RIP Mr.complex Coffee

Well, I was going to start off with my usual Good Morning greeting, but I am a grouch today and am not really feeling the whole 'good' thing as I rise and greet this day which already has a sense of humor I don't find even the slightest bit funny....
But, I am fully aware that it could be, can always get, WORSE and so I tread lightly on these keys as I type my complainers words.
Nothing too terrible has happened, just really annoying things that I could honestly do without - I will survive I think, but probably have to really work on giving myself an attitude adjustment as I move through the paces of this busy day.
I am on my deck currently, drinking a dunkin donuts coffee that Brian was kind enough to retrieve for me most expediently. Thanks Bri, cause without this coffee, my mood would surely be worse. I am sitting on the deck pretending that the mess on my kitchen floor does not exist...The mess I am covertly ignoring and referring to, is the explosion of my high tech coffee maker that I hate with all my heart. It apparently decided that rather than brewing coffee into the pot that anxiously awaits below, it would leak amber colored water (not coffee even) all over my counter tops and floor. If it had been kind enough to at least produce coffee, I would have most definitely lapped it off the counter top, trust me, I mean that...And so I proclaim -
I hate technology, HATE it - I am one of those geeks that cannot even change a channel with the remote to my own TV because it overwhelms me with buttons that say shit like guide and DVR etc etc. Much like my high tech stupid ass coffee maker that has all these 'special' buttons, but can't seem to just brew the damn coffee. I miss the days when there was just an on/off choice, a channel up and down button and a volume control. Why do we need all this other shit? In my opinion, it is excessive and just takes us farther away from the simplicity that we all should value more and do away with less.
Recently (you know this if you read my blogs) my high tech android phone took a swim with me at the adult pool party and was so water logged it refused to work anymore. I had an ordeal at the sprint store trying to get a phone, any phone, for my trip to Maine so that if nothing else, at least I was reachable in an emergency.
I ended up with the older version of my newer android and I could not get it to do any of the magical things that my dead, super phone, could previously accomplish...
I had to mantra my way through it - I quickly got into the habit of saying aloud, thousands of times per day "there was a time I did not own a cell phone"
When I couldn't text at rapid speed cause the touch screen was sooo small, when I couldn't upload pix to facebook at the touch of one button, when my cell phone pix were completely blurry because the mega pixels were 5 opposed to 12, I calmly meditated my way through the freak out "there was a time I didn't own a cell phone"....
I came home and the android miraculously came back from the dead (amen), but all in all, the shitty phone experience served me well.
And, I will admit, even with the high tech android super phone at my disposal, I don't understand, nor use half of it's capabilities, if not more. I am just too much of a technology cluster fuck to learn how, or to care for that matter.
I have short comings in the technology savvy department, I saw nothing at all wrong with VCR's, average sized TV's or answering machines that had literal tapes in them.
I know all these gadgety things are to make life more cushy and easy, but for me, the french press coffee maker sounds ideal - I don't need my coffee maker to glow like the north star, I just need it to make coffee.
I will not deny that I am pleased to have my droid back, I have all my numbers again and the touch screen does not require me to put on reading glasses to place a call - Thank you again phone God, but - I would have survived just fine without it (knock on wood)
I just want simplicity is all, I just want things to be as simple as they can be - that is what works best for me, in my not so simple life.
I guess I am plainly put, screwed, as the world just gets more advanced and I remain a simpleton who still gets too frustrated changing batteries on my old school camera.
Sue me, my complexities lie elsewhere...
Am I alone here, probably so??? - I am sure that my 'old school' ways are outdated and this makes me obviously middle aged.
At some point I will sound like my Papa who grumbled and grunted at every advancement that outdated the way he did it in 1945...He would get a real kick out of this blog and say "Right-O kid"...
When I head out to purchase a new coffee maker, it will possess no beams of neon light, just a brew select button, this I can assure you.
I know that eventually I will have to deal with the disaster on the kitchen floor, but for now I am going to sit here with my dunkin donuts and listen to the birds sing and my neighbor mow his lawn.
Simple sounds for a simple girl who has simply had a rough start to her day....
I wish you all simplicity too - peace.

Please don't go...

Good Morning ya'll,
I am drinking a hot cup of coffee and hoping to join the ranks of the living and conscious momentarily. I am looking forward to shaking off the cobwebs that linger on my post dreaming mind...I had the strangest dream last night, it was disturbing to say the least.
Here goes....Lake Monticello became a city with high rises.
And the worst part, they built a new pool and it was the most awful idea ever...
It was all high tech and weird and indoors with sky lights and had a great big tunnel slide that you could only fit in if you were six and weighed forty pounds maximum.
I couldn't feel the sun, I couldn't find my kids and all the life guards I love, were gone and replaced by corporate people who wore suits to work...
I cried in my dream, complained to the "higher up's" that it was a fateful choice, that they should have asked the residents, should have taken a poll or something...I sat at the old pool all drained and dry and lonely and cried...
I think I am having a 'summer is almost over' freak out....
Yesterday while my kids were at swim practice I had to pee and was in the girls bathroom - I love the girls bathroom, love the water on the floor, the smell of stale pool water and the cool of the air conditioning vents that blow cold air when I am sticky and sweaty. I love our pool.
Love everything about it. The sounds, the smells, the familiarity, the families - I love it all.
And why can't summer last all year? Why do we have to have Winter at all?
Life would be so much simpler if I never had to begrudgingly had to switch out my summer clothes for my fall and winter ones....
Ahhh summer please don't end yet, I am so clearly not ready to let you go.
And although there are alterations that could be made at the pool, improvements are always good, PLEASE Lake Monticello association, please don't go and build any high rise buildings that block the sun or a new high tech stupid indoor pool with a super slide...
I will go postal pool mom and it will be ugly, just sayin'.
And that is about all I can write for now, because I am twitching at the thought of all this ugliness and can't move beyond it - more coffee more coffee more coffee.
I hope you all have a blessed day, as for me, I will be in a beautiful music induced coma poolside where I belong.
LOVE <3

A dual/duel life.

Good Morning Good Morning,
Well well here I am sitting at my computer attempting to actually write something, anything...In my last blog I believe I stated that I needed to write more seeing that it is my passion - this week has left little time to pee let alone write and I am feeling deflated, all the wind gone out of my writers sails...
Not that I don't want to write - I do, just that I cannot find a second to breathe let alone form lucid thoughts.
I had a really refreshing convo with my English professor Monday night that made me feel like I am not alone in my 'can't write enough' writers misery. I sat in his office and confessed that I am having a really hard time living 'real life' - I don't want to go to work, I don't want to do the laundry, I don't really want to do anything other than work diligently on my manuscript. We discussed that I feel different from the masses - I feel like I live on sensory overload - everything I see, hear, feel etc. etc. is magnified by a zillion, I live a complex existence of observational overload. I doubt highly that most people live this way and a lot of the time I feel like I am alone in my head. He assured me, he is the exact same way and he encouraged me to keep doing what I am doing - just keep writing it all out whenever I can, by whatever means...Write on napkins, receipts, carry a little notebook - just write Deb, just write....
I was sitting at the pool yesterday watching the people around me - I am the only Mother who listens to her IPOD on full blast, isolated in her own world while the kids splash and play... I am the only Mother that dances on her lounge chair because she cannot help it.
I wonder what others perception of me is??? Do the other pool peeps think I am a whack job for my chair dancing? Do they think I do it for attention? Truth is, I do it because I cannot help it - that's what I mean by sensory overload....I hear the music, feel the sun beat down on me, appreciate the path of the sweat that trickles down towards my belly button, enjoy the tickle of the once in a while breeze and it all culminates in me moving my muscles, my part of the moment...I can't help it, in fact I am surprised that I don't bust out into full in vocal accompaniment more often than I do, I have a hard time restraining my reactions to the outer influences of this crazy beautiful world.
So, in case you were wondering, I am not looking for attention as I pool dance, to the contrary I am just paying close attention to my own sensory world and reacting accordingly.
I told my professor, that for most of my life I have felt misunderstood by most people, that when I have explained myself, a lot of the time I have been met with looks of absolute bewilderment... I am getting a lot better at surrounding myself with people who are either 'like minded' or, just love me the way I am without having to 'get it'....
This brings me to Amy Winehouse...And if you disagree please do not comment on my blog, because honestly this isn't a topic I wish to debate with anyone.
I have been listening to her a lot lately, strangely right before her death I asked my son, the computer wiz, to download me as much Amy as he could find.
She died the day he was simultaneously working on it at our kitchen table - oh irony how you love me so....
At any rate, I was listening to her yesterday at the pool - chair dancing and loving her and all her brilliance, sad as hell that she is dead and that two albums is all we will ever get of that voice that smacked hard of misery and beauty entwined.
I was thinking a lot about how her lyrics tell her honest story and that it is as plain as day to me, that she was tortured emotionally, fighting a strong and constant demon of misunderstanding.
Poor Amy, sweetie I get you....
She felt alone from what I can gather, alone in the raw honesty of who she was and what she felt. And man it bums me out that she got all hooked on drugs and alcohol and traded her storm for a quiet reprieve.
I wish she had continued to storm and make people like me dance to the same tune.
I am not a drug addict or an alcoholic, but I do want to, most of the time, escape the duality of a world where I do not feel completely understood or accepted.
I get why Amy was such a mess and I hurt for her, wish that she knew how perfect she was in all her astounding dark creativity.
So many artists suffer with the sensory overload - I would readily wager that Amy was just this way.
Of course I never knew Amy Winehouse and guess that I could be completely wrong in my assessment of her character, but I doubt it - I think she was like every other tortured artist suffering in her head and feeling isolated and alone.
Ahhh Amy, I love you girl - wish you had stuck around.
I will say I hate the media bullshit and I hate that people are joking that she 'should have gone to rehab' - she died...Not something to laugh about - compassion would seem right here, not stabs at a dead 27 year old.
Yeah everyone saw it coming, she was an addict, but addicts are addicts because they suffer and that is not even remotely close to humorous, nor should it ever be.
I guess I feel so strongly because I relate so closely to her demons....
Like I said at the start of this blog - sensory overload and creativity is not an easy burden to bear even for the strongest of wills.
And so, I will listen to Amy a lot in these next coming weeks before I begin my psycho schedule at school and while I contemplate how in the hell tp carve out time for my creative voice to have it's due time....I will listen to her croon and remember that it is important for me to make it all work, not to give up on my real life, or the one in my head...
I am frustrated beyond words right now, feel torn in two and hate every second of it. Have a stupid ass headache that won't stop squeezing my brain and skull relentlessly - I think it is the duality of me duke-ing it out in my head, I think it's a battle raging in my soul that I can unfortunately feel physically...
At least I wrote something today, right?
RIP Amy Winehouse, I am in pain for your pain, for my pain too.
And off to real life I go....
Peace out.

Back and Blue

Good Morning blog readers,
Wow it certainly has been a while, hasn't it? My weeks in Maine have come to a close and I am back in Virginia trying to adjust to normal life again - I will be honest, it isn't going so well. I feel like I need a vacation to decompress from the trip - maybe a secluded hotel room alone by myself - some sleep and room service would do the trick?
It's hard to switch gears so quickly. I have been living out of my suitcase for two weeks and now I have to deal with unpacking, laundry and all the BS that comes with regular life - dishes, the vacuum, swim meets etc. etc.
The tasks I have before me as I re-enter the "normal" state of being are daunting at best.
But back to the grind because there is no alternative....
I have come home with a new sense of purpose however and for that I am grateful.
I have a lot of time to think and to write and that has prompted me to seriously consider major changes in my world. I feel as though a radical shift is called for.
I need to devote more of my life to my craft and my true love, writing.
I am debating whether or not it is time to give up my job at the boutique and take a position here at the lake that would free up a ton of hours and provide me with more time to sit in quiet mode with myself and my computer.
I have decided that my passion is my writing and that this is the "purpose" of my being and therefore where I need to devote my drive and ambition.
For most of my life I have felt as though there is a very definite purpose to my existence, one beyond my family, MY destiny - in my delusions of grandeur I have felt that it is something "important", always leaned towards it being psychology or social work or teaching even. Something inspiring and meant to help people. I have always felt that God or Allah or Buddha (or whoever) made me this way for a much higher purpose - I was just never quite sure what that was - I could never hone in on what made me feel as though my "purpose" was in execution mode.
I have discovered that it is my writing and so now I have to commit to it with all that I am, make the "purpose" - PURPOSEFUL.
A lot of you that read this blog, those of you who have told me that you do, have also shared with me how much you have laughed or cried after reading particular entries - sometimes having both reactions simultaneously (welcome to my world)...
Many of you have told me that you look forward to my posts, that they have pierced your hearts and made a difference in your days. That means the world to me, really it does.
I have said before that I wish I had a column, a legit one, one where I could do this for a living and speak about the issues of life that plague and enrapture us all....
I really wish that would happen for me.
I guess I have to make it happen, nothing just appears out of thin air right?
I realized while I was away that my "story tellers" voice is something that I must settle into, something that requires more time and more quiet than I have had in my daily life up until now....
I wrote really well (I think) and need to get into that space more often here in my home and real life. This is gonna take some adjusting and some real work.
I have informed my family that I may just have to abandon ship once a month and check into a hotel for a few days at a time and do the work I cannot do when I am here getting captain crunch down from the cabinet and pouring milk, switching over the laundry and yelling at kids to turn the TV down...please turn it the hell off...
I feel it something I MUST do, not something I like to do or even want to do.
I feel like writing is my thing, my bag, my gift and to really be self possessed, it is an essential piece, like breathing, eating or sleeping.
So now I must figure out where my life must change and all the ways to adjust and tweak it to make this happen for real.
I want to be able to say "I am a writer" and mean it, have a book bound and published to prove it.
Hell not one, a ton.
when I was in the airport, I stopped in 'Hudson News' gift shop and watched as people picked paperbacks for their plane rides.
More than anything I want someone to read my words while they fly about the country or the world, I want my words to accompany people as they move through their lives. I want someone to hug my book like I have hugged Toni Morrison's....
It is what I want for myself more than anything - I want to write.
And so.....I sit here on my back deck sweating my ass off and wishing for a Maine breeze that I cannot have, while contemplating how to get what I want - how to make it happen.
I know the answer is not in the laundry pile of clothes waiting to be washed, ugh.
I am glad to be home, sort of. Glad to be on the deck blogging, sort of. Glad to go to the swim meet tonight, sort of.
I would be much happier with all these things if I had an upcoming book signing on the mall at Old Dominion bookstore....
So - gotta make it happen, gotta get my ass in gear and make some adjustments and soon.
I have missed these blogs and watching the numbers in the corner rise with each hit form all of you. I will always blog, even when I am a published writer, this I can assure you.
Thanks for reading and feel free to encourage me whenever you run into me, give me a swift kick in the ass if you want and tell me you cannot wait to have a signed copy of my first novel already...
I am counting on all of you to stay on me and keep me writing diligently.
Okay? Deal?
Off to the air conditioned house and the laundry...
Don't forget, keep on me....
Peace out and love.... Always love...

Here's to many many more....

This blog is going to have to be quick, I am not allowed at this point in time to do any writing except for the "manuscript" - don't want my storytellers voice to fade, we have found this week that that mindset is far different from my blogging one....
And so I sneak away from my wife on the porch with my laptop plugged in outside and I type too furiously to even process what I am leaving here for you.
This isn't really for you today though, if I am quite honest. This blog today is for her, my wife, my very best friend in the world, my savior, my angel, my devil - the birthday girl Mary Dyer.
Today I count my blessings that she was born.
I think a lot about what would have happened to me had I not found her, or she me?
What would have happened had she not saved me?
She is like that for a lot of people, central and core. She has that way about her and I say that all who her count her as those things, should most of all count themselves lucky.
Friendship is a perfect state of being.
Real friendship - the hard working kind. It takes commitment and follow through and the ability to say the hard things when they need to be said - soft arms of encouragement to encircle you once the tough stuff has been spilled.
She has done that for me, more times than I can tell you and it has with time, made facing the hard a much easier endeavor.
The last few days that I have spent here with Mary and her Mother are some of the most perfect days of my life.
It is hard to explain what it all looks like, feels like, what about it is so perfect - it just is though, trust me, perfection.
We have moved we three, like a small grazing herd. We go from room to room, apple tree to apple tree, deck to deck, creating work stations that have it all. Foot rests, beds in the garden, end trays with coffee cups, mikes hard lemonades, lipgloss, glasses of red wine - we have worked with the sounds of the ocean, the chirp of the baby chicks, the sea gulls squawks as they dive for fish and good music as a backdrop. We work for hours, then we talk, then we sit in silence then we laugh, then we up and graze again - all day every day.
Perfection.
I have read my manuscript to them as it has tumbled out of me - we have sat under the trees next to the shade garden and let the words of my first novel tumble out into the PH air, take flight on an ocean breeze. It has been perfect, every damn second.
I am the luckiest girl in the world to have a best friend that not only provides everything to my emotional side but also comes with this place, this perfect slice of heaven by the ocean where anyone coming empty is sure to depart completely full.
I am so so so lucky.
And today is my girls birthday, she is thirty eight today.
we joke a lot about what we will look like, how we will dress when we retire to the part time condo in Florida, how age will wear on us and what we will become.
I can only pray that we get to see.
I worry sometimes about loss - we all know that is a prevalent fear in my world - I worry about what would become of us, if one of us was lost?
I can't bear it, the thought of a life that doesn't include her and her family...
I used to think of birthdays as a pain in the ass - really another year older? grrrrr - but lately I see them as a beautiful thing, bring on 38, bring on 41, keep em comin' means we are still alive and kickin, means we have had lots of time and Happy Birthday, you get some more.
I'll take it, thank you very much.
When I look at Mary now, I see the younger her in her face sometimes, an expression, the lighting, a certain laugh. But I will be honest when I say I prefer the thirty eight year old version to the one I met almost eighteen years ago. I see OUR history in her face now too, see all the smiles we have shared, all the dirty jokes, all the tough conversations, all the great moments wear on her face in the smile lines around her eyes.
I think she is more beautiful today than ever before and I would say the same about myself even,
time has been good to us both.
I have no idea what I said here, it probably makes no sense at all.
Good thing, I know it will to her.
I love you Mary Dyer, love you with all that I am.
Happy Birthday my Love and many many many more.....

Maine Blog 4

Good Morning blog readers - my first blog written in real time in what feels like days. Down East at the end of the world, signals are sketch and so the phone is a no- go and the internet is highly dependent on the neighbors. But, here I am folks, real time with two bars in my signal box - And so I write.
I am experiencing a time that I was never sure would come to fruition; as I have explained previously, little land mines are usually exploding all throughout the planned itinerary that Mary and I have mapped out. Nothing ever goes as it should and with that I knock on wood and I am not even the slightest bit superstitious. Knock knock.
So far we have gotten safely to PH and nothing earth shattering has happened.
We did forget the printer chord which is definitely freaking me out a little, it's hard for me to proof all my writing on the computer while in a literal working word document. I lack tremendously in the patience department when it comes to reading my own material - I get three lines in and want to set it on fire or make it into confetti - I need Mary and Karen to proof me and to red line the hell out of what is working and what isn't...
Yesterday I wrote my ass off. I literally did it waves as the tides of my thoughts rushed in and pulled out.
When I was done giving birth to each section as it left me, I took a break from the writing and listened to music too loudly, rocked in the rocking bench with Mary on the deck while she worked or lap danced the invisible man that can handle my flavor to some Aretha Franklin - If I were a lap dancer professionally (and I so could have made that a lucrative career, just sayin') I would choose all the old school soul to seduce to. I don't know where I am going with that...
At any rate - I took breaks in between the birthing process and tried to give my head time to calm down.
For me, my best writing just explodes out of me - the lines come so rapidly, I panic a little if I am not near my computer when it begins. Yesterday, it happened while I was in the shower and I spent the first forty five minutes writing dripping wet in the sun room in my towel - my hair dried just a tad funky because of that chapter.
Writing for me is very physical - my body literally hurts today from the stress of the creative process - Mary and I did some yoga yesterday at some point too - the yoga helped a lot, but still, at the end of the day I felt as though I had climbed a mountain.
The emotional place where I go to write is very intense - I have to get very raw, more raw than usual and that is a journey let me tell you what.
I am doing it though - writing and writing and writing just like we had planned I would.
I think my wifey is actually a little surprised at how much I got in the box and didn't come out - she was trying to force feed me lunch yesterday - "you need to eat something" An appetite is hard to come by when you are experiencing and emotional exorcism.
This morning as I woke thinking on the lines I remembered, I immediately began to self doubt and get all crazy in my head and worked up and thinking that I should ditch and re-write - i dunno start again. But, I can't....I don't know how to do this any other way than to just let it pour out, receive feedback, than proof and edit.
When I re-read my own words they sound different in the air than they did coming out of me - it's hard because I am familiar with them already and so I lose the new eye, the new heart when reading - that is what my girls are for - if only we had a printer chord.
I have like twenty of them at home in a basket somewhere - that does me no good to even consider.
As far as everything else is going, I am in heaven. The weather has been glorious - the smell of the sea air, the sounds of the ocean, the colors of the gardens, it is all perfection and I cannot argue with any of it....
I am spending a few days away from the kids, they are with Aunt Pam and this is a little stressful because I worry. I know they are fine and that they really need this time with their Aunt and it's good for them to break away form Mom a little bit, I just hate the longing and sadness I hear in Emma's voice when I talk to her at night and she misses me so. It's tough to take, being away from my girl when she needs a hug.
But we are surviving and probably thriving.
I know that for me, minus the worry about Em's and Matt, this time has been exactly what the doctor ordered for me.
I am here in the most perfect place in the world with my two favorite women.
We are living for four days like we would live, if we didn't have to live real life.
Mind you, we are not slacking by any stretch of the imagination, we aren't slackers by nature so even in the most luxurious of life scenarios, us three would still be knee deep in some project or another - we are simply together and letting the days happen rather than live up to them.
It is a fantastic state of being and I couldn't be any more in my element.
It rained last night while we slept and I can see the clouds burning off from where I sit typing in the sun room. I think today will turn out rather like yesterday - it was beautiful, the sun was bright and the breezes were a plenty.
I love the ocean. I love watching it move and watching all that is dependent on it, move around it.
The birds are singing a sweet song out the window and the lighthouse is more visible as the fog dissipates. Karen is in the kitchen cleaning up breakfast shit and Mary is on a conference call in the bedroom. Casey (the pup) is curled up asleep at my feet.
It's not so bad this moment in time - I think I will go soak it in and wish you all some moments with the same quality of peacefulness.
Have a blessed day

Maine Blog 3

Good Evening Bloggers, or should I say Morning? I think it’s one am, but I am not really sure due to the fact that I cannot currently rely on my poor phone to give me any accurate information and I am too far away from a clock to get up to look.
I am here in Prospect Harbor at the end of the world in bed next to my sleeping wife – she snores a little but in a cute way.
I cannot even pick a place to begin – there is so much in my head right now that it’s swirling about – I wish I had a lever on my head like a Vegas slot machine – where it stops is what it is.
I had originally intended to write about the last day – my psychotic day in Portland, psychotically hilarious and well spent, followed up by a great night at Bubba’s sulky lounge….There is so much great material there – Cameron’s hockey game at seven am in my pajamas with a dunkin donuts coffee in hand, shopping for dresses with Mofo, Mary and Courtney - Lunch at Uncle Bear and Karolyns – Laying on my back in the shade under a tree with a red wine buzz and Shawn and Mary - Our insane as usual trek through the hotel lobby with nothing short of the houses that home all the shit we are lugging - the great outdoor dinner with the interesting verbal assault from a random unhappy person, a techno dance a thon at Bubba’s sulky lounge….So, so so very much great material.
I had had the blog written in my head as I sat in the Hannaford parking lot with Casey smoking cigarettes and listening to the PH playlist on Mary’s IPOD – had the whole thing pre-constructed.
Then something happened that completely fouled up my organized topic matter and sent me on a tail spin – All the things I was going to give you details on, prior to the “event that happened”
Are extremely worthy of description in full hilarity and if I can get to a silly place, I promise, I WILL fill you eventually – BUT for right now the slot machine of my brain says it all on Pam and Emma.
My daughter is the love of my life – the thing that always fits with me, because she was carved from my very being. She is my sweet, sweet girl – and she is with her Aunt Pammy and away from her Mom. That’s me – Mommy (and she says it with all the tenderness a voice can communicate.
She misses me, especially at bedtime – she sleeps with me every damn night of my life – it hasn’t failed in almost eight years. She may start in her bed – but inevitably crawls into the empty space where she belongs and we, for a short time (8 hours if we are lucky) become one in the form of an unbreakable cuddle.
I am having a hard time not holding her – I imagine for her it is downright painful for her heart.
And yet, she is working through it like a brave little toaster and holding her own, Miss Independent ….She’s trying so hard. I am so proud.
She is there to visit her Aunt Pam who has breast cancer and is in the fight of her life – she knows that the love and time she shares with Aunt Pam, could potentially be really healing to Aunt Pam’s fighters heart – She is putting Pam over herself and working through her separation anxiety although she is fully aware I am a phone call and a car ride away….
Tonight she called pretty late, like eleven.
I could hear it in her voice she was shaky. Said the bed smelled like me from when we slept in it the other day and it made her heart hurt with longing.
Oh my God – I love that gentle girl.
We talked about how proud I was of her, how great she is and that all she has to do is keep my share of cuddles for Friday when we would re-attach and catch up on many missed kisses and hugs.
I told her to give all she’s got to Aunt Pammy and save my share up for the Friday big dose.
I will admit, readily admit without hesitation that part of me wanted to go to her immediately and ease her missing – ease my missing – man I do miss her face.
But then the thing happened that I knew I had to write about….
She had a conversation with Pam, totally distracted away from me and any hint of lonely.
She asked Pam to show her the biggest star in all of the sky, all of the world…
And I could picture them wrapped in a blanket on the steps to camp, huddled together for warmth looking up into the night sky together in search of the biggest star.
I heard my sister in law, in the most loving and attentive voice tell Emma about the little dipper, a constellation lesson Aunt to Niece.
My eyes poured tears and I held the phone up to Mary’s ear too so that she could hear the beautiful moment my daughter was sharing with her very special Aunt.
I fell in love with them both all over again and wondered if when Emma located what she believed to be the biggest – did she wish on that star? Did they wish something together?
I will leave that secret for them to have….
I am in bed now but did spend a moment after the fact on the front deck looking up at the sky in silence.
I wished on a star that twinkled, a tiny twinkler in the company of some magnificently bright skymates.
It looked to me like it had gumption twinkling so furiously despite its size.
I squeezed my eyes so tightly and held my breath….
I wished for a cure for breast cancer first and foremost.
Selfishly I pressed on – I wished that every human being feels love like I heard in my sister in-laws voice tonight as she talked to my little girl.
Further still, that life would be full of moments, exactly like the one they shared tonight.
Love well and give it all away xo

Maine Blog 2

Good Evening Bloggers,
I have no internet connection what so ever here at camp and so I write this to you in Microsoft office with every intention of posting it just as soon as I can get to a place with Wi-fi. It is about eight o’clock or shortly after and I am absolutely beat, spent, exhausted. This trip has been non-stop since it began at the pre-trip festivities on the Fourth of July….I literally have not stopped going. Yesterday I went to the ocean. It was beautiful and exactly what a Northern girl like me needed, her first full day home. Although it was not a beach I would have typically chosen or frequented when I lived here, it was nice just the same to get back to good ole Old Orchard Beach. It was the same as I remember from way back in 1996 when I was last there to see Hootie and the Blowfish – back in the day (sorta)
The pier was packed full of vacationers and the smell of funnel cakes was in the air, the sand was sandy and the water was cold – all the way I last left it.
I commented to my son Matthew that the sky is different here in Maine, somehow it seems higher up than the sky in Virginia – the air feels lighter, it moves you and you want it to.
Sometimes the “breezes” in Va. feel like cotton balls assaulting your face – heavy and hard to breathe.
Not that I don’t love Virginia, cause I definitely do – the sky here is like I said, just higher up somehow and I have truly missed the space between the Earth and the clouds – that space is good space here in the Northeast.
I would be remiss to not mention that the Bruins gear was loud and proud in every storefront and this also pleased me greatly – that and the sign for ‘wicked good wieners.’
I even went for a dip in the ocean and frolicked in the frosty froth, which in all truthfulness was a lot less freezing than I expected. It was nice to taste the salt in my mouth and to have genuine ocean in my hair, rather than the salt water pool. I had the most massive beach tousles you would have ever seen if you had passed me on my way to the tattoo parlor –
Yeah I said it, tattoo parlor – Oooopps I did it again….
Whenever I get a tat, it happens just that way - on a total whim. Funny but my last two have been while in a bikini – hmmm I say? Something about the summer that screams INK to me.
This time it was almost a missed chance, but I managed to use my charm and persuasion and ended up with an eight pronged needle in my big toe.
It occurred to me while driving on the highway, a co-pilot to my captain sister in – law Pam, that a tat would be a cool way to honor her battle with breast cancer. I could get inked for her and my nieces, for my kids too – so we honor her, each other, our places in her life and each other’s – not to mention that every time someone looks at my cute foot they would see Pam’s pink ribbon and ask, “Hey, what’s that tat about?” And then I get to tell her story and spread the word for a cure.
What a cool idea I thought, and then the next second my thought turned to decision and decision turned to determination and I was getting a tat come hell or high tide.
One parlor was closed on Wednesday of course – nothing is ever easy for me. The second and only other on the beach was booked solid with only one artist in for the entire day….
I waited outside until he took a cigarette break in between clients and told him my story, made myself a new friend. It took three hours of nail biting to get the call to come in, he had made room, a kid showed and was not legal age YESSSSSSS.
And I was in like Flynn.
How cool that my kids, my niece Taylor and my hero Pam, got to watch me add a permanent memorial on the wall of my world.
It was way cool and hurt like a Motherfucker.
I chose my big toe on my right foot (closer to my heart), I just thought a pink ribbon on the toe would be really cute and visible. Jason (the artist) said it would hurt bad, the knuckle would present a pain problem – he wasn’t lying but it was nothing compared to my lucky 7 – that pain still lingers I swear. I sweat a pool on to the floor for that one, felt like my spine was on fire….
When all was said and done this time, I hugged the artist – what a sweet guy – said he was a sucker for a hot chick and was glad to have been a part of our experience.
I will never forget sweet, kind and very bald Jason – the dude from OOB that fit me in.
After the tat, the day seemed ready to wrap, until I got a text message from Mary who informed me that an OZ like storm was blowing in on Snow Pond and that her camp, down the way from my camp, had no power.
Seriously ??? I had enough sand in my bikini to name it a new beach front.
OMG if we have no power I am going to freak.
Then I got the text that I had missed the rainbow – there are always rainbows in my world and I smiled that we were in close enough proximity that she could rub it in my face and it would mean something. I was just down the highway far enough away to miss it….
I showered finally and passed out cold, tan like a Brazilian with a permanent pink toe 
A really good kind of tired.
This morning I woke to my wife standing over my bed at 6am….No power, means no coffee and no shower for her – I was happy she had no power – the most beautiful alarm clock you ever did see.
Today was a down day spent in my bikini again, just me and the kiddos at camp while Pam went for treatment (chemo)
Fuck you cancer, FUCK YOU.
I would apologize for my language, but I cannot and plus, I have that whole warning thing at the beginning – enter at your own risk.
FUCK YOU CANCER.
I won’t go there now, as she sleeps snoring quietly on the couch while I type – I can’t go there and ruin the peaceful vibe with my anger – not really what she needs, but yeah again, Fuck You cancer.
Ugh sigh grrrr deep breath watery eyes.
I wish I had the power, I would change so much for so many, I would start with her and then move to Alyssa Divers and get that all straightened out too.
And I feel my mood changing and it’s not where I want to go – I want to stay here in the peaceful quiet while the camp fire roars and the kids make smores and Pam snores.
And so I say Peace out for now. Blessings to you all.

Maine Blog 1

Good Morning Blog readers,
I hope this Wednesday morning finds you feeling fine. Today I woke up in the first bedroom at camp on Five Fingers Road in Oakland, Maine. It’s been years since I woke up in this camp house. I am naturally the first one up, I am was greeted by the sun in my face as it slid through the slats of the closed blinds that do little to block out the light anyways. I woke up with two words in my head. OBJECT PERMANENCE. Throw back vocab to my psych class from last semester. In context of developmental psych, object permanence is when a baby learns that just because they cannot identify something directly in their visual field, does NOT mean that it is gone permanently – just that they cannot see it. For example, Mom is here – Mom went into the kitchen to get my bottle = Mom is GONE. When a baby develops object permanence they realize Mom went in to get my bottle – she will return.
I haven’t been to camp in years, I am going to estimate almost five maybe, truth is, I cannot remember when I was last here. That in itself is weird and I am sure I could come up with a psych term for that specific state of amnesia – something called selective memory maybe??
At any rate, I am here now.
I have spent a lot of summers here at the Poulin camp, there was a time when I would look forward to this reprieve on the lake all year long. A time when I drove onto the sprawling grass lawn and swear that I witnessed the house take a deep breath and then settle into a warm smile – yes, she’s here – and I will be loved.
And fyi, the house was sad when it got vaccumed for the final time, last trash bag of crap hauled out and the final walkthrough was complete.
There was a time I would sit out on the dock by myself to breathe in the sight one last time before I took the stroll to the car which was full of impatient people waiting on me to leave.
There was a time when this place was my heaven on earth.
Even without me all these years, it has survived and stands in the same spot, same rock on the shore, same old rusty swing still sitting on the lawn.
That makes me happy as I sit here typing and can hear the train whistle as it crosses the tracks two and a half fingers deep.
How many times did a penny get left on those tracks and retrieved the next day?
How many times have I run that dirt road in the morning sunlight with my IPOD, hoping a black bear didn’t eat me on my way through?
How many times have I sat in that swing, back and forth and back and forth?
How many Maine mosquitoes bites have I itched while I bitched?
How many times have I shaved my legs in the lake?
I have loved my time here at camp, truly I have.
This trip is a strange one, I am a Poulin by marriage without my marital counterpart.
I am here amongst the Poulins, just me and my two Poulin offspring.
I will admit it’s kinda nice but yes, kinda strange.
So much of my marital history played out here, so many good moments that Dan and I once shared occurred in this very place. I am flooded with them at each corner I turn and part of me longs for a rewind button and the insert of a good marriage counselor before it all went so terribly wrong. If wishes were fishes.
Sad to have great memories hurt a little because they are tainted by the present.
Sad that Matt and Emma don’t have those memories of their Mommy and Daddy here floating in the lake together, sitting around the camp fire, swinging and cuddling in the swing.
Sucks really and I am getting in to a mood with this so let’s switch directions.
I am here now with my Sister in law Pam, her husband “Uncle Eric “ and our brood of Poulin demons.
So far so good and so far I feel really happy to be here, really lucky to still be a part of everyone’s lives despite how times have changed.
My kids are settling in nicely. They are accustomed to the bug bites (although Emma marvels at the amount of bugs here in Maine), they have almost mastered the art of not slamming the screen door and the fine art of the perfect smore.
So far no injuries, no illness, no fires and no fights.
Matt and his cousin Taylor had the run down yesterday of all the felonies it would NOT be okay to commit whilst in each other’s company – Frick and Frack – two peas in a pod – Trouble with a capital T…..They are cut from the same cloth and that means I am exempt from all the blame and will be sure to remind Dan of that as Matthew grows up.
Ha, it’s a Poulin thang.
Today I am overjoyed to know that object permanence is real – Camp is still here even though I have been away.
I would like the breast cancer that is still here to go the fuck away though and leave my sister in- law alone.
Good to see her laugh about her eyebrows though and with that I am tearing up and typing is getting hard.
Enough said.
Object permanence.

Happy 4th

Happy 4th of July everyone - good to be independent isn't it?
Um where the hell is the sun? This is my last day in lovely Virginia and I need my sun fix before I head home to the great North East and brave the unpredictable weather.
Like heating up my core to, getting good and hot to sustain me internally just in case I freeze my ever lovin ass off.....
But enough about me and my problems.
How about our Independent country - pretty nice ha?
I woke this morning thinking of my Papa and his funeral. Could be my convo with Misty and Steph yesterday, could be that my Papa was a patriotic guy.
Although this is not veterans day, I just had images of his funeral in my head as the single soldier played taps in the back of the church after Papa's final procession in his casket, how the other soldier took the flag off and folded it so carefully for my Nan and presented it to her with so much respect.
My Papa was a navy pilot and served the country he loved with the utmost respect and pride...
I am proud to be of a naval family - props to all our armed forces and their families.
A greater service to our country could not be given....
Thanks all you vets and current military personnel.
I appreciate my freedom and liberties.
And so that is really all I have to say today.
Proud to be American and grateful for all the people who have continually fought to keep up independent and safe.
God Bless America - sun please cooperate....
Have a blessed and Happy 4th and be careful out there peeps :)

Lordy Lordy Lordy I can't help it....

Good Sunday Morning,
on the eve of the fourth...How I wish I were with my girl in coordinating patriotic outfits, sigh - we sure do know how to do the party theme thing...Miss that we cannot collaborate every holiday, hence party occasion.
Which brings me to my thoughts this morning...Lordy lordy lordy I can't help it I like to party it's genetic - it's electrifying...
But my phone got tossed in the pool with me, ugh. My beautiful EVO, sigh.
And guess what, no insurance? Really, my phone with no insurance? DUMB.
I skipped some stuff, didn't I?
I went to the Lake Monticello adult pool party Friday night, I should have known better....
I always pay some price when the word party is involved - the original party girl - my claim to fame.
This time it was my phone and so I am downgraded and numberless and dejected feeling and wondering why, why why why?
I can't help it, I was born fun and made to laugh with my big ass mouth wide open.
Don't blame me - I was made this way - I like to party.
Will it ever die off? Will I ever not be the life of the party? The instigator? The butterfly?
I hope not, but I suppose it's possible...
I can't do flip cup of beer pong - I am too busy flitting, visiting and talking to everyone - "hey, I need more wine" red cup upside down...
I have always been this way - the funnest girl at the party.
Josh said "well duh IRISH" and yes, Irish girls are the best party girls, no doubt. And not because we can drink, although as rarely as I do it, I can usually drink anyone under the table and dreaming.
It's not the high tolerance for the drink that makes me fun, it's this damn wide open spirit.
I just like fun way too much. Is there too much?
But seriously - I always pay a price.
I could sit in the corner quiet with my red cup - or I could be the asshole in the pool fully clothed.
I'll pick the pool every time and when I don't, it is probably time for me to be put down like a wounded animal.
This is why my BFF loves to party with me - WIND ME UP AND WATCH ME GO.
It's a pink lyric, our party girl anthem.
With Mary and I, it is usually shot glasses rimmed in pink sugar, one after another, after another...She feeds them to me like a mother bird, winds up my back crank and sits back to be thoroughly entertained - doesn't matter where we are, or who we are with - we end up being the F in FUN.
I miss that and hate that at best it only happens like twice a year - BUT in places like Vegas and NYC and the Bahn - so really who am I to complain.
If only I could figure out a way to secure my possessions and post bail before the music starts???
Kidding about the bail - well sort of ;)
If only I could get really analytical about my surroundings, assess the possibilities and take precautions going in...
A pool and an EVO. Me and a body of water and a phone. Me and a bunch of younguns who get a real kick out of the old broad with the crazy ass laugh -
recipe for issues, no doubt.
That's the ticket - Pre-party assessment and a little worst case scenario run through.
Basically I need to go in clothed and that's it. Nothing more, nothing less - no purse, no ID, No credit cards - no nothing.
A change of clothes and a towel?
Grrrrr.
But I went to a pool party after three years of saying I would and never showing up.
And I toasted with my pool girl Mary, danced up on Sara, drank a beer with Josh, sat with my Homie Steph and even had some dream salon girl time.
And met Claire's husband Howie - RIOT.
Not so bad and despite the waterlogged and dead phone - worth it.
I am getting ready to go home this weekend, but before I do, celebrate the 4th.
Not really going to "party" - but I think I will leave my phone at home just in case.
Happy 4th weekend Peeps - God Bless America and all it's independent glory