Wednesday, December 21, 2016

(The Invention of) Tradition

...implies a connection with the past that is not necessarily present. I would argue, however, that it is not that the connection is not present, but that there is no connection at all, as connection refers to linked separates. These are not separate, these years, these children, this time. It is all one fluid standing in front of a tree.







2009 (missing)



My apologies for sounding like a stoned undergrad. Time does that to me, maybe Christmas, too, how it is that I was just laying beneath the tree with my brother, the lights, the very large teddy bear I got the year my parents played Randy Newman's "Short People" over and over. How there is another year out there with a song that has not been thought of yet, the same tree, the same curve of a cheek, everything thick, the love carved deep and close to the bone.

I swear, I am not stoned. Just lucky. Just really, really fucking lucky.

Happy holidays, to you & yours.


Thursday, December 15, 2016


It’s raining, the kind of rain that makes you feel soft inside, the kind of rain that makes you sad when a stranger holds the door for you, but happy/sad. That kind of rain. I have been thinking about Aleppo, so much so that I checked the weather there. It is sunny with a high of 74 today. Not sure why I checked or what that means, if it matters. The other night I made myself read about what is happening, watched coverage of the fighting, and when I couldn’t stand it any longer I shutdown my computer and watched Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I felt a little bit like a teenager, how I used to sit and stare at the stars trying to wrap my head around space. What does it all mean? Dorit’s husband surprised her with a Buddha-themed party plus a rose gold Bentley, because nothing says Buddhism quite like a new Bentley. How can that exist in the same world as children being executed by regime forces? Try to understand the end of the Universe, I dare you.

This morning Ozzy got his first cavity filled. The dentist used nitrous oxide rather than novocain because he believes kids shouldn’t be afraid of dentists. He called me over at one point to look into Ozzy’s mouth as he drilled a teeny hole in one molar, then showed me how he packed it with plaster. The office was clean and white. Ozzy hugged a dinosaur stuffie holding a toothbrush and giggled the whole way though. It was impossible not to think of the story I heard on talk radio, something about how a child in Aleppo with a life-threatening injury had to wait 15 days for medical help. Can you imagine being his mom? The helplessness?

Stop it, I tell myself, feeling grown-up Emo, my bangs in my eyes, always thinking of the bad stuff. What can we do to help? It’s almost Christmas and I have donated to as many places as I can afford, though I know that term is laughably relative. Last night as I was putting Ozzy to bed and singing one of his favorite night-night songs, he put his hands on my face and pulled me toward him. You have a beautiful voice, he said. For the record, I don’t, I really don’t, but later I asked Bryan if he would ever consider adopting a child from Syria. There will be so many without families, I said, but he said no. He is done having kids, and we don't have enough money, and, if I am being honest, I agree. But still.

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
You know you know I love you so
You know I love you so

I love rainy days, really I do.

Thursday, December 8, 2016

From Despair to Don't Care: A Hello

Once upon a time I tried to make it as a blogger, whatever make it means. More comments, some notoriety, increasing page views, site visits, a little money or maybe a lot, maybe a wee bit of fame in a world of But I didn’t make it. Instead I got a job job, and I continued to write because I like to write. Maybe not as much, certainly. My posts went from everyday to once a week, then maybe once every few weeks. But I continued to write, thinking maybe one day my children will read this and know me, not just as their mom, but as a 37-44 year old woman going through life in all of its delicate, durable life-y-ness, bad language, muddied musings, mistakes and all.

That is why I still write here. Because I like to write. What I don’t like is dealing with people that are unkind. People that are small-minded, bigoted, people who are looking to fight, or looking to sell viagra and cigarettes, people who turn a comment about diapers into an inexplicable Penthouse letter. Yes, I’ve had all of those comments, and worse (just check out the comments on the post below, although I regret to inform you I deleted the diaper p0rn).

Here’s the thing, and I don’t think it’s a popular notion in the world of blogging (which may or may not be deader than a blog about doornails)--but I don’t owe anybody anything. By blogging, I don’t owe anyone any explanations. Nor am I obligated to publish nasty comments. This is my blog. My tiny, little blog with a small readership that makes no money.

Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE it when people read my blog. I LOVE it when people comment, either here or on my Facebook page, or when I meet people who mention my blog. I have met some amazing people through blogging, and by “met” I mean I know their username and I am so glad to have them in my life. Maybe that’s how you make it as a blogger? By meeting new friends.

Which reminds me...lately I’ve taken to asking Ozzy each night if he had done anything kind for anyone that day. At first he didn’t know how to respond. Um, no? I don’t know? But I told him that I was sure he was doing kind things all the time. Sharing a toy, or helping a friend, those are the obvious ones, but also asking someone if they want to play, or just saying hi to someone. Ozzy is famous for saying hi, and saying it loudly. HI MATTEO! he shouts as we walk across the blacktop, HI OLIVIA, HI LEON, HI MAXIMUS! Now Ozzy has something to talk about every night before he goes to bed. It’s nice to end the day talking about kindness.

So I will end this with just that. I have thought about quitting this blog because I don’t have enough time and not a lot of people read it anymore and there are so many mean people out there and and and... But I won’t. Instead I will just do this. Because I like to write. Simply. HI.