Nov 17, 2011 |
As I write this, I’m preparing for a Girls Night Out with the Dot and our Second Family.
We’re going to do what has now become a tradition: we all get together for the midnight premiere of whatever spectacular movie is being released. Tonight, it’s Breaking Dawn, Part 1.
And I’m so stinkin’ excited.
Now, I haven’t read the books. I don’t really know how it will end. I know enough. It can’t be avoided when the instant media posts all the spoilers and traps and rundowns… and I live with a teenager who chats it up with her friends. But still… I don’t really know how it will end.
That’s only part of the fun.
Another part is, well, being with the VIP and Second Family. The VIP is my best friend, Julie. “Best friend” sounds so Junior High, though. Our friendship is so much more than that. As close as we are, we keep ourselves so busy we don’t get to see each other but once or twice a month, and even then distractions like family and chores and schtuff like that tends to interrupt. We can talk for two hours on the cell phones, and the only reason we hang up is because the batteries are going dead.
Then we call each other back within five minutes just to say, “Oh, I forgot to tell you…”
I love her kids like they were my own. And they love my daughter like she’s theirs. We’re so close, that when my daughter and I have a serious discussion and I reach for the phone, she says, “Mom, please don’t call Julie now.” But I do. I get her feedback. I treasure her advice.
Julie introduced me to the delight of jalapenos in my popcorn (boy, that’ll clear out any sinus issues you may have!), and the neccesity of Isabella (my KitchenAid Artisan stand mixer). Yes, I name my appliances… what? Is that weird?
Her oldest is my Second Daughter. Our girls are twins, separated at birth and by five years. Elisa is the role model I would have chosen for Hannah, but I didn’t have to. They met at school and became friends long before I ever met Julie.
Turns out our worlds collided several times before we finally figured out we were supposed to be friends. I was the consultant at a scrapbook party they attended years ago. Julie was the choir director at my church for a few months when I was toying with the idea of re-joining. Our kids know the same people.
The week after I met Julie at bunco (we had no idea we’d met before), she saw me again at the high school football game and came over to chat. I was so embarrassed; when she left I had to ask my daughter, “Who was that?”
Julie always has a story to tell, always has a prayer to offer. She is, in her own words, “fiercely protective of family and friends”. And always, always, always corrects me when I place myself in the “friends” category. No, she corrects. Family. Always, always, always Family.
Julie keeps me grounded. I’ve learned to slow down, and when in doubt, call her first. Especially when it comes to our kids. Because I, too, am fiercely protective. But that’s not always what my daughter needs. Julie’s taught me to step back and breathe. And talk more, act less.
And that’s why I love her them. They keep us grounded. They keep us involved. They keep us in the family. No matter what.
That, and we do so much together. We don’t spend every day together. But the moments we do have, we make count. Like go to midnight movie premieres. And laugh at the same things. And watch sports. (Okay, I’m not quite as much into hockey as they are, but I’m learning. Go Maple Leafs!). Julie even rooted for the Yankees this year. That’s a big deal for her!
I look forward to these Girls Nights Out.
We don’t have to get all dolled up. But we will. Because it’s fun.
We don’t have to pretend to be anything we’re not. They love us anyway.
And the best part of tonight will be, we each have our favorite Guy Character. So there won’t be any competition (I’m all about Carlisle, just in case you were wondering).
Just a lot of great togetherness. Girl chatter like we haven’t talked in ages. And jalapenos in the popcorn.
What are friends for?
Nov 17, 2011 |
I’ve known Claudia for years. What I didn’t know, until I started blogging last year, is that she also likes to write. Accordingly, she likes to read. And, bonus!, she likes to read my blog.
Recently, she sent me this email:
“Blogging everyday is impressive, and it’s also one of the reasons I enjoy your blog. I subscribe to a few others, but posts often are few and far between so I lose interest. I like that yours comes everyday, and the funny thing is that your title alone makes me happy. I love that you call it “Frankly, my dear…” You don’t finish the phrase, which is probably a good thing, but I kind of always like that you write what you write and you do this without seemingly caring about our response. That’s refreshing. I don’t read your blogs everyday even though they come, but I always skim them to see if I might enjoy reading. A lot of times I do just skim, but then every now and then you’ll write something that really connects with me. I guess those random jewels mixed in with all the rest are why I take the time to skim…just in case :)”
When I first started my blog, I did a weekly Comment Commentary; where I’d respond to each and every comment. Sure, that was fine when my comments were one or two per post.
But as the blog grows, the comments increase. I couldn’t keep up with a personal reply to each and every comment (although I really do read them all, and wish I had the time to keep responding!).
When I got this email from Claudia tonight, it just made me feel special. She gets it. She gets what and why I write. She just gets it.
In her short email, she summarized my intent and belief for my blog: “you write what you write and you do this without seemingly caring about our response”. The code word there is “seemingly”. Because I do care. I care that what I write is accepted, promoted, and appreciated. It’s never my intent to offend, but just to offer light hearted daily life stories (and some great recipes!).
It’s a great blend of dreams, imagination, true life, and my observations of all of the above. And it can be work, at times, to make it seem effortless; to not let my current emotions color my posts (lucky you to never seldom hear me rant!) but that’s my job. You’re not a shrink, and I’m not a patient. This isn’t my way of finding healing through vicarious living. This isn’t a narcissistic attempt to gain attention.
It’s just me. Mixing up all the ingredients of life, and sharing them with you.
The comments are just icing on this delicious cake.
Thanks, Claudia.
Nov 16, 2011 |
Hey, everyone!
So, you know I’m nuts about blog giveaways (and have populated Snobby Kitchen by entering more than a few).
Well here’s one that I stumbled upon through a fellow blogger’s site.
This is Burlap & Buttons, a great blog I just discovered. Kirstin is a crafter and she’s offering a free Wreath just for commenting on her blog post here.
Even if you’re not interested in winning, take a look at her blog. You’ll find some amazingly creative ideas on decorating, some family stories, and just good reading.
Be sure to tell her Hi from Frankly, My Dear Mojo…
Nov 16, 2011 |
My blogging experience over the past two years has taught me some valuable lessons and given me great insight.
It can be (and for the serious blogger/writer, should be) considered a job. Accordingly, I need to approach it as such. That means I keep at it, even when I want to call in sick or take a personal day. I show up, I put in a good amount of time and effort. And when the situation calls for it, I go above and beyond the norm. Maybe this means finding a hot topic to discuss, or just a new writing style to try out.
I used to think blogging was for wanna-be’s and cheaters. No way am I putting my writing out there. On the internet. For everyone to see, and, you know, steal. No. Stinking. Way.
But then I got sucked in. A few friends were blogging, so I checked it out. Oh, okay. It’s like an online journal that you share. With strangers. Yeah. That’s not intimidating.
Facebook gave me my first taste. I started posting Notes, and getting some responses. Hey. This isn’t so bad. And I felt… valued. Like what I said was important to someone else. And it was. How do I know this? Because. They left comments. Saying what I said was important. Huh. That worked out nicely.
Over a year ago, I started my first blog. It went nowhere. I had five followers ~ all friends. And not a clue about what I was doing. I mean, I loved writing. And sharing little life-stories. But it wasn’t growing, and neither was I. It atrophied. And I was a bit embarrassed.
So last April I tried again. I thought I had this Blog-as-a-Job thing figured out: I had a clear goal, a direction, a theme. I knew what I wanted to focus on, and how to focus. It was a mainstream blog idea. It should have done fine.
It didn’t.
Because I didn’t.
Because I still had no clue what I was really doing.
It was like being made office manager when I didn’t even know how to answer the phones.
But little by little, staying in the deep end that I had thrown myself, I learned how to swim. I read other blogs. I googled ideas. Most importantly, I received an immense amount of counsel and assistance from two professionals: Keri and Erik, distant (as in, physically far away) friends who, through the blessings of the instant internet, have been available to answer all my questions and help me out accordingly.
I soon realized my blog had its own idea of what it wants to be. Well, you can raise a child but you can’t control them… so my blog and I grew together. We branched out, tested some waters. Stepped out of the swamp of chaos and into the cool, refreshing oasis that is now Frankly, My Dear…
And it’s working. Because I treat it like work. In the past three months, my dedication to my blog is superceded only by my love of writing (I miss you, Meg!) and cooking. I giggle every time one of my unsuspecting friends suggests I remind them of “Julie and Julia”. I’m just waiting for that literary agent to notice my blog and call me up with a book deal. (I’ve got tons of ideas, and some are even finished.)
So. Blogging is my job. I put in hours every day. I count other blogs as coworkers, and check in regularly. I look at the want ad’s: those blogrolls that list other blogs I might be interested in. I’ve found quite a few. It’s fascinating how many blogs there are. For any and everything.
I look at formats: do I have too much? Not enough? How can my content improve? And I get ideas. I get links. And now I’m getting Likes.
Readers are the currency of blogging. I know I’ve written a good post based on how many “likes” it gets, how many “shares” and “posts” and “tweets”. (It never ceases to amaze me that the ones I think are going to be popular, aren’t so much; but there are other ones that just take off and surprise me!)
For a few weeks now, I’ve seen my blog grow. In content. In design. And lately, in readership. Every time I get a new subscriber, it’s like getting a pay raise. It’s like a floral delivery and a chocolate cake all rolled into one. It’s like saying I have something worthwhile.
And while I’m not trying to be narcissistic about it; being a writer, you can’t help but have a bit of that. Because if I didn’t have faith in myself and my writing, how on earth could I possibly put it out there for everyone else? Yet, I always say, a writer is only as good as the readers allow. And getting new readers is that acknowledgment that I must be finally doing something good. (And now, for some strange reason, I’m singing the song, “Something Good” from The Sound of Music). But that’s actually how I feel: perhaps in the past I screwed up, perhaps I’m not all I once thought I wanted to be. But here, on my blog, you accept me. And you make me feel okay about being who it is that I now want to be. So I just want to thank you.
All of you.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote.
Nov 15, 2011 |
For several nights now, I can’t sleep. Now and then, I suffer a round of RLS ~ Restless Leg Syndrome. It’s usually dormant for months at a time, but when it flares up, I lose a lot of sleep. Each night. For several nights in a row.
Triggers can very by episode. Stress. Too much salt in my dinner. Exhaustion. Not enough daily exercise. Lack of vitamins and minerals. Inability to stretch out due to three out of five cats thinking the bed belongs to them.
In the past, whenever it affected me, it only lasted a day or two. I’d walk more around the office. Lower my salty snacks. Drink lots of water to flush out my system. Kick the cats. I’d be fine after about 48 hours.
Not this time. This time, I’ve crawled out of bed after midnight five nights in a row. I’ve walked around the house. I’ve soaked my legs with a hot washcloth. I drank warm(ish) milk. I took baby aspirin. I rubbed my limbs with isopropyl. Nothing seems to work.
So this time, I’m looking for something else. Something short of a chainsaw that will put me out of my misery. Because
i.am.going.crazy.
Loopy. Off my rocker. Irrational, emotional, having a nutty. Due to lack of sleep, I am unable to fully function, think clearly, or enjoy the day. In other words
i.am.going.bananas.
I want to sleep all day, but I can’t. So I wait til nightfall. And I can’t. I want to have enough energy to do stuff. But I don’t. So I just sit. And write. And drink water and hot tea. And try to walk around the house and yard. But in the cold rain, that’s not my favorite cure.
So I decided to find a new, better solution. To go big. I picked up the phone. And called the one person I know who has always had the perfect cures for everything.
I called my Mommy.
My mom is the Go-To Gal for all things healthy. She’s been telling me for years about the Golden Fruit. My daughter loves them. I’ve kept them around the house almost always. So I don’t understand why it took me so long to really embrace the banana.
It’s not that I’m opposed to them. I actually like them. I just don’t buy them that much. They’re not always in season, so that’s one thing. I mean, who wants to eat brown bananas all the time.
I used to eat the fresh ones, then let the rest turn a little more and make banana nut bread. Yummm! Especially when it’s warmed up. And coated with butter. Real, creamy, melty butter.
Again, I say: Yummm!
And it hit me.
The solution to all things.
When life (and body) stresses out: Go Bananas!
It’s like a dusty book that just got pulled off the shelf. Or an old favorite sweater that was packed away. It’s a visit from an old friend that leaves you thinking, “Why don’t we keep in touch all the time?” It’s a hug from a really good friend.
So here I am, back from the health food store where I bought bananas. Some for eating. Some for baking. All for me (Okay, a few for my daughter).
Because I relax when I’m in my kitchen (like that’s news to anyone!). And bananas are full of great things like potassium and iron that will stop the RLS. And so-o-o much better than chemical drugs. No, I’m not a nature freak; I don’t burn incense to cleanse the air. But I have chemical allergies: those “healthy” fixes actually do more harm to my body than good. I’m the only person I know who’s been hospitalized (four times!) for taking an allergy pill! So, you get why the banana is so much better for me than the drug store.
Plus, there’s the added bonus of the banana being so versatile. I mean, what can you do with a pill except swallow it? Bananas, though… ahh, bananas.
Raw. Fried. Dehydrated.
Baked into bread.
Blended into smoothies.
Frozen and dipped.
And right now, steeping in a pitcher of cold water along with cut up apples and raspberries for my very own infused water.
Can you do all that with a pill? (*Note the sarcasm. If there is such a pill, I don’t want to know about it…)
So. After almost a week of RLS-induced insomnia, I can quite happily announce
I am going bananas! And I think I rather like it.
