On Envy

For eleven years, people have been telling me that my daughter looks exactly like me. She has always resented this, as I imagine is typical since she probably wants to look like herself. Who can blame her? Apart from her appearance, she is also identified as being just like me, according to my husband. He sees her demeanor and energy level as similar to mine, which isn't completely off base.

However, yesterday I witnessed a moment of clarity when I came to understand how unlike me my daughter really is.

The back story is that she had had a crush on a classmate for over year until he broke her heart on Valentine's Day by attempting to return the rose she had bought him. Yes, my daughter is that girl - the one who waits for no man. She shows him how she'd like to be treated by making the first bold move, as if to say, Now it's your turn. During recess the next day, the little coward boy tried to anonymously leave the rose on my daughter's desk. When caught by another classmate, he said he simply didn't want the rose. The classmate quickly reported this to my daughter, who came home crushed. (Hence, the term.)

Okay, so here it is one month later, and this boy approaches my daughter during recess and says, more or less, "I think you're cool now. Do you want to go out with me?"

If this had been me at age 11 (or 14, or even 20), I would have been flattered that he finally liked me back. I would have smiled coyly and accepted the title of "girlfriend" - an honor to brag about in the fifth grade.

But my daughter...she raised her eyebrows at this boy and said, "You kinda blew your chance already."

When she told me this, I was floored. "But didn't you feel vindicated, at least?" I asked.

"No, I don't like him anymore. He's a jerk. I don't even know what I saw in him."

I could have reminded her of the numerous times she'd told me about how sweet he'd been to her, how he'd smiled at her in a special way, how she used to say he would eventually grow up and realize he was in love with her. But I didn't.

I envy her.

Having such confidence (or is it pride?) at that age will help her avoid being the sucker I was for any guy who liked me, believing I should take what I could get. No, my daughter will decide with whom and when she has a relationship, and she seems to know that already at eleven years old. I don't even need to teach her to stand up for herself and not to settle because she's got that stuff down pat.

I respect her. And I told her so.

Hopefully, she'll still need me for the details if not the big picture, and I'll be there for her. In the meantime, all I can do is sit back and watch the show. I'm sure it's going to be a great one.

On Words to Live By…for me, anyway

Today I’m feeling the need for inspiration. I haven’t felt it in a spell, and I am hungry for someone to feed me words of wisdom. But that isn’t happening.

So I’ve decided to spur a non-existent muse by re-quoting some folks much wiser than me. Perhaps they will also motivate you into action...“Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back...a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country."
-Anaïs Nin, The Diaries of Anaïs Nin

“I was wise enough to never grow up while fooling most people into believing I had.”
-Margaret Mead

Remember
Filter not the silliness you write
Better to let its vibrant aura breathe
Than extinguish the treasure torch.
And...
...always wear your wander shoes.
-Nicole Ducleroir, One Significant Moment at a Time

“We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”
-Joseph Campbell

“Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
-Mark Twain

Well, I'm feeling better. How about you?  

On Self-Promotion

I'm very bad at this. The self-promotion thing. So bad that just today, while watching a young woman read an e-book from her iPad next to me in a waiting room, I said nothing. Even when she started talking to another woman about the fiction book she was reading, proving she's an enthusiast of my genre, I still said nothing. After about 15 minutes of being my waiting room neighbor, she announced it was her birthday (in apology for all the IM popping sounds coming from the never-ending stream of birthday wishes).

Finally, I said something.

I knew I was going to be called in at any moment, so I asked her where she got her e-books. Turns out she's a Google books fan but was presently reading a Kindle book on her Kindle for iPad app.

Perfect.

"I know a great novel that just came out on Kindle, and it's only 99 cents."

"Really?" she asked. "That would be great because I'm almost done with this one."

"It's called Snapshot," I told her, "but you need the author's name because there are many titles with the word  snapshot in them. The author is Wendy Ramer."

"I've got a good memory," she assured me. "That's an easy one. I'll remember it."

"Great." I smiled. "I've got to go now but I wanted to wish you Happy Birthday. And by the way, I'm Wendy Ramer."

Then I got the exact response I was hoping for. The birthday girl beamed with excitement. "Oh, wow." She extended her hand for me to shake. "It's so nice to meet you."

Sure enough, as I shook her hand, I was called in. I couldn't have planned my exit any better.

I was proud of myself because prior to that moment, I felt it was somehow shameful to promote yourself. Then a friend reminded me the other day, "Your friends can't always be there for you, standing beside you with a megaphone to tell the world what a great writer you are. So if you don't do it, who will?"

Apart from the fact that no friend has ever used a megaphone to promote me and only one friend has ever bragged about me to others in front of my face (Thank you, Marisela!), I understood the point being made. So today I hopefully inspired one birthday girl to actually remember my name and search for me on Amazon. At the very least, I wished a stranger a Happy Birthday and made her feel good.

To my writer blog friends out there, how do you feel about promoting yourself? Are you comfortable with it? I'd be very curious to hear your take on it.

On Food and Dreams (Or, Some Fava Beans and a Nice Chianti)

100% true. The other day, my husband receives a call from a friend of his with the following question:

Do you and Wendy own an abandoned oil rig in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico?

Here is where things get interesting (because that question wasn't interesting enough). The guy explains a dream he had the night before, where my husband and I had converted an abandoned oil rig into a 5-star resort. The rooms were above sea level to provide a water view (what else?) while the rest of the hotel was underwater and included the finest restaurant.

The gist of the dream was that we had lured him out there with the promise of the finest cuisine in the Gulf (because there are so many choices). Once seated in the restaurant, we told him the specialty of the night was meat and that he was the main course.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen...my husband and I were cannibals.

My husband's reply to all this...

Dude, before you went to bed, what did you eat?

This is my husband's explanation for all bad dreams...the food. (I want to note for the record that our cannibal cuisine had earned us 5-star status.)

What about you? Can you associate your strange dreams with what you ate the night before? Have you had any dreams that can trump this one? If they're porn-free, I invite you to share. I'm sure it would give my husband's friend comfort to know he's not the only crazy person out there.

Having said that, if you have a medium build - not too fatty and not too lean - I'd love to invite you over for dinner.

On Letting Go

I've recently had a revelation about myself: I won't let go.

I'm not talking about holding grudges or obsessing over nonsense. I'm talking about my past and the people who played major roles in helping me become who I am today.

When I discovered Facebook eons ago, I secretly dubbed the site "Pastbook" because that's what I spent the first months doing...digging up names from my past and reuniting with them. It was a non-stop joyride for me to bring back those who had mattered so much but whom I had been forced to let go. Not anymore. Of course, most of those initial reunions turned into nothing more than a new "friend" whose status I could check at my whim, and that was enough for me.

I'm wise enough to know that some people were acquaintances in my life and that it's okay to let them go. But the storymakers of my past hold more value than that. I've been fortunate to still have my dearest friends from childhood in my life today because even though I've grown so much, these girls were my foundation; to let them go would be like resting the house of my soul on a sinkhole and hoping it won't disappear.

At the time of my revelation, however, I couldn't stop thinking about one amazing friend who was missing from my adult life, and I missed him terribly. We lost touch many years ago for some of the typical reasons - inconvenient geography, different phases of life, a wife threatened by our friendship. But he wasn't just a boy I once knew who I could file alongside the others who had paved the way to my relationship with my husband. No, this boy had always been my friend, my buddy, my prom date, my confidante, and never my lover. He was truly my friend. And I was angry that we'd lost touch.

Since our falling out of touch, I have tried to contact him many times via email, Facebook, and voice mail, but he never responds. Then over a year ago, I heard through the grapevine that he had lymphoma, and my heart broke. I was warned that he'd become less social during this period and so I didn't even try to contact him but instead kept contact with those who knew of his treatment and progress. And progress he did. He is now cancer-free, so I've heard.

Then recently, I almost bumped into him. I say almost because apparently we were at the same fundraising event but at different times. Since then, I can't get him off my mind. When I think about how many crucial moments of adolescence we shared, I feel empty not knowing what is in his heart today.

I know this is one of those true friendships that must stay in the past because it takes two to make a friendship last, but I won't accept it gracefully. He was integral to who I was then, and whether he knows it or not, that has made me a better friend today. I refuse to forget him.

Do you have any friends from your youth who you would you never let go? If so, feel free to honor them here. My list includes:

Suzanne, Jennifer, Lisa, Benay, Martha, Karen, Andrea, Kathleen, Rachel, and of course...Shane

On the Rodeo

After fourteen years of living just beyond horse country, I spent my Sunday doing what every Jewish, Latin-loving, SUV-driving woman would do with her Sunday afternoon...I went to the rodeo.

I certainly had my misgivings, what with all the calf roping and spur wearing that I knew would go on, but my daughter had been asking for a dog's age (which is actually shorter than a horse's age but just as interminable when your child is whining every weekend).

I have to admit, I had a blast.

One part of me was morally opposed and standing on my high horse (yeah, I went there) while the other part was holding my breath in anticipation of a good lasso and then screaming with excitement when one cowboy finally roped the calf and tied all three legs up in under six seconds. Woo hoo!!!! (Apparently, only three of the four legs are required to be tied. Who knew? Certainly not me.)

The halftime show, if you will, was completely inhumane but nonetheless adorable. One-half dozen rams tore into the arena being chased by a bevy of miniature border collies who deftly herded the rams into a small pen. The dogs did this while carrying small passengers strapped to their backs...teeny rhesus monkeys. I kid you not. The crowd went wild as these little "cowboys" herded their charges into place. I just shook my head in judgment, mumbling this is so wrong while my daughter squealed with joy and recorded it all on video.

After the rams, the dogs, and the monkeys, it was back to business. When the cowgirls competed in the barrel races and their horses took those turns at 45-degree angles to the ground, my heart once more skipped some beats until I could catch my breath and cheer the ladies on for their final gallop into the gate. Good stuff, I tell ya.

The rodeo finished with the bull rides. No excitement to share here since I hated that part and was glad when it was over. Still, I think I enjoyed the afternoon even more than my daughter did. As we walked back to the car, I felt conflicted. But maybe that's what the rodeo is all about...the tradition, the pageantry, the danger, mixed with the domination of man (and woman) over beast. Garth Brooks sang it best when he said:

Well, it's bulls and blood
It's dust and mud
It's the roar of a Sunday crowd
It's the white in his knuckles
The gold in the buckle
He'll win the next go 'round
It's boots and chaps
It's cowboy hats
It's spurs and latigo
It's the ropes and the reins
And the joy and the pain
And they call the thing rodeo