for the love of madonna.

I went to church this morning on my way into work. Last night, I tried going to the small, neighborhood church that is affiliated with my daughter's school, but I couldn't get into the sanctuary, so I chose to go to a different one this morning that I thought might have a better chance of being open.

St. Joe's is a large, beautiful Catholic church built on a hillside in a dense residential area minutes from downtown. The whole site is really a compound taking up an entire city block with a large K-8 school attached. The sanctuary itself probably holds several hundred people and it's stunning with two-story high, rough hewn wood ceilings, stone walls, luminous stained glass and of course, well-worn dark wood pews. It is the church that I went to when I first moved here in college, and the church where my daughter was baptized eleven years ago. It's affiliated with the Jesuits, which has a history of social justice, so they were respectful of our decision to select Jewish Godparents, provided my mother, a lifelong Catholic, stood with us during the ceremony. I honestly, no question could feel God in the moment the priest made the sign of the cross on my daughter's head with holy water dripping down her cheeks.

I heard on the radio this morning that the other Madonna (Ciccone), is opening up a string of ultra-luxe fitness gyms around the world called Hard Candy. None of them, initially, will be in the US. Once again—way to go Madonna. Ingenious. Make us hungry for it instead of letting us be the first to trash it. The first one is opening up in Mexico City on November 29, then other places like Argentina, Russia, Brazil and of course Europe will follow. Another reinvention, she rocks. So here I was, sitting in traffic, on my way to church, reading my horoscope on my phone and thinking about two Madonnas.

The sanctuary visit was my mother's idea. About ten years ago, when trying to sell my house in the downturn after 9/11, she came over and buried a small St. Joseph figurine in the backyard, upside down. We got an offer within a week. Today, I'm trying to finally put my divorce to bed, and in light of the tears that I cried over the disappointment of it all the other night, she said, quite simply, "go light a candle." So I'm sitting in my car, the taillights in front of me glowing red in the reflection of heavy rain drops, the sound of the wiper blades cutting through Madonna's Hard Candy news report and reading my horoscope on my phone, which had the ominous advice to not let myself be 'emotionally blackmailed.' I never like horoscopes that have good advice but imply that something will happen that requires the advice. Ugh. Will someone try and emotionally blackmail me today? That sounds fun.

What would Madonna do?

I am a very spiritual woman. I was raised Catholic, my mother even taught my Catechism classes (!), and I love that I share this cultural background with 1.1 billion other souls on the planet. Ok, ok, let's be honest, it's the most culture a white girl from a small'ish agricultural community in the Pacific Northwest is ever going to achieve (well, technically I have a Jewish step-family with a Japanese sister-in-law, and I'm twelve and a half percent Cherokee, but that is definitely another blog entry...stop laughing, you know who you are).

I love that you can go to a Catholic church in a different city and the mass is still essentially the same. I believe in the meditative quality of the rituals and I absolutely believe in God. I believe in the concept of worship and the intellectual study of religion and faith. I was raised a Jesuit, which is anchored in the aforementioned concept of social justice, as well as humility. I am decidedly not the most humble person I know, but I do try and I whole-heartedly believe in the Big Idea of humility as it plays out in and around our lives. Therefore, I am not interested in tackling the issue of priests and celibacy, but I strongly respect the notion that they have humbly reduced their lives to the very simplest of devotion, and thus, this is a person that I am comfortable talking to me about God. I believe in a lifelong investment in your own spirituality, which for me means it's highly personal, grounded in the humility of accepting what we don't know, and working hard to have faith. I am on the farthest end of evangelism as you can get. So much so, that I would venture to say that most of my friends do not know how spiritual I really am. That being said, I am always interested in discussing faith, religion or spirituality, but I often listen more than I contribute.

I'm a fan of both Madonnas, having grown up with both of them, but the modern day holder of the moniker had me thinking this morning. About disappointment, about reinvention, about survival. For as incredibly strong as she is, I bet she's been emotionally blackmailed a time or two, but she survived and thrived. So did the original Madonna. Both of them are survivors and both of them reinvented themselves. Mary went from being Joseph's wife to, well, you know the rest of her story and Madonna Ciccone went from being Madonna Ciccone to, well...Madonna. How dare I compare the virgin mother of Jesus to an oversexed single mother, you ask?...humility. I think you do the best you can and I think the Virgin Mary would agree with that.

This morning, the sanctuary was totally empty and very dim. The candles previously lit by other visitors were peacefully flickering in the corner. I stood there for a minute and let the magnitude of the quiet settle over me. I've been meaning to come here and have a talk with God. I wanted to reconcile the disappointment — mano y mano. In that cavernous, dim, empty, beautiful sanctuary, I lit candles for my daughter, for a friend of mine with a child my daughter's age who had a brain aneurysm a few weeks ago, for my friend who is beating ovarian cancer, and one for those struggling with or enduring a loss of any kind, then I sat down in a pew and prayed. Prayers of gratefulness, guidance and reconciliation. I am doing the best I can and whatever drives the Madonnas' resolve and reinvention maybe we will never know, but I'm inspired by it and if someone has the audacity to emotionally blackmail me today—bring it...I'm channeling "Like a Virgin."

pumpkin spice and all things nice.

In some ways, I am still 10 years old wanting to make cookies just so I can lick the beaters. My stomach hurts and I am sure I gained about 2 pounds tonight from doing just such a thing. I was never known to be a good cook. Together with my closest friends from college, we started a dinner club about twelve years ago. For at least six of those years, my contribution was bread, store bought, not kidding. For the longest time, I was the only woman with a child, so I used that as my crutch. To be honest, I don't think anyone, including me, had faith that I could contribute anything that was homemade and edible. Although I think they will cringe when I say this (even though we all know it's true), not unlike a lot of mid-to-late twenty-somethings, we went through a phase where we were trying to impress each other with our culinary skills. There was a whole incident involving boxed brownies that, as the "Bread-Bringer," I found highly humorous. Somehow they knew I couldn't take the heat in the kitchen, pun intended, so they let me out. I was always the butt of the dinner club jokes, but that was ok. I thought they were right.

By that point, we had been friends for years and they knew that I was the girl who went through my entire childhood without ever having eaten a mushroom. My favorite "foods" were white bread and 7-Up. I never, ever recommended a restaurant, and I certainly never ordered something that we all would share. I never once had a dinner party where others didn't contribute the bulk of the food. I categorized foods that I liked and disliked by texture - avocados, out, melba toast, in - and I still to this day don't like mustard or mayonnaise. I also didn't like warm fruit or banana flavored anything, but I did like bananas, although I preferred them to be more green, less ripe. As you can tell, even to date me was a total nightmare because I ordered like Sally in "When Harry Met Sally," minus the fake orgasm scene, which might have helped my case. Nevertheless, I was a food disaster, I know. One of my best friends has a long-standing joke claiming that I never shared my food either. She attributes that to me being an only child, but in reality I think it's because I just didn't like ANYTHING so I was afraid if someone ate my food, the only thing I liked, I would starve. This, coming from a college kid who easily gained the freshman 15 by regularly ordering late-night pizzas that I could down all by myself if need be. Hardly starving.

So I didn't have the best track record of eating, or ordering, or cooking, or sharing good food. When my daughter began eating solid foods, I was in Heaven because it was easy food - no sauces, no spices, everything was simple and separate. Cool. Then as she got older and her palate matured, I reluctantly started to cook.

This is the point in the story when a beam of light starts to grow from behind this computer and a choir starts singing.

I can cook! This was, quite simply, a revelation. I went from stretching myself to pour a 7-Up, to cooking an entire sit-down filet and roasted vegetable dinner with plated crab and pomegranate endive salad for twelve. Hallelujah! Where had this talent been hiding? Cooking, I have found, is creative. It's an art. Timing, intuition, creativity, orchestration and technique. And all of my skill is genetic, there's just no other explanation for it. My mother is an amazing cook. She is the oldest of six and literally churned butter on the farm where she grew up. Sadly, I didn't know what a good cook she was until after she started to cook for my stepfamily, a family of three boys and my stepfather. It was a decidedly tough crowd having raised me prior to that with my dad who loved his pork chops, tomato slice and Ore-Ida fries on Saturday nights. Finally she had some serious mouths to feed and I was blown away. So by the time I started to cook for my daughter, I just tapped into those genes and the "Bread-Bringer" was transformed.

I made my first Thanksgiving turkey last year and I still have a long way to go in terms of planning the nightly meal, but discovering that I can cook opened up this whole world of good food for me. Today, there are very few things I won't try at least once, and I now have an incredible respect for cooks and chefs of all caliber, including my dinner club friends who are amazing cooks and I now know how to appreciate their talent properly. I have picked and recommended restaurants and my palate has matured right along with my daughter's, who incidentally tried escargot and caviar before she was even ten years old. I now have even more respect for my mother's talent and as usual, am humbly grateful that she is passing along everything she knows. I have learned to love food and to love to cook.

Today I have the confidence to be a rather good baker and of course, cookies are high on the repeat-offender list. I like to experiment with recipes and a couple of years ago, my daughter and I started making our own Halloween shaped sugar cookies that taste like pumpkin pie - a seasonal favorite of hers. This year I added a maple glaze to our concoction and since it seems fitting to share a recipe for this blog entry, here it is (below). Give them a whirl and if you don't like them...keep it to yourself. Fragile chef-ego over here, still in development. (Wink)

(Side note - the last time I publicly shared a recipe, I was in junior high and I had a lead in a local production of the musical, "Babes in Toyland." As a result, the local newspaper featured me, in my costume, as a 'Guest Chef' and they printed my picture with one of my own recipes. Of course, I didn't have any, so on the advice of my now stepfather, I modified a traditional Rice Krispie treat recipe to make it more seasonal - peppermint Rice Krispie treats! Brilliant. Only...I never actually made them. Turns out, when you crush up the peppermint and then stir it into the hot marshmallow mix, the candy melts, only to turn as hard as a rock when it cools down again. If anyone actually made my published recipe, they could use the squares as doorstops. Dozens of years later, when I could actually cook, I just added peppermint oil and, well...sometimes success comes later in life.)

Pumpkin Spice Rolled Sugar Cookies

by...Dot & Dot.

Whisk together and set aside:

3-1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons pumpkin pie spice*

Beat on medium speed until fluffy and well-blended:

2-1/2 sticks unsalted butter, softened

1 cup sugar

Add and beat until well-combined:

1 large egg

1 tablespoon of milk

2-1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

*That's the "I'm in a hurry" method, which is my preferred route, however if you want to go all-in, substitute 1 cup packed light brown sugar for the sugar and add 3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon, 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger, 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg, 1/4 teaspoon ground allspice and 1/8 of a teaspoon of ground cloves to the flour mixture.

Combine the flour mixture into the butter/sugar mixture in three parts, mixing each until well-blended and smooth. Divide the dough in half. Roll out to 1/4 inch thick and cut with Halloween shapes.

Position rack in center of oven. Bake at 375 for 6-9 minutes or until the edges are slightly brown.

While the first set of cookies are baking, make the glaze.

Maple Glaze:

1-1/4 cups confectioners' (powdered sugar)

1/2 cup pure maple syrup

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Combine all the ingredients until smooth.

Set up a cooling rack with a paper town underneath to catch drippings. When the cookies come out of the oven, transfer them to the cooling rack and immediately brush the glaze onto the cookies while still warm. Sprinkle with clear decorator's sugar before the glaze hardens.

Happy Halloween and happy cooking! Oh and if you need a doorstop, here's that recipe:

love, love.

A friend of mine's daughter started Kindergarten last month. A big transitional time for any kid, any family, and so far their transition has had the relative ups and downs that are to be expected. More ups than downs, but regardless, he started adding a little bit of predictable fun into the morning routine whereby they run around the playground together for a few minutes before he kisses her goodbye at the classroom door. Occasionally the fun also includes a bit of a race and of course, my friend lets his daughter win. Just the other day, however, she looked up at him after the race and said, "next time let's hold hands so that it will be a tie." Insert audible, heart-warming sigh.

What she said struck a chord with me. First off, I love the demonstration of compassion and desire to include her dad in the win, and secondly, let's be honest - that's damn smart for a five year old to come up with the idea that holding hands would be the perfect strategy to prevent one person from winning, which means you would tie, which means the fun will be fair. I like this little strategic, yet compassionate thinker. I like strong-willed girls who have ideas. Bravo! Ever since my friend told me the story, I also can't shake the analogy of it. The idea that when you love someone, you don't always want to win, that sometimes you'd rather hold hands and tie.

I'm a tennis player. Tennis is a sport that goes in and out of fashion and currently it's back on the rise, which honestly I have mixed feelings about. When a sport like tennis (that requires very specific playing surfaces, weather protection and equipment) gains in popularity, there is an increased demand for courts and time, and this can ace out people who maybe can't afford it or who don't have the time or wherewithal to navigate the complicated lottery systems, waiting lists, etc. I am not naive, I know how tennis is perceived in many circles, but it drives me crazy when it is considered to be a "rich kid's sport." I grew up classically middle class in a small town. We could not afford the local private tennis club, so I learned how to play tennis from this quirky, energetic and talented young guy who offered lessons out of a converted apple warehouse. It. Was. Awesome. I loved it! In order to get on the (one) court, you had to hit a ball up against the smooth concrete wall 100 times with only one bounce, or you had to start over until you did. That was only the start of the crazy, competitive drills we feverishly endured, and we genuinely loved it. He put us into regional tournaments and these scrappy kids that came out of the warehouse typically fared pretty well. In the summers we moved to the public courts by the community college and came home sunburned and sweating, with iced towels around our necks. He really believed in competitive play. He believed that we would learn more about how to win by playing as many matches as possible, reminding us that all the technique in the world couldn't give you a "W" without strategy, experience and mental toughness. He drilled into us that each match is like a new start: Love, Love. Each time we stepped on the court, it was anybody's game.

Over the years I've had some memorable moments on the court. I had a drag-out 2-1/2 hour match where I ran to the back fence, jumped up to reach the ball with my racket, and proceeded to slide down the hard grey cyclone with my face as the buffer. I once played a Japanese duo that didn't speak any English, but grunted "YUH" every time we served. Yep, when we served, not them. I totally McEnroe'd it one time when my ex slammed an overhead into my shoulder — surprised we didn't get divorced right then. Conversely, in another match, I hit my partner in the back of the head on a serve, which required her to get an MRI. Thankfully not until after our win. I lost a mixed doubles match to a guy who used a wooden racket...no, not in 1978, in 2008. I've played with a sprained ankle, a sprained knee, a sprained wrist, one contact missing, a bloody toe, blisters, overused muscles and even a plantar's wart right in the middle of the ball of my foot. That required about six Advil for the pre-game warm up. I nearly always have at least one intentional racket drop per match - just for self-deprecating, bad-shot comedy - and I'm known for the basketball-esque bum pat after a quick strategy talk with my partner. I played a singles match on Court One against a girl about 15 years younger than me and endured her family cheering at every winner, which was nearly every point because she was creaming me. And one time in a tournament, I was losing badly and a girl who was a much better tennis player, yet my peer, kept mouthing to me "popcorn feet, popcorn feet!" which is the grade-school term for "keep moving." Humiliating and ultimately...didn't work.

I've had dozens of razor-thin wins and losses, great excitements and frustrations, gallons of Gatorade and beer, varied partners, courts, clubs and coaches and it continues to be one of my passions. I still play competitive tennis today. I'm a marginally above-average player with a decent record and I'm known to play hard, develop solid on-the-spot strategies, talk a lot of self-promoting and deprecating smack, all while scrapping my way through some solid match-ups. Sounds just about like my personality summed up in one sentence. I am often an evangelist of the sport - wanting to win, but loving the camaraderie of the sport and still glowing even after a loss. The things that I learned in that drafty apple warehouse are still true today and of course the ideals spill over into my personal and professional life. That's what happens when you invest in anything in your life, right? I feel lucky and grateful that my mother sought out that coach so long ago and it's no wonder that I can still smell the faint scent of fresh-picked apples when I walk on a court.

Tennis aside, we are a competitive society. I'm of a competitive generation and I'm also the product of the 1970's/80's ideal, "women can do anything." I am admittedly competitive with myself, wanting to always have that internal voice (and let's face it, my mother) say that no matter the outcome, I did my best. That I came onto the court highly optimistic with grounded confidence — Love, Love.

So what I love about the story of my friend and his daughter is that I think it can be a hard thing to balance a strong, competitive, confident spirit with compassion and empathy. With the willingness to try hard and develop skills, but also love the game and want to invite others to join the fun. That there is much to be gained just for showing up. And life is the sum total of all of our experiences, right? No doubt my friend's daughter will play sports, or be in the school play, or enter an art contest, so the opportunity to continue to develop these skills will continue throughout her life, but how fantastic that they exist for her today? So I applaud my friend for doing what many of us forget to do - stop, take the extra ten minutes and be present for our kids in a predictable and meaningful way that is clearly giving her an opportunity to demonstrate the complexities of her developing personality. It means something. And in turn, his daughter is learning more than just that her dad loves her, or to outrun him, she's learning that it's great fun to see him with her at the finish line. And all before the bell even rings...love, love.

Oh and by the way, my daughter is learning to play tennis in a converted airplane hangar.

happy anniversary.

Today was my 14th wedding anniversary and Sunday is my 38th birthday. The last time I celebrated my birthday as a single woman, I was 23 years old (technically, I was 22 because I met my ex shortly after my 22nd birthday). Yep, that makes my jaw drop too...all the way to the ground. No longer (quite) that young woman, I will be celebrating this milestone birthday with my best girlfriends this weekend, and when telling the plan to another friend of mine (male), he laughed, saying we were cleverly disguising a divorce party behind a birthday and he's sure it will likely turn out more like a bachelorette party. (Which in our case is more of the "dance party" variety rather than the male-models-jumping-out-of-the-cake variety, just to be clear.) Of course, if that were the case, this time I am being sent out of marriage rather than into it and therefore, there are some mixed emotions. It's nearly the perfect scenario in which to use the word, 'bittersweet.'

My wedding anniversary and my birthday have fallen in the same week for all of my adult life, so it shouldn't have come as any surprise that these two milestones would once again butt up against each other this year, but honestly?...I nearly forgot. And I definitely didn't appreciate the significance of the two events until today. Five days separating the last anniversary that I will officially be married and my first birthday on my own. Surreal. I had several friends pause in their day to send me encouraging messages, and of course my mother went above and beyond, leaving flowers on my desk before I even got into the office, and I was once again finding myself grateful and humbled by their affection. But what does it all mean, all of this emotion? To say goodbye to a significant part of your life and turn around and celebrate all that remains, and all that is still ahead? What an odd paradox, but I'm also finding it oddly comforting to address both things back-to-back.

I watched a movie recently that was set in India and there was some brief discussion about Kali, the Hindu Goddess of Destruction. If you've ever seen her, she can be deemed as a fairly disturbing image. In one hand she wields a macheté-type of sword that she uses to hack off the heads of men, many of which she has strewn around her neck in a form of gruesome garland. She is standing over a conquered soul and in general, she emanates terrifying power and strength, with blood dripping from her sword. I started reading and then thinking about Maa Kali and the idea that maybe sometimes we have to endure the destruction of something to make room for something new—a better way, a more enlightened path. Like how a forest fire ravages a hillside, but we also know it's a necessary cycle to life, to the re-birth and the very sustainability of the forest.

Maa Kali is indeed the Goddess of Destruction, but she is said to represent the death of the human ego, of all that is evil, false and phony. She is depicted with four arms, two of which she is using for this great battle, and two to bless her devotees. She is seen as a mother figure and is one of the few goddesses that never married and renounced all worldly pleasures. It's said that those who look upon her image and tremble, do so because they are egotistical and attached to worldly pleasures. If you find the sweetness and compassion in her image, you can be released from your ego and can more easily reach spiritual enlightenment. But who among us divorces ourselves from our ego and worldly pleasures that easily? Exactly. Thus enters Maa Kali.

I know what has been destroyed in my life to make room for the change that is needed. Change in myself, change in my life. Some of it painful, as a proper 'destruction' promises (insert tongue-in-cheek emoticon), but not without the awakening that is inevitable from such a drumming. And this idea of Maa Kali battling it out to bring forth a better path translates to everything I can think of in the human experience - nature, death, society, science, the economy. This is a universal idea, but ironically such a tough, tough thing to accept. We fight fires, we fight death, we build stronger sea walls and bail out banks. Trust me, I'm not suggesting that we stop doing any of those things, and I'm not even pretending like I understand what we should and shouldn't fight for, but I do find the concept of accepting destruction as a means to a better thing as illuminating. Think of the incredible ingenuity that often comes from destruction, like houses being built above the high-water mark that are affordable and easier on the environment, and a return to the power of the small business operator, after the fall of large national companies, on who's backs we are re-building our economy, just to name two from recent memory.

Don't we learn more from our failures than our successes? Don't poignant, beautiful things often develop from the ashes of destruction?

I remember exactly one year ago sitting at an incredibly over-priced restaurant, arguing with my ex and eventually crying at the table on what was then, our 13th anniversary. But all couples fight. Someone ends up crying some of the time, right? I don't think that meant we were destined for failure, but it is interesting to fast-forward one year and to be sitting here at midnight, penning a blog entry about destruction. Choosing it, enduring it, accepting it and letting it unearth a new path.

I have no plans to celebrate the end of my marriage, that would be totally disingenuous to who I am as a person and what I really believe about marriage and my marriage in particular, so I am honoring today's milestone with humility and appreciation for the life in those years. For the good that it did bring, most especially our daughter. And in five days I will celebrate my birthday and be truly grateful for all the years of my life, including how good I feel today and how optimistic I feel about what is to come. That, I am comfortable celebrating and honestly, I can't wait. Maybe it would be fitting if I were to buy myself a Maa Kali statue and have THAT come out of the cake?! That would be a destruction that would be utterly painless...my friends and I would devour that cake bite-by-bite, I am certain of it, and maybe I'm onto something...

free fall.

"There is a solid bottom everywhere."

— Henry David Thoreau

The above is one of my all time favorite quotes and one that was always comforting for me. I take it as an idea that I'm not in a free fall, that there is a foundation in all experiences and that I will land at some point, preferably on my feet. In my mind, I always saw "bottom" as this spongy, pliant thing that, as much as it caught my fall, it also propelled me forward, back up towards the sky. "Bottom" meant stability, home base, grounding. Today, however, when I think of that quote, I visualize the ground speeding towards me at an unfathomable pace, hard and smooth as polished rock, and I can hear my bones breaking and my life being crushed on impact. Yes, there is a solid bottom everywhere...and I think I hit it recently. I should say that I hope I hit it because God knows I wouldn't want to do that twice.

It's been months and months since I sat in the smallest room in my house and asked my husband of fourteen years to separate. If I had had an inkling of what was to follow, I'm not sure I would have believed it, I know I couldn't have absorbed it, and honestly...thank God. Ignorance not only is bliss, but I think it is also the seed of courage. I faced many fears leading up to that moment, and there's no question that I feel I made the right decision, but I might not have been able to see my way through this experience if I truly understood all of the areas in which I needed to have courage...if I had known that I would have to face myself above all else. But in the end, thank God for that as well. It's been a gift.

Now, looking back, it's no surprise to me that the story line that I tried to live and believe in for sixteen years, is the exact same story line that I used to convince myself that we were going to have an amicable, smooth divorce. What I struggled for years to manifest in my life and my marriage transitioned too smoothly over to how I wanted my divorce and future relationship with my ex to unfold. In other words, the exact reasons I wanted a divorce are the exact reasons why the divorce wasn't going to go well, but I was still hanging on to my old rational that kept me in the marriage year in and year out.

Neither one of us liked conflict. We had so much history between us and we had suffered through and survived obstacles. We laughed enough. And of course there was our gorgeous, amazing daughter that we both love. We were at least friends, weren't we? At one point, these half-truths blinding me, I used Bruce Willis and Demi Moore's post-divorce relationship as a verb. (I'm sure the definition will show up under "amicable divorce" in the newest version of the Dictionary of Cultural Literacy). I said to my ex (feel free to laugh), "I want us to Bruce and Demi this." Wow. I've been known to say some memorable one-liners, but this one ranks up there and ironically, I think it's the tongue-in-cheek tag line of my renaissance.

I had some hard lessons ahead of me..most of them about myself. I knew who my ex was, what he and we as a couple were capable and incapable of, and I had reconciled my decision to get a divorce. But in order to survive the divorce, I needed to face myself.

Here's what hitting bottom finally showed me, and I will rely on the wisdom of Albert Einstein for this one, "Everything that can be counted does not necessarily count, everything that counts cannot necessarily be counted." When not in crisis, it's easy to give lip service to the idea of losing things that can be counted...money, professional success, financial stability, a home you own. But until you face the real possibility of losing it all, all at once, you can't as clearly see what's embedded in these things that you have built, things that can't be counted.

I spent my marriage trying to hold up all four legs of a table. I wanted to be in love, be married and I invested in the life that we were living. I remember saying to our couples counselor, that I was capable, reliable and responsible. That even though I didn't want to, I could do it all, that I could hold up the table legs. He said, "no you can't"..."Yes I can, I've been doing it"..."No you can't, you are here, aren't you?" I know, pause for obvious effect. The me that wanted to Bruce and Demi-it is the me that thought I had to hold up all four legs of the table, even in the divorce.

Hitting bottom crushed me, I can't lie. It was dark, ugly and scary. I couldn't lift a fork, or shut an eye, I was so burdened by the things that were happening to me, around me and within me. There had been a slow descent for sure, and the actual impact hurt like hell, but it shattered some walls that I unknowingly, but painstakingly, had built around myself. Crushed and hurting, I was finally truly vulnerable. Vulnerable enough to surrender to my life and I felt all the things that count rush in...faith, devotion, humility, strength, forgiveness and love. I found myself and that counts. It counts for my daughter, my mother, my family and friends. It counts for me.

These days I'm thinking of Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'" and remembering why I originally loved the Thoreau quote. Maybe sometimes we just need to surrender to our lives. Sit down long enough to let the sum of our experiences settle over us, let go and free fall into a place where we can heal and grow, even if it hurts.

gut it out.

I recently watched a 2005 commencement speech given by Steve Jobs. He said many, many illuminating things, one of which is that "...you have to trust in something. Your gut, destiny, life, karma. You have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future, believing that the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart, even when it leads you off the well worn path, and that will make all the difference."

I was so enthralled with the speech that I paused it time and again and let what he was saying register with me. Let it mean something and speak to me in the midst of all the pain and turmoil that I have been experiencing. What ended up ringing true for me is that after all of my choices, all of the questioning in the face of huge fears, learning how to be more vulnerable, accepting some failures, knowing that my heart and intuition are worthy guides and being less sure of things, helped me ask the questions that I believe will lead to greater happiness. What do I want out of this life? What values am I most committed to and want to see in those whom I love? Who's life do I want to be living? How can I balance vulnerability with strength? What changes do I need to make within myself? What do I trust and what do I believe to be true?

Faith is hard work. Trust is hard work. You have to be in action and conscious of both for either to be valuable in your life, right? Otherwise they are just empty words, empty notions. I have to trust that my gut, intellect and support system will lead me to make decisions that are in the best interest of my daughter. I have to have faith that my basic soul's desire for someone to really understand me and love me is reasonable and attainable. I have to trust that my genuine hard work and thoughtful intentions will lead to the stability and prosperity that I crave. I have to have faith that my mind and heart will be open to the lessons that my failures and mistakes humbly bring with them. This is all active. I am conscious of all of this, day in and day out.

A close friend recently shared with me that a counselor recommended an exercise by which you wear a rubber band around your wrist and every time you see it, you are to ask yourself what emotion you are experiencing at that exact moment. We laughed and said how limited our emotional vocabulary really is: "ummm...tired? Hungry? Frustrated?" But the idea of this is fun to explore because with this exercise we can learn to listen to ourselves in a specific moment in time and that's very hard to do. It's easy to understand and feel emotions when they are at their apex, but how do you tap into your feelings when maybe they are more subtle or nuanced? A long history of subtle, quiet emotions can have a much bigger impact on our lives as they compound. They are still there. They are very real, whether we choose to let them settle over us or not. Imagine reaching across a table to hold the hand of someone you love and seeing that rubber band — a ha! I'm feeling it! I trust this feeling! I want to hold this hand! In this moment, this feeling is not lost on me. Or how about the opposite — seeing your hands folded together, the rubber band causing you to connect to an emotion in that moment and realizing that you feel alone even though someone is sitting across the table from you? What does that feel like? I know what it feels like and I wish I knew about the rubber band exercise long, long ago. I would have snapped it and felt it sting so I wouldn't forget, so I could learn to trust it and build on my own emotional intelligence.

It's always easier to look back and connect the dots that led you to where you are today. Trusting that any of them are the right ones today is incredibly hard. This is why I think both what Steve Jobs said and what that counselor recommended are so powerful. Feelings lead to action, or inaction, right? Balancing the incredible gift of emotional awareness with rationality feels like the right place to start. This is intuition at it's best..our gut giving us things to trust, things to believe in, and ultimately, giving us a map. Jobs also so wisely said, "Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become."

the new busy.

Are you kidding me? Every time I see Microsoft Hotmail's new campaign slogan, I make a face and shake my head. "The New Busy?" Seriously? I know some goofball(s) made a lot of money off of that "idea" and I shake my head at that too. (By the way, isn't it us, the Gen X'ers, that get made fun of for using air quotes? Well, perhaps we also over-use quotes in general, however I think air or typed quotes also add the perfect dash of tongue-in-cheek, don't you?)

As a friend of mine, ironically a former Microsoftie (or is it MS'er?), said to me over the weekend, "What even is the New Busy? What does that mean?" Weird. Who wants a new Busy? Find me someone who actually wants a new Busy. Seriously, call me. I will talk some sense into you. I want less Busy. I want a mini-Busy, a Busy salve, a Busy tamer, a Busy reliever. Honestly, I actually want the Old Busy. You know, the Busy where you had to juggle changing your home answering machine message (so that you sound like Wolfman Jack) and make dinner in time to catch "People's Court." Or the Busy where waiting in the grocery line for the man in front of you to pay with a check didn't make you want to go postal. Or how about the Busy where making a mix-tape took the same amount of time as it did to listen to it? Or the Busy where it was hands-down more fun to get a dirt clod thrown at you than try to respond to 287 emails before bed. I hate the New Busy and I hate that Microsoft is trying to sell it to me. I KNOW what the New Busy looks like and it isn't me trying to figure out how to fit in yoga. Bottom line: anything that is selling New + Busy scares the shit out of me.

Here's the New Busy:

How many times have you called the cable company to have them explain to you the very best deal, triple-whatever, including digital-whatever, taking up at least 45 minutes of your evening, only to get to the very end and they say that "Whoops, that price is not available in your area." Exactly. Me too — once was enough. So the New Busy stuck with basic cable and had to call and order stupid digital boxes that I had to set up on my own, which required at least one support phone call, upon which they tried to sell me the digital upgrade, which had a great price (!), only to discover that alas...not available in my area. Honestly, the New Busy is exhausted just from writing this paragraph.

How many times have you told the grocery checker that you forgot your club card, but could they please give you the discount this one time? Little do they know that the New Busy intended on signing up, but after I filled out the card, I realized that I have to bring that card back into the store. You can't mail it. You can't do it online. I have three neatly completed applications in the bottom of my New Busy purse. You find them.

When you've made your pet boarding reservation, did they tell you that the required boarding-specific immunizations are not up to date, only to discover that your vet can't see your pet until the week after you return from your trip? The New Busy had to find a new in-home boarder.

I called in my prescription refill. Easy. Then fought for thirty minutes to find a parking space. Hard. Only to be told by the pharmacist that they can't give me my prescription because my insurance only covers payment on the last week of the month. No, I'm not kidding. The New Busy had to do it all over again...two days later.

The New Busy keeps re-sending emails to myself so they appear at the top of the list.

I carry any and all liquids in ziplock bags all the time because I've been burned by running out of FHA-required one-quart bags on airplane travel days.

I tape my parking pass to my coat on the last day of the month so I remember to put it on my rearview mirror that night.

Trader Joe's' steam-in-the-bag vegetables almost make me cry with relief.

I cancelled home milk delivery because paying the bill online and remembering to email them every time I needed to reduce or stop delivery took more time than just buying it at the store.

Finding time to read "Real Simple" takes a real commitment.

I use Pert Plus.

An ad for a 5-minute dinner recipe makes me laugh like a mad scientist.

I pay my daughter to make her own school lunches.

I email during traffic jams, text on elevators, and return phone calls while grocery shopping.

When I'm out jogging, I have to carry both my iPod and my phone because no, I don't have an iPhone. That would require switching carriers and that's a rabbit hole I don't want to go down anytime soon.

The smaller garbage cans, which the City promotes to reduce waste, are only 12 gallons less but they don't have wheels.

One staple of the New Busy purse is three different power adapters. Enough said.

The only folks who are making it easier for the New Busy are the paid parking lot owners, who's online over-time fine payment system is a breeze.

Ok, ok. This could go on longer than the New Busy has time for. I'm from Seattle and I do appreciate Microsoft from a regional economy stabilizing angle (that was a mouthful) so, I will give them a break. They didn't invent the New Busy, and honestly they have some legitimate tools trying to help us wrangle it. It's not lost on you either, I know, that the "New Busy" campaign is supposed to be doing exactly that — selling a Busy-wrangling tool. Maybe that should have been the campaign. A cowboy, Busy in the role as the villain, MS as the cowboy's rope. Cowboy + Rope = Busy being wrangled. Works for me! Microsoft?...Call me. If you get a busy signal, don't worry, there's an app for that.

jumping the shark.

I was having a great laugh with a friend the other day when I referred to something we were talking about as "jumping the shark" — the popular idiom used to describe when there is a clear, defined moment when something takes a nose-dive. If you are not familiar, the idiom comes from an episode of the TV show, "Happy Days," when the (before that episode) über-cool Fonzie character jumps over a shark on waterskis wearing jean cutoffs and a leather jacket. Yes, that sentence just happened. Jean cutoffs, leather jacket, shark, waterskis. Pretty obvious now, right? The show "jumped the shark" and the ratings were never the same.

What I love about this particular idiom is that it identifies an exact moment when the collective conscious says, "Yep...we see it. Right there, that's the moment. Things really sucked after that." When used in the context of entertainment, there are examples all over the place. Like when Quiet Riot went back on tour, this time of college fraternities and with only one original band member. Or when Mr T pushes Rocky Balboa's trainer out of the way and the push causes him to have a heart attack (WTH?) in "Rocky III." Or how about starting with the opening credits of Bret Michaels' "Rock of Love Bus" (as opposed to "Rock of Love" which...rocked, but most people I know won't admit they watched it. I even caught the "Rock of Love Marathon," which was a fantastic Sunday with popcorn for breakfast, lunch and dinner.) Frankly, nearly any sequel has to be very careful about not strapping on the waterskis. What about in music? How about when John Mayer said his penis is like a white supremacist in Playboy? (For the record, that entire article is NUTS. Read it. The white supremacist thing got all the play, but seriously, there are some nuggets in there. He has one whole answer that goes like this, "It's all about geometry. I'm sort of a scientist; it's about being obtuse with an angle. It's sort of this weird up-and-over thing. You gotta think 'up-and-over'." I know...just read it.) TV? George Costanza's fiancé's envelope-licking death on Seinfeld? (Although many will argue that the show was still brilliant after that.) I think "Melrose Place" jumped the shark when the Kimberly Shaw character comes back from the dead, pulls off her wig and shows Michael her scar. That was only in season three! Ironically, the actress that played her, Marcia Cross, currently has an online poll suggesting that her "Desperate Housewives" character's lesbian story line is jumping the shark.

This could go on for days.

People use "jumping the shark" to describe all kinds of things, but typically they use it inappropriately. "Jumping the shark" is not just a disappointment, it's the demise. It's also not just an over-reaching commentary such as describing the entire state of Seattle Mariner baseball, it's a definitive moment. And the cool part? It's a moment that you know is a moment right when it's happening. No rear-view-window reflection required. Like when Republican vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin told CBS News' Katie Couric that she could see Russia from her house. Whether you like her or not, she jumped the shark right then. Or when Helen Thomas, a nearly 60 year veteran of the White House press pool, recently said that Jews should go back to Germany (I understand that this one line is a bit out of context, but trust me...she jumped.) Or when Larry Craig, the former Idaho senator who was arrested for lewd conduct in an airport restroom sting, claimed he had a "wide stance." Watch out, we have a jumper!

Again, this could go on for days.

So after all of my laughing, I have been reflecting; what are my personal jumping the shark moments? I've had them. I know so because again, you know when something's jumped. I've had dates jump the shark. Like when I was first out of college, a guy that I had previously adored from afar in high school (three years older) asked me out, took me to a great Japanese place for dinner (all going well), then proceeded to take me to the airport lounge for drinks. If it wasn't bad enough to end up at the airport, the kicker is that they were known for serving stiff drinks. Bad move. I had some fun with it — including making him believe the date was a roaring success until we got to my apartment and I shut the door before any chance of a goodnight kiss. For the record, he jumped the shark the moment he turned into the airport parking lot.

My marriage jumped the shark and I know when that moment was. I know exactly when my path to becoming an attorney jumped the shark, as well as when friendships changed, relationships altered, or paths redirected. My list could go on for days too. Yours? It's kind of interesting to think about, isn't it? We know these moments exist right as they are happening. Whether we want to accept them or not, or when we accept them or not, is really the question. There were five Indiana Jones movies despite the fact that he saved himself from a nuclear explosion by hiding in a refrigerator. "Melrose Place" lasted seven seasons I think and it got nuttier and nuttier. "The Price is Right" jumped with Bob Barker's first plastic surgery, then again with his sexual coercion scandal at age 71 (ick), and yet again with Drew Carey as host (in my opinion) and you can still tune in and watch ecstatic Ohioans on vacation win at Plinko. And then there's "Happy Days" which limped along for another seven years after Fonzie was all wet (as were the ratings). Why? Who knows? As usual, I'm not trying to answer any big questions, I'm just thinking about these things. Exploring. Shaking my head a little. Sometimes I guess we humans just like to beat a dead...shark.

Hmmm..with that joke, did my blog just jump?

isn't it ironic?

Ok, I'm back to Chuck Klosterman again. I should probably write him a fan letter and maybe I will, but first I want to explore an idea sparked by one of his essays involving Ralph Nader, the consumer advocate turned national political candidate, and Rivers Cuomo, the singer/songwriter and frontman for the band Weezer.

I started running recently. I would say, "again" but honestly that would be totally disingenuous. I'm sure my lack of discipline surrounding a regimented exercise routine will eek it's way into an entry at some point, but for today, let's just picture me as a runner. Jacked up on sunshine, a wide woodsy urban trail packed with comrades drinking the cool aid, an athletic-enough me hitting a good stride with my iPod fueling the pace. Weezer's "Troublemaker" on loop and my gleeful connection with the lyrics evident on my face. I get it! Klosterman nails it again: Cuomo isn't being ironic, he means what he is saying! Listen to it now with this in mind...it is awesome and interesting.

In his essay, "T is for True," (http://tinyurl.com/2drfv2a) Klosterman deftly identifies how both men present a literal and non-ironic world view and this is confusing and frustrating for most, if not all, of the rest of us. Irony is so common in our culture. It makes us laugh, feel comfortable, be casual, sound smart. Being literal can confuse most of us. There's a bit of a lie in irony and it's easier to hide in that space - for the giver and receiver. The literal truth can be harder to swallow, and sometimes we also just don't care. Sometimes I think it can even backfire. A filter can be good and useful. Irony can be useful, can't it?

I am a classically ironic person (note how many times in my entries I have to pull us out of irony by saying words like "truthfully," "honestly," "literally" and "really"). I like to be casual, funny. Yes, you've heard me say how open I think I am, which can mean less ironic and more literal, but the truth is that I am typically only really open and transparent with those closest to me. (Admittedly I do think I am probably more open than maybe the average person, but still...) Like David Foster Wallace wrote in 1993, "an ironist is impossible to pin down." That can be me. That can be a lot of people.

I was talking to a friend of mine the other day who, according to him, made the mistake of asking his ex-wife how she is doing. He got an ear full, but I think he was hoping for the ironic "just super, thanks." Even with the likely scathing delivery, he could have stepped away from that answer much quicker, which is what he wanted. For all of my talk about being more open, bringing more authenticity to the table, having the courage to tell some truths (not all), blah blah blah (insert smirk), I have to say...irony is an oft-used, pervasive tool and frankly, it's a safety-net. Can you imagine if I employ literalism when the barista at my building's coffee shop asks me how I am doing, and I reply with: "Not great. I'm freaking out about lack of income right now, I've only eaten half a piece of toast and crappy tea this morning, and you are about to charge me $5.70 for a cup of milk with some green powder in it and I'm completely at your will because I have a headache that requires caffeine to relieve it." COME ON! Even if I went the other way and went literal with the positives (which would sound like bragging), the bottom line is that both scenarios would evoke the exact same reaction - horror. Who the hell is this woman? Or if I answered every question about my divorce with what really is in my head? Uh, no. Depending on the audience I will say things like, "It's super fun" or, "Don't do it. Just have more sex." Light and flip. Ironic.

All of that being said, it's possible that we do overuse the "to tell you the truth" lead-ins that soften the impact of the literal statements. David Foster Wallace also said that "...our pervasive cultural irony is at once so powerful and so unsatisfying." But I wonder, is it really so unsatisfying or can't we find a happy medium between the two? Can't irony be a valuable social tool, the aforementioned safety net?

Klosterman envisions the possibly asexual, and therefore not likely to even get married, Nader delivering a wedding vow like this: "In sickness, with the possible exclusion of self-contained vegetative states, and in health, assuming neither party has become superhuman or immortal." Who wants to hear that? On the other hand, Rivers Cuomo has a line in "Troublemaker" that I love and play over and over again. He builds it up by telling you that he is going to pick up his guitar, play heavy metal riffs, exactly like he likes, and lays it on us with: "You want arts and crafts? How's this for arts and crafts?" and he breaks into a brash and loud braggart-feel guitar riff. I love it. Listen to it - it's fun. And Cuomo meant it! He's in your face, there is no irony. But again - maybe moderation is really the key. We can't all run around answering every question like maybe the answer is in our heads, can we? Like maybe Cuomo, giving exactly what I am thinking with a loud guitar riff-esque approach? The answer in your head is no. Mine too. We all know that most of us can't and don't want to run around being literal all the time. People also don't necessarily want to hear it either, and that's not a bad thing. Ironically, irony can keep us connected but also allow us to step-back and take a breather when we may need it. Putting the guitar down is not so unsatisfying.

"My mother never saw the irony in calling me a son-of-a-bitch."

–Jack Nicholson

For the record...there's at least one literal statement in this entry.

walking a tightrope.

About six weeks ago, I was sitting at a friend's apartment enjoying a lilac-scented breeze blowing through their sunny second floor windows. Late afternoon, dinner and friends coming together. Amazing homemade guacamole (with red onion — great addition!), a coriander-infused cold beer (interesting) and easy conversation rolling from one subject to another.

On the south wall of their living room is a framed poster of the New Yorker magazine cover art from September 11, 2006. An artistic and interesting cover, regardless of whether you understand the significance of it or not. It's an almost all black and white depiction of a man walking skillfully holding a long balancing pole. As such, you assume the presence of a tightrope, but none is to be seen, and you assume the presence of anchors, but again, none are to be seen. The reason? The cover served as the magazine's five year anniversary remembrance of all that was lost on September 11, 2001. It artfully used Philippe Petit's unauthorized tightrope walk between the 111th floors of the Twin Towers on August 7, 1974, removed the towers, removed the rope, and reminded us of what can disappear into thin air.

Philippe Petit calls himself a tightrope artist and a world-class pickpocket. He's been quoted as saying, "I am someone who lives in the clouds and have no respect for the way humanity organizes society on earth. I don’t have a bank account, don’t have a car, don’t have a little box full of money." He is a life-long street performer and in 1974, he became, as the New York Post describes, "one of New York's most beloved curiosities." He has been interviewed hundreds of times, books have been written about him and in 2009, the documentary chronicling his famous walk, "Man on a Wire" (http://manonwire.com), won the Academy Award for Best Feature Documentary. Today, he is a curiosity still, but a powerful voice for independent, artistic thinking and for choosing to live a singularly unique life.

Since laying my eyes on that poster, Petit has been on my mind. I find it wildly interesting that the New Yorker brilliantly chose him as a beacon of remembrance. The visual depiction is profound, no doubt, and maybe a little obvious, but I think ultimately his endeavor is a powerful example of the indelible grace of one individual soul, of 3,000+ souls. Six years of planning and dreaming for 45 minutes 110 stories off the ground, dancing across the wire. I think his act reminds us that there is profound value in the manifestation of the individual soul. A powerful subtext to the visual used by the New Yorker.

Also since that sunny Sunday evening, the hosts, my friends, have also been on my mind. Shortly after that dinner, they shared with me the profound struggle that they are now engaged in. They are battling time, opinions, treatments and physical and mental exhaustion, and a host of other things I can't even wrap my brain around. I am struck by the similarities between the artwork on their wall, and their battle. An invisible tightrope, a unknown path. When I think of them, I am reminded that you cannot choose timing and fate, yet these are hugely defining forces in our lives. I imagine they are trying not to fight it, but to challenge themselves to learn how to live boldly with what is in front of them and be fearless about the outcome. To walk that tightrope with confidence and verve. Honestly, I don't have to imagine it, I know it to be true. They are soulful and strong, methodical and wise, and I know they are tapping into each other's energy to face all that is now their new "normal." I deeply admire them as individuals and as a couple. What I find incredibly fascinating about fate is that Cancer (capital 'C') might have always been lurking in their future, but fate brought these two individual souls together to face it as a united front. I am holding onto that thought, because I want to, and have to, believe that there are slivers of good that can be embraced when trying to boldly challenge yourself to dance across a tightrope to the other side.

"To me, its really so simple, that life should be lived on the edge. You have to exercise rebellion. To refuse to tape yourself to the rules...to see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge. Then you will live your life on the tightrope." - Philippe Petit