writing

A Couple of Blank Pages…

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As much as I hate to say it, I am honored that there seems to be an increasingly widening audience in which to say it to.

I am taking a little break from the blog. And I truly do mean that: a little break. It may only be a few days or a week… tops. And even though it is just a short pause, I feel the need to acknowledge it since I post faithfully on a daily basis and many of you have expressed how much you appreciate that.

… Believe me, on those not-so-creative days you are the reason I sit down and write…

But for some personal reasons I am stepping back for a bit. I do hope that when I return, you will also come back to read my rants and ramblings.

Until then, my friends, readers and fellow bloggers… take care. Have a great week and weekend. And I promise to see you shortly… on the other side!

Snooze Buttons and State Troopers

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Friday’s post about my excessive “snoozing” and all of the self-professed snoozers that emerged from the closest as a result, made me want to share something I wrote nearly two years ago. And while (as of this writing) I have not been pulled over in a LONG time (knock on wood)… Clearly the snoozing problem has not subsided.

September 2009

OK. It’s official. I’m getting pulled over WAAAY too many times! I’ve been pulled over 3 times now since May. Now, is it me, or is that a wee-bit excessive? Perhaps I REALLY need to try getting out of bed sooner instead of hitting the snooze button so many times that I end up running late for work and speeding the whole way.

I am no longer paranoid that every cop I see in my rearview mirror is going to turn on those humiliating flashing lights and make me pull off to the side of the road so that everyone can see what a loser I am… either for speeding or for getting caught… I am now CERTAIN that every cop I see in my rearview mirror is definitely going to turn on those humiliating flashing lights and make me pull off to the side of the road and dig for my license, registration and insurance.

In May it was for “not sufficiently stopping at a red light” and I was lucky enough to get off with a warning… something my sister still has not forgiven me for since she was once ticketed by the same officer for a lesser offense.

In June I was stopped for doing 59 in a 45… and the State Highway Patrolman clocked me just YARDS away from the 55 MPH road sign. I thought it was 55… really, I did. He ticketed me to the tune of $125… OUCH. But I paid it, and vowed to not get caught speeding again! I couldn’t afford it!

Notice I said: not get CAUGHT speeding again. I did NOT say: NOT SPEED. And so… here we are 3 months later and I guess the sting in my wallet has sufficiently dulled just enough to let my foot grow a little bit heavier and my guard drop just enough that I didn’t even notice the State Trooper’s car peeking out of the cornfield until I was half-way through the school zone.

I slow WAAAAAAY down, maybe he didn’t see me. I pass him going about 5 miles an hour… and watch out of my rearview. For a merciful second he does not budge… but then he pulls out. I watch his lights… nothing. I am now going 25 in a 55… maybe he’s just moving on down the road, or going somewhere for a coffee and a donut. Oh crap! There go the lights. This cannot be happening AGAIN!?!?! #@$%!

I wasn’t going THAT fast. I had slowed from 60 MPH to 35 MPH in that 20 MPH school zone. How bad can THAT be?! And it wasn’t as if it was a grade school either, where kids could spontaneously dart out at any second from behind the bushes. It was a high school out in the middle of a cornfield. Surely this is not ticket-worthy. Oh, but he’s going to run my plates and see that I was pulled over 2 other times in the last 5 months.

I am so screwed.

For the first time in my life, I find myself pleading with a cop NOT to give me a ticket. I can’t even stand the idea of becoming one of THOSE girls who tries whining to get out of a ticket, but I CANNOT afford another $100+ ticket!! So… as I’m tossing napkins and CD cases and car manuals out of the glove box, rummaging to find my registration I decide to go for it… I’m going to whine… Here goes… “Officer…” looking up at him with the saddest, most pathetic-without-being-over-the-top expression I can conjure up, I say… “do you HAVE to give me a ticket?” and I hand him my license and registration.

He takes my license and registration and says: “I’ll run your license and if it’s clean, I’ll let you off with a warning.”

I am so screwed.

He’s going to see those other 2 offences I just know it. How could he not?!? Surely it’s in some HUGE database somewhere, along with my other civic sins: The fact that I don’t always recycle. And I don’t always clean up after the dog when she poops in the neighbor’s yard. Now I’ll probably not only owe money for a ticket… but my insurance is going to increase or I’ll get points on my license or something terrible. I am such an awful citizen. I should be put in prison. I call work. I’m going to officially be late if I’m not thrown in jail. He starts back toward my window. I’m gonna be sick. I close my eyes, grip the steering wheel and wince… wait for it. WAIT for it…

He starts to hand me paperwork… “Here’s your license and registration back. I’m just giving you a warning today. Watch your speed in those school zones. Have a good day.” OH! God BLESS you, you dear, sweet State-Trooper-Man!!! I hope Santa puts a little something extra in your stocking this Christmas. Whew! THAT was close!

I drive away saying aloud: thank you, thank YOU, THANK YOU!!!!!! I’ll never speed again. I promise. Hopefully this morning was the LAST time I get pulled over for a LONG, LONG, LONG time… but more importantly… my wake-up call to stop hitting the snooze and GET UP EARLIER…

As for whether or not it will work… well, I’ll have to let you know tomorrow.

Look-a-Like Towns

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I grew up in Minerva, Ohio. It is a small town (technically a village) and is situated on US Route 30. Along Rt. 30 there are many other little towns that look quite similar. They typically have a Dairy Queen or dairy bar, a few banks, some churches, a park or two, perhaps a red brick school with a playground and of course, houses that resemble those in and around Minerva. To a small child who lives there, these other little “burgs” probably look very much like home to them.

Such was the case with my youngest niece, Juliann, my sister’s daughter. She is now 13 and would probably hate that I’m telling stories about her as she is at “that age” — you know, the age where you can get the death stare AND a bear hug all within the span of 5 minutes. Anyway, I’m willing to take the risk.

One glorious, fall afternoon my parents decided to take little Juliann with them for a ride in the country. She was about 4 or 5 at the time. They have a Jeep Wrangler and it was the perfect kind of day for leaving the top off, loading up their granddaughter and Sadie (their golden retriever) and heading out.

As is popular to do in this region of the country that time of year, they planned on doing some “leaf peeping.” They drove around for hours on country roads gazing at the stunning fall foliage and soaking up us much of the color and warm sunshine that they could before winter crept in. And although I can’t say for certain, I’ll bet they stopped at one of those dairy bars and had a hotdog and an ice-cream cone or sundae on their autumn adventure.

Coming home, they drove through several small towns near and along Rt. 30 and as they passed through each one, my dad would hear a tiny little voice from directly behind him in the backseat utter the question: “Are we in Minerva NOW, grandpa?” Dad would answer: “No, not yet Juliann, this is… <insert name of aforementioned look-a-like burg here>… but we will be soon.”

Somewhere along the way, as kids do after a day in the sun and wind and with a tummy full of ice cream, Juliann fell asleep. When she awoke they were FINALLY driving through Minerva. My dad, assuming that she would be very excited to be home at last, asked her: “Where are you NOW, Juliann?” 
And her answer was priceless…

“I’m right BEHIND you, grandpa!”

Note to (the Perfectionist) Self

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Finish each day and be done with it…
You have done what you could;
Some blunders and absurditites no doubt crept in
Forget them as soon as you can
Tomorrow is a new day;
You shall begin it well and serenely.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

I flipped to this quote one night before heading to bed at the end of a particularly difficult day. Lately I’ve been trying to read encouraging and/or inspirational thoughts to close my days and when I saw this quote on that day, I broke down in tears.

As my breath caught in my throat at the sheer timliness of reading these words, I felt the weight of the day literally being lifted from my shoulders. I felt relieved at the reminder that I did not have to take these worries to bed with me.

Finish this day and be done with it. It is over. You did what you could do. Not necessarily what others expected you would do or what they thought you should do. You did what you could do. Now let it go.

No doubt you made some mistakes or said some stupid things. Forget about it. Others probably have. You are your harshest critic.

Tomorrow is a new day! You shall begin it well and calmly. Choose peace over turmoil and serenity over fretfulness.

The day will be what it will be. It will bring what it will bring. You can only do what you can do. And when it is over… the second most important thing will be to know that you did your best… And the most important will be to release it.

Domain Thing

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It wasn’t that long ago I didn’t even know what a domain name was. I avoided the whole technology thing for awhile… Or at least longer than many of my peers. I put off getting a cell phone for a LONG time until it became necessary. I told people it was because I quote: “Did not want to be that accessible.”

Amazing how time changes things. It’s almost impossible to remember life before email or the internet, isn’t it? Then a few years ago it was Facebook. Sometimes I literally sit and hurt my head trying to recall what life was like Pre-FB. What in the hell did I do with all of that extra time? I don’t think I read more books. I don’t think I exercised more. I certainly didn’t bake, crochet, cook or clean. Maybe I just watched more CSI and Survivor.

So now I find it extremely curious that 2 days ago I broke down and bought and registered my own domain name: womaninthrisis.com. That’s right. I’ve become one of “those people” that I swore I thought I’d never become. I own a website. I am a blogger. And it’s a little unsettling.

Back in the CSI and Survivor days, bloggers and people with their own websites were (to me) nerds who never saw the light of day. They were spindly with translucent skin and bloodshot eyes. They slept all day and stayed up all night in their dark little caves, stabbing away at the keyboard with great gusto illuminated by the other-worldly glow of the monitor. They wrote about conspiracy theories, dark matter, worm holes and absolute zero.

While I, with my expensive, fake tan, french manicure and well-toned muscles did “normal” things like sit on my ass all day at Starbucks drinking iced-caramel machiattos and people-watching… Or perfecting my downward-facing dog, warrior and sun salutation in the mornings and paying $50 a month to literally get the crap beat out of me by my kickboxing instructor every other night.

My, my, my how things have changed. See, the thing is… I love to write. I have ALWAYS loved to write. Except that now I have discovered there is this amazing community of people all over the world just like me who enjoy sitting down at the computer, basking in it’s other-worldly glow and pecking away at the keyboard sharing thoughts, ideas, observations and inspirations about day-to-day life… And anything and everything from conspiracy theories to the perfect french manicure. And I have found it to be fascinating and fun.

Though, I do have just one question…

Do my eyes look bloodshot to you? Maybe it’s time to drag out the yoga mat… Or hit the gym. UGH. As the proud, sole owner and proprietor of  Woman In Thrisis, who has time for all of that now anyway? Soooo… make my caramel mach a double, please. And where’s the number for that tanning salon?

Kicking Up the Leaves

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In a little red raincoat, jeans and sneakers her blonde hair bounced as she ran. The sun was glistening on her golden locks and there was a look of pure joy on her face when she plopped down in a pile of crispy, brown leaves. With both arms outstretched she gathered as many leaves as she could and scooped them toward her lap. She then proceeded in kicking her legs back and forth and back and forth watching and listening as the dried leaves flew about and crunched while she did this.

Total abandon. Total happiness. Totally in the moment.

I both delighted in and envied her. Why couldn’t I feel that way anymore? Why couldn’t I be free from worry and concern as she was? I wanted so badly to be able to flop right down beside her on the ground and mimic her actions. To me, this precious child who couldn’t have been more than 4 or 5 years old, looked like she was having the time of her life! And all I could do was sit by and watch and worry about my bills or my deadlines, my laundry or my dirty house, my weight, my relationships, my health or the orange flashing light on my dashboard indicating the car’s dangerously-low level of windshield-wiper fluid.

So many worries… so little time. It seemed like only yesterday I was playing in the leaves like her. Watching her I remembered a photo in our family album of me at just about the same age, jumping in a pile of freshly raked leaves and tossing them in the air without a care in the world. And I wondered: Where did all that time go? And more importantly… Where did all these worries come from? Then I couldn’t help but consider, if the woman I am today could meet the little girl that I once was… what would they say to one another? Would the older me warn the younger me of the pitfalls that lie ahead and how to avoid them? Would the older me counsel the younger me about future mistakes or poor decisions?

Of course not.

How could I burden that little one, so full of hope and promise and zest for life, with the concerns of adulthood? That wouldn’t be fair to say the least. But I also gave some thought as to what the younger me would say to the older me… and that, my friends, was an entirely different story. With her inability to even relate to the future and such things as “mistakes” or “poor decisions,” she would tell me that today… right now was all that mattered. That right now the weather is nice and there is a big pile of leaves just calling my name. That right now she has everything she needs to get from this moment to the next. That right now there is nothing more important than running at full speed and diving head first into the heap before its all gone for the winter.

There is a favorite verse of mine that reads: Who of us, by worrying, can add a single hour to our life? So I ask myself then: What am I sitting around here worrying for? Why am I NOT out there gathering and kicking up the leaves?

Road Rage, Invisible Groundhogs and Hypocrisy

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I am a self-professed tailgater. And I’m not referring to the tailgating that occurs before football games around here. I am referring to the riding-other-drivers-asses variety of tailgater.

My dad and Lee both get after me about this A LOT. As well they should. Tailgating is rude and obnoxious, not to mention dangerous. But being the extremely impatient narcissist that I am… I just can’t seem to help myself. I can start out on a trip with the best of intentions and before I know it, I’ve memorized every scratch, dent and ding on the bumper in front of me… and I’ve probably fantasized about ramming into it too.

Yesterday on the way to work I got “brake-checked” by the guy in front of me (YES, an individual I happened to be tailgating at the time) and I had to slam on my brakes because he literally STOPPED in the middle of the road. He didn’t just tap his breaks to warn me that I was beginning to annoy him… He STOPPED… In the middle of a 55 MPH zone! Now, unless he was stopping for a squirrel, cat or groundhog—that I for one did not see—he was clearly sending me the “get-off-my-ass-NOW!” message.

I am well acquainted with this form of non-verbal, vehicular communication because I am not just your garden-variety tailgater. I am what you might call a “hypocritical tailgater.” I WILL tailgate you… but don’t you DARE tailgate me… or I WILL brake-check you until you get the message.

I feel it also worth mentioning that the guy who brake-checked me today was also a hypocritical tailgater because after he slammed on his brakes for me and resumed his speed… he practically crawled up the tailpipe of the guy in front of him. I must have been in a fairly decent mood because after re-securing all of my belongings back into the passenger seat from the floor to which they had fallen at the time of the aforementioned brake-check incident… I laughed. HARD.

I just laughed and laughed and backed the hell off. I got his message LOUD AND CLEAR. And maybe, just maybe, I secretly hoped that the driver whose tailpipe the break-checking-hypocritical-tailgater was currently sucking on would also stop suddenly in the middle of the road for an invisible squirrel, cat or groundhog… and well, you know the rest.

An Honor Just Being Nominated…

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Although it’s not a Pulitzer, I was honored yesterday when a fellow blogger nominated me for WordPress’s “Versatile Blogger Award.”  There is no trophy, cash prize or trip to Hawaii attached to the privilege. The only honor is that of the proverbial, but reassuring pat on the back from a fellow would-be writer. And I’ll take it. Happily. It is such a thrill to know that other people, many of whom I have never and will never meet, actually ENJOY reading the thoughts that I key in day after day after day! At times, when my creative juices are running on empty, it is the only thing that keeps me coming back to the cursor.

The first order of business is to thank the individual who thought my musings worthy of such mention. I “met” her not long ago when she dropped by Woman in Thrisis and left a comment. Commenters are usually the blogs that I tend to visit most often. I found her blog to be witty, fun and unique. Be sure to check out her writing at Becoming Cliche and I promise you won’t be disappointed.

The second order of business required of all nominees is to list seven random/fascinating/weird or odd things about themselves that their readers most likely do not know. So here goes…

  1. I am insanely fearful of ALL insects. Even gnats. In fact, I conduct my day-to-day life in such a way as to fully AVOID anything (living or dead) that exists in the insect realm.
  2. I am, however, completely cool with snakes, lizards and rodents. Once, on a trip to the beach, I carried a python around on the boardwalk by wearing it around my neck because I thought I looked totally cool. That is, until it started to wrap itself around my neck… and I decided our little bonding session was over.
  3. My cat is named Stanley, though he isn’t just ANY Stanley. His full, given name (the one on the microchip between his shoulder blades) is Stanley Kubrick… In honor of my favorite filmmaker. In case you’re unfamiliar with Kubrick’s work, think A Clockwork Orange, 2001: A Space Odyssey and Full Metal Jacket. He was a cinematic genius. The filmmaker, not the cat. AND Stanley is completely mute. The cat, not the filmmaker.
  4. Though deathly afraid of insects, I will try just about anything for the sake of adventure… Scuba diving, mountain climbing and herding cattle on horseback to name a few. I know, I am acutely aware of the contradiction.
  5. At 5’2” and barely 120 lbs., I once won a grape-stomping contest at a New Mexico vineyard by producing the largest amount of juice in the least amount of time.
  6. As a small child, I had an intense obsession with stuffed bunny rabbits that I carried around in my mouth by the ears and then rubbed said soppy, wet bunny ears constantly beneath my nose until it was chapped beyond recognition. Suffice it to say… cautionary measures were taken.
  7. In addition to insects, I am disproportionately afraid of nutcrackers, marionettes, puppets and claymation. They scare the bejezzus out of me. Because of this fear… Christmas is a difficult holiday. My father likes to hide wooden nutcrackers all over my house in random places continually finding sadistic delight in his cruel little prank until ALL of the aforementioned creepy puppets have been located and properly disposed of. Oddest place he ever hid one: in my freezer.

And now for the third and final order of business to fulfill my duty as a nominee… naming OTHER fellow bloggers for whom I feel deserving of the same award… I hope you will take the time to pay them a visit as well. I promise you will laugh, ponder and find inspiration in their words.

I’ll be waiting / with a gun and a pack of sandwiches  The name alone is worthy of checking it out. Variety, truth and humor all rolled into one. Everyone will find something they can relate to.

My One Precious Life  Honesty. Sincerity. And adventure all rolled into one.

Storytelling Nomad  Travel and Literature. If either of these are YOUR things, you’ll really enjoy this one.

The Great Balancing Act  Health and wellness, recipes and great getaways in this blog. But also the incredible and transparent account of a young woman’s day to day battle with leukemia. Very informative and extremely inspiring.

The wuc  Simply HILARIOUS. Enough said.

Where Pleasant Fountains Lie  Beautiful poetry and well-written words of wisdom and self-awareness.

Side of the Leaf  Real and entertaining stories about life set to music

Craves Adventure Fun travel tips and beautiful photography. If you want to take a trip in just 10 minutes, give it a read.

Food4ThoughtFood4Life  Insightful, humorous and reflective… A one stop shop.

I have several other faves. Those are just to name a few. I’m sorry if I left anyone out. I’m sure I did. Please don’t hold it against me. Happy reading friends. Pour yourselves a cup of coffee and take a walk in someone else’s very unique shoes.

Addicted to Drama

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At the advent of reality TV, I thought myself better than everyone else because I refused to watch shows like The Bachelor, The Bachelorette or any of those other programs showcasing cheesy, forced romance and contrived drama.

I did not count my personal favorites—Survivor and The Amazing Race—in the ridiculously-fake-reality-TV category. I told myself (and everyone else) that I enjoyed those shows because they highlighted adventure in exotic, faraway lands.

Was I at all addicted to the “drama” that took place on beaches and jungles on the opposite side of the globe? Maybe. Because now there is a wee bit of evidence supporting the theory that I, just like everyone else, most likely was.

I have recently developed a slight addiction to a certain show that has made me question my self-proclaimed exemption from the desire for drama-on-display. The show is Hoarders. And I am actually rather obsessed with it. Like a horrific car crash by the side of the road or gruesome crime scene photos shown on Dateline, I cannot seem to look away. I find myself consistently drawn in by the ewwww-factor and the UGH-factor and the oh-this-is-so-absolutely-sad-and-disgusting-and-unbelievable factor.

I have long been fascinated by the inner workings of the human psyche. And based on ratings alone, I am not the only one. Let’s be honest… you’re Norman Rockwell neighbors, working 8 to 5 and grilling out on the weekends don’t exactly make for an interesting case study. But your crazy lady-next-door-with-a-million-cats-and-60-tons-of-trash-on-her-front-lawn kinda does.

Questions spring to mind such as: Why is he or she like that? What is wrong with them that they feel the need to cling to dead squirrels, pre-WWII cans of tuna or rotted jars of peanut butter? When are they going to tire of climbing over laundry, furniture and pizza boxes to get to their toothbrush? How are they OK with rats and roaches running rampant over heaps and piles of junk collecting in every nook and cranny of their living spaces?

I’m not sure if it is a form of escapism, or a way for us to affirm our own “normalness” as we watch others so tragically struggle just to keep both feet on the ground. Perhaps it is nothing more than our innate voyeuristic nature at work. But one thing is for sure… As long as there are humans on this planet and television cameras rolling, we will tune in and watch other people’s drama (be it real or fabricated) while it unfolds before us in our living rooms, with the curtains drawn and a bowl of popcorn in our lap.

The Encore

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I smelled Fall today. I think there are finally enough leaves on the ground that you can actually begin to smell them. You know, like when you were a kid and you raked them and raked them into huge, heaping piles and then dove head-long into them! You would plunge right into the center of that crispy-sweet, earthy scent. There is nothing else like it. It is in the air for just a few weeks… fleeting but heavenly. This is my favorite time of year.

Summer seems to yield to Fall so suddenly. One week you’re wearing shorts and flip-flops and the next you’re reaching into the back of the closet for that favorite sweatshirt. Bare feet search for fuzzy socks and slippers. Windows are opened at night and an extra blanket tossed on the bed. Shadows from the trees lay longer and longer across remnants of green grass… stretching for the last few drops of sunshine before the cold renders them silent. Darkness comes sooner than the night before.

With the glorious colors of the season I have searched and searched for the right words to describe this unique and transformational time of year. But nothing I come up with seems to do it justice. They say a picture is worth a thousand words… and that statement could not be more true of autumn. I guess that’s why—over the years—I’ve turned the camera’s lens to capture so many images of the brilliant leaves when the late afternoon sun is dancing on them. Words simply aren’t sufficient.

Though finally one day it came to me. I believe “encore” to be an appropriate word… if there is one. The dictionary defines encore as: an additional performance in response to the demand of an audience.

If we are the audience… and Spring, with it’s debut of flowers and tender new buds, is the Opening Act, and Summer, with it’s long days and warm nights is the Main Performance… then Fall must be the Encore. The verdant reign of Summer ends in one big blaze of glory. One final number before the white curtain of Winter falls.