Yesterday I was having a really bad day.
I don’t know why. I’m sure it was hormonal or astrological or maybe even ontological – (love the way that word rolls off the tongue!). But all day I wanted to punch someone in the face, well not really someone, everyone. My rage was not discriminatory.
I warned my husband and older son that today was not the day to push me. And wisely they both backed off. Now, of course, I was probably in that mood because of the older one’s fit the night before which made my mood dour, but that’s beside the point. I think we should eliminate the age 15 altogether and just skip to 16- like hotels don’t have 13th floors. It’s just a bad age. Period.
But, as I said, I’m an optimist. Always have been. I can’t stay down more than a few hours. So after I day dreamed of boxing my way out of a multitude of situations, including nerf-darting a few cars driven by idiot drivers – wish I could say all were men, but no there was one moran of a woman too who couldn’t figure out how to get out of her own way much less mine and naturally was talking on her cell phone – obviously incapable of multitasking, I went running. Then I sat down to write outside on my lovely glistening new laptop while nasty child number one had hoops practice. By the time he was done – about an hour later, I was a changed person.
Now this morning I get up, open the paper and read about a guy I know, who 17 months ago had his wife suddenly die of a brain hemorrhage. Today, he’s under arrest, suspected of killing her by strangulation! How incredible is that. I always say you never know what’s going on in someone else’s house. It may look like the grass is greener, but that’s just ‘cause they’re secretly painting it.
Suddenly my life has drastically improved - simply due to the fact that my husband, son or any number of people I gave the evil eye to yesterday didn’t kill me overnight. Then I read from one of my Twitter followers that he hates his wife and wants a divorce, which he actually took the time to s-p-e-l-l o-u-t, meaning to me that he must have been pretty steamed when he wrote it. And again, my mood improves. That misery loves company thing really works!
But back to being an optimist. So the bottom line of this whole optimist thing is that no matter how bleak it seems at one moment, the next one is going to be better if you just stick it out and recognize that the foulness, whether you understand it or not, is fleeting.
So today, when I clicked through my email, I was pleasantly surprised to find some old and some new friends on Twitter. Life is good. Today is truly a brand new day.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Ya Just Gotta Love the Navy SEALs
As many of you already know, I do. And I think it’s about time they got their due. Though I’d bet my last dollar that all this attention is making their collective skin crawl.
I have spent quite a lot of time reading about and interviewing SEALs then fictionalizing and romanticizing those accounts of how and what they do. Their job, their vocation, I wholeheartedly support, admire and even fetish to some degree. And, I for one, do not think they have enough latitude to do what it is that they are trained and experienced to do.
I have written A SEAL in Uniform, now available online, and am in the process of writing SEAL Master for publication as well the sequel to A SEAL in Uniform called Third Times a Charm. Ironically, in this sequel, there is a dramatic SEAL rescue scene of a passenger cruise line taken over by Somali pirates. The SEAL, newly promoted Commander Joseph William Mallory, is on his honeymoon, touring Kenya, Tanzania and Madagascar, when the Silver Sea cruise ship he and his bride are on, crossing the Mozambique Channel, just south of the Gulf of Adan, is hjacked by pirates. Mallory has the insider scoop on what’s going on aboard and, while risking his own life, feeds the SEAL team invaluable information to foil the crime.
Now while my fingers are not as fast as my imagination and I have yet to get that scene to print, I’m thrilled to know I’m on the right track. And while I know what happens in my book, I’m even more pleased to know that the results in real life have turned out extremely well for Captain Phillips and which ever SEAL Team answered that call for help.
I’d also like to say, appropriate at this time, that the extremely well-trained SEALs know exactly what needs to be done and ought to be allowed to take control of scourge in the Indian Ocean, swiftly and lethally putting an end to ocean piracy.
I trust the SEALs. They train hard and work even harder. Sure there are renegades in every field, but they are the exception to the rule. Let the SEALs spread fear otherwise known as justice among the outlaws in Mogadishu and throughout Somalia. Give them free reign to squelch pirating and bring lawfulness back to the seven seas.
I have spent quite a lot of time reading about and interviewing SEALs then fictionalizing and romanticizing those accounts of how and what they do. Their job, their vocation, I wholeheartedly support, admire and even fetish to some degree. And, I for one, do not think they have enough latitude to do what it is that they are trained and experienced to do.
I have written A SEAL in Uniform, now available online, and am in the process of writing SEAL Master for publication as well the sequel to A SEAL in Uniform called Third Times a Charm. Ironically, in this sequel, there is a dramatic SEAL rescue scene of a passenger cruise line taken over by Somali pirates. The SEAL, newly promoted Commander Joseph William Mallory, is on his honeymoon, touring Kenya, Tanzania and Madagascar, when the Silver Sea cruise ship he and his bride are on, crossing the Mozambique Channel, just south of the Gulf of Adan, is hjacked by pirates. Mallory has the insider scoop on what’s going on aboard and, while risking his own life, feeds the SEAL team invaluable information to foil the crime.
Now while my fingers are not as fast as my imagination and I have yet to get that scene to print, I’m thrilled to know I’m on the right track. And while I know what happens in my book, I’m even more pleased to know that the results in real life have turned out extremely well for Captain Phillips and which ever SEAL Team answered that call for help.
I’d also like to say, appropriate at this time, that the extremely well-trained SEALs know exactly what needs to be done and ought to be allowed to take control of scourge in the Indian Ocean, swiftly and lethally putting an end to ocean piracy.
I trust the SEALs. They train hard and work even harder. Sure there are renegades in every field, but they are the exception to the rule. Let the SEALs spread fear otherwise known as justice among the outlaws in Mogadishu and throughout Somalia. Give them free reign to squelch pirating and bring lawfulness back to the seven seas.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
On Being Feminine
Another jog to my thinking process arrived online recently and this one was about being feminine. I’d like to credit whoever sent it to me, but I can not recall and didn’t save it. Sorry.
It struck me because as I write SEAL Master, I’m trying to describe what makes my heroine feminine and my hero masculine. I’m interested in the polarizations. The opposites so I can play up the tension and the attraction, but there is a line. And in real life, as I wrestle with my own femininity, I vacillate between spending time on it and doing other things.
Being feminine takes work. I watch other women. Some seem to be female and attractive effortlessly. Not me. It takes hours. If I want to feel or look feminine, I wash, dry and curl my hair. I wear earrings and other jewelry. My toenails have to be polished. Various parts of my body are shaved. I wear mascara and blush, then strategically spray perfume on selected parts of my anatomy. I wear a dress or skirt unless shorts or jeans are warranted and then I choose a form-fitting and flattering shirt. And I wear heels. All this takes at least two hours. And while I do this on Saturday nights to go out with my husband, and sometimes other nights when I have a special gig, I’d much rather spend that same time writing or running. So in general, I wrap my hair around a pony tail holder, skip the makeup, and rely on jeans or shorts, maybe a cute tee and call it a day. Needless to say I’m missable on the average day.
So I reason that if being feminine takes so much time, being masculine must too. And that’s the arena in which I want to play. Let’s call it the “just how manly is that man” game. And SEALs are my heroes because they are the epitome of masculine. Just how much time would you think one spends on being masculine? I’m guessing 23 to 24 out of the 24 hours everyday. I’m giving him 60 minutes, though not consecutively, when he is not overtly manly, and I’ll explain below
He’s a SEAL. So, on duty, he’s doing Navy guy stuff all day. He wears boots and sweats or is doing something physical swim, dive, drive, shoot, parachute out of a plane etc. He gets home or goes out after work, but he’s still doing guy stuff – like tinkering with something, eating beef or drinking beer – yes I’m stereotyping, but I’m guessing it’s not so far off the mark. But then, someone attracts his attention. A chick, someone who has gone through the similar process as me, trying to be feminine. Then what happens? Well in order to attract her, he has to be ultra masculine, no? Though I’m thinking he’d have to step outside that box to draw her in. It can’t be all about him so that’s where the 60 minutes comes from. The minute by minute opportunity he has to ask her about herself. Find out about her interests that are not going to be any where near his. But does that really happen? I’m thinking no. Still, she’s flirting, eyes hinting of interest and then looking downward, hair being tossed as an advertisement of her femininity. A smile, a casual touch. Nope, don’t think he’s not being male for one second of that process. So if I’m writing someone of substance how less male can I make him? Probably not very because then he’d be a Beta or Omega male and not my beloved Alpha.
Is there ever a time when men and women are together, where either one is unaware of his or her sexuality? I think not.
So if he’s so busy being masculine and it distracts from him being or doing anything contrary to his nature, could he possibly be caring? Nurturing? Considerate? Helpful in non-male chores? Not so sure. And while I love my characters for their traits, I’m not so sure I could live with them.
So ladies, here are the tips on being feminine that came in my email and started me thinking. Wear nice-feeling fabrics (silk, satin, cashmere.) They will catch his attention and give him a reason to want to touch you. Show just a little skin, but leave the rest up to the imagination. Wear that little see-through blouse, but don't forget the sexy camisole underneath. Show off your clavicles, but leave the halter top with your boobs spilling out at home.
It struck me because as I write SEAL Master, I’m trying to describe what makes my heroine feminine and my hero masculine. I’m interested in the polarizations. The opposites so I can play up the tension and the attraction, but there is a line. And in real life, as I wrestle with my own femininity, I vacillate between spending time on it and doing other things.
Being feminine takes work. I watch other women. Some seem to be female and attractive effortlessly. Not me. It takes hours. If I want to feel or look feminine, I wash, dry and curl my hair. I wear earrings and other jewelry. My toenails have to be polished. Various parts of my body are shaved. I wear mascara and blush, then strategically spray perfume on selected parts of my anatomy. I wear a dress or skirt unless shorts or jeans are warranted and then I choose a form-fitting and flattering shirt. And I wear heels. All this takes at least two hours. And while I do this on Saturday nights to go out with my husband, and sometimes other nights when I have a special gig, I’d much rather spend that same time writing or running. So in general, I wrap my hair around a pony tail holder, skip the makeup, and rely on jeans or shorts, maybe a cute tee and call it a day. Needless to say I’m missable on the average day.
So I reason that if being feminine takes so much time, being masculine must too. And that’s the arena in which I want to play. Let’s call it the “just how manly is that man” game. And SEALs are my heroes because they are the epitome of masculine. Just how much time would you think one spends on being masculine? I’m guessing 23 to 24 out of the 24 hours everyday. I’m giving him 60 minutes, though not consecutively, when he is not overtly manly, and I’ll explain below
He’s a SEAL. So, on duty, he’s doing Navy guy stuff all day. He wears boots and sweats or is doing something physical swim, dive, drive, shoot, parachute out of a plane etc. He gets home or goes out after work, but he’s still doing guy stuff – like tinkering with something, eating beef or drinking beer – yes I’m stereotyping, but I’m guessing it’s not so far off the mark. But then, someone attracts his attention. A chick, someone who has gone through the similar process as me, trying to be feminine. Then what happens? Well in order to attract her, he has to be ultra masculine, no? Though I’m thinking he’d have to step outside that box to draw her in. It can’t be all about him so that’s where the 60 minutes comes from. The minute by minute opportunity he has to ask her about herself. Find out about her interests that are not going to be any where near his. But does that really happen? I’m thinking no. Still, she’s flirting, eyes hinting of interest and then looking downward, hair being tossed as an advertisement of her femininity. A smile, a casual touch. Nope, don’t think he’s not being male for one second of that process. So if I’m writing someone of substance how less male can I make him? Probably not very because then he’d be a Beta or Omega male and not my beloved Alpha.
Is there ever a time when men and women are together, where either one is unaware of his or her sexuality? I think not.
So if he’s so busy being masculine and it distracts from him being or doing anything contrary to his nature, could he possibly be caring? Nurturing? Considerate? Helpful in non-male chores? Not so sure. And while I love my characters for their traits, I’m not so sure I could live with them.
So ladies, here are the tips on being feminine that came in my email and started me thinking. Wear nice-feeling fabrics (silk, satin, cashmere.) They will catch his attention and give him a reason to want to touch you. Show just a little skin, but leave the rest up to the imagination. Wear that little see-through blouse, but don't forget the sexy camisole underneath. Show off your clavicles, but leave the halter top with your boobs spilling out at home.
Metaphysics
“No man is an island entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.”-- John Donne 17th Century Metaphysical Poet
Today’s thoughts on the metaphysical connections between us came from yourinspiration@famous-quotes-quotations.com and from the book “The Promise of a New Day.” The latter said “What each of us learns eases the struggles of another. All experiences are meant for the good of us all.”
I thought: how cool to be able to simply live mindfully at the same time being able to ease the struggles of others.
Recently I had an illness scare. Intuitively I knew nothing was wrong, but modern machines said the potential for damage was different. For a month, going for repeat and then advanced testing, I wondered if I was going to hear bad news. Not believing it, again intuitively, it became an exercise in mental tasking. Do I think about it or do I put it out of my mind? Is there something I can do about it? No. Is there some way to prepare for bad news? Yes and no. If I allow for the possibility, am I encouraging it to occur? So I went about my day with a cloud over my head not willing or allowing it to ruin my enjoyment of life.
Then it hit me. Other people live with this for real. Other people go through their day, knowing they have life ending illnesses. And today, with a clean bill of health, I read about how all of our struggles are interrelated and this gave me peace. Yes, I’ll give you that there is some “misery loves company” element to it, which fits my profile, but for the most part it’s about being human and tapping into the collective consciousness of our fellow beings so as not to feel so alone at the moment when we really are.
So I continue to read the selection chosen for today from The Promise of a New Day and feel connected. Not so alone and ready to give of myself more willingly.
“Our problems seem so singular; we often feel alone with our struggles. And it's true that each of us must come to our own terms with whatever situation faces us. But no struggle facing us is free from the influence of other people and their struggles. We have a shared destiny which is accompanied by individual perceptions and both singular and mutual responses to the ebb and flow enfolding us all.
Knowing that we share this journey offers comfort when we need it in our daily struggles. We are not alone, forgotten, unimportant to the destiny of others. Nor are others without meaning in the experiences we're gifted with. Our existences are mutual--we are interdependent contributors to the total life cycle.”
Today’s thoughts on the metaphysical connections between us came from yourinspiration@famous-quotes-quotations.com and from the book “The Promise of a New Day.” The latter said “What each of us learns eases the struggles of another. All experiences are meant for the good of us all.”
I thought: how cool to be able to simply live mindfully at the same time being able to ease the struggles of others.
Recently I had an illness scare. Intuitively I knew nothing was wrong, but modern machines said the potential for damage was different. For a month, going for repeat and then advanced testing, I wondered if I was going to hear bad news. Not believing it, again intuitively, it became an exercise in mental tasking. Do I think about it or do I put it out of my mind? Is there something I can do about it? No. Is there some way to prepare for bad news? Yes and no. If I allow for the possibility, am I encouraging it to occur? So I went about my day with a cloud over my head not willing or allowing it to ruin my enjoyment of life.
Then it hit me. Other people live with this for real. Other people go through their day, knowing they have life ending illnesses. And today, with a clean bill of health, I read about how all of our struggles are interrelated and this gave me peace. Yes, I’ll give you that there is some “misery loves company” element to it, which fits my profile, but for the most part it’s about being human and tapping into the collective consciousness of our fellow beings so as not to feel so alone at the moment when we really are.
So I continue to read the selection chosen for today from The Promise of a New Day and feel connected. Not so alone and ready to give of myself more willingly.
“Our problems seem so singular; we often feel alone with our struggles. And it's true that each of us must come to our own terms with whatever situation faces us. But no struggle facing us is free from the influence of other people and their struggles. We have a shared destiny which is accompanied by individual perceptions and both singular and mutual responses to the ebb and flow enfolding us all.
Knowing that we share this journey offers comfort when we need it in our daily struggles. We are not alone, forgotten, unimportant to the destiny of others. Nor are others without meaning in the experiences we're gifted with. Our existences are mutual--we are interdependent contributors to the total life cycle.”
Thursday, April 2, 2009
A Friend - as forwarded by A Friend
(A)ccepts you as you are
(B)elieves in you
(C)alls you just to say "HI"
(D)oesn't give up on you
(E)nvisions thewhole of you (even the unfinished parts)
(F)orgives your mistakes
(G)ives unconditionally
(H)elps you
(I)nvites you over
(J)ust "be" with you
(K)eeps you close at heart
(L)oves you for who you are
(M)akes a difference in your life
(N)ever Judges
(O)ffers support
(P)icks you up
(Q)uiets your fears
(R)aises your spirits
(S)ays nice things about you
(T)ells you the truth when you need to hear it
(U)nderstands you
(V)alues you
(W)alks beside you
(X)-plains things you don't understand
(Y)ells when you won't listen and
(Z)aps you back to reality
(B)elieves in you
(C)alls you just to say "HI"
(D)oesn't give up on you
(E)nvisions thewhole of you (even the unfinished parts)
(F)orgives your mistakes
(G)ives unconditionally
(H)elps you
(I)nvites you over
(J)ust "be" with you
(K)eeps you close at heart
(L)oves you for who you are
(M)akes a difference in your life
(N)ever Judges
(O)ffers support
(P)icks you up
(Q)uiets your fears
(R)aises your spirits
(S)ays nice things about you
(T)ells you the truth when you need to hear it
(U)nderstands you
(V)alues you
(W)alks beside you
(X)-plains things you don't understand
(Y)ells when you won't listen and
(Z)aps you back to reality
Friday, March 27, 2009
Pain as the Message
I received this quote via email this morning.
"Pain (any pain--emotional, physical, mental) has a message. The information it has about our life can be remarkably specific, but it usually falls into one of two categories: We would be more alive if we did more of this and life would be more lovely if we did less of that. Once we get the pain's message, and follow its advice, the pain goes away."-- Peter McWilliams
And I thought it profound. Then I thought who the hell is Peter McWilliams? So I googled him. (Did you know that Google is now a verb?) Peter McWilliams was a self-help writer who died at 50 from AIDS and Cancer. (Guess he couldn’t help himself…in more ways than one. Yes, I know. God is going to strike me dead for being so sarcastic, but if s/he hasn’t done it already, I might as well just keep going.) McWilliams also became known as an outspoken medical cannibis activist. (Now we’re talkin’.)
But the point I’m belaboring to make is that pain is a clue that something is wrong. And I’m not just talking about where it hurts. I’m talking on a macro level. For instance, if you drink, like I do, and are hung over, like I am, the pain you feel is from dehydration. But the fact that drinking causes pain, means there’s something unhealthy going on that makes you self inflict this pain in the first place. That is the pain you have to look at; the pain from the source, not the symptom. So as I sit here drinking bottle after bottle of water, my rehydrating-electrolyte-replenishing-miracle-cure Pedialyte having failed me today, I’m pondering why I drink in the first place.
Oh yeah, now I remember, I live with three men – of varying ages – in my house. That’s right, I’m marred with two kids. Need I say more?
"Pain (any pain--emotional, physical, mental) has a message. The information it has about our life can be remarkably specific, but it usually falls into one of two categories: We would be more alive if we did more of this and life would be more lovely if we did less of that. Once we get the pain's message, and follow its advice, the pain goes away."-- Peter McWilliams
And I thought it profound. Then I thought who the hell is Peter McWilliams? So I googled him. (Did you know that Google is now a verb?) Peter McWilliams was a self-help writer who died at 50 from AIDS and Cancer. (Guess he couldn’t help himself…in more ways than one. Yes, I know. God is going to strike me dead for being so sarcastic, but if s/he hasn’t done it already, I might as well just keep going.) McWilliams also became known as an outspoken medical cannibis activist. (Now we’re talkin’.)
But the point I’m belaboring to make is that pain is a clue that something is wrong. And I’m not just talking about where it hurts. I’m talking on a macro level. For instance, if you drink, like I do, and are hung over, like I am, the pain you feel is from dehydration. But the fact that drinking causes pain, means there’s something unhealthy going on that makes you self inflict this pain in the first place. That is the pain you have to look at; the pain from the source, not the symptom. So as I sit here drinking bottle after bottle of water, my rehydrating-electrolyte-replenishing-miracle-cure Pedialyte having failed me today, I’m pondering why I drink in the first place.
Oh yeah, now I remember, I live with three men – of varying ages – in my house. That’s right, I’m marred with two kids. Need I say more?
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Lost Loves
Today in the car, I was listening to Pat Green’s latest CD called “What I’m For.” The song that caught my attention was called “Carry On.”
The song is about “being a little bit tired of the city” and all the B.S. we put up with in our every day lives. He suggests that maybe we all need to get away in “a little bit of old top down.”
I had a little bit of old top down…once. It was a little red Mazda Miata – B.K. – Before Kids. Literally right before kids. I was pregnant with my first son when I had it. Imagine a 5’5” very pregnant woman trying to get in and out of a low-to-the-ground, tiny sports car and you’ll see the humor in it. Graceful as I tried to be, I failed. The belly was just too much. Some guy rear-ended me in that car and when I wrestled myself – protuberance first - from the car to survey the damage I thought he was going to need an ambulance. I at least felt vindicated.
I still miss it. Fifteen years later, I’m still pining for it. I see one on the road and I look longingly at it. Hubby number two pressed hard to get rid of it since it only sat two. Yes, that’s just one reason he’s hubby number two. Of course, my dad was never a fan of the car and neither was my main client, also a man, who worried about my safety. They both said, “Not safe, Sue. Think about your son.”
So here I am, rag topless, with the son, thank God, still safe. I’m sure it’s in no small part due to my choice of cars over the years. But I do confess that as I sit here pining, I am counting down the days until he goes to college or has his own car and I can get my hands on a little red ragtop again.
The song is about “being a little bit tired of the city” and all the B.S. we put up with in our every day lives. He suggests that maybe we all need to get away in “a little bit of old top down.”
I had a little bit of old top down…once. It was a little red Mazda Miata – B.K. – Before Kids. Literally right before kids. I was pregnant with my first son when I had it. Imagine a 5’5” very pregnant woman trying to get in and out of a low-to-the-ground, tiny sports car and you’ll see the humor in it. Graceful as I tried to be, I failed. The belly was just too much. Some guy rear-ended me in that car and when I wrestled myself – protuberance first - from the car to survey the damage I thought he was going to need an ambulance. I at least felt vindicated.
I still miss it. Fifteen years later, I’m still pining for it. I see one on the road and I look longingly at it. Hubby number two pressed hard to get rid of it since it only sat two. Yes, that’s just one reason he’s hubby number two. Of course, my dad was never a fan of the car and neither was my main client, also a man, who worried about my safety. They both said, “Not safe, Sue. Think about your son.”
So here I am, rag topless, with the son, thank God, still safe. I’m sure it’s in no small part due to my choice of cars over the years. But I do confess that as I sit here pining, I am counting down the days until he goes to college or has his own car and I can get my hands on a little red ragtop again.
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