Persistance of Ideas

Have you ever had an idea that just won't leave you alone? I have...only this idea is a character I created many years ago.

After my divorce, I did manage to complete an entire manuscript - a rambling, hopelessly flawed thing - but gave it up after a couple of years of trying to rewrite it, with little success.

But my love for the lead character persists to this day; in fact, she won't leave me alone. I read back over my first, failed manuscript and my revamp attempts, and realized that the problem wasn't my heroine, it was what I'd done with her.

I've been taking a break from writing these past few weeks, trying to decide if it's time for me to give it up entirely. But this character fascinates me, prods my imagination so much that I have to admit I am *not* ready to give up yet!

My birthday is this Saturday, and I've decided that my gift to myself will be a full day of leisurely, uninterrupted writing. I want to find out what this character has to tell me.

I can't wait!!

"Don't Go Away Mad...."

Smiling and laughing, my narcissistic mother uttered those words to me and DH as the two of us decamped (prematurely and in haste) from my parents' home last September, after having had our fill of insults and humiliation.

She stopped smiling when I finished that infamous phrase for her: "Just go away - right, Mom?"

Now, of course, she and my father are trying to act like that debacle never happened, down to sending me gifts for appropriate occasions. But the thing is, now the gifts are mere tokens, articles that manage to convey their disapproval, yet show the world they're making an effort. The token gesture this Christmas was a one-pound tin of stale, chocolate covered nuts, addressed just to me.

Can you feel the love?

I received another such item last night, in a telltale Amazon box. (My birthday is approaching, you see.) With the care of a bomb squad agent, I gingerly opened the gift receipt before even looking at the wrapped item within: it was a cookie cookbook, with the gift message "Now you can continue to be a hit where you work!" Gee, thanks. As if my two promotions last year hinged exclusively on my culinary skills. The title might as well have been Baking for Bootlicks. Nice.

I would have been happier had they sent nothing at all, but appearances are everything to my parents. And of course, if I don't send a proper thank you, they'll whinge to everyone and sundry about what an ungrateful child I am. I'm sure they've already sung that song, but what's one more refrain?

Aarrrggghhh! I'm furious and despondent by turns. The rational part of me knows they'll never change, never admit wrongdoing. The irrational part of me, the part that still holds a shred of hope, is dying a slow death.

But I will not bow down to tyrants, bullies, and narcissists - been there, done that, and my self-esteem is still paying the price. I'm returning this "gift" to get something I really want, and moving forward with my life.

Happy!!

My husband's birthday is at the end of the month. As long as I've been with him, he's told me he doesn't want me to go to great lengths to celebrate his birthday. He's never had someone to spoil him (this includes his abusive family and his narcissistic yotch of an ex-wife); he thinks he doesn't deserve to have a big deal made of his natal day.

So, knowing this, what do I go and do?

You got it. I'm gonna spoil him rotten, 'cause he's totally worth it.

The presents started arriving today, and I'm doing a little happy dance. I managed to find some really good stuff, and I can't wait to give it to him!

Everyone's happy, it seems - it's warm enough here to open the windows and let in the birdsong. Yep, that's right - the robins are back! Spring's coming, baby, this time for sure! And the cat is simply beside herself with joy at the antics of all the little birds gathered on the back deck.

Happiness. Great stuff, inn'it?

Food Hangover

Today is the last day of what has been a wonderful birthday weekend; MLK Jr. Day is a federal holiday and, as such, my place of work is closed. Part of me wishes I'd taken more time off, 'cause I don't want this birthday to end. In addition to all the goodies he brought home Thursday night, and the onesie, my husband also bought me a completely unexpected gift (more on that in another post), then last night took me out to one of the best steakhouses ever.

After an evening of pear martini, an assortment of cheeses from around the world (included a triple-cream Australian cheese that was to die for), champagne, a petite filet, shrimp scampi, wine, sauteed spinach, roasted new potatoes with rosemary, all followed by slivers of chocolate chip pecan pie AND turtle cheesecake garnished with ice cream and two birthday candles, I was quite happily stuffed, and glad that I'd worn stretchy-waisted pants.

This morning I'm still feeling a bit logey from eating all that rich food, but it was totally worth it. I've always been a foodie, and last night was foodie heaven.

Being my last day off before going back to work, and given my food hangover, I plan to take it easy today. I've got a couple of errands to run, but other than that I plan to be a happy slug, awash in memories of food and the knowledge that I am well and truly loved.

This is going to be a wonderful year.

Happy Birthday, Dad

When I was in fourth grade, I drew a picture of Snoopy sporting a pair of sunglasses, with the caption, "My dad is Joe Cool." At the tender age of nine, I didn't hesitate to tell the world that my father was my hero.

He still is.

Born on the cusp of the Great Depression, Dad has done amazing things with his life. He mined for gold with his father - using dynamite, no less! He went to UC-Berkeley at age 16 and got his degree in civil engineering. He married my mother soon after graduation, and they're set to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary next year.

There is no chemistry, physics, or mathematics problem he can't solve (for which, in my high school years, I was infinitely grateful). Always easy-going, he handles difficult problems - and difficult people - with grace, dignity, and aplomb. He taught me how to throw a curveball, and how to fish. Although, it must be said, his patented fish call of "Here, fishee, fishee, fishee" seemed to work for no one but him!

Today is his 80th birthday. Though it's made him a little grayer, age hasn't diminished him one bit. He's my favorite fishing buddy, my mathematics tutor, my fellow pun-a-holic. He's the man who taught me to do the right thing, even when the right thing wasn't always easy. He's *still* Joe Cool. And he's still my hero.

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.