Sarah Dessen's Blog, page 34
December 14, 2010
writergrl @ 2010-12-14T16:27:00
I just read online that Scarlett Johansson and Ryan Reynolds broke up. This on the heels of Michael C. Hall and Jennifer Carpenter AND Vanessa Hudgens and Zac Efron. What is it with breakups just before holidays? I hear from Twitter that in college, this is called the "Turkey Dump," but I have no idea what they call it in Hollywood. I just know that when I was getting dumped a lot (it used to be a common thing) it, too, always seemed to happen either right before the holidays or right before summer vacation. I guess the guys I was interested in either didn't want to deal with getting me a present OR have a girlfriend when all the girls' basketball/soccer/cheerleading camps were in Chapel Hill staying at the dorms during the summer months. (I know you think I'm kidding, but I am NOT. The minute those camps started, the guys we knew and loved were just GONE, leaving nothing but a cartoon-esque puff of dust behind them. Such is life in Chapel Hill.)
Being dumped and breaking up stinks. It stinks even more around the holidays, when everyone is so happy and festive and you stick out even more than normal when you're, you know, bitter and angry. (Can you tell some of my dump wounds are still fresh?) Ditto for right before summer, when you then have all day to watch the guy who busted your heart wide open go out on the open market. Oh, sigh. Double sigh. And it's bad enough when your'e just a regular person (say, a sixteen year old Southern girl with slightly crooked teeth and a penchant for getting dumped). But can you imagine if it was all totally public and all over Google News, with weird YA authors discussing it on their blogs? Oh, man. Not envying that a bit. I hope everyone involved in these breakups has plenty of chocolate and at copy of Center Stage. They won't fix everything, but it's a start.
Speaking of starting, I'm trying to get back into writing mode after really slacking off for a few months. And by slacking off, I don't mean watching Center Stage and eating chocolate. I was actually editing my new book, writing some nonfiction essays to help promote it, that sort of thing. But I haven't been actively WRITING a new book, really, and that always makes me feel really lazy. I can always tell, though, when it's time to get back onto a regular writing schedule. The universe just starts sending me signs. The latest one was yesterday, when I picked up a Loving Family Outdoor Playset for my daughter at Wal-Mart. It came with a slide, a set of swings, some dogs, and three people: a dad, a mom, and a little girl. At least, I thought that's what they were, until my babysitter pointed out that the woman did not have a wedding ring, while the man did. Also, she looks a LOT younger than him. Further research online told me it's actually supposed to be dad, older sister and younger sister. But I was already off and running with my own scenario. Like: young single mom, her kid, and the older man she's kind of dating who swears he's separated and yet still wears his ring. They met, maybe, at the restaurant where she tends bar at night while her mom watches the little girl, and she won't let him come to the house, but he shows up when they're at the park with their dogs. OR the dad is widowed, still wears his ring, but dating this MUCH younger woman. The whole family thinks it's really inappropriate because of the age difference but no one's saying anything because at least he's trying to move on. OR they are a couple that was married, and now split. They get together for the little girl, meeting at a mutually agreed upon park. The woman, younger, always felt smothered, and is happy they're apart. But the man is heartbroken, still wearing his ring, and hoping she'll change her mind. They spent awkward time at the park, pushing the little girl in the swing: she looks at her watch, he looks at her.
See? And that's just from a playset. Oh, man. Clearly, my writing brain just needs exercise. It's had enough couch time and is ready to RUN. But I know what will happen. The beginning will be just like this, fun and easy and new. But then, around page 50, it'll start to get harder. Then harder still. But by then, I'm already in the habit. No turning back. Which is why I am TRYING to hold off until the new year. Maybe if I just stay out of the playroom?
Have a good night, everyone!
Being dumped and breaking up stinks. It stinks even more around the holidays, when everyone is so happy and festive and you stick out even more than normal when you're, you know, bitter and angry. (Can you tell some of my dump wounds are still fresh?) Ditto for right before summer, when you then have all day to watch the guy who busted your heart wide open go out on the open market. Oh, sigh. Double sigh. And it's bad enough when your'e just a regular person (say, a sixteen year old Southern girl with slightly crooked teeth and a penchant for getting dumped). But can you imagine if it was all totally public and all over Google News, with weird YA authors discussing it on their blogs? Oh, man. Not envying that a bit. I hope everyone involved in these breakups has plenty of chocolate and at copy of Center Stage. They won't fix everything, but it's a start.
Speaking of starting, I'm trying to get back into writing mode after really slacking off for a few months. And by slacking off, I don't mean watching Center Stage and eating chocolate. I was actually editing my new book, writing some nonfiction essays to help promote it, that sort of thing. But I haven't been actively WRITING a new book, really, and that always makes me feel really lazy. I can always tell, though, when it's time to get back onto a regular writing schedule. The universe just starts sending me signs. The latest one was yesterday, when I picked up a Loving Family Outdoor Playset for my daughter at Wal-Mart. It came with a slide, a set of swings, some dogs, and three people: a dad, a mom, and a little girl. At least, I thought that's what they were, until my babysitter pointed out that the woman did not have a wedding ring, while the man did. Also, she looks a LOT younger than him. Further research online told me it's actually supposed to be dad, older sister and younger sister. But I was already off and running with my own scenario. Like: young single mom, her kid, and the older man she's kind of dating who swears he's separated and yet still wears his ring. They met, maybe, at the restaurant where she tends bar at night while her mom watches the little girl, and she won't let him come to the house, but he shows up when they're at the park with their dogs. OR the dad is widowed, still wears his ring, but dating this MUCH younger woman. The whole family thinks it's really inappropriate because of the age difference but no one's saying anything because at least he's trying to move on. OR they are a couple that was married, and now split. They get together for the little girl, meeting at a mutually agreed upon park. The woman, younger, always felt smothered, and is happy they're apart. But the man is heartbroken, still wearing his ring, and hoping she'll change her mind. They spent awkward time at the park, pushing the little girl in the swing: she looks at her watch, he looks at her.
See? And that's just from a playset. Oh, man. Clearly, my writing brain just needs exercise. It's had enough couch time and is ready to RUN. But I know what will happen. The beginning will be just like this, fun and easy and new. But then, around page 50, it'll start to get harder. Then harder still. But by then, I'm already in the habit. No turning back. Which is why I am TRYING to hold off until the new year. Maybe if I just stay out of the playroom?
Have a good night, everyone!
December 12, 2010
writergrl @ 2010-12-12T18:38:00
This weekend was awash in nostalgia for me. This is not uncommon, I guess. I live in my hometown, and memories are inescapable. But Saturday morning, I bundled up my daughter and took her to the Chapel Hill Holiday Parade, which is one of my FAVORITE things in the world. Partially because it's just so small town: Cub and Girl Scout troops, car dealerships carrying town council members, the local Jazzercise chapter. (I love, love, LOVE the Jazzercise people. They are in it every single year!) Also I heart the parade because when I was little, I marched in it as one of the Tarheel Twirlers, the baton twirling group I was in. I know, I know. I've never mentioned I can twirl a baton and that is because....I can't. Anymore, anyway. I was, like, five. But I totally remember the parade, and how I walked the whole way even though there was a wagon in case we got tired. Then in high school and college and after I always made a point of hitting the parade, but I have to say it's much more fun with a toddler. They throw candy, there's Santa. Even in the cold it was hilarious. Even better, I usually attend with two of my best high school girlfriends and their kids, which is one of the best things about being here, seeing my daughter play with them. It seems like just yesterday we were slumming in front of the post office, being surly: now we are there with strollers and juice boxes. Ah, how life changes.
In other news, I've been doing a lot of reading both on the page and via audio lately. I just finished an ARC of Megan McCafferty's new novel, BUMPED, which will be released in May. It's really good, people. Futuristic but with the same biting voice as my beloved Jessica Darling, and plus, I HEAR there will be a sequel. Score! On audio, I just finished Portia de Rossi's memoir, Unbearable Lightness, which is all about her eating disorder when she was on Ally McBeal. Not easy to listen to, but so great and thought-provoking. She really takes you down that rabbit hole with her, which is so brave. Now I'm on to Mary Karr's memoir Lit, which is SO GOOD that I just want to keep driving, like, endlessly, because I don't want to turn it off. It's amazing. Next up on my reading list is Lorrie Moore's "A Gate at the Stairs," which I hear is fabulous as well. I have loved her ever since I read her short stories in college. "How to Become a Writer" was the first story I assigned to ALL my intro classes when I taught at UNC. It's like a primer, that good.
Finally. I am not normally a big festive holiday person. But this weekend, with my husband gone at the marathon in Charlotte, and the weather super dreary, I needed a pick me up. So I went to iTunes to check out some holiday music. I've been holding off on buying Mariah Carey's new holiday album, as I LOVE her first one (I am a nerd, but I know I am not alone). But then I heard her take on the Charlie Brown theme and was sold. So I got that and the Glee album. Oh, my goodness. SO GOOD! If you don't want to splurge, go to Pandora and get the Mariah Carey Christmas channel. It could make Scrooge want to wrap a gift. No joke.
Okay, time for pizza with the husband to celebrate his 26.2 with knee issues AND a chest cold. He is a rock star. I am just inhaling carbs in his honor.
Have a good night, everyone!
In other news, I've been doing a lot of reading both on the page and via audio lately. I just finished an ARC of Megan McCafferty's new novel, BUMPED, which will be released in May. It's really good, people. Futuristic but with the same biting voice as my beloved Jessica Darling, and plus, I HEAR there will be a sequel. Score! On audio, I just finished Portia de Rossi's memoir, Unbearable Lightness, which is all about her eating disorder when she was on Ally McBeal. Not easy to listen to, but so great and thought-provoking. She really takes you down that rabbit hole with her, which is so brave. Now I'm on to Mary Karr's memoir Lit, which is SO GOOD that I just want to keep driving, like, endlessly, because I don't want to turn it off. It's amazing. Next up on my reading list is Lorrie Moore's "A Gate at the Stairs," which I hear is fabulous as well. I have loved her ever since I read her short stories in college. "How to Become a Writer" was the first story I assigned to ALL my intro classes when I taught at UNC. It's like a primer, that good.
Finally. I am not normally a big festive holiday person. But this weekend, with my husband gone at the marathon in Charlotte, and the weather super dreary, I needed a pick me up. So I went to iTunes to check out some holiday music. I've been holding off on buying Mariah Carey's new holiday album, as I LOVE her first one (I am a nerd, but I know I am not alone). But then I heard her take on the Charlie Brown theme and was sold. So I got that and the Glee album. Oh, my goodness. SO GOOD! If you don't want to splurge, go to Pandora and get the Mariah Carey Christmas channel. It could make Scrooge want to wrap a gift. No joke.
Okay, time for pizza with the husband to celebrate his 26.2 with knee issues AND a chest cold. He is a rock star. I am just inhaling carbs in his honor.
Have a good night, everyone!
December 9, 2010
The Five!
1. Reason number 1,023 I need to learn to say NO more: I just spent about forty minutes answering online surveys for DirecTV, Apple, and other companies. Why, dear God, WHY do I not delete these things as soon as they land in my inbox? Do I really think that my specific opinion is of such value? Honestly, it's like Assertiveness Training 101. This should be the stuff I don't even THIINK about not doing. And yet, and yet. Sigh.
2. I've been getting a lot of questions about What Happened to Goodbye, my new book, which will be out in May. What it is about? you want to know. Give us details! Well, regular readers know that I am really, really terrible at summarizing my own books. It's honestly embarrassing. So I will just relay to you the copy that my brilliant (and very succinct) editor wrote for the back flap:
Another town. Another school. Another Mclean. Ever since her parents' bitter divorce, Mclean and her father have been fleeing their unhappy past. And Mclean's become a pro at reinventing herself with each move. But in Lakeview, Mclean finds herself putting down roots and making friends---in part, thanks to Dave, the most real person Mclean's ever met. Dave just may be falling in love with her, but can he see the person she really is? Does Mclean herself know?
*cue suspenseful music*
Okay, so that's the basic idea. But there is more! Like basketball. And restaurants. And acronyms. Also, the return of a few faces and places I am hoping readers of my other books might recognize. (Which I think I have cleverly hidden, but of course you will probably find them in five seconds. Oh, well.) I'm so, so excited for everyone to read it. I can't wait! For now, I have my husband, who is almost finished, sitting at the other end of the couch, and it drives me NUTS. What is he thinking? Does he like it? Should he be laughing right now and isn't? Oh, I haven't felt this insecure about him since I met him when I was fifteen. Hopefully I can relax before you all get your hands on it. We'll see.
3. It's funny the things that do come up at this time in the editing process, though. Like this week, I've found myself frantically fixing some tiny mistakes I made with basketball terminology. Would the bulk of the world know the difference between posting up and squaring up? Maybe not. But my husband does, and he pointed out I had some stuff wrong, so I went running off to Search and Replace and send crazy-sounding emails to my editor, who does not live and breathe basketball like I do. I think she thinks I am even nuttier than usual, and we've worked together a LONG time, so that is saying something. But seriously, if i had a basketball error and people in THIS town caught it? I'd never be able to show my face in public again. For serious. If you live in a college basketball hotbed, you know exactly what I mean.
4. I swore awhile back that I would stop talking about Friday Night Lights, as I know you are probably sick of hearing about it. But I can't help myself: the final season is running right now on DirecTV and oh, my God is it good. How can a show have cast changes, new characters and so much else different and keep the same level of excellence? I am sure other TV shows wish they knew. I won't spoil anything, but I do SO wish I knew someone else who was watching right now. Most of my friends don't have DirecTV and so I am left to weep and squeal and talk back to the TV as the credits roll, gushing, instead of to an actual person. I don't know what I will do when the last episode airs. Probably collapse on the floor and bawl like a baby. Which, actually, will probably be less embarrassing since I am by myself. *sniff*
5. Several of my close friends are heading to Charlotte this weekend to run the Thunder Road Marathon. I really wanted to go, as I love to be a cheering section. I make a mean poster and can work a clapper, let me tell you. I also have been the videographer for previous races, capturing the action with my Flip and then making dorky little videos with soundtracks from my iTunes library. (Nerd alert!) So of course I planned to go this time. But then, I started thinking about it, me and the three year old out in the cold for a few hours, the drive down, containing/entertaining her in the fancy boutique hotel where everyone is staying. In a perfect world (and I really feel like I should have to pay into a swear jar kind of thing every time I say that, as it DOES NOT EXIST) we would go anyway, and I'd be that mom with the cheerful, cheering kid, drinking hot chocolate as we watch everyone cross the finish line. In reality, though, I'd be dealing with potty training in a strange place, having to stay in when everyone else hits the hip bar in the boutique hotel, and keeping my kid quiet so everyone can sleep after the race. So I'm not going. Instead, I will stay here and attend the Chapel Hill Holiday parade, where it will also be cold, but full of other kids, and only lasts about an hour. I know there will be other races, other trips. Of course! This one's just not for me. But I WILL be clacking my clacker here when the race begins at 7:45 or whatever. I just have to do it REALLY loud so they can hear it in Charlotte.
Have a good weekend, everyone!
2. I've been getting a lot of questions about What Happened to Goodbye, my new book, which will be out in May. What it is about? you want to know. Give us details! Well, regular readers know that I am really, really terrible at summarizing my own books. It's honestly embarrassing. So I will just relay to you the copy that my brilliant (and very succinct) editor wrote for the back flap:
Another town. Another school. Another Mclean. Ever since her parents' bitter divorce, Mclean and her father have been fleeing their unhappy past. And Mclean's become a pro at reinventing herself with each move. But in Lakeview, Mclean finds herself putting down roots and making friends---in part, thanks to Dave, the most real person Mclean's ever met. Dave just may be falling in love with her, but can he see the person she really is? Does Mclean herself know?
*cue suspenseful music*
Okay, so that's the basic idea. But there is more! Like basketball. And restaurants. And acronyms. Also, the return of a few faces and places I am hoping readers of my other books might recognize. (Which I think I have cleverly hidden, but of course you will probably find them in five seconds. Oh, well.) I'm so, so excited for everyone to read it. I can't wait! For now, I have my husband, who is almost finished, sitting at the other end of the couch, and it drives me NUTS. What is he thinking? Does he like it? Should he be laughing right now and isn't? Oh, I haven't felt this insecure about him since I met him when I was fifteen. Hopefully I can relax before you all get your hands on it. We'll see.
3. It's funny the things that do come up at this time in the editing process, though. Like this week, I've found myself frantically fixing some tiny mistakes I made with basketball terminology. Would the bulk of the world know the difference between posting up and squaring up? Maybe not. But my husband does, and he pointed out I had some stuff wrong, so I went running off to Search and Replace and send crazy-sounding emails to my editor, who does not live and breathe basketball like I do. I think she thinks I am even nuttier than usual, and we've worked together a LONG time, so that is saying something. But seriously, if i had a basketball error and people in THIS town caught it? I'd never be able to show my face in public again. For serious. If you live in a college basketball hotbed, you know exactly what I mean.
4. I swore awhile back that I would stop talking about Friday Night Lights, as I know you are probably sick of hearing about it. But I can't help myself: the final season is running right now on DirecTV and oh, my God is it good. How can a show have cast changes, new characters and so much else different and keep the same level of excellence? I am sure other TV shows wish they knew. I won't spoil anything, but I do SO wish I knew someone else who was watching right now. Most of my friends don't have DirecTV and so I am left to weep and squeal and talk back to the TV as the credits roll, gushing, instead of to an actual person. I don't know what I will do when the last episode airs. Probably collapse on the floor and bawl like a baby. Which, actually, will probably be less embarrassing since I am by myself. *sniff*
5. Several of my close friends are heading to Charlotte this weekend to run the Thunder Road Marathon. I really wanted to go, as I love to be a cheering section. I make a mean poster and can work a clapper, let me tell you. I also have been the videographer for previous races, capturing the action with my Flip and then making dorky little videos with soundtracks from my iTunes library. (Nerd alert!) So of course I planned to go this time. But then, I started thinking about it, me and the three year old out in the cold for a few hours, the drive down, containing/entertaining her in the fancy boutique hotel where everyone is staying. In a perfect world (and I really feel like I should have to pay into a swear jar kind of thing every time I say that, as it DOES NOT EXIST) we would go anyway, and I'd be that mom with the cheerful, cheering kid, drinking hot chocolate as we watch everyone cross the finish line. In reality, though, I'd be dealing with potty training in a strange place, having to stay in when everyone else hits the hip bar in the boutique hotel, and keeping my kid quiet so everyone can sleep after the race. So I'm not going. Instead, I will stay here and attend the Chapel Hill Holiday parade, where it will also be cold, but full of other kids, and only lasts about an hour. I know there will be other races, other trips. Of course! This one's just not for me. But I WILL be clacking my clacker here when the race begins at 7:45 or whatever. I just have to do it REALLY loud so they can hear it in Charlotte.
Have a good weekend, everyone!
December 7, 2010
writergrl @ 2010-12-07T16:50:00
Maybe it's the cold, and the whole hibernation/nesting thing. Or the fact that I know within a couple of weeks we will have an influx of plush and plastic. Whatever the reason, these days I find myself with a serious NEED to cull and purge my house of all this STUFF. Clothes, books, toys---oh, God, so many TOYS---even expired canned food. It's all got to go, and like, right now. Usually this kind of mad organization means it's time to start writing again, but I'm not wanting to think about that right now, as I am still exhausted from What Happened to Goodbye. So instead, I attack my closets and upgrade all my technology. When everything is neat and in sync, THEN it is time to start another book. No telling when that will happen, though.
I used to be able to donate a lot of the toys my kid no longer plays with (or has forgotten about, or just won't miss if I nick them while she's sleeping) to the local PTA Thrift Shop, but due to lead regulations they won't take them anymore. So I've discovered the thrill of the local Swap Shed at the dump. Oh, man. This place ENTHRALLS me. Tucked away by the cardboard recycling, this little metal building where you can just leave things and people who want them take them. So simple, right? As I writer, and someone with too much time on my hands (a writer who isn't writing, I guess) I could spend hours parked watching people and seeing what they take, wondering what they want to do with it. (And I would sit there, except the guys that work at the dump are strict and wouldn't let me.) The other day, I dropped off a big box of old vinyl records my parents needed to get rid of, things like Beethoven and Gordon Lightfoot and show tunes. I am DYING to know the person who picked those up. I have also left stuffed animals, and old DVD players that still work. I REALLY want to leave a bunch of my foreign editions, because I don't know what else to do with them, but I fear I'd return and they'd still be there, unwanted, which would make me depressed.
Okay, so I'm a little codependent about the swap shed. To the point that I am fighting the urge to leave little notes with my stuff, explanations. Like, "This iPod dock will only work with REALLY old iPods. Just so you know," and "There is nothing wrong with this baby stroller! My kid just cannot and will not be contained!" But I supposed the swap shed is like a whole other level of buyer beware. More like, taker, be warned. This week I am dropping off a bunch of DVDs, some plastic race car track and a lifejacket. Need a writing prompt? Think about the person that needs those three items, and why. Go!
(See, so maybe I can say this isn't me being slack. I'm just working UP to writing. Well, it sounds good, at any rate.)
In other news, the holidays are fully upon us, and I'm doing the retail equivalent of the white flag. You know what I mean: gift cards. It's an envelope Christmas, people, and I'm not even ashamed to admit it. Okay, so I have a few actual gifts for a few people. But more and more, it's just easier to let people pick out what they want. I keep telling myself that by giving people that choice, I'm keeping more stuff out of the swap shed. Can you imagine how many foot massagers and Snuggies will be there after the holidays? I do feel sort of uncreative, though, I have to say. In a perfect world, I'd make homemade gifts, or homemade cookies, and wrap them by hand in gorgeous, hand-crafted packages. But there is one thing I have learned, and that is if there is EVER a time to lower the bar, it's the holidays.
Another example: I'm serving frozen lasagnas at our annual party this year. Not cooking, not paying someone else to cook. Just a quick stop at Sam's and I am in business. Okay, so I MIGHT hide the boxes so people don't know they are Stouffer's. (Although, true connoisseurs will probably be able to recognize Stouffer's flavor. But if they know it that well, I bet they aren't cooking from scratch much either, right?) Should I be ashamed? Maybe. But instead of being a stressed, nervous wreck the night of our party, as I have in previous years when I have insisted on Doing Everything, Preferably Perfectly, I MIGHT actually have fun this year. And I think---I know, actually---that my friends don't come to the party for my fancy cuisine. They come because we are all friends and love to see each other this one time of the year, if no time else. The food doesn't matter. I mean, the first time we did this party, WAAAAY back in 1990 or something, my friend Anna made a lasagna, then spilled it all over the kitchen floor. We scooped it back up and ate in anyway, because we were young and silly and hungry. See, THAT needs to be my bar. Not one I'm reaching over, but so low I can't help but stumble over it, no matter what I do.
Words to live by, right? That, and love your local Swap Shed.
Have a good night, everyone!
I used to be able to donate a lot of the toys my kid no longer plays with (or has forgotten about, or just won't miss if I nick them while she's sleeping) to the local PTA Thrift Shop, but due to lead regulations they won't take them anymore. So I've discovered the thrill of the local Swap Shed at the dump. Oh, man. This place ENTHRALLS me. Tucked away by the cardboard recycling, this little metal building where you can just leave things and people who want them take them. So simple, right? As I writer, and someone with too much time on my hands (a writer who isn't writing, I guess) I could spend hours parked watching people and seeing what they take, wondering what they want to do with it. (And I would sit there, except the guys that work at the dump are strict and wouldn't let me.) The other day, I dropped off a big box of old vinyl records my parents needed to get rid of, things like Beethoven and Gordon Lightfoot and show tunes. I am DYING to know the person who picked those up. I have also left stuffed animals, and old DVD players that still work. I REALLY want to leave a bunch of my foreign editions, because I don't know what else to do with them, but I fear I'd return and they'd still be there, unwanted, which would make me depressed.
Okay, so I'm a little codependent about the swap shed. To the point that I am fighting the urge to leave little notes with my stuff, explanations. Like, "This iPod dock will only work with REALLY old iPods. Just so you know," and "There is nothing wrong with this baby stroller! My kid just cannot and will not be contained!" But I supposed the swap shed is like a whole other level of buyer beware. More like, taker, be warned. This week I am dropping off a bunch of DVDs, some plastic race car track and a lifejacket. Need a writing prompt? Think about the person that needs those three items, and why. Go!
(See, so maybe I can say this isn't me being slack. I'm just working UP to writing. Well, it sounds good, at any rate.)
In other news, the holidays are fully upon us, and I'm doing the retail equivalent of the white flag. You know what I mean: gift cards. It's an envelope Christmas, people, and I'm not even ashamed to admit it. Okay, so I have a few actual gifts for a few people. But more and more, it's just easier to let people pick out what they want. I keep telling myself that by giving people that choice, I'm keeping more stuff out of the swap shed. Can you imagine how many foot massagers and Snuggies will be there after the holidays? I do feel sort of uncreative, though, I have to say. In a perfect world, I'd make homemade gifts, or homemade cookies, and wrap them by hand in gorgeous, hand-crafted packages. But there is one thing I have learned, and that is if there is EVER a time to lower the bar, it's the holidays.
Another example: I'm serving frozen lasagnas at our annual party this year. Not cooking, not paying someone else to cook. Just a quick stop at Sam's and I am in business. Okay, so I MIGHT hide the boxes so people don't know they are Stouffer's. (Although, true connoisseurs will probably be able to recognize Stouffer's flavor. But if they know it that well, I bet they aren't cooking from scratch much either, right?) Should I be ashamed? Maybe. But instead of being a stressed, nervous wreck the night of our party, as I have in previous years when I have insisted on Doing Everything, Preferably Perfectly, I MIGHT actually have fun this year. And I think---I know, actually---that my friends don't come to the party for my fancy cuisine. They come because we are all friends and love to see each other this one time of the year, if no time else. The food doesn't matter. I mean, the first time we did this party, WAAAAY back in 1990 or something, my friend Anna made a lasagna, then spilled it all over the kitchen floor. We scooped it back up and ate in anyway, because we were young and silly and hungry. See, THAT needs to be my bar. Not one I'm reaching over, but so low I can't help but stumble over it, no matter what I do.
Words to live by, right? That, and love your local Swap Shed.
Have a good night, everyone!
December 5, 2010
ham and parenting
Although I have lived in NC since I was three, I do not consider myself a real Southerner. This is for various reasons: my mom is from New York, my dad from Baltimore (which is either the South or not, depending on who you ask), I didn't grow up eating grits and biscuits, and I don't have a real accent. (I know, I know. A lot of you who have heard my voice think I do have a twang, but it is NOTHING compared to what I hear around me every single day.) Still, I think I have acclimated pretty well. I love pimento cheese, used to live off of sweet tea, that sort of thing. This weekend, though, for whatever reason, I decided to take on a true Southern challenge: making country ham biscuits.
You might be asking, "What is country ham?" Well, I had the same question, back in high school, when we'd hit this tiny gas station/grill/store for lunch. They offered ham biscuits, and when you ordered one, they'd say, "Country ham or city ham?" I grew up with the Oscar Mayer shrink-packed circle ham: that was all I knew. That is city ham. But this country ham thing: it's a whole other animal. Cured, vacuum packed. It's thicker and tougher and WAY saltier, but when you put it between two halves of a biscuit it is AMAZING. I'd had homemade country ham biscuits served on wax paper, and fancy ones at weddings and events, so I wanted to see if I could replicate them. I am not ABOUT to try to make homemade biscuits---for the same reason I won't even try homemade piecrust, i.e. life is too short. So I bought some frozen mini biscuits, a pack of country ham, and hit the internet. Then I started cooking.
Immediately, I had my doubts, as the odor it emitted was...well, not exactly good. "It smells weird," I said. My husband, who was born and bred here, took a sniff. "Nope, that's just what country ham smells like." I was worried. I cooked it in the frying pan according to directions, then tore it into pieces and put it in the biscuits. I was not optimistic. But they were....good. REALLY good. Oh, dear. I have to say, though, now that I have done it, I think I could do city ham and they would be just as good if not better. And more healthy. (Southern food, traditionally prepared, is not known for this. Can you say LARD?) My husband, however, informed me that no one really puts city ham into biscuits. It is Not Done. But I'm not a real Southerner, which works both ways for me. I don't HAVE to follow the rules. That is the nice thing about being a transplant. You can add a ton of cheese to your grits and use lowfat mayo in the pimento cheese and it's all good. I mean, really: can you go wrong with a biscuit, EVER? The answer, my friends, is no.
Another thing that is NOT normal in the South: snow before Christmas. But watch out, on Saturday they predicted flurries and we got about an inch and a half. Whoa! It was so pretty, albeit freezing, which I got to experience firsthand as my daughter wanted to be out in it immediately and nonstop. Remember when you were a kid and you could and would stay out in the snow for HOURS? I had forgotten. But I think I will have to get used to it again. For me, snow is hot chocolate and naps and movies and books, but she has other ideas. On the flip side, the same night we decorated our Christmas tree. I will admit I don't get as excited about the holidays as I probably should: there is stress, and shopping, and logistics, all that. But to see my kid's face when we opened the ornaments, her absolute JOY at putting them on....well, it put things in perspective. There is a magic to this time of year, no matter what you celebrate. I think when we get older, maybe we forget that.
Which is not to say this was an easy weekend, because it wasn't. Won't go into detail, but parenting-wise my nerves were frayed, my temper short. Sigh. It's probably ironic that at the same time, I seem to be talking to a lot of people who say that they have such "easy babies," or "easy kids," ones that don't throw tantrums, sleep till 9am each morning, eat salmon and broccoli willingly, and are potty trained before their first birthday. (Okay, some of those are an exaggeration, but seriously, my husband talked to someone who has a kid less than one who is already on the potty. Shoot me now, is all I have to say to that.) This kind of stuff shouldn't exhaust me, but it does. It's just like when I hear about authors saying that they just "sit down and listen to the muse and the book comes," or some such. They might get frustrated mid-novel here or there, but they have confidence, because they are have, I guess, Easy Books. I don't have those. My kid isn't easy either. But you know, what, maybe that's okay. Because you get what you get, and it makes you who you are. It would be different if right now, as I write this blog I am desperately trying to finish, my daughter was not crawling up on a stepladder and upending the raspberry jelly on the counter. It would be different if my books were easy and flowed like water and didn't make me feel like I was going through the ringer every single time, either the first or the tenth. But if that was the case, she wouldn't be my kid, and they wouldn't be my books. So I will accept that maybe Easy isn't for me. Just like country ham. Right?
Have a good night, everyone!
You might be asking, "What is country ham?" Well, I had the same question, back in high school, when we'd hit this tiny gas station/grill/store for lunch. They offered ham biscuits, and when you ordered one, they'd say, "Country ham or city ham?" I grew up with the Oscar Mayer shrink-packed circle ham: that was all I knew. That is city ham. But this country ham thing: it's a whole other animal. Cured, vacuum packed. It's thicker and tougher and WAY saltier, but when you put it between two halves of a biscuit it is AMAZING. I'd had homemade country ham biscuits served on wax paper, and fancy ones at weddings and events, so I wanted to see if I could replicate them. I am not ABOUT to try to make homemade biscuits---for the same reason I won't even try homemade piecrust, i.e. life is too short. So I bought some frozen mini biscuits, a pack of country ham, and hit the internet. Then I started cooking.
Immediately, I had my doubts, as the odor it emitted was...well, not exactly good. "It smells weird," I said. My husband, who was born and bred here, took a sniff. "Nope, that's just what country ham smells like." I was worried. I cooked it in the frying pan according to directions, then tore it into pieces and put it in the biscuits. I was not optimistic. But they were....good. REALLY good. Oh, dear. I have to say, though, now that I have done it, I think I could do city ham and they would be just as good if not better. And more healthy. (Southern food, traditionally prepared, is not known for this. Can you say LARD?) My husband, however, informed me that no one really puts city ham into biscuits. It is Not Done. But I'm not a real Southerner, which works both ways for me. I don't HAVE to follow the rules. That is the nice thing about being a transplant. You can add a ton of cheese to your grits and use lowfat mayo in the pimento cheese and it's all good. I mean, really: can you go wrong with a biscuit, EVER? The answer, my friends, is no.
Another thing that is NOT normal in the South: snow before Christmas. But watch out, on Saturday they predicted flurries and we got about an inch and a half. Whoa! It was so pretty, albeit freezing, which I got to experience firsthand as my daughter wanted to be out in it immediately and nonstop. Remember when you were a kid and you could and would stay out in the snow for HOURS? I had forgotten. But I think I will have to get used to it again. For me, snow is hot chocolate and naps and movies and books, but she has other ideas. On the flip side, the same night we decorated our Christmas tree. I will admit I don't get as excited about the holidays as I probably should: there is stress, and shopping, and logistics, all that. But to see my kid's face when we opened the ornaments, her absolute JOY at putting them on....well, it put things in perspective. There is a magic to this time of year, no matter what you celebrate. I think when we get older, maybe we forget that.
Which is not to say this was an easy weekend, because it wasn't. Won't go into detail, but parenting-wise my nerves were frayed, my temper short. Sigh. It's probably ironic that at the same time, I seem to be talking to a lot of people who say that they have such "easy babies," or "easy kids," ones that don't throw tantrums, sleep till 9am each morning, eat salmon and broccoli willingly, and are potty trained before their first birthday. (Okay, some of those are an exaggeration, but seriously, my husband talked to someone who has a kid less than one who is already on the potty. Shoot me now, is all I have to say to that.) This kind of stuff shouldn't exhaust me, but it does. It's just like when I hear about authors saying that they just "sit down and listen to the muse and the book comes," or some such. They might get frustrated mid-novel here or there, but they have confidence, because they are have, I guess, Easy Books. I don't have those. My kid isn't easy either. But you know, what, maybe that's okay. Because you get what you get, and it makes you who you are. It would be different if right now, as I write this blog I am desperately trying to finish, my daughter was not crawling up on a stepladder and upending the raspberry jelly on the counter. It would be different if my books were easy and flowed like water and didn't make me feel like I was going through the ringer every single time, either the first or the tenth. But if that was the case, she wouldn't be my kid, and they wouldn't be my books. So I will accept that maybe Easy isn't for me. Just like country ham. Right?
Have a good night, everyone!
December 2, 2010
The Five!
1. This is a dangerous time of year for me. First, I like to shop. Second, I like to shop online. And third, this is a time I can spend without feeling QUITE so guilty because I am buying for other people. It's like a perfect storm of retail. Add in the fact that my email inbox is packed with special offers (oh, they know I am weak) and really, I do best when I am nowhere near a computer. But I write on a computer for a LIVING, so this is kind of hard. The nice thing about online shopping, though, is you can play the Crate and Barrel game and take it a step further. What's the Crate and Barrel game, you ask? Well. It's something I came up with back in my waitressing days, when I would get the latest C&B catalog and just DROOL over it. I was living in a run down country house with a kitchen that had a stove with two burners busted at any given moment. But I liked to pretend I lived in a big house that needed furnishing. So after a long night on my feet, I'd sit down with my adult beverage (as Sam Champion would say) pull out my catalog, and go through it from front to back, marking everything I was going to buy for my imaginary house. I know, I know. Sort of lame. But it was better than watching Baywatch (which is other thing I did after work back in those days). When I was done, and had all my stuff marked, it was like I'd really done the shopping. Sort of. So now, online, I do the same thing, but with my virtual carts. I have carts all over the internet, people. I'm not ashamed. I put things in them, take them out, debate what sizes/colors/quantities people would like. Then I abandon them with the click of a mouse. Which, I figure, is MUCH better than leaving an actual cart somewhere for somebody to have to deal with. Right?
2. I know you are all still laughing at me about my Baywatch admission. Sadly, it is true. What can I say? I'd get home from work around 11, smelling of Mexican food, and take a shower. My husband (then my boyfriend) who was on a framing crew, had to be up by 5:30 or 6, so he was already asleep. So it was just me and the dogs and I was always too keyed up to go to bed just yet. Enter Baywatch. Oh, the shame. I watched it a LOT. Even worse? One night, after a couple of adult beverages, I saw the one where Stephanie drowned. Totally did not see it coming and....started crying. BAWLING. Oh, God, I can't believe I am admitting this. It is worse than the Crate and Barrel game! I could maybe forget about this except for the fact that I also called my friend Bianca, still crying, to tell her about it, and she will NEVER let me live it down. Why am I telling you this now? I have no idea. Moving on!
3. Something I am not ashamed to admit in the least: my love for Jake Gyllenhaal. Oh, dear goodness, he is so lovely. And that was even BEFORE I read the EW with him and Anne Hathaway on the cover. People: he cooks. Sa-woon! It's not enough to be gorgeous and funny and self-deprecating, but he also makes his own breadcrumbs. I mean, that's just not fair. I so hope Taylor Swift appreciates him. I really want to see Love and Other Drugs, if only because I stare at him unabashedly for two hours and call it necessary. Okay, I'll shut up now.
4. You might wonder, reading the above item, why I am reading an EW that is, like, a couple of weeks old. Well. Here's another embarrassing admission: I'm kind of weird about my magazines. I like to read them from cover to cover, even if it means---and lately it always means---I get really, really behind. You know you are in trouble when you are reading a weekly entertainment magazine and the TV listings are for, like, last month. Whoops! If it wasn't for Megan McCafferty and her Twitter, I wouldn't have even known Celebrity Rehab started last night. And that's just sad. (That I wouldn't have known, not that I watch Celebrity Rehab. All right, all right. That's sad, too.) I know I should read magazines like a normal person, i.e. flipping past the articles that don't fully interest me, but it's really hard. I don't want to miss anything! Honestly. Leave it to me to make even reading for pleasure into something guilt-based. Hello, therapy!
5. Finally, big happenings: my daughter has been asked to be a flower girl. Sob! My husband's cousin is getting married this summer, and he and his bride to be said they'd love for her to be part of the Big Day. My first thought was, "So cute!" and my second one was, "But...she won't even let me brush her hair. Or look at the camera when you're taking a picture. And what if she won't go down the aisle?" They sent me a link to some dresses to choose from and they are all so incredibly cute. Satin sashes, tulle skirts, little girls with perfect hair, holding baskets of rose petals. I just keep thinking of my kid, who thinks picking her nose is hysterical and the other day asked me to "hook her up" with another pancake. (Oh, Daddy. What am I doing to do with you?) Somehow, these two worlds will collide and hopefully mesh. My cousin Emily suggested I get her the book "Lilly's Big Day," which is all about being a flower girl, so I'm doing that. Now I just have to figure out how to make her cooperate when the day actually comes. Bribery? Prayer? We will be in a church, after all. Luckily I have awhile to work it out. The truth is, I was a flower girl when I was six and I loved it, remember it SO well. So it will be special, in one way or another. I just hope it's NOT because she's the one picking her nose in the pictures. Give me strength.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
2. I know you are all still laughing at me about my Baywatch admission. Sadly, it is true. What can I say? I'd get home from work around 11, smelling of Mexican food, and take a shower. My husband (then my boyfriend) who was on a framing crew, had to be up by 5:30 or 6, so he was already asleep. So it was just me and the dogs and I was always too keyed up to go to bed just yet. Enter Baywatch. Oh, the shame. I watched it a LOT. Even worse? One night, after a couple of adult beverages, I saw the one where Stephanie drowned. Totally did not see it coming and....started crying. BAWLING. Oh, God, I can't believe I am admitting this. It is worse than the Crate and Barrel game! I could maybe forget about this except for the fact that I also called my friend Bianca, still crying, to tell her about it, and she will NEVER let me live it down. Why am I telling you this now? I have no idea. Moving on!
3. Something I am not ashamed to admit in the least: my love for Jake Gyllenhaal. Oh, dear goodness, he is so lovely. And that was even BEFORE I read the EW with him and Anne Hathaway on the cover. People: he cooks. Sa-woon! It's not enough to be gorgeous and funny and self-deprecating, but he also makes his own breadcrumbs. I mean, that's just not fair. I so hope Taylor Swift appreciates him. I really want to see Love and Other Drugs, if only because I stare at him unabashedly for two hours and call it necessary. Okay, I'll shut up now.
4. You might wonder, reading the above item, why I am reading an EW that is, like, a couple of weeks old. Well. Here's another embarrassing admission: I'm kind of weird about my magazines. I like to read them from cover to cover, even if it means---and lately it always means---I get really, really behind. You know you are in trouble when you are reading a weekly entertainment magazine and the TV listings are for, like, last month. Whoops! If it wasn't for Megan McCafferty and her Twitter, I wouldn't have even known Celebrity Rehab started last night. And that's just sad. (That I wouldn't have known, not that I watch Celebrity Rehab. All right, all right. That's sad, too.) I know I should read magazines like a normal person, i.e. flipping past the articles that don't fully interest me, but it's really hard. I don't want to miss anything! Honestly. Leave it to me to make even reading for pleasure into something guilt-based. Hello, therapy!
5. Finally, big happenings: my daughter has been asked to be a flower girl. Sob! My husband's cousin is getting married this summer, and he and his bride to be said they'd love for her to be part of the Big Day. My first thought was, "So cute!" and my second one was, "But...she won't even let me brush her hair. Or look at the camera when you're taking a picture. And what if she won't go down the aisle?" They sent me a link to some dresses to choose from and they are all so incredibly cute. Satin sashes, tulle skirts, little girls with perfect hair, holding baskets of rose petals. I just keep thinking of my kid, who thinks picking her nose is hysterical and the other day asked me to "hook her up" with another pancake. (Oh, Daddy. What am I doing to do with you?) Somehow, these two worlds will collide and hopefully mesh. My cousin Emily suggested I get her the book "Lilly's Big Day," which is all about being a flower girl, so I'm doing that. Now I just have to figure out how to make her cooperate when the day actually comes. Bribery? Prayer? We will be in a church, after all. Luckily I have awhile to work it out. The truth is, I was a flower girl when I was six and I loved it, remember it SO well. So it will be special, in one way or another. I just hope it's NOT because she's the one picking her nose in the pictures. Give me strength.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
November 30, 2010
writergrl @ 2010-11-30T16:48:00
There are days when I can convince myself that I actually CAN still think like a teen, or at least enough like one to write a novel in that voice. I don't kid myself: I know I am 40, there is no denying it. But occasionally I allow myself to think that I am, you know, sort of hip. But then something happens. Like I make a pop culture reference to one of my babysitters, only to have them stare at me blankly and say, "Um, I wasn't born then, actually." Or I say something that sounds so much like my mother it gives me chills. (See: "It's not my job to clean up after you," and "Eat something healthy first," and "Because I said so, is why," among others.)
Then I have a moment like last night, when I was watching Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, the movie with Michael Cera and I just....didn't get it. I mean, I understood the concept. I'm not that far gone. But the story and the way it was told, all the comic book references....it was like I could hear them going over my head, WHOOSH! Also telling: that I was so distracted by how skinny Michael Cera was to the point that I found myself worrying if he was okay. Now I'm not my mom, I'm my grandmother. (See: "Are you eating enough? Are you sure? I think you need some protein, a sandwich. Let me make you one," etc.) Granted, Michael Cera is always skinny and pasty, it is part of his appeal. (I loved him in Juno, but really fell for him as George Michael on Arrested Development. If you have not seen that show, you are seriously missing out. Get thee to Netflix, now!) But he looked especially gaunt in this one. Maybe it was all the hats he was wearing or something.
Even that, however, was not as bad as a mistake I made last week which really showed my age. I was writing a tweet and referenced Justin Bieber....and spelled his last name wrong. Which was an honest mistake, but MAN was I taken to task by his fans. Everything from being corrected multiple times, politely (which was fine) to being called a "dumbass" and told to f**k off (and not in the cheery, Cee-lo, singing kind of way, either). Yikes! If I got upset every time people called me Sarah Dressen or Desser I'd be even more of a nervous wreck than I already am. Lesson learned: do not tweet about what you do not know. Or understand. It won't happen again. I will go to my GRAVE knowing it is Bieber, not Beiber.
In other news, I think I mentioned already that I am currently on my LAST pass of What Happened to Goodbye, and as always, it is bittersweet. On the one hand, I have read it over SO many times that I am kind of sick of it. On the other, though, I know this is my last chance to make changes before I send it on out into the world. It's weird, knowing that soon it will be a Real Book, out of my hands and control. It's like leaving my kid at preschool for the first time, zipping up her jacket, making sure she has water bottle, everything she needs. I'm so ready to let it go, but so scared, even as this is the TENTH time around. When I see it in bookstores, or hear about people reading it online, it will be like watching my kid on the preschool playground, hidden where she can't see me, just hoping she's doing okay all on her own. Sob. Sniffle! Oh, God, I'm such a mess.
Luckily, that time hasn't come yet. I still have a few more days to make some final last changes, get everything as close to Just Right as I can. I don't want to misspell anyone's name, after all. We know how THAT ends.
Have a good night, everyone!
Then I have a moment like last night, when I was watching Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, the movie with Michael Cera and I just....didn't get it. I mean, I understood the concept. I'm not that far gone. But the story and the way it was told, all the comic book references....it was like I could hear them going over my head, WHOOSH! Also telling: that I was so distracted by how skinny Michael Cera was to the point that I found myself worrying if he was okay. Now I'm not my mom, I'm my grandmother. (See: "Are you eating enough? Are you sure? I think you need some protein, a sandwich. Let me make you one," etc.) Granted, Michael Cera is always skinny and pasty, it is part of his appeal. (I loved him in Juno, but really fell for him as George Michael on Arrested Development. If you have not seen that show, you are seriously missing out. Get thee to Netflix, now!) But he looked especially gaunt in this one. Maybe it was all the hats he was wearing or something.
Even that, however, was not as bad as a mistake I made last week which really showed my age. I was writing a tweet and referenced Justin Bieber....and spelled his last name wrong. Which was an honest mistake, but MAN was I taken to task by his fans. Everything from being corrected multiple times, politely (which was fine) to being called a "dumbass" and told to f**k off (and not in the cheery, Cee-lo, singing kind of way, either). Yikes! If I got upset every time people called me Sarah Dressen or Desser I'd be even more of a nervous wreck than I already am. Lesson learned: do not tweet about what you do not know. Or understand. It won't happen again. I will go to my GRAVE knowing it is Bieber, not Beiber.
In other news, I think I mentioned already that I am currently on my LAST pass of What Happened to Goodbye, and as always, it is bittersweet. On the one hand, I have read it over SO many times that I am kind of sick of it. On the other, though, I know this is my last chance to make changes before I send it on out into the world. It's weird, knowing that soon it will be a Real Book, out of my hands and control. It's like leaving my kid at preschool for the first time, zipping up her jacket, making sure she has water bottle, everything she needs. I'm so ready to let it go, but so scared, even as this is the TENTH time around. When I see it in bookstores, or hear about people reading it online, it will be like watching my kid on the preschool playground, hidden where she can't see me, just hoping she's doing okay all on her own. Sob. Sniffle! Oh, God, I'm such a mess.
Luckily, that time hasn't come yet. I still have a few more days to make some final last changes, get everything as close to Just Right as I can. I don't want to misspell anyone's name, after all. We know how THAT ends.
Have a good night, everyone!
November 28, 2010
writergrl @ 2010-11-28T17:26:00
I hope hat you all had a VERY nice Thanksgiving weekend, full of food and fun and everything else. I myself had three different Thanksgiving gatherings, a trip to Urgent Care (everyone's fine, just needed antibiotics and all the regular docs were eating turkey or at Target), entirely too much stuffing and brie (which is not a bad thing) and finally, over the last couple of days, some much needed downtime. I know I have to get it where I can, as with the holidays coming up fast things will soon get crazy again.
The trick, I know, is to not let this happen. To somehow find that balance of delegating, saying no, simplifying and breathing that will turn me into someone happy and blissed out all the time, like the kids on the Fresh Beat Band. Too much to aim for? Yeah, probably. So I think I will just go with NOT getting so stressed and frenzied that I end up at Urgent Care again.
(On a side note, the nurse there told me that the day after Thanksgiving is their busiest day of the year. Just like the retailers! I guess people either eat too much, or pass around viruses, or whatever, and none of the other doctors are open. I have to say, I love my Urgent Care place, although I KNOW I need to find a regular general practitioner. It's hard, though, because every place I've gone is always booked up, and so busy, and with Urgent Care you can just show up and wait, get seen and be done with it. I love my Urgent Care doc so much I told him I wished he was my regular one, and he just laughed. Apparently he gets that a lot, or something. You always love the one who helps you when no one else can or will, I guess.)
Those NOT at Urgent Care were apparently out shopping. Now, don't get me wrong: I love to shop. But I hate crowds. Like, HATE them. So Black Friday is like my worst nightmare. Plus, they keep pushing back the hours they open further and further: this year, Kohl's was opening at 3am. THREE A.M.! I cannot fathom waking up that early unless I had a sick kid, but again, that's just me. I said as much on my Twitter and was stunned by how many people replied to say they had been there at 3 or even before. One girl even said she was WORKING that shift and it was awful. Whoa. I can't even imagine.
In other news, I finally got to see The Kids Are Alright on demand last night, and I really liked it. Annette Bening and Julianne Moore were amazing, and as usual I found myself in total sa-woon mode over Mark Ruffalo. He had me at 13 Going on 30, but my crush has only intensified since then. And he was all scruffy in this movie, and I don't even do scruffy! Clearly I am willing to break all my rules for him. I might even go to Kohl's at 3AM if he asked. Not that he WOULD, but you get the idea.
Finally, I saw a friend of mine this weekend who is a high school teacher. Awhile back, after he said some girls in his classes were big fans of my books, I passed along a few extra copies I had for his classroom. I asked if they were enjoying them, and he said they'd all been stolen. Which apparently means yes. I hear this more than you'd think, and I THINK it is a compliment. My books are among the most stolen from my own high school's library, and several teachers have told me that their own copies have been snaked regularly. I worry this does not reflect well on my readers, although I am somewhat flattered. I think?
Okay, time for a fire, some brie and bread, and pot roast. It's already dark outside. Okay, December, bring it on.....
Have a good night, everyone!
The trick, I know, is to not let this happen. To somehow find that balance of delegating, saying no, simplifying and breathing that will turn me into someone happy and blissed out all the time, like the kids on the Fresh Beat Band. Too much to aim for? Yeah, probably. So I think I will just go with NOT getting so stressed and frenzied that I end up at Urgent Care again.
(On a side note, the nurse there told me that the day after Thanksgiving is their busiest day of the year. Just like the retailers! I guess people either eat too much, or pass around viruses, or whatever, and none of the other doctors are open. I have to say, I love my Urgent Care place, although I KNOW I need to find a regular general practitioner. It's hard, though, because every place I've gone is always booked up, and so busy, and with Urgent Care you can just show up and wait, get seen and be done with it. I love my Urgent Care doc so much I told him I wished he was my regular one, and he just laughed. Apparently he gets that a lot, or something. You always love the one who helps you when no one else can or will, I guess.)
Those NOT at Urgent Care were apparently out shopping. Now, don't get me wrong: I love to shop. But I hate crowds. Like, HATE them. So Black Friday is like my worst nightmare. Plus, they keep pushing back the hours they open further and further: this year, Kohl's was opening at 3am. THREE A.M.! I cannot fathom waking up that early unless I had a sick kid, but again, that's just me. I said as much on my Twitter and was stunned by how many people replied to say they had been there at 3 or even before. One girl even said she was WORKING that shift and it was awful. Whoa. I can't even imagine.
In other news, I finally got to see The Kids Are Alright on demand last night, and I really liked it. Annette Bening and Julianne Moore were amazing, and as usual I found myself in total sa-woon mode over Mark Ruffalo. He had me at 13 Going on 30, but my crush has only intensified since then. And he was all scruffy in this movie, and I don't even do scruffy! Clearly I am willing to break all my rules for him. I might even go to Kohl's at 3AM if he asked. Not that he WOULD, but you get the idea.
Finally, I saw a friend of mine this weekend who is a high school teacher. Awhile back, after he said some girls in his classes were big fans of my books, I passed along a few extra copies I had for his classroom. I asked if they were enjoying them, and he said they'd all been stolen. Which apparently means yes. I hear this more than you'd think, and I THINK it is a compliment. My books are among the most stolen from my own high school's library, and several teachers have told me that their own copies have been snaked regularly. I worry this does not reflect well on my readers, although I am somewhat flattered. I think?
Okay, time for a fire, some brie and bread, and pot roast. It's already dark outside. Okay, December, bring it on.....
Have a good night, everyone!
November 22, 2010
Thankful
I know I just updated yesterday. But because this is Thanksgiving week, I've been thinking about things I am grateful for, and today I had a new one to add to the list: the police.
Yes. You read that right. Me, who used to get shooed off the corner of Franklin and Rosemary by various patrolmen, who was known by name by the juvenile officer (I ran with a kind of wild crowd: still with them, although none of us are wild anymore) who more than once ran from a house into the woods when someone yelled "COPS!". Today, I was ready to hug Officer North from the Chapel Hill Police Department, if I didn't think it would freak him out. Or get me arrested. Let me explain.
So we're out as a family today, driving by to check out the landscaping work that's been done on a rental property we bought recently. Toddler's in the back, strapped into her car seat, and announces she does NOT want to get out when we pull up and park. Fine, I say, and leave the car running, her sitting back there kicking my seat (like always) and listening to the radio. The husband and I walk ten paces, discuss a shrub and some trees, then walk back to the car which is...locked. Somehow. HOW????? I have no idea, still. Inside are both our keys and our phones. And our CHILD who is smiling at me, oblivious, just thinking about the pancakes we are going to go get any minute now.
Okay, I thought. Just think. Breathe. We tried all the doors. Tried them again. Breathed some more. This is NOT happening, I think. My husband tries to explain to Sasha how to unlock and/or open her door. She gets confused when she can't do it, then scared, and starts crying. Oh, man. "Mama! Mama!" I break into a full-on sweat. Breathing does not help. My husband runs to a nearby house to call 911 while I try (TRY) to remain all la-di-da calm, talking to the baby about her stuffed animals through the window. She is not buying it. Now I'm about to cry. Husband returns, then goes up to street to wait for policeman who is on route. I try to talk about panckakes, Max and Ruby, grandma. Nothing is working. The neighbor whose phone we used comes over, makes a crack about the cop reporting me to social services. I start sweating more. Baby is full-on sobbing now, calling for me. I start looking for a rock or brick. Not EVEN joking. But then, THEN, the police car pulls up, and out steps Officer North. All calm and cool. "We'll get you out as soon as we can," he tells Sasha, and then proceeds to do just that in about three minutes flat. Within another minute, she's eating goldfish pretzels and asking can we go get pancakes now. Me, I'm still shaking.
Oh, my God. There was just something about seeing her so upset, scared, calling for me, and NOT being able to get to her...I get flushed just thinking about it now. I know, I know, people do this. I posted about it on Twitter and was shocked, and reassured, by how many folks told me just that. (Plus, I have a friend who did it with her toddler when she was, like, nine months pregnant. She wins the stress contest, surely.) But still: you do not want to be the one responsible for something like that, even if it IS an accident. Hopefully she won't remember it. I wish I could say the same.
So, like I said, I am grateful for that officer. For lessons learned without harsh (or too harsh) consequences. For under-car spare key holders, which we have already bought for all our vehicles. And for pancakes and bacon, which was just what we all needed to calm down afterwards.
I wish you all a safe and happy holiday. Drive carefully, fly nicely, remember your spare key, and hug your local law enforcement personnel. Or, maybe not HUG, but appreciate. I sure do.
Have a good night, everyone!
Yes. You read that right. Me, who used to get shooed off the corner of Franklin and Rosemary by various patrolmen, who was known by name by the juvenile officer (I ran with a kind of wild crowd: still with them, although none of us are wild anymore) who more than once ran from a house into the woods when someone yelled "COPS!". Today, I was ready to hug Officer North from the Chapel Hill Police Department, if I didn't think it would freak him out. Or get me arrested. Let me explain.
So we're out as a family today, driving by to check out the landscaping work that's been done on a rental property we bought recently. Toddler's in the back, strapped into her car seat, and announces she does NOT want to get out when we pull up and park. Fine, I say, and leave the car running, her sitting back there kicking my seat (like always) and listening to the radio. The husband and I walk ten paces, discuss a shrub and some trees, then walk back to the car which is...locked. Somehow. HOW????? I have no idea, still. Inside are both our keys and our phones. And our CHILD who is smiling at me, oblivious, just thinking about the pancakes we are going to go get any minute now.
Okay, I thought. Just think. Breathe. We tried all the doors. Tried them again. Breathed some more. This is NOT happening, I think. My husband tries to explain to Sasha how to unlock and/or open her door. She gets confused when she can't do it, then scared, and starts crying. Oh, man. "Mama! Mama!" I break into a full-on sweat. Breathing does not help. My husband runs to a nearby house to call 911 while I try (TRY) to remain all la-di-da calm, talking to the baby about her stuffed animals through the window. She is not buying it. Now I'm about to cry. Husband returns, then goes up to street to wait for policeman who is on route. I try to talk about panckakes, Max and Ruby, grandma. Nothing is working. The neighbor whose phone we used comes over, makes a crack about the cop reporting me to social services. I start sweating more. Baby is full-on sobbing now, calling for me. I start looking for a rock or brick. Not EVEN joking. But then, THEN, the police car pulls up, and out steps Officer North. All calm and cool. "We'll get you out as soon as we can," he tells Sasha, and then proceeds to do just that in about three minutes flat. Within another minute, she's eating goldfish pretzels and asking can we go get pancakes now. Me, I'm still shaking.
Oh, my God. There was just something about seeing her so upset, scared, calling for me, and NOT being able to get to her...I get flushed just thinking about it now. I know, I know, people do this. I posted about it on Twitter and was shocked, and reassured, by how many folks told me just that. (Plus, I have a friend who did it with her toddler when she was, like, nine months pregnant. She wins the stress contest, surely.) But still: you do not want to be the one responsible for something like that, even if it IS an accident. Hopefully she won't remember it. I wish I could say the same.
So, like I said, I am grateful for that officer. For lessons learned without harsh (or too harsh) consequences. For under-car spare key holders, which we have already bought for all our vehicles. And for pancakes and bacon, which was just what we all needed to calm down afterwards.
I wish you all a safe and happy holiday. Drive carefully, fly nicely, remember your spare key, and hug your local law enforcement personnel. Or, maybe not HUG, but appreciate. I sure do.
Have a good night, everyone!
writergrl @ 2010-11-21T20:01:00
Hello from this lovely Sunday, the beginning of one of my favorite weeks of the year. Why? Because it's Thanksgiving, and I love an eating holiday. Also, it's a short work week, so there's that fun feeling of things being in vacation mode before vacation even begins. And did I mention the eating? Christmas is great too, but to me, too often, it becomes bogged down in plans and parties and gift buying and obligations. Thanksgiving, though, is just about slowing down and being with family. And, um, eating.
I've gotten a jump on the whole thing by starting this weekend with a birthday party for my husband and one of our closest friends. It was great weather, warm all day then nice and crisp-cool, and we broke out the fire pit we bought a few weeks back. We built a fire, had amazing subs from Neal's Deli (best in Carrboro, or anywhere, really), and our friends brought marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate for s'mores. Oh, my goodness. So great.
We also had cupcakes, which I had gone to get earlier in the day from Sugarland Bakery on Franklin Street here in Chapel Hill. What I had forgotten (bad local!) was that the UNC-State game was at noon that same day. I was down there wanting cupcakes at 9:30, but no matter: tailgating and football crowds were in FULL swing, and ESPN was set up in front of one of the local restaurants. Personally, I am a basketball girl: football has never held much interest for me. But I do LOVE football Saturdays here. All the cars with flags flapping, the tailgaters with their grills (even at 9:30), the sense of excitement (even though UNC went on to lose, but oh, well). Still, for me, a little goes as long way. About twenty minutes later, when I had my cupcakes, I was MORE than ready to leave the chaos and head back to the country. That's the beauty of this place. I can do the college town thing, and five miles later, leave it entirely. Best of both worlds.
Now, it's time for another dinner with friends. Thanks to Whole Foods, I am providing really good food that seems like I MIGHT have made it myself. (Although I am such a confessor type that I will tell everyone I did not.) This week may be crazy, but it's a crazy mixed with gratitude, which is a really good kind. I am lucky to have my friends and family, and all of you, and so much else. And leftover cupcakes, too.
Have a good night, everyone!
I've gotten a jump on the whole thing by starting this weekend with a birthday party for my husband and one of our closest friends. It was great weather, warm all day then nice and crisp-cool, and we broke out the fire pit we bought a few weeks back. We built a fire, had amazing subs from Neal's Deli (best in Carrboro, or anywhere, really), and our friends brought marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate for s'mores. Oh, my goodness. So great.
We also had cupcakes, which I had gone to get earlier in the day from Sugarland Bakery on Franklin Street here in Chapel Hill. What I had forgotten (bad local!) was that the UNC-State game was at noon that same day. I was down there wanting cupcakes at 9:30, but no matter: tailgating and football crowds were in FULL swing, and ESPN was set up in front of one of the local restaurants. Personally, I am a basketball girl: football has never held much interest for me. But I do LOVE football Saturdays here. All the cars with flags flapping, the tailgaters with their grills (even at 9:30), the sense of excitement (even though UNC went on to lose, but oh, well). Still, for me, a little goes as long way. About twenty minutes later, when I had my cupcakes, I was MORE than ready to leave the chaos and head back to the country. That's the beauty of this place. I can do the college town thing, and five miles later, leave it entirely. Best of both worlds.
Now, it's time for another dinner with friends. Thanks to Whole Foods, I am providing really good food that seems like I MIGHT have made it myself. (Although I am such a confessor type that I will tell everyone I did not.) This week may be crazy, but it's a crazy mixed with gratitude, which is a really good kind. I am lucky to have my friends and family, and all of you, and so much else. And leftover cupcakes, too.
Have a good night, everyone!
