Smiles All Around

Today I had the worst headache in very long time. It felt like my daughter was stomping on the entire front of my head with her cleats. The gorgeous sunny day made my eyes scream in pain. I felt sick to my stomach. I finally gave up on it passing on its own and took some Excedrin (the only medicine that works for me and Catalina who has suffered from migraines since she was 5 -- headaches that make what I had today look like a walk in the park) and took a little nap. Sleep is the only other thing that helps. I woke up feeling a bit hungover but in significantly less pain. I was able to get some of the things done as I had planned and watch an absolutely dreadful Rangers game. Now my headache is back. I want to get to sleep so I will finally be rid of it today but I couldn't let the day end without sharing the out-of-this-world great feeling I got from what two old friends said to me today.

When I write, I write for myself. For the inner joy I get from expressing myself in the written word. But I have to say, I get an incredible boost in my confidence when I know that there is someone other than me who is reading these words on a regular basis. There's no way of my knowing who is reading it or even if it's being read at all except for when I get feedback. And today, I got some. And it was so good.

A friend who I met during that terrible 7th grade experience and I recently found each other on Facebook. Our friendship was one of the few bright spots of that year. She was among my first friends after the "big move" and I have always been incredibly grateful that she reached out to me, even amidst all the taunting led by Bart Todd. She told me today that she enjoys reading my blog. She said that she remembered me on the first day of 7th grade, in my red top and polka dot skirt. But she said that what she remembered most of all was our friendship and those memories made her smile during the decades that passed. She also remembered my writing, right down to the name of one of the poems I wrote back then and is glad to be able to read my writing again. Even with my head splitting, it felt incredibly wonderful to know this today.

And there is Susan. Her opinion always mattered so much to me back in the day. It still does now. She told me that she LOVES my blog, pulled out a quote from one of my posts and asked if it would be okay if she used it. That was the greatest gift I could have ever asked for.

Ladies, thank you so much for the smiles on a day that I was/am feeling so miserable. I'd like to return the favor. I will share my favorite joke of all-time. I didn't write it, but I cleaned it up ever so slightly:

A bear and a rabbit are in the woods. The bear turns to the rabbit and asks him, "Hey, do you every have trouble with poop sticking to your fur?"

The rabbit replied, "No, I don't."

So the bear wiped his butt with the rabbit.

That joke makes me laugh so hard every time. Hope it did the same for you.

Good night and Namaste.

Lost and lovin' it

I am obsessed with Lost. I admit it. I have every season on DVD. Every issue of Lost Magazine (except #1 -- if you know where I can get a copy, please let me know). I have all the action figures they made (they were supposed to make several more series but I guess I am one of the only people that bought them so they stopped -- why they made a Shannon and no Sayid, I'll never know). Next week it returns from its final season and I cannot contain my excitement!

There have been a lot of TV shows that I enjoyed but nothing on the level of this show for so many reasons. First, there is the obvious; this is no ordinary TV show. Every episode is like a short film. The way it's shot. The writing. The acting.

For me, I think that it's the underlying themes that really does it. Science or faith? For so much of my life, if I couldn't see it, hear it, feel it, it did not exist. Period. I was not dealt a good hand growing up. Most of my young life, I felt that I was unwanted. That nothing I did was good enough. That I was a mistake. It's difficult to believe in a benevolent higher power when you are living in that sort of misery. It's difficult to believe in anything. But there came a time in my life when I decided to grow up. If I was unwanted, so what? I am here. I have a right to be here. If the things I did were not enough to please certain people, so what? If I was satisfied with my own efforts, then that's all that matters. And if not, that just means I need to raise the bar for myself. If I was a mistake, so what? The greatest and most powerful lessons I've learned in life started out as mistakes and ended up as gifts. It becomes easy to believe in a benevolent higher power when you allow yourself to be human like the rest of the world. It's funny. You think that believing in "people" that you can't see, hear of feel as something childish, like Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. As you get older, you let go of these ideas. But I've never felt more grown up as when I believe in that intangible thing that binds us all together. But old ideals die hard. I still have this internal debate over which is the real truth; science or faith? Lost externalizes the debate.

I also love the theme of second chances. All the main characters on Lost have taken a wrong turn somewhere (no pun intended). They all feel that the choices they made determine the road they must always travel for their lives. But what if you were not condemned to the consequences of the choices you made? Not even the terrible ones? Can you find redemption? Would you chose to walk the path to it even though it is completely unfamiliar? If you were given the opportunity to return to the familiar, would you go back to your old ways?

I can go on and on for days writing about Lost. Maybe I will. But for tonight, I think I will just get lost and watch the back catalog.

It's amazing that a tropical island with healing powers and polar bears could be so much like our mundane lives. February 2nd can't come soon enough for me.

Namaste.

Skeevotz

I write a lot about how proud I am of my daughter. I have good reason to do that. She is the most wonderful child a parent could ask for. Today I want to share with you how proud I am of the man I married.

Salvatore has been so patient, supportive and understanding with all the things that have gone on in my life of late. Although we have had many rocky times in our relationship, we are married. We are partners. We promised each other that we would weather the storms that came into our lives and we both have delivered on that.

We also promised each other that we would celebrate each other's achievements. Salvatore often jokes with Catalina that he used to be a rock star. He was in a few glam bands -- long hair, make-up, spandex, the whole 9-yards -- in the '80's and played some of the hot local clubs. A minor local celebrety, maybe. A world sensation, no. Which is fine by me. Hell, if he had been a world-famous rock star back in the day, it is highly unlikely that he and I ever would have met, fallen in love and married. He has often said that the life we created together is worth more than his 15 minutes of fame as a rock star would have ever given him.

Music has always been a big part of each of our lives. Our love of the Ramones is one of the big things that brought us together. However, the only musical instrument that I can play is the radio -- but I know great music when I hear it. Salvatore on the other hand, is a talented guitarist (i.e. his ticket in the '80's to his Rock Stardom). Instead of a dream, it is one of his hobbies. I truly admire him for holding true to what he is passionate about. He still plays out about once a month with a band he and my brother-in-law are in called The Skeevotz. I can't accurately describe the feeling I get when I see him on stage. The venues they play aren't huge. The house isn't always packed. But seeing him on stage whaling out on his guitar with confidence and reckless abandon and the sheer joy he exudes, he is larger than life...and he is all mine.

Recently, The Skeevotz went into the recording studio. After what seemed like an endless time mixing, their songs are ready for the world. You can listen to their tracks on GarageBand.com. Listeners have an opportunity there to give their reviews. They reinforced what I keep telling Salvatore...they have a great sound. There are people in Scandanavia that are digging their tunes. Who knew that once you have let go and moved on from being a worldwide rock star, you open the door to people around the world listening to you play?

Here's the link to the site. http://www.garageband.com/song/reviews.html?pe1S8LTM0LdsaShYVK3YGo

Hopefully I did it right.

And if you are in the Long Island area this Saturday, January 30th, check out The Skeevotz live at O'Brien's Ale House Grill, 3720 Route 112 in Coram. My brother-in-law's other band, The Beauty School Dropouts, is opening for them at 9:30 p.m. Come down and check them out.

I love you, Salvatore. I will always be your #1 groupie!!!

Take 2

Focus. Discipline. Honesty.

I let two days go by without blogging, two days after my resolve to blog daily. In the past, I have permitted myself to use that as an excuse to abandon my resolve. "See," my internal nay-sayer would tell me, "I told you that you couldn't stick to it." And then I'd quit whatever it was I had hoped to accomplish. Not this time. I realize that I am human. While my goal is perfection, I can be proud of progress. When I falter, I can start over. So here I am.

Focus. Discipline. Honesty. Take 2.

Teen Angst: The Next Generation

Catalina and I got into a heated discussion tonight. Voices were raised. Tears were shed. Thankfully there wasn't too much either of us said that we wish we could take back. After it was over, we were not happy about the fight (oh let's just call it what it actually is) but we were happy to have cleared the air.

Catalina said something that will stay with me for a while...at least I hope it will so I can make sure that I never make her feel that way again. She said that she knew that I love her because I have to; I'm her mother. But she didn't think that I like her very much because I always seem to find something that she is not doing right. My heart sank.

I told her that I love her because she is lovable, not because I have to. I know all too well that biological order does not create love. I told her that I like her because she is compassionate, funny and smart. That if I was 12, I would want her to be my friend. I told her that I admire her because of her incredible sense of self, courage to face her fears and need for justice. These are all things that I have trouble with and now when I am faced with them, I think of her and she gives me strength and inspiration. I also told her that this is why I get so frustrated with her at times. Because I know how much she is capable of and as her mother, it is my duty to her to guide her on the path to achieving all she can. Sometimes that means identifying where she falls short.

Catalina will be 13 in a few weeks. We will have many more "heated discussions" as we enter this new stage of her life and our relationship. Boundaries will be tested, as well as our patience. I never want to have this particular discussion with her again. I want her to know that I love, like and admire her not because of what I said tonight. I want her to just know it. To just feel it. I need to be "that" kind of mom for her...and for myself.

I have no trouble telling everyone what I great fan of my daughter I am. I just need to let her know more often and more effectively.

Namaste.

Resolve

We are at the halfway point of the first month of the New Year. Over these past two weeks I have felt hope and despair in equal measure. It can all be so difficult at times yet beautiful at the same time.

2009. For the second year in a row my life had a major upheaval midway through. While they were tragic events, they were also gateways to new and better things. And very exhausting. I've had a lot of time to feel hurt, regroup and be introspective. Important things but you can get lost in them if you allow yourself to. I need FOCUS. I need DISCIPLINE. I need absolute HONESTY with myself.

2010. For two weeks I've been thinking about what the perfect resolutions would be. My personality type finds it so important to do the right thing that doing nothing is preferable to doing the wrong thing. This trait has helped me to be driven and strive for perfection but it has also made me impossible to live with at times (ask Salvatore and Catalina how it is to live with a person who will do anything not to be wrong) and has allowed me to be paralyzed with fear. Fear has never been my friend. It has ruined relationships. It made me miss out on so many things. It made me a victim in more ways than I can ever admit in this blog. I will be 40 in 2010 (even though I look not a day older than 25...LOL). After 40 years I think it is time to say goodbye to fear. Well, not entirely. Some fear is a good thing. It keeps us from running across the railroad tracks when a train is coming. But I don't want it to keep me from running out into the middle of my life and proclaim who I am, proudly. Not any more.

In my years of teen angst, which seems like a lifetime ago, I wrote. I used to write well, in fact. I was very dark and depressed (and full of fear, although I didn't know it then...hindsight is 20/20 after all). Writing was an outlet. There wasn't a day that went by when I didn't write a poem, story or essay of some sort. It was therapeutic. In high school a lot of my writing was appeared in school publications and some were even contributed to city- and statewide contests. I never won any of them but out of thousands of entries, I always received an honorable mention. I thought that it was the misery that people were drawn to in my writing. I was only half right. It was misery that I was feeling then and I wrote of it honestly. Honesty on the part of the writer is what sets interesting writing apart from flat writing. It was the honest expression that was my therapy. It was my focus on my pen and paper that made it possible. It was the discipline of writing daily that fed my passion. And for some reason I stopped.

2010. I need to get my life and my head back on track. Instead of coming up with a long list of perfect resolutions like losing weight (which I seriously need to do) or making $100K this year (which I also seriously need to do...don't we all though), I am keeping the list short for now. A single entry: I resolve to write every day. Here. On my blog. This is a challenge to myself to get back to being disciplined, focused and honest. I am ratting myself out to you. If you like what I have to say, let me know. I can use the encouragement. If I miss a day, let me have it. I need to be held accountable. And if you think that I am copping out, call me on it. Help keep me honest.

I hope the New Year is treating you well so far. Mine is off to a late start. But you know what they say...better late than never.

Namaste.

Seemed Like Old Times...

A couple of weeks ago, I got together with a few of the people who were most significant to me in a positive way when I was in junior high. Our lives had their way with us and we forged our own paths until it was literally decades since some of us had seen each other. How does this happen? I remember not being able to get through a 45-minute class without passing a note to Susan or Aruna then afterschool talking for hours on the phone. For the life of me, I can’t remember a single word scribbled in those notes or in those phone conversations but I do remember how they made me feel. I felt like “me” and it was good. During those awkward junior high school years where you are not a little kid but still goofy. It’s when your body and emotions have their own plans for you. You are constantly conflicted between your need for acceptance and your need to find out who you are. Your greatest need is for someone to go through it with you and not laugh too hard when you make an ass of yourself and to help you feel like you’re something special. That’s what I remember about all those notes and phone calls. That’s what I remember about Susan, Aruna, George and Bill. And yet we allowed so much time to pass between visits, phone calls and letters…

My mother and step-father married during the summer between sixth and seventh grades and we moved from Flushing to Glen Oaks. That’s about a 20-minute car ride but to me at the time, it might as well have been halfway around the world. I started junior high not knowing a solitary person and it seemed like everyone else there knew everyone else since birth.

I made what turned out to be a terrible judgment call on the first day of school when I wore a white mini-skirt with red polka dots on it and a red top. I wanted to look nice for my first day at the new school and when I walked out the door, I felt pretty and red always made me feel confident. That feeling didn’t last very long.

There was a kid named Bart Todd who on that first day of school made it his personal mission to make my every moment at this new school a living Hell for me. Maybe it was the red shirt that got his hostility pumping, maybe the polka dots on my skirt reminded him of an embarrassing outfit his mother put him in when he was three and stirred up anger that was buried deep inside him or maybe he was just a creep that saw me as the vulnerable, wide-eyed kid that was all alone in a strange place and figured I was easy prey. The “why” doesn’t really matter at this point. It didn’t really matter then either. His relentless, daily torture (which others chimed in on, too) wouldn’t have stopped if I knew why he chose me to pick on. That first day of school, I went home feeling like an ugly freak. I went home feeling that way for the entire year.

Things at home weren’t much better as I was trying to get used to my entirely changed life. It turned out to be for the best but when you are a displaced, tormented 12-year-old, you don’t see it that way. Even now as I am writing this, these wounds I received 27 years ago (Holy cow! Has it really been that long?!?!?) seem as fresh as the day I received them. That was the worst year of my entire life. I will never forget Bart Todd or his Dallas Cowboys jersey that he seemed to wear every day and his pin straight brown hair framing his extremely freckled face and I especially won’t ever forget the way that he made me feel.

Thankfully, Bart moved away during the summer between seventh and eighth grade. I remember hoping that there was a “Bart Todd” at his new school who would give him the same welcome that that this Bart Todd gave me. God forgive me, as I sit here as a nearly 40-year old woman (WOW! I’m getting old…), I still hope that he had that experience when he was the new kid at school. But you know what the kicker is here? I bet that if by some chance he was reading this blog, he would be stunned to find out what an impact he had on my life and my fragile 12-year-old ego. Bart Todd would hardly be alone. Most people have little to no idea of the kind of impact they’ve had on other people’s lives – positive or negative -- and when those most significant moments occur.

Enough about Bart Todd. I’ve spewed enough negative energy here. I’m done with that now. Let’s move on to eighth grade, an infinitely better year. The year I met Susan, Aruna, George and Bill. That was when they helped me find my smile again.

Susan, Aruna and I were in the same class. In seventh grade there were three SP classes but there were enough students that didn’t make the cut that there were only two SP classes in eighth grade. There were only two other kids along with me from my seventh grade class that made it to SP in eighth grade. That was a relief off the bat. I felt I had a real shot of having a school yea that was manageable.

I remember being in classes with Susan and instantly liking her but she intimidated me a little. She was everything that I was not. She was blonde, had an incredibly infectious smile and was just the kind of person you wanted to have around. I remember wanting to be her friend. Maybe some of that would rub off on me (well, not the blonde hair part but you know what I mean). I don’t know how it happened but Susan and I did become friends. Soon we became inseparable and stayed that way through junior high and high school. We were so opposite, me with my jet black hair, dark sarcasm and pessimistic view of the world and Susan blonde, beautiful and always seeing the good in people. I guess we complemented each other. I know that I have never laughed so hard, so often with anyone else in my life. I told Susan about all of my frustrations in my home life and while hers was very different than mine, she never made me feel like a freak and was always there to listen. I pretty much lived in her house (especially the back room). Hers was the family I wished I had and I kind of did for a few years – including the coolest big brother in the world, Bobby, oooh, I mean “Rob.” All of that saved my life. I know it. If not for Susan being Ying to my Yang and the Zahner family putting up with me as practically a border in their home, I know that I would have headed on a path to no-good paved with self-loathing. Susan, you were the best friend I ever had in my nearly 40-years. You will never know what an impact you’ve had on me. Adequate words do not exist.

Susan introduced me to Aruna. They knew each other since grade school. Aruna was so much fun. She was quirky and funny and I always felt comfortable being silly with her. I remember being at her house with Susan (when we should have been some place else…) and watching Eddie Murphy’s Delirious for the first (second, third…tenth) time. You know until our recent reunion dinner, I had no idea that Mrs. Subramanian was working at the bank a couple of blocks away while we were hanging at the house? I think that was something I was better off not knowing at the time because I would have been freaked out and that would’ve gotten in the way of our collective good time. Aruna, thanks for showing me that you can cut loose without being a bad-ass.

And George and Bill…what can I say about those guys. I was so sorry that Bill couldn’t join us at the dinner. The flu has its way of tearing through on its schedule which is generally in direct opposition of our personal schedules. While Bill wasn’t there in body, he certainly was there in spirit. “George and Bill” were kind of a Ying Yang pair of their own. I really don’t remember how I met them. I know that Susan and Aruna knew them first from grade school and it was a big coincidence when we found out that I knew them, too. I know that I met Bill first. He was the first normal guy to “like-like” me in junior high. I never told him this but after a year of feeling like an ugly freak, Bill made me feel pretty and worthy of good attention. That was huge and I am forever grateful that I was able to turn his eye. Unfortunately, George was the second normal guy to “like-like” me. At first this seemed like a disaster but fortunately, Bill was a great friend and didn’t stand in the way of my and George’s “adolescent romance.” It was a great lesson to be part of. George made me feel beautiful and special. And even though he completely forgot that on our first date he took me to see Dune, he was the perfect first boyfriend and someone I am proud to call “friend” today.

My daughter is now about the age I was when I met Susan, Aruna, George and Bill I see her playing out the teen melodrama, having “private jokes” and creating bonds with her peers. I am thankful that her seventh grade experience is so different than mine was. I love that she is a natural leader, compassionate and naturally self-assured to the point where she will not only stand up for herself when she feels there was in injustice perpetrated against her, but will stand-up for others when she feels that they are being unjustly picked on. It took the support of my core friends to give me the strength to feel comfortable in who I was. Susan, Aruna, George and Bill, I am so thankful to each of you for that. I only hope that Catalina is fortunate enough to have friends as good as these as she travels on her journey to her Self.

If any of you are reading this, I don’t know if any of you are surprised by the impact you had on my life and in what ways you affected me. If it took 26 years for me to let you know, shame on me. I promise, I’ll be quicker to let you know from now on.

Dinner that night was fantastic. While each of us looked a little older – but not as much as we should have I must say we are all pretty hot for people closing in on the Big 4-0! – when we got to talking, it was as if no time had passed. That is the true sign of a great, old friendship; it is timeless. Next time we get together, I hope that Bill will be there to swap old stories and dust the cobwebs from these old stories we have in our vaults. I also hope that Cindy will be there, too. The others knew Cindy from grade school but she moved away before I had a chance to meet her. It was great making a “new old friend.”

Thank you, Facebook, for facilitating our reunion and not allowing these friendships to become merely fading memories.