Lost in the Now. Or just lost.

So I completely missed, as in forgot until many hours after the fact, two appointments within two days: an online writing session, and a hearing test for R. These are appointments that I was fully conscious of 24 hours before they were to take place. I'd talked to people about them, I'd envisioned myself there. Maybe I envisioned myself too well, and crossed them off some mental checklist as done.

But where I once would have spent a long time (longer than it's taking to compose this blog entry, email my writer friends and reschedule with the Dr. office) agonizing over why I'd been so stupid or forgetful, today I'm pretty much leaving it at this: Oops.

What I did with my time instead of these appointments was to post a blog entry and watch an episode of Friends with D. last night, and supervise the only slightly controlled mayhem of three eleven year olds (R. and the two most...um... energetic boys in her class) and S today. They literally chased each other around the house screaming, they did their homework, they had snack, and we walked to a nearby park with Albion the dog and explored the creek. The boys were fascinated by some elaborate graffiti under an overpass as the creek, wishing for a few drops of paint in the very empty spray cans they found ("But it's art!" they protested in futile earnestness when I called them away). The girls looked for frogs. The dog was in heaven, padding around in the shallow water and smelling a gazillion green and growing dog-detectable smells.

For dinner later, S. and I made pizza from scratch (Trader Joe's did provide the dough). The boys were delivered to their respective mothers. I crashed when the girls did (D. had to go back to work tonight), and have only gotten up to write this entry.

You know, the entry where I say that I so easily let it go that I'd missed those appointments, but where I nonetheless find it so important to write about what I did instead.

Linux convert

So about two weeks ago, I installed Linux (the Ubuntu version) on the secondary ide drive in my PC. This was toward the tail-end of a online Unix class I took to re-acquaint myself with vi editor and other the pleasures of line commands. I know. I'm a geek. But it's all relative. I'm only a geek compared to some. On a daily basis, I am surrounded by people who have more geekiness in their left pinky than I shall ever embody.

I've always preferred DOS over Windows. But Linux has DOS trumped.

I'm only in the earliest stages of playing with Ubuntu and have not yet fine tuned it, but so far, so good. Thanks anyway, Mr. Gates, but I think I've found something better for the non-Mac machine in our house. In honor of my latest toy, I've got a link to Ubuntu on the sidebar. Any other takers?

Pirate for Congress

Some of you may have already seen this out there, but my coworkers have been all abuzz lately about James Hill's run for Congress in Iowa. This is a candidate who is willing to expose his personal history and private convictions (or lack thereof) to public scrutiny. He's apparently someone who is so fed up by the corruption of politicians, he includes choice phrases in his site like, "Every day I fight the urge to drink, debauch women out of wed-lock and beat people on the street. One urge I do not have is to sell myself to the highest bidder."

He may offend many, but his honesty and ability to stand tall and say, "ARRRRR!" just in time for the upcoming Talk Like a Pirate Day have won the admiration of others.

And speaking of the admiration of others (not coy, I), I was blessed this evening by the inspirational and inspired gifts and really, really good chocolate from my colleagues Julia & Suzanne. I call it a writer's group. And it is that. But it's so much more as well! Thanks for spoiling me, gals.

For Nothing

As my sister says, I've reached the big "four nothing," or 40.
And you know, what? That's okay.

I've had more than one forty-plus friend tell me about the liberation that can come with reaching a milestone birthday like this - where you find that in spite of your keenest aspirations and best intentions, you haven't, after all, conquered the world or found a cure for cancer or written the Great American Novel by the time you were forty. And so the pressure is off now.

Whew.
Thank goodness for that.

It's been a splendid day. Just enough people acknowledged my birthday to make me feel special (which I love) without feeling like the Center of Attention (which I abhor).



Here's a shot for posterity, taken in Las Vegas at the end of last month, while at a tech conference for work. Dinner out at Nobu sushi. Yum.




Had sushi again tonight, followed by the obligatory birthday chocolate. The girls are in bed, and I'm ready to settle down to watch an episode of Friends with D. - we've come to the sitcom only now, via DVDs, having never had TV while it ran. And it's just plain silly fun for us, a good way to close out the day.

Onward with the journey...

The Gift

So, I realize that every day is a gift, but today feels like a real pre-birthday whiz-bang package all tied up with a big bow and a card with my name in fancy calligraphy.

I took the day off work even though I have pretty much NO personal time left because it's the girls' first day of school. R. is now in 6th grade, S. is in 1st. D. took the requisite First Day of School photo, which I will post as soon as I can borrow his camera to upload the shot.

And although I could have gone back to work for a few hours, I'm taking the entire day off instead. To do whatever, including (in no particular order):
jettison more paperwork
write (case in point)
go to the gym
garden
send my sister her late birthday present
balance my checkbook, pay the bills, fold the laundry, mow the lawn...

I know what some of you are thinking. Some of you are thinking that today should be about doing whatever I want, not about doing chores. Others of you already know that those "chores" are just what I do want to do.

I remember as a child that my friends would call me to come over and play whenever their mothers told them to clean their rooms. It was because they knew that I really liked organizing other people's stuff, turning chaos into cosmos, a disaster into some form of order. (And dear Suzy Woodward, wherever you are, I still remember that 4-year old Nilla Wafer we found in your Uncle Wiggly tree stump display.)

I'm not one to scrub the toilet daily. I'm not great about dusting and vacuuming. But I like things tidy, and although some mess is "good" for me, a lesson that the little things don't matter but relationships with people do - so have the guests over even if the house isn't clean, anyway - too much mess crosses the line into being just plain bad for my psyche.

So I'm going to pretend I'm visiting my friend's house, and that I have no weird (and unnecessary) attachments to the piles of papers everywhere, the travel guides from my grandmother's trips to Alaska and Greece in the '70s, the receipts from Christmas purchases ten years ago, the multiple drafts of the same short story. I'm going to have the recycle bin and a shredder and a good cup of coffee and I'm going to have some FUN, blast it all!

I'm also going to write down the goals I have before I reach the age of 40. I have until Monday to reach them, so I'll make them realistic.

Scratch off "marathon" but add "say no to babysitting someone else's child once a week for free for the third year in a row."

Omit "get a book of poetry published" but add "compile the manuscript and see where the holes are, and write one more poem to fill one of those holes."

Nevermind "weigh 150 pounds." Stick to "continue to eat healthily and exercise regularly, and be happy with the slow road to fit."

Instead of "finish remodel of bedroom" I'm putting down "find the bedroom floor."

I'm replacing "dig out adobe for path through front landscaping" with "water the vegetable garden."

Bird by bird, as Anne Lamott would say.

Meme thang

Ok, so I found this because I read Julie who discovered it through Josh.
If you'd like to see mine, it's here. Please feel free to contribute. I'll reciprocate.

R. is off at camp in the sierras until Saturday. We've received 2 postcards: one to the dog: "Bark Bark! I [heart] you all" and one to her sister, on the top of which she gives me instructions to have S. read: "I love you so much! Love, love R."

I guess we can see where parents rate in the whole ranking of correspondence. But I'm so glad to hear from her. I checked carefully, too, and there was no "I hate camp and you are cruel heartless parents for sending me here and you must come get me right now or consider the entirety of my childhood one long Oprah special in the making" anywhere to be found on the pre-stamped, pre-addressed card.

I've said it before. The world is rife with small mercies.

Gratuitous Celebrity Obsession Post

Some of you may already know this, but Jean Reno just re-married. And it wasn't to me.

Dang.

What was he thinking?

I mean, HELLO?
Pick me! Pick me!

Ahem.

Don't get me wrong.

If Jean Reno really showed up at my door and proposed to me on bended knee I'd refuse his offer, even if he had a diamond ring for me.

Because I don't like diamonds.

And. Okay, yes. And because I've already got someone better than he'll ever be. And I wouldn't trade my current, only, forever husband for ANYONE else.

But still. I wouldn't have minded the chance to turn down the proposal.