Trend-Setter

You should know that I am incredibly trend-setting.  I do something and the world follows.  Ok, fine, I'm completely making that up.  But lately I have noticed that an awful lot of people appear to be in situations similar to mine.  And I'm not saying that in a good way.

The other night I was watching a show called House Hunters International.  It is on HGTV and is awesome.  They follow couples who are moving from one country to another and help them pick out the right home.  I love it because I am a HUGE voyeur when it comes to how people in other countries live.  I love checking out the options as to what life could look like. Anyway, there have been people moving from Africa to Australia and from Connecticut to Italy.  The show relevant to this post involved a family moving from San Francisco to Iceland.  The husband was from Iceland originally and the couple had an infant son.  The show doesn't go immensely into the personal lives of the subjects (really, the stars are the houses), but there were little pieces of information as to why they were leaving the States.  In short, they couldn't afford it after he lost his job.  They were struggling in California and a move to be near his family would significantly improve their quality of life both monetarily and when it came to their son.  It was sort of hard to watch.  But it, of course, had a happy ending two months later with a gorgeous (but small) condo.  The kicker?  She was thrilled at the new pace of her life, at the chance to spend time with her son and with her new GARDEN.  Seriously.  There are clones of us all running around (at least in Iceland).

I am well aware of how much I have complained about this move.  And some of it is very justified.  But I have to agree with the SanFransisco-Icelander woman--it sucks, the change is hard, and it is absolutely invaluable for making us see that life doesn't have to go mach 20 in order to be happy.  So many people today have found themselves stepping off of the fast track (usually aganst their wills) to find that a more leisurely pace is really, really great.  The ability to spend time with friends and loved ones is invaluable.  And the opportunity to breathe (while disconcerting) is heavenly.

I'm not advocating quitting your job and moving to Belize.  Ok, yes, I am.  But my point is that there is a whole big world out there with a lot of opportunities.  If you're smarter than I am, you will choose to go that route instead of waiting for life to push you there.  Life is very, very uncertain and no amount of planning can change that, as so many of us have recently found out.  But it doesn't have to be a bad thing.  And if it's actually your decision, it can be even better.  So drop your pencils and coffee--run from your office buildings!  Be free!  And when your spouse or parents yell at you, please don't mention you read this....

What Do You Think?

I have always been fascinated by people who care what other people think.  This is primarily because I am one of them.  I hate this fact.  Particularly lately, after finding relatively few acquaintances who were willing to help me out when I needed it (friends and family were an ENTIRELY different story), it really irritates me that I still find myself caring whether others "like me" or not. 

Why do we do this?  For example, last weekend a small group of friends and I got dressed up for a bachelorette party.  We donned rather spectacular (if I may say so) 80s garb and headed out on the town.  I do have to say that living through a number of decades has significantly tempered my embarrassment level--I had no problems dressing up in the first place.  But I did find myself noticing the looks and, although it disappeared quickly, I felt the color rise in my cheeks momentarily.  Why, exactly?  I don't really know anyone here.  And even if I did, why would I care?  Judgement for something as insignificant as having fun shouldn't even give me a second thought.  It irked me that I even noticed. 

So tell me--why do we care so much what other people think?  I find myself trying to explain to people why I don't have an "official" job, as though I have something for which to apologize.  I practice entire speeches in my head for the next person who comments, ever so slightly, on my parenting.  I preface discussing any purchases I make with a disclaimer of how much they were on sale.  How is any of the above anyone's concern?

So tell me, folks, why do we care?  Should we?  Does it keep us in line?  Or is it only harmful?  And tell me the truth--do you like me?  Are my clothes ok?  Am I doing ok with my child?  Why aren't you answering?

Handy Nanny

I don't know if you have happened upon Disney's cartoon Handy Manny, or not, but if you have, I have a quick observation.  He's full of crap.  For those of you who don't know, Manny is an hispanic cartoon character with a tool box full of talking tools.  They walk around town fixing whatever disaster is about to befall its citizens and bestowing upon the viewers handy advice such as "take turns."  But my point is this--I, too, would be "handy" if I had a box of talking, self-suficient tools.  The tools do all of the work.  Manny gets the name of the show.  Such a crock.

That said, I have completely come to understand how it is that retirees tend to lean toward the home repair to fill their days.  First, there is an abundance of projects that always need to be done.  Second, for the first time in one's life, there is an abundance of time in which to do said projects.  Third, it's just fun. 

One of the things I love most about the law is the problem-solving aspect.  Your client has a problem, you need to solve it.  It's very cool to work out solutions and to double-check your work.  Or maybe I am a dork.  Whatever.  The point is, home repair is the same thing.  For example, I have a tiny patch of dirt that runs along my driveway, next to my house.  The prior tenants had filled it with rocks and I didn't like it.  So I prepared it for flowers.  I was very excited to watch them grow and make my driveway the envy of all driveways.  Until, of course, the rains came.  There is a spot where the water rolls off of the roof and into the dirt.  As a result, my flowers were pushed all the way across the driveway by my occasional lake.  Not good.  I thought and I thought how to fix the problem, but the patch of dirt has just sat empty (there are, however, flowers sprouting from the cracks.  Yay).  Finally, yesterday, it popped into my head that I could make an actual pond for the water, and plant flowers around it.  So freaking simple!  I took an old bowl, dug a trench for it, and voila!  VERY excited.  Of course it rained and I excitedly ran outside to look.  Instant pond.  So easy and yet so much joy.

It's amazing how easily entertained we can be.  Particularly when one has no control over her life at the moment, controlling aspects of the house is heavenly.  Hey!  Maybe I should retire.  Then I can add golf to my daily activities.  Awesome.  If anyone feels like joining my retirement home, bring a sleeping bag and a hammer.  Talking hammers given priority.

The Great Outdoors

As I write this, I am listening to my poor child throw a major tantrum.  He is in his room, which is next to mine, and is pounding on the wall yelling "Mama" because he doesn't want to nap.  This, as many of you know, is a unique form of torture bestowed by children.  The guilt as a parent is overwhelming and is only barely outweighed by the knowledge that he needs his nap.  As do I.  And so, I pretend it is the latest Adult Alternative song, and type away.

Usually he's pretty good about his morning naps.  So what is the issue today?  He's mad because I made him come inside.  As you know, we have been cooped up for weeks with torrential rains and freezing temperatures.  And as you also know, my son has been a bit...reluctant...to experience the outdoors that Montana has to offer.  Well, today both issues have been (at least temporarily) resolved.  We have been running around the backyard pulling weeds, the front yard trimming trees, and the neighborhood on our bike.  It's been a great time.  As a result, the kid is now an outdoorsman.  I literally saw him standing in the grass, head up to the sky with his eyes closed, grinning.  He's loving it.  And I have to admit, even with parks, the city doesn't offer such outdoorsey joy.

What is it about being outside in the sunshine that makes us so elated?  Is it an instinctual, primitive thing?  Such as, does it mean that crops are growing and food will soon be plentiful?  Or is that just me and my little garden?  Is it even more biological--our bodies need sunshine to thrive and is it that we have been craving it after a long (anti) drought?

I'm not sure of the answer, but I am absolutely amazed at how this little boy has taken to being outside.  He doesn't care what he's doing, as long as he is teeterig around.  He still prefers the cement (that's my boy), but he will only come indoors kicking and screaming.  I guess there are bright spots all around us.

The Thick and Thin of Things

When I first returned to Montana, someone noted that she thought it would be a change for me because "people here don't take care of themselves the way people do in big cities."  She was referring to looks (this person's favorite focal point) and clearly had never been to Milwaukee.  She is a fitness fanatic, and the comment made me laugh.  In my opinion there is very little difference in the relative weights of people here versus those in Chicago.  With one notable exception--me.

I have never been particularly good at maintaining a workout schedule.  Such is largely (pun intended) the case because I didn't have time.  When you're working 80 hour weeks, the last thing you want to do during those precious few free (and sober) hours is exercise.  And so I figured that having more time would mean that I, naturally, would become Giselle within weeks.  So, am I now a supermodel?  Yep.  One from 1982 who has spent the past 30 years locked in a Hostess factory. 

I guess I can see it.  Much of my free time is spent baking things.  Cookies, brownies, pies--you name it.  And, as my son is not exactly a human vacuum when it comes to food, I thereafter eat the (carmelized) fruits of my labor.  Moreover, in a city you definitely walk a heckofalot more than you do outside of one.  Plus, I lived on the fourth and fifth floors of a walk-up.  One that did not contain an elevator.  Lugging a child and the billion pounds of crap he/she requires up four flights of stairs will keep you from being 50000 pounds. 

And so, I must either do something about my ballooning waistline, or I must resign myself to becoming the cliche of which the woman spoke.  Any suggestions?  Hold on, I need to get a brownie before I read your response.