Haven’t we all fantasized about suddenly and magically being able to exploit some hidden attribute to the astonishment and envy of our friends? Leap on stage and play brilliant jazz piano, grab the mike and really rock a song like Amy Winehouse or Sassy Vaughn, or in a critical lifesaving moment, fluently burst into the right foreign language—all without the years of practice, not to mention having the actual talent in the first place. Waltermittyosis is a condition that I am certain affects 99 percent of the population. What about the other one percent? They include the aforementioned chanteuses, Marion McPartland, Diana Krall and thousands of well-studied multilinguists—all who know what it takes to get to Carnegie Hall.
I have always wanted to have some form of certification for the type of legal work I do. Read more
The screen door bangs shut behind me, echoing in a house that only last week was filled with the last frantic scrabblings of summer vacation.
The school backpacks no longer hang on their hooks by the door; they are off for another tour of duty filled with new spiral notebooks, freshly sharpened pencils, pocket-sized tissue packs and re-charged cell phones.
I stand just inside the front door, unable to move. Unwilling to hang up my keys. Incapable of addressing this morning’s breakfast dishes, still in the sink.
I am paralyzed by the sudden realization that all too soon there will be no more first days of school. Read more
“It is sad to grow old, but nice to ripen.” —Brigitte Bardot
Being a woman in full flower, of a certain age, and ripe, ripe, ripe, I often find myself comparing how I was to how I am. CBF (Connie Before Fifty) was just a glimmer of who I am becoming. Confidence, discipline, integrity, fearlessness would come and go like the Aurora Borealis—shining, colorful and dazzling; dancing and playing for all it’s worth.
Then the self-talk would take over. I’d tell myself all sorts of half-truths. That I wasn’t worthy, couldn’t fulfill my promises, can’t do that, too tired, they’ll find out I’m a fraud, they don’t need me, I can’t cut it, or worst of all, they don’t like me. I’d go about proving why all those things were true, hate myself for a few months, then gear up my energy for another go round, and again, fly and sing and be in my true self. It was exhausting. Read more
Dear Sarah Palin,
You said the only difference between a hockey mom (you) and a pit bull (me) is lipstick. I take issue with this characterization.
Pit bulls are fiercely loyal to the hand that feeds them. The government of the United States feeds you plenty, but in a couple of speeches you cheered on the Alaska Independence Party, whose goal is to secede from the U.S., and whose leader professed his “hatred for the American government” and said, “I won’t be buried under their damn flag.” You even invited the party to this year’s convention. And, your husband was a registered member of the party. You are no loyal American. And you are no pit bull. Read more
I am in a STATE!
I intended to write about praise houses because they are about transcendence—something I am in dire need of, and I may still—but for the moment I am completely worked up, alternating between immobilizing anxiety and manic activity. I call it PanicManic. The onset of PanicManic started with the polls stating Obama and McCain were neck and neck. It was then I began gasping for breath.
Despite all evidence to the contrary I am still stunned by the fact that I live in a country that actually believes someone such as Sarah Palin is worthy of consideration to perhaps run this country. And I have been overwhelmed with email from great thinkers and people of note—people for whom I have great respect, focusing on the Sarah Palin issue: “What do we do about Sarah Palin?” Read more
Computers are incredibly fast, accurate and stupid. Human beings are incredibly slow, inaccurate and brilliant. Together they are powerful beyond imagination.
—Attributed to Albert Einstein
At a conference last spring I learned that baby boomers have in fact embraced technology, however they are typically five years behind the curve. Early adopters? Not so much.
By day I’m an online producer. I work on websites. I don’t build them or make them function (the smart folks I work with do that) I’m all about content—what’s on the screen and how to get people to find, read, explore or interact with it—hoping it’s time well-spent. In the mid 1990s, I had a yellow handwritten Post-it Note on my computer. Like an affirmation it read, “Fear not the machine.” And soon, I got over it—the fear that is. Read more
“I am the Lord Thy Dog and Thy Dog is a jealous Dog.
Thou shalt have no other Dog before me….”
Izzy Lamb Stetson ?/?/95-8/26/08
We had talked about dog adoption for nearly a year before I wandered into our local “no-kill” shelter. There were six others; snarling, jumping pit bull mixes of varying hue and stripe, though it looked like they all came from the same father. She was alone in a kennel, a lovely, blonde pup Lab-thing, quietly gazing up at me, her pleading eyes begging, “Please MOMMY, take me home.” Which, of course, I did, and Isabella AKA Izzy, Lamb, Bean, Izzybeanie and You Little Shit, became our first dog. Read morekeep looking »