Super Bowl!

"She is a friend of mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind."~Toni Morrison, Beloved

* * *

Okay, this post isn't really about the Super Bowl. I had no vested interest in the outcome, and I watched the second half only so that I would have some idea what the rest of America is talking about for the next day or so. Despite my lack of enthusiasm for the game, I do love a good Super Bowl party. However, I didn't receive any invitations this year. Now I wish I had thrown a party myself.

But I had a good weekend. I did some desperately needed house cleaning and grocery shopping, worked a bit on my novel, and spent time with each of my kids.

And I had a joyful telephone reunion with one of my best friends ever. Pat and I became acquainted in May or June of 1978, shortly after I finished my freshman year of college. The dorms were closed during the summer months, but I took classes year round and had a student job with the university, so I sublet a room in the boarding house she was living in, and the rest, as they say, is history. That's Pat on the left, me in the middle. (Does anyone know where I can find Cheryl, on the right?)

There are so many stories. My roommate, Robbin (left), Pat and I camped out overnight to buy concert tickets, pre-Ticketmaster, to see John Denver in Carbondale in 1978.

We landed seats in the second row.

We shared Halloweens and Christmases and birthdays. We went on camping trips and shopping trips and spent Friday nights at Melvin's and Sunday afternoons at Dairy Queen. Once, she even took me to visit my paternal grandmother in southern Missouri; we went to Elephant Rock State Park and explored Cape Girardeau. She encouraged me to do my first 10K run--well, she ran; I walked--and helped me brew homemade kuhlua from sugar and coffee and Everclear, which we used to make milk shakes. Those were good times.

She graduated before I did, and landed a job in Tucson, Arizona; my first airplane trip was to visit her there. I shared Thanksgiving with her and her roommate, Nancy.

And later that weekend we walked across the border into Nogales, Mexico, the first time I ever left the United States of America.

Pat actually knew my ex-husband before I met him--they were both members of a co-ed service fraternity, which I eventually joined--and was my maid-of-honor in our wedding in May, 1982.

She even visited us once after we moved to Raleigh in 1985. Then it was just Christmas cards for a few years, and with our nomadic lives, we eventually lost touch altogether. I tried to find her on Facebook, but she shares her name with over five hundred people there, so it was rather like looking for a needle in a haystack; she didn't know I had reclaimed my maiden name, so hard a hard time finding me, too, but eventually tracked me through Casey (thanks, Casey!)

It has been so wonderful to reconnect with Pat--reminiscing about the good times we shared, and catching up on the past many years. Each of us has been through a lot, both good and bad, but it is as if we were never apart.

Eleanor Roosevelt said, "Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart."

Mmm-hmm.

Rainy Days and Fridays

It's Friday night, and I'm in bed with my laptop.

Romantic, eh?

I'm wearing my favorite long flannel nightgown, the one with the pink rose print, over a pair of purple leggings, buried beneath four layers of covers--a flannel sheet, a fleece blanket, a quilted bedspread, and a microfleece throw--because the sun hasn't shone in days and I am COLD.

Sexy, eh?

I was supposed to have a date tonight--we engraved it in stone a week ago, and he said he was "excited"--but I received no reply from him when I texted to confirm on Wednesday. Ditto Thursday. Bachelor #2 also asked me out for this weekend, but didn't actually pick a date; I was rather hoping to see him tomorrow night, but haven't heard a peep from him since Wednesday. Bachelor #3 has family in from out of town, so is unavailable this weekend. And don't even ASK me about Bachelor #1.

Sigh.

I am getting a message from the Universe, loud and clear. "Stay home. Teach your piano students. Write your novel. Watch television with your kids. Bake pies."

Yep. That's a direct quote.

* * *

The truth is, I have had no choice but to stay home, because Casey's car is still in the shop, so he has needed my trusty red Honda Accord to get to and from his classes at GGC. Luckily, my piano students come to me. But they have been unusually challenging the past couple of weeks. Most of them are preparing for for a piano festival on February 20th, so we're getting down to the wire, and the pressure is on all of us. As a result, I have been dealing with tears and tantrums, joy and triumph--with love and patience, for the most part. Here's hoping that joy and triumph prevail in the days ahead.

On the other hand, my novel is coming right along. I committed to the "1000 Words A Day Challenge for Writers," meaning I will write 1000 words a day at least six days a week for the entire year, and so far, so good. Some days it is harder than others, but right now, the words are flowing, so I am going to enjoy it while it lasts.

* * *

Most days, I get up, see Nathan onto the school bus, exercise for 30-45 minutes, write for a couple of hours, and then teach somewhere between nine and fifteen piano students. Mondays and Thursdays, Nathan has music lessons afterwards. After all that, he and I usually kick back with a little television. Thank goodness for TiVo. We are regular viewers of Desperate Housewives, House, 30 Rock, Ugly Betty, and American Idol. (I also keep up with Oprah, David Letterman, Lost, and Grey's Anatomy, but I do that on my own time.) I am pleased to report that, with the exception of last week's episode of House, Nathan and I are fully caught up on our television viewing. (And we have House on our schedule for tomorrow morning).

Fridays, I have no piano students; my intention today was to focus on my writing. I am planning to submit the first 25 pages of my novel into a critique workshop scheduled for March; the submission deadline is February 20th, and I wanted to work work on those revisions today. But the gray skies and endless rainfall have made it difficult to maintain a positive attitude and a stiff upper lip, and that, combined with the dating situation and a couple of middle-of-the-night phone calls from my firstborn, made it hard for me to get going this morning. One thing I have always done to get myself through a tough day is baking, because it makes the house smell good, and then there is the reward of something delicious to eat. Usually, my project of choice is cookies, but this week, it has been pies. Nathan loves cherry pie, so I baked a cherry pie for him to come home to on Wednesday; it was an early release day from school, but I had piano students until 9:30, and I wanted him to know I was there for him, at least in spirit. Today, I baked both a pumpkin pie and an apple streusel pie. I tasted both--just the tiniest sliver of each, I had to work too hard to lose that 3.8 pounds--and I do believe that apple streusel pie is one of the best I ever made. Here is the recipe.

APPLE STREUSEL PIE

4 large Rome apples, peeled, cored, and thinly sliced

A generous sprinkle of lemon juice

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/4 cup brown sugar, packed

3 tablespoons flour

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

1 Pillsbury pie crust, prepared according to package directions

Topping:

1/2 cup all purpose flour

1/2 cup granulated sugar

6 tablespoons butter, cut into small pieces

1/4 cup rolled oats

1/4 cup chopped pecans

Toss sliced apples with lemon juice to coat well. Add 1/2 cup sugar and the brown sugar, flour and spices, and stir until well blended. Pour into pie crust.

Using a food processor or pastry blender, combine topping ingredients; sprinkle evenly over apples.

Bake in preheated 375 degree oven for about 45 to 60 minutes, until apples are tender and topping is browned.

Vanilla bean ice cream would have made this absolutely perfect.

* * *

And there you have it--a Friday in the life of a romantic, sexy, single, successful middle aged woman. Ooh, la, la.

February Update

We are a solid month into the New Year's Resolutions at this point, so I decided it was time to review my progress so far.

Here are the statistics.

I have lost 3.8 pounds and 3 inches. I have exercised an average of four days a week and written a thousand words a day, four days per week. (Although, as of yesterday, I committed to writing a thousand words a day, SIX days per week).

Apparently, these are the areas that matter most to me. Because I have fallen short everywhere else. Although I did finish reading a HILARIOUS book, "Home Is Where the Wine Is," by Laurie Perrie, which I will review in the next day or two. Laurie is a woman after my heart. And I have completed two more rows on my brother's Christmas afghan. (Sorry, Eric. Did I suggest it might be finished by Valentine's Day, 2010? Because I meant Valentine's Day, 2011!)

In my defense, I took on two huge projects during the month of January. One was completing the rehearsal schedule/putting together the teacher packets for the Gwinnett County Music Teachers Ensemble concert. The other was completing the performance schedule for Gwinnett County Central District's National Federation of Music Clubs Federated Festival. The details aren't very interesting, but trust me when I say that these jobs demanded hours and HOURS of my time. But now that they are finished, I am hoping to get back on track with my New Year's Resolutions.

"It is never too late to be what you might have been."

We are the music makers...

Yesterday, I got to be somebody I am not.

I was invited to participate in a skit with several members of my local piano teachers organization at our annual January luncheon yesterday. I played the role of the "fidgety, talkative, won't-stop-playing-even-when-the-piano-teacher-is-talking kid."

In real life, I was actually more of a "model student." (If you don't believe me, you can ask my mother.) But I had a lot of fun pretending; my colleagues were practically falling out of their chairs laughing at my shenanigans.

The "bored teenager" and the "difficult, whiny kid" were also represented in the skit; they were hilarious, too. And, let me tell you, I am familiar with ALL of these characters. I actually had a particular student in mind as I played my part yesterday; I simply behaved as he does when he walks into my studio each week.

The point of the exercise was for us, as piano teachers, to share how we deal with these various personalities. And it gave me some real food for thought.

Because it is easy to take my students' attitudes towards piano lessons personally--to respond as if a child who is fidgety, or bored, or whiny, is behaving disrespectfully. But I have found that, in most cases, my students' behavior has little to do with me, and more to do with their lives outside my piano studio. And I believe that part of my job is to help them forget all about everything else, at least for a little while, and immerse themselves in making music.

The fidgety kid? My challenge is to keep him in the moment with tasks that are fully engaging. The bored teenager? Usually it isn't so much a matter of boredom as exhaustion. What those young adults need more than anything is an outlet for their emotions. The whiny children? They need something to wonder about. They need a reason to smile.

Even the so-called "model student" mustn't be taken for granted. I don't want to burn him out. I don't want him to be a robot. For him, I want music to be a sophisticated means of self-expression, not just another means of pleasing adults.

I love my job. I love playing the piano, and I get a thrill out of taking that whole--"playing the piano"--and breaking it down into smaller parts, and then figuring out how to transfer those pieces to my piano students, so that they can create meaningful wholes for themselves.

There is no joy in life like the joy of making music.

Gratitude

It has been a long day.

I woke up early, wrote my morning pages, raced to the bank to deposit a couple of checks (not soon enough), worked on my novel, went to the gym and put in 45 minutes on the elliptical machine (it's getting easier), worked some more on my novel (1049 words today, yay!), put a pot of vegetable soup on the stove, took a shower, and taught piano from one o'clock until nine thirty. I was just kicking back with a cup of tea and a good read when my phone rang.

It was Casey.

"Mom, I was in an accident. I'm fine, but I don't think my car is drivable."

I asked him where he was--just a couple of miles from home--and got there as quickly as I could.

He wasn't sure what happened, but our best guess--mine and a couple of witnesses'--is that one of his rear tires blew, causing him to lose control of his car. He went off the road and down an embankment; his car was on its side, at least for a moment, but appears to have been saved from flipping completely over by a fence. His back windshield is totally broken out, and the front of his car sustained some significant damage, as well, but with the assistance of a Good Samaritan, we were able to change the tire and drive the car back to the house.

He is having a hard time seeing the good in all this. We're talking about a 1997 Toyota Avalon here; there is no collision coverage on the vehicle, so all the necessary repairs will have to come out of Casey's pockets, and they aren't deep ones. But cars can be replaced, and children cannot. I have lost a loved cousin and a cherished brother to auto accidents, so I know all too well that, but by the grace of God, I might have gone to the hospital--or to the morgue--tonight. I try not to live in fear, but I know how fragile this life is. I am thankful beyond words.

I began a gratitude journal towards the end of January, 2008. I didn't write in it every day, but when I did, I filled a page with whatever I was thankful for at that particular time. Here are a few of the entries.

January 28, 2008--"I am thankful that Josh is so pumped up about going back to school."

January 29, 2008--"I am thankful that Nathan is willing to help me in so many ways--with the dog, with the house, with technology. I am thankful that he still wants to hug me and kiss me and tell me he loves me."

February 25, 2008--"I am thankful for my brother Greg and his love. I am thankful for Susie and all that she has brought to Greg's life. I am thankful for Cassie and Greg, Jr. I am thankful for Mom and Dad and that we were able to visit, have dinner and play 'Apples to Apples' together Saturday night."

March 11, 2008--"I am thankful that Eric found me such a great deal on a new computer. I am thankful for his love and the way he is always there for me."

March 16, 2008--"I am thankful that Greg called while Eric and Donna were here last night."

March 23, 2008--"I am thankful that Casey and I got to see 'Forgetting Sarah Marshall' together this afternoon."

This is the final entry:

May 6, 2008--"I am having a hard time feeling thankful right now. Because my brother, Greg, died the week before last. He was only 44. He left behind an 11yo daughter and a 2yo son and an adoring sister, among others. I don't understand much of anything right now."

There are still a lot of things I don't understand. Why brothers have to die. Why relationships fail. Why life seems so hard sometimes. But there is still much to be thankful for.

I think it's time to make a new entry in that gratitude journal.

Living Well is the Best Revenge

I had a great weekend. Saturday I went to the first meeting of the Georgia Romance Writers for 2010. The local chapter of Romance Writers of America, GRW is made up of approximately two hundred serious, professional writers, nearly ONE-THIRD of whom are multi-published in book length fiction.

ONE-THIRD! I am hoping that some of that success is contagious.

I attended my first GRW meeting on my fiftieth birthday, in August. And it was more than a little bit intimidating to walk into that big room, filled with successful people who asked questions like, "So, what genre do you write?" and "What are you working on?" when I had hardly done anything at all. But they took me seriously anyway--the environment was unbelievably supportive--and the next thing I knew, it was October and I was at the Atlanta Moonlight & Magnolias Conference, the highlight of the GRW programming year, rubbing shoulders and attending workshops with successful writers who made me feel like I was ONE OF THEM! So the meeting Saturday was just what I needed to help me set some goals for my writing in 2010. The next ten thousand words of my novel is due next Wednesday for my online writing class; as soon as that is done, I am going to polish up my synopsis and the first twenty-five pages of my manuscript and submit it before the February 20th deadline for participation in the March critique workshop. And I am already looking forward to an all-day workshop in April and the 2011 Moonlight & Magnolias Conference in the fall.

I also had three dates over the weekend.

I saw Bachelor Number One on Friday night. Let's call him Dave. We saw the movie Up In The Air (five stars, and not just because of George Clooney), ate Mexican food at Del Rio in Dacula, and did a little dancing at 37 Main in Buford. Dave is becoming an item; I met him before the holidays, and will definitely see him again.

I met Bachelor Number Two for lunch at Johnny Carino's in Duluth after the GRW meeting on Saturday. We'll call him Jerry. Both the food and the conversation were superb, and we have made tentative plans for Friday night.

Finally, I met Bachelor Number Three for coffee at Starbucks at Medlock Crossing on my way to pick Nathan up from an overnighter at his dad's house. Bill, as I like to refer to him, was cute and funny, and he also wants to see me again.

Now, since I had three dates over the weekend, I have been accused of being a "player." I'm not even sure what that means. Because since I joined eHarmony the end of November, I have had face-to-face meetings with exactly five fellows, and two of them wanted to have nothing to do with me after our initial rendezvous. That's a FORTY PERCENT fail rate. Let me tell you, that does wonders for a girl's self-esteem!

Is it the extra ten pounds? Is it the cellulite? Is it that I am too old to bear children? Is it the crow's feet? Is it the new haircut?

The thing is, these guys weren't exactly George Clooney. So I don't know why I even care.

Except that, post-divorce, I was rejected early on by a guy because I wasn't as "slim and slender" as he initially thought--even though, at five foot two and just over one hundred pounds, I was clinically underweight. If I had been in my right mind, I would have laughed as I waved goodbye. Instead, I spent an embarrassingly long time in a relationship with him. Was it because he confirmed what I believed about myself, deep down inside? Because at that time, despite appearances to the contrary, I still felt like the overweight teenager I was in high school.

I was the girl who didn't have a date to the prom.

Well, I have decided I am not going to spend another minute trying to be who somebody else wants me to be. I am tired of looking at life as a struggle not to gain weight and an effort to live up to the impossible standards of the rich and famous (who may or may not look any better first thing in the morning than I do).

I am going to be my imperfect self and live my life and write my novel, and if anyone has the good sense to see the beauty inside this decrepit shell, then good for them. If not, then so be it.

So Far

I finally got my instructor's critique on my writing assignment. Although she did make a few changes and suggestions in the text, her overall comment was this:

"The story moves along nicely. Great sense of how to use dialogue to pace as well as allow info about your characters to be revealed in an active way. Great sense of scene and your transitions between are very flowing."

This gave me hope. Maybe I should stop beating up on myself for not being a great writer - yet. After all, I'm taking the class so that I can learn ways to improve, right?

And while I'm at it, maybe I should stop beating up on myself for a lot of things.

I made a very ambitious list of New Year's Resolutions. The process of creating the list was useful, because it helped me to decide what I most want to accomplish in 2010. And I made the goals concrete, specific, and within my control - as much as anything is within one's control.

The challenge, of course, is how to incorporate them into my daily life. After all, I also have 50 piano students, professional obligations, 2 children, and a dog to work into my schedule. Occasionally, maybe even a friend - or a date. I have been keeping track of everything in a 5-subject spiral notebook - hot pink, of course - in which I created sections for health/fitness, writing, reading, hobbies and finances. While there is room for improvement, by and large I have done well. So I have determined that, as long as I am making steady progress, I will focus on my successes and not my failures, and if there turns out to be an area I neglect consistently - so far it's hobbies; maybe I should just bind off those fourteen rows I have knitted on Eric's afghan and call it a scarf - then I probably need to revisit those goals and decide whether or not they are realistic.

This isn't rocket science, is it? But I have to keep reminding myself. Because my nature is to be perfectionistic and self-critical. If I treated my piano students the way I usually treat myself, they would walk out the door and never come back. I think it's time to stop being my own worst critic, and start being my best cheerleader.

And now, I'm off to the gym.