Just finished sending the newsletter. Am thinking of discontinuing it and starting a second blog devoted entirely to dating and relationships instead. What do you think?
Am almost finished with Mansfield Park, which is by far the best book I've read in a year. Next up, A Certain Age by Tama Janowitz and Queen Bees and Wannabes by Rosalind Wiseman. Saw Hotel Rwanda over the weekend, which renewed my desire to press my representatives to aid Dafur.
The new Coldplay CD is astounding and constantly running in my head. Their performance at Live 8 blew me away, and Madonna certainly silenced critics who've accused her of decaying into a boring housewife. The fellows who gathered around my barbecue table Saturday evening expressed undying admiration for her.
Will spend the weekend with Mommy, who is no longer responsive. The woman who takes care of her still manages to get her to eat, which is a miracle.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Monday, July 11, 2005
Don't Get Sucked In By a Bad Boy
Hi, Terry-
I know you said to stop seeing and cut off the person who is no good for you, but what if you have a child with that person? How do you not get sucked back in?
-m
Hello, M-
Sorry for the delay in responding. I was out of town.
You're in a tough spot. You want to put the guy out of your head, but you have to maintain some sort of relationship with him because you have a child. The best advice I can give you is to write down on a piece of paper exactly what what he's done (every single thing you can think of) that brought you to the conclusion that he is no good for you.
Carry that piece of paper around with you. Read it when you get up in the morning. Read it whenever a happy memory you shared together pops into your head. Read it before you drop off to sleep at night. Read it before he shows up at your house to visit your child. Go into the bathroom and read it after he gives you that smile that makes you want to forgive him for every bad thing he's ever done.
I don't think you should walk around harboring a grudge (because that's not good for your health), but being with a man who you know is not good for you is certainly not good for your health, either. So you do need to remind yourself-- constantly--why you want to break free of this guy.
I don't know if you signed your name with a lower case "M" because it's a style thing, or if subconsciously, you think you don't rate a capital letter. You do.
You deserve the best in life. Please start to think about what the "best in life" means to you in terms of a boyfriend or a husband. Start to formulate a picture of him in your mind. Treat yourself really, really well. Buy yourself flowers once in a while.
If you start treating yourself like the wonderful person you are, eventually other people will, too. And the people who don't (and didn't) will no longer appeal to you.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
I know you said to stop seeing and cut off the person who is no good for you, but what if you have a child with that person? How do you not get sucked back in?
-m
Hello, M-
Sorry for the delay in responding. I was out of town.
You're in a tough spot. You want to put the guy out of your head, but you have to maintain some sort of relationship with him because you have a child. The best advice I can give you is to write down on a piece of paper exactly what what he's done (every single thing you can think of) that brought you to the conclusion that he is no good for you.
Carry that piece of paper around with you. Read it when you get up in the morning. Read it whenever a happy memory you shared together pops into your head. Read it before you drop off to sleep at night. Read it before he shows up at your house to visit your child. Go into the bathroom and read it after he gives you that smile that makes you want to forgive him for every bad thing he's ever done.
I don't think you should walk around harboring a grudge (because that's not good for your health), but being with a man who you know is not good for you is certainly not good for your health, either. So you do need to remind yourself-- constantly--why you want to break free of this guy.
I don't know if you signed your name with a lower case "M" because it's a style thing, or if subconsciously, you think you don't rate a capital letter. You do.
You deserve the best in life. Please start to think about what the "best in life" means to you in terms of a boyfriend or a husband. Start to formulate a picture of him in your mind. Treat yourself really, really well. Buy yourself flowers once in a while.
If you start treating yourself like the wonderful person you are, eventually other people will, too. And the people who don't (and didn't) will no longer appeal to you.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Friday, July 01, 2005
Maybe Tom Cruise Isn't Crazy After All
Like the rest of the free world, I've been scratching my head over Tom Cruise's recent desperate attempts for attention. I don't buy the fairy tale romance with Katie Holmes, for instance, especially after his divorces from Mimi Rogers and Nicole Kidman. (He was really, really, really in love with them, too.)
But when I saw him battling it out about psychiatry and prescription drugs with Matt Lauer last week, I had a change of heart. The guy went whacko on Matt, shouting him down about psychiatry being a pseudoscience and, "Do you know about Adderall, Matt? Do you know about Ritalin?"
And Matt, instead of remaining calm and asking, "I guess I don't, Tom. Why don't you tell me about them?" got defensive. He didn't question Cruise about why he objects so strenuously to psychiatry. Later on in the broadcast, Al Roker remarked that Tom Cruise had been "rude" to Mr. Lauer. Maybe. But Matt definitely lost control of the interview.
When Tom was beating Matt over the head about psychiatry and prescription drugs, he reminded me exactly of a man I know who, as a child, had learning disabilities, and is now angry about the treatment he suffered as a result. Teachers told his mother he needed counseling, but they didn't harbor high hopes for him. In desperation, his mother traipsed him in and out of psychiatrists' offices, took him to "learning specialists" (ha!), "focusing doctors," and on and on and on.
None of them helped. They put him on Ritalin. It didn't help.
Today, through his own determination, the man is a college graduate and has worked, quite profitably, for the same company for almost 15 years. He owns an apartment in Manhattan and is a good deal more successful than the little bastard who used to taunt him on the Pee Wee soccer team.
So, when I see Tom Cruise freaking out about Ritalin and psychiatry, I wonder if he once had a similar experience. I have read that he suffered from learning disorders and dyslexia.
As for his comments about Brooke Shields, I don't agree.
But, interestingly, an AP report in yesterday's Newsday revealed that the FDA plans to strengthen warnings about Concerta, the slow-release version of Ritalin, because a routine review found more psychiatric reactions to the drug than had been previously stated.
Those reactions? Suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, and violent behavior.
This is especially interesting to me because both my children have been diagnosed with ADHD and were prescribed Concerta, after our pediatrician reassured us that Ritalin has been "used safely for 30 years."
I wonder if Matt Lauer will pick up on the AP report that seems to vindicate Tom Cruise. In the meantime, I'll tear up my children's prescription for a Concerta refill.
But when I saw him battling it out about psychiatry and prescription drugs with Matt Lauer last week, I had a change of heart. The guy went whacko on Matt, shouting him down about psychiatry being a pseudoscience and, "Do you know about Adderall, Matt? Do you know about Ritalin?"
And Matt, instead of remaining calm and asking, "I guess I don't, Tom. Why don't you tell me about them?" got defensive. He didn't question Cruise about why he objects so strenuously to psychiatry. Later on in the broadcast, Al Roker remarked that Tom Cruise had been "rude" to Mr. Lauer. Maybe. But Matt definitely lost control of the interview.
When Tom was beating Matt over the head about psychiatry and prescription drugs, he reminded me exactly of a man I know who, as a child, had learning disabilities, and is now angry about the treatment he suffered as a result. Teachers told his mother he needed counseling, but they didn't harbor high hopes for him. In desperation, his mother traipsed him in and out of psychiatrists' offices, took him to "learning specialists" (ha!), "focusing doctors," and on and on and on.
None of them helped. They put him on Ritalin. It didn't help.
Today, through his own determination, the man is a college graduate and has worked, quite profitably, for the same company for almost 15 years. He owns an apartment in Manhattan and is a good deal more successful than the little bastard who used to taunt him on the Pee Wee soccer team.
So, when I see Tom Cruise freaking out about Ritalin and psychiatry, I wonder if he once had a similar experience. I have read that he suffered from learning disorders and dyslexia.
As for his comments about Brooke Shields, I don't agree.
But, interestingly, an AP report in yesterday's Newsday revealed that the FDA plans to strengthen warnings about Concerta, the slow-release version of Ritalin, because a routine review found more psychiatric reactions to the drug than had been previously stated.
Those reactions? Suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, and violent behavior.
This is especially interesting to me because both my children have been diagnosed with ADHD and were prescribed Concerta, after our pediatrician reassured us that Ritalin has been "used safely for 30 years."
I wonder if Matt Lauer will pick up on the AP report that seems to vindicate Tom Cruise. In the meantime, I'll tear up my children's prescription for a Concerta refill.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Get a Second Opinion
Working on an article entitled, "Do Aggressive Drivers Make Lousy Husbands?" Got some excellent experts to give me quotes, and I'd like to finish the damn thing except the offspring are about. I can't write three words without one of them interrupting me.
Spoke to Mom this morning. Her voice is even smaller now; it's almost impossible to hear her. To make things worse, my cousin K. called me at 7:28 this morning to report that a needle biopsy reveals that she, at 47 years of age, has cancer. The doctors say it's a secondary tumor, but they can't seem to find the primary source.
I say it's time to find another doctor. Called Dad, who agreed, and offered some other advice, which I left later in the day on K's answering machine. She is convinced she is going to die, but since she's been given virtually no answers, I wouldn't panic just yet.
Our childhood neighbor, J, was diagnosed in November with an "inoperable brain tumor," which was found to be easily operable upon a second opinion. She's since had surgery and is doing just about everything she used to, save driving.
Missed Kept on Thursday and expected to catch a rerun on Sunday evening, but it didn't air. Now what do I do? Hope I have the stamina to stay up for Rescue Me tonight at 10.
Spoke to Mom this morning. Her voice is even smaller now; it's almost impossible to hear her. To make things worse, my cousin K. called me at 7:28 this morning to report that a needle biopsy reveals that she, at 47 years of age, has cancer. The doctors say it's a secondary tumor, but they can't seem to find the primary source.
I say it's time to find another doctor. Called Dad, who agreed, and offered some other advice, which I left later in the day on K's answering machine. She is convinced she is going to die, but since she's been given virtually no answers, I wouldn't panic just yet.
Our childhood neighbor, J, was diagnosed in November with an "inoperable brain tumor," which was found to be easily operable upon a second opinion. She's since had surgery and is doing just about everything she used to, save driving.
Missed Kept on Thursday and expected to catch a rerun on Sunday evening, but it didn't air. Now what do I do? Hope I have the stamina to stay up for Rescue Me tonight at 10.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Am I Being Paranoid?
Just sent out the newsletter. It's about time; it's been almost two weeks since the last one.
Took the ferry from Bridgeport to Port Jeff on Saturday. Peter and I and the offspring went to A. and M.'s block party in Bethpage. Mike's mother was there, flaming mad at George Pataki for his treatment of the families of 9/11 victims (her sister lost a son). Promised I'd write a letter on behalf of the cause if she sends me information.
Left Peter and offspring at the party and hopped the LIRR into Manhattan to see Mom. She hardly talks at all anymore, and when she does, you have to put your ear to her mouth to hear what she's saying. It's like watching a lightbulb go out.
Sibling One brought her new baby, who is so adorable he makes us forget our mother is dying. He has the most amazing round, peachlike head.
When I arrived home yesterday evening, the in-laws, who'd been visiting off and on for a week, were packing their car for their trip up to Nova Scotia, where they have a summer home. They peeled out of here at 6:10 this morning.
The account from which I send my email newsletter has been bombarded with messages with headings like, "Returned Mail: User Unknown." The thing is, until I sent my newsletter a few minutes ago, I hadn't sent anything from that account in days.
Is it possible somebody is using my email address to send SPAM, or am I just being paranoid?
Took the ferry from Bridgeport to Port Jeff on Saturday. Peter and I and the offspring went to A. and M.'s block party in Bethpage. Mike's mother was there, flaming mad at George Pataki for his treatment of the families of 9/11 victims (her sister lost a son). Promised I'd write a letter on behalf of the cause if she sends me information.
Left Peter and offspring at the party and hopped the LIRR into Manhattan to see Mom. She hardly talks at all anymore, and when she does, you have to put your ear to her mouth to hear what she's saying. It's like watching a lightbulb go out.
Sibling One brought her new baby, who is so adorable he makes us forget our mother is dying. He has the most amazing round, peachlike head.
When I arrived home yesterday evening, the in-laws, who'd been visiting off and on for a week, were packing their car for their trip up to Nova Scotia, where they have a summer home. They peeled out of here at 6:10 this morning.
The account from which I send my email newsletter has been bombarded with messages with headings like, "Returned Mail: User Unknown." The thing is, until I sent my newsletter a few minutes ago, I hadn't sent anything from that account in days.
Is it possible somebody is using my email address to send SPAM, or am I just being paranoid?
Friday, June 24, 2005
I'm a Better Mother When My Children Aren't Around
They've been off from school only two days, and they're driving me crazy. It's great being able to sleep late, but after breakfast it's all down hill. One child never stops moving, and the other one never starts. She lives on the couch like mold on bread.
I didn't get the newsletter out this week. Hope to keep offspring quiet long enough to do it Tuesday or Wednesday. Am behind on revising the novel, as well. Can't wait until camp starts, although it will interfere with my late mornings.
Missed Kept last night because the in-laws are up from South Carolina, and I didn't really think they'd appreciate watching Jerry put the fellows through their paces. Hoped to watch David Letterman grill Tom Cruise (who is full of it) after they went to bed, but I passed out during a commercial break.
I didn't get the newsletter out this week. Hope to keep offspring quiet long enough to do it Tuesday or Wednesday. Am behind on revising the novel, as well. Can't wait until camp starts, although it will interfere with my late mornings.
Missed Kept last night because the in-laws are up from South Carolina, and I didn't really think they'd appreciate watching Jerry put the fellows through their paces. Hoped to watch David Letterman grill Tom Cruise (who is full of it) after they went to bed, but I passed out during a commercial break.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Neighborhood Pigs Strike Yet Again!
I stepped out to get my mail this afternoon, narrowly missing a steaming pile of dog turd, courtesy of the neighbor who persists in letting her growly animal wander through my yard. This is the same individual who puts out her garbage on Friday afternoons when pick-up isn't until Thursday.
One of her sons (the one who zings through stop signs while she beams with maternal pride in the passenger seat) graduated from high school on Monday, and the deflated balloons testifying to that fact still hang from her mail box. I expect them to be there at Christmas.
One of her sons (the one who zings through stop signs while she beams with maternal pride in the passenger seat) graduated from high school on Monday, and the deflated balloons testifying to that fact still hang from her mail box. I expect them to be there at Christmas.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Yesterday Was Father's Day
Mick Jagger received cards from all over the globe.
While we're on the subject of the promiscuous Mr. Jagger, I have to make a confession. I'm addicted to his ex-wife Jerry Hall's reality TV show, Kept. I'm not proud of it, but I can't stop watching. I am currently rooting for somebody named Austen (I think he spells it that way), who seems like a nice fellow and boasts big lips like the former Mr. Jerry.
In my defense, I have not watched and will not watch the reality series based on Gilligan's Island. I promise. I also refuse to sit through that dance competition with Rachel Hunter, either. I'm not a complete loser.
While we're on the subject of the promiscuous Mr. Jagger, I have to make a confession. I'm addicted to his ex-wife Jerry Hall's reality TV show, Kept. I'm not proud of it, but I can't stop watching. I am currently rooting for somebody named Austen (I think he spells it that way), who seems like a nice fellow and boasts big lips like the former Mr. Jerry.
In my defense, I have not watched and will not watch the reality series based on Gilligan's Island. I promise. I also refuse to sit through that dance competition with Rachel Hunter, either. I'm not a complete loser.
Monday, June 13, 2005
12 Things Men Want to Say to You But Don't...
Is one of the cover blurbs from the current issue of Glamour magazine. The idea is to get you, desperate female, to plunk over your hard-earned cash to find out what red-blooded American men (because they're all the same, you know!) think about your looks, your job, your laugh, and your Starbucks coffee habit. Expecting a man to actually say what's on his mind is completely out of the question (don't you know anything, you big ol' nag?).
If you need a magazine article (written by an individual who has never met the guy in question) to tell you what a man thinking, you need a new boyfriend, preferably who knows that his mouth is more than a depository for McDonald's Value Meals.
The Dating Tips Newsletter didn't go out last week because my mother's condition is not getting better, so my trips to Manhattan are becoming increasingly frequent. Please bear with me. Hope to have something out this week.
Mangaged to finish David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim on MetroNorth back to Connecticut last evening. Fortunately, the train was packed with revelers from the Puerto Rican Day Parade, so my outbursts of shrieking laughter went unnoticed.
If you need a magazine article (written by an individual who has never met the guy in question) to tell you what a man thinking, you need a new boyfriend, preferably who knows that his mouth is more than a depository for McDonald's Value Meals.
The Dating Tips Newsletter didn't go out last week because my mother's condition is not getting better, so my trips to Manhattan are becoming increasingly frequent. Please bear with me. Hope to have something out this week.
Mangaged to finish David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim on MetroNorth back to Connecticut last evening. Fortunately, the train was packed with revelers from the Puerto Rican Day Parade, so my outbursts of shrieking laughter went unnoticed.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
You Could Be Better Off Alone
The last batch of emails I've gotten are from women who are bouncing the mattress with guys who are unavailable.
Either the guy is married, or divorced with children he claims to be devoted to (which allows him the dual benefit of looking like Super Daddy and using somebody for sex at the same time), or he suffers from the residual effects of an emotional tragedy that precludes him from committing himself fully to a new relationship.
My correspondents are settling for half men. Too many of us have been brainwashed into believing that scoring half a man is better than no man at all. Others get a twisted sense of superiority from banging another woman's husband (the worst possible karma, by the way). Still others are so afraid of commitment ourselves that we continually attract these sorry relationships; subconsciously we know damn well they're not going anywhere.
But life is much more fun when we don't have to deal with a half man and the drama he thrusts into our lives. It's actually more fun to set a beautiful table, pour a glass of wine, and enjoy a delightful meal on one's own, rather than wait by the phone to find out if the Loser of the Month is going to show up.
If you're involved with a guy who can't commit for whatever reason, or if you're just not sure where your relationship is headed, I suggest you download "Express Yourself" by Madonna and listen to it four hundred times a day. Now, I don't pretend to always understand Madonna; I was utterly bewildered by her gold tooth period, for example, but this song serves as a guide to fulfilling love relationships.
Check out the lyrics if you don't believe me.
Either the guy is married, or divorced with children he claims to be devoted to (which allows him the dual benefit of looking like Super Daddy and using somebody for sex at the same time), or he suffers from the residual effects of an emotional tragedy that precludes him from committing himself fully to a new relationship.
My correspondents are settling for half men. Too many of us have been brainwashed into believing that scoring half a man is better than no man at all. Others get a twisted sense of superiority from banging another woman's husband (the worst possible karma, by the way). Still others are so afraid of commitment ourselves that we continually attract these sorry relationships; subconsciously we know damn well they're not going anywhere.
But life is much more fun when we don't have to deal with a half man and the drama he thrusts into our lives. It's actually more fun to set a beautiful table, pour a glass of wine, and enjoy a delightful meal on one's own, rather than wait by the phone to find out if the Loser of the Month is going to show up.
If you're involved with a guy who can't commit for whatever reason, or if you're just not sure where your relationship is headed, I suggest you download "Express Yourself" by Madonna and listen to it four hundred times a day. Now, I don't pretend to always understand Madonna; I was utterly bewildered by her gold tooth period, for example, but this song serves as a guide to fulfilling love relationships.
Check out the lyrics if you don't believe me.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
You're Lying to Yourself
Dear Terry,
I am in love with a man who does not reveal who he is. This guy does not say he loves me, but whenever I go to his place he makes love to me. He told me he has a baby boy and that this baby and its mother need him for the boy's betterment. I really tried to forget him, but the truth is this guy loves me. He calls me, sends me messages, and he asked me to be his closest friend. Well, I agreed, but now I am drawn to him again.
I love him so much that I can't fall in love with any other man and love him the way I've loved this one. Worst of all he smokes. I believed I could change that; with all my effort and prayer, I will change that. We are happy together but he does not tell me he loves me. He always asks to make love to me. So I don't know what to do. Please help.
Confused
Hello, Confused-
I do not think you are a bit confused. You say you're in love with this man, but he doesn't seem to do very much for you, except make love to you (and I'm sure that's exciting and fun and wonderful, but it's not enough to make you happy when he's not doing it).
He says that he wants you to be his friend. Okay. But is he being your friend? Is he around to listen to you after a bad day? When you need a hand unclogging your sink?
How do you feel when he's not around? Happy and at peace? Or completely freaked out? If you're freaked out, stop seeing him. Do not make love to him, even if it kills you. Then, if he truly loves you, he will follow you. He will be available to you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, not just for making love.
You can't change anybody but yourself, so stop praying that he quits smoking and his many other annoying habits.
You deserve a man who will treat you as well out of bed as he does in bed. Is he up to it? Let him prove it to you. If he's not the right man, dump Mr. Feely and hold out for the guy who fits the bill. He's out there, and you're definitely worth it.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
I am in love with a man who does not reveal who he is. This guy does not say he loves me, but whenever I go to his place he makes love to me. He told me he has a baby boy and that this baby and its mother need him for the boy's betterment. I really tried to forget him, but the truth is this guy loves me. He calls me, sends me messages, and he asked me to be his closest friend. Well, I agreed, but now I am drawn to him again.
I love him so much that I can't fall in love with any other man and love him the way I've loved this one. Worst of all he smokes. I believed I could change that; with all my effort and prayer, I will change that. We are happy together but he does not tell me he loves me. He always asks to make love to me. So I don't know what to do. Please help.
Confused
Hello, Confused-
I do not think you are a bit confused. You say you're in love with this man, but he doesn't seem to do very much for you, except make love to you (and I'm sure that's exciting and fun and wonderful, but it's not enough to make you happy when he's not doing it).
He says that he wants you to be his friend. Okay. But is he being your friend? Is he around to listen to you after a bad day? When you need a hand unclogging your sink?
How do you feel when he's not around? Happy and at peace? Or completely freaked out? If you're freaked out, stop seeing him. Do not make love to him, even if it kills you. Then, if he truly loves you, he will follow you. He will be available to you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, not just for making love.
You can't change anybody but yourself, so stop praying that he quits smoking and his many other annoying habits.
You deserve a man who will treat you as well out of bed as he does in bed. Is he up to it? Let him prove it to you. If he's not the right man, dump Mr. Feely and hold out for the guy who fits the bill. He's out there, and you're definitely worth it.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Shirking John Stamos (and Other Jerks)
Went to see Mom yesterday.
She sleeps most of the time, but when she's awake she's cheerful. She stopped watching Ellen, Judge Judy, and all that other crap she used to fill her day with. She used to be frustrated about not being able to get out of bed, but she's gotten used to it.
By coincidence, on Saturday we discussed her cousin Frank and his wife, who she likes a good deal and hadn't heard from in ages. Lo and behold, a letter arrived from them on Tuesday, saying they were concerned because they hadn't heard from Mom and Dad since Christmas 2003. I wrote to them this morning to tell them of my mother's illness.
Sent this week's ezine today. If I hear about one more woman putting up with a lying, cheating, self-important schmuck I will scream.
Need exercise desperately. I spend entirely too much time reading and writing. Well, not entirely too much time, but it wouldn't hurt to hit the NordicTrack more often.
The offspring are home from school today with colds. They were off on Monday for Memorial Day, too. We are seeing too much of each other. A deep-chested cough hasn't stopped Child Two from cartwheeling off the couch all morning, and nothing stops her or her sister from watching Full House reruns until their eyes fall out.
She sleeps most of the time, but when she's awake she's cheerful. She stopped watching Ellen, Judge Judy, and all that other crap she used to fill her day with. She used to be frustrated about not being able to get out of bed, but she's gotten used to it.
By coincidence, on Saturday we discussed her cousin Frank and his wife, who she likes a good deal and hadn't heard from in ages. Lo and behold, a letter arrived from them on Tuesday, saying they were concerned because they hadn't heard from Mom and Dad since Christmas 2003. I wrote to them this morning to tell them of my mother's illness.
Sent this week's ezine today. If I hear about one more woman putting up with a lying, cheating, self-important schmuck I will scream.
Need exercise desperately. I spend entirely too much time reading and writing. Well, not entirely too much time, but it wouldn't hurt to hit the NordicTrack more often.
The offspring are home from school today with colds. They were off on Monday for Memorial Day, too. We are seeing too much of each other. A deep-chested cough hasn't stopped Child Two from cartwheeling off the couch all morning, and nothing stops her or her sister from watching Full House reruns until their eyes fall out.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Call Me Crazy
I wrote back to the woman whose boyfriend is cheating on her. It took me half the night to think up a good answer. I'll use her story as the basis for this week's ezine, so if you'd like to read it, and you haven't already signed up, go for it.
The issue should go out Thursday, I think, because I'm going to New York to see Mom again tomorrow. I won't see her this weekend because it's Child Two's birthday, and you know how that goes. I really don't like to go too long without seeing Mom at this point because we never know when she's going to step over to the other side.
The doctor's predict it will be by summer's end. Last weekend, my sister didn't give her that long. But my mother has gotten through bad patches over the past few months, so you never know.
Tonight V. and I are going downtown to the Planning and Zoning Committee meeting to voice our opposition to the erection of a 171-unit residential complex slated to be plopped just outside Huntington Center, which is the heart of this charming New England town (picture old churches and a cemetery that pre-dates the Revolution). The cars destined to result from the proposed complex would decimate it.
Speaking of cars, I look forward to the day when we can do without them (as Lewis Black once shrieked, "It's 2005! Why can't we teleport?") Cars seem a bit behind the times, if you ask me.
How lovely it would be if more of us actually used the streets for walking, instead of driving, and said hello to one another, rather than lean on our horns and beat each other to the traffic light. Driving is antisocial.
And, if more of us walked, fewer of us would need to drive to the gym.
The issue should go out Thursday, I think, because I'm going to New York to see Mom again tomorrow. I won't see her this weekend because it's Child Two's birthday, and you know how that goes. I really don't like to go too long without seeing Mom at this point because we never know when she's going to step over to the other side.
The doctor's predict it will be by summer's end. Last weekend, my sister didn't give her that long. But my mother has gotten through bad patches over the past few months, so you never know.
Tonight V. and I are going downtown to the Planning and Zoning Committee meeting to voice our opposition to the erection of a 171-unit residential complex slated to be plopped just outside Huntington Center, which is the heart of this charming New England town (picture old churches and a cemetery that pre-dates the Revolution). The cars destined to result from the proposed complex would decimate it.
Speaking of cars, I look forward to the day when we can do without them (as Lewis Black once shrieked, "It's 2005! Why can't we teleport?") Cars seem a bit behind the times, if you ask me.
How lovely it would be if more of us actually used the streets for walking, instead of driving, and said hello to one another, rather than lean on our horns and beat each other to the traffic light. Driving is antisocial.
And, if more of us walked, fewer of us would need to drive to the gym.
Monday, May 30, 2005
It's Memorial Day
The saddest letters I get are from women who are trapped in relationships (or almost-relationships) with men who mistreat them. I received one this morning that took my breath away. The writer has two children with a man who cheats on her constantly; she's walked in on him with other women. He's even cheated with her sister. When I get letters like this, it takes me one or two days to fully process them because they just blow my mind.
It would be easy to write back to her, "Leave him! What's the matter with you?" But she says she's in love with him. So I have to think of ways to help her fall out of love with him; once she becomes indifferent to the guy, she'll be free.
Hey, I've been there. A million years ago, I dated a guy who treated me poorly. Today I wouldn't look at him twice, but that man used to be a drug to me. Couldn't get enough. Ever hear that song by Emmy Lou Harris, "I Don't Want to Talk About it Now?" That sums it up.
Went to Mom's on Saturday and came back yesterday afternoon. Sometimes she loses the ability to speak. Then it comes back. She smiled a lot and says she's happy, though. I suppose that's the best all of us can hope for, to die happy and surrounded by loved ones.
Right now, I'm listening to U2. Peter is outside barbecuing chicken, steak, and potatoes. We may go to B's later for another barbecue. I suppose I'll be eating a lot of fruit and not much else this week.
The weather is warm and sunny, a change from the windy March weather of last week. When I woke up this morning, the birds were chittering. Paradise.
I'm reading The Group by Mary McCarthy. My mother, who came from a later generation, was so much more innocent than the characters in the novel, who graduated from Vassar in 1933. I didn't know that girls got up to all that sex back then. I thought my generation invented it.
Andy Rooney's commentary last night about Memorial Day hit the mark. The best thing we can do for the men and women who lost their lives at war would be to end war altogether. It's hard to believe that the human race is still settling its differences in 2005 by killing each other.
It would be easy to write back to her, "Leave him! What's the matter with you?" But she says she's in love with him. So I have to think of ways to help her fall out of love with him; once she becomes indifferent to the guy, she'll be free.
Hey, I've been there. A million years ago, I dated a guy who treated me poorly. Today I wouldn't look at him twice, but that man used to be a drug to me. Couldn't get enough. Ever hear that song by Emmy Lou Harris, "I Don't Want to Talk About it Now?" That sums it up.
Went to Mom's on Saturday and came back yesterday afternoon. Sometimes she loses the ability to speak. Then it comes back. She smiled a lot and says she's happy, though. I suppose that's the best all of us can hope for, to die happy and surrounded by loved ones.
Right now, I'm listening to U2. Peter is outside barbecuing chicken, steak, and potatoes. We may go to B's later for another barbecue. I suppose I'll be eating a lot of fruit and not much else this week.
The weather is warm and sunny, a change from the windy March weather of last week. When I woke up this morning, the birds were chittering. Paradise.
I'm reading The Group by Mary McCarthy. My mother, who came from a later generation, was so much more innocent than the characters in the novel, who graduated from Vassar in 1933. I didn't know that girls got up to all that sex back then. I thought my generation invented it.
Andy Rooney's commentary last night about Memorial Day hit the mark. The best thing we can do for the men and women who lost their lives at war would be to end war altogether. It's hard to believe that the human race is still settling its differences in 2005 by killing each other.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Neighborhood Pig Asks For It!
Making serious strides on the revision of my novel today. Also wrote draft for dating newsletter . Will send it tomorrow morning.
Did an interview with Marketing for Her founder Denise Michaels yesterday. First time I've ever been interviewed (as opposed to interviewing). Don't know how articulate I came off; had Mom on my mind, and the blood sugar felt a bit low.
Went to the Huntington Street Cafe this morning with V. and came across a book called Cooking for the Dead, which is crammed with recipes for the foods fans of the band used to make and sell to support their Dead habit. Some of them looked pretty good, but by the time I thought about writing them down, V. had to go home to get her kindergartner off the bus.
Peter's aunt just called to say she will be in town for a golf tournament tomorrow and wants to spend the night at our house. It's fine with me.
Have only asked the neighbor next door (the one who leans her pizza boxes and old furniture on my curb six days before garbage pick-up) to kindly keep her dog on a leash at least five times. Am not the only neighbor who has made this request. Said mangy mutt has bitten at least one person to my knowledge, craps all over lawns, and menaces my children.
This morning, the nasty little creature jumped at Child One and barked in her face, resulting in tears. Minutes ago, after Peter's aunt's call, we found it stalking up and down our driveway.
Would hate to call the police, but neighbor is not being neighborly. She is not being fair to us or her stupid dog, which has run out into traffic more than once.
Did an interview with Marketing for Her founder Denise Michaels yesterday. First time I've ever been interviewed (as opposed to interviewing). Don't know how articulate I came off; had Mom on my mind, and the blood sugar felt a bit low.
Went to the Huntington Street Cafe this morning with V. and came across a book called Cooking for the Dead, which is crammed with recipes for the foods fans of the band used to make and sell to support their Dead habit. Some of them looked pretty good, but by the time I thought about writing them down, V. had to go home to get her kindergartner off the bus.
Peter's aunt just called to say she will be in town for a golf tournament tomorrow and wants to spend the night at our house. It's fine with me.
Have only asked the neighbor next door (the one who leans her pizza boxes and old furniture on my curb six days before garbage pick-up) to kindly keep her dog on a leash at least five times. Am not the only neighbor who has made this request. Said mangy mutt has bitten at least one person to my knowledge, craps all over lawns, and menaces my children.
This morning, the nasty little creature jumped at Child One and barked in her face, resulting in tears. Minutes ago, after Peter's aunt's call, we found it stalking up and down our driveway.
Would hate to call the police, but neighbor is not being neighborly. She is not being fair to us or her stupid dog, which has run out into traffic more than once.
Monday, May 23, 2005
What Some People Will Do To Promote a Movie
The weekend started well. Child 2's friend invited her over for dinner, so Peter and I took the older one out to The Metro Grill. Had the magnificent Fromaggio Florentine pizza and two glasses of Cabernet. Brilliant!
A couple came in with their cute little boy and sat at the table next to us. The woman's low-rise jeans revealed considerable ass crack all through the meal. Note to females in the market for fashion: waistbands cut just below the navel are best. They flatter the figure without "cracking up" innocent bystanders.
Spent the night at Mom's on Saturday. She seemed a bit out of it, gave lots of one-word answers, and responded, "I'm just feeling wooonderful, thank you!" when anybody phoned. Her eyes don't light up when she sees any of us anymore, although she still recognizes our voices when we call. Sibling 2 cried all through Mass yesterday due to the change in Mom's condition, but who knows? It could be temporary.
I suppose I was upset myself when I woke up in a panic at 2:30 Sunday morning. I like to read a book when I get like that, so I brought one into my parents' kitchen and closed the door. I drank a couple of Guinnesses, too, for their tranquilizing effect. It occurred to me, though, sitting on floor with two bottles in, that I might be more upset about my mother than I've been letting on.
Today I've been subjected to a deluge of ads for today's Oprah, in which America's Best Girlfriend will interview Tom Cruise ("I'VE NEVER SEEN HIM LIKE THIS BEFORE!") about his relationship with Katie Holmes.
Like the majority of the population, I don't believe this romance is real, and nothing Oprah says is going to change my mind about it. Furthermore, even if it is real, why should I care about it?
I do not care about it. Please stop invading my air space with this crap.
A couple came in with their cute little boy and sat at the table next to us. The woman's low-rise jeans revealed considerable ass crack all through the meal. Note to females in the market for fashion: waistbands cut just below the navel are best. They flatter the figure without "cracking up" innocent bystanders.
Spent the night at Mom's on Saturday. She seemed a bit out of it, gave lots of one-word answers, and responded, "I'm just feeling wooonderful, thank you!" when anybody phoned. Her eyes don't light up when she sees any of us anymore, although she still recognizes our voices when we call. Sibling 2 cried all through Mass yesterday due to the change in Mom's condition, but who knows? It could be temporary.
I suppose I was upset myself when I woke up in a panic at 2:30 Sunday morning. I like to read a book when I get like that, so I brought one into my parents' kitchen and closed the door. I drank a couple of Guinnesses, too, for their tranquilizing effect. It occurred to me, though, sitting on floor with two bottles in, that I might be more upset about my mother than I've been letting on.
Today I've been subjected to a deluge of ads for today's Oprah, in which America's Best Girlfriend will interview Tom Cruise ("I'VE NEVER SEEN HIM LIKE THIS BEFORE!") about his relationship with Katie Holmes.
Like the majority of the population, I don't believe this romance is real, and nothing Oprah says is going to change my mind about it. Furthermore, even if it is real, why should I care about it?
I do not care about it. Please stop invading my air space with this crap.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Everything Sounds Like Frere Jacques!
Went to school last night to see Child One sing and play the flute in the Spring Concert. The PTO managed to wedge in their annual induction ceremony before it started -- very slick. I felt rotten about not attending PTO meetings, so now I can say I went to at least one.
Spied the fat bully who threw my child to the ground in the Girls' Room last week. She sang with the 5th Grade Chorus, perched on the top bleacher looking like Pugsley from The Addams Family in an unfortunate horizontally-striped polo shirt. Stuck a smile on my face and banished revenge fantasies.
Peter had to attend a meeting of his own, and he arrived home shortly after we did. After the kiddies went to bed, we watched the second episode of Deadwood, which I'd rented from Netflix. Deadwood is kind of like The Sopranos with horses. Lots of prostitutes, violence, and under-the-table commerce. The word "c-sucker" flies out of somebody's mouth at 15-second intervals.
It's a bit silly.
Spied the fat bully who threw my child to the ground in the Girls' Room last week. She sang with the 5th Grade Chorus, perched on the top bleacher looking like Pugsley from The Addams Family in an unfortunate horizontally-striped polo shirt. Stuck a smile on my face and banished revenge fantasies.
Peter had to attend a meeting of his own, and he arrived home shortly after we did. After the kiddies went to bed, we watched the second episode of Deadwood, which I'd rented from Netflix. Deadwood is kind of like The Sopranos with horses. Lots of prostitutes, violence, and under-the-table commerce. The word "c-sucker" flies out of somebody's mouth at 15-second intervals.
It's a bit silly.
Monday, May 16, 2005
It Has to Be PMS
I just caught the repeat of Conan O'Brien's show from Friday, which had Robert Plant as a guest. I was forced to sit through Conan's latest fat joke first, this time about Star Wars fans.
I heard Robert Plant's new song on the radio and wanted to watch him perform it. He sounded great, and it's a comfort to see he's stopped wearing the tight pants with the big sock in them.
Does anybody care that Everybody Loves Raymond is about to bite the dust? I mean, thank God. That show ceased being funny years ago. Now it's just spiteful and old.
I went to the supermarket after visiting Mommy yesterday and was once again assaulted by images of celebrities I wish would go away. Does anybody really buy the Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise thing? Why are we expected to have an emotional investment in Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Lopez's marriages?
And, now the Stones are about to bless us with their presence again. I saw Keith Richards perform without Mick and the rest when he promoted his solo album, Talk is Cheap, and I have to say, he's the talent behind the band. (I like Charlie Watts, too.) But that bag of bones Mick Jagger? You can keep him.
His voice has more holes in it than a pouch of moldy Swiss cheese, and his relentless pursuit of young models is highly unattractive. I, for one, would be afraid to have sex with him. He's so bony I'd probably lose an eye.
But the media, particularly The Today Show, continue to cover the Stones forthcoming tour as if it were the second coming of Christ. Or as if United Airlines performed the miracle of making restitution to the employees they bilked out of their pensions.
I heard Robert Plant's new song on the radio and wanted to watch him perform it. He sounded great, and it's a comfort to see he's stopped wearing the tight pants with the big sock in them.
Does anybody care that Everybody Loves Raymond is about to bite the dust? I mean, thank God. That show ceased being funny years ago. Now it's just spiteful and old.
I went to the supermarket after visiting Mommy yesterday and was once again assaulted by images of celebrities I wish would go away. Does anybody really buy the Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise thing? Why are we expected to have an emotional investment in Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Lopez's marriages?
And, now the Stones are about to bless us with their presence again. I saw Keith Richards perform without Mick and the rest when he promoted his solo album, Talk is Cheap, and I have to say, he's the talent behind the band. (I like Charlie Watts, too.) But that bag of bones Mick Jagger? You can keep him.
His voice has more holes in it than a pouch of moldy Swiss cheese, and his relentless pursuit of young models is highly unattractive. I, for one, would be afraid to have sex with him. He's so bony I'd probably lose an eye.
But the media, particularly The Today Show, continue to cover the Stones forthcoming tour as if it were the second coming of Christ. Or as if United Airlines performed the miracle of making restitution to the employees they bilked out of their pensions.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Don't Mess with Texas
After leaving the ceremony at school where Child One accepted her citizenship award this morning, Peter and I went to breakfast. We overheard a man at the table behind us ordering something called Texas Toast.
"What is Texas Toast?" I asked Peter.
"French Toast."
"Why do they call it Texas Toast?"
"Actually, it's really Texas Freedom Toast," he answered. "They stopped calling it French Toast when France refused to back us with the war in Iraq."
I'd heard of Freedom Fries, but... Texas Freedom Toast?
How about Texas Electricutioner's Toast? They sure fry things up in a hurry in that state. Woo. Eee! Our New Haven-born-and-raised Texan president presided over the executions of 150 people as governor there.
In a related note, the state of Connecticut held its first execution in 45 years last night. Don't we all feel better now?
"What is Texas Toast?" I asked Peter.
"French Toast."
"Why do they call it Texas Toast?"
"Actually, it's really Texas Freedom Toast," he answered. "They stopped calling it French Toast when France refused to back us with the war in Iraq."
I'd heard of Freedom Fries, but... Texas Freedom Toast?
How about Texas Electricutioner's Toast? They sure fry things up in a hurry in that state. Woo. Eee! Our New Haven-born-and-raised Texan president presided over the executions of 150 people as governor there.
In a related note, the state of Connecticut held its first execution in 45 years last night. Don't we all feel better now?
Thursday, May 12, 2005
I Would Not House This Man's Baby for All the Cheese in France
I lost two nights' sleep over it, but the Communion party was a success. Nobody commented on the stain on the rug, either.
Went to Manhattan to visit Mom yesterday. She's hanging in there. We ate some of the box of chocolates Aunt I. sent over for Mother's Day while watching Jane Pauley and Lorraine Bracco discuss depression. I wonder if Lorraine is on the Zoloft payroll.
Watched Craig Ferguson instead of Conan last night. Couldn't sleep but couldn't bear another of Conan's fat jokes about Kirstie Alley or Ruben Studdard, either, so I checked Craig out. He did a really clever and on-the-mark impression of Mick Jagger, and Tori Amos sang a song from her new CD. I think I'll visit Craig more often.
I saw the headlines in the supermarket that Jennifer Garner is pregnant with Ben Affleck's baby, but I didn't believe it. Then I heard the reports confirmed on television. When I think of Ben Affleck, I think about the time he went to that Canadian strip club and performed oral sex on a dancer. I can't imagine having sex with somebody with that kind of history, but different strokes for different folks, I guess.
Went to Manhattan to visit Mom yesterday. She's hanging in there. We ate some of the box of chocolates Aunt I. sent over for Mother's Day while watching Jane Pauley and Lorraine Bracco discuss depression. I wonder if Lorraine is on the Zoloft payroll.
Watched Craig Ferguson instead of Conan last night. Couldn't sleep but couldn't bear another of Conan's fat jokes about Kirstie Alley or Ruben Studdard, either, so I checked Craig out. He did a really clever and on-the-mark impression of Mick Jagger, and Tori Amos sang a song from her new CD. I think I'll visit Craig more often.
I saw the headlines in the supermarket that Jennifer Garner is pregnant with Ben Affleck's baby, but I didn't believe it. Then I heard the reports confirmed on television. When I think of Ben Affleck, I think about the time he went to that Canadian strip club and performed oral sex on a dancer. I can't imagine having sex with somebody with that kind of history, but different strokes for different folks, I guess.
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