Still Alive

Were you wondering?

I haven't felt a real need to write on this blog for a long time. That's what it was before: I needed to write, and this was my outlet.

I write, all day now, for a living. If I believed in "blessings," this would definitely be one. (Blessings are not how I characterize good things in my life, because who am I to be "blessed" more than someone whose life circumstances are awful?) I feel lucky lucky lucky. I have clients who pay me to write for them. Wow.

And we've been gardening, D. and I.

Life is good and I've been wondering about all of you. Hope you are well and happy!

Unwrapping My New Look

Whoop! Whoop! I finally revamped my plain-Rainne (as in Wilson—why should Janes always have to take that rap?) blog header! The standard blue text/white background number the template gave me reflected my personal laziness more than my personal style.

While I don’t dare even dream of possessing the amazingly mad Photoshop skilz that my girl Melanie over at Beanpaste has coming out her adorable ears, I can sort of maneuver my way around the Adobe Creative Suite. (As long as the GPS window is up.)

Unleashing my design abilities is a little dangerous, sure, but I could be wreaking much more havoc on the world than Adobe CS will allow. I mean, bad graphic design, improper kerning, and whacked out alignment never hurt anyone TOO badly, right? It’s not like I’m in charge of dropping bombs on the Gaza Strip or anything.

Sigh. We, the world, are facing bigger issues than my little blog design.

So I’ll try this header out for a while. I love my little bird. Love the colors. Not crazy about the font, but hey, it was late and I had one cup of plain popcorn waiting for me—so I stopped right here.

Tell me—is it gorge? Take my little survey and you might win a PRIZE!*

*Not true. I have nothing to give that anyone wants. But be a pal, huh? One can always use survey practice.

Dusting the Cobwebs off My Blog

Do NOT adjust your screen. There is nothing wrong with your eyesight, either. This is a genuine actual blog post by Yours Truly. So where have I been, you ask? I’ve been Lucky. And Happy. And Healthy. And Honestly, life has been real good.

I’ve been right here, thinking that my little ‘ol life just isn’t that interesting right now. There has been Nothing To Write About. Election's over. No angst about that anymore. And since I don’t go to work “out there” any longer (although I have been very busy working right here from home thanks), and I don’t interact with dozens of people every day, I just don’t see much worth talking about. The view out my office window is of our curvy, hilly, nicely covered-in-snow street. It’s pretty. And quiet. And that’s it.

I don’t drive around town much these days, so I don’t see Bouncing Girls Fresh Off the Bus that I just have to write about. Even my family is disgustingly drama-free. D. is wonderful as mostly-always; mom and dad and my siblings are great. We’re all getting older and I worry about my 83- and 81-year-old parents, but they are quite the happy little octegenarian couple and for the most part, very healthy indeed.

See? I told you—my life is not interesting right now. And that’s just fine.

But the thing is, this blog was intended to be a place I can be creative on a regular basis—by writing, which means more to me than anything. Now I write for a living—a limited, sparse living so far, but hey, it’s a start. I write every day. And perhaps that little itch is being adequately scratched.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps I’ve just been lazy. Could it be? Uh, yeah, it so could. Maybe I need to stretch myself. Force myself to be creative. Find things to write about.

Well, let's get going, then.

The Fresh Air Interview with Claire B.

Ok, so we’re just pretending here. Terry Gross doesn't know I’m alive. But if she did. . .

Cue snappy music. . . bah de dum de dum!

Terry Gross: From WHYY in Philadelphia. . . This is Fresh Air. I’m Terry Gross. My guest today is Claire B., a sometimes-blogger from the Seattle area, who has surprised —and perhaps relieved—the blogging community by dropping out of the scene for the past five weeks. Welcome to Fresh Air. Thanks for being here.

Me: You’re welcome, Terry. And may I just say that I’ve noticed none of your guests seem to reply with a simple, “you’re welcome,” when you thank them?

TG: Huh. Why no, I haven’t noticed that. (Chuckle) It’s sort of intriguing that you have.

Me: Well, Terry, I can’t help it. I was taught the proper response to “thank you” is, of course, “you’re welcome.” Yet often the reply is, “thank you for having me,” which leads the original thanker in this case, you, to be in the prickly situation of answering “you’re welcome” back to the person you were originally trying to thank—or just sort of letting the second “thank you” hang out there in the air. It’s unsettling. To me. I can’t speak for anyone else.

TG: Interesting. Well, let’s move on to the interview before we run out of time. I’d first like to ask you, why haven’t you blogged in a over a month?

Me: Well, partly because I’ve been quite busy of late. You see, my husband. . .

TG: I believe you refer to him as “D.” on your blog?

Me: That’s right. You see, D. and I used to run a business together. We did that for five years of the six we’ve lived here in Bellingham. And we worked together for four and a half years before that.

TG: So, doing the math here, you’ve worked together for almost ten years, then? And you’ve only been married, for . . . what, eleven?

Me: Yes, correct. Oh what joy we have known. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week in each other’s company. Our very dissimilar communication and management styles only added that extra spice to our marriage that so many couples crave. One day we were “discussing” work and our relationship and the strain it sometimes, well to be honest, often brings to our lives—I believe D. was dodging the plates I was hurling toward his head at the time—and in between ducks he suggested that we maybe ought to think about not working together any more. We decided it would be beneficial to seek another lifestyle—one that fits our personal passions, our yearning to have more control over our time, and our desire to stay married.

TG: So rather than just get a divorce, you, what? Sold your business?

Me: Yes. In hindsight, the divorce might have been simpler. . . and of course, both processes involve lawyers and CPAs and financial planners and mediators. But in the end, we made the right decision after all. We’re very happy that we decided to sell the business.

TG: So you’re glad that’s over with. And now you can start something new. What’s on the horizon?

Me: Well, Terry, I’m going to be a freelance copywriter and also get back to work on my two novels.

TG: Ahhh, yes. The writer in you is coming out. How does that feel?

Me: It is thrilling beyond description.

TG: (Chuckle) Well, if you’re going to be a writer, you might want to work on coming up with one.

Me: Hmph, well, yes I suppose you’re right. Truth is, I used to be so envious of D. because he’s a very gifted and talented musician who has always known beyond a doubt that music is his passion. I have envied countless people who write and talk about their passions, wondering all along what the hell mine was and when it would present itself to me. Then I began writing classes and was soon writing all the time. Writing fiction, writing my blog, writing professionally for advertising. And do you know what, Terry?

TG: Um, no, what?

Me: Just thinking about being a writer full-time—just thinking about it—makes me feel funny inside like riding a roller coaster or falling in love or speaking in front of a large group. Without the nausea. That’s the thrill. And that’s my passion.

TG: Well, that’s great, then. Fabulous. One more thing: I noticed you have no photo on your blog.

Me: Yes, that’s true. You know, when I started blogging I was very naïve. I felt exposed to the whole world. I didn’t want anyone to know my innermost feelings and thoughts. I was embarrassed that I thought anyone could possibly be interested in what I had to say. This was before I decided I didn’t give a rat’s ass what anybody thought. And realized that only about four people on the planet look at my blog. And that they are among the finest human beings out there. They even say nice things about my writing. It took all that silly fear away.

TG: Yes. I see. What does that have to do with the photo? Or the lack thereof?

Me: Well the rest of it is, I was mostly afraid I would be recognized by my staff or a customer. I live in a very small town and being a very public business owner as well made me feel way too naked.

TG: So you felt naked? Can you descibe that?

Me: I was uncomfortable. I was worried someone would find my blog and see what I was saying about my personal life. Or them. Or D. No way did I want any proof that I was connected to that Claire B. person.

TG: Well you are Claire B., right? Or is that a nom de plume?

Me: I love it when you speak French, Terry.

TG: So, what is it?

Me: It’s a pen name, is what it is.

TG: You know, I didn’t think you looked like a Claire. Where did that name come from?

Me: Claire is what my parents almost named me. The B. is for Brennan, my great-grandmother’s maiden name.

TG: I’ll look for that name on the New York Times Best Seller List.

Me: Oh, you do go on! Seriously, though, you should keep your eyes peeled for that.

TG: Well I want to thank you very much for being here.

Me: You’re welcome.

TG: No “thank you for having me?”

Me: Um, no.

TG: So you think we look alike?

Me: Um, again, no.

Terry Gross and Guess Who?

My Very First Meme

It's not like you can tag yourself, now, can you? So yes, this is my first meme, compliments of Professor J., and I am not about to turn her down. Because she rulz.

When I received her note that she tagged me, I felt like I'd been invited to a birthday party. And I wondered what I should wear. What will the other girls think? Eventually, I picked out a dress and polished my shoes, and I'm ready.

Here are the rules:
1. The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
2. Each player answers the questions about her or himself.
3. At the end of the post, tag 5-6 people and post their names, then go to their blogs and leave them a comment, letting them know they've been tagged and asking them to read your blog.
4. Let the person who tagged you know when you've posted your answer.

Question 1: What was I doing ten years ago?
I was living in Virginia and working full-time at a rather conservative financial institution—women had to wear skirts or dresses and hose—except on Fridays, when we could wear pants. I kid you not. I was also in school part-time, in a Professional Writing program. D. and I had just celebrated our first anniversary with a trip to California to visit my sister and her fam. That trip infected us with the West Coast bug. And here we are today.

Question 2: What are five things on my "to do" list today?
1. Finish an article I’ve been working on; deadline is Thursday;
2. Read two Sunday papers;
3. Do a bit of laundry;
4. Take our pooch on a loooong walk;
5. Pretend I’m gardening by walking around the yard, wishing all my new beds were already in place, and then pulling up some morning glory vines—my nemesis for the next several months.

Question 3 (which really is not a question): Snacks I enjoy:
My latest weakness is not cupcakes, but chips and salsa. Trader Joe’s has awesome organic yellow corn chips (only $2.29!) and a totally addictive corn and red pepper salsa that together make the perfect sweet/spicy combo. I am also a crackers-and-cheese fanatic. And I love the Mediterranean hummus at Trader Joe’s, too. I am not much of a sweet or chocolate fiend. I used to eat a lot of pretzels. And SPICE jelly beans. But I've stopped that madness.

Question 4 (Again, not a question, I see a trend here): Things I would do if I were a billionaire:
I would volunteer for and give tons of money to animal and human rights organizations; I would buy a large piece of land and foster old and unwanted dogs; I would start a no-kill shelter (or a bunch of them); I would make sure that all the young ones in my family received all the education they need; I would take classes at the university (whatever I want!); I would work to eradicate AIDS from our planet; I would work to enable women and children in oppressed societies to choose their own life paths; I would take care of my parents forever; and I would use my riches to woo a certain Mr. Depp away from his gorgeous girlfriend in France.

Oh, and buy my own Trader Joe's store.

Prompt 5 (let's call them prompts): Places I have lived:
My Hometown, Elmira, NY; Columbia, SC (hated it); a small town in Virginia that shall remain nameless (read all about it in my book if snowballs freeze in hell and when it's published); Hampton Roads, VA, Bellingham WA.

Prompt 6: Bad Habits:
Nagging my dear sweet husband, eating WAY too fast; not eating as healthfully as I should; not exercising as consistently as I should, not modulating my tone of voice as well as I could, getting really loud sometimes when I drink too much. In other words, being Less Than Perfect.

Prompt 6: Jobs I have had (interesting because I've been writing about them):
Paper girl, grocery store clerk, cafeteria worker, housecleaner, legal secretary, executive assistant, production manager, copywriter, business owner.

Prompt 7: Peeps I want to know more about (or at least peeps I think may be interested in responding):
The rules say ask five or six, but I don't have that many bloggy friends. Perhaps if I had more time to read and comment like I used to. Alas, I'll have to break this rule.

Hay at The Secret Life of Us
Nora B at Whopping Cornbread
Mary Alice at From the Frontlines (although she’s probably way too busy)
Jen at Jen on the Edge (I don’t even know her—I’m stretching here. What if she HATES memes?)

I really do want to know you women better, because I love your blogs.

This was fun! Thanks, Professor J!

The Stupidist Thing I've Seen All Day!

Here it is, folks.

Gosh, thanks, Dr. Cliff Pickover (oh, I am so tempted), thank you SO much for teaching me the difference between men and women. I really needed it simplified and making it into this wacky dials-and-knobby-thingies graphic REALLY helped me.

I decided to Stumble and write about whatever came up.

Why did this come up?

What did I tell them about myself that generated this pathetic website?

I'm shuddering over here. I can't even write about it.

Bring it On!

If you read the blog lately, you may have determined that I'm a bit overscheduled at the moment.

I am not under the illusion that busy equals happy. I do not believe that doing more in a day makes me a better person or even a good person. I used to do more for others (people, organizations) than for myself (and my family). I thought I was doing good things, but I was not happy and my husband was not happy and my animals were not happy. Turns out all of us needed more of me, even if that meant I was *just* sitting on the couch with a book (provides ample lap area for two needy felines).

So, while I am currently juggling a few balls of various shapes, weights and materials, I'm feeling pretty, pretty, pretty good about it (props to Larry David on that one). Here are my haps:

NaBloPoMo: writing every day. What could be better?

NaNoWriMo: writing every day. Again . . . better? What?

Boot Camp, Round 2: Hey, I wore a skirt Saturday night that I couldn't fit my ass into last winter. Damn straight I'm signing up for another 8 weeks of this magic disguised as torture.

Starting a copywriting business on the side while running a business: getting paid to write. . . even better than just writing every day!

This is what is not happening in my life:

Making a big deal out of having twelve people for Thanksgiving: I'm over the "all must be perfect" stage of my life. I was driving myself and everyone around me nuts. We're just going to relax and enjoy, whether the house is immaculate or not.

Volunteering for anything: Sorry, community, I need a break!

Cleaning: The house is messier than it used to be. Get over it.

Everything I'm doing is for ME! Yay! For Me! I'm giggling over here.

I'm a NaBloPoMo ER Too

Am I seriously deranged? Do I not have enough going on in my life? I'm writing close to 1700 words a day in my *new* novel for NaNoWriMo, (uh, what happened to the one I started a year ago??) and now I've taken a vow to post to my blog every day in November. Oh, what the hell.

It's all about the writing. I want to write, don't I?

So what if I have a trip planned to NY for six days, and then family visiting for Thanksgiving for five days, a business to run and Boot Camp to attend (I signed up for another eight week session despite my back, which is currently attached to a heating pad and my knee, which I hit with a dumbbell on Friday), movies to watch, books to read, a business to run, dinners to cook, a dog to feed, a business to run. . . something is going to be neglected. It will be interesting to see who or what it is.

I hope it's the business, my least favorite activity of the lot.

Who wants to work for a living when one could be reading, writing, taking the dog for long walks and hikes, doing yoga, learning to sail, making fabulous meals, keeping the house clean, watching movies? Work sucks! Let's blog instead!

I have a list of things to blog about, something I didn't expect to need to do, but I can't remember shit, so writing the thoughts down as they arrive in the sad brain is helping.

So what the hell, why not? Let's write this beeeyotch!

So, What's the Fuss?

In my town, as all across this great (ahem) land of ours, citizens will be marching to the polls on Tuesday. My marching shall take place at the kitchen table, as I fill out my ballot with a sharpie and put it in the secret envelope. Must be careful to place it in the pre-wrapper before the outside wrapper to prevent ANYBODY SEEING MY VOTE.

Frankly, I could give a rat's behind who knows where my loyalty lies. Frankly, I find it difficult to become riled up, as it were, over the local races. And don't get me started on the presidential race. I cannot believe we've had a summer of debates already. I am sick of it all already.

Back to the locals. . . I have observed that hundreds, no! thousands! of my friends and neighbors are putting much energy into who becomes our next mayor. Our next mayor! Like, when did that become a great, big, huge, hairy deal? Apparently I missed something in my move from major east coast metropolitan area to little small west coast sleepy town. People here care about who's running the show. They care deeply. They volunteer to be campaign managers. They write position papers. They design websites. They throw house parties. They doorbell on Saturdays. They do phone tree calling on Sundays. They write letters to the editor.

Call me crazy, or just lazy, but I haven't been able to get lathered up about this race. I have a sign in the window of my business. I am an "official" supporter of one of the candidates because I went on his website and put my name there. But that's it. No doorbelling, no partying, no campaigning. It all makes me feel a little funny inside, anyway. Why do people support a candidate so strongly? What's in it for them? What kind of power do they feel around this political circus?

A friend of ours called the other day and left an urgent message for us. I returned his call, thinking he needed something important from us and when I reached him, he asked if we would make one hundred phone calls for "our" candidate. "They'll give you a script and a list of numbers," he said. "R U KIDDING?," I wanted to shout. I work fifty hours a week, do boot camp three hours a week, volunteer for a women's networking group several house a week, have a house and a yard and a bunch of animals and a husband and laundry, dinners, dishes, grocery shopping, and blogging to do plus did you know that I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month AND National Blogging Month? Over Achievers Anonymous, I hear you calling. . .

Um, my November is a little busy. I'm sure our guy will make it through without my help. And if he doesn't? Oh, well.

If only we could just vote for Oh, the Joys' little Mayor and get it over with. But sadly he is not running here.

I'm Not Angry Anymore

Today's topic, boyz and gurlz, is anger management. Now, anger can really get the best of one, can't it? Reading over my last couple of posts, I understand what this blog writing thing is all about. For me, anyway. It's about the venting and bitching and spewing our opinions to anyone who will read them. And even [as in my case] if almost no one reads them.

And isn't that a much healthier way to release the anger than, say, punching a wall and breaking your hand, not that we know anyone who has ever done that (love you, sweetie).

And then I cannot help but to think of my mother. A stay at home mom who also helped my dad run a business for 40 years while raising eleven 11 eleven 11 children who were born approximately every 1.5 to 2 years from 1949 to 1970. Jesus. What did she do with all of those feelings, frustrations, and worries about whether she was doing it right?

What did she do with the anger? Can you imagine how pissed off at us kids she was--daily? She didn't really yell--not like I would, were I in her shoes. She didn't even drink! How did she deal? She had Mary (the mother of our lord) and she had Mass (every day of her life). She had a few friends she could sneak a phone call to when the house was quiet enough to talk for the three or four minutes between someone being pushed down the stairs or screaming bloody murder because their doll had been decapitated.

She didn't have a blog, or a diary, or the time to write anything. Ever.

And I think about how lucky I am. If I couldn't write every day, I would be much less, well. . . pleasant than I am. This cathartic practice is all I need to purge the shitty stuff from my core. This, I can manage.