Blu

Constant Craving

2008-10-24T14:59:00.000-07:00

There are days that go by when at times I am not affected. But those days are few. Most of the time I am longing.

You still invade my slumber, making me question if a dream is really reality. I long for you. I crave you.

I know full well if we were in the same place, I would be unable to resist you. Fortunately, we are so far away, avoiding an uncomfortable situation.

So we continue to periodically check in - update each other on our lives. Rely on each others infinite wisdom, guiding our separate places of being, when we both know that we wish, or at least I wish, we were making choices together.

And then, I suddenly think that I cannot stomach you. I resist you. Push you away. Because I have a life here of my own choice. And you are not a part of that.

You will always be a part of my life. My existence. Me. In that, I should be content.

But I am not.

Blog Games - I've been tagged again

2008-06-30T13:02:00.000-07:00

And that happened in April. I suck at maintaining my site.

RULES - Post rules before giving the facts - Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves - People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules - At the end of the your blog you need to tag three people and list their names - Leave them a comment on their blog, telling them they have been tagged and not to forget to read your blog.

My hair is so fine, I fear I will have three hairs on my head when I am 80.
The chatter never stops in my head
I am either "on" doing a million things at once - a whirlwind, Tazmanian devil, or I am "off" comatose. There is no in between
When I went to my 20 year high school reunion, I was full of joy seeing that the seriously popular crowd peaked at 18, while us late bloomers are in our prime and looking good.
I cry at random things. Sure, commercials, movies scenes are the norm. But there is nothing like seeing a random act of kindness in public - it makes me cry. Or when I realize that I may never see someone again. Or the face of a mother looking at her child in wonderment. Seriously, I am boo-hooing all the time.
I am a coffee snob
I am a food snob too
I am a control-freak

Morning Routine

2008-04-10T14:58:00.000-07:00

I now officially telecommute. When I went back to my old job in February after my brief sabbatical, I was able to negotiate that due to the hours I must keep to meet with my counterparts across the pond, it is silly for me to drive into the office.

My day starts at 5am. I love it as the house is absolutely quiet. Even the dog is sound asleep. At 6:30, I wander upstairs to wake Mr. Blu. He in turn, then wakes Primo and Secundo.

I am the silent observer to the morning routine. Coffee officially delivered by Mr. Blu (oh, I love him so!), I answer emails and deal with this and that. I cannot write copy until the boys are on their way to school. The distraction is too much. Much too loved that is.

I hear them giggle. I hear them tell each other stories, sitting at the counter eating their breakfast when they think they are alone. I hear them wander off to get dressed. Primo, will suddenly play the piano, practicing one of his latest songs assigned to him by his lovely piano teacher. Secundo will burst out into song.

Eventually they will wander into my office to see what I am doing. Primo reads my copy - the born editor he is. Secundo wonders if I have a conference call scheduled right now because he is not sure he can keep himself quiet. Suddenly, Mr. Blu shouts out that it is time to get in the car to go to school. I am the recipient of sloppy kisses and warm hugs, both telling me to have a good day, "write lots", and don't forget to bring a snack when you pick us up at school. The sounds they both make as they scramble to get out the door rises to a feverish pitch and then suddenly there is silence. Absolute silence.

The silence unsettles me for a bit. And then I waft off into the land of writing (on a good day) or hours of endless conference calls on a bad day, trying to decipher Spanish and British accents over Skype.

Kimmah and her lists

2008-04-07T09:48:00.000-07:00

And who doesn't love a list?

1. Are you a righty or a lefty?

Righty

2. What is your official job title.

Marketing Communications Director

3. You can only watch one show---there are limitless episodes. What do you pick?

Well, it would have to be resurrected from the dead: Six Feet Under

4. What color eyeshadow do you wear most often?

Charcoal grey or beige

5. Describe your current favorite outfit.

Brown J Crew cords and a black turtleneck sweater

6. What color is your kitchen?

Smurf blue countertops. Absolutely hideous.

7. Who was your first kiss and what was the situation?

Junior high school dance. Made out with total stoner named Darren on the dance floor. I think he is now in jail.

8. Who is the smartest person you know online?

How can I pick just one?

9. Why do you not have a myspace if you don't have one? When are you going to get one? If you DO have one--how long have you had it?

I do not have one. I tend to want to believe that I am too old, but actually I am too lazy to maintain a myspace page.

10. Who is the most annoying famous person?

Again, just one? Paris Hilton. Tom Cruise. Ann Coulter. Bill O'Reilly. Nancy Grace. GWB.

Self and Selfishness

2008-03-26T10:03:00.000-07:00

My disdain for what I see in many, is what attracts me to most. I can't be bothered with the syrupy souls who will give their shirt off their backs whilst humming "Whistle While You Work", oblivious to the chaos of life around them.

It is this push-pull that is addicting. I snicker at those whom I believe are uninformed and can't hold an intelligent conversation. I crave the cynics, yet, if they hit too close to home, I find them unworthy of my time.

I am finding it harder and harder to discover those who are willing to go into the uncomfortable space in conversation, delving into the unknown and exposing their confusion. Idle chatter only feeds me for a brief time.

Yet, sometimes I am too tired to go beyond the mundane. It can be easier to talk about celebrities and fine wine.

For those friends that put up with my intensity, bless you for we are alike. And for those who shrink away, I do understand.

Relax, Don't Do It.

2008-01-04T13:06:00.000-08:00

This post is long overdue - my annual Christmas rant. You all thought that the title of my post had to do with my potential job offer. Well no. But to satisfy your curiosity, I got the offer yesterday, accepted said offer, and will turn in my resignation on Monday (after I back up all content from my work laptop "just in case").

The Christmas season is almost over. What you say? It is January 4th? The season is over. No it is not. It is not over until all the little cherubs are back in school and a collective sigh, or "Thank God" is heard across the land. Kiddos head back on January 7th. Therefore, we are not there yet.

Christmases of past used to become the "how to wear out the Blu family by the 26th" event. When we lived in San Francisco, Mr. Blu and I would fly home for 2 weeks to be with our families. We would split time between my parents, his parents, his sister, and all of our friends and ultimately someone, somewhere in the mix would feel slighted as they did not receive enough time with us. Of course we would become stressed and then take it out on each other. By the time the 26th rolled around, we would be full of bitterness and contempt.

Once we moved back to Portland for good, we figured that Christmas would be easy. Not so. My parents moved to Central Oregon which required a 3 hour drive, an hour of which is in snow. Each set of parents kept score as to how much time we spent with the other and would sulk if the other had one minute more. We freakin' hated the Christmas Road Tour of Oregon.

But, one day, I found myself pregnant and HA! Now I could demand that Christmas is at my house! Great! My parents would drive out, but then would be upset because my sister-in-law would not invite them to the Christmas Eve bash at her home (as if 2 more humans in a crowd of 50 would really make a difference). So Mr. Blu would feel torn, and I would have to soothe my parents wounded feelings (whatever) while secretly cursing my SIL behind her back.

Now the Blu family becomes 4. Christmas Eve drama is still not worked out, but expected. I suddenly think that I, a working professional, mother of two, wife of 1, should suddenly become Martha Stewart (but without her bank account) and make every flipping christmas type food from appetizers to extravagant desserts by scratch. Yes, the food was marvelous, but the cook would be tired and pissed off, and ultimately become the Christmas Bitch.

Presents - I don't think the three wise men meant to throw humans into consumer debt over the holidays. Dear God. I have watched many a family that I know either have limited funds or have claimed bankruptcy in the past, totally shower their loved ones (mainly kids) with serious electronic gadgets that are insanely expensive. I see the crap stuffed in carts at stores for decorating the homes that costs way too much and wonder...why? Why does anyone need $300 worth of plastic Christmas crap to clutter their lawn (I am talking to YOU across the street neighbor).

And I too, being so self-righteous, find myself sucked in by the seduction of spending and giving. "Oh, the boys would love that!" I say, only to find that I end up with an embarassing amount of presents for the boys.

Or, better yet, receiving gifts from relatives that don't really know you well enough to buy something appropriate, but feel they should. My dear cousin, who is more like a brother to me, and I would in the past, prior to his marriage, exchange CDs of our own creation (mixed music that we loved over the years) or a great cookbook as we both love to cook (we are deadly fantastic in the kitchen together). But then he messed it all up by getting married 6 years ago to a woman that for some reason thinks that I love all Disney items. I hate Disney. Don't get me wrong, I have watched most, if not all Disney movies and have been and will go to again to Disneyland. I just don't like Disney merchandise. Never will you see me in a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt or on a Disneyland Cruise. But blessherheart(tm), Mrs. Cousin believes that I covet Mickey Mouse waffle makers, Mickey Mouse cookie makers, and Mickey Mouse jello molds.

Last year I made a decision to simplify. But the simplification that came forth is that I came down with the worst flu I ever had (seriously). So bad that I literally slept for 5 days straight (only to wake due to pain in my head and spine). So yes, I didn't have to cook or visit, but I have absolutely no memory of the Christmas of 2006 except for begging Mr. Blu to either take me to the Emergency Room, or kill me. Not recommended.

But VOILA! I succeeded in simplifying the Christmas of 2007. The only social Christmas event we went to was the boys' school Christmas pageant. We boycotted our company parties (and you know full well why - go to December 2006 archives). I planned our Christmas eve celebration (SIL went to China to visit nephew, thus no Christmas eve drama) and did not succumb or stress out when my father, who called 3 days before flying in from Panama, requested a major menu change for Christmas eve to serve his taste buds. I just said, "No. I have it all planned." and changed the subject. (Ok, I lied. I did stress and bitched for at least 2 hours off and on to Mr. Blu about the selfishness that is my father. Then promptly went out and bought a nice bottle of single malt scotch to make up for my rigidity. Ply Don Abuelo with liquor and he is happy. I am such an enabler.)

Told Mrs. Cousin during their visit this summer that we would not exchange gifts but instead give money to charity. Gave the old "voluntary simplicity" speech to make myself sound holier that thou in order to make sure that she complied.

Boys, for some reason, only asked for one thing each for Christmas. Yeah! Got those items, and then my standard book and pajamas gifts.

Cooked up a storm, but horror of all horrors, purchased desserts. Christmas Eve was divine. Christmas day I put out a smorgasbord of food out on the dining room table and let everyone graze. I did not get out of my pajamas all day.

I actually took time off of work to do nothing.

And I am letting the boys play Xbox until their fingers become paralyzed by overuse, knowing full well that electronic media ban goes into full effect on January 7th.

I am an Internet surfing, movie watching, magazine flipping and book reading whore until the 7th.

I removed all decorations from the home on January 1st. That was the extent of any organization. I am not cleaning out closets, cupboards or bureaus. I am resting. I am relaxing. I am a slacker. And I am loving it.

tm - Kimmah

Out with the old, in with the new

2007-12-27T09:53:00.000-08:00

I am loyal, fiercely loyal. I forgive easily and see people as human...full of faults...with the wish to be better.

My best friend and I went through a horrible phase toward the end of our college experience. She was not so nice and I was just selfish. We parted ways and came back to each other, each stronger from the experience.

Mr. Blu and I have had our marital troubles in the past where both of us were not so innocent whatsoever. And we worked hard, worked it through, and are together to this day. Sure, there are times when I think he is a ridiculous prat and I would like nothing more to be swept away or obsessed by someone such as Ralph Fiennes character in The English Patient, but that I because I am female and a romantic.

Now, I am not a masochist, choosing to stay in a situation because of loyalty. I will give it my all, but it takes two to create a beautiful relationship.

That being said, I am moving on. Leaving my company.

Yes, I was offered the job from my earlier post. I am not going to give details yet, as I do not have a written offer. But, last week, I turned down the job, and they came back giving me the hours I want (East Coast time). They know my salary requirements and that I will not budge from what I deserve. I should have the formal offer by early next week.

Yesterday, after having a few days of anxiety over having to give my notice, I was struck dumb by the amount of ineptitude that resides in my CEO's being.

To sum it up: Don't blame my marketing materials on why your sales team is not selling our product. Perhaps your pricing is out of line. Perhaps your sales team is not doing their due diligence to understand the needs of their prospects. I have created everything you asked and then some, with complete professionalism, and have elevated the company publicly completely on my own.

Don't you dare bring my work down into your abyss of dysfunction.

You, my friend, just helped me to sign my soon-to-come written offer without one ounce of remorse.

Panic

2007-12-14T09:11:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to bed early. Well, actually it was my normal time as I start my work day at 5:00 AM, but as of late, I have been pushing the boundaries of appropriate sleep. I slept fitfully for about 90 minutes when suddenly I sat up. I was having that feeling again. The tightness in my chest. The sense of a loss of control. The need to escape...physically escape such as running out the door in my pajamas.

Which is not a good idea as it was 10:00 PM, pitch dark and 35 degrees.

So instead I ran downstairs, plopped down next to Mr. Blu and proceeded to hyperventilate.

You have to understand something about Mr. Blu. It is his job to deal with crazy people. Just that evening in the ED, he had to take down a psychotic woman. He deals with seriously screwed up individuals. However, his most difficult patient is his wife, who in the midst of a panic attack, knows she is dying and there is nothing one can do to save me.

"Breathe out Blu."

"I have no air to breathe out dammit!!"

"You are breathing."

"Oh, right. Easy for you to say. I am not breathing, I am DYING."

So this goes on for some time, as I am a stubborn as they come Taurus. Nuff said.

What instigated this panic attack?

In order, all starting last week:

"Hmm", says midwife. "There is a lump in your breast. You need an ultrasound."
My obsessive Internet research on breast cancer
Infection in body that requires antibiotics
Antibiotics make me nauseous
Antibiotics throw me into a full-blown yeast infection
Find wierd thing on finger. Finger swells and itches.
Go to doctor and discover I have a staph infection
Doctor says, "Oh dear. We need to culture for MRSA"
Gives me kick ass antiobiotic that makes me puke
Most beloved boss (seriously) calls and says that she is ready to leave company, that she is searching for a new job
I start job search
Thinking I have months of time to conduct a search, I suddenly find myself interviewing not 24 hours after I sent my resume to a headhunter, for a SIX FIGURE job in an industry that is not healthcare
Leaving healthcare scares me
Toss in that I need to work East Coast hours as a quality of life issue, hoping that they will say no and I won't have to leave beloved boss who is leaving anyway
Headhunter believes it won't be a problem
"Should I stay or should I go?" (love to you Joe Strummer may you rest in peace)
"Oh God, what if they offer me the job?"
"Oh God what if they don't offer me the job?"
I am not taking the job if I have cancer.
Hey, I wonder if National Geographic is considering my resume. That would be a rad job. Imagine that...working for NG. Imagine how cool people would think I am if I work for NG!!!
Why am I so vain? Seriously, this self-love needs to stop
If I take a new job, I may never see my children again (see, panic attacks really skew your thinking)
My house is a sty. I probably got this staph infection because I haven't cleaned the toilets in a while
MRSA came back negative. Are they sure?

Mr. Blu talked me down off the edge. But I am still in knots (antibiotics? stress?). Panic is just below the surface, waiting to erupt.

The Devil is in the Details

2007-12-06T09:25:00.000-08:00

Imagine my dismay when I received a memo from the school priest, that was sent to all parents of students who attend my boys' school, recommending not viewing the film, The Golden Compass, based on the supposed anti-Catholic stance.

Now, I know many of you are saying, "Blu. What did you expect? You are indeed sending your boys to Catholic school!"

Yes. I know. But please be mindful that they are attending Catholic school based on the small class size and higher academic level. Public school in Portland is hit or miss, and the school in our neighborhood is a miss.

I fretted. I fumed. It is well known in my circles that I do not think this particular priest is that, well, divine. In fact, I will not attend Mass at his parish. I am one of those "cafeteria Catholics" that he disdains. When I go to Mass, I go to the uber-liberal parish that allows women to deliver homilies, has a large Gay and Lesbian population, and deals with REAL issues such as poverty, the environment, and peace. To sum up that parish - nobody batted an eye when a transvestite walked into the Mass dressed in spandex purple pants and a hot pink feather boa, to shake hands with the congregation. He (she?) was welcomed. Can't see that happening at the school parish.

Mr. Blu has read The Golden Compass Trilogy. I am in the process of reading the first book. Still irritated, I stumbled across this post from a Catholic nun in a blog. It sums up my feelings exactly:

"According to some sources, about two months ago the Catholic League began a campaign to boycott the film. Although I have not seen the organization's materials, I understand a kit was sent to all the Catholic schools in the U.S. The CL does not seem to be taking issue with the film itself, but that the film will make young people want to read the books, which the CL finds anti-Catholic. But again, I have not seen the materials.

To prepare for the film's release, I am currently reading The Golden Compass, and the rest of the trilogy ( The Subtle Knife, 1997 and The Amber Spyglass, 2000). New Line Cinema has said that if the first film does well, then they will make the others.

As a proponent of media mindfulness (media literacy within the faith community), I suggest that it is more useful to enter into communication and conversation about the books and the issues the books and movie may raise rather than to "just say no." If parents do not wish their children to see the film, they would do well to explain "why" based on their own reading and research. Otherwise, when the parents or caregivers are not looking, kids will find a way to see the film, if not in December when it is released, then when it comes out on DVD - and kids may be unprepared to question the film in ways that can help them view more deeply.

One Catholic mother I know listened to The Golden Compass on CD with her family and then they talked about it. My guess is that she and her family will go and see the film because their practice as parents has always been to talk with their children about the movies they see – even difficult films when some of their older children were teenagers. Education and faith formation is more important to them than control. By just saying "no" the feeling that they are in control may make some parents feel better but doesn't really inform a child (except that it teaches something about power and how it is administered especially to kids who are old enough to care or want to see the film.)

Children don't see what adults see, and vice versa; children don't have the faith formation or level of religious education yet to be able to judge subtle (or not so subtle) attacks on the power of an institution like the Catholic Church, which is what has been said about the novel. Children won't "get" what parents or adults are upset about. This means that some serious faith formation/catechesis (including Church history) needs to take place for adults so they can explain the "why" of their decision about the film; that their reasons be set within a frame of reference that young people may understand, whether or not parents decide to let their children see the film.

It is a very good habit to question films with children and young people (and even our own more mature viewing selections and practices.) One of my favorite sayings is: "Control is for the moment; communication lasts a lifetime."

Also, audiences young and old may or may not interpret the film in ways that some people fear. This is why talking about the book, film, and issues, with respect for the opinions of children and young people, is required.

This is my advice at this point: parents, read the book. Then when the film is reviewed, seek information for guidance and make an informed decision. Remember, your kids are going to see this film anyway, especially if they are forbidden to, if not today, then tomorrow. Their peers will see it; the film will influence young people regardless of what anyone says - and it may or may not be a negative influence. You, as parents and caregivers, are their best hope for understanding the film and for negotiating and making meaning from it.

I also wonder about all the thousands of young people who have already read the trilogy; wouldn't this be a good occasion to talk to them about what the books meant to them and what they mean to adults? These readers are probably going to be the first ones in line at theaters to see the film (and if it does not live up to their expectations, word of mouth will take care of the film without much ado on anyone's part.)

One commentator said that the film has been stripped of its religious references and now attacks the power of all big organizations and institutions. I don't think it is ever a mistake to question those who hold power that touches peoples' lives. St. Thomas Aquinas, a good patron of critical thinking (an attitude of inquiry), was never afraid of any question. And neither should we be afraid.

The media mindful persons asks: What's going on? What's the story? What's really going on? Why was the film made? Who profits? Who loses, and why? What difference does the film (TVprogram, book, video game) make to me, to others? What difference can I make? In other words, does the story inspire me to do something? Does it compel me to think about others and want to live my Christian life in more concrete ways? How? Why? Why not? What is the movie about? There may be valid disagreement about what the film means, but the only way we will know for sure is by seeing the film. Yes, we can trust others' opinions, and that is fine, as long as we know why we choose to go with someone else's view rather than trusting our own critical (not negative but questioning) abilities. But let us recall that the more long-lasting, positive approach and attitude is to respond rather than to react to films and other media.

Your children will thank you for your thoughtful response because you will be communicating relevant life skills and enduring communication values that they will one day use with their own children.

A colleague mentioned to me that The Golden Compass film will probably end up being a high concept fantasy film. We shall see.

Blessings~

P.S. I never pronounce myself on a film until I have seen it. And yes, a good movie (good = well made, interesting, a well-told story) can send anyone to seek out the book. Parents who are active in the lives of their children will have the wisdom to know how to work with their young people regarding this film/book and others that will inevitably come our way."

I sent an email to the school priest, including this woman's post, telling him that I do not support censorship and encouraged him to read the books before making such a judgement. His response?

"Mission accomplished! I am not for censorship either, but I am for awareness. . . especially on the part of the parents. I have not read the books and will not. (I have listened to 4 of the Harry Potter books and seen all the movies, and really like them.) I have quoted from Harry Potter several times in homilies. What I have read about The Golden Compass certainly did not endear me to the books or even to want to waste time reading them. What I do endorse is exactly what you are doing. I hope parents' awareness has been raised so they will have good discussions with their children if and probably when, they see the movie. If this is done, the film could be a source of evangelization. If it is not done and children take in the film with total openness and unawareness and no discussion, then I'd just as soon not have my children watching them or reading the books. There are so many other good resources they could focus on. I hope other parents have the same reaction you had, rather than not even reading it."

Hrmmm. Not sure if he got my point.

Mr. Blu came up with a fabulous theory. Perhaps Bill Pullman (author) was an alter boy. This might explain his distaste for the Catholic church?

I Can't

2007-11-05T13:53:00.000-08:00

I can't was said frequently this weekend by completely unrelated people in my life.

My beautiful friend L, gave birth to her third child (at a ripe age of 40!) on Saturday. I was her doula. She had a long latent labor (1 week of contractions that she could talk through, but exhausted her nonetheless) and finally was induced Saturday morning. She went unmedicated and was gorgeous in her labor. Stunning really.

As she approached transition she said, "I can't." And we (husband and another friend) said, "Oh but you are."

She gave birth to Laurel who weighed in at 6lbs, 9oz to a room full of people (family, friends and staff) who were weeping. Tears of joy, exhaustion and amazement.

Primo had his first swim meet on Sunday. I am the coach of the Poliwogs (grades K-3). Some of the kids have a goal to not drown. Others want to swim the length without stopping. Many want to perfect their stroke, and others just want to be dolphin fast.

Michael's first day of practice presented tears of anxiety. We worked through it and he jumped in the pool to show me what he could do. He has a solid freestyle and backstroke. From that point forward, he loved practice.

However, when he arrived at the meet, he was sobbing. The environment was overwhelming. Loud and chaotic. A foreign pool. Many, MANY people in the stands.

I coaxed him in the pool for his warm-up lap. He got out crying. His first event was the freestyle relay. His team did well. But he was still a mess.

Now he had to do the freestyle individual. He was in the bullpen sobbing. I got him on deck and told him that no matter what, I am proud of him for his courage to stick it out (I had offered earlier to pull him from the race).

He won the heat. And he was all smiles.

Backstroke? He won that heat too. I was over the moon. And so was he.

But my heart soared into the Universe when Primo won his heat in the backstroke. Absolutely gorgeous stroke and strong kick. Had no idea that he had won until they handed him his ribbon as he was climbing out of the pool and I practically tackled him with my bear hug (we both almost went back into the pool with that public display of affections!).

Damn. Kids are just cool! (and birthing mamas and those teeny newborns....)

Fugly

2007-09-25T12:28:00.000-07:00

I have a case of the serious fuglies. I have been sick for over a week and a red nose, weepy eyes, dark circles, and dull-lifeless pallor that is my skin does not make me appear to be ready to walk the red carpet anytime soon. Add to this a new hair color that is a more subtle blonde, vs my platinum color. And I don't think my color was platinum by the way. I equate platinum to Gwen Stefani's doo....and I was more of a Sienna Miller. But I digress. So, at the moment, this color, as to which Mr. Blu thinks is "really pretty" (meaning, "eh, it could be better") is not adding to my beauty. I am thinking my color is more of a current Jennifer Aniston, even though we were aiming for a Heidi Klum look that was photographed in Vogue (blonde with some yummy darks).

But this post isn't about my hair. It is about my ability to embarrass myself.

We are in the midst of having contractors come out a bid on a project. Once this project is completed, our house will be officially sold. We had two separate guys come out and place bids. Then the third came out.

He happened to arrive on a day when I was working from home. I tend to get into a zone, logging into work at 5am, and not looking up until about 10am to hop in the shower. For some reason, 10am passed me by and at noon, my doorbell rang.

Helllllllooooooo handy man.

Yep. I was feasting my eyes on quite a stunner. Not that I was going to do anything about it. Just appreciating pure beauty when I see it.

I went out into the back with him to show him the problem. He and I were joking around, while discussing the mechanics of such a repair. I was in fine form, being ever so subtle in my flirtation while pretending to know his repairman lingo.

After he left, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Oh dear God. I had bed head. No make-up (meaning no color). I probably smelled.

Mr. Blu decides to use this guy for the repair. This morning, as I am working from home and he is on his way to drop the kids off at school, he mentions that Mark is stopping by to do a bit of work. This doesn't register with me obviously. It didn't register with me again when Mr. Blu calls me 30 minutes later to tell me he is having coffee with his parents and will be home in time to meet Mark. Yeah, whatever. I can't breathe due to this sinus thing, and I am engrossed in a project for work.

Keep in mind. I am due for a shower. I am sporting the same look that I mentioned above, except I am now wearing my glasses and have a river of fluid pouring out of my nose that makes me sniff, then cough, then hack, then wipe my teary eyes...only to be repeated again.

Yes. You guessed it. Doorbell rings and there stands Yummy Mark. Mr. Blu pulls up 2 minutes later as I am chatting with Yummy Mark, and receives the "thanks a lot" look.

Now at this point, you would think that I have clued in on the whereabouts of Yummy Mark. I go upstairs and take a bath. I can hear Yummy Mark and Mr. Blu talking outside. It almost puts me in a meditative state, there conversation. I step out of the bath, dry off, then enter my bedroom to dress. I can't find the bra I want in my drawer, so I start searching on the chair near our glass balcony door. Back and forth I go in front of that door. Why? Because I don't have my glasses on nor my contacts so I cannot see a thing. And yes, I hear Mr. Blu and Mark. In fact, I hear Mr. Blu talking a bit louder as if he is trying to get someones attention, but not sure who that can be. I am too engrossed in the search of my favorite bra to care.

I finally get dressed, dry my hair and wander downstairs back to my laptop. Yummy Mark is leaving now and gives me a cautious smile as I wave to him.

Mr. Blu at this point is in hysterics laughing so hard. I am rather annoyed at him because I am not in on the joke.

But wait. I am the joke.

Yes, I paraded my naked self in front of Yummy Mark (and Mr. Blu). See, the repair is for the balcony that is off of our bedroom. To get to that balcony, you must open the full length glass door that has full length glass windows on either side. And I was walking back and forth in front of the glass the entire time they were assessing the damage.

And I think assessing the damage goes beyond the balcony don't you think?

Jag er sjuk

2007-09-18T12:31:00.000-07:00

When I was taking Swedish language lessons, "Jag er sjuk" was the one sentence that stayed with me. It means, "I am sick". To this day, when my mom asks me how I am feeling or vice versa, we say this. "Sjuk" sounds more serious than "sick" (and it is pronounced - shooook)

Anyway, Jag er sjuk.

But for some reason, the email that I sent out to my work colleagues today perhaps was in Swedish, because, "I am sick and will not be working today" translated to:

"Jag er sjuk. Jag vill inte vara i arbete idag."

Which they could not understand obviously as I have been receiving incessant phone calls today on my cell phone. One colleague in particular needs to get a grip on her speaking in public anxiety because at this point, I don't really care if you can't decide whether to wear the green top with the brown trousers or the cream blouse with a black skirt.

Jag er sjuk. Leave me alone.

Kill Your Television

2007-09-14T11:19:00.000-07:00

Television is dead in the Blu household. At least Monday morning through Friday afternoon.

I have always had a love-hate relationship with TV. There are some good shows out there. Few. But they are there. The rest is utter crap. I grew up in a household where the t.v. was on a lot. My father loves that gadget. Anytime we visit him the t.v. is on all the time. Usually tuned into sports or, God forbid, Faux News.

I had a roommate at University of Oregon who had limited t.v. viewing as a child. She and her siblings were allowed to watch 3 programs a week, as to which one had to be Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom with Marlin Perkins (do you remember that show? It was fantastic!). This girl was as disciplined as they come regarding her studies. And very well read.

Mr. Blu didn't watch a lot of t.v. growing up either. He did not have actual rules like my roommate, but nonetheless, his viewing was limited. When we decided to have children, we quickly agreed that our house was not going to be ruled by the t.v.

In many homes, you find the house surrounds the television. Dinners are consumed in front of the box. You will find more than one t.v. in a home.

There is a house across the street that I can see from my bedroom window. The street is a two-laned road, with mature trees and landscaping. I can see a big screen t.v in their living room. I can actually watch their t.v. if I choose. And it is on 24/7 (really, it is. I have been up at 3 am and have found it on).

This summer, the Blu family went to a family reunion on my mother's side. It was at my second cousin's house. Approximately 50 people were at this gathering. And guess what? The t.v. was on the entire time.

Ever since the boys started school, Mr. Blu and I decided that we would allow them a certain amount of hours per week to watch the t.v. That morphed into a certain number of hours on a certain day (say Monday and Wednesday), to include XBox and non-school related computer time. The rule was that all homework and chores had to be done before any of these devices could be used.

But I found that on the designated t.v/Xbox/computer day, homework was rushed, chores were sub-par, and my children suddenly lost their hearing.

And then the kicker: Over the summer, my boys were bored. How did this happen? They had soccer camp, zoo camp, Waldorf school camp and playdates. They have a huge yard and a big 'ol dog to play with them. Puzzles, books, games, art supplies abound. A piano in our living room. Monster figurines. Legos. Freakin' army men and tanks (hush...I can hear all of you laughing). Pirate ships and helicopters. Light sabres. I could go on and on.

I swear to you. The minute the t.v. was turned off, I would hear, "Mom, I'm bored." And that sentence is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me.

The week before school started I came up with a plan. Mr. Blu agreed (and he can be a hard sell regarding this...but he gets it now).

No t.v/XBox/computer Monday morning until Friday afternoon. Period.

I explained to Primo that a friend of his does not have any electronics in her home except for a stereo. This girl, the same age as Primo, finished all 7 Harry Potter books over the summer. Primo is a fabulous reader, but if he had a choice, he would watch an episode of Spongebob over and over again.

Oh, the sounds that came out of my boys when I announced our "plan". Whining, tears, fits, screams, etc...filled my house.

And the first week of this plan was not pleasant. They would remember the plan on their way home from school and whine. I did hear "I am bored" frequently.

But, it kicked in during week two. After his homework, Primo would pull out a book. Or he would draw. Or play dominos. He is teaching Secundo how to play chess.

Secundo, who can't read yet, is now trying to read. Helps me cook dinner while Primo tends to his homework. He plays with clay. He sings to music.

To be fair, I don't watch tv or get on the Internet while they are awake (and you will never see me on the XBox). Yes, Mr. Blu and I will watch a movie after they go to bed, and they know this.

I am reading much more than ever. I am playing my guitar again. I am not scurrying around trying to get chores done in between t.v. shows.

Life is peaceful at Casa Blu. This is the best decision we have ever made.

I've Been Tagged

2007-08-29T14:44:00.000-07:00

Mamakohl is the culprit.

RULES - Post rules before giving the facts - Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves - People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules - At the end of the your blog you need to tag six people and list their names - Leave them a comment on their blog, telling them they have been tagged and not to forget to read your blog.

8 things you may not know about me:

I have an animated face. Poker would not be my game. My usual look is between a scowl and wonderment. But I am not angry. It means that my mind is going non-stop. I will need botox soon in my forhead for my obsessive pondering
Like Mamakohl, I don't drink milk. Never have. I will have it in my coffee. I also put it in my cereal, but never, ever drink the cereal milk.
I have a "night spell" at least 3x a week. I see something in my bed and believe it is there. Whatever it is (usually vermin), I have to get away from it. So I throw back the covers with force (must make a quick escape) and hurl myself across the room. Any of you who have been in my bed and experienced this are usually freaked out. Mr. Blu, at first took this as an opportunity to mess with me. Now, he says, "There is nothing there, quit taking my covers and go back to sleep."
When I am having a difficult run, I find a song on my iPod that I really like and pretend in my head that I am on stage either singing back-up or playing the guitar. Gets me through the rough spot. But I would never do this ever in real life (get up on a stage and sing) because....
I have horrible stage fright. When I have to present at a conference for work, I usually think that I am going to puke. Right there on the stage/podium
When I am on the Internet from home in our office, I sit with my knees to my chest, having a lot of weight on my feet that are now on the seat of the chair. I love sitting this way. Then, suddenly my feet tingle and fall asleep and I am sure I have MS.
I use my hands a lot when I talk.
I pick up accents. I have to be mindful when I am with someone who has an accent that I don't start talking that way for fear that the accented person will believe I am making fun of them. Also, I enjoy talking to my kids in different accents in public. Yes. In public. Just to watch them suddenly discover what I am doing and say, "MOOOOOOOOOOM STOOOOOOP!"

Now I have to tag 6 people. I don't know if I can do 6. Locos Pocos, I think you are it.

Defector

2007-08-24T13:18:00.000-07:00

Good luck today Defector as you run down a mountain to the sea. We fellow Aristocrats, who are stuck in Portland either practicing medicine or writing, living in Denver reading EKGs, or spending this Friday in New York healing people and making financial investments are cheering you on, even though we know you are cheating on us.

I hope you don't suffer from HoneyBucket phobia, become roadkill or find yourself unable to work the walkie-talkies. And you better damn well not order a Macchiato in Seaside from that Pug-loving barista. Margaritas? No.

Peeing in the bushes with another woman? Don't even think about it. Just say no to vaseline, Cheese-its, vanilla milkshakes and dirty jokes.

I would give you the Aristocrat salute, but then my blog would be labeled obscene.

Don't feel to guilty about your infidelity. Van 1 will still keep you. You will still be an Aristocrat. You will never be able to leave us.

Sweet Innocence

2007-08-23T14:07:00.000-07:00

Mr. Blu and I were in the midst of a financial discussion last night right as Primo and Secundo were getting ready for bed. That day, I received a 10% raise, which is all fine and good, but still I am still earning below market value for my profession. We are in the midst of selling our house (in the repair negotiation phase with the buyer), looking at houses more expensive than what ours is selling for (in order to get into a neighborhood we want), and spending more money this month than normal preparing for back-to-school (uniforms, supplies, etc).

Mr. Blu is very stressed out. When he is in this state, he is verbally manic. Has to process over and over. Not that this is wrong, this is what he needs to do. It is just a lot of energy.

So, we were calculating mortgages, tuition, college savings plans, retirement, emergency funds, daycare, vacation funds...the lot. Trying to figure out how much goes where, how we need to cut back with non-essential expenses, etc.

Meanwhile, I see the boys talking together in their room. They came out, demanding our attention as they have two ideas that will solve our financial woes (and we are not in financial straights, just making sure we are not living foolishly):

Primo: "Here is my piggy bank. I have $100 saved. You can use this to pay for my college tuition."

Secundo: "You know how when you are walking around town and you see coins on the ground? I need to focus more of my attention on that. Yes, I will collect coins. That will pay for my college tuition."

We were touched. I initially thought that perhaps Mr. Blu and I should have had this conversation after they fell asleep. But in hindsight, this was probably the greatest life lesson I could give them. The reality of what it is like to be an adult.

(and no, I didn't take their money)

2007-07-09T09:48:00.000-07:00

Dis - Ease

Every once in a long while, I find myself extremely unsettled. And while I am appreciative of my awareness of this state, it is little consolation, for I just don't like being uncentered.

It is not cyclical (hormonal)...there is really no pattern. Sometimes it is once a year, perhaps twice or thrice.

I walk about my days agitated and on edge. Nothing satisfies me. I become reclusive at work (office door shut, my normally rapid way of walking around the building becomes quicker as I do not want to engage in conversation with anyone), controlling at home (God forbid if you don't put your shoes in your closet or eat your broccoli!), find Mr. Blu highly annoying (and we tend to find ourselves in an odd dance from time to time. He picks up on my mood and does not let me be...therefore he points out my controlling habits, which just infuriates me and make me control even more), and my children irritating.

During these times I try to take some additional time for myself. But the pleasure is fleeting. I may find myself engrossed in a book, but thoroughly let down when I have finished the tale (Why? Why did it have to end?!!!). I will run more and fall into that runner's high, but become critical of myself after because I wasn't faster or didn't run farther.

I know that I come out of it eventually...perhaps in 5-10 days. But before the lift, I fight everything that comes my way.

The Rules of Attraction

2007-06-23T12:46:00.000-07:00

"I am going to be in Portland this weekend. I hope we can have a Van 1 reunion."

That sentence made my stomach drop and put me in a state of dis-ease for two days.

The attraction was strong in August during our race. The attraction was intense in October when I was in his town on business.

Our emails were frequent back then. And suddenly, both of us knew that we had to stop the communication or we would find ourselves in a heap of trouble.

Last night was a belated birthday celebration for me by two of my best girlfriends. One, was in Van 1 and knows about "the situation". The second, recently separated from her husband and needed a girls night out. After a few glasses of wine, at a wine bar near where my temptation was staying, my running mate dialed him up and invited him to the celebration.

I felt ill. I was jittery. My appetite stopped completely. I have never guzzled a glass of wine before, but I did last night. It barely calmed my nerves.

He walked in. I froze. He froze. I stood up and he embraced me. I whispered in his ear, "This is terribly awkward." He replied, "I know."

And then we laughed.

The pressure was off.

We easily fell into our banter of August, before I even clued in that he was very attracted to me.

Knowing full well that the entire table knew that we were highly attracted to each other many months ago, we decided to just run with it.

"Are you dating someone?"

"Yes."

"Is she everything you want?"

"You know who I want."

"Oh Darling, you only want me because you can't have me."

"True. But everytime you look at me with those big blue eyes, that you use rather well by the way, I become insanely jealous of Mr. Blu."

Or:

(Heather discussing how during Hood to Coast 2006, we spotted a few attractive men in route)

H: "We need some eye-candy in our van for 2008."

B: "Yes. We do."

Temptation: "What?!"

B: "Don't worry. You will still be my eye-candy."

T: "I was worried there for a second."

And while most of this post may not make sense to any of you readers, the incident last night put me at peace. The acknowledgment that our attraction was real, but that we are perfectly okay being just friends lifted a huge weight off my shoulders and allowed me to relax and be me. Which may have not been a good thing as that is what led me to this place after all.

Men

2007-06-21T11:50:00.000-07:00

Random rant about the male sex...

Dad

Mom and Dad are here visiting from Panama. And while the visit thus far has been favorable, Padre is slipping into one of his most annoying habits while in my home.

Answering my telephone.

This man is addicted to the phone. It rings, he must answer it. I will even yell out "I'll answer it!!" and he still snags the phone. He thinks it might be one of his friends. So I asked why can't he give out his U.S. cell phone number to his friends (his cell is on his waist) and he says, "I never can remember the number." So, 12 hours a day, my phone is ringing. What is even better is that Mom and Dad left for 4 days to visit friends in Washington. Guess who is playing secretary?

Mr. Blu

Will he or won't he leave his job at the hospital? He has been talking about it, complaining about it, venting about it, stressing about it...for 10 months now. And, suddenly, I am being accused of being "mean and cruel" for glazing over when he talks about it, every single night...ad nauseum. Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk. That silent Swede pre Mr. Blu? The one who would infuriate me with his inability to share what he was feeling? The one whose silence made me search for a communicative man? Tack sa mycket!!!

That Bastard Husband of Louise

Not sure if you want to be married anymore? No, nothing wrong with wanting to leave your marriage except for the fact that you want to be devoid of all responsibility and think that hooking up with your junior high school sweetheart, who is married and has children, is going to lead you to a much more fulfilling life....puhlease.

Pere de lapin

Et Professeur ? M'appellerez-vous jamais ?

Here Comes the Sun

2007-06-15T15:55:00.000-07:00

Some wonderful news to share:

Felix is breathing on his own. Ventilator was removed yesterday. HE IS BREATHING ON HIS OWN!!! This is a huge accomplishment. He also responded to the neurological rehab physician and squeezed her hand. He has a long recovery, yes, but these two things are amazing.
Primo, who just started playing the piano two months ago, ended his time with his current teacher (she is leaving the school and lives too far away to continue lessons in her home). She pulled me aside today and told me that he is "gifted" and that I should not stop lessons. She said it is very rare for an eight-year old to sight-read and self-correct. She says he has music in his soul. Mr. Blu and I knew this from the day he stepped into ballet class, and that one time, when he was 5, that he approached a piano and created a song all on his own. When he listens to Beethoven (Fur Elise and Piano Concerto #5 in E are his favorites) he tell me how Ludwig does what he does.....
I went to a fabulous gig last night. Glen Phillips of Toad the Wet Sprocket, Sara and Sean Watkins from Nickel Creek, Grant Lee Phillips and Luke Bella. They all performed together. Fiddles, mandolins, ukuleles, and guitars. They also brought up two kids, ages 10 and 13, who played the fiddles like crazy. Good ole jam session with excellent vocals.
This morning, without any knowledge of the music I listened to last night, Secundo told me he wants to play the fiddle. My heart is singing. Don't be surprised if you see a headliner called, "Blu and Her Kin". Blu on guitar, Primo on piano, Secundo on fiddle, and Mr. Blu on...the didgeridoo???

Hug and value your children, readers. They are divine.

Slow Down...You Move to Fast...You've Got to Make the Morning Last..

2007-06-08T16:18:00.000-07:00

That is the only explanation I have.

So Felix still lies in a coma up on Pill Hill. Three steps forward. Two steps back.

Yesterday, a semi-truck jackknifed on I-5 near the curves where semis always jackknife. And i-5 N was closed for some time.

And drivers, who had to be rerouted, I being one of them, were not loving creatures at all

Upon picking up my boys from school, Mr. Blu calls me to tell me a man was injured in an ammonia explosion at a plant nearby. He was brought into Mr. Blu's ED. I am horrified at the thought of what the damage might be and realize that my route home will be shut down due to the leak. I try alternate routes, but everybody else is doing the same. Traffic is stopped.

And drivers are not showing their best manners.

This morning, I arrive at the boys' school to drop them off for the start of their academic day. The road in front of their school is closed due to a SUV flipping onto its top. The roof is crushed. Family of four is fine.

And drivers still fly by at an amazing speed in a school zone WITH an accident.

Felix's father, Mark, mentioned in his blog that updates us all on Felix's condition many times a day, that while he was riding in the ambulance with his son, siren on, lights flashing, most drivers ignored the immediacy and did not pull-over as required by law. Imagine. Sitting in an ambulance, your son is barely breathing and is broken all over, and NOBODY STOPS to let the ambulance get him to immediate care.

I just don't understand the selfishness of humanity.

Here is what my friend Mark posted on Felix's blog yesterday. I hope many of us can do just this:

Hug your kids and your loved ones a little closer these days.
Call an old friend just to see how they are doing
Share some talent you have with kids in a hospital or old folks in a home-if you want to do it only once and do it in Felix's name, he would be proud
Make food for Felix and give it to an elderly neighbor, or make cookies for the loaves and fishes people.
Seek a way to mend any old grudges you might have-
Slow down. There's nowhere else to go. We're already here. This is it. This is all we get and it's truly quite magnificent to pick strawberries or smell a peony or hold your loved one's hand...
Draw a wish on a piece of origami paper and fold it into a crane. we'll collect them all and find them a wonderful home-
Take care of your community. look around and see who your people are and look inside and see what you have to offer, and be not afraid to share it. if you sing, sing. if you play guitar, play. don't hide any of your amazing gifts from this world.-
If you have a little totem or token that you would like to offer, a friend set up a small offer altar. and anything you feel might make Felix feel a connection as he wakes up or whatever would be welcome...-
Plant a flower or tree with blessings for Felix and all other families who hurt today...

Prayer

2007-06-05T16:18:00.000-07:00

I have often wondered about the power of prayer. Is it valid? This is different from the power of positive thinking. When you are telling yourself to look up, it does affect your outlook on life, even if it is miniscule. But what about prayer?

When a loved one is sick, the natural default is to pray for healing. Healing in the literal form. But I don't think God, the Goddess, deities, etc., say, "You didn't pray hard enough for your friend, so therefore he/she will die." It doesn't work that way. The body functions and then it doesn't. Accidents, illness and old age all happen. We can prevent death from happening by medical intervention, but that prevention is really only a bandaid...it doesn't negate death from visiting and taking us away.

So really, when we pray for someone, I think we are really doing this to give us something to do in a hopeless situation. Humans want control and when we can't control every aspect of life, we resort to prayer, positive thinking, meditation, etc., it is to try to still our restless minds. Perhaps we are trying to find answers for situations where the resolution is not immediately apparent. Or maybe a few do really have a deep connection with the divine.

F, 10-years old, fell out of a tree Saturday night and his broken body lies in the PICU at OHSU. He has multiple compound fractures, trauma to his internal organs, and a closed-head injury. He is in a coma and is non-responsive. While they did detect that he is not brain dead, he is on a ventilator and is being fed via a tube. I met this boy when he was 4 years old and he is one of the most fantastic kids I know. He is full of life, a positive ray of sunshine who evokes an immediate smile out of you.

When I heard the news last night, I rummaged through my old photographs (he was my favorite subject) and placed his photo on our family altar. And, I did pray last night. I first asked for peace for the family no matter the outcome. Then, silently, asked to save his life. Perhaps it was superstition. What if I don't pray and he dies? Is this a direct result from not praying enough? Silly, I know, but I could not hold back.

So here is my prayer. Do not take this one. Not this boy. For he will do great things in his life. And if his great thing is to learn how to talk again, then so be it. Just don't take him just yet. He has work to do.

Feelin' Groovy

2007-06-01T13:56:00.000-07:00

I am having one of those days where everything I experience is making me happy. This sudden euphoria is not due to one huge event, but a compliation of many, many little items that make me giddy.

Today, the day I work from home, I found myself sitting in my favorite coffee shop (I took my car in for repair and decided to work in the neighborhood. Thank God for wireless), listening to fantastic music. My walk to The Ugly Mug was sunshine filled, with rays warming my skin.

Sitting while sipping an excellent cappuchino and logging into work, I noticed the gorgeous and fascinating paintings an artist was hanging on the walls for the Art Walk tonight. The colors used captivated me.

And as I sat there, I started thinking about the things that have been pleasing as of late.

A week full of sun and high temperatures (if you have never lived in Oregon, you have no idea how happy this makes Oregonians)

New Sauconys

Strawberries

House shopping (remind me later, that I thought this would be fun, ok?)

Broccoli Rabe

RadioParadise.com

Marketing campaign signed, sealed and delivered

2 annoying, but decidedly cute kiddos

Trip to Boise last weekend

Peonies

The resettlement of the family from Burundi

The five lab puppies next door

The Education of Little Tree

Serge Gainsbourg

My fantastic run two nights ago

My husband who puts up with my intensity and makes me laugh daily

The Busy Corner

Leslie

BYB women that are a source of inspiration and entertainment, daily

Jeff Buckley (RIP)

I love it when I am high like this. Don't worry, I will soon be back to my sarcastic and critical self! Never fear!

Questions from Kimmah

2007-05-02T13:19:00.000-07:00

1. You can change the course of your life tomorrow with one action--what would you undertake?

Ok, this is difficult. The easy one would be to go to Medical School. But, doing so would eliminate half of our family income in the process. The other option would be to move to another country. Yes, I like that one. But first I must be fluent in that country's language. So perhaps my one change would be to go back to school to be fluent.

2. What makes a man truly sexy?

That he finds me sexy. Well, it is much more than that, but you get the idea. A man can be drop dead gorgeous, but if the chemistry is not there, then he is not sexy. Besides thinking I am divine, I do love very intelligent men. He must have a good sense of humor. He must have a passion in his life. He must be able to communicate well and listen to me ramble. He must be curious about life and willing to explore. I do fancy beautiful eyes and wonderful smiles. And I have a thing about hands.

3. How many "best" friends have you had in your life?

Three. One in grade school. One in high school. One in college who to this day is my best friend.

4. Do real life friends and family read your blog? if not, would you care if they did?

I know of one real life person who reads my blog. And he lives in another country. My family is not aware that it exists but do know that I write my daily musings down. I am not sure if I would care or not.

5. Describe the most expensive piece of clothing you own.

I think the most expensive thing I own may be my Biviel Shoes that are of a burgundy shade and pretty fabulous. I would say that my Joes Jeans would be up there, but I actually got those for free. They never charged my credit card. And it is not my job to remind them. I also have a few cashmere sweaters that cost a pretty penny. Alright, I will fess up. I buy for quality, not quantity, so I do spend a high $$ amount but I prefer to have items that are unique but not too trendy and that will last over the long haul.

So, who wants to continue this game? Post in my comments section and I will email you 5 unique questions that you can add to your blog.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

2007-04-24T09:47:00.000-07:00

The house next to mine is a rental on 5 acres of land. The owners are seducing us with offers to purchase our house and land so they can pave paradise and put up a parking lot..er...a housing development. And yes, we will be selling out in order to get back into our favorite neighborhood that contains our boys' school, friends, coffee shops, wine bars, and liberals.

But back to my story.

We have a new neighbor. The previous renters were a couple with two young kids. The father was a manic artist (aren't all artists manic?) whom I liked very much. Creative genius I tell you and his wife was a midwife...or a midwife wannabe. Needless to say, they were cool to have as neighbors. But then they screwed it all up and moved to the country to raise their kin and have more space to fester in art induced mania.

The owner of the house stopped by to court us once again about purchasing our place and told us she found a nice guy to rent the house next door. She spouted off that he is a single dad of two, but only gets his boys one weekend a month, and has been living with his mother for the last two years. Clearly she didn't see the warning signs with that bit of information.

Not having laid eyes on him, I wake one morning only to hear,

"Shut the f*#k up you stupid, f*#king dog!"

He is yelling at his dog mind you, not mine, but I chalk it up to moving stress. We all have had those days where we despise our animals for a brief moment.

Last Friday, I am on my driveway when he pops over the hedge to introduce himself. "Hi! I am Steve your new neighbor!"

I introduce myself and ask him how move in is going.

"Well," he replied, "I have to paint this f#*king place. What f*#king bitch thought that lavender was a good choice? Stupid bitch."

Alrighty then.

Sunday night, Mr. Blu and I wake at 2:00am to hear,

"Get out of the f*#king car, you f*#king whore. You are too drunk to f*#king drive you f*#king bitch."

This went on for 30 minutes.

I love my new neighbor. I love his exquisite command of the English language and his deep respect and honor toward the female gender. I tell you, he is a winner this one.

Now, my suspicious self is wondering: Did the owner of this house put him in there on purpose to drive us out of our house? That we would be so horrified to have this cretin near us that we would accept a low offer?

Nah. Probably not.

You think?!

Secret Name

2007-04-18T09:49:00.000-07:00

My day yesterday (and most days actually) was surreal. Primo was home sick with a fever, body aches and a sore throat. Thus, I was home with my laptop, creating my office on my living room sofa.

Most of the day, Primo was covered in blankets, half-watching movies with heavy-lidded eyes. I was able to determine when the Ibuprofen kicked in based on the elevated volume of the tv. If the volume was high, his fever was low. If the volume was low, his fever was high (and his headache which plays into sound sensitivity).

I would sit, trying to write meaningful copy about the U.S. Healthcare Revenue Cycle, when suddenly my thoughts would be peppered with:

"I am your father, Luke."

"Eliminate the force."

"Jedi-Knight Command Station"

I am hoping (and should verify) that my work prose does not contain any references to Star Wars.

Before I put him to bed, Feverish Primo, decided my name should be Darth Mom. I am going to chalk that up to delerium, not meant to be a reference as to how I mother.

Mr. Blu decided to sleep with Primo last night to monitor his fever, thus Secundo decided that it was only fair that he sleep with me. And frankly, he has decided that he is done with Primo being sick, because the sick one gets to pick the movies, eat soup on the couch, and gets unlimited quantities of juice. He has had enough.

At 3:00 am, Secundo sits up in bed, looks at me, and snuggles in. And he says in the most lucid manner,

"Mom, we need to have a secret name, a secret name that we share."

And I, who is wondering why we are having this conversation before the dawning of the day says,

"Ok. And that name is?"

"Cannonball"

"Cannonball????"

"Yes," he replied. "Cannonball like when you jump in the pool."

"Sounds good. Go to sleep."

So as of this morning, I am officially known as "Darth Mom Cannonball"

May the force be with you.

Death and Loss

2007-04-17T16:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, 32 lives were lost on a university campus. Every single one of them shot without remorse.

Americans are in shock. The news media is having a field day.

And for me? I am definitely not desensitized, but I am feeling rather apathetic.

Why?

It seems a bit hypocritical for us to be in such shock over this when every day, American soldiers are dying in Iraq. Every day, allied troops are losing soldiers to bullets and bombs. Every day, innocent Iraqis are dying. EVERY SINGLE DAY.

"Oh, but the victims in Virginia are innocent civilians!", you say.

So are the Iraqi people that our government is killing. Yes, that is right. Our Government, the U.S. Government, is ending lives, many lives, daily over greed.

I would like GWB, who was "horrified at the killings in Virginia and is praying for the victims' families" to look into his soul to find one ounce of humanity, a smidgen of morality, perhaps really understand The Golden Rule, and show the same amount of horror over the killings in Iraq.

Then admit his mistake and bring our troops home.

But then, that would mean GWB has a soul, which clearly he does not.

So Americans, while you mourn the tragedy of yesterday, think a bit about the Iraqi families' suffering. Imagine the horror of soldiers entering your home and killing your loved ones. Feel your heart fall into your stomach when you see a representative of the U.S. Army walking up to your door to tell you your child has died in the line of duty.

And then demand that your President stop this senseless war.

The True Cost of War

2007-04-13T10:57:00.000-07:00

One Day in Iraq

To date, more than 3,100 American military members have been killed in Iraq, and another 400 have been killed in Afghanistan. On average, another college-aged soldier (between the ages of 18 and 22) is killed every day.

The money the US spends on average in just one day in Iraq, $259 million, could have provided 22,615 college-aged students with a full year's tuition or enrolled 35,500 three- and four-year-olds a full year in Head Start pre-school programs.

One Week in Iraq

The toll of the war on Iraqi civilians has been devastating. Estimates of the number of Iraqi dead range up to half a million.

As many as 3.8 million Iraqis have already fled their homes, and an additional 10,500 civilians become refugees on average every week.

The money spent in one week in Iraq could have provided three meals a day for nearly an entire year for 6 million children, the same number that dies from hunger and malnutrition every year.

One Month in Iraq

In addition to the tens of thousands of injuries American service members have sustained in fighting in Iraq, more than 500 have undergone "major amputations" the loss of arms or legs. In the four years of fighting in Iraq, that totals ten servicemen and women losing a limb every month (or one every three days).

For less than the amount spent in one month in Iraq, New Orleans ' neighborhoods could be completely rebuilt and improved to meet standards that would better protect them against another hurricane.

One Year in Iraq

More than 34,000 Iraqi civilians were killed in Iraq in 2006 alone. That is equivalent to 93 civilians killed every day.

The money spent in Iraq in one year could have paid the health insurance premiums for half of all uninsured Americans, including all uninsured American children.

Four years in Iraq

More than 3,100 American service members have been killed since the invasion, and more than 23,500 soldiers have been wounded. As many as 300,000 veterans have returned from Iraq and Afghanistan suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, two-thirds of whom are not being treated.

What could we have purchased with $400 billion, had our national priorities matched our moral potential?

We could have funded full American compliance in the Kyoto Protocol, which is estimated to cost $75 billion less than what we've already spent in Iraq. We could have purchased life-giving treatment, including costly antiretroviral drugs, for every person in the world infected with HIV/AIDS. For almost six full years.

The Years Ahead

Even if it ends tomorrow, we will be paying for this war for decades to come. When we factor in the future costs of veterans' medical care, disability payments, and the price of rebuilding our depleted military, the total cost could exceed $1.2 trillion.

Imagine what our world might look like in a few years if we had focused those resources on making the world healthier, wealthier, better educated, and safer.

As Americans, it is our duty to hold ourselves and our government accountable for any decision to spend American lives and money on a futile war. These are moral choices, and they have moral consequences.

© Unitarian Universalist Association, 2007.

View Through a Lens

2007-04-09T10:05:00.000-07:00

When I was a sophomore in college, I enrolled in a photography class. These were the days before digital, and the class involved the history of photography, techniques and developing film. And, the film was in black and white.

I loved this class. I found a creative outlet that I could actually do and do well. It also helped that I had a divine professor. She was smart and highly creative. A renaissance woman of sorts. She had a quiet demeanor that conveyed elegance. She was my mentor. I spent many hours in her office discussing theory and many more in the darkroom with her fine-tuning my developing skills. This professor, I suspect at the time, was in her late-30s or early 40s. She was married and had a daughter. As her husband was also a professor, I would see them together often on campus.

During the first term of the class series, I sat next to another student who was very attractive. Frequently, we would find ourselves in the darkroom together for hours on weekends, developing a week's worth of assignments. We, during this term, would meet for coffee periodically to discuss our techniques.

At the beginning of the second term, he asked me out. A real date mind you, not just a meeting over coffee. Sparks flew. We were very physically attracted to each other. And thus our relationship began. However, I assumed we were exclusive (because this is what I do. I give my heart completely.). I was not in love with him, but I fancied him, desired him, let him explore my body, mind and soul willingly.

Spring Break arrived and I went on vacation with my family. I had planned to stay at my parents' house for a few days after we returned from our trip, but decided to drive back to Eugene early. And, I was eagerly anticipating my surprise reunion with my muse.

I arrived at his apartment and, yes, I had my own key. I unlocked the door and quietly walked into his space. I heard a noise coming from his bedroom. As I entered, I found him in bed with another woman. And that woman was our professor.

I was shocked on so many levels. Not only was I betrayed in my romantic relationship, I was betrayed by my mentor...my professor...my married professor. I think that betrayal wounded me the most.

Obviously my "relationship" with the boy ended. And in hindsight, he was never really a boyfriend. I won't deny that a certain graduate student from France had caught my eye at the beginning of that school year and I was very aware of his whereabouts and would have jumped at the chance to be with him. But that chance happened after this situation and I suspect that if the opportunity would have presented itself prior, I would have ended my physical relationship with the boy before venturing into a new one.

I was faced with a dilemma. Do I report what I discovered to the governing body of the University? While professor-student romantic relationships were not against the rules, they are forbidden if the student is in the professor's class. Something about unfair grading techniques. But the ramifications of such a report were huge. This secret could destroy her career and certainly her marriage...and what about her child?

I decided to pretend it didn't happen. Obviously, I ceased all contact with the boy. I would not engage with my professor, I just handed in my assignments. I did get an "A" for the term and I want to believe that I deserved that "A" due to the quality and creativity of my photographs, not because I discovered an illicit liaison.

I have thought about this drama many times. I am reminded of it when I pull out my old photographs, or when I see her name in the paper for an exhibit. My anger morphed over time to disgust to ambivalence.

This Saturday night Mr. Blu and I took his parents, along with Primo and Secundo out for dinner. Our table was near the restaurant foyer and I had a clear view of the waiting area.

She walked in. With her husband and extended family. She saw me right away. We stared at each other and then, of course, they were placed at a table near ours.

Then I suddenly saw her fragility. She had aged. She was in her late 50's or early 60's. Still pretty, but not breathtaking as she was in the late 1980s. And then I realized that she was the same age I am now when she found herself in her student's arms.

Now I understood her. Perhaps her marriage was flat or routine. She was juggling a career and a family. She was fighting time as she was discovering she was not the young ingenue she once was. She, for a brief moment, wanted that flush of excitement, that taste of a first kiss, the ecstasy of exploring a different body, the all-consuming interest in something that is different from life as you know it.

As we were getting ready to leave, I stared her down. She had a look of panic in her face, fearing the worst.

I gave her a sincere smile, one that shouted, "It's ok."

And thus, my realization that she has always been a mentor.

Panama

2007-04-02T09:42:00.000-07:00

The Blu Family just returned from two weeks in Panama. While this was our second trip, I have a few observations to record:

There is nothing to do in the Atlanta airport. At least for three hours anyway. Except to watch boys play soldier and go to war. Heartbreaking.

When checking into a hotel in Panama City, watch out for the geriatric tour groups from the US.

To the French tourist who approached me and asked, in French if I was French, you made my day. Why? Because I really don't like being an American while traveling. And being mistaken for a French woman, in my opinion, is a good thing. And best of all was the look on my father's face when he realised you were French and I was speaking French to you. He doesn't like the French because he drank the koolaid...you know, the drink that makes you an ignorant, ego-centric, "America is the best country on earth" moron.

Yes, it is possible for a porcelain-skinned one to get a tan

Capuchin Monkeys are amazing

Same for Margays

Panamanian women are gorgeous. Stunning. Voluptuous. It must be something in the water.

Is it wrong to want to have your surfing lesson anyway, when there are no waves, just so you can be in the presence of a very cute, 24-year old, surfer-boy from the US?

Next time, don't show up for your surfing lesson having just crawled out of bed.

The Americanization of Panama is NOT a good thing, regardless of what the retired-ex-pats say.

Go to Boquete. Stop at the Nelvis Cafe. Order frijoles y arroz. Enough said.

Panamanian have a wonderful spirit and a healthy outlook on life. Get to know them. Speak Spanish, even if you only know a few words. You will be amazed at how you can communicate without using English.

Mile High Club

2007-03-07T10:10:00.000-08:00

I found myself in Cincinnati on business last week. Not an exciting or beautiful city, thus the lack of descriptive posts on that visit. Again, I found myself, while inflight to Ohio, analyzing the state of the human condition.

My co-worker and I took the red-eye out of Portland to Cincinnati, via Atlanta. Knowing how I am, I didn't plan on sleeping much on the plane. I just can't fully sleep sitting up.

A lovely family boarded the plane and sat in front of my row. The couple had two daughters, one about three-years of age and the other around 15 months. The mother said to me while we were getting settled that they selected the red-eye so that their kids would sleep.

The three-year old conked out immediately. The 15 month old dozed for about an hour, then the pressure bothered her ears. She was inconsolable. The mother walked with her, tried a bottle, a pacifier, everything...and the poor little thing could not be soothed. I felt for the child but had more empathy towards the mother, who was now breaking into a sweat, avoiding the glares of our cabin mates.

When we landed, the mother (her child was now asleep) stood up and apologized to the passengers on the plane. It was one of the most heart-felt apologies I have heard in a long time and I was amazed that she had the courage to put herself out there as she did.

Most of the people in her midst softened and told her not to worry about it. That these things just happen.

But, there were a few cowards, who enjoyed trashing her mothering skills behind her back. How dare she let her child scream like that (as if you can control that). I heard, "That mother is being manipulated by that child. Boy, is she going to have trouble with that one when she is a teenager...", etc, etc.

One passenger decided to make a catty remark about the situation to me. I don't know if she thought I was too young or too old to have children. But she picked the wrong person.

I looked at her and asked her if she had children. "God no!" is how she replied. I responded by saying that she had no right to judge this woman if she has never walked in her shoes. If you have never had a child, and have no idea about what causes discomfort (tiny ear tubes + airplane pressure = extreme pain), then you have no place to comment. Plus, spreading negativity does not fix the situation. Next time, if you are so unhappy, offer to help instead of judge.

I am amazed at the level of passivity or paralysis in our culture. We are so self-centered that it has become beyond our ability to see the situation for what it is and how others are affected. Listening to a crying child for a few hours is not enjoyable. But it is not the end of the world. It is called life. Get over it.

Three-way

2007-02-27T10:09:00.000-08:00

A few things must be mentioned from the get-go before you read on: The title of this entry has nothing to do with a sexual liaison that involves more than two people. Sorry to disappoint you. The content below is extremely self-serving and rather superficial. But it must be stated as I know many can relate and a few of you from afar will get a good giggle out of it.

Ready?

For a woman who is 39 years, 9 months of age, I am in good shape. I am probably in better shape than most women my age. It mainly has to do with a few things: I am incredibly vain. I am "Type A" and cannot sit still. To alleviate stress, I must do something physical and that form of physicality is running. All these quirks add up to a small size in clothing.

However, my exercising has been rather sporadic as of late. I was pleased to see that my training for HTC did not stop after the race and continued on until I was hit with about 4 illnesses from November through January. Running regularly was not an option. At least not in very cold weather. Work demands prevented me from hitting the gym at lunch. Then I activated my sweet tooth over the holidays.

All of this added to a weight gain of about 5 lbs. Not much really. I was still able to wear all of my clothes and actually fill out my bra to Mr. Blu's delight. All good.

Until yesterday afternoon that is.

I had a tense conference call with a business partner and needed to leave the office to cool down. I went to the mall about a mile away to pick up a few things for my impending Panamanian vacation.

I purchased a pair of shoes (really, I need them for the plane flight) and was looking for a particular cosmetics counter when I came across some divine jeans. I suddenly recalled a conversation I had with my dear friend Heather who demanded that I go out and buy a pair of Joe's Jeans. Ridiculously expensive, but they make you look heavenly. At the time, I dismissed her suggestion as I had a pair that worked well, and I really did not want to have a discussion with Mr. Blu on why one needs to pay that amount for a piece of denim, when we have college educations to save for. But her comment of, "You don't know what a good pair of jeans is until you try Joe's." would not leave my head as I turned from the display.

I turned back and started selecting different jean styles.

Since I was at Nordstrom, a sales clerk approached to help me. She looked at me and said, "You are a 27." For some reason that did not bode well with my psyche. 27 is still small, but Heather is a 25 and that just got under my skin.

No matter. I entered the dressing room with about 8 pairs of jeans in different styles. Before undressing, I took a mental note of my unkempt appearance in the mirror. Hair looked too dark (hairdresser tried to make me go darker, which does not work in the middle of winter when I am as pale as can be...more than my normal shade of pale) and "meh". No color to my face. Didn't like my outfit. The usual. But forget all that. I was finally trying on Joe's!!

I disrobed and admired myself from the front. Everything looked the way it should. Yes, getting into a bikini while in Panama was going to be a breeze.

Then I turned around. In front of a three-way mirror.

Dear. God. No.

Did my bum fall? What is that wiggle in between the end of the bum and the beginning of the thigh? Is that cellulite?!!!!

After trying on several pairs and having "Mary", my sales clerk dismiss all of them, I finally found the pair. Joe's "Honey". Ahhh....I have swallowed the Kool-Aid, dear Heather.

But, I was still uneasy. I grab my cellular as I am leaving the store and call Mr. Blu. I am clearly not happy with him.

Blu: "I am so upset with you!!!"

Mr. Blu: "Why?"

Blu: "Have you not been paying attention to my bum?"

Mr. Blu: "What?"

Blu: "It is your job as my husband to tell me when I am getting an oatmeal bum. This just didn't happen overnight. Whose side are you on??"

Mr. Blu: "It is the hard reality of aging my dear."

Blu: "What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Mr. Blu: "These things happen. And you bum is going to get worse as you age."

Blu: "Wrong answer!!! Do you realize I have to get in a swimsuit in THREE WEEKS?!!"

Mr. Blu: "And knowing you, you will stop eating completely and run every day, two times a day right?"

Blu: "Damn straight! This is my last chance, according to you, to have a divine derriere!"

Mr. Blu: "What prompted this realization? When did you really see your bum?"

Blu: "No reason. Uhh, just tried on clothes...gotta go..."

And yes, I hit the gym last night, ran this morning, and I am eyeing the weather to see if I can get one more run in before nightfall...

Happy Birthday Primo!

2007-02-19T14:00:00.000-08:00

My curly locked redhead entered my life 8 years ago today. He was 2 weeks past his due date and decided that labor should be lengthy as well. But he arrived healthy, a whopping 9lbs, 12 ounces, and I fell in love with him immediately.

He is my sensitive soul. He feels everything deeply from excitement to sorrow. His empathy towards others makes me proud. He is absolutely in-tune with my feelings. So much so, that I need to keep myself in check at times in order not to have him mirror my intensity.

This boy made me a mama. He has weathered the parenting indecisions, uncertainty, and analysis that comes with first time parents. His humor and gentleness brings me back to what is right, what is now.

Happy birthday to you, my love. I am honored to be your mother and friend.

There she is....Miss America...

2007-02-02T10:53:00.000-08:00

Mr. Blu and I, exhausted from our day, were sitting on the couch after the boys went to sleep, flipping through channels. When we stumbled upon the Miss America pageant, we both looked at each other gleefully. Yes. We. Must. Watch. This.

No, I am not a pageant girl. Those of you who know me by sight can attest to that. I would never qualify to compete because:

My hair does not go "big" ever.
I cannot do the pageant wave or smile
I cannot mask my disgust when asked a stupid question
I wouldn't play nice with the 49 other contestants
I don't look good in sequins (nobody does)
I don't have a talent that is appropriate for television broadcasting

This is purely entertainment. Wicked entertainment for we of a sarcastic and biting nature.

We joined the show when it was down to the last three finalists. The decider is the random question where the barbie doll has to think (yeah, right) on her feet and answer in 30 seconds.

The first one is asked something I can't recall. She is dull. The second one is asked why is confidence such a virtue in America. She rambles on about her education and how everyone has access, poor or rich, to education. Uh, sure babe. Why don't you go into Harlem and check out all those poor kids who are signing up for a 4 year degree.

Then, the last one is asked,

"Women have gained equality in many ways. However, women are paid 78 cents where as men are paid $1 for the same job. What would you do to change this?"

And this brilliant one says,

"I would become a good role model. If women are good role models, they can achieve everything, including equal pay."

Oh. My. God! Is that all I need to do? Yes! I get it! All of us hard working, highly skilled, intelligent women have not received equal pay because we are not good role models! Thank you! Thank you insightful one!

Guess which of the three became Miss America?!

Stupid twit.

You're fired

2007-01-31T16:24:00.000-08:00

Firstly, I did not get fired. Secondly, I cannot believe I am quoting that miserable excuse for a human being, Donald Trump (I bet many of you thought my "miserable excuse for a human being" was GWB. I have another term for our "president"...but I digress).

Why fired? I think most working mothers live in constant fear of being dismissed. I had one of those fearful moments today at 12:30 p.m. when my phone rang and I heard,

"Mrs. Blu? This is Penny from St. Agatha School. Secundo is complaining of stomach pain and is sobbing. Please come get him."

Click.

Ok, she didn't really hang up on me, but it was very clear that she did not want me to even go there, questioning if he really was sick. I got her muted point and told her that I would be right there.

Except I didn't want to be the one to pick him up. It is not that I don't care for my child, but I have spent the last 2 months juggling my work schedule around the following:

2 weeks of Christmas break
5 days of the "I am going to die" flu (moi)
Martin Luther King Jr. holiday
3 snow days (one that was not necessary)
Teacher in-service day
And the one that is coming up on Friday, St. Agatha Feast Day. Yes, it is true. These children must have half a day off to celebrate a martyr who had her breasts mutilated.

I immediately picked up my phone and dialed Mr. Blu's pager number. Why not his cell phone? Because he doesn't carry it on him when he is in the Emergency Department or in the Acute Care Ward. I assumed it was because it may interfere with life-saving medical equipment or that he did not want to have a psychotic person to have the opportunity to grab his personal cell phone and uncover identifying information that might lead to the Blu family being stalked or held hostage (yes, I have a flair for drama). Nope. That is not it. He doesn't like carrying "all this stuff" on his body. He gave me his pager number to use in case of emergency.

So I called it. Was this an emergency? Yes. Was Secundo dying? No. But my office is 30 minutes away from the school and Mr. Blu's location is 5 minutes tops. And, I had a deadline for an article. And frankly, I have been the one who has been doing the juggling act since he switched his position at the hospital and I wanted for once in 2 months say to my boss, "No worries. Mr. Blu is going to get him."

We made an agreement when I page him and it is an emergency, I leave my call back number with 911 added to the end. This means, "You better drop what you are doing and call me right now. I don't care if your meth-induced psychosis patient is telling you he thinks you are part of "the program" and is telling you that you have 17 eyes in your head. You tell him to suck it up because you need to call your wife who is having a true crisis!"

No call back.

I paged again.

Rien.

Great. I grab my laptop, send a quick email to my boss, and dash out of the office.

Three minutes before arrival, my cellular rings. All I can say is that I used every ounce of restraint and did not eviscerate or use sarcasm when he said, "What's up?"

I gathered Secundo and brought him home. Propped him up on the couch and stayed next to him while he watched SpongeBob (oh, dear God, NO!) and I did my work.

Sure, I won't get fired. I work very hard and always meet my deadlines. I go above and beyond. But, I can guarantee you when I ask for a significant raise in a few weeks, my "flexibility" will be an issue. It won't be the reason they deny me the money that is standard in my industry. No, that reason will correlate with lack of investors that we seriously need. It will just put me in a place of disadvantage. No leverage. A potential submissive position (and you all know that I don't like to be submissive, unless we are doing some kinky role-play thing..)

Men who work outside of the home (all of them save about TWO) never have to deal with this. Their working wives always to the childminding during the work day if warranted. Even my best friend, who is divorced from the father of her children, still gets calls during the week the kids are in his custody, to get the kids from school if they are sick, or asks her to stay home with them because, "he has to be at work." And clearly, her boss will understand.

Secundo? Oh, he is fine. The minute we stepped into the house he was happy as a clam.

Release Me

2007-01-12T10:13:00.000-08:00

But I am chosing not to. That is the problem. I enjoy my fantasy in my mind.

I want it. Just give it to me and then let me have immediate amnesia. Let me enjoy and fulfill the desire, then "poof", all memories disappear.

But unfortunately I know myself and if what I want for a few hours did come true, I would definitely not let it go. And my possession would not be immune to the addiction.

Stop.

Obsession

2007-01-08T10:50:00.000-08:00

Or is it passion? I find myself constantly needing something to focus my energy. It is not as if I don't have enough to do in my life, God knows my days are full, but I have noticed a pattern. Either I discover something in the news that I must research fully, or I meet someone that has an interest in something somewhat foreign to my world and that person becomes my muse. And at times, there is no rhyme or reason to my obsessive "researching". Former obsessions include:

Oregon Pinot Noir
French cooking
Existentialism
Surfing
Running (always a constant)
Running attire
The perfect cup of coffee
Building my music collection
Guitar
Foreign language (to my children's dismay. Nothing like having mama speak in French or Swedish in front of their friends)
New Zealand
Writing a compelling trade joural abstract

And in the same breath, I chide Mr. Blu for his life-long obsession. Something that has never waivered since the day we met. His spiritual quest.

Do we believe in the same things? No, and why should we? One should believe in each other. I am just now, after 14 years of marriage, understanding the difference, and embracing our differences. I no longer tolerate. I accept.

And I am accepting my desire to always be a student, learning all I can in this life.

The Office Party

2006-12-18T11:55:00.000-08:00

"Blu, we have put you on the office holiday party committee."

"Why?"

"Because you are the creative one."

Sigh.

Every year it happens. A committee forms, and I am added without consent. I hate planning holiday office parties. Why?

Nobody really wants to go to these events, but feel obligated to do so in order to remain employed except for:
The one employee whose social life only exists in the office. He believes that all of us are his closest and dearest friends. We are not. We tend to hide or gloss over when he is in our path.
We spend most of our waking lives with these people and really don't want to see them during "off" hours.
I end up owing Mr. Blu for at least a month for making him be my escort.

This year, I suggested in lieu of a party, we sponsor a needy family. No dice. Item #2 lives for these events. It is his time to annoy, I mean shine.

Due to a huge deadline, I was able to remove myself from the committee. At the time it was a wise choice. However, when I arrived with the Blu family in tow, at the party on Saturday, my "creativity" was definitely missed. You know it is going to be a bad party when all staff members are just sitting at the round tables looking bored, while listening to the Chipmunks Christmas on the boom box.

The hors d'oeurves consisted of cheddar cheese slices and crackers. Scary nachos and a fruit plate. A few chicken skewers. Hot cider and coffee. What? No wine?

And because we were fashionably late, we had to sit next to my least favorite employee. Item #2. The one who creeps me out daily, making random sexual comments about me or about himself. If he was a divine soul, I would probably enjoy the innuendo. But he is not. He is the most unattractive person, physically, mentally and spiritually on the planet. And he thinks he is hot.

But I digress. We sit and eat mediocre food (who am I kidding. I didn't eat. Couldn't do it), listen to the Chipmunks ad nauseum, discuss Christmas preparations....children's movies....and the weather. All tremendously boring and trite. Mr. Blu mouths, "You owe me." and I nod.

Awards are handed out. No Entreprenuer of the Year award for me this year. I was dethroned. I suspect they really wanted to give me the "Mouthy Bitch" award, but decided against it.

So my point? Stop the insanity. No more holiday office parties, unless you are going to do it right, as to which will never happen based on dwindling budgets. Give me a bonus check, a ham, an ornament...I don't care. Just don't make me go to these social catastrophes.

Next year, I am giving my table mate a red Swingline stapler.

O' Christmas Tree...

2006-12-08T12:00:00.000-08:00

Yes, it is that time again. The Christmas tree adventure for the family Blu.

When Mr. Blu and I lived in San Francisco, sans children, we always got a Christmas tree. We would pay an insane amount for a tree that was drying up in a parking lot, because both of us were raised having a real tree in our living rooms during the holiday season. We swore that when we moved back to Oregon, we would cut down our own tree from a tree farm...no more tinder box trees for us! Years later, after doing just that, you will now find us in the cement tree lot. Too many adventures in cold tree farms with whining children have made us come to our senses.

The selection of the perfect tree always would lead to a disagreement. Mr. Blu seems to forget every year that I have a photographic memory when it comes to space and the objects that inhabit that space. (It is related to my party trick of having a precise memory of what people wore, drank and ate, who they stood by, and their mood. For years. It is a worthless gift I tell you, except when it comes to Christmas tree selection) Mr. Blu will find his version of a perfect tree and I will say it is too tall or too fat. He always says, "No it is not." I always reply, "Yes it is." This goes on for a good 20 minutes.

I usually concede (don't want to damage the male ego) and off we go hauling the tree on top of our car. I don't even want to go into the level of detail one particular person goes into when tying the bloody thing on to our car. I have the patience of a saint.

We make it home (after having a dialogue of, "Will you reach out of the window and see if the tree is slipping?" "No, it is too cold and the tree is practically superglued on the car. Are you not confident in your boy scout knots?") and suddenly discover that either:

1. The tree is too fat to get through the front door or,
2. The tree is too tall to stand completely upright in the tree stand

If the issue is #1, we struggle and push with all of our might to get the thing into the door. We are always successful, but covered with tree sap.

Obstacle #2 usually includes hacking off the top of the tree...

The one single activity that could potentially lead us to divorce court is putting the tree in the stand. I will say right now that I cannot fully comprehend what it is like to be under the tree, placing a too big trunk (see above tree issues that correlate with large tree trunks) into a metal stand while screwing bolts into the wood. I have never done it. But, somebody needs to understand that in order to hold the tree still, you have to be practically climbing the tree. This means you are too close to the tree to verify if it is straight. If you step back to gain a look, the tree tilts and the person under the tree becomes grumpy and might I add, surly. The tree holder is in a bit of a sticky wicket. The only way to get the tree straight is to secure it, then step back and look. If crooked, get back under the tree and readjust. Get up and look again. This may go one for 20 minutes. Accept it.

Lights. I am going to tell you my dirty, little secret. I know how to put lights on correctly. I just hate doing it. When we put up our very first Christmas tree as a married couple, I purposely threw them on knowing full well that Mr. Blu is a perfectionist (God love him). For FOURTEEN years, he has put on the lights. He thinks I am a light-applying idiot and let's continue with that falsehood shall we?

Ornaments. No help from Mr. Blu here. He is fed up by the time this task occurs.

After all the drama, we have a gorgeous tree. Even Mr. Blu, who really is Mr. Bah Humbug this time of year, will sit and admire the tree, even though I know he is secretly plotting to divorce me before the next Christmas season begins.

Fly the Friendly Skies

2006-12-01T08:12:00.000-08:00

I have been traveling a lot for work this fall. I just returned from Cincinnati, spending four days in a board room, only to surface when it was time to go out to dinner. My routine while there was to get up, hit the treadmill for four miles, shower, dress, pile in car with four other co-workers, head to partner office, sit in meetings for nine hours, go out for a cocktail and dinner, then meet back at the hotel with above co-workers to plan strategy for the next day.

And while I took away loads of creative ideas for our new product, I find that I am focusing on the trivial, mundane observations of my time in the airport and on the plane.

Ladies, please don't wear sweatpants or pajama bottoms on the plane. These garments are really meant to be used at home. Don't use comfort as an excuse. Many of us can dress appropriately and still be comfortable. Did you see the couple on the flight behind me from Cincinnati to Portland? Well dressed. Did you see me? Was I in sweats? No, I was not. The three of us did not sacrifice comfort either.
Guys, stop wearing shorts on the plane. It is fall/winter for the love of all that is holy. And, if you don't have divine legs, I don't want to see them. I also am tired of baseball caps. I see them everywhere. If you are not playing baseball or attending a sporting event, don't wear them. They are not appropriate in any other venue.
When standing in line to go through Security, please have your boarding pass and ticket in your hand. It is a bit irritating for the rest of us behind you to wait while you search your bag for these required items. And, all of us have been programmed to remove our shoes, belts, laptops and other items prior to pushing them through the scanner. It happens every time. Don't act surprised when they tell you to remove said items. Just do it so the rest of us can get on our way.
One carry-on and one personal item is all you need on your flight. You don't need that mammoth bag with all of your "important" stuff. Take a few tips from us business travellers. You don't need 3/4 of what you think you will need, and you certainly don't need it on the plane with you.
When boarding the plane, try to be quick about securing your personal items in the above bin. When you act befuddled in the aisle as you try to decide where to put your enormous bag and what you need to take out of it (should have done that before you boarded), you are holding up the queue. Watch how we do it. We have our book, laptop and iPod either separate (read: In our arms) or strategically placed in the front of our bag. We step IN to our seat row, remove our items, place them on the seat, step out quickly and place our bag in the overhead compartment. It takes less than 30 seconds.
Parents with children: I say this with the upmost respect as I am you. Please do not berate the flight attendant if the movie that your child thought he/she was going to see, is not available. They have no control over that. And by the way, your child is not royalty and a little bit of disappointment builds character.
Don't complain about the lack of food during the flight. Airline food is dismal anyway. And honestly, do you really need to eat? Eating out of boredom kind of explains why half of your body is in my seat.
When waiting for your luggage to arrive in baggage claim, you do not need to be practically on top of the conveyor belt. In case you were unaware, there are many of us waiting for our luggage with you. I find it frustrating to push you aside in order to grab my bag, that I spotted when it first came out of the shute. Move when someone is trying to get her bag. If you don't move, I cannot guarantee that you will not be injured as I frantically grab my bag with one hand and swing it out, because you do not have the courtesy to move 1 ft to your left.

And to the creepy gentleman who sat next to me: I am not from Sweden. I am an American. You overhead my minimal conversation in Swedish with the Swedish couple behind me. I am fluent in English. I just acted as if English was my second language and that I didn't understand you. Why? Because you would not SHUT UP and, well, you were a bit too freaky for my world.

Lottery woes

2006-11-17T10:46:00.000-08:00

Normally, when one hears the word "lottery", one thinks about the desire to win an obscene amount of money. It is a guessing game, and you go into the ticket purchase process knowing full well that you don't have a chance in hell in winning 10 million dollars.

For seven years, my running team (in various forms) has entered the Hood to Coast entry lottery and has been selected each time. 3000 teams apply for the 1000 spots. I think we were feeling a bit too smug about our participation. We actually filled out the forms and discussed van assignments with the belief we were already in for 2007. I even claimed my spot as Runner #1.

Team Aristrocrats was kicked to the curb. Shown the door. 86ed.

We were not selected.

Heather and I were moping on the phone this morning. We tried to find a positive. "Well, Van 1 will just have to focus on the half marathon and half tri in Bend in May. We will rent a house an make a weekend out of it."

That is all fine and good, and I am sure we will have a good time. But it is not the same. Trapped in a van with the same 6 people for a day and a half creates a unique atmosphere that cannot be replicated elsewhere.

And also note that being trapped in the van for a day and a half without your children allows 2 women in particular to just be focused on whatever they choose in the moment. The half events in Bend will include 6-8 kids for the entire weekend. I guess now, three of the men in our van will see what 99% of our daily lives are first hand.

God help them.

Type A - Missing for 72 Hours

2006-11-13T14:25:00.000-08:00

Primo and Secundo have voted me the "coolest mom ever" based on what I allowed them to do this weekend:

Watch endless movies
Pick-up said movies at a movie rental location, vs. free at the library
Allowed them to eat all of the remaining Halloween candy
Gave Primo permission to play XBox over his alloted 30 minutes per weekend
Played "Sorry" with them 5 times
Allowed them to sleep in my bed

Why? I have a whopping case of the flu. My throat is sore, my head hurts, my body aches, and I have 2 ENORMOUS deadlines looming at work. Mr. Blu is sick as well, but was on call all weekend, and yes, was called, thus we never saw him.

Oh, and the best part? The single act as to which crowned me the Queen of All That is Cool? I allowed Primo and Secundo to paint all over the kitchen wall with the reject paint color of choice (I am in the process of finding the perfect wall color that goes with my hideous blue countertops). For those of you who know me, this was a complete stretch out of my comfort zone. But artfully planned as it will motivate me to find that perfect color post haste in order to cover up:

"Secundo is a butthead."

ps. Huge thanks to the doctor who recommended www.radioparadise.com This alone, is helping me get through the drudgery of my deadlines.

Winds of Change

2006-11-09T09:04:00.000-08:00

The Dems pulled it off. They now control the House and the Senate. 12 years of Republican rule over. Locally, our Oregon Governor still remains a Democrat. Measure 43 was defeated (parental notification for minor abortions - a fundamentally flawed bill that did not garner my support), and more money will be funneled into the public school system. In addition, stem cell research was approved in Missouri, South Dakota defeated the abortion ban bill, and Arizona's ban on gay marriage was soundly overthrown.

Then, the kicker. Rummy resigned. I had a brief moment of celebration, until his replacement was announced:

Robert Gates

And who will be the lesser of the two evils?

Former CIA officer Mel Goodman's charges against Gates are cited in Mark Perry's book Eclipse: The Last Days of the CIA. Goodman said that Gates and CIA director William Casey were very much involved in the Iran-Contra scandal, having "purposely manipulated the Directorate of Intelligence in order to support the opening to Iran in 1985." Goodman also charged that Gates and Casey "consistently underestimated evidence of economic problems in the Soviet empire because the data did not accord with their own beliefs; they had suppressed and derailed intelligence estimates that called into question Soviet sponsorship of international terrorism; they had dictated a study that showed Soviet complicity in the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II when no such evidence existed."

Gates' successor, Judge William Webster, according to Perry's account, opened an investigation of Casey's and Gates' attempt to politicize the CIA. The Democratic Congress should subpoena the Webster investigation in the confirmation hearings of Gates to be Defense Secretary. In what makes the more recent lying about pre-war intelligence on Iraq seem like deja vu, Goodman said that Gates "had contempt for a process that was designed to allow independent analysis [and] the President of the United States was given falsified reports and uncoordinated analysis."

Gates obfuscation on Iran-Contra continues to this day. As President of Texas A&M University, Gates has been the host for the George H. W. Bush Presidential Library. In the bowels of the library are presidential papers that could shine a bright light on the Iran-Contra scandal. However, in November 2001, George W. Bush signed an executive order that upended the 1978 Presidential Records Act and permits the Bush Iran-Contra papers to be kept secret in perpetuity. The executive order also affects 60,000 pages of papers from the Reagan Presidential Library that include details of then-Vice President George H. W. Bush's role in Iran-Contra. Robert Gates has always been a trusted consigliore for the Bush family. At the Pentagon, he will undoubtedly use his two years to clean up for Dubya and suppress incriminating information on the Iraq debacle -- all in a continuing effort to protect the Bush family legacy. His nomination should be rejected.

But the larger issue, besides impeaching King George, is what to do with Iraq? There is no easy solution. Beyond trying to get our troops out and stabilizing the region, more needs to be done regarding the corruption instigated by our neo-con government. Robert Greenwald's movie, Iraq for Sale is a must-see:

Hundreds of billions spent, billions unaccounted for, no end in sight. Secret deals for businesses with high level connections to the White House allegedly running everything from food services to torture chambers with no oversight and no auditing.

This cesspool of Republican corruption would be an appropriate place to start asking questions. Just exactly where has all that money gone, who decided where it would go, how many Americans have died in the name of profit, and more importantly, who will be held accountable if and when criminal activity is uncovered?

And our administration's recent solution?

Forbes -- The U.S. armed services have requested a $160 billion supplemental appropriation to fund the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan in the remainder of fiscal year 2007 ...

Wicked Betty

2006-11-06T13:42:00.000-08:00

I want to be a Betty...a Cooha...a Quebee...a Salty Sister.

But first, I must be a Squid.

What is this you say? Has Blu lost her mind speaking in tongues again?

Folks, I am going to learn how to surf.

You see for years, actually decades, every time I am at the beach I say, "I want to surf." I did this when I was a child roaming Manzanita Beach every other weekend for 16 years. Every beach trip with Mr. Blu, Primo and Secundo, would find me analyzing the waves, or sitting at a microbrewery on the Central Coast watching surfers brave the cold water. After my Hood to Coast run, where we ended in Seaside, I am in the beer garden sharing horrible yaki soba noodles with teasing teammates, I can't move my quads without pain searing through my nerves and I am looking at the ocean dreaming about surfing.

I have body surfed and boogie boarded in Southern California, Hawaii, Mexico, Greece and Panama. It is time to take the next step.

I am going back to Panama in March. Little did I know that Bocas, my favorite island, is a surfing mecca. And, my friend Karen, who lives in Boquete near my parents, surfs the Pacific side. I will enlist her help.

I have the physique, blonde hair, blue eyes and love of the water. I was born to do this.

Unfortunately I will always be a cavefish.

Hangover

2006-11-01T15:40:00.000-08:00

It starts with the longing. You know you shouldn't, but you can't resist.

You try to fight that knowing. The anticipation of the feeling that will overcome your being when it hits your bloodstream.

It feels light in your hand. Ever so small. You know you will visit it again.

A delectable flavor hits your taste buds as it rolls on your tongue. You savor every moment.

You feel happy, joyous, alive. It is fleeting as the craving hits again and you are searching for more. You cannot rest until you infect yourself with the seduction.

Soon, you are aware of your new source. You dress them up and put them on the street. You give them strict instructions as to what is an acceptable score and that you will be nearby to protect them.

Once they are exhausted from their work and sent to bed, you find yourself taking more and more. Practically overdose.

And you wake in the morning with a hangover, but it is calling out to you, luring you into it's web.

Halloween. An addict's utopia.

Girl Next Door

2006-10-31T14:58:00.000-08:00

I call Mr. Blu while out of town visiting a friend with Primo and Secundo. I was distracted to begin with since the room had four very loud and active boys, and I was half-heartedly listening him recount his evening alone.

"So, I have to tell you something."

"Mmm hmmm."

"I was watching a movie last night. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and you know that actress that was in Elf?"

"Zooey Deschanel?"

"Yes, her. Well, as I was watching the movie I was suddenly aware that I was really attracted to her. You know, in the way you are attracted to Johnny Depp."

"Go on."

"I mean, here I am watching this and she is like the "girl next door", not a bombshell or seductress and I am aware that I find her quite appealing.

"Great....(insert wee bit of attitude here)"

"No, you don't get it. She is the cute girl next door who is ethereal, intelligent and direct. I finally realize why I am attracted to her.'

"Why?"

"She is you."

"I am the girl next door? Frankly, I don't know if that is really a compliment."

"No, it is. Sure, every guy has unrealistic fantasies about the Angelina Jolies of the world, and I hate to break it to you, you are not Angelina Jolie."

"Obviously. I don't have her lips."

"Don't you see? Don't you understand what makes guys swoon? It is the beautiful girl next door who is smart, witty, sarcastic, angelic, and has an underlying sensuality that surfaces when she chooses to reveal that part of herself that makes us fall."

"You forgot nefarious."

"That is a given."

"OK. I think I will keep you."

Settling Down

2006-10-23T09:51:00.000-07:00

Ah, the roller coaster of life hits and when you are plunging down the track, you have the feeling you are going to hit the bottom hard.

But then, suddenly you are up again, and the view is beautiful.

I spent my last two weeks after my trip to Denver in a grip of panic (literally), analyzing my life as I know it and pondering my overwhelming desire to change all that is familar. Why do I project my inner dissatisfaction onto my relationship, my family, my job, my sense of who I am in this world?

Why did I find him so appealing? Why did I even go there in my fantasy....the thought of physical and emotional intimacy?

Because he is appealing. And he was attracted to me. And that in itself is seductive.

But, I also fell for the idea of him. In my perfect world. And we all know that the world is not perfect.

Am I looking for more in my current relationship? Yes. Is it attainable? Definitely.

Can I find fulfillment in a new career? Yes. Does it need to change my entire being? No.

Does the attraction to a new person equate to a new life? Well, when one is bored and feeling overwhelmed with the daily happenings of being a mother, wife, executive and volunteer, the thought of a new life is alluring.

But wouldn't that new life just land you back in the current?

So, my Virgo, you are beautiful, intriguing and wise. You gave me the gift of feeling that initial, over-the-moon desire, and showed me your desire. But you also gave me the gift of your wisdom. Your wisdom allowed me to land firmly back on the ground and see the beauty in those few days.

Thank you.

Into Temptation

2006-10-12T09:23:00.000-07:00

He stepped out of his car and gave me an embrace, then opened the door, allowing me to sit in the passenger seat gracefully. We went for a drink and talked, just like we did for 28 hours in August.

But this time something was different.

We were nervous, cautious, guarded. He observed me fidgeting. I watched his hand shake ever so slightly as he reached for his martini glass.

We went to dinner. We were so engrossed in conversation that we forgot to order. Then we stopped talking and stared at each other. It was intense and we didn't care that the waiter kept circling our table.

I asked him what was going on.

And he said he wished that I was single.

I wished that as well.

But I am not.

And he is a gentleman.

We ate our dinner and went to his apartment to see the view he talked about so many times over the last 2 months.

Once we were there, we had to leave. We could not be alone. The chemistry was too intense.

We both used our heads instead of following our equal desires.

It was a moment that was beautiful, leaving me to wonder, what if you could alter time.

But I cannot, and he cannot. So here we are.

Wheat

2006-09-28T09:51:00.000-07:00

"Nothing's perfect," sighed the fox. "My life is monotonous. I hunt chickens; people hunt me. All chickens are just alike, and all men are just alike. So I'm rather bored. But if you tame me, my life will be filled with sunshine. I'll know the sound of footsteps that will be different from all the rest. Other footsteps send me back underground. Yours will call me out of my burrow like music. And then, look! You see the wheat fields over there? I don't eat bread. For me, wheat is no use whatever. Wheat fields say nothing to me. Which is sad. But you have hair the color of gold. So it will be wonderful, once you've tamed me! The wheat, which is golden, will remind me of you. And I'll love the sound of the wind in the wheat..."

I Can't Get No Satisfaction

2006-09-21T11:08:00.000-07:00

Ever have one of those days, weeks, months...of finding everything rather "meh"?

I am smack in the middle of boredom.

School has started for Primo and Secundo. The newness has worn off, and now we are settled into a routine. How mundane.

I frequently look at Mr. Blu and think, "I have selected YOU as my life partner? Oh joy..."

I find the waiting for a new job (shhh...I am looking at a big company and have worked my way into the conclave, but they are taking their time..) tedious.

I have three books I am in the middle of reading and haven't been able to get lost in the plot of these stories....

I don't feel like cooking gourmet meals, using my camera, or planning for the next event/holiday.

Depressed? No. I am just flat out bored.

If I could just accept this phase of boredom as for what it is, a phase, then I would be fine. But instead I fight it, complain about it, despise it with all of my being.

Sigh.

Violence and the Media

2006-09-07T10:36:00.000-07:00

I was at my gym last night after work. I put on my MP3 player and hopped on to the elliptical machine and started getting into my zone. In front of me (and everywhere actually) were three ceiling mounted televisions.

The tele to the left had a baseball game projecting from the monitor. Snore. The tele in the middle was tuned to Paula Zahn of CNN. The tele on the right was showing our local news. Each one had the dialogue typed on the screen for all to follow.

Paula Zahn spent over 10 minutes on SUV backovers onto children and the deaths that occured. Our local news showed a San Diego investigative reporter being brutally beaten by his "subject". The punch to the side of his head. The pulling of his hair. The clawing at his face by the perpetrator. You see him on the ground bleeding and writhing in pain. They repeated this scene SEVEN times in its entirety. SEVEN TIMES.

I felt as if I was being held hostage. I suppose I could have walked out of the gym, but I pay my dues and wanted to get a work out. I would look away, only to find my gaze going back. In disgust I would avert my eyes, only to find myself looking at the middle monitor to see weeping parents describing how they just didn't see their toddlers behind the SUV when they were backing up (what? !!).

Approximately 20 minutes of media time was spent on showing this violence. Violence of a few. Sensationalized violence.

That, combined with the never-ending commentary on all channels about Steve Irwin's death as well as the Jon Benet Ramsey situation last month, made my blood boil.

Let me take it to a basic level. A man was attacked. Children have died due to negligence. A child was murdered 8 years ago. A man who was a fixture on Animal Planet died. All horrible and sad.

How about showing the coffins of our military coming home from Iraq? How about showing the the death and destruction that is happening in Iraq by our own military and the insurgents? How about showing an Iraqi mother's pain? Put her on Larry King Live so she can express how devasted she is and how life will never be back to normal since her child has died.

When the Abu Gharib torture photos were shown on our media outlets, their was a huge amount of outrage by Americans. How dare the media show such atrocities! Yet, all eyes were glued to the monitors when a reporter was brutally beaten (and this was shown at 5pm....when children may be present). The video of Rodney King being beaten was on the news for months.

Is it easier to see a horrific scene if the instigator is just one? Do we not see that violence is violence is violence? Is it too hard to swallow when our own government is creating the violence?

And sadly, the media plays to our desires. It is a shame that we as a society only value what is sensationalized. Perhaps sensationalism distances us from the real discomfort, from the real truth.

Marvelous

2006-09-05T09:20:00.000-07:00

I am fifteen years old. I turn on the tele on a Saturday morning to watch American Bandstand. As I am sitting on the floor eating a bowl of cereal, a band that I have never heard of comes on. They play a song that has a catchy beat and I am mesmerized by the lead singer's voice. He has a fabulous range and his voice is soulful. I am hooked.

I rush out that day to buy the English Beat's album (yes, album). I listen to it all weekend.

Later that week, in my biology class in high school, I notice that this brilliant classmate of mine, who is part of the punk scene (I was very apple pie in those days...and a late bloomer) has an English Beat sticker on his peechee. I was always a bit of a shy girl, but suddenly I start talking to him about their songs, analyzing the lyrics.

He looks at me and says, "You know about The Beat?"

And right then, at that moment, I am considered cool, which is probably the most important thing to a fifteen year old.

The English Beat (which later morphed into General Public), The Specials, The Clash..became a part of my musical world. The majority of the kids at school were raving about Michael Jackson's Thriller, and I was, "whatever...have you heard "Stand Down Margaret?" "

The English Beat's music was always nearby as I aged. I played it in college. Played it while cleaning house. Played it on long drives from Portland to San Francisco. I introduced Primo and Secundo to their music. They love it so much, that they demand I play it during their birthday parties.

The English Beat came to Portland a few nights ago. Well, it is not the original line-up...really it is Dave Wakeling and some very talented musicians. But the sound, the beat, the energy are the same.

As Mr. Blu and I were standing in line to enter the venue, we overhear people talking about kids, jobs, divorce...all the things that life hands you. Every single person (and all of us were over 35) was thrilled to get out and hear music that lifts you up and takes you back to the days when you were carefree.

The gig starts and I am up front with my nephew (at 23, the youngest one there. It was time to introduce him to ska). Mr. Blu is back a bit (being tall and all). The crowd immediately gets to know each other. We are happy and we are dancing.

While dancing, I have no sense of time. My body just moves and moves and moves. The hall is hot. We are all sweaty. Complete strangers are smiling and offering you sips from their water bottles. Every once in a while I would catch the eye of a band member and smile. They are clearly having a fabulous time and the joy they feel is radiating through their music.

And then, it is over. The hall clears and I am searching for my purse, that I stored away for safe keeping behind some of the intrument carriers. Suddenly I hear,

"You are marvelous"

I look up, and standing right next to me is Dave Wakeling.

For a brief moment I remember when I first discovered him. I get butterflies in my stomach as I extend my hand out to shake his. Then we chat and I am calm. Remarkedly calm. I start seeing him as a human being, not the drop-dead gorgeous musician that was part of many a fantasy when I was in my teens (however, he is still drop-dead gorgeous).

I wake the next morning (and not with him...let's make that clear!), look at Mr. Blu and say,

"Just in case you didn't know, I am marvelous"

Because suddenly, I am that fifteen year old girl again who has been accepted by the alternative cool group.

And Mr. Blu says,

"I will never hear the end if this will I?"

Did I mention to you that Dave Wakeling thinks I am marvelous????

28 Hours

2006-08-29T14:02:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have not been a part of my world for the last several months...I ran the Hood to Coast Relay Race last weekend. You know, the largest relay race in the world...197 miles to be exact. 12 runners. 6 to a van.

My friend Heather, her husband Mark and I were in Van 1 with three men we have never met before (friends of the Team Captain). All three from Manhattan (except one was in the process of moving to Denver). One is a corporate star. The other two are cardiologists. All three are younger than Heather and I. All three are, well, divine.

Divine how you ask? Highly intelligent, wickedly funny, quick witted, devoted to the competition, and the best of all, they found Heather and I adorable (or so we like to think. Let's keep the fantasy alive shall we?). And it is a major feat to find us attractive after being in a van for 28 hours, sweaty, tired, dehydrated, etc...

Mark said something so profound after we returned from the race. He said he was so used to seeing Heather and I in an exhausted, irritated Mama mode, that he had forgotten what we are really like. And being without children, and totally exposed (extreme runs make you loopy so your social filters are down a bit), Heather and I became sassy, humourous, lively, funny, witty, at at times, I am sure of it, looked damn sexy (because there is nothing sexier than runner's hair, no make-up, that sweaty smell, and for me in particular, that washed out look...right? RIGHT???). They would dish it out and we would go right back at them.

Heather and I felt, for 28 hours, carefree again. Thanks to these divine men.

Quiet

2006-08-07T12:36:00.000-07:00

The days of summer with two boys are action packed and chaotic. Combine free time with two parents that work, but want to be involved in these summer activities, and you have a recipe for exhaustion.

I spent my Sunday with my family at a neighborhood celebration of summer. Activities, food, and entertainment all located in a shady park, which met my desire to keep my porcelain skin out of the scorching sun.

Of course, the only area that contained full sun was the public swimming pool, as to which Primo and Secundo begged relentlessly to attend. It is not as if these boys are deprived of swimming, as their grandparents have a pool that we use weekly...it is just something about public pools that create joy in their hearts, and dread in mine.

If I am not swimming with them (and yes, I love the water and I am a strong swimmer...I just don't think being in a crowded pool is "swimming"), I am on high alert making sure I can spot them in a sea of bobbing heads, which all look remarkedly alike when wet.

Primo can swim, so I am able to relax a bit. Secundo, not so much. He thinks he can swim which is a danger all of it's own.

So the chaos ensues complete with too much sun, and I have two very tired boys at the end of the day. They are on each others nerves, and frankly, their non-stop bickering frays mine. I eagerly await bedtime, and when the hour hand hits the magical moment, they are in their beds, fast asleep and I have some peace.

Later in the evening, I am in my own bed sound asleep with Mr. Blu. I hear the tell-tale thump up the stairs, feel the bed depress slightly and go back to sleep. I awake again to another thumping up the stairs, a jump into my side of the bed, and a warm little body that smells of shampoo and sweat nestles into the curve of mine.

In my state of semi-consciousness, I hear,

"I love you so much mama."

My heart fills, and all irritation melts away. I bury my nose into his hair, inhale deeply, and drift to sleep.

Le Tour de France

2006-07-18T09:42:00.000-07:00

Something you should know: I hate baseball. I dislike football. I tolerate basketball (with the exception of March Madness). However, I love soccer (football). World Cup was an addiction. Tennis? On it. Olympic Sports? Faithful.

But, the event that makes me giddy is Le Tour de France.

I have been staying up way too late watching Le Tour on OLN (because of course it is not shown during prime time...that must be saved for has been jocks to discuss the coming football, and that is not soccer, or basketball seasons...games that are not even live yet..but I digress). I am calling this "Le Tour de France Insomnia".

How do these men do this race? The sheer strength and dedication blows me away! They trudge on up the Alps (Stage 15?) and not one of them is in tears.

They also have some sort of power that enables them not to see the idiotic fans who jump out in front of them...way too close in my opinion...pumping their fists or waving huge flags. No, the cyclists just focus on the goal and keep pedalling. I would, if I was in that race, be screaming at the moronic fans, then ultimately kicking my leg out while going by to teach them a lesson.

Why is everyone focusing on the doping scandals? They should be debating the actions of the fans!

Check out Le Tour!

Edited to add: No! Landis No! Well that explains how you went from 11th to 1st in one stage.....

Aging gracefully??

2006-07-10T10:51:00.000-07:00

I spent my Sunday at the Oregon Country Fair...one of the grandest "hippie" festivals in the US. Set on private land, nestled in the woods, it is a festival of magic and beauty. Wonderful food, music, crafts, energy...with a "free to be free" vibe.

The fair has been going on for decades.

But it has changed. And I have changed.

OCF of the past (way past) was a psychedelic haze. Openly psychedelic. Many moons ago, when I was a young co-ed, I participated in that "haze" with joy.

Now, the fair has become more popular, which has drawn the attention of the Feds, which means such partaking in an altered state of enlightenment must be discrete.

Not that I have an option of partaking, even if I wanted to, which I don't. If you take children to the fair, you must be responsible.

So, I go to the fair with Mr. Blu, Primo, Secundo, my best friend, her boys, her divine boyfriend, another friend from Germany, and his lovely 4 year old daughter.

Prior to arriving at the fair, my best friend and I get our mojo on. Glitter on body and face, feather boas, exotic eye shadow, and urban hippy garb.

We eat our way through the fair. We notice the naked attendees (there are always some) and suddenly we stop. What happened? These naked bodies should not be naked. No, we have not turned into prudes, I assure you. It is just that some bodies should remain clothed.

Now, before you all get upset about my apparent disregard for bodies that are not perfect, just stop right now. Bodies do not need to be sculpted or the same.

It was more a realization of, well, the effects of aging.

BF turned to me and said, "Tell me, honestly, when I am naked, do my breasts look like that?"

And suddenly, we realized that we are rapidly approaching 40 and that we....

both look damn good.

Out of the mouths of babes...

2006-07-03T14:18:00.000-07:00

Blu knows how to throw a party...that is, parties for children. No planned activities. Just let them be, create their own agenda, feed them fruit and home made cake, provide a slip and slide, and call it a success.

Except for the hours before the party begins.

Being a perfectionist and knowing full well that all the mothers of these children do really snoop around your house and look at everything (it is true, face it), I go into high gear making sure that everything is spotless, pristine and perfect.

And if you get in my way while I am in this cleaning frenzy, you suffer the my wrath called:

The tone.

Hey, Mr. Blu doesn't call me "The Dictator" or "Evil Wanda" for nothing.

So the party ends, and Mr. Blu, Primo, Secundo and I get in the car to go out to dinner because I am too exhausted to cook anything wholesome.

My boys are chit chatting and suddenly one portion of the conversation is overheard:

Primo: "Secundo, if you had only one wish, what would it be?"

Secundo: "hmmmm, well, as much as we all would like to, we can't wish Mama away."

Primo: "You mean, you wish Mama would not give us the tone?"

Secundo: "Yes, she can be one evil mama. I think my wish would be for Tom (our malamute) to talk."

Mr. Blu gives me the look...you know, that smug, righteous look....that is well deserved.

Etiquette

2006-06-30T12:05:00.000-07:00

Open letter to all people who receive party/dinner/event invitations:

Perhaps you are not clear on the meaning of R.S.V.P

Perhaps the acronym threw you.

R.S.V.P = Respondez s'il vous plait.

Perhaps it is the French that threw you.

Here is what it does not mean:

Come if you want, no worries
Wait until the last minute to confirm (that is why people put "by" and a date)
I will call you the day before the gathering to remind you to let me know your plans

It means:

If you want to eat, you need to respond
If you want a drink, you need to respond
If you want a place setting, you need to respond
If you want your kid to get a goody bag, you need to respond
If you want me to think highly of you, that you actually have manners and were not raised under a rock, you need to respond

Honestly, how difficult is it to pick up the phone and say "Yes, we are coming." or "No, we can't make it."

Is this just another reflection on how our society is so self centered that we cannot take a few moments, consider what the host is going through (planning, preparing, etc..) to just place one phone call or shoot off an email (because always include my email for the phone phobic types)?

You are lucky that I have a good heart because I am preparing goody bags for all the invited kids tomorrow just in case.

Yes. I am an enabler.

So please, I implore each and every one of you. Join the etiquette revolution. RSVP. Be polite and gracious. Or pretty soon, we will be reduced to cave people (even though I suspect they RSVPed in their own way...)

Bah!

Happy Birthday Secundo!

2006-06-26T13:48:00.000-07:00

You turned 5 today Secundo. I woke this morning with a smile on my face remembering every detail of your birth. You entered this world with such gusto and force which has become a part of your personality today. Your persistence occurred with your conception as well. Daddy and I had planned to start the process of conceiving when Primo was 4. You know your mama...she must plan. But, you decided that your soul needed a body and found the precise moment when we had our guard down (read: no contraception).

I remember discovering that I was pregnant...so fearful to tell your daddy. He was overjoyed and I was disturbed. I was petrified to have another child. How could I love another as much as I love Primo?

Sitting on our living room couch the evening of June 25, 2001, having a discussion with your daddy while writing down the time of each contraction. No freak outs, no panic...just acting as if it was a brief interruption in our dialogue. I cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom (at 11pm) and went to sleep in the guest bedroom so I wouldn't disturb daddy or Primo.

Daddy came in later and told me it was time to go to the hospital. He said that the noises I was making while laboring in my half-sleep state sounded all too familiar.

I had no idea you would come so fast. Why would I when Primo took 17 agonizing hours to enter this world? When we arrived at the hospital I made Daddy park at the end of the parking lot so I could walk as much as possible to bring you down. And when I entered the L&D ward, I remember reaching the nurses station, squatting down, trying to tell them something. I worked through my contraction, then said, "I am Blu. I want a natural childbirth. Make sure you give me a pro-natural childbirth nurse." and the nurse said, "Yeah, we figured that out the minute you squatted darling."

Ripping off my clothes and hanging on to the bed. Finding out I was 6 cm at check-in. Not worried one bit when Daddy left to find your grandparents to hand over Primo. Then everything changed. Each movement was intense. Out of this world. I was losing myself.

Daddy arrived. Our midwife arrived. My two doulas arrived. I found comfort holding on to a handle I discovered at the top of the bed, making a low, almost chantlike noise. Daddy made the same noise with me.

Then you wanted out. Fast. I grabbed on to Daddy's thigh and pushed. Three times, perhaps four. And you were here.

I can't recall if you cried right away. I do remember thinking that you were one homely baby, but I loved you anyway. I grew another heart the moment I looked at you.

You slept all the time. Getting your beauty rest I suppose. You went from a scrunched up, swollen eyelids, broken blood vessels in the whites of your eyes, black haired baby to the tow-head blonde, big blue eyed angel that you are today.

Now you tell me about bugs, the solar system, the meaning of life, and Spongebob. You do your "funny shows". You convince me every night why you should sleep in our bed. You laugh and love with all you have. And, you have found your best friend in Primo.

I love you Secundo. Thank you for forcing yourself into my world.

Amado Mio

2006-06-23T10:03:00.000-07:00

I think I am a chanteuse in disguise. I find myself easily slipping into fantasy of becoming a torch singer with Pink Martini, or morphing into Lavay Smith and her Red Hot Skillet Lickers. Or, even becoming one of the "bottle blondes" (not far from the truth) of Pepe and the Bottle Blondes.

What I find hysterically funny is my inability to see that singing alone in the car, loudly and with passion, goes unnoticed. Just yesterday, driving home from work and idling at a stop light, I was passionately singing:

AMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADO Mio!

I could visualize myself on the European Tour with Pink Martini, perhaps singing in a Parisien lounge, or in a quaint Italian bistro, complete with a Chloe dress and a red flower in my chignon, ruby red lipstick....I had the fantasy complete....

When suddenly I am shaken into reality when a red neck in a hopped-up gas guzzler of a truck pulls up next to me and looks at me as if I have completely lost it. The moment our eyes met...a fleeting period of embarassment flickered in my eyes....and then he smiled.

Did he see the charcoal gray Chloe dress? Did he see the flower in my hair? Did he hear my beautiful voice (because, of course, in my fantasy, my voice is the voice on the cd)?

Or was he smiling the smile of "Check out the crazy lady in the Mazda..."

A good friend of mine has a mantra: Live your life out loud.

Would you be scared if I took my torch singing to the supermarket?

It is tempting.....

Crazy

2006-06-12T14:02:00.000-07:00

Women, as we age, enjoy the benefits of wisdom. We look at the ingenues amongst us and flash a knowing smile...as we have been as witless and care free as they, have lived through it, and eagerly await for the opportunity to supply sage advice.

And then, suddenly, without warning, we wise women find ourselves in a no-mans land. Fending for ourselves. Bound and determined to not obtain advice from the crones...the wisest (and oldest) of our sex.

I am talking about hormone changes.

No. Blu has not entered menopause. Blu is much too young for that. Blu can still create life on a regular basis thank you very much.

We women who are still in our thirties (late...) therefore not eligible for "the change" find that normal PMS is a thing of the past. Normal PMS includes some craving for chocolate, crying at commercials, and finding your mate irritating. No, late-thirties PMS is much, much different.

Homicidally different.

You are going about your daily routine when suddenly this overwhelming rage invades your body. Random acts of courtesy from strangers irritate you to the point of wanting to cause physical harm. The cashier at the supermarket, where I used my supermarket member card, proceeds to say, "Thank you Mrs. Blu. Today you save $5.31". Wha? Who are YOU to call me by my name? I don't KNOW you? And savings? Give me a fucking break! You have upped your prices so that those of us who are foolish to apply for one of these member cards (where you can track all of our purchases oh so Big Brother like) can suddenly see a savings on something that should have been sold for the original price before you greedy bastards decided to have more of a profit...and another thing: MRS???!!!! DO I LOOK FIFTY???!...ok..you see where I am headed. And no, we never actually say these things, but have a desire to and replay the scenario over and over in our heads during the drive home, the edited version that is, complete with vivid visuals of the cashier shaking with tears streaking her face.

Or, poor Mr. Blu, who deservedly needed a break from the chaos called "our children" and left for two hours to wander through a book store and pick up dog food for our beast of a canine, suffered my wrath upon his return because "how dare he leave the house (and yes, he asked first. And yes, I encouraged him to go)" when I have SO MUCH work to do and by the way, do you love me? You don't do you???!! His look of "Oh hell, is it that time again?!" reduced me to tears, bolting to my bed to find myself hours later staring at the ceiling wondering what the meaning of life may be.

Don't even get me started on my insatiable need for chocolate croissants and red wine...both of which will throw me into the land o' migraines...something that did not happen when I was witless and had minor PMS.

It is not fair. We women of a certain age, who work full-time either out of the home or in the home and have responsibilities (children), cannot sequester ourselves into some red tent surrounded by other women who know precisely how we are feeling. No, we must trudge on, trying to smile and do it all. However, really, down deep, we have this need to lash out and make someone else cry. To make them feel the insanity that consumes us, predictably, on a monthly basis.

And if you don't agree, then shut the fuck up.

Summer

2006-06-09T09:22:00.000-07:00

In a week, my boys will be out of school for the summer. Primo*, who is a creature of routine, is already mourning the fact that he will not be in first grade any longer. He goes to a small, private school, that only has one class per grade, so the "loss" he is projecting is really only about his teacher, as his classmates will all join him in second grade at the end of August.

Secundo*, is eager to leave pre-school and enter kindy. He is my "go with the flow" child, who rarely frets when a change in routine happens.

Primo and Blu are too much alike. I, too, am anxious about the change in routine. I need order, predictability, structure. I plan my days, months, years. I am tightly wound, Type A, and a control freak. The thought of a footloose and fancy free summer is terrifying.

How does one find a balance between structure and spontaniety? I crave this fluidity but fight against all that is associated with such freedom, as I have this fear that if I do not plan, chaos will ensue.

So what did Blu do to quell her anxiety over summer freedom? Summer lesson plans. Day camps. Swimming lessons. Play dates scheduled out into August. Technology free days (no tele, no XBox, no computer). And while Mr. Blu chides me for my Type A-ness, secretly I know he is thrilled to not have to worry about what to do with the boys.

The thing is, I do not recall my summers as a child being structured. We played non-stop. We tramped through fields and forests. Rode our bikes. Had campouts in our backyard. I would rush home to eat lunch, then bound outside to play with the neighbor kids...perhaps a rounding game of sardines, or bike races...or just swinging on a swing looking at the leaves of the trees. Our mothers were all stay at home moms....did they ever fear these spontaneous days of summer?

Probably not. Or maybe, the "go outside and find something to do" was their way of dealing with the stress. They forced us to entertain ourselves, instead of entertaining us.

Oh, to live in the 1970s again. The Valium generation.

*aliases to protect the innocent

Expectation

2006-06-02T14:14:00.000-07:00

A month ago, I found myself worried about my assumed reaction upon the anniversary of my solo trip to Lyon.

And then the date came. And I remembered my trip fondly. No tears. No panic. My experience made me feel alive. And through that aliveness, I discovered that my soul was not dead. The work that I did was painful. But through that pain came hope. And with hope came desire. And with desire, came peace.

The love and respect I hold for that moment in time can be overwhelming. The change that occured in many lives is astounding. Each person became introspective and grew to new heights in life...in ways that seem impossible.

Don't ever stop being a seeker.

Rain

2006-06-01T10:49:00.000-07:00

The comfort of rain. The atmosphere slows me down, lifts me from the unconscious frenetic way that I conduct most of my days. The sound of the drops hitting my window make me pause and listen. The smell of the spring water breathes freshness into my body, the damp ground creates a gentle step, an awareness of where my foot falls.

In this rush that is the American lifestyle, I can pause, reflect and be still. Even if it is only for a moment.