Baby Shark

I am a big fan of Ted Lasso - very positive, always happy, melodrama and relief.... 

I'm a big fan of my family too - David (aka LOML), Tony (aka OLOML) and Paige (ALOML).  Please use those acronyms interchangeably...

Husband Shark doo doo doo doo doo doo

Paigey Shark dooo doo doo doo doo doo

Tony Shark doo doo doo doo doo doo doo 

You get it. 

And you're welcome for the earworm... (sorry)

I talked to my brother Jim yesterday. We caught up, laughed a little, caught up some more, laughed a lot.

The last time I saw Jim he was surrounded by my other siblings - Corinne, John and Cliff.  And I spent the entire evening holding my cheeks - the ones on my face - because they (my siblings) made me laugh. To see their eyes open and water, the creases crease, the age show but the moments of our youth glow. To see the life we've lived reflected in the life we're trying to live with the life we once knew. That may not make sense and it probably shouldn't but it does.

Fazzolari.  It doesn't work with the Baby Shark beat. But does it not?

Fazzo - shark doo doo doo doo doo

lari shark doo dooo doo doo doo

Too many doos and not enough Fazzolari's in those sentences.

2024 was the first year we (meaning my siblings and me (minus me) didn't get together for Christmas Eve with a real plan. I guess all of it was an afterthought. "Oh yeah... I have family..."

I'm a pretty horrible person for assuming that it would go on without my input. It did. I'm horrible.

I don't even know how to write this post.

I miss my family. I miss Corinne singing Mariah Carey (kinda), I miss Cliff's laugh, I miss John throwing out the eye-rolling obvious comeback, I miss Jim's words that make us say "holy shit-did-he-just-say-that?" and I miss laughing at and with all of them. 

And...

Jeffrey Shark doo doo doo doo doo

Damn it.

My dad...

My Dad Shark doo doo doo doo doo

The earworm got me after eight years and fifteen billion views... 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqZsoesa55w   or

Jamie Tartt Doo doo doo doo doo 

  

Butt Jokes

I’m existing on a little over three hours of sleep today. Was wide awake at 4am, chugging MiraLax polluted by Gatorade as the final act of a colonoscopy prep this morning. 

As I quipped yesterday, it was a pretty shitty way to start the new year. 

But it wasn’t only the physical discomfort that had me awake so early. I was panic-stricken and in the throes of an anxiety episode.

I spent a little over a year worrying and anxious over a pain in my left abdomen. It was scary enough that I lost quite a few pounds (turning fifty sucks (I never appreciated the body I used to have until it was gone)). 

I scheduled doctor's appointments - got some blood tests, a CAT scan on my organs, and nothing. Phew. But why the pain?

Was it scar tissue from my partial hysterectomy? Maybe.  Not likely. Was it related to the swollen lymph nodes in my armpit? Maybe. Not likely.  But what about my shoulder pain? But what about my runny nose? 

BUT WHAT IF IT’S MENOPAUSE?

The pain didn’t go away. 

But, but, butt. 

So an endoscopy and a colonoscopy was scheduled in September. Then they canceled due to a hospital emergency.  The next appointment I could get was January 2, 2025.

I honestly worried - due to a sometimes inconsolable anxiety - that I wouldn’t make it to 2024.

Anxiety sucks too. 

I went through with the colonoscopy this morning and when I woke, I was relieved. I lived through it. 

In a fog, I asked how it went. 

“Oh, it was fine. We’re testing a couple polyps and you may have diverticulitis but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“So, clean as a whistle?”

No reaction other than, “Now let me get the needle and IV out.”

“Okay. Hopefully, they’ll be easier to remove than they were to put in.”

“Yeah, it’s tough to get pricked so many times.”

“That’s what she said.”

The nurse didn’t laugh.  Didn’t even crack a smile. 

I did. Though I might’ve still been under the influence of the sleepy cocktail, I do like a good “that’s what she said” joke. 

Now, I’m sitting here:


Grateful.

Less too worry about. I may sleep easier without the anxiety. The pain is still there but it’s way better to isolate that pain from the worry. 

I only write this today because I know I’m not the only one who worries like I do. 
It will be okay. Even if it’s not, it will be. 

I learned that today. I also learned that I never did like Gatorade. 

Ode to Candy

Bulging tires on a 2013 two-door… money out the window for new tires since I can’t risk injury to my child ever. Tony will get a new set of tires for his beloved car, and he'll also get Candy for a few days to hopefully appreciate her excellence above all other cars; or at the very least appreciate why I love her.

So, I suppose this post is an ode to my Lincoln – a 2011 MKS bought by me while I was in the throes of grief over having lost my dad two weeks before buying it. The salesman saw me coming from a mile away, the vacancy in my eyes as I tried to decipher the everyday tedium of existing without my dad in the world. He saw tears well in my eyes when I saw the car in the parking lot, facing the traffic, a big red bow waiting for me to unravel it.

I sat in it and thought “This is our car, Dad. I’m going to drive it out of here today.” And I did. 

I named her Candy after a Springsteen song and a Natalie Merchant line – “Candy everybody wants.”

I handed the keys to Paige the day she got her learner’s permit and cried. Not because my baby girl had reached a milestone but because my baby girl would be driving Candy around town.

As often happens, the first accident was a rear-end accident. Candy was the rear-ender driven by Paige.

Paige called me, frantic.

“Mom, I got in an accident. I’m on Route 100, I can’t get out of the road. The cops are coming…” I got in my car and drove as fast as I could to get to her, driving on the shoulder of the trafficked highway, following her path on Life360, going to where she was supposed to be.

I got there. I saw part of Candy’s grill on the side of the road. I didn’t see Paige or Candy. Frantic again, I dialed Paige’s number.

“They made me get off Route 100. Take the first exit.”

Okay. Good.

Candy was hurt and moaned whenever we started her up, complaining that the right parking sensor was out of whack. I didn’t have the heart to tell Candy it no longer existed. She could still drive, so all was well.

The second mishap with Paige and Candy happened at three o’clock in the morning during a snowstorm – a rare snowstorm in Odenton, MD.

“Mom, the wheel fell off Candy.”

“What? What are you talking about? Where are you?”

“Outside, in the intersection coming into the parking lot.”

“TF?”

I pulled on my boots and a winter coat, and there she was.

Paige stood beside her, pointing. “See?”

The wheel was indeed off the car. I had already dialed the tow truck and he was pulling up as I mourned the loss of another piece of Candy.

It was towed, the wheel falling off was part of something that was still under warranty – even 10 years later because that’s how Lincoln does…

“I don’t want to drive this car anymore.”

Waah… you don’t want to drive a luxury car with 375 horsepower, power everything, leather everything, and… 

“What? You’re nuts.”

In comes the piece of shit 2015 Ford Escort or Escape or whatever the slimy used car salesman sold me. Paige was happy. She got a hatchback piece of shit instead of a regular old piece of shit.

Candy was mine again. I loved her and hugged her but didn’t get her fixed up.  Tony was next.

I handed the keys to him. He was happy to have her and parked Candy nicely on the side of the road, out of harm’s way.

In the morning, I heard him leave for school.

“Wait, why am I hearing him leave for school?” I peered through the window and there they went – Tony and Candy.  Candy no longer had mufflers.

When he got back from school, I greeted him outside.

“TF?”

“Oh,” he giggled. “It sounds so much better. I want to get the air intake…”

“No,” I interrupted.

“No, it’ll be cool..”

“No.”

End of story until Tony calls me and says, “You’ll never believe what happened to Candy.”

I sighed and imagined my bank account leaking dollar, dollar bills yo.

“A rock fell out of the back of some guy's trailer, flew in the air, and landed on the sunroof. The entire sunroof smashed. What should I do?”

“TF?”

He sent me pictures of the vehicle that was supposedly in front of him with the license plate. “You should call the insurance company. Make him pay. Maybe you’ll get a new car out of the deal.”

Teenagers know nothing.

Then Tony said, “I don’t want to drive this car anymore.”

“You’re nuts. She’s an amazing car.”

After I said this, Tony looked at Paige and they rolled their eyes in unison.

Okay, so I finally had no reason to keep her. I decided I’d throw in the towel and just donate her for a tax break after I got Tony a new car – a 2013 Scion that grew bulging tires over the last few months.

We were at dinner with Ben, my husband’s son.

“Yeah, I’m just going to donate her…”

“Are you going to donate her to me?” Ben looked at his dad and shrugged.

Candy was back in the game. Ben would drive her.

She had some trouble starting – a bit of the Covid got her I suppose. Ben became proficient in using jumper cables.

Then one day he said, “I don’t want to drive this car anymore.”

I rejoiced! I jumped up and down when he parked it in my driveway with a nice dent along the entire passenger side,  and immediately began cleaning out the dirt of three teenagers – garbage, shoes, clothes, the engine cover in the trunk… pieces that had broken off the interior.

I scrubbed that car all day, cursing all of them, apologizing to Candy and swearing to take care of her forevermore.

But since I’m a good Mom, and Candy is the savior of all cars, I let Tony borrow her for the week so I could pay to get new tires on his 2013 piece of not-a-Lincoln-car.

He called me about an hour into the drive back to Maryland. “Mom, Candy’s not doing well. When I floor it, she barely accelerates.”

“Don’t fucking floor her.” I nearly cried. “Please just take care of her so I can get her fixed up. Your car will be done on Friday. Please take care of her until then.

“Uh, okay.”

Flooring it… TF?

They can all roll their eyes – my children, his children, him, the dog, the neighbor, the mechanic.  Roll away…

Candy is mine. She’s all mine from now on.

Changes

 We’re down to the last few days of 2024 and it’s a bit crazy to me to recall a conversation I had with friends as a teenager, envisioning how old I’d be in 2025. How 2025 was worlds away and there was no way we’d ever get there – not that we wanted to get there. We wanted to jump ahead five years, maybe ten but thirty or forty years ahead wasn’t part of the vista.  Nor should it have been.

Paige & Tony are where I was thirty years ago. Young, inexperienced, hungry (literally & figuratively) and spending every day trying to navigate being an adult… waiting for that time to come.

It never comes.

I have yet to grow up, to feel old, to be at the age where I am wise and embracing the way time seems to be vacuumed from my life, taking my youth and energy with it.

There are days when I think I’ll get there… you know, where I’m steady, breathing, calm and complacent with everything around me.

I used to think that it would come when I figured everything out about myself, embracing the ways I tried to do it – where I studied the bible and went through the whole “let go, let God” phase and it comforted me when I needed it. I let go, and He went to work. I turned out okay.

I went through the self-help books, crying and hoping, hoping and despairing. They helped for a time until I discovered Dr. Phil was and is just as fucked up as the rest of us – that the self-help books I read were written by people who were also trying to figure it out, paying for plastic surgery and Botox to make themselves feel better all while plugging their personal steps and processes to make it.

It never comes.

The knowledge, the wisdom, the security. It never comes and I’m going through another phase where I think it should never come. I mean, the beauty in this world is discoverable and the sky is different every single day – it can be pink, or red, or filled with white billowy clouds or foreboding black rain clouds. It gets noticed every day or it doesn’t. The water on the lake flows differently every day or sometimes not at all, where it’s as clear as glass, as though the world beneath it is also frozen.

Inside, memories come and memories go, and they’re never the same – there’s always a detail that gets missed with each iteration or an emotion that needs to be felt in any particular moment. The thoughts, the fears , the anxiety and the comfort are all different somehow – never the same; so how could I possibly feel old or as though I’m all grown up when nothing is stagnant?

Change is the means for giving and getting time out of this world – time for new memories, new beauty, new growth; time for old memories, remembered beauty, our youth.

I can’t wish for yesterday and I’m no longer hoping for tomorrow. I’m just sitting here, watching the sky as it changes and the lake as it flows.

The Happy Six and Me

Sometimes you meet a person and you feel instantly connected. I had that experience this past Friday except it was with six people.  I’ll refer to them as the Happy Six going forward.

The Happy Six invited me to attend their book club this month.  They read Eyes on the Horizon and wanted to discuss it with me. I think I may have learned more about the book from them than they learned from me. The experience was wonderful and it solidified my love of writing – specifically novels. I fell back in love with my characters simply because the Happy Six got to meet them – kind of like introducing two people you absolutely love and seeing how they hit it off and understand them to the depth you understand them. Kind of like that.

I introduced Claudia to the Happy Six with trepidation and a smidge of anxiety. After all, she’s quite mental throughout the book – sad, self-destructive, and depleted of hope.  They loved her.

I introduced Rose and Brooke, Maddie and Henry, and a couple psychiatrists, along with a real loser, Nigel. They liked all the characters. They may not have liked Nigel but they understood his role in the story and unfortunately, recognized that there are people like him in the world.

None of them hesitated to share their opinions or stories of grief and trauma. Everyone is grieving in some way, everyone is experiencing some kind of trauma. Everyone needs empathy, sympathy, and the acknowledgment that they're not alone in their journey. 

As we talked about the characters in Eyes in the Horizon, I observed the new characters in my life. The Happy Six is happy because they move together like hockey players on the ice.

There’s Lorie. She's sweet, smart, and full of entertaining stories that her daughter, Briana, flavors with some of the funniest quips I’ve heard in a long time. The love between them is obvious and Briana uses it to drive her mother nuts and at the same time, comfort her. It was a joy to observe. And it was also a joy to observe Briana’s love of teaching. I was happy to see she had a kinship with my character Rose because of it.

Louise was very warm, very kind, and so open and honest with her own stories and experiences that I got the idea she needed a pen and some paper to write them all down so she can share them with the world. 

Bridget was quiet, observing everything; and quick to nod and smile as she listened to her friends talk. And they talk a lot! I loved it. I loved the way Bridget absorbed the compliments from her friends as she embarks on saying yes to the dress - acknowledging their excitement but clear that "she'll know when she knows". I can’t imagine she’ll look anything but beautiful in whatever she wears.

Martha entered the room with a confidence and aura of contentment that almost seemed unusual given the amount of children she has! Franklin, her wee baby, does look like her, and has the coolest name I’ve heard in a long time. I absolutely loved her viewpoints about the book – especially because she liked it! – because she wasn’t shy about offering her opinion of Nigel, Brooke, and the ending. 

Last but certainly not least, Rochelle. She is quietly sweet and kind, empathetic in a way that makes everyone else in the room comfortable. I loved the comments she made about the book, but I also loved the way she made me feel welcome from the very first moment we greeted each other in Lorie’s driveway. Before we started discussing the book, she handed me a basket filled with Buffalo goodies from the Happy Six . Chocolates – sponge candy!, a beautifully scented candle, a Bills bracelet – Go Bills!, a Buffalo tumbler, bath essentials and a bottle of champagne.

Warmth.

Welcoming.

Wonderful.

I asked to become an honorary member of their book club and will attend whenever I’m in Buffalo and they’re meeting up. I intend to read along with them as I now have a new set of friends.  The Happy Six and me. 

It's Not Over, It's Just Beginning

I wonder if my best writing is behind me. I wrote Eyes on the Horizon amid great mourning. My heart was broken, my marriage was disintegrated, my day-to-day consisted of existing for the next day without doing something stupid and messing it all up. The years flew by. The kids, now grown, grew up while I existed in this weird place of growth.

I did grow. I learned that people you think you love sometimes suck. I learned that the ideal job doesn’t last when the company decides to accept the payout. I learned that cars break down, dogs die, houses sell, court cases are lost, and tears get shed.

Years of this. Years and years of all these ups and downs. The days where you fall asleep with a smile on your face because, well, “it was a good day.”

I’ve cried with characters that I made up in my mind! That’s amazing.

Yet, I do wonder if my best writing is behind me.

Maybe I’ve cried my last tear, felt my last giggle, killed my last annoying-in my face-buzzing and laughing fly, lost my last pound, cared about my last wrinkle, written my final email…

That’s how life is right? You don’t know if this is the last of all of it – good, bad, stress, love, fear, laughter, beauty, darkness, solitude, or merriment.

Maybe it’s all behind me now.

Maybe falling in love and laughing until my sides hurt with my very best friend made me this way.  Maybe this awesomeness made me a bad writer and I’ll never be able to soar again… to feel the speeding heart, the oxytocin in my brain waves, the thrill of zapping that annoying fly.

A second ago, I went outside and called for my cat, and my anxiety is sometimes so bad that I think, “Damn, the hawk got him” and I just think that the pain of losing him will be so horrible and I think about breaking the news to Paige & Tony and telling them, “I think the hawk got Goose”. Then I walked inside and started writing.

Goose just jumped on my lap and now I’m happy, and smiling again because the things I think in my head always seem to be worse than my reality. Until they’re not. And maybe the joy of seeing him after I experienced the darkness of my thoughts is how I exist now.

That’s messed up, no?

I’m happy these days. Happy that I finally got the courage to publish Eyes on the Horizon. Happy every time I nail an email at work and “get it” and “feel it” and know that I’m an asset; happy with every message I get that says, “I read your book in two days. I couldn’t put it down;” happy to see smiles on my own face. Happy. And anxious and worried. And anticipating, always anticipating that the dark cloud is going to stop and sit over top of me.

Life itself.

But right now, I’m happy.  I saw Springsteen in concert on Saturday at Nationals Stadium in D.C. and… well, my soul, my spirit, my joy was soaring and still is. Bruce is and always will be my muse, my hero, and a very close friend.  

I’m not done writing. I’m just getting started. Play the songs, Bruce!

Waah, waah, waah. I'm hideous

 Who knew the release of a book came with emotional baggage? Since announcing the release of Eyes on the Horizon and then seeing it for sale online, my nights have become sleepless. Is it good enough? Will my readers understand what I'm trying to say? Did I say it clearly?

The answer to each of these questions is YES! and NO! and I DON'T KNOW!

It took a minute, but I had the epiphany that not all the readers will like it or understand it.  And I'll never know if I said it clearly because as Einstein might stay, clearly is relative.

But enough about the book. I'll have plenty of time to ruminate about that. I want to talk about the emotional baggage that I've been carrying for so many years and thought I had shed. The baggage is there, stuffed into plastic garbage bags, taken to the street and dropped at the dump for a time... all  those secret (not so secret from my husband and loved ones) insecurities that rear their ugly heads just when I think I've beaten them down and dumped them.

I'm in my 50s for crying out loud! Enough with the emotional baggage and whiny insecurities. Yet, I think it's the human condition.

I'm late to the game but I've been binging Game of Thrones. It was popular for a reason because it highlights that human condition. The fear that breeds evil, the need for power that never abolishes the deep insecurities. And there are quite a few psychopaths in there. I cheer when they're shamed or sliced or beaten. I cheer when the good overcomes. I cry every time a freaking dire wolf yelps.

Prior to this binge, I watched Ted Lasso. It is and will always be one of  my favorite shows because the human condition is highlighted there as well.  All the weird things we say and do to keep our secrets hidden until one day - or many days - they're not. It's full of joy and kindness, fear and worry. It's the kind of show that needs to be made. Happy tears, poignant tears and hearty laughs.

What was it that made me so unsure of myself? So replete with doubt that I freeze in a swirl of thoughts and anxiety?

I remember going to a Tony Robbins event one time. It was when I was at the peak of my insecurities and I wanted to banish them forever.  We were put into groups of three and the instructions were to make a statement about yourself that you believe is true but others may not see or even know you think it.  My statement was: "I'm so fat and ugly, and I'll never accomplish anything."

How's that for horrible?

Anyway, we were told to make the statement and then have the other two people react to it.  I made the statement and one of the people responded by saying, "Oh my God, you're not fat or ugly. You can do anything!" Very sweet, indeed.

The other person put his hands to his sides, lowered his head and shoulders and in the whiniest voice I ever heard said, "Oh poor me. I'm so fat and so ugly and I'll never accomplish anything." He sort of stomped his foot and then wailed like a baby. "Waaah, waah, waah, I'm horrible. Hideous!"  

He repeated it until we were all bent over laughing. 

It was the best lesson I've ever gotten about self-esteem and it depleted about 85% of my insecurities from that day forward. 

The remaining 15% are vicious,  I won't lie. Yet, when I start to feel lousy, I think in a whiny voice "Waah, waah, waah. I'm hideous." It breaks it for me and I'll forever be grateful to the stranger who made fun of me.

So I'm anxious about the book and about people's reactions to it. Waah.

People may hate it. Waah.

People may love it. Yeah?

People may need it. Yeah?

I wrote a book and became vulnerable in those pages. I shared a part of myself, a part of the human condition that messed me up, a part of the human condition that helped me soar. 

I wrote a book and released it out into the world. 

I'm halfway done with book number 2. It's about dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. Yeah?

Yeah.