Alone in the Valley

Well, of course I'm not really alone in the valley. But today I feel a little bit alone. Tara, Craig and Garvin took off yesterday for another adventure. They will be roadtripping around the U.S. for this fall, and then after the holidays, they will be spending six or seven months in Thailand and China.

Good grief. That's long when you calculate it in sister time.

I am already missing sister time.

This is when I start calling Erin an inordinate number of times a day and driving her out of her gourd. If she has a gourd left after six kids.

Anyway, if you want to follow Tara, Craig and Garvin's adventures, they are at: www.nootsonthego.blogspot.com.

It's sure to be good fun. Not as much fun as if I were there with them, but fun all the same.

Santa Fe--The Trip in Pictures

Tonight Tara e-mailed me and she said she was sorry our Santa Fe trip was over. We had spent so long talking about it and looking forward to it. And isn't that always the way? For me, the anticipation and planning for a trip is practically the best part--the thinking about what might be.

But I needed to get home. I was tired of eating out.

I can't believe I said that. But it's true. I love schedules and consistency and I needed to stop eating so much chips and salsa.

I'm having trouble dialing it back.

Anyway, this trip was to celebrate my Mom's 70th birthday, which was all the way back in April. When my Dad turned 70, we went to Yellowstone with husbands, kids--the whole kit and kaboodle. We were there in early June '07. I think that was before I was blogging here and was still on CaringBridge. That seems like it was a million years ago.

It snowed in Yellowstone when we were there. And it was a blast. But my Mother is neither a snow-lover nor a camper, so for her trip, we had to be a little more highbrow. Hence, Santa Fe, girls only, a B&B.

It was divine. Very relaxed. Eating, strolling through Santa Fe, shopping, site-seeting. Picnics in the square. English period drama and popcorn at night. Backrubs. Pedicures. Someone making breakfast for us every morning. A breakfast which I did not have to clean up afterwards. That's a vacation right there, people. I estimate I spend a third of my waking hours in the kitchen.

You can see all of the fun HERE.

Now if I could just get my stomach out of vacation mode, I'd be all set.

Writer's Block--A Timeline of Procrastination

No, no, not for the blog. I can almost always think of something to come here and yammer about on a daily basis. And I love it that you come and read. No, I'm talking about writer's block for my actual work writing. Writing that I am supposed to do for money, and so you'd think that would make me finish it in a timely fashion. You'd think.

I had a client's magazine deadline on Monday. My original plan was to have it all finished last Friday so I would not have that "oh my gosh, it's Sunday night and I haven't done my homework" panic attack that I remember so well from middle school, high school, college and graduate school. I hate, wait, let me rephrase that, HATE that feeling. Something looming over your head. I hate loominess. And yet, I let things looooooom.

So I had this big plan. And then Grandma died and suddenly there were far more important things to think about besides work. Flight arrangements, creating a 1,002 page schedule for Eamonn to follow while I was gone, cooking, cleaning, meal planning, baking, deciding what to wear (and then realizing it was going to be too cold to wear a freaking dress at the funeral in the end so I'm going to have to go shopping here for pants that are acceptable to the masses), and on and on.

So I decided I would write the stories Friday night (five stories in one night???) before flying out last Saturday. As if. I can't exactly recall what happened and what I did last Friday night--oh wait, I do recall--Declan's hockey team played between periods at the Detroit Red Wings Alumni v. Vail Mountaineers charity hockey game in Vail. We didn't get home until 10pm. Yes, yes, it's all coming back to me now. I was packing and still unshowered 30 minutes prior to leaving for the airport on Saturday morning. So no writing got done Friday night.

Saturday night. I arrived and Tara, Mom and I went through family pictures so the funeral home could put together a commerative DVD of Grandma's life. This is big in the funeral industry now, just so you know. And you should also know that I didn't actually do too much work on the picture project. I kind of sorted through some pictures wondering when I could discreetly slip off to bed without being labeled a lazy ass.

Sunday. We drove, in a "snow storm," to the small town my parents and grandparents were from and made funeral arrangements. I did a small amount of work. Just enough to get by with a completely different client. Still, nothing new written for the magazine client whose deadline was the next day. I just could not get motivated. Besides, we started watching Cranford, which, if you have not seen it, you should get from your local library and watch with your sister or your mother or your best friend. Oh, how I love period drama. I want to marry Judy Dench. I want to live in those times--but without getting scarlet fever, or cholera or the morbid sore throat, or whatever it was that they died from back then.

Monday. Time to Get Serious. I went to the library for most of the day. I was Really Committed to getting the articles finished. And then I realized that for two of the articles, the interview subjects had not sent me the final materials they needed to so I could actually complete the articles. I finished a different article and submitted everything I had completed to date. Then spent the rest of my time at the library gazing around, wondering if I would see anyone I knew (I did) and eating a contraband protein bar. We stayed up until 1am watching the end of Cranford. Then I had to stay up until 2am finishing documents for yet another client. The final two article for the magazine client? Still not done.

Tuesday. Was beset by a hopeless feeling that frequently overcomes me when I am blocked and cannot even get the first sentence down on paper (screen). Rules of writing would dictate that I just skip the first sentence, paragraph, or whatever it is that is blocking me and come back to it later, but I feel stubborn and don't want to do this. I will not write until I have an appropriate lead. This really only leads to doom. Anyway, I'm so tired from staying up so late that I can't actually write. I don't blog as punishment to myself, because I technically probably shouldn't blog if I haven't completed my actual work. Kind of like not allowing myself to eat dessert if I haven't exercised. No work writing? Then no blogging allowed.

Wednesday. I haven't heard from my client who needs the magazine articles even though I sent her some of them and asked her a question. I'm hoping that a gigantic storm has enveloped Denver and she can't get to the office and work, which means it's no big deal that I'm so behind. I place a hopeful call. No, she is there working on the magazine. However, she is one of those very gracious people and tells me that I'm not holding her up--she is placing other articles and I can send mine whenever. I ask if Christmas is OK. There is no answer.

This morning. I crank out one of the last two stories due: How to Survive, and Even Thrive, in an Economic Crisis. This is actually a good one and I didn't fall asleep once while writing it. I sent it. I feel relieved for about 2.2 seconds. One article to go.

Now. OK, it's the moment of truth. If I could just get started, I would have this thing finished in about two hours. I'm blocked. And we're going to Target because Tara says I need different types of hair clips to control my hair, which in Ohio resembles a lion's mane. An unkempt lion. Or maybe Janis Joplin. Plus, we are eating sushi tonight and I need to give that some thought. And popcorn. We are in a snowstorm and my mother ran out of popcorn. I don't know how someone actually does that, but there you have it.

Tomorrow. Is the funeral and so the work has to be finished today. Like now. The funeral was actually supposed to be today, but the storm, and to give Ohio credit, it was an actual storm--even by Colorado standards--has shut everything, and I mean everything, down in this city. The colleges and universities are even closed. Good grief. That seems a tad extreme, but I'm enjoying the still, cozyness of this day so you won't get any complaints from me.

I am willing my brain to become unblocked. As soon as I get back from Target. And eat sushi. And eat popcorn and watch Little Women with my sisters.

What the Heck. . .

. . .is going on in Mexico that everyone suddenly wants to move there?

Did I ever tell you that my sister, Tara, and her family are spending the school year in Lo de Marcos, Mexico? She left in August. Did I tell you this? Did I? Did I? I have an infamously faulty memory.

So I was sad that they were going. We knew for a long time that they would go. They probably would have gone sooner if we hadn't moved. For years they've been talking about going somewhere for a "foreign living" experience and finally settled on Mexico. I was in denial about it for a long time. I just got used to talking to her multiple times a day and seeing her multiple times a week and now--cold turkey. It's weird.

But they're having a good time and I know they'll be back. It's only ten months total.

Then two weeks ago my BFF, Marci, informed me that her husband's job is taking them to. . .Mexico. . .for THREE YEARS.

What's up with that? Has everyone suddenly gone mad for tacos and churros? Are sombreros becoming the fashion rage and I just don't know it and am about to miss out on something?

I don't know, but I feel annoyed at Mexico.

Erin has a lot of slack to pick up. I think she's already tired of me calling every 10 minutes. It's going to be a long 10 months/3 years for her.

We can all keep track of Marci on her blog though: www.wearemakingarunfortheborder.blogspot.com.

Adios, mi amiga! No beba el agua!

Slug Bug Red!

When I was a girl. . .as many stories in this house start, we didn't fly anywhere, we drove. I didn't travel by airplane until I was 15 years old, a laughable comparison to the Rooney boys who were both international travelers in their first year of life.

So all of us who grew up traveling by car -- before the age of in-car or portable DVD players, portable music players of any kind, or your parents making any effort whatsoever to entertain you except to reply to you in monotone that we'll be there "soon" -- we had to entertain ourselves with car games. Car games that didn't have any magnetic parts or pieces, just simple games that you played by talking to each other.

One of our favorites was My Grandfather Owns a Store. Surely you played this one, too. It starts out, "My grandfather owns a store, and in it he sells something that begins with . . ." and you choose a letter that corresponds with a product from the store and everyone else tries to guess it. Sort of like 20 questions about food. Unless you were being really devious and choose something like "C" and it was for charcoal. That was a good stumper. I'm guessing this game became annoying really quickly for my parents because my sisters and I used to say, "My grandfather owns a store, and he really does, and in it he sells. . ." We said it every, single time. How that must have grated on the old nerves on a drive to Florida in the brown Oldsmobile that I don't think had any air conditioning. But it was true. Grandpa did own the only grocery store, an IGA, in West Mansfield, Ohio. Clearly, we were very proud of this. Proud enough to be really, really annoying.

Another favorite game was the Cow Game. If you're not from some state that has large herds of cows grazing in pastures next to the road, you might not be too familiar with this one. Each kid takes a side of the car. As you drive and see cows, you count them and keep track. The first to get to a certain number, I think we used 100, won. The bummer--if you passed a cemetary on your side AND the other person saw it, your cows all "died" and you have to start over. We did some drives so often--Columbus, Ohio, to Lake Cumberland, Kentucky, for example--that we knew what side of the car was best to be on to win at this game. Cheaters.

And of course, there was the license plate game. You could play this one of two ways: try to get through the alphabet finding letters on license plates or look for as many different state plates possible. I think we usually did the letter version.

Finally, there was probably everyone's favorite: Slug Bug. Ah, the VW bug. Such an icon of the automobile world that it had its own car game. A simple, and yet painful, game. See a VW bug, lean over and slug the person next to you on the arm and shriek, "Slug bug red!" Or whatever color it was. I don't think it was actually so much of a game as a way to be loud and annoying in the backseat and cause bodily injury to others. We didn't play this one a lot. But then again, we were girls.

So what do kids do today when there really aren't that many bugs around to slug each other for anymore? The other day I found out. Declan, Finn and Garvin were in the backseat and suddenly someone yelled out, "Prius! Green!"

The times, they are a changin'.

Got a great car game? We've got a car trip ahead of us in August, so let's hear it!

This is OK for one more week. . .

. . .and just because the mountain is still open. After that, Mother Nature better move on to bigger and better things.

Tara and I drove to Park City last Thursday and spent the weekend with Erin et. al., skiing, eating, laughing, eating, watching movies, eating. I'm fully expecting that my ski pants will be a little snug if I end up going skiing today. But then again, what's new?