Saturday, September 25, 2010

The Grammar Police

Sticklers Make a Point.
Be warned. I look for these...because I celebrate this every day. One day a year is just not enough.

Not long ago, a friend had his car burglarized and his stereo as taken. We also have a friend named Kelley. A few days after his loss, I found this on Facebook:
got a security alarm on my car ya and that will stop the someone from breaking in my car and hanging out with Kelley today having fun.

I responded that I wasn't surprised that someone out there would break into his car just to hang out with Kelley, because she really IS fun.

He wasn't amused.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

The Possibility of Everything

I cannot wait to read this book. It reminds me, a bit, of "The Horse Boy," another story of a family who travels far to find shamans to help with their child. Loved that book.

Besides, I love reading books written by people I know or have at least met.

I found an old blog I wrote about the author of "The Possibility of Everything," Hope Edelman.

Nah - it is mostly about me because that's how I roll. But I did mention her.

I met Hope in 2002, after she posted a request for people to interview on a Motherloss forum. Here is what I wrote in 2004, looking back on our meeting:

Two years (or a lifetime) of waiting is over

It comes out today - Hope Edelman's new book, "Motherless Mothers." I was one of the women Hope interviewed for research. I actually called Barnes & Noble and they have one copy - they're holding it for me.

Two years ago, I was so excited to meet Hope. Her book, "Motherless Daughters" was a godsend for me...another motherless daughter, Lisa, gave it to me as a gift. We stick together, those of us who lost our mothers when we were young. We comprise a family of women with no anchor, no guidepost, no idea of how to become a women... My mother will always be perfect, because she died before she I could realize she wasn’t. I live up to the memory of a women I can never be, because she never was.

Anyway, I prepared carefully for my meeting with Hope - I left early from home, armed with a full tank of gas, two maps, phone numbers...I am a planner. What I didn't plan for - the impact of talking about being a mother without the slightest idea of how to do it right. What I didn't plan for - the impact of talking about things that no one else but a motherless daughter would understand. And I never planned to have my emotions laid bare in the dining room at the Claremont Hotel.

It was a beautiful day in the Oakland Hills. The restaurant was lovely - white, starched linen, and white, starched diners and employees, in stark contrast to the streets I drove through to get there. I remember the soup – Navy Bean, and the iced tea. I remember watching the sweat form on the glass, because I knew that if I looked away, if I looked at Hope, I would start to cry. Eventually I did. I sat in the beautiful restaurant, sobbing like the child I felt like I was. We talked about everything – my mother’s death, my belief that it was my fault, marrying late, adopting children – losing a child. My loss was fresh, and I had been so philosophical about it up until that day. My mother-in-law – how different she was from my mother, and how I wanted to be close to her, but always felt awkward calling her “mom” like she asked.

On that sunny afternoon, I was a married woman with a two-year-old son, a husband who loved me, and had just been through a failed adoption – the little girl we had dreamed of, who looked just like my husband, and only had for six months. My life revolved around my family – I stayed home full-time, except for some volunteer work, with Jacob always along. Today I sit in my office overlooking the river, a full-time working, single mother of two absolutely amazing children. I live every day wondering if I’ll live to teach my daughter how to become a woman – after all, my mother died when I (her youngest child) was 10, and she lost her mother when she was 15 (but her youngest child was 10). I don’t even know if any of my story made it into her book – except that all our stories have a single thread. Only the top thread, no bobbin thread to hold it in place or keep it from unraveling.


Well, I am in the book. Right there on page...oh, no - I won't tell you. Read the book. You'll know it's me, I'm sure of it, even though she changed everyone's names to protect the innocent. Or idiotic, as she must have thought I was, having a breakdown in the middle of the Claremont.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Oh, yeah...I can do that.

First I saw this on Kottke.org.
Then it showed up on Dooce.com.
Now I have watched it approximately 8,012 times.
I have seen probably 98% of these movies...some I now want to watch again, and I absolutely have to watch the ones I haven't seen.
There are a few that were only redeemed by the dancing.
Enjoy.