I had a dream last night that involved taming skunks by pouring bleach on them, then decorating them with multicolored handkerchiefs tied around their necks so you could identify them later.  Bizarre.  Then I realized that my dream was really the memory cache of my experiences that day being emptied out.  During the day I had watched an episode of “Will & Grace” while exercising, where a character was talking about destroying roses by pouring bleach on them.  At another point in the day I remember driving somewhere and smelling a skunk and silently marveling that skunks were still out in this weather.  And later I was picking up the house and grabbed my daughter’s hot pink bandanna she had left on the kitchen table.    Now my dream made perfect sense.

So, not to let it rest at that, my uber-creative imagination came up with this thought:  what if dreams were reality and reality as we think we know it is REALLY the dream?  What if what we experience every day is just what our vivid imaginations have pieced together, based on what REALLY happened in another time and space?

Perhaps I need to sleep on it…

I’ve discovered a new reason for me to exercise:  I get cosmic messages when I do.

A few years ago I was uncharacteristically into running.   I would get up early and run a few miles before the family awoke.  Interesting how that seems like such a foreign concept to me now.  One day as I was nearing my home I noticed a large black bird circling overhead.  We have a lot of crows or ravens in the area, so at first I didn’t think anything of it.  Then I noticed it seemed unusually large.  Just then it swooped lower and landed on my neighbor’s chimney.  It was indeed NOT a crow!  I ran into my house and up to my 3rd floor office and there, perching on their chimney and staring directly into my window – was a large black VULTURE!  Let me tell you, it is a bit unnerving to see a vulture starting at you!  Once I got over my initial freaking out, I decided to try a different perspective on the situation and looked up what vultures symbolize.  It seems that vultures symbolize patience, are a reminder to think things through and to utilize your resources at hand.  They also represent renewal.  So, although admittedly a non-traditional messenger, it was a great message for me to receive.

Today I think I got another one, from another of the bird family.  I have for a few years now come to revere hawks as a power symbol and harbinger of good luck.  This morning as I was pulling into the parking garage in downtown Montclair to go work out at the YMCA, there in my path was a hawk!  My immediate reaction was one of surprised excitement.  And then I noticed it was eating a pigeon.  I couldn’t wait to get home to look up what pigeons represented.  It made my workout fly by as my mind ran the gamut of possibilities.

When I finally rushed home to my computer, here’s what it said:

Hawks:  “The hawk comes to you indicating that you are now awakening to your soul purpose, your reason for being here. It can teach you how to fly high while keeping yourself connected to the ground.”

Pigeons: “Pigeons are symbols of love and marital bliss as well as happiness in the home”

So does this mean that I’m finally discovering my purpose in life:  to destroy love and marital bliss?  **sigh** Maybe I’ll have to rethink this exercise thing again.

It took until today for me to shed a tear about the Haiti earthquake.  This was extremely disturbing to me as this is such a horrific situation: why on earth was I not more upset about it?  Me, whose eyes well up as I watch TV commercials, was not crying over a real human tragedy.  It was just baffling.

This morning I was watching a news report and there was a young girl from the US who had been in Haiti doing volunteer work.  She had been trapped in debris and had lost her leg but was back in the US now getting treatment.  Her optimism, joy of living, and desire to get back to help were inspirational.  And then I started to cry.  In thinking about it, watching pictures of the devastation were just too surreal for me to get my head around.  Logically I knew this was real, that these were real people in real desperate situations, but it just looked too much like scenes from a movie to me.  I remember my ex-husband saying the same thing when he saw one of the planes hit the World Trade Center.  The mind just can’t -or won’t – register that kind of disaster.

So it came back once again to a single individual to break through the barrier I’d unconsciously built to protect some part of myself.  Someone I could imagine being my daughter or a neighbor.  Someone whose purity of spirit shone through all the words and sounds and pictures of the past few days.  Someone who modeled for me what I wish for myself: optimism, joy of living and a desire to help others.  May her spirit be an inspiration to us all and may it help us to help those who need it most.

I have been dessert free for almost a week now.  I’d say I was sugar-free but that would be stretching it.  Being dessert free is a rather large accomplishment for me as I have been shoveling handfuls of cookies into my mouth daily (hourly) for weeks.  I am now into the fat pants. Actually, they are even uncomfortable.  I was just feeling really good about sweatpants when a friend reminded me of a Seinfeld episode where George Costanza said that wearing sweatpants in public is like saying you’ve given up.  I’m not quite there, thank goodness.

Back in November I was writing about needing to get back into shape.  And I was doing REALLY well – for about a month until Thanksgiving came and I convinced myself that one, well, maybe two, slices of pie wouldn’t be that bad.  Then the annual Christmas cookies arrived from Mom (God Bless her!) and my daughter wanted to make our own – for tradition sake, of course.  There went the best of intentions.  As my friend Lisa Parry recently said, “Have you ever talked yourself into a bad habit that you know isn’t good for you? (Justified it)  Then when you’re ready to let it go you get someone else to talk you back out of it.  What funny creatures we are!”

I am not sure why I am the type that needs to let things get really out of hand before I’ll do something about it.  I’ve had people I’ve coached ask me how many times will it take before they learn their lesson and all I can reply is “as long as it takes”.  In any situation the choice is between what offers the greater reward or the least pain.  As long as my pants were comfortable, I could “justify” one more cookie.  Thank goodness I decided to stop before the sweats got too tight!

So this week the desserts.  Next week the breads.  I have to play these mind games with myself, taking out one thing a week, or I start to panic.  I could do the desserts just fine and don’t anticipate the bread being too bad.  And if I keep moving in this positive direction, in a few months I’ll be strutting the beach in my bikini again.  Hmmm…that in itself makes me grateful its winter!

When I was in college I had a fascination with frat boys.  They were the antithesis of what I grew up with in a house with 4 strong females and an overwhelmed male.  These guys lived in the moment, were free to express themselves in all ways and loved to have fun.  The free beer didn’t hurt either. I just loved hanging out with them and I am sure I wished that it would never end.

Be careful what you wish for….

Two years ago when I met my fiancé I was ecstatic to learn that he had been in my “favorite” fraternity!  I was thrilled when he invited me to the Homecoming tailgate party with “the brothers”.  When we got there, as expected, there were all the cute boys laughing, having fun and living life to the extremes.  Of course they were surrounded by the equally gorgeous sorority girls, which caused a reaction that made me realize I may have some unresolved feelings in that area…  And then there were these old guys, standing around and pretending they were part of “the brothers”.  I was disgusted until it hit me that I was with that crowd, not the young one where my mind thought I should be.  I wasn’t disgusted, I was distraught.

Fast forward to the present day:  I have resolved my inconsistency of mind and body and am comfortable in my own skin.  I have a son who is now home from college for a couple of weeks, fresh from his first semester living in a frat house.  He has not quite assimilated back into a family environment as of yet and I am getting way too much of a peak into what it is like to be a 19 year old living without rules and too much testosterone.  What was fun and exciting about frat boys when I was 19 is just plain gross now.  What WAS I thinking???

Time to pull out my old mantra from when I had little children:  “This too shall pass”.

I hope.

I believe I slipped into a parallel universe yesterday, just for a moment.  I was driving and listening to the radio.  Don’t remember if it was a song, or a commercial for Macy’s, but something triggered a thought in my mind and I smiled as I said to myself, “Boy if I ever live in this area and have little kids, I think I’ll take them to Macy’s to see the Santa there”.  Fortunately for the other drivers around me, I snapped back to this reality as soon as my rational mind registered that thought.  Not only do I live in this area, but I have for 20 years now and I have raised 3 children well past the visiting Santa stage.  Bizarre…

I’m thinking that this is what happened to Tiger Woods. I think maybe he was in a parallel universe for the past few years, where he was a single man of amazing powers and all women he desired would leave with him at his command.  His accident a few weeks ago I believe permanently jolted him back into this reality.  And Mark Sanford was in a parallel universe where the Adirondack Trail actually leads to Argentina.  I could go on and on…

The problem with this parallel universe business is that those around you in this world aren’t part of the other one.  I am sure my kids wouldn’t be too happy to hear that they were not in my parallel universe.  I can only surmise that Mrs. Woods is feeling somewhat the same about her husband’s.  Fortunately mine only involved thoughts of department stores and Santa Claus.  Probably right about now Tiger is wishing his were the same.

Forget the raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens, here is what makes me happy:

• a meeting that cancels during a very busy week, freeing me up to get to things I didn’t think would get done
• heated windshields
• children who think it’s fun to clean a windshield
• working at home in sweatpants and not worrying that its 4:30pm and I still haven’t taken a shower yet (it’ll happen…)
• “love note” text messages
• my blackberry when I’m in a place with nothing to do
• anyone in my house who cooks – besides me
• a house that doesn’t leak – in (water or wind) or out (heat)
• green lights when in a hurry
• red lights when needing to apply makeup
• anything that makes me laugh

and…

• you, for reading my blog!!!

How in the world can someone be a driving instructor?!  It takes a special person to deal with the anxiety of sitting in the equivalent of a death trap driven by a child with no concept of mortality or car insurance!  I just don’t get it…

This is the 2nd time I’ve gone through this drivers permit angst.  My first, the competive downhill skiier, viewed driving a car pretty much the same way he did the ski slope:  attack it and let other drivers beware.  I spent most of the time clutching my seat and slamming on the virtual brakes on the passenger side.  The only assuring thought that I had was that he has amazingly quick reflexes and seems to go through life in a protective bubble.  I could only hope I, and my car, was included in that protection!

My current permit driver is more cautious – sort of.  He also has a blind spot when it comes to stop signs.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said, “stop, Stop, STOP!!!” before it finally registers with him that that red thing on a pole actually applies to him.  And forget it if there are friends nearby:  far cooler to look good and wave than to worry about any old parked car that may be rapidly approaching a collision path.  His response to my frantic “YOU’RE TOO CLOSE!!!” is “Mom, I’m too close if I actually hit it.”  God help me!

If I live through this one, I still have one more to go. My daughter assured me that she won’t be ANYTHING like her brothers:  she’ll drive REALLY slow.  I think she will.   Please start saying the prayers for me now…

If you ever want to see what it feels like to be a pariah, I have the perfect experience:  sneeze or cough in a crowded area.  I have never seen so many dirty looks flung towards the offender or witnessed so many other subtle acts of condemnation.  You would think we were facing the bubonic plague…

Lest you think I am above such judgments, I must confess I can be right there with the masses.  If I see someone sneeze or cough into their hand instead of the crook of their arm, I cringe and make a mental note to avoid them and make a dash to the closest bathroom to wash my hands.  The audience at the local play I attended this weekend seemed like a walking petrie dish.  Every time I heard a child cough I did a virtual headshake as if to say to the parents, “How could you take them out?!”  and was clutching the hand sanitizer nestled in my purse.

All this flu-fear hysteria is a good reminder to me to be aware of my surroundings and to practice good hygiene.  It is also a reminder not to judge, lest you be judged.

A couple weeks ago I accompanied my fiance to the barber shop to get a haircut.  He had developed a sneeze that morning – nothing too serious, just a bit annoying.  But I do believe that the record speed at which he received a haircut had not so much to do with the barber trying to break his record for speed cutting, as much as he just wanted us OUT OF THERE!  It was a very degrading feeling to be shuttled aside and so obviously dismissed.  Clearly “our kind” was not wanted there!

This advanced state of health alert has also served to bring forward some old “Mommy guilt”.  I confess to being the type of mom who would shuttle kids off to school who were clearly questionable, using the old “you don’t have a fever” test as my justification.  Receiving the dreaded call from the school nurse to come pick them up solidified my guilty feelings.  Today I had the discussion with my daughter as to whether or not to go.  Interestingly it was her who wanted to go despite her apparent cold.  “Well, you don’t have a fever…” was all I could say.

I’m praying the phone doesn’t ring…

Answer:  Motherhood, being a woman, talking with a Midwestern accent when in the Midwest

Question:  What do Sarah Palin & I have in common?

I was talking with my sister yesterday and bemoaning the fact that I had choir practice that evening.  This is not because it was one more thing to do on a long list of to dos, or that it was a cold, wet night and a good one to stay in and watch my favorite “Must See” TV shows.  No, it was because deciding to join my church choir has been a glaring reality check for me and a very humbling experience.

Throughout most of my school years I sang with our church choir.  I loved it.  I loved the songs, the robes, the standing up in front of the congregation.  For a midwestern girl, it was about as close to Broadway I could get.  I even continued into adulthood for a while, garnering a small but very important (in my world) solo.  I love to sing and think of myself as relatively ok at it, although it varies from day to day or phrase to phrase at times.  That is, until I joined this choir.

I joined my church 20 years ago with the expectation that I would join the choir, which at the time was large, wonderful and full of professional singers.  Somehow I got sidetracked and never made it.  We just got a new choir director this year and he put out an appeal for singers to join the choir for a special Cantata to be performed at Christmas.  It was a 6 week commitment, a good way to dip the toe back in the pond, and with a big gulp, I accepted the challenge.  It was NOT what I anticipated!

The first night I showed up and unbeknownst to me, they had cancelled practice.  However, there was one woman there – who teaches singing no less – who volunteered to stay and take me through it.  Yikes.  No throngs of people to hide behind!  Not only is the music difficult, but it is in Latin!  If mercifully I managed to hit a note, my brain was still struggling to figure out the word associated with it.  Three weeks into this and I am only slightly better.  I realized that over those past 20 years, among other things, my voice has dropped and I instinctively sing things an octave lower than they should be sung.  You can’t quite do that in a choir situation.  So between me trying to hit a high note and trying to remember that it is pronounced “AHHH-bra – ham”, not “A-bra-ham”, it is a stressful experience.  Gone now are any illusions of my being a Broadway star in this lifetime.

So, I mentioned to my sister that really, to be kind to the choir, I should quit.  She said, “Ah, a mercy quitting.  You’re just like Sarah Palin.”

Enough said.  Come see me sing with the choir in early December!