Day 69 & 70 Ahead of My Time
When I was about 16, a friend of mine told me that I’d make a great grandma one day. This person was petite, blonde, vivacious and popular, everything I was not, and her comment did not exactly boost my self-esteem. I’d have been thrilled to have a boyfriend, or at least boobs, and there she was, leapfrogging me over all the fun stuff, straight to cardigans and support-hose.
But it’s okay, I heard she ended up teaching in a one-room schoolhouse in black-fly country somewhere. Karma’s a boomerang.
However, 30-odd years later, I think I’ve grown into the sentiment. I can see how having another baby – one that’s mine but not mine, if you understand what I mean – could be pretty nifty. And my brother and his wife have just thoughtfully provided me with a second baby niece, as of last week. Sophie, sister to Isabel, and I can’t wait until they’re all closer than Taiwan. Grandma might be a ways off for me yet, but I’m rather enjoying being Cool Auntie Roxanne.
Yesterday, we had Easter dinner with all three of our daughters, plus assorted friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, and for good measure, our nephews and my husband’s sister, too. My nephews are handsome, strapping young men, who seem to genuinely enjoy our company and who are a pure joy to cook for. The food, if I say it myself, was spectacular. BBQ ribs, beer-can-chicken, vegetarian lasagna, my husband’s famous Greek salad, bread, cheesecake… sorry, South Beach people. Too bad for you.
It felt so good, so right, to have a houseful of young people, all eating and laughing and happy to be with us. (Liam, we missed you. Steven, especially. I think he cried a little. On the inside.)
Now, I’m no Martha Stewart, and I couldn’t feng shui my way out of a bag. Plus, you know that whole clean-house-weak-immune-system theory? Not a problem here. In fact, keep your shoes on, just to be safe.
But it seems that despite the inevitable dust and cat hair, our house can be welcoming and comfortable. I’ll never be a Dresden-china sort of person and there will probably always be four-legged creatures claiming the best seats but as long as my children feel good about bringing their friends around, it’s good enough for me.
And if, perchance, someone happens to bring a baby around, nudge, nudge, I’ll even wash the floor. I promise.
Day 68 A Little Editorial Input
Every writer needs readers, but before that, we need editors. Good ones, who help us develop our stories, plug plot holes, manage character arcs, and prevent us from giving all our characters names that start with the letter K.
But I’ve heard rumours that some editors are um, less than helpful. “Blowhards with delusions of grandeur,” is what I’m choosing to relay here. Understand, I’ve never met anyone like this personally. My editors have all been wonderful and fantastic. But that’s the word on the street.
Don’t believe me? Check this out.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sifESist1KY]
Day 67 Too Tired to Read? Never!
It doesn’t happen often, but I’ve had a couple of nights this week where I can’t keep my eyes open long enough to read in bed. Of course, my restless legs still don’t let me sleep, so I usually end up putting drops in my eyes and squinting and twitching into the wee hours anyway. Sometimes, if I’m really hurting, I close my eyes and listen to audiobooks, but I don’t have enough of them. Audiobooks, I mean. Well, I could use more eyes too, I guess.
As I continue my 90-Day Bikram yoga challenge, I find myself pulled to reading about people who have gone through similar mid-life challenges. The empty-nest, questionable-career, mortality-looming, maturing-marriage sort of challenges. I’ve already mentioned Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen. Hilarious and tender memoir. Here are a few other memoirs I’ve read lately, that all have something to do with where I’m at right now:
Poser, My Life in Twenty-Three Yoga Poses, by Claire Dederer, in which the author chronicles her journey through mother anxiety, money stress, marriage worries and, oh yeah, going a little nuts with yoga. A very entertaining book by a good storyteller.
The Gift of An Ordinary Day, by Katrina Kenison, a beautifully-written story of the emotional turbulence that sees her uprooting her family while their two sons are teens, and creating a brand new home. This book is not about yoga, but it is about letting go and redefining life once the children become adults.
This Isn’t The Story You Think It Is, by Laura Munson. I read this one in about a day and a half. The author writes a very personal account of a season of marital fragility and how she’s able to detach herself from her husband’s crisis, staying at peace and allowing him to get through it and come out on the other side. Funny and touching, again not about yoga, but definitely about the crazy-making stuff that happens in midlife.
I love books. Can you tell?