Mooth Looking

I think it's a fair indication of how much I needed a vacation that I left two posts about my deodorant difficulties up for ten days and thought nothing of it...what a treat for folks visiting my blog for the first time! (I'll have to check Statcounter to see if I got any hits from people Googling The Secret who found themselves in the midst of my Ocean Breeze/Glacier Mist dilemma).

Anyway...vacation was AMAZING. What a week. I woke up in Chicago Sunday morning, flew to Boston, then Steve and I drove further north into the woods of Maine than I ever thought possible.

My sister and her husband (both of whom are much more nature-savvy than I am; they even registered at L.L. Bean for their wedding...) found a house to rent on Mooselookmeguntic Lake. And yes, it took me the better part of the week to figure out how to pronounce it. The area is known for beautiful sights, scenic hikes, and amazing waterways, all of which recalibrated my inner world into a much more balanced place. We spent hours floating around on Styrofoam noodles, looking up at mountains and miles of ice-blue sky (my sister and I also worked hard on our synchronized noodle-swimming routine, but that will remain our little secret until someone in the family learns to use Youtube).

But the big fun in Mooselookmeguntic - the wild nightlife, so to speak - is, as the name implies, moose-looking. (Or, as my four-year old niece says, mooth-looking. I made her say it over and over again, just because it made me smile). Now, we were nothing if not dedicated mooth-lookers. The journal in the cabin we rented told amazing tales of people who had seen 8, 10, even 12 moose in their visit; my humble goal was to see just one. (EVERYONE in my family has seen a moose, except for me. My father even saw one once on the golf course). We drove for miles up and down back roads, country roads, dirt roads... And yet for all our efforts, we saw nothing. It got to be a running joke, as we wondered if perhaps the Moose were attending a convention in New Hampshire?

My sister took this picture of me towards the end of one of these trips, where the closest we came to encountering nature was when I made her pull over so I could pee. (The term "scenic overlook" has new meaning in our family). At one point we thought we saw a bald eagle circling above us, but then Meg said, "Oh. Hmm. No - that's a turkey vulture." A turkey vulture. "I bet it's preying on our dying hope..."

That night, Meg and her husband went out to dinner. Steve and I had just put the young-uns to bed when we heard tires screeching into the driveway, and my sister flying up the stairs. "Come on!" She yelled frantically, "There's a moose!" "Let me get my shoes," Steve said. "No shoes!" Meg said, herding us into the X-Terra, "There's no time!" We jumped, barefoot, into the truck (leaving my brother-in-law standing in the yard holding two cartons of leftovers) and Meg took off down the road. And there, standing in a ditch munching grass, looking a bit bewildered by the headlights and semi-hysterical squeals of glee coming from our vehicle, was a moose!

It looked like God's first draft of a horse.

Now, like all good nature watchers, I had my camera at the ready, and snapped several pictures so I could share them with all of you. But as it turns out, you can't really take pictures in the dark through the windshield. So my hard-won souvenir looks like a piece of black construction paper. Oh well. The moose knows I saw her :)

But then, as the crowning touch on what was already a pretty fantastic week, Steve and I saw this as we started back home to Boston yesterday morning:



Yippee!!!

More fallout from the Target failure

I ran out of deodorant this morning when I was, um, halfway done, I guess you'd say. This is yet another item I failed to find at Target yesterday. In a stroke of relieved genius, I remembered that there was another almost-empty container of Secret in my travel bag, so I grabbed it. So today, if you stand to my left, you'll smell "Glacier Mist;" to my right, "Ocean Breeze." I guess that gives you choices, which is always a good thing. At the very least, this approach should confuse the bears.

(Again - If I categorized, this would be filed under "TMI")

Of Bears and Bullseyes

I just got back from Target. I went in with a list of approximately thirty-seven things I needed, and came out with a bottle of dishwashing liquid. Now, it's been a long time since I spent only $1.22 while visiting the Big Red Bullseye, so I probably shouldn't complain. But at the same time, I'm not sure the few ounces of Palmolive were worth the dash through the rainy parking lot (especially once I got home and realized that we use Dawn to wash our dishes).

Anyway...on a happier note...

We're going on vacation! We're venturing into the woods of Maine, further north than I've ever been. My sister just sent me a warning about bear sightings - how you need to wear bells to fend them off and not get eaten. (Target didn't have any bells, but I guess I could squirt the bears with Palmolive...) I'm not too worried about it, though. I spent the winter taking singing lessons from a friend who is a trained soprano. Sometime around week three, she kind of gave up. She stopped charging me, and made a point of singing extra loud so I wouldn't hear myself and get discouraged. So next week, if we see a bear, I'll just belt out a few lines of "You Are The Wind Beneath My Wings," which should be enough to create a nice little zone of safety around us. As a matter of fact, I bet that's what they used to do in the olden days! :)

(If I was savvy enough to categorize my posts, I'd totally call this one "wildlife management.")

Ways to embarrass myself that don't involve coffee

My amazing friend Dave sent out an email yesterday, announcing that he will be doing the Pan-Mass Challenge again this year to raise money for cancer-fighting research. (Some of you met Dave in a recent post by Lynette - he is one half of Impossibly Tall Rowing Couple.) When I read the email, I forwarded it to hubby Steve, saying something to the effect of, "We should make a donation," followed by bit of mushy stuff about how much I love him. All good.

Except that as it turns out, I didn't forward the email to Steve - instead, I hit "reply" and forwarded my thoughts of love and devotion to Dave. Sigh.

Fortunately, Dave has a good sense of humor. He agreed that we should make a donation, and assured me that he loves me too....I could almost hear Dave, his gorgeous wife, and their adorable daughter (aka Impossibly Tall Toddler) laughing from the other end of the Charles.

All that to say, if you want to support a great cause, and/or be motivated by one of the most athletic people I've ever met in person (he's actually doing an extended version of the race - you know, so he'll bike the FULL width of the state, rather than just 9/10ths of it) check out his site and make a donation. I'll leave it up to you whether or not you send him embarrassing emails intended for your significant other.

All you need is love...and some upscale wine & cheese

Check this out. Amazing.

Might it be possible?

I've been pitiful in terms of writing production lately. I have all these ideas - snippets, really, like tiny pieces of a much larger map. But so far, I'm not going anywhere. I'm certainly not coming up with anything substantive enough to generate 1,000 or 1,500 words per day (you know - so when Oprah asks me how I'm such a prolific writer, I can tell her about my "disciplined approach to my craft"). This morning, as I sat on my usual place on the couch, staring at all my favorite books on the shelf across the room, it occurred to me that perhaps my little shrine to other people's writing wasn't doing me any favors; that I'd made a bit of an idol out of all those pretty covers and stories that move or inspire me, which means that I start each day thinking about all the great writing other people have done, rather than what great writing I might be supposed to do. (Let that last sentence be an example of how far I've strayed from the goal...)

So I dismantled the shrine, leaving only the Dictionary, our wedding pics, and the baseball Steve caught off a foul ball pitched by Daisuke Matsuzaka at a Red Sox game earlier this season. My beloved books are now in piles on the floor of the office. It will be fun to see them up again in a few weeks, once I'm free of whatever misguided thoughts I had that being near other people's finished books would help me get started on mine :)

I'm also coming off a long reading dry spell, filled with books I couldn't bring myself to finish (don't worry, author friends - none of them yours! I was attempting to read some of the classics I missed along the way; apparently, I'm still not insightful enough to be swept away by their wonder...) But yesterday, I found some inspiration as I read another AMAZING novel by Anna Quindlen: BLESSINGS. I read her recent RISE AND SHINE last month, and loved it equally, if not more. What astounded me most about these stories was how detailed they were, in all the right ways. Her words captured the essence of the places, scenes, and people with exactly the right balance of show-don't-tell. And she gets the emotional pitch of family dynamics exactly right. Beautiful stuff. Not to mention that the stories were so good, I forgot to be a writer-in-training and was totally caught up in the characters.

Quindlen started out (and still makes a living) as a nonfiction writer; my parents have used her savvy Newsweek articles for years to initiate conversations with my sister and I to figure out what we think about everything from the latest political kerfluffle to the role of family in our growing lives. I'm amazed that Quindlen can write fiction AND nonfiction at the same time, all of it good enough to stand on its own merits rather than on her accomplishments on the other side. Talk about raising the bar!

I've always felt that fiction was beyond me as a writer - partly because I made enough dumb choices in my 20s to give me plenty of material for nonfiction, but also because I'm in awe of those of you who plot storylines on a big board with post-it notes, create people who aren't real (and yet by the time you're done with them, they totally are), and weave sub and sub-sub plots effortlessly through it all, tying everything up in the end. How do you do that? I feel like Anna Quindlen's little sister, following her around trying to learn to be a grown-up writer :)

Quindlen's example makes me wonder if there might not be more room than we think to write freely if we don't box ourselves in.

Feeling like Sally Field at that awards show...

The past twenty-four hours have brought some amazing, surprising highs. Thank you Allison, for this. Thank you Lynette, for this. It's stuff like this that comes along when you least expect it, changing the shape of your day from a flattened pancake to a round, sunny smile. For lack of a more elegant way to put it, I'm flabbergasted.

And, but way of full disclosure....my "Lord & Taylor" ensemble came from Target :)

The key to life (mine, anyway)

Yesterday's low point: Walking out the front door to drive to the gym and realizing, just as it locked behind me, that I wasn't holding my keys. Lamenting that we live in an area that's too citified (read: of uncertain safety) to leave an extra key hidden somewhere outside for just this type of circumstance. (My wise (and ever-so-slightly wise-ass) sister suggested that we hide a key in someone else's yard...I'll look around for possibilities when I go out later today, but the place with the Doberman is out...)

Yesterday's high point(s): First, the realization that this could be much worse. That on the scale of Trish's embarrassing mishaps, this might not even make the list... the weather was warm, I was fully dressed (it wasn't one of those January mornings where I take the dog out in my PJ's & flip-flops, looking like I'm on my way to a casting call for What Not To Wear) and Steve would be home in an hour or so. Second, deciding to take a walk to fill the hour. I found a secluded place at a nearby park (much prettier than the gym, I have to say) where I sat and looked out over the water, trees, birds, and other call-of-the-wild scenery. It was so relaxing. It helped me get past the whole "why do we live in the big scary city?" rant, and reminded me why this place is home.

Lemons, meet lemonade.

How about you? High? Low? (If you're searching for a High for today, just remember your keys when you leave the house. At least then you can say, "I'm more organized than Trish...")

Looking for definitions

Today, we'll start with a confession: when I put up the picture of Steve cleaning up my spills and splotches yesterday, I just thought the whole thing was funny. Embarrassing, but funny. But your comments made me see that more than that was going on; that Steve was appreciating what it means to be married to me - "counting the cost" as some might say - and deciding that it was worth it, even if we'll never be a wall-to-wall white carpet kind of couple. Thank you for the reminder :)

It came at a good time. As your comments trickled in, I was hip-deep in books about failed or failing relationships. I'm working on the proposal for Book #2 again, specifically a chapter about disappointment and betrayal (which is approximately as much fun as having a cavity filled. Necessary - even interesting at times. But not the most delightful way to spend an afternoon). I got all snarled up in a book about a woman who left her husband for a year to find herself, as if you can ever have a "self" wholly apart from the person you're married to, be he good, bad, or somewhere in between. (I know that isn't the prevailing sentiment in women's studies these days, but in my experience at least, if you're sharing a bed, a refrigerator, a mailbox and a TV remote control with a man you've pledged to love, honor, and cherish in sickness and in health, you're sufficiently intertwined that individuality becomes an almost silly notion. You can find your talents, your dreams, even your fabulosity, but you probably can't find your "self"). Anyway...

It made me wonder (to take us back to a happy place), what do we mean when we think of being loved, honored, cherished? What does that look like? For me (and I never would have guessed this), it looks like a man with a bottle of Multi-Purpose cleaner and a paper towel, seeing where his wife spent the day and laughing about it.

What does it (or might it) look like for you?

A Map of My Day

People who know and (claim to) love me say that I'm a little foggy in the morning. They suggest, with only the smallest of smiles, that the moments between my emergence from the bedroom and my first sip of coffee are the absolute best time to get me to agree to try camping, become a vegan, or to buy new iPhones for the entire family so none of us ever get lost again (or, if we can't figure out the map feature, at least we'll have music to make the wandering more pleasant). These seem like fine ideas to me first thing in the morning, because really, all I care about at that point is coffee.

My morning routine is quite predictable: Once I have my coffee, I shuffle back into the living room or bedroom, where I sip contentedly while God and I talk over the coming day. He reassures me I don't have to vacation in a tent or subsist on plant life; he tells me to wait a few months until the kinks have been worked out of the iPhone. This is my favorite part of the day, and not much keeps me from it.

Last night, my dear husband told me a secret: when he gets home at night, he can tell where I shuffled with my morning coffee, because I leave a trail of drips on the hardwood floor from the kitchen to wherever I wandered off to. I told him he was wrong. That's silly, I said, slightly indignant. I can't possibly spill that much. Then he lead me on a guided tour of little brown splotches all over our condo, like a google map of "Trish's favorite places."

"Yesterday, you had coffee on the porch," he said, wiping a splash off the back door. Sigh. Busted. Hee :)

Inspiration

I'm working on a new page for my web site, a page of inspiration I've found in unexpected places.

This past year of blogging has made me realize that there are different types of inspiration. Some things - the egg on our car, my love of chicken decorations, my niece's certainty that baloney comes from God - make me giggle. This is blog inspiration, the stuff that has me formulating posts in my mind as I'm brushing my teeth or logging time on the treadmill. The little things that make life fun.

But there are bigger things I come across, things that make me stop for a moment (or a week) and wonder if my perspective on life might need to stretch just a bit. These things don't just make me giggle, they change me somehow, or push me into some new way of approaching whatever it is I'm here to do. Those are the things I hope to capture on this new page, because let's be honest...when we're most in need of inspiration is when it seems most difficult to find.

And as I've spent the past few weeks immersed in the business side of publishing, the other side of my brain (left? right?) is agitating for pretty things, for quality time with artistic brilliance that isn't quantifiable. It wants to read poetry (I don't want to read poetry; I'm not that patient. But my brain, it wants some couplets, a haiku, and maybe even a new take on the classic, "There once was a girl from Nantucket"). It wants to spend an hour on iTunes pulling up old Crosby, Stills & Nash songs, remembering how I used to drive around the beach trying to harmonize with "Our House" , wondering if I'd ever find real love. It wants to get TiVo so I don't ever have to miss another Mia Michaels piece on So You Think You Can Dance.

What does your brain want?

Scrambled Egg

A bird laid an egg on our car the other day.

There are no trees near where we parked (unless said bird shot-putted the egg from the branches of the maple across the street) so we're not entirely sure how this happened. All I know is that we walked out our front door and Steve said, "Aw man - some bird yatted all over our car!" (aside: yatted just might be the funniest word I've ever heard for this) and when we went to clean up the damage, there were tiny, speckled bits of shell, right there in the yat.

When I told my sister about this, she made several (funny) comments about the loose morals of big-city birds. We wondered if perhaps the naive lady bird didn't even know she was pregnant (how else could an egg just fall from you when you're flying? In late June?) Now that the weather is cool enough to leave the windows open, I might just spend some time reading aloud from a book on the facts of life so that these chickadees don't end up in this kind of trouble again...

It's also possible that a gang of birds has decided they don't like us (or the way THAT DOG gleefully sprints for them like a scene from Born Free the minute I open the door, forcing them to scatter in every direction) and have targeted us for retribution, trying to drive us from the neighborhood. You'd think they'd love us - after all, we're the people who held up traffic on a four-lane road while a flock of Canadian geese and their fuzzy little offspring strolled across the street the other day. Of course, we had Chicken Romano for dinner that night, so perhaps these two acts cancelled each other out...

I'm in love

I am listening to Wild Hope this morning, the amazing new album by Mandy Moore. It's breathtaking. I saw her singing Extraordinary on TV last weekend while waiting for our flight to DC, and I couldn't believe it was the same pop princess who used to compete with Britney & Christina - her lyrics are gorgeous and real; entirely different than anything she's done before. If you've ever picked yourself up after a heartbreak, trying to put back all the pieces like Humpty Dumpty, this album is for you.

As I type, I'm listening to Latest Mistake:

There's part of me that wants an answer
And part of me that doesn't want to know
Part of you that I am in love with
And the part that I am willing to let go

This is a delicate unraveling
Now and then I find pieces on the floor
Tiny little bits that tell me
Maybe I shouldn't do this
Or love you anymore.

This is the real deal. Totally worth your time, attention, and $9.90 at itunes :)

Now I'm off to check out Kelly Clarkson's latest. Breakups are horrid, but wow - nothing fuels creative genius like that particular kind of pain. Projects like these remind me that God will use all the mud we've slogged through for something good, something we'll look back on and say, Now I get it. Now I understand...

Today's post, brought to you by the number 8

The lovely Alyssa has tagged me for a meme, so today you get 8 random items about me:

1. Hubby and I switched the bedroom around last night, to see if being on the other side might help me sleep better. The look on THAT DOG'S face when she wandered into the corner where her bed used to be and found only bare wood was priceless. Her furrowed puppy brow glaring at me, as if to say, "What have you done now?" I struggled not to giggle. Eventually we returned her majesty's bed to it's original location.

2. THAT DOG and I have moved 9 times and lived in 6 different states in her 11 years of life. You'd think she would have been okay relocating to the other side of the room.

3. When I meet new people, I can never remember what they do for a living. I remember every detail they tell me about their interpersonal relationships - if you hated the flower girl dress you were forced into for your Great Aunt Matilda's seventh wedding, I'll think of your story off an on for years. But I'll still have no idea what you do all day when you go off to work.

4. My first concert was Shaun Cassidy. Da doo run run yah, Da do run run.

5. On my wedding day, my hairdresser was so hung over that my updo looked like a third-grade art project. All I could say was, "Um, I guess let's attach the veil towards the top so it will cover it...." By the time of the ceremony, though, I didn't really care :)

6. I was born with WAY too many teeth. I'd had 13 teeth pulled by the time I was in 4th grade. Thinking about this now, I should be calling my parents HOURLY to thank them for investing in orthodontia.

7. I once wrote to a famous author who was leading a trip to Europe to ask if she'd take me with her as her assistant. The next thing I knew I was in the International Departures section of JFK airport, passport in hand.

8. I once won a trophy for walking in a T formation while smiling. It was part of a baton twirling competition, but I wasn't carrying a baton. I just walked and smiled. (I think "gifted & talented," is what they call it now when a child shows that kind of promise...)

My version of "The Office"

I woke up in the middle of the night last night thinking about superheroes and superpowers. Not sure why (maybe the buzz of being in DC makes one think about saving the world?) but it was fun to drift back off to sleep murmuring, "Wonder Twin powers - Activate!"

If you've read the "My Story" section on my website, you know that this superhero dream isn't new to me. Ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted a business card that listed the Hall of Justice as my work address. A nice office on the 7th floor, perhaps. Lunch with Wonder Woman. Aqua Man giving swimming tips at the office Christmas Party. Hearing the female interns swoon over Superman's muscles. That sort of thing.

The best part of the job, though (aside from the defeating of evil creatures seeking to destroy humanity, that is) would be seeing the resumes that came into the office from rogue superheroes looking to connect with a good firm. You know, the ones who had recently married or had a super-baby and needed a good benefits package to support the family. What a great way to spend the day, reading about other people's super powers, and getting to meet them.

Today's question: if you were to submit an application to the Hall of Justice, what would your superpower be?

A Great Vacation

We are back from our trip to the nation's capital, happy and well-rested. The past four days have been like a dream vacation for us, a perfect combination of great friends, good food, amazing conversation, and morning coffee out on the deck overlooking trees and horses.

I would feel slightly obnoxious raving about how wonderful everything was if Steve and I didn't have such a LONG string of bad vacations behind us. We honeymooned on the equivalent of a deserted island (which sounds romantic until you really think about it). Last spring we stayed in a hotel that had burn marks from the crack pipes in the bathroom. And last summer - while vacationing in my hometown, where you'd think I'd know how to organize a decent vacation - our getaway cabin dangled precariously over a muddy inlet and had a rodent's nest... under our pillow. The pool was closed due to some sort of chemical catastrophe, and the restaurant was closed for renovations. Should I even mention the rain?

This trip was entirely, delightfully different. We stayed with our amazingly brilliant friends I'll call Genius and Harmony, who live in a suburb of Virginia best described as bucolic. They are southern, which means that hospitality abounded - they cooked more for us in four days than I've cooked for us this year. We talked about books and music and relationships. Steve left inspired to take guitar lessons, I left with a new love for the poet T.S. Eliot. To say that our horizons were broadened is an understatement. And as if that weren't enough, Genius and Harmony have reproduced, so there were three little examples of what a great DNA combination can create running around their house (okay, the littlest one didn't run so much as lounge - she's only 3 months old - but her occasional wiggly smile made up for her lack of forward movement).

We saw the WWII memorial, which was jaw-droppingly beautiful. I'm not a huge fan of monuments/museums (I wish I was that kind of person; it's a bit embarrassing that I'm not) but this newest work of dedication was both a powerful remembrance and artistically mesmerizing. I could have stayed there all day. And the Korean Memorial was beautiful and haunting. (Anyone who wonders if we should stop funding the arts should wander through these two displays of vision, skill, and devotion before making a decision). Then we went into Georgetown, to a little French bistro were we celebrated our anniversaries - three years for Steve & I, ten later this summer for Genius & Harmony. Honestly, the DC Bureau of Tourism should have followed us, as that day alone was a great sampler of all the city has to offer.

We're back now, and I need to get to work. I've missed life here in blog-land and hope to get around to see everyone later tonight. In the meantime though, Harmony is thinking of starting a blog - feel free to post words of encouragement in the comments, as she will be a fabulous addition to our online family :)

Discovery day in cyberspace

I'm off on vacation for a few days, where I'm sure blog-worthy stories will abound. In the meantime, here are some fun things to check out while I'm gone:

Attention pubbed writers: Lesa (who runs amazing book reviews on her blogs - she's a librarian, and therefore in the know) has a call out for writers posted on her page. It looks like a great chance to have a chunk of your work featured in a "how to write a book" book, so if you have something in print already, send it in!

Her blog then led me to Librarything.com, which may be the most fun a book nerd can have online. You can enter your books, arrange them all different ways, connect with other people who love those books....the list goes on and on (it's sort of the library version of playing Barbies, when you think about it). Once you enter all your books, click on the "Author cloud" link in the profile section...pretty cool. The site is fun to use and the designers clearly have a sense of humor - what more could a girl want?

It even allowed me to pretty-up my blog...if you look on the left hand side below the list of recent posts, my awesome sister TV Guide Girl (hereafter to be known as HTML Genius Who Needs To Start Her Own Blog So I Can Send Folks There To Tell Her She Rocks Girl) put the cool link with the ever-changing block of books from my library. How cool is that? It's like interior decorating for your blog :)

Other things to fill your day with amusement:

If you've ever wondered what it might be like to break a cheekbone, see Swishy. (And don't worry, I've seen her since the incident and can assure all concerned readers that her face has healed nicely).

If you want to see an ADORABLE baby picture, see Lynette.

If you've ever thought that a week at Disney in the heat of summer might be a complete and total nightmare, see Manic Mom, who will rid you of all doubt and have you booking a beach house in New England faster than you can say "Dumb mouse ears."

And finally, if you want a funny perspective on THE SECRET, see Nora Ephron's hysterical blog on the Huffington Post. She's a genuis, just like my sister.

Have a great week!

Life in the tropics

I'm glad I mentioned the Caitlin Flanagan article in Friday's post, because your comments were inspiring. It's true - writing gives us the ability to keep dreaming big dreams even during the multi-tasking certain seasons of life require. Funny - people often lament the downside of the writing life, but I'd say this is a HUGE example of the upside. Thanks for the reminder!

In other news...the wedding (and my new swishy dress) were both a big success, and tons of fun. The bride and groom are headed for Hawaii, which a friend of mine recently told me belongs on every vacationer's must-visit list. Have you been? Do you agree? I would love to go (the whole warm & sunny/surrounded by clear-blue water thing has always worked for me) but I get overwhelmed by the logistics: How do you know where to go? Which island? Which hotel?

I'll segue into an odd, "All roads lead to Caitlin Flanagan" moment here and mention the New Yorker article she wrote about Hawaii that was included in "The Best American Travel Writing 2006,", in which she revealed the depressing truth that one of the most prestigious hotels Maui charged the highest fees for it's worst rooms, simply by virtue of calling one building "exclusive." She arrived to find that her room was "exclusive" in that it was nowhere near th beach, or anything else she or her family might hope to get to during their vacation. How does one avoid traps like this?

(And to come full-circle back to the great perks of the writing life, I bet a huge chunk of her overpriced vacation was a tax-write off because she was working on this article. That, my friends, is a beautiful thing.)

And she straggles accross the line!

I got the word today from my editor that my book is officially (finally, unbelievably) DONE! Here's a confession for those of you who are new here (and those of you veterans wondering, "haven't I read this here before?") - I first blogged about being DONE a long time ago. Almost five months, to be precise. And the thing was, when I first handed in my "final draft" lo those many months ago, I honestly believed it was really good. Certainly as good as I was capable of.

Fortunately, my editor thought otherwise. Here's what I learned: I'm a pretty good writer. But with a really awesome editor (and for me, "awesome" means the ability to sandwich some serious tough love in between encouraging comments and jokes about how great this would all be when it was over) I can be more than a pretty good writer. I'm sure there's a deep lesson of universal significance in there somewhere, but I'm too much in the weekend-zone to find it. All I know is that I've never been so grateful to be humbled :)

In other news, author Caitlin Flanagan has a provocative article in this month's edition of Oprah's magazine, where she wonders why we are so much less likely to dream big dreams for our lives once we reach the age of husbands, mortgages, and kids. Whether you're at this stage yet or not, it's a great question. Unfortunately, the article didn't really give her enough room to answer it, but I think it's worth revisiting.

Especially now that I know how willing you all are to get prettied up for a party...big dreams give us reason for big parties!

A jumble of thoughts

The good news is, I found a dress for the wedding. It's a swishy halter-top number, black with turquoise leaves swirling around on it. Hubby walked in while I was trying it on and it put a big smile on his face, so I think this was a good find :)

But walking out of Macy's with my new purchase under my arm, I couldn't help but admit how unsophisticated most of us are now compared to the women of our mothers' generation. When I get dressed on Saturday night, I'll blow dry my hair the usual way, perhaps with a bit more fluff. I'll put on my normal makeup, albeit with an extra coat of mascara and a slightly darker lip gloss. That's it. There will be no fancy up-do, no gloves or hat, no painstaking application of false lashes to my fluttery lids. Which makes me wonder if maybe there should be? I wonder if going out - to dinner, to weddings, to the movies - wasn't more exciting when our womanly preparations consisted of more than throwing a dress on rather than jeans?

On the back cover of About Alice, author Calvin Trillin's tribute to his wife, there is an amazing picture of the two of them taken in younger days. She looks like a blonde Jackie-O with her beautifully coordinated skirt and jacket, a hat perched carefully atop her shiny mane. It's clear she didn't just pull these items down off a hanger five minutes before and throw them on. And Calvin himself looks quite dashing, decked out in a suit in the days when this was what one wore when joining friends for drinks and dinner. I think I miss those days.

A friend of mine recently threw a birthday party for her husband, and the invitation instructed us to wear our "fancy party clothes." I was surprised by how much we all liked it, standing in ever-shifting groups in our nice duds, talking about all manner of books, ideas, hopes, dreams, and funny things that happened to us on the way to the party. It was like dressing up, dimming the lights, and pouring some wine made us rise to the occasion; those were some of the most interesting discussions I've had in years.

Which got me thinking...if I made my book events next spring a chance to "wear your fancy party clothes," would anybody show up?

Friends

I'm thinking deep thoughts about friendship this morning. Partly because my copy of Jennifer O'Connell's wonderful anthology, "Everything I Needed To Know About Being A Girl I Learned From Judy Blume" arrived yesterday from Amazon (I'm three essays in and already I want to go out and repurchase the entire collection of Judy Blume's books from my childhood!), and partly because I'll be spending this afternoon shopping for a dress to wear to a good friend's wedding this Saturday night.

You'll meet this friend in my book....he's the one I call Will, although that's not his name (the stunning array of men named "Dave" in my life history forced me to do some creative renaming).

Will became one of my closest friends a few weeks after I wandered into our huge church for the first time, wondering why on earth all these normal-looking people were hanging out in a school gym listening to a talk about Jesus on a sunny Sunday morning. Will, along with my friend Amy, helped me figure out what all this stuff meant, and what it might mean for me. But more importantly, Will prayed for God to send me my husband, which was what I was looking for when I wandered into that church in the first place.

Will prayed for my husband, and I prayed for his wife. Apparently Will's prayers were more powerful (or perhaps he was just more organized about it?) because my wedding day arrived three years (to the week) earlier than his. Who knows, maybe God knew that marriage was a bigger deal to me. I'm not sure I'd have handled the three-year wait as graciously has Will has :)

Anyway, Will's wedding has me thinking about how people come into our lives for a season of time and make a world of difference. And when that season is over, sometimes you fade away from each other a bit. You still care, you still hope for good things and enjoy the chance to cheer each other on, but the intensity dies down a bit once that season is over. And that's okay. So here's to Will, his lovely fiance Joy (perhaps I should call her "Patience" or "Charity" to keep with this renaming thing?), and the God who brings people together and surprises us with how things turn out.

And to think, just yesterday I was posting about the divine origins of baloney :)

Enough with the deep thoughts...I'm off to the mall to find a dress!

Where baloney comes from

Just got back from an amazing weekend up in Maine with my family. The weather was gorgeous, the sun was shining through the trees, and I got to sit on a hammock in my sister's backyard with my almost-four year old niece, Glamour Girl, while she shared some of the wisdom she's accumulated in her first 47 months of life.

"I know where turkey comes from!" she told me as we swung back and forth. "It comes from turkeys! And milk comes from cows!"

"Where does baloney come from?" I asked, trying to trick her.

She looked me straight in the eye and said, "God."

So there you have it.

The key

I am back in action from the food poisoning debacle - thank you all for your kind wishes! Here is what I was going to write about before I did my 48 hours in the bathroom...my new secret indulgence!

I was sitting on the couch the other day, surfing through the channels and chiding myself for not working, when I came across Kathy Griffin: My Life on The D List. It was a marathon, as it turns out, and for the next three hours, Ms. Griffin had me hooked. Now I'm a bit shocked by this - it's not like KG is a logical nominee to replace the Gilmore Girls in my heart. But man, she is funny. My favorite scene was when she flew to Louisville, KY because they were going to award her the key to the city (which is a bit hard to imagine, as I've always thought of Louisville as rather conservative, and Kathy is, in her own words, so far to the left that she's for gun control at gay weddings). Nonetheless, Kathy arrived in KY and went forth to meet her people. All nine of them. There, outside the mayors office, were seven administrative assistants taking a donut break, one fan, and the Deputy Mayor, filling in for his boss (who couldn't be there because he had a dentist appointment). They gave her a lapel pin and sent her on her way. It was so pitiful, it was funny.

She also did an AMAZING job going to visit our troops in the Middle East - she had me laughing and crying at the same time. I was impressed by how smart she is, how she adjusts her material to suit the crowd in front of her, but also how she "got" that much of what she saw in Iraq wasn't funny at all. I like that she shows a full range of who she is, rather than just being the wisecracking girl all the time. Good stuff. If I'm ever awarded the key to a city, I hope Kathy will be there :)

This weekend's question: If you could have the key to any city, what city would it be, and why? Kathy's got Louisville, but there are still plenty left for the rest of us! (I'm going to Chicago next month to scope it out).

Decorating tips

When picking out a bathroom decor, consider how it will look to you at 3am when you have food poisoning and can't go far beyond that little room. I suggest a mild, soothing color scheme, and a toilet with nice lines...you know, in case you find yourself facing it for hours on end.

That's all I've got for today...

Tomorrow's topic: "Silver Linings: The joy of unexpectedly fitting into your skinny jeans."

Basic rules for driving in Boston

(This just in from my brother-in-law. These would be far less funny if they weren't entirely true. Welcome to our world...)

BASIC RULES FOR DRIVING IN BOSTON (subject to change at any time):

1. Geography. Here's what you need to know: The geographical center of Boston is in Roxbury. Due north of the center we find the South End. This is not to be confused with South Boston, which lies directly east from the South End. North of the South End is East Boston and southwest of East Boston is the North End. Backbay was filled in years ago.

2. When on a one way street, stay to the right to allow oncoming traffic to pass.

3. Never, ever, stop for a pedestrian unless he flings himself under the wheels of your car.

4. The first parking space you see will be the last parking space you see. Do whatever you must to grab it.

5. Double park in the North End of Boston, unless triple parking is available.

6. Learn to swerve abruptly. Boston is the home of slalom driving, thanks to the Registry of Motor Vehicles, which puts potholes in key locations to test drivers' reflexes and keep them on their toes.

7. Never get in the way of a car that needs extensive bodywork.

8. Always look both ways when running a red light.

9. Honk your horn the instant the light changes.

10. Breakdown lanes are not for breaking down, but for speeding, especially during rush hour.

11. Never use directional signals when changing lanes. They only warn other drivers to speed up and not let you in.

12. Making eye contact revokes your right of way.

13. Never pass on the left when you can pass on the right.

14. Whenever possible, stop in the middle of a crosswalk to ensure inconveniencing as many pedestrians as possible. And if a pedestrian ahead of you steps in the road, speed up loudly and
chase him back up on the curb.

I'm sure that our local department of tourism is having these made up into an inspiring commercial just in time for summer tourist season. Welcome to New England!

Searching for the line between nicely chilled and frigid

Our refrigerator conked out yesterday, which gave me lots of time to ponder deep questions while waiting for Larry the Repair Guy to come save our milk and mayonnaise. (Which he did. Yay Larry!!!)

Here's what I was thinking about:

Many of us have spent all kinds of time thinking/wondering/planning/praying/hoping for the qualities our "Mr. Right" (or "Miss Right," if you're a guy) might have. But what about the flip side? What are the qualities a good Mrs. Right should bring to the party? More importantly, perhaps, what skills should we be working on if we don't currently have them?

(And to keep things from sounding like a pop-psychology book, let's all agree that yes, communication is very important.)

And (I wondered, while Larry replaced the timer and thawed out the freezer with my Revlon 1875 with TOURMALINE IONIC POWER) what are some of the coolest qualities you've seen in other people's marriages?

A literary lunch!

Well, a book sandwich at least. Here's what I've been reading while waiting for the next episode of So You Think You Can Dance? (And just to warn you, I'm adopting the sandwich approach to these reviews because two of them are wonderful, and one of them has had me upset for three days now because it was so...well, you'll see).

Great Book #1: The Department of Lost and Found by Allison Winn Scotch.
You all know how I like to keep things happy, happy, happy in my entertainment, so I was a tad skittish as I waded into this story of a young woman who is diagnosed with breast cancer and then gets dumped by her boyfriend. I'm just not a very brave girl. But kudos to Allison for using such a light touch with the squeamish stuff (and such a perfect touch with the humor) that I found myself buzzing through the book in hot pursuit of a happy ending. On a technical level, I have to say that she writes about the way we look back on failed relationships as well as anyone I've read. Two thumbs up (or, as Sarakastic might say, FOUR POP TARTS!)

Sucker Punched Me In The Gut book #2: Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott.
I'm not even sure what to write here. I was breezing along happily through a typical collection of Anne's thoughts about loving her chunky thighs and raising a teenage son when I ran headlong into her essay about how she killed someone. Now I don't want to get into the debate about assisting people with an early exit from life (I'm not using the word to avoid weird google hits) but I was left with a really grim feeling from her treatment of this subject...I'm blown away that her decision on this warranted less reflection, worry, and/or remorse than either her thighs or how she yelled at a shady carpet salesman a few chapters later when he swindled her out of fifty bucks. She brought the rug guy flowers to apologize, but seemed utterly free of any sort of doubt about helping someone end their life. I blew my mind, leaving me a bit to numb for pop tarts.

(Here is where the sandwich approach is so great, because after that grim review, don't we all need something happy???)

Fabulous Book #3 (That Made Me Giggle Just This Morning): Tramps Like Us: A Suburban Confession by Kristen Buckley.
Kristen didn't have an easy childhood in suburban New Jersey, but she does an astonishing job of turning those grim scenes into a hysterically funny narrative without resorting to slapstick anecdotes. She's a great writer, and as I read this book, I feel like I'm standing with her in the middle of her knee-high front lawn after her father abandoned them, listening to her penniless (and lawn mower-less) mother explain that mowed lawns are really just a recent social construct that can easily be ignored. This is a fabulous, funny, book that everyone should take with them to the beach this summer (especially if you live anywhere near the Jersey shore). This one gets two thumbs, a freshly painted big toe, and a box full of Pop Tarts :)

I think he can dance, part 2

Here is the clip of Jamal. (You might want to put your drink down before watching...)

I think he can dance

Did anyone else see So You Think You Can Dance last night? And the hip-hop dude Jamal from Boston who looked like his mama feeds him a bit to well to really dance? Who Nigel challenged to come back with a swing dance routine? Now my boy Jamal looked like he hadn't the faintest idea what swing dancing might be, but never one to shy away from a dance opportunity, he said, "Sure - I'll be back."

And back he was. Big Jamal grabbed his smaller pal Ernest (aka "E-Wok") and they made up a dance, right there in the hall. Now, I was certain the Boston boys were going to get thumped by Nigel and Mary for not taking this seriously, and honestly the first thirty seconds of that piece had me laughing so hard I was gasping for air (Jamal stood in one place and snapped his fingers. When Nigel broke in and said, "Jamal - that's not dancing," Jamal looked genuinely baffled when he replied, "I know it's not - I'm waiting for the part where the trumpet goes, da na na na!" Hysterical.) But let me tell you, when the trumpet finally went da na na na! the boys jumped into a routine that was so fabulous, so full-out I'm gonna make this work and you're all gonna love it, that I was on my feet in the living room, cheering him on. There's a blurry pic of my new favorite dance moment here. Please, someone, get this routine up on Youtube!

It's a verrrrry special day!!!

Happy Birthday to MEG!
Happy Birthday to MEG!
Happy Birthday to my little sister who grew taller than me when I was ten and has a body like a Victoria's Secret model even after having two kids but really I'm over it....
Happy Birthday to MEG!!!!!

Hey everyone, please join me in wishing a spectacular birthday to my sister Meg, one of my favorite people on the planet. Meg's fine talents include the ability to splay her toes out to almost mythical proportions (honestly, I think one of them might even be opposable), build all manner of handy kitchen accessories from abandoned wine corks, and answer trivia questions about any TV show ever produced from 1964-the present. Meg is also raising two of the cutest children on the planet, running a business empire from the laptop on her kitchen counter (a laptop fashioned almost entirely from wine corks, I might add), and - just this morning - convinced her three year old daughter in very reasonable, calm words not to squish a wayward toad. She's brilliant, she's fabulous, and we're all better off because Meg was born :)

Q & A

Heidikins, just back from the world's longest roadtrip through Wyoming, sent me some fun questions - sort of an evolving meme where you answer someone's and then send new ones to other folks who want to play. And it doesn't require me to admit that I've read almost no classic literature and don't watch Grey's Anatomy, so I'm in :)

Here you go - the dish about Trish:

1. What inspires you to write? Either in the blog-world or in "real life"?
I think I write because I read so much. Reading has always been a big part of how I figure out life - everything from how to survive a heartbreak to how to cope when I don't like the decisions our country's leaders are making. I like the space reading gives me to process - it works better than a conversation sometimes, because I don't have to accept someone's whole perspective or make an immediate choice. No author has ever called me to say, "Hey - are you applying my suggestions???" So, to whatever extent my life experiences might be helpful to someone else, I suspect it will only happen if people have the space to take what they like and leave the rest. Writing and blogging gives you that kind of space.

2. What is your favorite thing about living in New England?
Right now, I love that the Boston Red Sox are winning, because that still feels like a miracle! I also love the people here. New Englanders are famous for being cold to outsiders, and in a lot of places that reputation is well-earned. But there is a lot of love under those gruff exteriors, and I think knowing how to recognize the signs of that caring is one of the skills you pick up here.

3. When you've had a rough day, what do you to do unwind and relax?
First, I close the cover on my laptop! Honestly, my worst days usually involve a jam up between the (seemingly) great ideas in my head and the nothingness showing up on my computer screen, so to unwind, I need to prove to us both that I'm bigger than my computer, and that I call the shots :) I'm learning that a couple miles on the treadmill gets my frustration out, as does talking with a friend who can make me laugh. After that, I love a glass of Cabernet and a romantic comedy on DVD - I'm a sucker for happy endings. If you've read this blog before, you've heard me wax poetic about my love for How to Lose A Guy In Ten Dates, Must Love Dogs, Hope Floats, Little Miss Sunshine...the list goes on and on.

4. What is your definition of a perfect day?
I have a friend who defines happiness as "When life exceeds your expectations." To have that happen all day long would be pretty cool. Here's my best guess at what that might look like for me:
It would start with me sipping morning coffee while the sun streamed in over my down comforter and THAT DOG dozed at the end of the bed.
I'd open my Bible to some random page that would happen to be one of those great passages about how God loves me, he has a great plan for my life, and I don't have to worry about the 17 little things niggling at the edges of my brain.
I'd write brilliant prose for the next two hours, then practice the things I'll say during my upcoming appearance on Oprah to celebrate the success of my books...you know, like how much I love the solitary days as a writer, but I also enjoy going out on tour, meeting my adoring fans...
Lunch would be my favorite sandwich since fourth grade: Baloney, cheese, mustard, mayonnaise, and cucumber on whole wheat bread. Big pile of Lay's potato chips on the side.
After lunch I'd surf through my favorite blogs and web sites, which would make me laugh so hard a little bit of water would come out of my nose.
Then I'd crawl into bed with a book, reading some other writer's brilliant work until I dozed off for a nap. (I'd wake with a start at some point to realize that still hadn't walked THAT DOG, but then I'd realize my wonderful husband had taken care of that).
Dinner would be sushi with a chocolate martini, after which hubby and I would cuddle on the couch and watch the Red Sox pummel the Yankees. (We'd celebrate afterwards, but I'll keep that part private).
I think that about sums it up :)

5. Do you collect anything? What? How did you get started? What do you love about it?
I mostly just collect books. I LOVE new books - it's a bit of an addiction. But because I've moved so much since I graduated from school, the urge to collect other things hasn't really hit me yet. I'm way too aware that anything I acquire I have to love enough to haul up and down stairs the next time I relocate. I think I could collect rooster figurines - they crack me up (as some of you may recall from this post - where can I get that cookie jar???) But hubby HATES them, so I guess my "Celebrate Poultry!" decorating scheme will remain a pipe dream...

So there you have it...five questions, five answers. I should probably lay in a stash of baloney in case tomorrow turns out to be my perfect day! Now, if any of you would like 5 questions of your own (personally selected by me, just for you) email me at trishstevekylie AT yahoo DOT com and resist the urge to comment on how lame it is that I have my dog's name in my email address (there are other Trish Ryan's out there, AND other TrishandSteve's...what else could I do?)

The Love of Dog

Hubbie was away this weekend, off on a retreat of burly men who all pretended it was GREAT FUN to live in cabins in the woods while the temperatures are in the low 40s. "Do they have indoor plumbing?" I asked when he called. "They do," he said, "...but it's in another building." For the fourteen-millionth time in my life, I'm glad I'm not a boy :)

In Steve's absence, THAT DOG stepped up to the responsibility plate. Both nights Steve was gone, Kylie got up off of the couch at precisely 10pm, walked over to the door leading to the bedroom, and glared at me as if to say, "Someone has to be in charge here, and we both know it can't be you." Then she herded me from one room to the other until I went to bed, ensuring I didn't dawdle. This is the most well-rested I've been in months.

Last night I watched the replay of the final episode of the Gilmore Girls. Rory said goodbye to Lane, and I cried. Rory and Loralei had a touching moment, and I cried. Luke and Loralei finally kissed, and I cried. By the end of the show, I wasn't cold anymore. I was puffy, but not cold. I went to bed feeling like I did on my last night at college, knowing that in some way, things would never be the same.

Thank God for whoever invented Kleenex.

THAT DOG needs a blanket

You guys are the best. A HUGE thank you for your thoughtful responses to my questions on the mating habits of whippoorwills and penguins :)

In other news, it's May 18th here in greater Boston (and possibly elsewhere, too, but really who can think of that now?) and it's 43 degrees outside. It's only 51 degrees here in the living room. I am cold, cold, shivery cold, but I can't bring myself to turn on the heat. It's MAY! I've planted flowers and painted my toenails, which are my official signals to God that a long string of 70 degree days is entirely appropriate from this point on. (Honestly - sometimes it feels like He's ignoring me altogether, as if He's got some greater plan or something???)

Speaking of which...I'm pulling together the proposal for book two this weekend, here in the Arctic tundra. All prayers for Holy inspiration (and for this metallic keyboard to warm up) gladly received :)

Welcome to Metaphoria

You guys have been fabulous with your input and encouragement as I wander around the the meaning of wife for book #2, so naturally, I want to ask you more. There are practical considerations, however, when discussing certain issues in the blogsphere, as any of you with tracking software that shows what people google to get to you can attest. Make no mistake, however...my questions today are about birds being birds and bees being bees. But if we're all discreet about it, perhaps no midnight googlers will end up here looking for excitement, only to find a never-ending line of entries about what book I'm reading and THAT DOG.

So, about the reading...I've been doing some fun research on this wife thing. Not self-help - more biography, sociology, rantings of various sides of the "why isn't this working the way we thought it would?" debate. Wandering through a used bookstore, I picked up a small, out-of-print book which turned out to be quite a find. It's a sociological study; it received no media attention. But it's findings blew away all my prior notions about how we women have approached the letter S followed by the letter E completed by the letter X over the decades, suggesting that our generation may have things upside down and backwards in terms of what we think is essential to relationships and what we believe we can safely let slide.

So I have to ask...Whether you're married yet or not - how important do you think the birds and the bees are in everyday marriage? Where do quality/quantity of marital private time rank on your list of "must haves"? What else is on the list?

Two requests...be specific, and be vague....

Specific: Please, please, please don't say "communication is important" without saying what that means for you! Some of us think communication is a long heart-to-heart, others define it as "he knows from the look in my eye when he's in trouble." Everybody is different (speaking of vague) so it's really helpful to go a bit beyond the pat phrases we've been taught to what that means when we try to do it personally.
Vague: feel free to be creative in the use of alternative language to describe IT...remember, this is a family channel :)

Thanks all!

Revised Revisions


Stacy adjusted this books meme to make it more user-friendly, but I'm far too embarrassed to put up a list of books I haven't read (or - let's be honest - ever considered reading) while at the same time showing that I don't know how to keep track of all those font color changes. I wasn't an English major (or a computer science major like Lynette) - I'm a poli sci girl. Ask me about Obama, Mitt, or Nancy Pelosi and I'll give you pages of thoughtful opinion that will amount to exactly nothing. What can I say? I used to be a lawyer; these are the skills I have.

Bold means I've read it. Deleted for space means I haven't. Comments will offer any applicable emotions or disclaimers surrounding the experience, and give me a chance to experiment with this button I hadn't noticed before on the tool bar:

1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown) I tend not to get too fired up about books that everyone says will topple worldwide faith. I've been to New Hampshire where the author lives, and it's just not that kind of vibe.

2. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen) I've even read a bunch of the knock-off books that speculate about what happened after the wedding. Some are very serious, some are funny. Even in great literature, I still like the bad guys to be taken out back and plunged in a deep cold well.


5. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Tolkien) I saw these movies - 97 hours of my life that I'll never get back.

11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Rowling)
 I've read the first four - am hoping to get to #5 this summer.

14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
 I love anything by Irving that doesn't involve a dancing bear and/or a circus. Check out "The Water Method Man." Hysterical.

15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
 Fascinating.

20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte) I've reread this story for inspiration every time I've hit a rough patch in life. Hope is a good thing.


24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
 I read her incredibly grim memoir and decided that she and I don't approach writing from quite the same perspective. I'm not brave enough to try another.

25. Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
 Perhaps the strangest book I've ever recommended.

27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)


30. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)


35. The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)


39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
 I tried to read this, but just couldn't get into it. If I was inclined to rework a piece of literature by a famous author, I'm not sure I'd pick God.

41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
 I LOVED these books in High School. Ayla and Jondalar were like my teen Ken and Barbie.

45. Bible 
It took me five months. Leviticus is tough if you're an animal lover.

48. Angela's Ashes (Frank McCourt)


55. The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald)

63. War and Peace (Tolstoy)
 The never-ending battle scenes made me long for the cozy prose of Leviticus...ugh.

70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery) In two languages, thanks to my HS French teacher.

71. Bridget Jones' Diary (Fielding)
 Obviously, I loved it. We all did :)

74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje) My old book club disliked this book so much that we couldn't even discuss it. We spent the evening talking about cute boys and new restaurants we wanted to check out.


78. The World According To Garp (John Irving) Love, love, love it.



80. Charlotte's Web (E.B. White)
 My Mom read all of White's books to my sister and I. When I moved to Boston and saw the swan boats from "Trumpet of the Swan" I almost cried.

85. Emma (Jane Austen)


86. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
 We were forced to read this in sixth grade. I think my teacher got some sort of award for forcing us through it. I was so lost - there were rabbits being blown out of their habitat, and some larger philosophical point I was supposed to absorb about the state of humanity. At twelve, I just wasn't that deep.

93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
 My Mom made me read this. Powerful stuff. Not happy, by any means, but powerful.

99. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)


This whole thing kind of makes me wonder if I should send this to my old High School English department - maybe my parents can get a rebate on their tax dollars, as apparently, I left their school with little working knowledge of literature. I'm lucky I even learned to read... :)

On the road to nowhere

It was quite a weekend, here in the Ryan Hood. We went to Maine to see my Mom (who is miraculously ALIVE this Mother's Day...Hooray!!!!) and had brunch with my parents at this gorgeous little restaurant overlooking a golf course. I was suffering from a bout of city-itis, so it was good for my weary soul to see green grass, flowers, and a guy in a pink plaid golf shirt sprawled out near the pond trying to retrieve a lost ball.

Then yesterday, Steve and I decided, "lets take a drive - see the ocean on the north shore, get some fried clams - it will be fun!" You know, the romance of setting out without a destination, sure the road will unveil wonderful adventure and exciting opportunities? Mmm hmm. Right. We hoped on Route 127, because it would take us all up the coast. What it didn't take us by was, 1. a bathroom; or 2. food. We drove for THREE HOURS - nothing. (Funny how much less appealing the vast, wave-filled Atlantic is when your bladder is about to burst from it's own vast wavy-ness.) Finally, we stopped in this creepy little town and burst into a very formal restaurant (it had a swan theme???) horrifying the staff in our flip flops and fleece jackets. I used the ladies room (swan-covered wall paper - towels - fixtures) and then we bolted out the door. I was hungry, but no way did I want a swan burger. Another HOUR later, we turned a little corner and saw what appeared to be a little slice of heaven, right there on the windy road: it was a rustic Clam Shack overlooking the marsh. "Look honey," I said, weary with hunger, "dreams do come true!" We placed our order, then settled in, certain happiness was close at hand. Mmm hmm.

Two HOURS later, we received our plates of clams (by this point I was hallucinating, wondering if I could make a meal out of tarter sauce, ketchup, and discarded straw wrappers)
Sometimes, as the wise Dorothy said after her long trek to Oz, There's no place like home...

In happier news though, THIS movie was on cable last night, reminding us that when all else fails, apply some Windex :)

Don't be jealous - she's fat on the inside

In case any of us were feeling good today, we have this disturbing (dare I say deranged?) bit of science to put us back in place. Makes me wonder...will this lead to Oprah and Dr. Phil running full-body scans on guests to identify who the real fatties are before handing them over to trainer Bob?

Love is in the air. Literally.

Angela's post today got me thinking about bugs. Specifically, the giant bumble bees who are doing some sort of creepy bee mating dance outside my kitchen window again this year. (Romantic though I am, I still can't imagine how this sort of act can be anything less than prickly and awful. Perhaps it's all the buzzing, but I wish they'd get a room. )

One day when I was in grad school, I came home to hear THAT DOG barking her little furry head off. I went in to see what the problem was and there, before my barking dog, approximately 1 gazillion lady bugs were SWARMING over my wall. When I'd left that morning, there were no ladybugs. But in two short hours, they'd arrived in record numbers, as if declaring my bedroom headquarters for what appeared to be a nationwide convention. It was like a scene from a horror movie, when some innocent creature I used to think of as cute and lucky reproduced with such mind-blowing fertility as to make make wonder if they might not, in fact, be taking over the world.

Our apartment had never, to that point, been of the buggy variety, so we had nothing in the way of Raid or Off with which to call this party to an end. I tried flailing at the ladies with my biggest clog-like shoe, but to no avail - it was like they magically multiplied faster when I dared disturb their meeting. I'm bigger than those bugs, I told myself. And theoretically, at least, I'm smarter. And that's when the answer came: I grabbed my industrial-size can of Freeze & Shine Superhold Hair Spray, and shellacked those babies to the wall.

Our vacuum cleaner buzzed for two or three days after that, which is why now, I leave those bumble bees alone. I'll let them mate on my porch all afternoon, so long as they go elsewhere to deliver.

The Art of Provocation

As I've been thinking about this wife thing, I've been reading this book, which features what may be my favorite piece of cover art of all time. It's creative and provocative, without being offensive...it walks that fine line with precision. That, I've decided, is my new goal in life.

(Warning note: This may be the only post in the universe comparing the Gilmore Girls to Jesus, but sometimes you gotta think waaaay outside the box to figure out how life works...) Last night, I was at a talk where the speaker offered an interesting perspective on Jesus' odd teaching style (and how he seems to be thinking, "Hey, why don't I follow up every clear passage with something utterly confusing, and then say a couple things that will completely piss you off!") She suggested that Jesus' goal wasn't to hand out a divine rulebook and then take off, wishing us all good luck. Rather, she said, maybe he wanted to provoke us, to draw us into an ongoing conversation where we wrestle (rant, argue, disagree) with these things until they make sense to us in a real, personal way.

This got me thinking about what draws me to certain books, music, tv shows, blogs...even friends. As I contemplate the ending of The Gilmore Girls - and the distinct possibility that my favorite show ever won't end in any of the traditional perfect ways - I realize that what lights up my life (to quote Debby Boone) is provocation. The good kind, that is - with analogies drawn between things I wouldn't have thought of, or creative solutions rather than just an endless line of problems. The Gilmore Girls provoked me, and I'm not sure what's gonna fill that gap.

Provocation is an art. I don't want tacky or lewd; I don't want to be horrified. I want to think, and laugh, and wonder, and (yes) wrestle a bit with what an author or show or friend suggests. And I want to be all of those things, because I think it makes life so much more interesting if I can add an unexpected perspective to a conversation in a way that draws people in, rather than sending them running for the hills determined to lose my number.

So there you have it. It's the second week of May, and I'm just figuring out my New Year's resolution: Learn the art of provocation. If I win the t-shirt Swishy is giving away on her website, I'll be that much closer...

Today's question: What is the last thing that bugged you but also changed how you look at life?

The Secret of Wife

I was chatting the other day with a friend of mine about her brand-new marriage. She'd just come from a baby shower where the assembly of women (some single, some married, some divorced) shared their hopes and dreams and fears and concerns about this thing we call marriage. Seems like we're all still sorting out how to make it work, wondering how we're doing and how (if?) our efforts will sustain us over the long haul.

Her comments got me thinking. I'm working on the proposal for book #2, which (I think) will have something to do with this topic. I love being married...but there was also a time, when I was married to someone else, where I understood with every fiber of my being what is meant by the phrase "Hell on Earth."

In my happy and my sad, the one thing I've always LONGED to do was to ask questions of the women who seem to get it - the women with sexy, fun marriages to men they really like; women who voluntarily don lingerie ten years after their wedding night and describe their husbands in genuine terms of respect; women who love their lives and aren't too embarrassed to let that happiness leak out a bit around the edges.

I know a few of those women now, and from time to time, I sneak in a question or two about how they do it. But my dream is that Book #2 will give me (on behalf of all of us) a chance to ask more. After all, they won't be MY questions...they will be for THE BOOK.

So whether you're single or married, I need your help:
Think of the future - and the marriage - of your dreams. If you could ask someone three questions about married life, what would they be? "How did you know he was the one?" or perhaps something more practical, like "How did you and hubby stop fighting every night over how much you hate that he watches America's Next Top Model?"

Post questions in the comments, or email me at: trishstevekylie AT yahoo DOT com.
Here's to finding fun solutions from wise women who know how to get to where we (okay, I) want to be. :)

oh happy day...

Weekend with Sister was spectacular - thank you all for your good wishes! There were chocolate martinis, shopping for bargains (Meg is now officially the best-dressed woman in southern Maine for the seventh year running) and, of course, long conversations on How The World Should Run. (We implemented some new policies immediately; world-wide change should be discernible in about a week.)

Today, the sun is shining, THAT DOG is nestled adorably at the foot of the bed, and I discovered that the writer of one of my FAVORITE movies, How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days - Kristen Buckley - has a memoir out. Reviews indicate that it's: 1.) funny; and 2.) about her childhood, growing up in New Jersey (for those of you who think those two points are redundant, I don't disagree...); it even comes complete with the obligatory Bruce Springsteen-inspired title, "Tramps Like Us." I fell even more in love with Kristen in this great interview (thank you, Gothamist). Honestly, anyone who calls for a city-wide inquiry into why Derek Jeter's hair looks like Kid 'n Play is my kind of girl! (And yes, finding this picture of DJ's work for Avon makes this great morning just that much better :) )

Back to the Future

My sister is coming to visit tomorrow! She'll be taking the Amtrak "Downeaster," which bridges the gaping chasm between Maine and Massachusetts in something like 247 hours. (For all I know, she's on the train already.) Meg is crossing not one, but TWO state lines, leaving the gorgeous state of Maine for the shopping metropolis that is Greater Boston. When that happens, you know big things are at hand.

We've come to think of this annual spring visit as a summit of sorts, where we convene for the betterment of the world. We shop, we talk, we drink copious amounts of wine (and the occasional chocolate martini). We remember the good old days where kids didn't wear seat belts or bike helmets, and Mom would send us out to play after lunch and not expect to see us again until dinner. We talk about what would make society better, and then agree that if all that is ever going to happen, we probably need new outfits. And then we shop, talk, and drink some extra-strong coffee to keep up our stamina.

Now, it's not that I'm excited about Meg's visit...it's just that I can't stop googling "Train songs" and then rewriting the lyrics in anticipation. Monday I massacred the Monkee's "Last Train to Clarksville" (hereinafter known as, "Last Train to Woburn"); yesterday it was a hit from my parents' era, "King of the Road" (in which I made her a queen, then sold off her kids, husband, dog, and the small green turtle pool they keep in the yard so she could hop a boxcar to Belmont and shop with me at Marshalls).

Some might call this procrastination, but I'm thinking, if this book thing doesn't work out, I might have a career in jingles...

Anyway, Meg will be here through Sunday. And just wait - the world will be a better place after our Downeast Sister Summit (please note that we're not yet entirely sure how this world improvement effect translates across timezones; for those of you living west of Red Sox Nation, your patience is appreciated.)

Have a great weekend :)

Ambushed

So I was standing in my living room the other day, flipping through a library book to confirm that yes, it was indeed overdue (am I allowed to request that the $2.50 I owe in fines be applied towards specific books for the collection???) and the card you see to the left fell out. It's a bunch of cartoon rock stars, along with John Wayne. "What do all these people have in common?" it asks.

I turned the card over, I found out: They are all dead. As I could be, the card went on to say, any moment now. It even quoted the song, Miss American Pie: This could be the day that you die! Then it transitioned a bit, telling me I was far worse than a bad library patron; that I was, quite probably, a lying, cheating, adulterer at heart who needed to smarten up about Jesus, buy a Bible, and do what it said. Charming, really. As you can imagine, this changed my life.

Or not. It did, however, change my book. I sat my pajama-clad butt down and typed out a BIG disclaimer, explaining that while Jesus has turned out to be rather helpful in my seemingly endless quest to make my love life work, he never ambushed people. He didn't send postcards, or pamphlets, or sneak up on people and say, "Hey - in case you didn't know, you suck." I mean honestly, what was the person who hid this card in there for me to find thinking?

Okay, climbing down off of my soapbox now - thanks for letting me vent :)

On a happier note...thanks for all the kind words about my new picture! Much adulation goes to DEM Photography, my web designer Meg who figured out how to post the pic on Blogger, and the miracle that we got this shot before my allergy-fighting Benedryl wore off and my eyelids turned to mush.

Wise words

And today, a ray of happiness: a bit of wise, true, and good dating advice from our beloved fellow blogger, Ellesappelle (elle s'appelle what? you ask, fellow French II graduates... I don't know, perhaps she'll tell us? Or perhaps it's part of her mystery...) Anyway, on to the dating advice:

"Muscles don't last, but tweed blazers and brains do!"

Ain't it the truth??? We need to get her on Oprah!