take place. When or if, you'll be so apprised.

B. The dog. diva that she is suffers in silence with the dresses, sweaters, polo shirts, head gear (antlers**I'm sure I posted a pic, but can't remember when, or the tag, or anything. Ah well) and hair-dos. Right now she's sporting a kind of top knot thingy. I'll try to get her to strike a pose. So far, she hasn't been very accommodating.

C. I have a new, new recruit. She is a dream compared to the previous new and though I didn't know the second new well, this new seems to out-distance her in experience, logic, and demeanor. It has only been a couple of weeks, but so far so . . . fantastic!

D. I read a Dr. Suess quote some time ago that continues to speak for me: "Don't cry because it is over, smile because it happened."

And a question: Drinkable yogurt. Yay or Nay?

Sun Day

Some days stretch out before you like bands of gold. You awake with a clear picture of what you'd like to accomplish and everything from the aches and pains, to the worries and concerns, work in concert to make the day a high energy, high achieving day.

Thank goodness for some of those days. Thank goodness those days happen just when they seem needed most.

ex*or*cise

my daughter: she's in emotional pain and there isn't much i can do except be here. i try to say the right things.

it doesn't feel right. it doesn't feel enough.

i don't wish the fella any harm, but damn him for hurting her so with his cowardly approach.

my mother: she is physical (and emotional) pain. i do what i can, when i can. but, it never seems enough.

{insert: sigh}

Change Will Do You Good ?

There is a change jar with a counter on my desk in my office at work. I don't happen to think it, as a product, it is all that noteworthy. But, it seems to garner a lot of attention. Perhaps, too much attention. I happen to like the jar and I like that it sits on my desk in my office at work. But, perhaps I should change the jar to a less prominent location.

Speaking of my office, yesterday I had a meeting with a couple of representatives from some company looking to have our company expand the services their company provides to our company. As is usually the case in these tandem sit-downs (I was totally bamboozeled by the guy who scheduled the meet, I didn't warn tell me about the other guy joining us) one of the two does most of the talking. The other is there to punctuate and to spit performance stats.

During this meet the second guy did what the second guy normally does but he also did something else. Every few minutes he checked out of the meeting and checked out my office. He read labels on boxes and cabinets, checked out photos on my walls and cabinets. He took note of every note tacked to each of the bulletin boards. He drank it all in. It was a tad disconcerting. I mean, I'm not ashamed of anything I have up and about, or I wouldn't have it up and about, but his taking measure of it all, so deep, so intently, during the meeting, no less, made me feel . . . exposed.

I don't know, maybe it was me. Maybe I was just upset that I'd forgotten to call to cancel the damn meeting, as it was probably the last (or, next to last) thing I wanted or needed to do. Maybe I took special note of his obvious notice of everything (including the change jar) because of the attention the change jar had been getting.

Perhaps, it is some kind of sign that something needs to, is going to, change.

Heading Into The Weekend Update

This week, Thursday was my Friday as I took the day off from work to get

a jump on weekend chores, specifically, yard work. But, Friday began with a bang in the way of thunderstorms. I was able to get outside some, but not nearly as I'd intended. Ah well, there is still tomorrow.

Also, it has been cool (again). Temps hovering around the 50s during the day and dipping to the 40s at night. I had to fire up the heat again, at least in my bedroom and the bathroom. If there is anything I can't stand, it is going into a cold bathroom in the middle of the night. However, I am determined not to pull out the blankets again. Not until after September (or maybe August) at least.

My son filmed his first commercial this week. Wooo Hooo. Though, excitement is tempered a bit. He was an extra in a non-union shoot. But still, it was for a major (national) product, with a major production company. Though, becoming a commercial (that is to say, advertising talking head) success isn't where his artistic goals lie. They do pay well and well, that is a goal. He's had an agent since early March (or late February) and she has been, as he says, "on it". He's had multiple audition days recently. The next good role, great offer, is just around the way.

"The Boys" have gone . . . well, not quite viral. But, a bit more exposed.

This weekend is, as everyone and their mother knows, Mother's Day. As in years past, I will be taking my mother out. This year I'll have re-enforcements in the body of one of my cousins. She and I were going to hook up to take mom out for her birthday later this month, but cousin will be out of town during that time. I'm not looking forward to the outing. My mother really is not restaurant approved but at least there will be one other person to provide support. I suppose I could go back to plan A and cook here, but I'm not really feeling up to that, either.

My own Mother's Day treat will be delayed until my two can sync their schedules and finances and such. It shall be all good, whenever.

I haven't been out socially too much in recent weeks, due primarily to my outbreak. It was bad, got better, got bad again and then again (as in now) better. Clearly, I am going through something . . . hormonal? Whatever it is, it is forcing very deliberate eating, drinking, and other . . . choices.

My daughter did accompany me to the roller derby last week. We had a blast!! We were nearly creamed by a guy barreling his Range Rover through a red light, trying (we presume by his Blackhawk's jersey) to get to the game, as we were in the vicinity of the United Center. But, beyond that harrowing experience, we had a great time at the match.

A funny thing happened on the way to getting a couple of beers. My daughter was wearing a green t-shirt with some kind of saying, green shirts are for pimps or something like that. The bartender lady, in full flirt mode, said, "I like your shirt." (add the giggle). I countered with, "I like the other one, Re-hab is for Quitters." Bartender lady said, "what?" I repeated the shirt's slogan, to which bartender lady said, "Twitter...I just don't get twitter! Too old I guess."

. . . and with that, I'm out.