Back in Business

Hellooooooooooo? Anybody alive out there?

Name that movie (without checking imdb.com).

Seriously, is anyone still reading this silly blog?

I’ve been completely off-line for five days straight. It was nice to “unplug” for awhile.

Over Christmas, I fell in love with a guy named Max. This is so against my morals. I swore I would never EVER fall for a Pomeranian (or any other small yappy dog for that matter), but Max looked so darn cute chewing his bone under the Christmas tree. Max belongs to my sister-in-law, so my own dog doesn’t have to worry.

Hope you all had a nice holiday.

Much Better Than an Office Job

I love it when I find lawyers who leave their jobs to pursue their true dreams.

Just the other day I was telling someone about this girl I knew in LA, Amber Hagen. She's a former lawyer who loves to knit. She started a baby clothing line and had some initial success.

I wondered out loud what happened to her.

Turns out Violet Affleck is wearing her stuff.

If you're still looking for a Christmas gift for parents-to-be, check out the matching blanket at Jen Klair Kids. And more of Amber's stuff here. And Amber's website here.

The Benefits of Spacing Out

The other day I was reading a blog by one of my writing teachers.

It was about space.

Quoting one of her own teachers, she said: “See the space everywhere. Train your eyes to look for it. See it between these words that I am now saying to you, in between every letter and every word.”

She talked about how she is so trained to look for objects, that she was shocked to notice all the space – all over the place – once she started to seek it.

I liked those thoughts, so I tucked them away in my brain and pondered them for a few days.

Yesterday I was playing tennis. I suck at the game. I tend to hit the yellow ball into the net. Or I feed it right to the other player. My opponent doesn’t even have to move – she just holds out her racquet and bonks the ball back into my court where I’m running like a madwoman to retrieve it.

Suddenly, I remembered space.

I was playing a doubles match, and I saw space everywhere. Right down the center – in between my two opponents – an open place where neither could reach. In the doubles allies, the wide spaces on the far edges of the court. Oh, and look at that gigantic spot by the baseline when the players run up to the net. Instead of focusing on objects – nets, racquets, and opponents – I began focusing on space.

Duh.

Brilliant strategy.

Maybe I should look to my tennis instructor for a writing lesson.

* * *

On another note, I upgraded to the latest version of Blogger yesterday. There were a few glitches (still are) and my comments weren't working. Thanks to my tech gal my comments are fixed now. Sorry if you couldn't post a one yesterday, but thanks for stopping by my blog.

LA Story

I came across this piece the other day. I wrote it a year ago when I was still living in LA and submitted it to a local paper. The editor liked it, but he didn’t buy it (go figure – he ran a singles column and it’s about married women -- with babies). But anyway, I completely forgot about it. This is one of the beautiful things about having a blog – I can publish some of my work that never found the right home. So here goes . . .

My friend Sasha (not her real name) was in Los Angeles on a business trip after moving to the Midwest eight months ago. We were both married now, Sasha had a baby, and I was trying to get knocked-up, so I had visions of crashing her luxury Park Hyatt suite for an evening of room service and Spectravision. But my idea was quashed when Sasha said she was dying for a night out on the town.

I had to dig – and I mean dig – through my closet to find “going out” clothes.

“Wahla! I found my purple pleather pants,” I said, shaking out the wrinkles. “And lookie there, they still fit.”

I shimmied into them and hooked the button. Other parts of me didn’t look so hot. I’d stopped highlighting my hair (the chemicals are bad) and my prior obsession with manicures and waxing rituals had been replaced with periodic duty. When I looked in the bathroom mirror and studied my face, I noticed the skin around my eyes looked so – what’s the word – mature.

We drove to a restaurant in Hollywood. Los Angeles magazine had given it a good write-up. Janet and Sienna (these names have been changed too) joined us. The two of them had each popped out a baby last year, dropping from full-time lawyer to part-time lawyer.

“Huh,” Sasha said when we arrived. “Another sushi place with funky walls.”

“And nightmare parking,” I added. Yes, reminders of why I prefer room service were coming back fast.

“Do you want a table where you can talk or one where you can people watch?” the hostess asked.

I wanted to talk but was out-voted. The hostess seated us in a half-moon shaped booth facing the crowd. When we launched into a discussion about sex, our waiter’s ears perked up. But we quickly moved onto more relevant topics: baby food, baby weight, baby length, baby percentages. The waiter’s face morphed into disappointment.

“Where are you all from?” he asked.

“Omigod,” Sasha said. “Do I look like I’m from the Midwest*?” She was having issues with her new non-LA digs.

We moved onto the drink order.

“Vodka gimlet for me,” Sasha said.

The waiter stood, confused.

“Oh. That’s an old lady’s drink, isn’t it?” Sasha said.

The waiter suggested a strange sounding martini. Janet had the guts to order one.

“I’ll take a merlot,” I said. Merlot reminded me of lovely evenings spent sipping wine and debriefing the day with my husband.

Sienna ordered a Sprite.

“Ohmigod! You’re pregnant?” Sasha asked.

The waiter visibly panicked.

“Would you like to start with some edamame?” he gave us a big smile. “Edamame are little green soy beans,” he said, making hand gestures in an attempt to demonstrate how to eat one.

“Did you hear that?” Janet said when he left. “He translated edamame for us. He really doesn’t think we’re from around here.”

Sienna was near tears. “I can’t have two babies under two,” she said. “I’ll die.”

“Hello? Are you using pro-tec-tion?” Janet asked.

Sienna dug her cell phone out of her purse and placed in on the table, ignoring our stares. “The withdrawal method,” she finally offered.

“Well no wonder you’re pregnant!” we all shouted.

We understood though. Birth control pills had gone out the window, along with Internet dating and shopping sprees.

A television crew arrived – and passed us by – even though we were frantically reapplying our lipstick.

“Hang on,” Sasha yelled to the cameraman, but it was too late. “We don’t look older than those girls,” she nodded towards the table being filmed. The four of us eyeballed the spunky blondes.

“Um,” Janet said softly, “I think we do.”

“Hey,” I interrupted. “This food is delicious.”

Everybody turned their heads towards the assortment of sushi rolls and chicken skewers. A dead silence settled over the table. I felt like I said something wrong. We were supposed to be pining over our single days. Well, either that or trash talking anyone who was under 30. Had I just broken the rules?

“You’re right,” Janet finally said, popping a cube of Kobe beef steak in her mouth. “The food is good.”

Sasha and Sienna picked up their chopsticks. Suddenly we were paying attention to each other instead of the waiter, the spunky blondes, and the camera crews. In that moment, we weren’t mothers or wives, lawyers or writers. We were simply four girls catching up with each other, enjoying dinner, laughing and drinking and indulging in the company of friends – that is, until Sienna’s husband called and announced their baby had fallen out of his highchair. She rushed out the door.

Things went downhill from there. The waiter forgot our second round of drinks (although he remembered to charge us). Our celebrity sighting (Lindsey Lohan) turned out to be not-so-Lindsey after all. And when the bill came, we spent 20 minutes debating how much to tip the waiter.

Oh well.

The few moments we shared were magical (and the baby was fine).

~

*For the record, Sasha (and I) both LOVE the Midwest. We were born and raised there and since leaving LA, are enjoying the clean air, extreme seasons, and friendly folks.

Separation Anxiety

In bed, nuzzling my husband, it’s warm, it’s cozy, it’s . . . stinky.

“What smells?” I ask, lifting my head from the pillow.

I sniff my spouse. Minty.

Sniff myself. Powdery.

Sniff the sheets. Planet Earth laundry detergenty.

Maybe . . . I sniff my sleeping bag. Bingo!

Me and my sleeping bag – well, we’re like Linus and his blue blankie: inseparable. We hang together in bed, we snuggle on the couch watching tv, we even mingle when I’m working. Now I have to part with my beloved friend for three days while it’s being laundered in one of those front loading machines at the cleaners down the street. How oh how will I survive?

California (Callie) the Dog

Happy birthday to my dog
Happy birthday to my dog
Happy birthday to my do-og
Happy birthday to my dog!

She's 63!

In the Kitchen Without Rachel Ray

My husband works in a small office. Everyone is within earshot of each other. So when I call him, our conversations go like this:

Me: What do you want to do for dinner?

Him: We can have . . .

Me: What?

Him: From the freezer . . .

Me: Peas?

Him: No.

Me: Ice?

Him: No.

Me: Oh! You mean the chicken nuggets. What’s the matter? You don’t want everyone in your office to know YOUR WIFE FEEDS YOU FROZEN CHICKEN NUGGETS?

Him: They’re tender . . . s.

For the Record – Tonight’s Dinner: chicken nuggets (excuse me, I mean tenders), peas, and ice. I’ll even light a candle or two.

Tagged by Trish

I was tagged by Trish:

Egg Nog or hot chocolate? Hot chocolate with a shot of Peppermint schnapps. YUM!

Do you hang mistletoe? Once.

When do you put up your decorations? This year I put them up at 3am the Tuesday after Thanksgiving.

Favorite holiday memory as a child: Hanging out with my clan in the family room while we watched movies, played games, and ate.

When did you learn the truth about Santa? Second grade thanks to my friend Julie. When my mom confirmed the truth later that night, I was SO surprised (in a bad way).

Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? My brothers and I used to when we were kids. The box always contained pajamas and funny socks.

How do you decorate your Christmas tree? I collect ornaments from every place my husband and I visit. So our tree is full of unique and personal souvenirs.

Snow. Love it or dread it? Love it from Thanksgiving through the New Year. After that, I only want to see it on the ski slopes.

Can you ice skate? Yes! And I’m a really fast on rollerblades too. Zoom zoom.

Do you remember your favorite gift? Wow. There have been lots. Some include: a necklace from my husband, skis, and many presents from Aunt Ellen (the BEST gift-giver ever).

What’s the most important thing about the holidays for you? I genuinely believe that Jesus is God’s son, that he was sent to forgive us, and that he is the way to truth and light.

What’s your favorite holiday dessert? Christmas cookies.

What’s your favorite holiday tradition? Celebrating the Advent the four Sundays before Christmas by lighting the candles and reading a devotional.

What tops your tree? A star. But I’d consider an angel.

Which do you prefer giving or receiving? I find shopping for others hard, but on Christmas morning I enjoy giving just as much as receiving.

What’s your favorite Christmas song? O Holy Night.

Candy canes – yum or yuck? Yum for one lick. Then yuck. But I do think they’re pretty.

I’m tagging Darlene (who has a BEAUTIFUL blog), Brooke (my web gal), and The Blossom Risk (who has a new blog).