Take It Easy

Image from AmericanSongwriter.com.

Image from HERE.

My mantra when I remember to remember it. It makes life simpler and more peaceful, although I will likely never, ever be a-standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona.  

"Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy." 

Eat your breakfast. Savor your coffee. Take your vitamin. Keep your appointments. Do your work. Brush your hair. Water your flowering plants. Believe in yourself. Pray to let worries go. Allow peace to enter. Listen to people. Listen to yourself. Comb on black mascara, thread the wired Tory earrings through the tiny holes in your ear lobes. Love yourself. Love your family. Be kind. Be calm. Make your maiden batch of Marcella Hazan's famous tomato sauce with San Marzano tomatoes, butter, salt and an onion cut in half. Even if you get the onion at 8 p.m. in the supermarket on a Wednesday night in November and eat a bowl of pasta at 9:30 p.m. Do your best. Take it easy. Ask Dan to pack some pasta, sauce and fresh mozzarella for Spice's school lunch tomorrow. 

"We may lose and we may win
Though we will never be here again."

Good night.

"Take It Easy," Eagles, 1972

Written by Glenn Lewis Frey and Jackson Browne

Well, I'm a-runnin' down the road tryna loosen my load
I've got seven women on my mind
Four that wanna own me, two that wanna stone me
One says she's a friend of mine

Take it easy, take it easy
Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy
Lighten up while you still can
Don't even try to understand
Just find a place to make your stand
Take it easy

Well, I'm a-standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona
Such a fine sight to see
It's a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford
Slowin' down to take a look at me

Come on, baby, don't say maybe
I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me
We may lose and we may win
Though we will never be here again
So open up, I'm climbin' in
So take it easy

Well, I'm a-runnin' down the road tryna loosen my load
Got a world of trouble on my mind
Lookin' for a lover who won't blow my cover
She's so hard to find

Take it easy, take it easy
Don't let the sound of your own wheels make you crazy
Come on, baby, don't say maybe
I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me

Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Oh, we got it easy
We oughta take it easy

Joan Didion + Prayer

Joan Didion, John Gregory Dunne and Quintana Roo, likely in Malibu, 

or somewhere else on the California coastline. 

Photo by Julian Wasser from here.

I'm reading Blue Nights, a memoir by Ms. Didion. Much of the weave connects moments with and memories of her daughter, Quintana Roo. Quintana was adopted. 

I have loved the author's crisp, precise writing since I took Slouching Towards Bethlehem, an essay collection, from my sister's book shelf in our shared bedroom to read on the long bus ride to Atlantic City to visit my boyfriend. Words carefully parsed, sentences lean and slim, but they say so much. They say everything.

Something in Ms. Didion's steeliness, especially for such a small woman, inspires me. She sees it and says it. I also read that she enjoyed buying beautiful clothing, such a little cashmere sweater, for her girl or herself, sometimes even matching. I did that, too, with Figgy and later, Punch (though not matching for Punch, since she was away from our fold from age 15 months to 6.5 years).  

Dan returned on the red-eye today after being flown out to Palm Springs to write 60-Second Novels at a fancy party at the Dinah Shore estate. He was home by 11 a.m. and then had to leave by 6 p.m. (in an Uber, still no running car) to write stories at a party in NYC, a bar mitzvah.

I was so low. So low about many things. Coincidence that Figgy moved out a week ago yesterday? Did the significance of that escape me? I'm happy for her, and she is happy, building an IKEA dresser with her friend, choosing pretty accent colors for her bedroom, setting up her plants. But with her absence, I'm fretting these days over worries I have about Punch and Young Romeo. With Figgy gone and Dan away, my lens has zoomed in and frozen. I need to zoom out.

Our kitchen sink is backed up. Don't ask, we had an expensive new garbage disposal installed but we can't turn it on until an electrician or two comes to install an outlet under the sink, since this model has a plug. I managed to catch up on all the dishes, by hand (vintage china) and in the dishwasher tonight. I have a half-price-after-Easter pot of tulips on the mantel. Can't tell what color yet, since the flowers keep their secrets in those tight green hoods.

I went on two Zoom support groups today and made two phone calls. I prayed, in fear and desperation. Over the known and unknown, over things I can't control. I think I am okay.

Good night.

Discomfort & Unease

That's what I feel, discomfort and unease. Over so much. So much. Jittery and sad and scared, things looking dreary, like the weather.

Punch is on spring break this week. Our car is on the fritz. When our girls were young, Dan and I (or just I, or with my friend Anne and her kids) would take them away, give them a change of scenery. To Cape Cod, or Cape May, at the sandy tip of New Jersey, or to see Sis for an overnight in Connecticut. To make the breaks meaningful, to get another perspective, to get out of town.

This week, if anything, without a car, I will take Punch on the train to NYC for a day. Dan is also being flown to Palm Springs, California to work at a party on Thursday. He will be back on Saturday. And I'm stuck here with these problems.

I'm sad, and scared. I don't like a lot of what's going on around here. I don't. But my work is good, and also, I plan to productively put stuff away, hang clothes up etc.

Thanks for listening.

Signing off sadly.

I Might Have Written

It is Tuesday, July 18. I might have written of nice summer nights or plunges in the ocean. I took two plunges in the last two weeks—a Wednesday evening one week and a Thursday afternoon the next—playing in the waves at Spring Lake beach on the Jersey Shore, feeling like a girl again. Saltwater, frothy ride, watch what's coming. Swimsuit, the scent of pretty suntan lotion. Wet hair. When you're in the ocean, good bet you are there for fun.

But one, I'm trying to save essays for spaces where I can earn money for them. I have feelers out. 

And two, many of our summer nights are not so nice but rather challenging and stressful, laced with worry and fear.

Fear does nothing for anyone--not for the worrier, nor the object of the worrying--but still, our old foe jumps eagerly to our side, her head coiffed with jagged alarm wires, not soft, springy curls.  

I/we used to think that the adrenaline jolt prompted by fear of missing an article assignment deadline (and displeasing our editor, not being successful) was just a fact, part of the creative process, that we did our best work then. But that is not true. That kind of fear can feed unhealthy habits and erratic behavior, short tempers with family, money wasted on takeout because we are working through dinner times. Instead, we can be organized and trustworthy, do our best work and hand it in on time but not in a state of exhaustion and frenzy. 

We can count on ourselves to count on ourselves.

Still, if only everyone would do what we want in life. We have to meet the goals and character perimeters we set for ourselves, and that is enough to manage. 

Acceptance.

I might have written about the coneflowers (aka echinacea, a native wildflower that draws butterflies, bees, and songbirds), now that Figgy is here and helped us fill the garden. Or about the angel hair pasta with zucchini "cream" (SmittenKitchen.com) that I made at 9:30 tonight, after my support group. (The most involved things about the recipe were mincing garlic and shredding zucchini. I couldn't use my mini food processor, so I used a box grater, and the zucchini was browned, not fresh green like in the photo. Oh well. Acceptance.)

I might have remembered refreshing showers or blueberries from a farm share. On the flip side, I may have written about a call from a Montclair Police detective received on the drive to Spring Lake (this time, not about our child). Or about dashed hopes, dashed in the moment, for now. Stay present. 

I might have written a lot more but that will take pushing Alarm Curls to the side. 

I might have written. 

I plan to write.

Good night.

Wakeup Call: You Can Run, But You Can’t Hide

Above: Picture these beautiful orange cups and saucers--echoing brilliant leaf colors in Lenox, Massachusetts--in generous latte sizes. I sat outside and nursed my cupful at Lenox Coffee, on Main Street.

I stole away to the Berkshire Mountains, a glorious range in Massachusetts, for two nights by myself.

It wasn’t really stealing or sneaking, because I let my family know. But it was a determined plan to get away alone  and nurture myself. 

I overpacked, as usual, with high hopes for doing my nails (nope) and reading from a stack of five books. Oh, the glory of road trips, no TSA inspections, just pile on the scarves and books and CPAP machine, no hassles.

I came looking for inner peace and perspective, and I found some. 

Was it in the meditation class at 5:30 p.m.? The facial, with steam on my face and a rich lip dip at the end? (I wanted to buy that lip salve, but I think the tiny jar was about $70 before tax. Still, I’m not dismissing it entirely. It felt so plump and pillowy,  and in the light of the boutique, the magical balm seemed to glisten with a hint of gold.) 

I planned not to talk about my consuming worries about Punch on this getaway. To stop getting lost in them. To stay in the present, in the moment. I did pretty well, though did talk to my longtime friend Candy, who lives not far from here, and this morning, to Jay and Anthony, two young men running the hotel’s front desk. It was quiet, and they were kind.

Sometimes it’s good to talk to strangers, who don’t know you and your story at home, Jay said.

Yes.

But I’ve found that in general, I overshare too much in life and I can’t afford to do that anymore because I lose myself and swim in worry. It is never too late to learn to be a better listener and less of a talker.

It's time to pack up, shower, lug the bags back to the car. I think I will try to visit "The Mount," Edith Wharton’s estate nearby, before heading home. The foliage is so pretty everywhere I turn.

Praying for peace and acceptance and the continued ability to shower every day, meditate, walk in nature, do my writing assignments and allot a few minutes for my makeup (concealer and mascara, a bit of foundation).

Practicing self-care helps soften our footprint in the world, so we are not so scared, reactionary, off-course. Steady as she goes.

Not Afraid of Monsters

Lumbering Mr. Stay-Puft, the silly yet menacing “Ghostbusters” monster. Image from here.

Fear can start as a mini marshmallow, a tiny pillow of air. Then the minis mound up and I am squaring off with Mr. Stay-Puft, a moving, threatening giant. The fear can take over, larger than life.

In parenting, I do not want to get lost in this soft, sticky, hard-to-stop emotion. I would like to notice the first mini marshmallow. Acknowledge it. Face it. Put it down. 

I pray not to see a handful of minis in this teen’s life and immediately build a moving pile. A heap that soon takes form as a towering marshmallow man. May I see a plump, right-sized marshmallow as the thing of campfires and Girl Scout trips--an innocent, snow-white bite of childhood and BBQs, not a monster coming for us. For the teen, and for the family.

My I stay right-sized, the teen stay right-sized, my partner stay right-sized and my fears stay right-sized.

Wikipedia says of Stay-Puft: Although mean and destructive at first, he later befriends Slimer and the Ghostbusters in the animated series The Real Ghostbusters, and helps them out with various problems.

That’s it, that’s all. Food for thought.

Indignities/BAJ Lady

When life’s road gets rough, it seems like everything is stacked up against you. 

• Underpants on inside-out.
• CPAP breathing tube detaching from face mask once or twice per night; it wakes you, and you re-adjust.
• Eyeglass frames breaking.
• Hair freshly shampooed with salty potion harvested from California coast (and ordered online months ago) but you didn’t allow enough time to blow-dry or apply makeup before morning drive.
• Big hole in sole of right Tory Burch shoe. Too far-gone after several years of near daily wear (except in summer sandal weather) to be salvaged. But this well-worn pair is a loyal old friend, for sure, offering steady footing in all kinds of weather.
• Tiny piece of white pill stuck to bottom of bare foot. Some family member dropped it and your ample size 11 picked it up. Fortunately, you noticed before shower.
• Brunetti or Dan did not allow Sugar enough time in the green grass yesterday morning and she lowered her white fur skirt and deposited two poos near your closed glass office door during 7 a.m. Zoom support group. Mother’s Day gift, a day late?
• You hate everyone, you told your therapist on your planned call yesterday. You listed some names. “Yeah, and you can add me to your list,” he said. Exactly. At that moment.

Here’s what I wrote in a blog post on Sunday, June 12, 2011, almost 10 years ago:

You know for sure that you're on a dark road when you feel bitter, angry and jealous, when you measure yourself against perfect strangers--and worse yet, friends, the friends you love--and come up short. You even created an acronym for that years ago. BAJ, for bitter angry jealous. BAJ [pronounced BAG] lady. 

Better days ahead, starting now, I trust.

Death Wish?

Warning: This topic is heavy and might be disturbing. Many people I hold close read my blog. I don't want to worry you. I want to face facts myself by writing this.

You already know I am one big paradox wrapped up in ribbons and bows. I try not overeating on sweets, but I adore baking and have an arsenal of the very best baking books. I have loved to bake since girlhood, and to give treats to family and friends. I am overweight and I exercise but still struggle with a big Santa belly.

Well, H. was away in the San Francisco area for two nights. I have sleep apnea, as confirmed maybe 8 years ago in an overnight sleep study in a hospital. It was one of the most horrendous experiences I have ever endured. Wires and electrodes all over and a mask that frightened me and a promise from the nurse that I could get her if I felt I could not breathe. But then she did not come, at least once. A medical supply company came to deliver a mask and a machine after that study and I would not accept it. The thought of being tied to having to use a machine every night, especially since I love to travel on road trips, was terrifying. My doctor encouraged me to use a machine, but I declined. He also said that losing some weight would improve my sleep apnea, so I grabbed onto that hope.

Fast forward to last night. Going to bed, reviewing the sweets I had eaten in a single Thursday, below. Praying to God, again. Holding my belly, again. Dear God, what is the answer?

• 1 smallish chocolate cupcake from Little Daisy Bake Shop when walking back from town.
• 1 mini chocolate cupcake from Little Daisy, when Punch wanted to go in on our way to jewelry holiday party at 7:45 p.m.
• 1 small cookie at the party.
• 1 thick slice of the world's best gingerbread loaf, buttery and fragrant--Punch chose it at Little Daisy, took one bite. I put it in freezer to save for her and then ate it with a glass of cold milk at 11 p.m.
• 1 of the foil-wrapped Rocher chocolates Punchy proudly bought with her own money and has been doling out carefully [to herself and her pal Rowan].

Fast forward to about 3 a.m. I woke up struggling to breathe. I could not get any air in. Thank God I woke up, sat up and struggled, finally able to get some air into my lungs. Thoughts of a classmate's older brother who died so young, in his sleep, at a hotel, I think. Something about a breathing problem or obstruction. Little Punch was sleeping soundly right across the hall; Sug was curled up in donut position on our bed. H. was not by my side. He tells me that I have bad apnea and he has to tell me to roll over, etc.

Is this God's answer? 

I am willing to give up sweet treats in moderation so that I will be healthier. I am not willing to give them up entirely. It is December, and I am planning certain days to bake and give.

I hope and pray, pray and hope. But this was very, very scary. I think my apnea is worse when I eat sweets and milk right before bed, so maybe I could at least not do that?

Thank you for listening to my tapped words.

I would love to know what you think, but even that frightens me. If I would have to endure another sleep study in order to get the equipment, I'm not sure that I can. Not unless H. or someone else spends the night there with me.

Signing off,
Frightened to Death? 

TCOY

1. Boot camp in the park.
2. Walked Sug.
3. Hot tea.

Sigh. Few Words, Again

If I wrote them, they would be sad and angry. Words of being misunderstood and overwhelmed. Tomorrow is another day. Prayers, trust, patience, insight.

TCOY

1. Boot camp in the park.
2. Walked Sug to Hobbit houses. The sky and trees were beautiful.
3. Nap.
4. Saw my friend Claire and her kids, with Punchy--Friday play date.
5. Tiki Hut! My friend Amy invited her boot camp friends over to her lovely custom-built tiki hut for 6 p.m. drinks. It's authentic. I had hot apple cider spiked with a little Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey. It was very good. And nice to talk to my friends.
6. About to take a bath.

Calm

Reaching for calm. Righting my wrongs. Filling the tub with lavender bubbles and about to step in, even though I'm feeling panicked about getting everything done for Christmas. The tree isn't trimmed. The laundry's not folded. The dishwasher is on strike...though our golden babysitter, Elaine, got it going yesterday.

It will all work out. It will be okay. It's the birthday of someone very special tomorrow....a mild and gentle baby....a source of light and infinite love.

What will not be alright is for me to stuff cookies and candy and potato chips into my mouth under the guise of holiday pleasure. I can or will become--and I know this from experience--unstable, short-tempered and perhaps even monstrous. It's not so different from a mean drunk.

I will get some soup for supper. I will drink ice water. I will get a soy latte. I will be okay.

I wish you a lovely Christmas Eve. I think I might write more later. It helps. Thank you for listening.

I Believe

I believe that I do not control the universe. No person has magic like that. I can do my best to be a calm, wise and healthy person. I can take the high road. I can appreciate love. I can embrace the knowledge that we are all different and all growing and stretching in our own way and in our own time. I like what my friend says: Trust that the universe is unfolding just as it should be.

I can hope and pray and carry on.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Mass.

2. Block party fun. H. ran the kids' games.

Solitude for the Soul

Every now and then, when he was irritated--I'm not sure about what, but maybe the house being messy--Dad would say I should have been a monk! He was very orderly, kept his papers just so. And I guess he loved peace and quiet. It must have been hard to find sometimes, sharing a bed in the Bronx with his two older brothers and then raising four kids in the suburbs.

I've cherished my solitude today in this tidy little cabin. It's been pouring for hours, but it was nice this morning. At about 12:40 [who's counting?], H. drove Fig and Punch up to Pushaw Lake to his sister's family's summer camp. [You know, Mainers call their vacation homes camps.] It's more than an hour from here to there and we're all going there again tomorrow for a big family party, so I opted to stay home. 

I fell asleep for a long time, took a pampering shower and made a simple dinner in the petite kitchen. Fresh torn spinach, ripe tomato, shallow bowl of pasta with local pesto, a little crumbled goat feta from Sunset Acres Farm & Dairy in Brooksville, ME.  [Wow, just checked website and there's one called Sea Smoke and one called Penobscot Fog. Will hunt for them in Co-op tomorrow.]

I ate at this small wood table on this baby screened porch, looking at the bay and listening to the rain. Rain isn't so bad when you're inside, warm and dry. I want to take home a lesson for living from that. Life, at least mine, will have its downpours and whipping winds, lightning bolts and bracing chills. But if we can stay warm and dry--meaning balanced, calm and steady--that can be a comfort. We can build a roof with wisdom, insight and inner strength. We can weave a warm blanket from hard-won experience. And we can take care of ourselves to stay on even ground--planning the nourishing spinach and tomato, instead of standing at the counter tearing open a box of cookies and eating them with abandon.

I'm still at this table. It's been seven hours since my family left and they will return soon, minus Punchy, who was dying to spend a night with her cousins. I just hope she goes to sleep on time, doesn't keep everyone up.

Going to read. Good night.

Too Tired to Write

Must sleep. Anxiety has been my constant companion for a lot of the day but it lifted by dinnertime. Good night.

TCOY

1. Went to 10:30 Mass.
2. Talked to supportive friend.
3. Went to Montclair Food and Wine Festival with H. tonight. My generous friend Helen gave me the two $165 tickets for the fundraiser because she couldn't use them. We had delicious food and wine pairings...courses included halibut, beef, caramel panna cotta....and to top it all off, dark chocolate and coffee pairings. Very nice.
4. Got out pretty Martha Stewart paper and am going to set alarm and get up and make master list of all my work and life chores this week. That should be grounding and helpful.
5. Lit a candle in the garden tonight.