Guilt.

This morning I was driving home from the gym (it was very hard to get there today – so I’m really proud!) and I heard an interesting story on Morning Edition. It was Hurricane Duty Continues to Haunt Mississippi Police. The interviewer revisited some cops in Biloxi to see how they are faring after Katrina. One woman talked about hearing the voice of a woman with 13 kids in the attic who had called the police station as she realized how dire the situation was. Another police officer talked about a girl she had calmed down – and feared she had given false hope to. Turns out the girl and her parents survived. But the point of this post is not about this story. (But you can hear it if you click the previous link!)

During the story, a familiar name was mentioned. I didn’t know the man, but he had the same name as a young man I had dated back in the 80′s. I met they guy through a girlfriend who was dating his best friend. So we all went out. John (his real name, but clearly vague enough!) was charming. He was handsome, in a really smart guy kind of way. He was a brilliant chemist, having worked his way through Johns Hopkins graduate school on some grant and he was immediately hired after graduation for one of their labs. He was funny and we laughed a ton.

But as we got to know each other more, it became evident that his carefree ways were alcohol related. No alcohol, not so much fun. In fact, it didn’t take all that long to figure out that he was not well. No need for all the details, but suffice it to say, I told John that I no longer wanted to date. I had hoped he’d seek help for his drinking problem.

But he didn’t. In fact, three weeks later, he was dead. He poisoned himself. It was horrendously sad ending to what I had earlier learned was a horrendously sad life.

When I went to funeral, I was shocked and horrified to see people staring and pointing. At me. I was very sad that John took his life. But after knowing someone for just a couple of months, it never occurred to me that this was my fault. How could it have been? And yet, some seemed to think so. If I hadn’t broken up with him, it would have been fine. Right. As if it was fine before I came along. Maybe I was young and naive. In fact, I’m sure I was. But even as I sit here now, feeling like it just happened last week, I don’t feel responsible for John’s death. I feel very sad about it. And I believe he could have found help if he’d had the strength. But he didn’t and he left a family with a huge hole that I’m sure could never be filled.

So hearing a name on the radio – a common name – put me into this sad place. This place 20 years later, where I remember and actually feel the pain again.

Finally.

I am so excited! After all these years of working in and with advertising agencies, now I know the answer. No longer do you need an agency – you can borrow my book! The only disclaimer is that since it was published in 1912, it may not include outdoor boards, new media, etc. But you can figure it out, I’m sure!

For those of you who are actually IN advertising, I’m sorry. I surely don’t intend to put you out of business. I do know a research company that is hiring….

My office.

It’s a beautiful day. The windows are open. The boys are outside playing. I hear children laughing and running all around. And I’m unloading books and getting my new office set up. Oh joy!

Some of the boxes of books I’ve lugged and unloaded haven’t seen the light of day in over 10 years. So it was thrilling to pull out some of my old favorites. And I shelved Andrew’s James Bond books (I see almost 20 right off the bat) and his extensive collection (that’s an understatement!) of science fiction paperbacks.

There’s so much I want to read! I just picked up Gertrude Stein’s 3 Lives and am headed for the porch with a Diet Pepsi…

I think I’m going to like working here.

Hey Gnightgirl - see the screensaver?

Final four.

Every year for as long as I can remember, we went to Holly & Jon’s to see the Final Four games. Here’s the backstory….

Jon lived next door to my junior high school beau – Mitchell. Holly was “dating” Joe and Allison was “dating” Jon. We used to hang out in Jon’s basement. That was about 1976. Yikes.

Fast forward to who knows what. Holly and Jon got married. (Yes, they weren’t the couple back then!) And Mitchell married Judy. And I married Mark (eek) and then Andrew. But in all those thousand years in between, we all were friends with Pam and Joe and Amy and Laura & Glen and Andre and oh my, I can’t go on…. But the point is that after all these years, I am still thrilled to see everyone at the Final Four.

I must go back to 2000. The year when my little teeny Max threw up thousands of gallons of yuck all over Holly and Jon’s house. No one has forgotten. Trust me. No one. But Max is bigger now and knows when to stop eating M&M’s. (okay, not really, but he rarely yukes from them now anyway!).

This year was awesome. The food is always great there. But now, Jon & Holly have these reclining theater seats. OH MY! What a treat! I swear that if they said I could move in, I might. But I digress.

George Mason lost. But I think my biggest joy was seeing Zach’s (Holly & Jon’s son) bar mitzvah photos and realizing that we’ve all grown up finally. Are we all happy? Is everything perfect. No, not everyone and not perfect. But we all really love each other and are really happy for each other and it’s awfully nice to have this little break from reality. And maybe Davis really will marry Grace (she’s only four, but what a sweetie!) and I, personally, feel that having history and knowing these wonderful people adds to my life.

So who cares who wins the game? Not me. I care about the people. And those people rock.

Invasion?

I ran into a friend of a friend yesterday. A woman I like and see around now and again. She stopped me to tell me something. Evidently, my blog was a subject of discussion at her mah jhong game. This totally cracks me up. One woman said she reads it sometimes, but doesn’t comment. That’s okay – no need to comment. (Though I do love comments, who doesn’t?) But the funny part is that the discussion revolved around whether reading the blog is an invasion of my privacy. Someone pointed out that if I wanted to keep these things private, I wouldn’t post them online! Absolutely – so read on. (And maybe comment now and again?)

(See you at baseball!)

Joe.

This is Joe. He’s a little older and wiser now, but still our sweet little Joe. For several days, he’s been acting strangely. He’s been hanging around the clothes dryer. I told Andrew that I thought Joe had found something or was trying to get something, but I never did see anything and forgot about it.

Until last night. Squeak, squeak! Joe found a mouse. In the china closet. So there’s Andrew with a broom and me warning him not to hit the good china It’s from my first marriage – he traded me the computer for the china! It was a 286 turbo – ha! The china still works, but that computer must have been junked in 1995! But I digress.

So I’m trying to get the china out of the way so Andrew can get the mouse out of the house. It’s a tiny little thing & scared of us and my fuzzy little cat. It was quite the scene.

So this morning, Max screams from downstairs. “Dad, a mouse!” and Andrew goes running. The boys are all laughing.

April Fools, Dad.

(as if he didn’t know

Police.

Before you read this – here’s my disclaimer… I re-read this post and I’m really not like this! Instead of taking it down, I hope you’ll just read it with a grain of salt, please!

Fashion police, I mean. I know it’s shallow. I know it shouldn’t matter. And I know that I am hardly the best dressed chick around. But sometimes, when I have nothing better to do (like at religious services tonight), I do these amazing makeovers.

Maybe I watch too many of those “fixer upper” shows. Maybe I think people would be happier if they looked good. I don’t know. They sure seem happier after that mean bitch Stacy London sets them straight on What Not to Wear. Doesn’t she look nice sitting up there to the right? Smiling like that? She’s not. She makes frumpy girls cry.

And what about Fiona Hughes on How Do I Look?. She can be pretty darn harsh, don’t you think? But those fashion victims always come out happy at the end of the hour. Well, almost always. How could they have managed all those years being a Fashion Don’t?

I was wearing nice black patent kitten pumps and cropped black pants that hit high on the hips, a lightweight black, wool turtleneck with 3/4 sleeves, and a great belt, hoop earrings, and a groovy retro silver star necklace made by Peggy Miller, a Baltimore designer. So while I might have looked a little well…grim…I was not a style stand-out on the wow side or the eek side.

Honestly, there was a slim crowd on the wow side. And practically none over 20 years old. I admit it. I used to think it was easy for slightly more mature women to look good. But it’s not, really. If you choose something too young looking, it makes you look older (not to mention that you’re trying too hard) and if you choose something too matronly, you look matronly. (duh!) So what to do? I learned a couple things lately…

1) If you wore it when it was in style LAST time, don’t do it THIS time.
2) Don’t shop at Wet Seal. Nothing there is appropriate. Trust me.
3) Those great styles the kids are wearing? Think hard – really, really, hard, before you even try it on. And if you do buy it? Pair it with something grown up.
4) Don’t wear two ponytails. One can work. Two just can’t. And don’t even think about one of those side ponies. Nine years old is the actual legal limit for those.
5) No jumpers. (I don’t mean sweaters, like in the UK – they’re fine of course!)

Okay, age appropriateness aside, I was still appalled by the lack of fashion sense – or maybe the lack of mirrors. Alright, I’m exaggerating. But I did see some women that I thought, “Good hair, great top. I’d choose different pants.” or “Hmmm, a bit more subtle shade would work for her.” I know, I should have been paying attention to the service. I should have been deepening my spiritual self and here I was, being judgmental (yikes) and daydreaming. (Do you have to pray longer to make up for not praying when you were supposed to be?)

Anyway, even I wouldn’t stoop to specifically call out a specific outfit or a person. That would be mean like Stacy and Fiona. And that’s not who I want to be. But I would like to point out the most disturbing DON’Ts I eyewitnessed:

1) No one really looks better with pleated pants.
2) The Flashdance look really doesn’t scream 2006.
3) If you want to wear pantyhose with open sandals (and I wish you wouldn’t), at least get the ones without the solid toes.
4) Clothes (or shoes) that you can’t walk in make you just plain make you look uncomfortable. That’s all anyone can see.
5) T-shirts with words across the chest, when incredibly too tight, no longer appear to be words. But it does make the men look.
6) If you tease your hair so high and thinly that the person behind you can see through it – like a pulled apart Brillo pad – he will do just that.

Would I want the job of fashion police? Absolutely not. But I would love to understand more about why people have different ideas about what looks good or even whether they care if they do indeed look good.

Any thoughts?