What I've Learned

In the last two weeks or so, I've heard from about twenty regular blog readers of my haven't-been-regularly-blogging-blog asking how I am doing in this Summer of You've-Got-To-Be-Kidding-Me. I've been so touched by people's concern, and I suppose blogging is a bit like riding a bicycle, so I decided to finally start blogging again. It's not that I feel well, but not being one for self-pity, it's time to exercise the writing muscles again. After a summer like mine, it seems appropriate that I revisit What I've Learned (with a nod to Esquire, of course). You learn a lot when you've very sick. Some of which you wish you hadn't learned, but that's beside the point. So without further ado, because What I've Learned changes every day, and certainly every year, here's What I've Learned.

• I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints. I know, it's not an original line. And I might refine it a little. I'd rather laugh with the authentic people who live and sin and make mistakes and try to make amends and go one, than cry with the hypocrites. Because anyone who says they're a saint? Chances are they're one of those with a capital H.
• That unfortunately, learning THAT lesson (see above) was one of the more painful things I've learned. But now that I've learned it, it's one of those the Universe does NOT have to re-teach me again, thank you very much.
• How to make a really delicious deviled egg. I've also learned I LOVE deviled eggs. I spent a LIFETIME avoiding them. A LIFETIME! I missed out on likely a lot of delicious deviled eggs, but also, probably, a lot of food poisoning at picnics. But now I know how to make them. Only mine? Messy. Not neat little deviled eggs with the yolk mixture put into the whites out of a pastry bag. But don't you think the devil is likely a messy dude?
• That generally, most of us are braver than we think we are. It's a survival instinct encoded into our genes, I think.
• That we can put a man on the moon but cannot make Ensure taste like anything other than flavored baby formula. It's the smell, too.
• That even morphine doesn't squash my chronic insomnia.
• That acceptance--of insomnia, illness, life's difficulties, getting older, death, you name it--really does bring a sense of peace and is a lot better than fretting.
• That no matter how grueling the day is, there isn't much in my heart that can't be soothed by looking at my kids while they are sleeping.
• That I like reading fancy cooking magazines, even while knowing I will never make a single recipe in them. The same goes for Wine Spectator. I am never going to an auction for wine that costs thousands per bottle, but there is something strangely fascinating about it.
• That the only people worth working through arguments with are those you love. Pretty much anyone else? Walk away.
• My mom really does know best.
  
• Two words: Gift bags. I am NEVER going to wrap neat-looking presents. So I should dispense with the illusion and stop buying wrapping paper. Gift bags and tissue paper. Forever.
• Both my sons are better suited to programming my DVR/TV/Remote than I am. Note . . . I am including the 6-year-old in that.
• I am not a fan of "new" candy. I go to my tried and true oldies all the time--Neccos, candy "buttons" on the paper (even if I eat a lot of paper pulp with them), Gummi anything.
• That even though I can no longer walk more than a block or two, I STILL resist getting the handicapped thingie for rear-view mirror. I think I view it as giving in. And the fact that I am so stubborn about that is . . . well, likely why I am still here.
• My friends rock.
• My friends are the people I can call at 2:00 a.m. It's a short list.
• When I refer to the "couch" I am not talking about a shrink. I have learned more about myself curled up on my best friend's couch in Florida or my next-door neighbor's couch, talking until the wee hours than I could ever learn paying someone to listen to me.
• I will never understand The Jersey Shore.
  

Your turn. What have you learned?

Namaste. And thanks to all who have written me encouragement and kind thoughts. You are more dear to me than you could possibly know. And you all know who you are. xoxoxoxox

What I've Learned

Can you believe we're nearing the end of 2010?!?

And so with a nod to ESQUIRE, I present my latest What I've Learned.

I've learned . . .

The older you get the more you whittle down that list of people you can call in the middle of the night in a crisis. My list has probably three people on it. I wouldn't trade any of them for any price. Really.

My father was right. About religion. I hate to say he's right, but . . . well, he was right. Next time I enter a church/synagogue/house of worship, expect the roof to cave in.

A five-year-old will have energy in direct proportion to how DESPERATELY you need a nap.

In reference to the point above, there is a real and compelling reason why having a child after age 40 is difficult. Attempt at your own peril.

That I despise hypocrites a lot more than people who are just plain mean on the face of things. At least with the latter you know what you are dealing with.

That listening to a rain storm on a summer day through an open window is how God talks to me.

That no matter how good they are for me, I will never acquire a taste for Brussels sprouts or asparagus.

That lying on my back looking up at the clouds with Jack on a spring day is pretty close to heaven.

That I have a black thumb but I buy plants anyway because it makes me happy.

That Laughing Cow "cheese" cannot really be a cheese but is instead a "cheese food," but hell, I like it anyway.

That carrying yourself with dignity in the face of both fork-tongued cowards and bullies isn't easy, but it is always worth it.

That try as I might, I really CAN'T cook.

That certain people have been gone for a long, long time--twenty years even--and I can still find myself grieving over a scent, a memory, or a picture.

In relation to the point above, that means loving people is worth it, because isn't that what it's all about?

That my most prized possessions aren't worth anything to Antique Road Show. They're my grandma's old cookie jar and an old clock. And that's OK because I'd rather be a person who values sentimental cookie jars than gold ingots.

That making up stories for a living is a very cool gig.

And how about you? What have you learned?

What I've Learned

Esquire magazine runs a feature in every issue--"What I've Learned." Considering I try to learn something new every day, I periodically do a new "What I've Learned" on this blog. I think a Sunday is a good day to do one, since that's usually a day for coffee and the NY Times . . . and maybe Esquire. So here we go . . .


That I really am a wine snob. When I was 20, what the heck did I know? And I try not to let on that I care about how a wine "finishes" and all that. But I do.

That you are never too old to have a "schoolgirl" crush on someone. My grandmother was well into her seventies and eighties and still completely gaga over Keith Hernandez of the NY Mets. I think if I am 80 and still want to do Clive Owen, it will mean I am aging well and keeping young at heart.

That you love each of your kids the same amount but uniquely. Each of them you love for different reasons, but the amount of love can't even be quantified.

That my parents can NEVER take a cruise again. I forbid it. I sat them both down and forbid it. FORBID it. Why? When they get to a certain point out at sea, I can't call them. This made me feel like an orphan for an entire week. The fact that I am in my forties and felt this way is completely immaterial. And yes, it's all about ME when it comes to this. I don't need to feel like an orphan until it's really that time, and even then . . . I hate thinking about it. FORBID THEM!

That as a writer I seem to find myself caring less about market and more about just fooling around with something fun in my free time. And maybe art is supposed to be like that.

That some things age well. Like the Clash.

That some things don't. Like . . . well . . . all hair bands.

That some things I loved as a child I STILL adore beyond the realms of normalcy. In random order, ladybugs, the stars, and lilies of the valley, for example.

That grief has absolutely no respect for time. Occasionally, though she has been dead for 15 years, I can crumble to the floor and grieve my grandmother for an afternoon. Same goes for my dog Honi.

That in the end, kindness is my religion. I stole that from His Holiness, The Dalai Lama. But really? Can you argue with it?

That I really dig walking into any room and having a pretty good hunch I am the smartest person in there. When I was in 7th grade, my friends told me to never let on that I was smarter than all the boys or no one would ever ask me out. I didn't take their advice then. I don't now. I still got asked out.

That said, I can learn something from every single solitary person I meet from infancy to aged and infirm. And that philosophy has a clear correlation, one to the other.

That I like reading about science. Physics in particular. And that's kind of weird. But . . . look at this list. So am I.

That some things you do define you. I am a writer. It's not only my career, it's who I am. It's how I process the world.

That when I light my St. Jude's candle, which I pick up in the Hispanic section of the grocery store, the fact that I am not Catholic might render the candle null and void. But I feel comforted when it's lit. Which is a pretty good indication of how stressed out my life is since he's the patron saint of HOPELESS causes.

That I brew a whole pot of coffee each day and drink half of one cup. Why do I go through the exercise only to have a half-drunk cup of cold coffee on my desk? I think it has to do with that guy Pavlov and his dog.

That when you are so stupid as to believe you have "that motherhood thing" down, God will send you a Demon Baby. Sure as I'm standing.

That is proof that the universe has a sense of humor. It's all in how you look at it.

And finally . . . that SOME MEN will be too afraid to play me in Scrabble.

All right . . . your turn. Writers, non-writers. Doesn't matter. What have you learned?

What I've Learned . . .

Shamelessly ripping off Esquire's column, I present . . . What I've Learned . . .


People who treat servers and bartenders like crap are people I don't want to know.

That a child will always get the stomach flu and projectile vomiting at 2:00 a.m., never during daylight, and it will always be, uncannily, the night before a big deadline.

That you teach your children very little, but they teach you very much.

That music is something I cannot live without. Same goes for my iPod. Yes, he's supposedly an impossibly nasty man to work for, but God bless Steve Jobs.

That just because you can verbally decimate someone while "winning" an argument doesn't mean you should.

That sometimes people will say things to you that they can NEVER take back. And you will remember those words for the rest of your life.

That some people will just not like you. Because. No other reason. So stop worrying about whether people like you or not.

That sometimes the people who don't like you will be related to you. Same thing.

That the surest way to happiness is to selflessly volunteer with those less fortunate. Even when you're tired. Even when it's raining. Even when you wake up and don't feel like. Especially that last one.

That math is elegant and beautiful. But they don't teach it that way in high school.

Jazz. I get it now.

If you have children, God will give you at least one child who will teach you patience and unconditional love on a scale you never thought possible.

If you live a good life, you will stop ever crying for yourself and will instead shed all your tears for your children . . . and every child whose story breaks your heart.

That some people who have a hard time saying "I love you" may love you most of all.

That people who aren't nice very often get ahead, but that doesn't mean you should change your game plan.

That if I could live on sushi and sticky rice forever, I would. Even for breakfast.

That I will never wear a pair of high heels again.

That I get my feelings hurt easily, and that's just the way I'm wired.

That you will meet some parents and wonder why the hell God gave them children. Really? What the hell was he thinking?

That Buddhism makes sense to me.

That most mothers don't get me. Therefore joining the PTA, book club, or local Moms Day Out makes no sense.

That if you spend a year teaching English to refugees, they will ask you questions about America that are impossible to answer. Really . . . we have so much, so why DO some kids go to bed hungry here?

That writing helps me make sense of everything.

Okay . . . your turn.