The Lost Girls, or How I Acquired ‘Edith’s Problem’

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edith-archie-bunker-100My friends and I have been talking for about this for a few years now. As we are enter into the decade that starts with a 5, we have learned that we are the Lost Girls of Menopause. When we were young we were told about ‘becoming a woman,’ (well at least some of us were told- thanks Crow), and there are 752 books out there about how to be a good wife, a good mother, a good daughter, a single career woman, or having it all, which in itself is fallacy that we can discuss another time. Books and webinars and television shows and movies all clamor about, telling us how the exact steps to take and what to expect at every stage of life but one.

So here I am to tell you all that Menopause absolutely, positively sucks. Read the rest of this entry

Didn’t You Know? My Daughter is Perfect

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She’s been telling me this all along.  I just didn’t believe it.  My thirteen-year-old daughter is perfect.

Today we went to the pediatrician for her annual exam.  I hold enormous respect for Julia’s doctor; a bright, personable, professional and compassionate practitioner.  But hearing her say those words to me, after Julia’s first ‘teen’ appointment (when you have to leave the room for the exam so they can talk), hit me like pie plate full of shaving cream.

I mean, yes, she’s pretty awesome.  Our girl is an honors student, a star athlete, a great alto, tall, blonde, blue-eyed and can be both compassionate and funny simultaneously.  She’s been handed some significant gifts, it’s true. But perfect?  Really?  How did she fool her into that one? Silly doctor.

Of course I sat outside the examining room, straining to hear things like – my mother is a psychopath, or – they beat me, starve me and burn all of my clothes at least once a week.  I waited anxiously at the door dreading that my daughter was doing something that I didn’t know about, and that she didn’t want me to know about. Boys? Drugs? Alcohol?

It all seems to be starting now.  She often tells me about kids her age who are experimenting with sex, or who are trying out for the role of town skank.  Kids at this age are testing the waters and have boundless energy to burn.  These same little babies who might have played on a sports team with her, or sat in the backseat of our car to get a ride home.  How could their world of promiscuity, ignorance and rebellion be even close to my girl’s?

Read the rest of this entry

It’s not Really Spam When They Show How Much They Really Care … Is it?

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Remember me?

I almost forgot about all of you.  Not in a bad way.  It’s just that I’ve been mentally pre-occupied since February.

Preoccupied with thoughts.  Too many thoughts, like, how could my job be eliminated after 8 years of loyal service.  And how could people I trusted not even fond enough to say goodbye.  And then about how silly all those thoughts were because it really doesn’t matter.  But it does.

It’s taken me way more time to move on than I thought, but I feel like I’m almost there.  Sure, your brain says all that Stuart Smalley stuff, I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me.  Blah Blah Blah.

So I wallowed, at first knowingly, then without realizing it, the highlight of my day became getting my daily bingo credits (more in 23:59:58).  The house wasn’t getting any cleaner, I wasn’t getting any thinner, and no writing was getting done.  Did I mention that a literary agent looked at 40 pages of mine and reacted like I was wasting her time?  Yes I paid her.  And she had some valid points.  But I didn’t see them.  All I saw was Stuart Smalley in his cardigan mouthing the word:  LOSER.

This is what happens when OCD folks like me get rejected.  When we make a huge emotional, physical, intellectual and spiritual commitment and get crickets, or worse, not even crickets.  We dwell.  And dwell, and yes, dwell some more.  We lose our confidence, our trust in our own ability to thrive.  But the clouds are clearing, really.  So no worries gang, but it’s been a long, strange trip.

Thank goodness for the spammers. Just look at all these heartfelt messages from total strangers trying to sell something.  It was an absolute pleasure clearing all of these messages out of my blog’s spam folder.  Because I got to read all of this great positive feedback!  Of course there was a lot of talk about male erectile dysfunction and girls girls girls who want to get – well you know what.  Can’t help  you there Sis.  Let me share a few non-pornographic tidbits with you – I’m sure you’ll agree …

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Like – San Diego Water Damage Repair

Thanks , I have recently been searching for information approximately this
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But let’s not leave out the British carpentering entrepreneurial geniuses out there:

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Excellent site you have here but I was curious about if you knew of any discussion boards that cover the same topics
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Cheers!

Oh there’s a place for you somewhere… delete forever.

 

Damn the Weather, Man – Press This from Jennifer Butler Basile’s Chopping Potatoes

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IceStormJen’s words perfectly describe how a lot of us New Englanders feel about this time of year, especially those of us who are struggling to live in the moment and not let anxiety get the best of us. Yes that’s me, especially as I pause between career opportunities (aka laid off).

Great writing Jen!

Damn the Weather, Man.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

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pattytmitchell:

I was drawn to this post because of the NASA photo associated with this blog post – I love astronomy despite my lack of knowledge – and for some reason these pictures seem like ‘home’ to me. But as I read on and realized that turning 50 is entering old age (what??!) I found more in common with the author. A nice read and something to think about when we feel like the world only turns for us.

Originally posted on the Art of Practice:

Our two dogs are of varying intelligence and thus responsiveness to our commands. One “off” moves the smart gal from my lap, while the oh-so-lovable-but-slow canine continues to warm my thighs until dumped to the ground.

Their barking has become annoying:  yapYAPyapYAP until the source of  inspiration either disappears from view (other dogs out for a walk, meandering cat, saucy squirrel) or has been thoroughly sniffed (friends who come to the door). Our lovely neighbors, cyclists who pedal up and down the Virginia mountains for dozens of miles, suggested using their “dazzer” to control the barking.

The Dazzer emits an unpleasant sound, audible only in the doggie range. One zap and the smart dog understood and now ceases barking promptly when told, “no bark.” The other dog continues to bark despite the command — and will do so until the Dazzer is used. Which of course is unfair to the…

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