Now that I have your attention….
……I probably don’t.
While reading this, I bet you’re also checking the stock market……doing laundry…….putting on makeup……. talking to your husband….. sitting on a plane or on a toilet.
Or maybe all of the above.
I used to wonder how kids could pay attention to music and TV and Facebook and 15 different windows open on the computer…… while doing their homework.
It’s been years since I witnessed a face-to-face conversation involving a teenager who wasn’t simultaneously using a phone to text or play games.
But I can’t blame it all on age when I rarely get behind the wheel…..and barely get through a meal…. without peeking at my Blackberry.
Multi-tasking is multiplying with the use and usefulness of our electronic extensions of ourselves.
Today I read about an event at the White House, where the speakers included the President, First Lady and Madeline Albright— where the audience kept looking down at their cell phones.
The President doesn’t command our attention.
And the ultimate multi-task: -15% of Americans admit they interrupt the act of sex—to check the cellphone.
Is nothing sacred? Is there anything that gets your undivided attention anymore?
To honor International Women’s Day, women are telling inspiring stories— of remarkable and courageous women around the world; of women helping women; of women who made it possible for them to succeed.
I feel so fortunate, to live in the United States; where for the most part, women have the rights and the ability and the tools to change the world, and ourselves, for the better. Although that, too, can require the help of another woman to make possible.
For me, on International Woman’s Day, one story stands out—of a young woman who came to the United States from El Salvador to make a better life for herself and her children. In doing that, she helped make a better life for mine.
It couldn’t have been easy for Elizabeth to come to Los Angeles, where I met her when she was a young mother herself— helping me with my two children. Due to circumstances for both of us, she came in and out of my life several times.
When I was a single working mother, she helped me stitch together a fragile hold on my life and equally fragile state of mind. She helped me pick up the pieces of our home that were shattered after an earthquake. And she helped me pack up and leave Los Angeles to re-settle my children into our new lives in Carmel.
Life was equally hectic, and I missed having Elizabeth close by—-especially when a bomb blasted into my new life after less than a year.
The first weeks of cancer were a blur; I was facing a year of treatment, with a chemotherapy regimen more rugged than what is standard for breast cancer today; with no idea where or how I would find anyone to help.
When I came up for air after surgery, I was still drowning in fear. I longed for the familiar and comfortable; but I had no mother or family member to come to the rescue; no support system in my new community.
Into this haze of fear and hopelessness, Elizabeth came back into my life like a mirage would appear to a traveler wandering in the desert.
Without being asked, she uprooted herself from her job and her teenage daughter in Los Angeles, moving here to care for my children—and to be the mother I couldn’t be. She took care of them—and me—when I couldn’t even drag myself out of bed; at times she literally had to feed me– -sustenance and support. She did far beyond what could be expected or asked.
She cared for us because she cared; she stayed for months, I wish she could have stayed forever.
There is no way I could ever repay Elizabeth, for the gift she gave me; no way I could honor her sacrifices or those of her daughter….in exchange for the comfort and security she provided my children, who trusted, and love her to this day.
On International Women’s Day, no articles will tell her story– or those of other women who help many of us make a better world for our children. That’s why today seems the right time to honor a woman who reached out to me in my time of greatest need—who was there for me just because she knew I needed her to be.
1. The biggest mystery at the Oscars—other than the whereabouts of Brangelina— During the opening, people were wondering: what’s going on between Alec Baldwin and George Clooney?
If you read my blog, you know what’s behind their hostile stares. It’s my fault and I”m embarrassed that this spilled out in front of a world wide audience. I think it’s time for the guys to call a truce. Besides….
2. George proved he’s a good sport even before losing the Oscar. Before the show, before the red carpet, he stopped to meet and greet fans down the street waiting behind a fence.. It could have been my favorite moment.
3. My least favorite moment : Academy voters had to be blind to side with Sandra Bullock. Loved her dress; loved her speech; but I think her Oscar belongs to Meryl Streep.
4. Most satisfying moment: Kathryn Bigelow provides the Biggest—and only– surprise of the night. By winning Best Picture, The Hurt Locker strikes a blow for low budget movies, women, and ex-wives everywhere.
5. In the end it’s all about the clothes……on the night we all get a free pass to be snarky. For me, the lingering image of the 2010 Oscars is an Oscar wrap-up in 4 words: What was she thinking??
Once upon a time ….since I love people….and I love books……I was the perfect fit to be part of a book club.
I tried six; I even started one. And I learned that book clubs—like books— don’t always end happily ever after.
Though Oprah gave a boost to book lovers everywhere, I never found that book group some of my friends rave about…. that meet religiously for decades; share joys and sorrows, inspiring and intimate conversation.
These days, the closest I get to a book group is when our cat sits on top of me when I read under the covers. She adds warmth— but not much wit.
Occasionally I write about books, to keep my book muscles functioning; still I can’t help feeling as if I’m missing out.
Like the times when I think I’m getting close to the end of a book…….then abruptly, a page later, it’s over. Instead of more book, the last few pages turn out to be a list of questions called: A Readers Book Club Guide.
It’s annoying enough that the book ends before I thought it would….and those questions are harder to answer than any literature exam I ever had in college.
But what really burns me is the attitude: Obviously this final section is designed to be reserved— for the exclusive use of book group members only.
Very elitist, I’d say. And a slap in the face to non-book-group members—such as….(ahem) moi.
Oh, I get the message loud and clear. But guess what—even though I know they intended to exclude me—-sometimes I read the questions anyway.
Meanwhile I’m still back where I started…..club-less in Carmel. But I just joined a virtual book group organized by the Silicon Valley Moms blog. We don’t meet in person; we live all over the country. It’s interesting to read posts submitted by everyone who wants to read that month’s book….which is how I came to write about The Possibility of Everything.
My 7th book club; and so far, so good. If you’re in a book group, I’d be curious to know what you love about it—just in case someday I take another stab at that happy ending.
Coulda. Shoulda. Woulda.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who still says that to myself.
I assumed by this time in life I would achieve some serenity and settle into a sort of ….wise woman place.
I guess in a way I have. I’ve wised up enough to know I might never wise up.
Serenity anytime soon is an illusion so elusive it’s invisible. There are too many things I still want/plan/need to do. Every day I feel as if the list is getting longer; I’m not gaining ground, I’m losing it.
I always felt like this. At least that’s what I tell myself.
Only lately I think it’s getting worse and I’m spinning my wheels faster and faster until I’m feeling completely out of control and the scary part is that sometimes I think TIME IS RUNNING OUT.
The other day I took a deep breath—and I told myself I’m imagining this.
I felt much better.
Until Alli called….to suggest we start work on a project we’re planning, so we can finish BEFORE I GET ALZHEIMER’S.
I told myself she was kidding. I’m wise enough to know she wasn’t.
When time feels like it’s running out, it’s time to add to that F**k-it List.
…..“an otherwise mainstream mother and wife….transformed from a person who believed only in the visible and the proven to someone open to the idea of larger, unseen forces.”
Those words describe Hope Edelman, author of a new book, The Possibility of Everything; but they also could have described me—another skeptical Jewish girl from the east coast.
Maybe it happens after living so many years in California…… where sometimes I can forget how many people remain skeptical about the traditional/alternative world of healing—and people like Edelman, a young mother who turned to native healers, folk remedies, and plants to help her young daughter on a week-long vacation in Belize— that turned into a deeper journey on a spiritual level.
Just as Edelman is different, ten years after her journey, so am I.
It took an entire book to describe her experience; this one blog post isn’t going to do it for me. Where would I even start?
Right after I got cancer a friend called; someone who had known me for years, and knew my East coast mindset. She told me about a woman she called “a healer”…..and she wanted to convince me to see her.
She didn’t need to twist my arm.
When your options close down, it’s amazing how your mind can open up.
I would have tried anything and everything . And I did. There’s too much to describe here, or now. I know much less than Hope Edelman and so many others. But I believe I’m here today because I took a leap of faith….to try what I did…and still do….to heal.
In the years since my own journey, the balance has shifted in this country—maybe one of the benefits of a flattening world. For instance, recently a scientific journal published some promising research studying a “folk remedy” used in Central America and Asia…. which shows potential for preventing or curing breast cancer.: Bitter Melon.
You gotta love the irony: Bitter— for cancer….Melon for breast.
Then again far stranger things happen. There’s so much about our bodies and our minds that we don’t understand. So much to see if we’re willing to open our eyes. I’m willing to believe in The Possibility of Everything. Are you?
It’s just a door; a storefront in a row of shops. You’d never guess that on the other side of the door was something that could help save a life.
I first saw the blue door 13 years ago—after a year immersed in cancer—- five surgeries, two chemotherapy courses, and radiation.
Though I was done with treatment, I wasn’t done with fear. It tormented every waking moment. And every sleeping moment. I couldn’t shake it.
One of the cruelties of cancer— or any crisis– is that it can become a paradox. You’re fearful and stressed–and everyone tells you the best thing for you is to escape from the fear and stress.
Which is true….only you still have cancer, or what made you fearful and stressed in the first place. So when you find that you can’t escape the stress and fear, you worry that you’re making it worse—-which makes you even more stressed and fearful than you already were.
There’s no cure for cancer, and often there’s no cure for this vicious cycle of your own stress and fear. I had pretty much given up on ever finding anything to help me relax at all.
That’s where I was when I first walked through the blue door.
A sign overhead said “Glazes.” Inside was a little paint-it-yourself ceramics shop. I had no talent for art of any kind. So I was dumbfounded to discover that paints were like a magic potion to wash away my worries. Art swept me away— into a world of color, and shape and design, that I had never seen, never been able to see.
At least, this world existed for me behind the blue door. So obviously I wanted to come as much as I could.
I would sit in my car out front, waiting for the owner to show up. I couldn’t wait to get inside—- where I knew the worry, stress and fear in my real world would drop away the minute I walked through that door. And it never failed me.
I always sat in the same seat, up at the front of the shop where I could see the world outside the door. But I was in the zone; hours zoomed by when I didn’t see, hear or notice anything else.
Not only did I learn to appreciate art, I learned to appreciate small town life. The owner, Karen Fenton, gave me my own key, so I could open the blue door anytime; come and go before and after hours. How great is that?
Ultimately I started doing mosaics and needed more space; so I got my own key to my own door to my own studio. And awhile back, Karen sold the shop and I returned my key to the new owner.
But I would still come to paint, alone or with friends; and Glazes never lost its magical power.
A few weeks ago, the shop closed; the blue door locked up for the last time. Though such an integral part of my life is lost—-I feel incredibly grateful that it was ever found. Opening the door to Glazes gave me the key to find a way to heal myself.
I found peace behind this blue door; in a completely unlikely and unexpected place. And it convinced me that— no matter what or where it might be— if you keep looking, there is a key and a door for everyone else.
Before Daniel left for Argentina, I felt secure about his safety. It’s been less than a week and already my resolve is shaken.
By 8.8.
I was on Twitter– the best place to find out first about breaking news. Thanks to @guruofnew and @RandiBuckley, I immediately plugged into a TV broadcast from Chile. If anyone is still skeptical about Twitter, I’m not. And neither is CNN– which seems to be getting much of its earthquake news via tweets and has turned an American Idol finalist into a reporter.
Communication is down in parts of Argentina; and the quake was felt strongly in Buenos Aires—I heard this on Twitter and CNN—-haven’t heard yet from Daniel.
How ironic–all those years when the kids were little, I worried about THE BIG ONE happening here. It never occurred to me to worry about it when he would be across the world. And it never occurred to me that an earthquake that took place where he is— could possibly send a tsunami all the way to us in California.
But that’s what I just heard—-my mind already reeling from hearing that the magnitude of an 8.8 is almost a thousand times stronger than the 7.0 earthquake in Haiti.
As I write this, the world is waiting to learn what’s happened and is yet to happen. Today the world has become flat; I’m hoping not too much of it will be flattened.
If you read my blog lately, it might seem as if I have only one child in college right now. Daniel’s semester in Buenos Aires has provided more blog fodder recently-– but in real life, his sister’s education always provided more of the drama.
So this is equal time in the interest of fairness. Not that my kids would feel sibling rivalry about being in my blog—probably the opposite. But as a mom I’m equally proud of both of them–and the very different paths they’ve chosen for their educations.
Alli is what they call a non-traditional student-–what else can you call someone who didn’t go to college after high school, and switched from college to college following her husband’s military assignments.
The latest switch had nothing to do with anyone but herself—and it’s also non-traditional.
I think her story provides insight for both parents and their kids—that there are no set rules for growing up. The only rule I trust is that you can’t do it for them. Children need to find their own way. And they aren’t going to do what you think they will do— or even what they think they will do. But if you have faith in your children and their choices, there’s a far better chance it can all work out in the end.
It’s been hard for me at times to watch Alli make choices. Like the choice she made last year to switch from UC Irvine and attend CSU Fullerton–a commuter school with less academic prestige. Alli doesn’t ask for financial support, just emotional support. And when she told me I didn’t hesitate. A lifetime of living with Alli has taught me that she knows herself far better than I do.
She’s here for a short time, only to finish her undergraduate degree. She loved the school from the moment she stepped on the campus, which by the way looks far more like a traditional campus than I expected. Loves her courses, loves her professors, loves the feeling on campus. What more can you want for your kids?
And when she showed me the place where she spends most of her time— the library— there was a little sign from the universe that this is where she was meant to be.
Just. In. Case.
The 3 words most used by Jewish mothers.
The 3 words their kids least want to hear.
Daniel was packing up for his semester abroad. According to airline regulations, his suitcase can’t weigh over 50 pounds—which forces him to weigh priorities.
So he makes a colossal mistake and asks me if I would help him organize for Buenos Aires.
Daniel is thinking shopping: how many pairs of shoes to bring vs. how many he will buy.
I have a different agenda.
For me this is an opportunity to open a line of conversation Daniel will wish never started…..that ends with a trip to Target and a call to a doctor and an addition to his luggage—– an emergency medical kit that I insist suggest Daniel assemble—-containing everything anyone could possibly need from A (Afrin nasal spray) ….to Z (Zithromax Z- pack for a full course of antibiotics).
As a good son, he’s a good sport, though he refused a few of my suggestions. Like— I thought it wouldn’t hurt to bring along an inhaler—although statistically there’s very little likelihood he would have an asthma attack —since he doesn’t have asthma.
He also rejected a bottle of Tecnu. Though he’ll be in a totally urban environment, how can I be sure he won’t be exposed to poison oak? You never know. (3 more words over-used by Jewish mothers.)
Remember, just knowing there are hospitals in Buenos Aires doesn’t provide comfort to a Jewish mother….except maybe the Jewish mothers who live in Buenos Aires.
And though I realize Argentina is a large country where there’s a reasonable chance of finding a band-aid, I made Daniel pack some anyway—-that’s a key part of a Jewish mother’s strategy: Taking something with you is the best way to insure you’ll never need it.
In the end Daniel’s suitcase came in weighing just under 50 pounds…. at least 30 pounds of it being medication……Just. In. Case.
This post is #4 in a sporadic series I call “Uncontrollable Mothering.” For other examples, click here.
