Who's Blogging?

The day the doctor confirmed the news – that the baby inside me had a heart that was no longer beating, that I had, indeed, begun to miscarry – my husband and I drove to a little restaurant down the street from where we lived. I called my mom while we sat at the table. I thought if I told her what happened while I was in public, surrounded by waiters and waitresses and customers, I wouldn’t cry. My plan failed miserably and I squeaked out one sentence (“We lost the baby”), and then I sat and listened as I wiped my tears with a napkin and tried to drown the lump in my throat by drinking ice cold water.

A day later I blogged about the miscarriage. My brother called within seconds.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said.

“Mom told you,” I said.

“No. I just read your blog,” he said.

Ugh! I can’t quite describe how terrible I felt at that moment. I totally presumed my parents had told my brothers about the loss (I didn’t have the emotional strength to make any more phone calls other than the one).

Well.

Time went on.

And then one day I found out that my brother has a blog. A blog! And he never even told me!

So say hello to Greg (feel free to give him grief). I’m not too familiar with MySpace, but I love how you can pick a little yellow face to show your mood and how you can list the book you’re currently reading. Oh – and lest you thought you were going to sneak away – if you’ve been reading my blog but haven’t yet told me about your blog, you better de-lurk and post a link. C’mon now, spill!

Coffee Shop Writers

Love coffee. Love to write. Ya think I’d be into the whole “write in a coffee shop” trend. But I can’t do it. I mean, I like the idea. A lot. Especially on days like today when I’m going a wee bit stir crazy in my – shhhh – very quiet home office.

Earlier, I began thinking about all the artists I see inside Murky Coffee and Marvelous Market who appear to be pounding out their masterpieces. I hopped up from my desk, inspired. I filled my backpack and headed on over to the café attached to Politics and Prose.

Once settled, I whipped out my laptop and pulled up a Word document. There. Ready to go. But wait . . . I was hungry. And the table was just a tiny bit too small for a turkey sandwich and a cup of joe and my laptop and my books and my papers. After lunch I had to pee. Yikes. I was anxious about leaving my stuff. So I packed it all up and peed fast, only to rush back into the café and see that I’d lost my spot next to the outlet. But mostly I couldn’t concentrate. Too many dishes clattering and kids screeching and a conversation about crystal meth (no joke) from way over in a far corner of the room that was louder than everything else. So here I am back in my home office.

Life Goes On

This weekend Ron and I carried the grill from our garage inside the townhouse, up the stairs, and out onto the balcony off our kitchen. We moved our patio couch out there too. Tonight we sat outside with a glass of wine, the dog at our feet, the smell of sizzling hamburgers in the air.

“Ahhhh,” I said, looking out over the railing. “A lovely view of the abandoned Giant grocery store.”

“And don’t forget the liquor store over there,” Ron pointed.

Right then a car pulled up to a dark corner of an empty parking lot where we’re pretty convinced drug dealers meet.

A little over two years ago we grilled outdoors all the time. Our “old” place overlooked the Pacific Ocean in Malibu, California. We weren’t rich – not by a long shot – but at the time I happened to work as a lawyer for a university that is located on some prime real estate in Southern California and that also happens to provide on-campus housing to its employees.

I left my job to become a freelance writer. To make a long story short, my decision played a big role in leading us to this east coast rental property overlooking the abandoned Giant.

I made the right decision.
I made the right decision.
I made the right decision.

I tell myself this over and over again.

In my heart I know what I say is true. I love my job. Every single day I’m grateful that I’m paid (albeit not much) to spend my time doing something I enjoy and care about so deeply. And besides, our view may not be great tonight, but we're having fun. And soon we’ll be grilling out on our deck in Colorado at our retreat home (the above picture is not our exact view, but it's darn close). We never would have a retreat home unless I had taken the plunge into a writing career (another long story).

My mom likes to tell me there are no right or wrong decisions, just decisions. And you make the best of them. Well, right or wrong, the decision to become a writer and the decision to buy a retreat home instead of a place on the east coast were good ones. I can feel it all the way deep into my bones.

Earth Day

In the beginning God created…

Day 1
Light. Heavens, earth, waters.

Day 2
Sky.

Day 3
Dry ground. Vegetation: plants and trees.

Day 4
Sun, moon, and stars.

Day 5
Fish and birds.

Day 6
Livestock and wild animals. Man, both male and female, in the image of God.

Day 7
A holy day of rest.

The book of Genesis says God blessed his creation and gave it to us.

Happy Earth Day.

What I See

I see. . .

A lovely meal of spring greens, cranberries, goat cheese, walnuts and apples. Early bedtime, sleeping soundly. A long, hot shower in the morning. Ron and me kneeling in prayer, knowing God is here, listening. Crying – a few tears are okay – as the anesthesiologist eases an IV into my arm which I barely feel (I also see him or her remembering to give me the “no-throw-up” medicine). Dr. M’s hands moving fluidly, draining the tumor, removing the cyst. Me, waking up, relieved it’s over. Back home in bed, comfy, Ron at my side. No complications, only a time to heal. Happy, calm, resting in the peace that passes understanding.

Update: I don't laugh easily, but a friend and I were rolling today when she read this post and called in a panic, offering to bring over a casserole. The above was supposed to be my vision of what I hope happens when a doctor removes a benign cyst on my ovary, but the surgery is not until May. Then all casseroles welcome!

Save Fred

I came across Save Fred on Save Karyn’s blog. She couldn’t fix his intestines, but I couldn’t even cut him open without jagging the scalpel all over his chest (I’ve never been very good with scissors either – my wrapping paper at Christmas is always crooked). Can you save Fred the rabbit?

For more entertainment, my latest Ask a Blogger column is online. Thank you Shari, JanB, and Cara for submitting questions!

School Days

Sitting at our large, wooden farm table in the kitchen, I pull out my pre-calculus book. We’re on chapter 10. I push aside the blue cloth napkin, the round plate, the fork and knife and spoon. When I’ve cleared a space for homework, I take out a piece of loose leaf notepaper and my pencil with the huge pink eraser.

My mom walks in the kitchen and peers over my shoulder. “Where’s Scott?”

“He had a meeting after school,” I say and bend over my textbook to begin problem 1.

On problem 3 my brother Greg opens the refrigerator looking for an after school snack.

“Where’s Scott?” he says.

Everyone is asking because Scott is my high school boyfriend and he helps me with pre-calculus everyday. He’s so smart I call him Doogie Howser.

I tell Greg that Scott isn’t coming.

Adam, my other brother, walks in the kitchen when I’m on Problem 5.

“Where’s Scott?” he says.

“He’s up your butt and to the left!” I say. And then I laugh and tell him that no one thinks I can do my math homework without Scott. Adam laughs too and walks upstairs.

About ten minutes later he skids on his tube socks into the kitchen. “I have bad news, Jenny,” he says.

“What’s that?”

“I just pooped Scott out and flushed him down the toilet.”

Ha, ha, ha. My family has laughed about Adam’s joke for years (“poor Scott” we always say). I still think of this story from time to time (obviously, since I’m blogging about it). And I’m thinking of it again today because Scott was good at math, but I was good at English. I helped him with his college admission essay to Virginia Tech.

I can’t believe what happened with the shooting today. Scott graduated from college long ago, so my connection to Virginia Tech is pretty weak. But there is a connection, however small, and it’s amazing how that personal link shakes me up so much more. In an instant death can take anyone, anywhere. Watching Planet Earth last night, I scribbled down this quote: “The margin between life and death is as thin as the water’s surface.”

My thoughts and prayers are with the students, employees, faculty, and their families.

Grace

Dinnertime.

My parents are in town.

There’s Mexican lasagna in the oven and corn on the stove and Mom mixing Bloody Marys (where are the green olives?) and Dad looking for the cheese (is this Gouda?) and me dicing tomatoes (hey, Ron check the corn) and Ron setting out the trays (we’re out of paper towels) and the dog playing with her squeaky toy (Ho! Ho! Ho! – a stuffed Santa left over from Christmas) and Alex Trebek on Jeopardy (now for a Daily Double), and suddenly everyone is sitting down and eating but we haven’t said Grace.

And this drives me nuts.

So I yell a last ditch G-rated prayer above the clattering forks and the chatter and the Jeopardy tune: "Rubadubdub, thanks for the grub. Yay God."

Everyone says, "Amen!"

And then Dad says he knew a person once who used to pray, "F*** Satan."

Well, you can't beat that.

Life's Little Joys

A little over a week ago Ron and I walked through downtown Washington DC to see the cherry blossoms (before they blew off the trees). Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Like snow. And yet. Yet...I expected them to be gorgeous and breathtaking and like snow. It’s nice when life meets your expectations (and goodness knows I have high, unrealistic expectations!).

But at times life hits me with a moment that is unexpected. This may sound silly – and I’ll admit this does not compare to cherry blossoms – but the other day in tennis clinic the instructor wheeled over a basket of brand-spanking-new balls. An entire grocery cart full of them.

Bounce
Bounce
Bouncy-bounce-bounce-bounce.

I love playing tennis with brand new yellow fuzzy balls. Normally they come in canisters of three. Not a bad number, but not nearly as exciting as hundreds of them all at once. All over the place.

Again, if I had to choose, I'd pick snowflowers over a bunch of silly man-made manufactured tennis balls. But those little unexpected life moments, gosh, I just love them.

I Heart Books

My book binge rages on:

Without a Map

Wow. I couldn’t put this one down, not even during yesterday's airplane descent (which meant I felt like barfing for about 40 minutes after we landed). Without a Map is a true story about a girl growing up in the 1960s who got pregnant at age 16. She was “shunned” by her community, but that word is an understatement. I recalled passages from The Diary of Anne Frank as the author talked about being confined to a house, never allowed to go outside (or even leave the bedroom if guests were visiting). It’s a sad story. And happy story. And a memoir (of course).

Good Friday

I don’t write very much on this blog about my faith. I’m not sure why.

But Easter is here.

The Tenebrae service is one of my favorite services of the year. Twelve candles, each representing events leading to Christ’s entombment. Twelve Scriptures, a candle extinguished one by one after each reading. Until the room is dark. And silent. And you leave, feeling the separation, seeing nothing but shadows.

Thankfully the story isn’t finished on Friday. The church joins together again Sunday morning to celebrate Christ’s defeat of death.

I don’t know what your faith is. Maybe it’s different than mine. But have you thought about what you believe? We’re all going to a tomb one day (not a happy thought, but true). God promises us if we seek him, we’ll find him.

I’m signing off the blogosphere for the next three days. Ron and I are spending the long weekend with some dear friends of ours. Celebrating love. Life. Seeking God.

Happy Easter.

Chippity Chop

So I have to go to the hospital and get a catheter.

Can you believe it?! (See last Tuesday’s post on Dr. House.)

There’s a wee chance I’m overreacting (pun intended). Okay more than a wee chance, a huge chance, but it looks like I’m heading for minor surgery to remove a cyst on my ovary. Don’t they stuff all sorts of tubes in you for surgery? They did when my friend in LA had fibroids removed.

Anyway, my doctor’s on vacation so I won’t know more until later. Also, people keep asking if that’s why I had the miscarriage and…I have no idea. BUT I do have a great book recommendation for anyone who is interested in connecting with others who have experienced miscarriage: About What Was Lost – an anthology with 20 essays on miscarriage, healing, and hope.

Another writer recommended it to me the other day and I just got it in the mail along with this book (my friend's story is on page 113).

Speaking of Memoir

Ron often comes home from work with three or four articles earmarked for me that he found in various newspapers during his commute (he takes a train). Today he gave me a copy of this article. It's about a man, Harry Bernstein, who began writing a book at age 93. You gotta love that right away. But it gets better. Harry writes memoir.

His first book -- The Invisible Wall -- is about growing up in a Jewish family with Christian families across the street (his sister falls in love with a boy from the "other" side). And it talks about how his mother tried to protect her kids from their alcoholic father.

After many rejections his book found the right home and was published when Harry was 96. His second memoir is almost finished, and he's thinking of writing a third book about his marriage to his late wife (of nearly seven decades) who died of cancer in 2002.

A Great Pub

Oh, how I adore Whole Life Times magazine (as well as the rest of its clan: Common Ground, Chicago Conscious Choice, and Seattle Conscious Choice). They all focus on healthy, sustainable living and (here's the cool part) you can get a one year (free) subscription. So what are you waiting for…sign up! In their April 2007 issue my three favorite articles are, gosh, which ones? Maybe these?

• A shortie on French Rabbit wine (oui, oui)
• The What Counts column on eco and urban myths (under the French Rabbit picture)
• A book review of Twinkie Deconstructed (scroll down)

For any writers out there who like first person essay, they have a new column titled Life, the Universe and Everything (formerly their BackWords column).

In Honor of Spring

Can't resist blogging this:

Last Friday, on assignment, I got to pet a baby chicken (I know, I know, I honestly can't get over my awesome job either).

Cute
Yellow
Fuzzy
Soft as a cloud, and most
DARLING baby animal ever.

I want to buy this button from Cafe Press (along with half their t-shirt collection). Also, I need to rethink my dinner plans.