how lovely to be a woman

Lara in CMJH's Kids on Broadway. Sweets!

heart of stone

I found this rock in Costa Rica, wet with seawater and the color of red jade, on a miles-long stretch of sand. A heart-shaped message, escaped from the somber rainforest, presented to me - I think - by Cupid himself.

Free Hugs Day makes me melancholy

This video makes me teary-eyed every time I see it. We Americans are taught that we're strong and independent, so very grown up, but in reality many of us are isolated not only from each other, but from ourselves and our need for human connection and physical touch. There's no strength in that really.

When I was in Argentina last year, it was clear that they're not physically uptight like we are. Everywhere I went people greeted each other with warm hugs and kisses to the cheeks; even the men were comfortable embracing and kissing each other. I felt like a childish prudish nitwit which made me sad.

Today is Free Hugs Day, so grab someone who seems really standoffish and hold on until you feel her relax and, in my case, start to cry.

Love Poem

It's so nice
to wake up in the morning
all alone
and not have to tell somebody
you love them
when you don't love them
any more.
--Richard Brautigan

You say you don't love me

as though it were a revelation. You say "I DON'T love you," as opposed to "I don't LOVE you." You make it sound like daisy petals sealed our fate.

Of course you don't love me, didn't love me. And I don't love you back.

Finally we're in the light with everyone who knew all along.




-----

Beauty contest winner, me

It is the close of a busy and vexatious day — say half past five or six o’clock of a winter afternoon. I have had a cocktail or two, and am stretched out on a divan in front of a fire, smoking. At the edge of the divan, close enough for me to reach her with my hands, sits a woman not too young, but still good-looking and well dressed — above all, a woman with a soft, low-pitched, agreeable voice. As I snooze she talks - of anything, everything, all the things that women talk of: books, music, the play, men, other women. No politics. No business. No religion. No metaphysics. Nothing challenging and vexatious - but remember, she is intelligent; what she says is clearly expressed… Gradually I fall asleep — but only for an instant… then to sleep again — slowly and charmingly down that slippery hill of dreams. And then awake again, and then asleep again, and so on.

I ask you seriously: could anything be more unutterably beautiful?
H. L. Mencken

What's a mother to do?

Should I freak out and make her remove it?
Should I breathe a sigh of relief that it's not bigger or more sinister?
Should I help her hide it from father?
Should I wonder....why PacMan?

I think I'll celebrate the hilarious weirdness of it all, and hope that it complements her wedding dress.

TODAY. Wave the flag, wear a lapel pin, avoid DUI checkpoints and, most of all, try not to think. Embrace. Appreciate. Exist.




-----

Father's Day

A father sat with bowed head in his aloneness. About him clung his weeping children. The winds outside threw great scarfs of powdered snow against the window panes, when suddenly the last born tore himself from the group and rushed out into the storm calling for his mother. Yet even his baby voice could not penetrate the great silence that held this mother.

Hurriedly, the father gathered him back to his protection and for more than two decades, William Jackson Smart, alone, kept paternal vigilance over his motherless children.

Mrs. John B. Dodd, of Washington, first proposed the idea of a "father's day" in 1909. Mrs. Dodd wanted a special day to honor her father, William Smart, a Civil War veteran, who was widowed when his wife died in childbirth with their sixth child. Mr. Smart was left to raise the newborn and his other five children by himself on a rural farm in eastern Washington state. It was after Mrs. Dodd became an adult that she realized the strength and selflessness her father had shown in raising his children as a single parent.

Father's Day has become a day to not only honor your father, but all men who act as a father figure. Stepfathers, uncles, grandfathers, and adult male friends are honored on Father's Day.

Freshman Fifteen

I'm taking over the Bachelor Nutrition Series. Yes, Eric is a bachelor. But he's always someone's bachelor; as such, he's carefully tended and well fed. The Simple Nutrition Series (its new name) should be geared toward those who know something about the body and, as such, desire nutritious fare but who, for whatever reason, find themselves independent, and culinarily challenged for a spell.
 
Proper equipment, fresh ingredients, adaptable recipes, sufficient time and talent -- all components of good nutrition -- are in short supply when one finds herself alone, on a big college campus, in a dorm room, hungry for both food and companionship. Yes, the hot pot is small consolation, and stands in the way of starvation. But wouldn't it be great if a moveable feast was a genuine possibility? If the way to the heart is truly through the stomach, shouldn't a girl come prepared for the journey?

My lovely Julia graduated from Cheyenne Mountain High School this weekend. [Slight brag fest: Cheyenne is a Blue Ribbon School -- one of only 33 in the nation -- selected from a pool of 28,000 public and private high schools!] While Julia was voted Most Likely to Win the Nobel Prize for Literature, and Best Sense of Humor -- both make me so happy! -- she did not win the Next Rachael Ray title. So begins my Fifteen Freshman Recipes Cookbook.

Freshman Fifteen #1 -- Tortilla pizzas
I will not sing the praises of the lard/bleached-flour combo known as the tortilla. Pure dreck if you ask me. But, in a pinch, it can be the foundation for a nutritious gourmet pizza.

The PRESTO Pizzazz Pizza Oven is a stand-alone device that can cook a fresh or frozen pizza in minutes. We experimented with it tonight and discovered a few nutritious alternatives to Totino's, using flour tortillas as our crust.

I placed the following items along the counter:
marinara sauce
olive oil
chopped fresh garlic
chopped fresh cilantro
chopped fresh basil
chopped fresh spinach
black beans
sliced black olives
turkey pepperoni
sliced roma tomatoes
sliced green pepper
sliced green onions
pineapple tidbits
shredded cheddar
shredded mozzarella
shredded swiss

We used the above ingredients in various tasty combinations and had a really lovely time of it.

A few combinations we discovered:
-black beans, tomatoes, cilantro, green onions, cheddar
-olive oil, spinach, garlic, basil, swiss
-marinara, pepperoni, pineapple, black olives, mozzarella

Each pizza took about six minutes, was chock full of fresh ingredients, and ended up crisp and delicious. Not exactly haute cuisine, but definitely a step up from the Top Ramen of my era!

Weekly appointment

time was almost up.

he said i have issues with emotional intimacy, i "skitter away" whenever we get close to the subject. no, no i don't....i am perfectly able....as much as the situation will allow...maybe that's why i spent so many years in church i said, not thinking. he leaned forward in his chair...tell me about that he said. we looked at each other. i just mean...what did i mean...that there is a perfection that exists, a love, no not love it's different than that, like knowing....anyway, i said, when you have experienced it...mining syllables....then finding intimacy with another person is like chasing a shadow because there is no one that could ever...i guess

he said i understand and, yes, not many...but not none



----

Thomas Jefferson would be proud

Today, the California Supreme Court lifted the ban on same-sex marriages. Whatever your opinion on the issue, Thomas Jefferson would be a proud founding papa!

Bob Barr, former Member of Congress from Georgia and current candidate for President for the Libertarian Party, issued the following statement in reaction to today's decision by the California Supreme Court allowing for the recognition of same sex marriage in that state:

Regardless of whether one supports or opposes same sex marriage, the decision to recognize such unions or not ought to be a power each state exercises on its own, rather than imposition of a one-size-fits-all mandate by the federal government (as would be required by a Federal Marriage Amendment which has been previously proposed and considered by the Congress). The decision today by the Supreme Court of California properly reflects this fundamental principle of federalism on which our nation was founded.

Indeed, the primary reason for which I authored the Defense of Marriage Act in 1996 was to ensure that each state remained free to determine for its citizens the basis on which marriage would be recognized within its borders, and not be forced to adopt a definition of marriage contrary to its views by another state. The decision in California is an illustration of how this principle of states' powers should work.

The Defense of Marriage Act? Sheesh. I had chalked that one up to religious hypocrites. Turns out, the act was about preserving states' rights, a subject I wrote about way back when. Such is the peculiar pain of the Libertarian-leaning progressive.



----

Mother's Day with the family

The kids and I went to Denver today to celebrate Mother's Day with various family members, including my own adorable mom. My sister and her husband are big kids -- though they're sometimes disguised as an attorney and an architect -- and have every imaginable toy, including this insane surrey bike for eight!

Today also happened to be my brother's 40th birthday. My sisters filled bunches of balloons with helium and, instead of paying proper attention to the gift-opening thing, Andy inhaled helium and said funny things, which amused the actual children to no end.

Kisses to you, sweet family!

My reading place

Long creative bursts come from reading. Some of the most clever people are famous authors. When I let my mind go wild, my reading place has to be perfect. I love sitting in my mother's orange chair, as my classical music makes a rhythm for me. I absolutely love reading about all the exciting adventures of Harry Potter. Most people don't have a perfect reading spot. Luckily, I do.
by Ryan Walden, age 10



Curled up in a cozy chair with a warm blanket draped over my legs is the most enjoyable place to read. All I can see are the neatly printed little black letters on my page. The room is quiet except for the raindrops tip-tapping an unrecognized melody on the window and, if you're quiet enough, you can hear the big clock strike every minute. I rest my head on the chair and sink into it. After awhile my eyes flicker until I find myself asleep, with a book in my hands, and my glasses still balanced on my nose.
by Devon Walden, age 10

Yerba Maté is for lovers

A few years ago, I went with a friend to a little restaurant in Manitou called The Maté Factor. I ordered maté which, it turned out, was tea. Very dark and bitter tea.

On my recent trip to Argentina, I discovered that this very same maté is consumed by nearly everyone, every day, throughout the entire day. However, it is never drunk during mealtimes, isn’t sold at restaurants, and is never — or very rarely — offered to tourists.

Instead of a teapot, Argentinian maté is usually made in a decorative gourd with three legs attached to the bottom to prevent tipping. The tea is drunk using a pretty silver straw called a bombilla, which has a strainer inside to filter the loose leaves. When more than one person is present, the maté is passed back and forth and everyone uses the same bombilla.

Watching the maté ritual reminded me of watching people pass a joint at a rock concert. Similarly, there's paraphernalia associated with the tradition, like a metal thermos of hot water and a small backpack for tea leaves and other necessaries.

I was warned early on that, while unlikely, an invitation to maté should be taken seriously. Being asked to share maté is apparently a precursor to going steady or a first kiss or something. So if you’re interested, by all means sip!

Este mi novio nuevo, Claudio!

-----

Lenten reflection

Love is impatient, love is unkind. It is full of envy and braggadocio. It is arrogant. It is rude. It is self-seeking and easily angered; it keeps a detailed record of wrongs. Love delights in evil and ignores truth.
It never protects, never trusts, never hopes, never perseveres.
 
Love ever fails.

Obviously I need some fresh air. Too much dust. Too many ashes.

Pollyanna is hiding.




----

The Affair

My lover is having an affair. In our own house. Night after night I am alone in bed, hugging a tear-stained pillow, wanting to talk, longing to be held. As I head upstairs I look over at him, hunched over his paramour, enraptured, and I say, "I'm going to bed now."
"Yuh," he grunts.
"I hope you'll join me soon," I beseech him, casting away any remaining pride.
"Yuh," he responds without looking up.

When it's nearly dawn I hear him slink into our bedroom, like a cur, head down, ears back, a little foam around the mouth. Of course he showers before getting into bed, erasing any lingering scent of Lulu. French whore! Does he think I don't know? What exactly is the lure? I don't get it.

We were at a mall recently and I noticed that he was shopping for her, right in front of me. "This red one would look beautiful on her, wouldn't it?" he asked me. He tenderly fingered the quilted material, wishing to dress, and then undress her. I recall the last article of clothing he bought her, a little black dress. He put it on her and the two of them existed only for one another, impervious even to the sun, cooing and touching and laughing.

I suppose I deserve this. I remember not long ago when I was the intruder, the muse. Day and night my lover and I sat together, holding hands, besotted. He listened to my every word, looked deeply into my eyes, hoping to win me, to possess me, to touch me. I remember Lulu sitting there on the desk. Dust-covered, pathetic, lonely. I think I even wrote my name across her screen in a brazen act of superiority. Maybe it was insecurity. Maybe I knew even then that it couldn't last.

How happy you must be, Lulu, to have him back. He never leaves home without taking you. His thoughts are never far from you. How adored you must feel. Oh, I am envious of your position.

I'll bet you're smarter now. Maybe even a little jaded. You'll never feel entirely secure again, will you, Lulu? You'll always hold back a little, protect yourself just a bit. You know how it feels to be cast aside, if only for a moment.

I think it's time for me to understand and accept my fate. I've lost my sweetheart to an enticing French pomme. But I shan't linger in my misery! I shall grieve my loss and look to the future. I will head to a nearby computer store and buy the biggest, blackest, most rigid tower I can find....I will install it in my bedroom and I will name it Pierre. He will have eyes for me alone.

It can't have been a decade already

November 30, 1997

The Denver Broncos beat the San Diego Chargers 38-28 on the way to Elway's first
Superbowl victory.

I looked like this, packing 11 pounds of baby, and gamely waited until victory was in hand to utter, with a crampy grimace, "I think we should go."

At 12:25 and 12:27 a.m. on December 1st, Devon and Ryan were born, making the family Christmas card with only days to spare.


Happy Birthday, Sweet Devon!


Happy Birthday, Sweet Ryan!

I am my own muse

Opposites attract? Maybe if one feels a lack.

When my husband and I were in our mid-twenties, we worked out at a hip club in Denver. We did aerobics for cardiovascular health and lifted weights to stave off osteoporosis. We had a group of friends, like-minded couples, who were our workout buddies. We went to the club several times a week for years. We were an integral square on the yuppie quilt.

Once Dave and I had an unexpected encounter at the water fountain. Maybe it was my long wavy 80s hair, or my leg warmers and matching scrunchie, but Dave was overcome by passion and gave me a big smooch. I returned to my class and he to his weights. One of our friends said to him, "Did I just see you kiss your sister?" Dave, horrified, said, "That isn't my sister, that's my wife!"

Hmmmm. Rather telling. Why did I choose Dave as a mate? Well, because he grew up here in Colorado Springs; we shared a common history. He was smart and funny, edgy and difficult, driven, athletic, competitive, decisive. He loved George Jones and Hank Williams, not Flock of Seagulls or Tears for Fears. He followed sports with a passion that defied rationality. He wanted a big family and a successful career.

Or was that me?

After many years of marriage, we divorced. We'd grown apart. We had irreconcilable differences. Simply put, he no longer resembled the me that I love.

Now I have another. He is a writer, a musician, introspective, analytical, sensual, a world traveler. Intelligent, strong-willed. He has an outward focus and a knowledge of history and the arts. He has no interest in sports or money, but has an affinity for children and cares about the planet. He has sophisticated taste, and a distaste for the inequities between earth's inhabitants.

Or is that me?

Opposites don't attract. Like attracts like. I'd marry myself if I could.