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commercials. for every funny one there are 3 really insulting ones and two simply disturbing ones. the corndog slapping a guy's face, talking bleach bottles, mops falling in love, dirt balls waiting for a dust wand, flo, people eating junk food and acting like it's the best choice we could make. dancing fruit, creepy kings and talking heads. over the years there have been SO many 30 second spots that inspired and disapponted.

remember the 60 second spots? then there was a phase where they would play back-to-back on one product, fill a 60 second spot with two 30 second ads. i LOVE watching the old ones, ones that took the nation's temperature with the latest products. great theme songs that we've been singing for years - teaching the world to sing or sounding off components of a burger. how much time have we spent watching ads? now we don't even see them, pass right by them with the push of a button. every time i wonder how any money is made when that happens. sponsors? is anyone sponsoring them now? if you're lost, follow the burma shave signs.

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if only

hopeful. someone so strong who has done so much without a net. she leans on others, some she shouldn't, and always leads with her emotions. i've watched her through some precarious situtions. i didn't like her choices, resented her intrusion, then she became a friend. then she became family. i can't say "daughter" because i'm really so unfamiliar with what that would feel like that i have nothing to compare. maybe that's the way my sister feels when she snuggles with my neice. that the feeling is unlike any other she's ever felt, because before this, she didn't know what it would feel like either.

when she calls for an ear, a shoulder, some distraction, kinship and dare i say advice, i know that it's important i don't just roll into the place i go when i talk to friends with my similar experiences, older friends, without the same trust or willingness to follow. yet on many occasions the inability to go where i steer her because the pull to the comfortable path is just too great. thank God that comfortable psth has taken a turn away from lost. i always say i'm too smart for drugs, that their world would scare me away. another part of me thinks that it's all in what's "normal". the path that's shown as just another road and not somewhere that nobody should go, in fact family members and friends are there, calling you over, saying "it's great over here!". i have to admit that if that's what was shown to me, i may have just followed without asking. like she did.

when i see now the raw emotion that she shares, the places she'll go in her heart and, while worrying that it may just break, goes there anyway. when she says that she sees me as a mother figure, instead of being choked up and/or overcome with emotion all i feel is shock that someone would see me that way. i have a small glimpse into what she was masking, almost a protection of sorts, from the sadness and heartache that can happen in the days and nights of a life fully lived. loneliness, depression, fear, insecurity, inability, i imagine all leave when you ingest the mask and abandon the escape. and yet here she is, trying to cope sober and wide open to all the hurt and pain. where i didn't have ANY compassion to those who took the wrong path, never thought they lost their way, but deliberately turned, took the pill, prepared the needle, in hopes of feeling something other than what the rest of us live. life can be mundane, messy, scary, lonely, along with all the wonderful possibilites and feelings come the ones we don't want - it's rather brave to choose to bear them, to force through them. and here she is, still facing the fears, guiding her little girl through them, always close and protective, about to take steps that nobody should ever have to take. the path is set, it's lined with people holding hands to form a protective fence that is hoped to be a barrier between her and the wrong people, places and decisions, and i am proud to say that i'm right there next to her dad and the rest of us who want to guide her to where she needs to be. still scared of saying the wrong thing or steering the wheel just a bit to hard, she's my daughter. and that's my job.

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just me and my hot blonde

struggling to pick up a penny, under the table, halfway into the bushes, i swear i'm picking it up just for luck. honestly. not that i really care what the folks that share the patio think - good or bad i was never one to worry about that - but more like how it made ME feel. knowing so much about folks struggling in today's economy, both here and around the globe, i do stop to think how many people would dive for that penny out of necessity. we know ALL about it all now, and i almost wish we didn't. yes, for my own sanity i'm very guilty of hiding my head in the sand, at least for awhile.

but i digress, BIG TIME. i came here to starbucks hoping to leave my blues on this patio. what better than some blog therapy. a good old-fashioned dump onto a blank screen. TRYING to avoid the edit & re-edit monsters i want to get this down "au natural". and it's really hard. typing it out is one thing, pressing that "publish blog" is yet another. writing for the reader? guilty. feeling bad about feeling bad? guilty. i worry about everything i say, write, read. we have so much, so many advantages that others don't have. i feel TOTALLY guilty expressing a mood or a feeling other than YAY! i have a job, a home, friends, family, and i try to express those thoughts i really do.

but then there comes a day like today following a night like last night. little plans that go awry, little disappointments in the grand scheme of a good life. i'm indulging that today, after this very long disclaimer, AND publishing it for the random reader to take.

so, here i am with my hot blonde (i really thought i was clever ordering that, but i'm sure i'm far from the only one) and my heated breakfast bun. ok, you can yell at me later for the sugar and cholesterol intake but day-am! therapy never tasted so good. hopefully the day will be spent with a caring hubby, good friends, and an ever-forgiving family, i KNOW i'm very lucky. call me redundant disclaimer woman. yet here i am manuevering the edge of sadness and a just plain bad mood. i'm glad i came here. a shady patio, happy people chatting, real conversations not just those "like, like, like" speaking tweens. no dangling participles, no punctuating "at" at the end of every sentence. feels good - i'm happy to have gotten this group of folks as my background noise. the strip-mall version of a neighborhood coffee house, this has been a mood-lifter on more than a few occasions.

my mind is everywhere - being the main reason i invite the monsters to polish up my jibberish before publishing - but i have to say it's starting to turn toward the light. the frivolous, the happy! mood-lifter! i'm glad i found you. AND there's a dollar tree right across the small parking lot. cheap retail therapy, here i come!

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pie

i love history. the thought that all the things we know today (or their predecessors) were invented out of necessity, desire, or just plain creativity. lately, when i look at something that is so commonplace i barely notice it, i like to look up its origins. so, while sitting at Marie Callendars today i looked up how pie came to be.

when long journeys were taken, and pottery wasn't disposable or abundant, or even easy to carry, an early form of pastry was invented to carry meats or sweets along. all sorts of pies were mentioned throughout history, seemingly beginnig with the greeks, and passed along and re-invented in many forms. I read that the first pie "shells" were hard and almost inedible, serving more as a baking dish than a crust. once the innards were eaten by a wealthy family, the hard crust that had soaked up the juices or gravies of what was in them were given to the beggars. no matter how hard it was, i bet it was good.

the strangest thing i read was that animals were often added so they could surprise the folks cutting open the pie. a hole was cut in the bottom of the crust and birds were stuffed into it - "four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie". but they didn't stop at birds. apparently the animals got larger, even a dwarf jumped out of one pie shell to entertain royalty.

one recipe referred to making a "bullet-proof dough", another referenced baking in a round pan to literally "cut corners" and stretch the expensive filling to cover the bottom crust. Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) was apparently depressed so a long-standing member of his family's staff made sure that a huckleberry pie and milk set on ice were there for him to eat every day. No doubt the character HuckleBerry Finn wasn't unrelated.

it seems bizarre to me NOT to wonder what started or created something that we use in everyday life, things we see, eat, touch, they all have a history that includes someone coming up with an idea that most likely was so far-fetched that it met resistance. hard to imagine in today's society - the invention of a pie vs. an operating system. it seems that whenever the world MUST've invented just about everything there is to invent, something new comes along that we can't imagine living without.

next time you look across the table or the room at something that seems incredibly ordinary, look up its history. it might just be a fascinating story.

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imagine that your footprints left a small symbol of your life when ever they touched the ground. everywhere you went.

imagine something like google earth going futher and further away, your trails get smaller and smaller, like a small chain circling the earth. starting and stopping as the land does, popping up on one shore disappearing from another.

imagine now that each place you stopped a little pop-up with a picture of something from the moment in that place or time. a portrait here, a scene there, a major event has a star by it. what would your map look like? have you gone to the places and made all the memories, saw all the scenery and had all the moments you'd like?

think of what your print symbol would be - something that will be seen by others as they walk by. how many times your loved ones' paths cross over or walk next to your chain.

where have you left your prints?

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the price of freedom

there are few things i like more than free time. one of the most marked differences between children/teens and adults is their use and appreciation of free time. being a non-parent, the debate continues to surface in my family as to who wants/needs/craves free time more - the mother or the career woman whose day is all about deadlines and unanswered e-mail. a much different type of chaos surrounds a mother, catching their small children as they run by to throw a piece of clothing on them or brush their hair, or later catching those same children as they run out the door to the mall with their friends to make sure they have money in their pocket or the appropriaqte clothing. i get it, i really do. but i can counter with 15-hour workdays spent in front of a computer screen not wanting to stop even for lunch.

for me, free time is not only something to be savored but also something to be spent wisely. this morning i opted for sitting in the sun watching the dogs be dogs. laptops can extend the creative process outside of the house or office. inspiration while in a beach or lawn chair just seems to feel better than at a desk. me surounded by a white picket fence and green grass works quite differently than me in a desk chair under florescent lights. ideas seem to come more easily. for that matter so does a nap. it continues to baffle me how a teenager can walk by a lemon tree filled with blossoms or sit in a cool breeze on a summer day without even noticing the simple joy found in both. funny, a child notices their surroundings, can be fascinated by a leaf or an ant hill, a teenager more often than not is oblivious to the beauty around them, unless it's a fashionable purse in a store window or the latest gaming graphics. after a long period of running around, be it after children or to your next meeting, it's time to start noticing simple things again. the sound of birds chirping or the smell of fresh cut grass, a butterfly on a colorful flower or the perfect wave rolling up onto the sand, more often than not these brings me back to a memory of the last time those things meant something. the last time days stretched endless and sitting on the curb was a pastime. the days before desks and bosses, deadlines and power point presentations. sure school was challenging, but mostly felt like a social life with work thrown in vs. office life with hard work with a bit of social life thrown in. if you're lucky to work somewhere that you'd even want to get to know those around you that is.

and so, the debate rages on. except i'm always stopped dead mid-argument when a mother of small children says "well, at least you can go to the bathroom alone". gotta give 'em that, shuts me up every time.

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one strand at a time

day one
breakfast: a pear.

i know how to do this, the proof there is that i've done it. i know what i need, don't need, should eat, shouldn't eat. ugh. i get it, i really do.

then why is it so damned HARD?

i don't want my life to be a literal living hell but that's what happens to a foodie when the time has (more than) come to shed the weight AND the very bad health habits. i can eat healthy, i can. but when the family pasta meal comes around and most if not all of that meal is based solely on fat and carbs, all the willpower in the world couldn't stop me from the gargantuan pile of pasta, crunchy garlic bread, and sinful italian dessert. the latter is usually tirimisu and i defy anyone to locate any sort of low-fat mascarpone. italians are NOT known calorie/carb counters.

take a few small bites you say? just indulge once every few weeks or so? remember now, you're talking to a girl who started out as someone whose mom used to put rocks in her pockets on windy days. yes, i'm very serious, ask my mom. a girl who formed her eating habits around trying to escape the jokes (do you have to run around in the shower just to get wet?) and to look more like the popular girls with the curves. yes, back in the seventies curves were infinitely more desirable than emaciation much to my dismay. tell that to a teen today and they will walk away slowly hoping you aren't going to attack them because obviously you are running from men in white coats.

i love my relatives dearly. but when 2 or 3 older italian women would shake their heads at me as i dished out my spaghetti at gramma's eatfests and tell me to be careful because i don't exactly come from "skinny people" i guess i should've seen it coming. i could swear i recently saw one of those same women smirking silently as i put a piece of lean turkey and some cherry tomatoes on my plate. yeah, i know. payback's a bitch.

i can say that i like my spaghetti so much that i'm willing to swallow large pills, to prick my fingers & draw blood multiple times a day, to pull out a dress and gasp at the thought of subjecting anyone to even the THOUGHT of me in it. i shouldn't say it, but i can.

that's the change i'm seeking. to turn all of that around and put the stair-master, sugar-free jello and egg whites on my list of very favorites and remove warm iced cinnamon rolls, cheese-laden nachos and yes, large steaming piles of perfectly sauced spaghetti.

is it all worth it? of course it is. of course it is. say it with me mantra-style: of course it is. if you don't believe me, ask the girl with rocks in her pockets.

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