Wish me luck... the same to you

I am living in a raw emotional place probably due in equal parts to giving up my anti depressants and living a holiday out by myself.

I am not sad. I am not even unhappy. But I am aware, poignantly aware, of all that I have lost and all that I will eventually lose. That awareness is tucked under the thinnest of veneers. Picture me at the (crowded) gym today walking away on the treadmill; I am watching a rerun of The View and fighting back tears as Whoopi Goldberg talks about going through the death of her mother. This is so not a typical picture; I don't generally live from my emotions.

I downloaded "Levon" by Elton John this afternoon and rocked out to that for awhile because Sir Elton and his partner have named their new son Zachary Jackson Levon Furnish-John and I just wanted to celebrate new life for awhile.

And then, for some reason, I couldn't get "What I Did For Love" (from A Chorus Line) out of my head. I must have listened to it 20 times (the things you can do when you have the house to yourself!)

The lyrics are perfect for New Year's Eve,,,,,"Kiss today goodbye and point me toward tomorrow; wish me luck, the same to you; won't regret, can't forget what I did for love." But beyond a New Year's expression of hope, for me today that song was a hymn. A hymn sung (badly and off key I am sure) with all whom I love and have ever loved: "Gone. Love is never gone. As we travel on, love's what we'll remember..."

The song may be one of the best expressions of loss and courage that I know. "Look, my eyes are dry.... the gift was ours to borrow." Shit. My eyes weren't dry as I sang through that line for the first 15 times. But by the 20th time, they were. Because it is true. We travel on. We love fiercely while we can. And we live with the knowledge that the gifts of life are ours - ours to borrow.

Happy New Year.

Reverse Course

Today I am supposed to be flying to California for a family New Year's Party - a two-night stay brought to you by having a partner who works for the airlines.

I won't go into the ins and outs of employee airline travel, but suffice it to say that the weather has disrupted flights nationwide and my partner went to California. I stayed home.

There is a familiar fantasy about having the house to one's self for a few days. You know the fantasy - long baths with scented bath salts, healthy meals, thick novels and quiet - most especially, quiet.

Strangely, having been abruptly handed the "home to yourself" fantasy, I feel oddly out of place in my own skin. This morning, I woke up facing a hectic weekend of air travel and family, and by noon I was looking at four days on my own at home.

I live a very communal life, so this is taking some getting used to!

It is tempting to fill the time up with distraction - it would be very easy to do. I could call a friend to take a walk; I could go to the movies; I could cook a turkey and then post a message on Facebook inviting all comers over for dinner. And who knows, I may do all of those things.

But another way to go is to head to the grocery store for food that I love, crank up the ipod with music that I like (but no one else does), and then head to bed early for a long night sleep.

That's the route I am taking today. I'll let you know how tomorrow goes.

Aftermath

I found myself snowed in to New York as part of what New Yorkers are calling the blizzard of 2010. For the most part, it was glorious. The snow, the permission to do very little, the chance to linger a bit longer than one had planned.

Ah yes, that. The lingering. I have definitely overstayed my welcome with family - not by choice mind you, but by circumstance. And the emotional glimpses are piling on.

The first emotional glimpse has been in to the lives of lonely people. I am lonely up here. I don't know anybody; I don't know the roads; I don't even know the kitchen. But I do know that if my brother-in-law has to look at me for even one more minute, he will explode, I will explode back, and the children will remember this holiday for all the wrong reasons.

In a bid for family peace, I decided that the best thing for all concerned today would be for me to take a VERY LONG walk downtown.

There were plenty of us out and about: dining alone at the diner, sipping soup by ourselves at the bistro, walking over the piles of snow without anyone to make sure that we made it. Looking around, I guessed that I was one of the younger ones. I was also aware of how suddenly I had found myself in this unmoored place - I am supposed to be enjoying my daughter's young adult life during these holidays, not sitting alone in a diner.

After the diner I headed to the yarn shop to buy some crochet stuff for tonight's train ride home (I realize that it is a bit optimistic to think that there might be a train to take me home...).

The yarn shop is a tiny place, owned by a woman who has been there 30 years. And the place was HOPPING. Folks were there to talk about crochet - sort of. In reality, they were there to talk about visiting their parents' graves and attemping to remember the Polish that was all their parents ever spoke at home; or to get advice about how to help a struggling niece. Or to have a cookie. There were plenty of cookies. And I felt at home among these folks who were eager to share my excitement about starting a project.

And so, another emotional glimpse. Middle aged and older women, with stories to tell and time to share with each other: in many ways, that is who I am. For an hour or so, I didn't feel so lonely.

After that, and realizing that it was just toooooo soon to show up again at the family home, I decided to get my hair cut. Why not? And we are not talking a little trim here. We are talking a BIG MAJOR change for the New Year. I have already alerted my partner to changes ahead. I think she will be okay with it.

Poignantly, there is a bottle of REALLY GOOD champagne chilling in the refrigerator. It will, I am sure, celebrate that all of the guests are GONE.

I am hoping they will be able to pop that cork tonight. After too many days of guests, they deserve it.

Sinking in to the Holiday

There comes a point when it is just time to sink in to a holiday.

You've reached that point when "enough" has been reached. Enough stocking up on food, drink, presents, sweets. Enough traffic, driving, planning, scheming. Enough swipes of the tired Visa card.

The trick of really sinking in to the holidays, it seems to me, is to recognize the "enough" point and to act on it by getting out of the director's seat and simply letting the holidays unfold. The alternative, which I know well, is a holiday season overshadowed by the frustration of all that "could have been."

Would I love to buy one more gift for Frances. Yes? Will it add one iota to her joy on Christmas morning? No. Would I love to get my mother a book that I just heard about? Yes, I would. But, she has plenty of gifts to open this year, not to mention birthdays and mothers days ahead. Is there enough wine in the house to sip and to share? Absolutely. Can we offer neighbors cheese and crackers if they stop by? Yes - and they won't even miss the nut mix that just isn't getting purchased this year. I have reached "enough."

And I am ready to let the miracles of the holidays unfold: wine and cheese become stories told, laughter shared. Gifts that are occasionally cherished and sometimes "re-gifted" stregthen our relationships either way. Music and lights heighten our awareness that we are, all of us, sacred.

There is room in my holidays this year for surprise and for wonder. For miracles and for fun. And I am not going to miss those moments of eternal abundance fussing over a parking place at the mall or the consistency of my cranberry sauce. I have done Enough.

Receeding Gums

You can skip this post if you want to. There are far more interesting - even uplifing - posts on this blog.

But today, the major thing on my mind is receeding gums. My teeth are really, really strong. They are not necessarily straight or white but they don't have any cavaties and all in all they function like they are supposed to.

My gums are a different matter all together. Any day now, the roots of my teeth are going to be completely exposed and I am going to have a peridontist on speed dial for the rest of my life. There is neither bleeding nor pain involved in this condition - I don't want you visualizing gore or anything. But, it's pretty clear to me that the aging process has made itself at home in my mouth and major dental work is likely in my future. I am REALLY not looking forward to this.

On the other hand, if I end up having to do major dental work anyway...maybe I'll invest in some serious whitening while I am at it. And then, heck, I can straighten them up too. Or maybe I can just have veneers or some such thing installed. Many options (if I hadn't just quit my job!). I guess I can find a bright side in anything.

Nevertehless, my current strategy is to postpone professional intervention for as long as possible. This is neither mature nor wise nor even remotely a good idea. It will probably lead to dentures before it leads to whitening.

Basically, I am up against my overall lack of faith in the medical establishment, my unwillingness to spend money on far too routine preventive health care, and some waning sense of immortaility; really waning if you know what I mean.

Maybe I'll get a new strategy after the new year. How's that for meeting the New Year with a smile?

Merry Christmas

The Sunday before Christmas, and I feel settled in all of it. The tree is lit, the wine is poured. Let the Christmas tunes play at the grocery store, in the elevator, and in the television commercials. Bring it on.

Today, my partner and I lived out the messiness of Christmas. She spent the day with friends watching the Eagles play what I guess was an amazing football game while I went to the cathedral for the day. Her day was a heavily secular celebration, mine an overtly religious obsevance.

Christmas has always been both secular and religious. In defining Christmas, the early Christian church "adopted" the already robust secular solistice celebration as a religious holiday. The party definitely came before the theology.

The secular holiday today celebrates family traditions, treasured recipes, the discipline of giving and the wonder of mystery. All wonderful things to celebrate in and of themselves. Add a bit of wine and too many sweets, some candles, and some songs about Rudolph and Santa Claus and you've got the stuff of memory. God is present. Watching a great football game with dear friends is clearly at home in the secular holiday tradition.

The overtly religious tradition celebrates God's movement in our lives. If Christmas means anything at all to me, it means that God is present in the totality of human life. And I do want to celebrate that presence - with song, and with poetry and with the vigor of thousands of years of tradition. God is present in the mourning; God is there in the gathering; God lives in the celebration. Amen.

There are many roads. God is there among the friends on the couch watching football. God is in the manger. God lives and dwells among us.

Decorating the Christmas Tree

First out of the box, two ornaments that Molly received from her foster parents. Those need to be placed near the bottom of the tree because they are heavy. Literally heavy, but heavy too because they have been treasured as gifts for an adulthood that will never arrive.

Next to be unwrapped, the collection from my best friend and her family. Here is the ornament that celebrates our trip to the Bahamas, and next is the one that we took home after the ornament exchange. I love the gingerbread man with the rolling pin. So fun! And damn if that swirly one doesn't look just right with a light behind it, just so. Perfect.

These homemade pipe cleaner candy-canes are from our first tree. All white. Lacey and fun. Haunted. And the white lace fans are from the same years, handmade by Barabara who lived with us for a year while she was dealing with some complicated family issues. After 26 years, we can probably put just a few of these on the tree, and throw the rest away. Our tree has moved beyond "all white" at this point. Our life requires color.

These here, from Spain and China and Alaska, are gifts from Grammy who has a passport that reads like a world geography lesson. It's a gift in itself to know that she thought of us while she enjoyed her many adventures.

I love the White House ornaments! They invoke this period of our lives when we are living near DC and have walked through the White House and have flirted with the corridors of power. So to speak. Hang those next to the National Cathedral ornament near the top of the tree. They'll be seen from there.

The 12 Days of Christmas are a treasure, handmade by my mother as a Halloween gift, and an incredible labor of love. Each one is a work of art. Priceless.

Equally priceless. These right here, the ones Molly made when we visited a "make your own ceramics" place while we were at the shore. And this one too, from a Sunday School class that Molly hated but I am glad that she attended.

Our neigbors from Philly gave us Motorcycle Santa, and our good friends gave us the cow. How could we ever forget that trip to Vermont when we stayed in a great cabin built in a cow pasture? That was the same trip when we ended up climbing a mountain to the top and literally sliding back down. None of us could move the next day.

These are so cool.. the Irish glass with our names etched into them.... make sure they are right in front of a light so everyone can see them!

The globes are amazing... round... and varied. They honor my partner and her love of geography. The poker chip ornament also honors her.

The birds are a gift from my bother's ex-wife. We need to hang those prominently because they are unique and becuase they honor my niece and because I have always loved my brother's ex-wife.

There is a whole collection, near the bottom of the box, of homemade this and that from friends with whom we shared our early adult years. At this point, we are sharing the deaths of our parents. And if for no other reason, we need to find a place for the needlepoint box and the painted house on this year's tree.

And what to do with the New York skyline ornament -pre 2001 - and the 2000 ornament that we probably bought in 1999 because we weren't really sure about the new millenium? Let's hang those in the middle of the tree, right next to the fun stuffed ornaments that my sister brought us from London so many years ago and the pink one that my grandmother sent for Molly's first Christmas.

Oops. I almost forgot. There is still room for the little stockings that we had been given for Cecelia our cat, who died after 18 wonderful years, and Sammi, Molly's gerbil who Molly helped me to bury. Molly was much braver on that day than I was.

Oddly enough, not one ornament from my own childhood. But a full tree of memories. Memories that invoke grief and joy and tears. Memories so vibrant that they can be touched. Memories that hold all that I have been and all that I have loved.

Dreams

My unconcious is in overdrive. Last night, the dreams were vivid and real....

• Molly was there. I could touch her. She was incredibly alive and it was amazing.

• I was in church, prancing around naked; that was unbelievably real too - and very disturbing.

• Christmas weaved through it all, and I was ready. Which is definitely not real.

I couldn't wake up. Didn't want to. The phone rang with a substitute teaching gig that I turned down so that I could go back to sleep.

By the time I was ready to let my dreams go, it was 11:30 in the morning and it was snowing and I was behind on everything I told myself I would get done today.

And it was worth it.

Wii

This is so not fair.

I have been living my best life (thank you, Oprah!). I have been exercising and cooking healthy foods and I've got three shirts that prove I have been out there running 5ks this month.

So, how have I gained 4 pounds? I ask you this.

I got on my Wii Fit scale today and received the bad news. Wii always tells me that I am overweight - how helpful - but today I absolutely expected to be applauded for losing a few pounds over the last several weeks.

There was a small glimmer of hope when the Wii shared that the batteries were low. Thinking that battery loss had resulted in a scale malfunction, I eagerly changed the batteries and redid the body test confusing the game and lifting my spirits at the same time.

Until I saw the results.

Which were worse than they had been on the low batteries. Would I like to record this new score for my daily result? Heck no. Keep the first one.

I will admit to way too many sweet potatoes over Thanksgiving. And to discovering chocolate maritinis when I was in New York this weekend. And you know, those sweet potato pies were half price at the store yesterday. So, I will admit to buying one of those too. Clearly, I have been in denial as it relates to weight management!

Gotta love the Wii. It tells the brutal truth.

Should I eat that pie? I already had some for breakfast. And you know what? Whatever. I feel good, I am healthy. I am happier than I have been in a long time. Bring on the pie.

School

Today was another day subbing in middle school; the subject - English.

Now, I don't consider myself to be an expert on English grammar but I know enough to get by and for the most part English has come easily to me. I have a BA and I am working on a masters.

I could not have passed the little quiz my 7th graders were taking today. What is wrong with this picture? The quiz was on different types of verbs: linking verbs, active verbs and helping verbs.

There was a full page of single spaced text to help the students discern the difference between verb types and quite a few little "tips" that I don't ever remember learning. For example, it's not the verb if there is an "ing" on the end, or if the word is preceded by the word "to". Helping verbs are included as part of the verb in the simple predicate. Active verbs are not necessarily active: love and like and trust are active verbs even though they don't imply visible action.

By the end of the day, I was confused. I could pick out the right answers (for the most part) but I sure couldn't tell you why they were the right answers or what the terminology for the answers should be. I would not have gotten 100% on identifying a helping verb vs. a linking verb. And I am not sure it matters to anyone but the testing entity - whatever that is.

I remember this happening with my own daughter when she brought home math homework - no way it looked like anything I ever saw when I was in school.

I get that things change. Technolgy and history and science need to be continually updated and changed in our schools. But when it comes to English and Math, I am thinking that some things just don't change and maybe we don't need to be re-inventing them for each generation.

Blah

After weeks of feeling an unfamiliar freedom and lightness, today I feel completely and totally blah. Maybe worse then blah.

• Some of it, dear friends, is my age and the hormonal changes we all go through. TMI, I know.

• Some of it is the holidays, and the fact that holidays hold a mirror up for those of us who have lost a child, encouraging us to look back on holidays gone by through a haze of songs and over done TV commercials.

• Some of it is that the weather sucks (yes, I said sucks) and it gets dark early.

Today sort of chrystallized for me in Target. I was trying to buy a curling iron and a few other things, and Molly's 7th grade English teacher walked by. I hope he did not know who I was, which is probably far fetched since I knew him instantly. He had been a "Molly fan" but I haven't seen him since Molly died and the last thing that I wanted to do, in the hair care aisle, was discuss her death. I just wasn't up for it.

I hid behind my bangs; I pulled my collar up; I chanted with the hope that I would become invisible. Anything to not have to interact with Mr. Starkin.

Who am I that I can be reduced to hiding in the hair care aisle? Is this me? I get up every day and I function; I have re-learned how to have fun and I am grateful for that. But I will never be comfortable with Molly's death. Ever.

Mr. Starkin, I am sorry. You were hugely important to Molly and I value all that you did for her. And that's why I couldn't face you. If you don't know that Molly is dead, I don't want to burden you, and if you do know, I can't share your pain right now. I can barely carry my own.

National Security

While I live in the DC area, I don't drive DC too much and don't know the expressway system well. Far better to take the excellent Metro system than to tackle the crowded and unpredictable roadways.

Yesterday, though, there was not much choice and I had to drive. I overbooked myself with lunch at 12:15 and tea at 4 with enough time to drive between locations as long as I remembered my GPS car charger and didn't find myself lost on the maze of one way streets that is Washington..

All was right with the world until I get within - I don't know - 5 miles of the Pentagon. It's at that point that I was alerted "GPS Single Lost". Fabulous. I am driving 65 miles an hour, on roads that require instant decision making and I am on my own. If you were behind me, I apologize. My driving surely reflected the instant confusion that I was feeling as I guessed at what lane I should be in and what exit I should be attempting to use.

By stretching imagination, I suppose one could argue that our country's "enemies" will be slowed down when their GPS units don't work. But if my GPS stopped working in the name of national security, I am going to point out that the Pentagon is a massive building, clearly visible from land and sea and air and that a more pressing issue in this case might just be road safety. Just maybe.

Those who wish the US ill will and want to find the Pentagon will find it - trust me on this one - and let the rest of us (many of whom are tourists and visitors) get where we are going!

Survivor

Everything I know about life, I learned from TV's Survivor. Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but I'll stand by the statement. Just a few examples:

The smartest people do not win. This was a BLOW to me when I watched the series for the first time because I have always strived to be the smartest - and have (to my embarassment) chosen classes that I can get an A in to protect my class rank. So to watch the show and know that the most overtly smart people were voted off early (and I would have voted them off quickly too) hurt a bit. (Hence, I courageously signed up for an art class in my current master's program and it is going to blow my 4.0 GPA for sure. And that is just fine with me.)

Success does not necessarily breed success. There was a kid in high school who started winning every award freshman year. And then, having won those, the awards just kept piling up. The Jaycees one day - the Knights of Columbis the next. So, the idea that success breeds success has always resonated with me: just get that first resume builder and everything else will fall in line. Survivor teaches another perspective - the perspective that says if you have already enjoyed financial success, or if you seem to have reached a position of power and influence, you will be voted off. The thought is, you have had your share of success... let someone else have a go at it.

People generally prefer to be led from behind or from the middle. Somewhere along the line I picked up the idea that to be a "LEADER" was a good thing. And maybe it is. But in Survivor, and in too much of real life as well, the LEADERS are the first ones to be criticized, blamed and voted off. And the startling lesson of Survivor is that it does not matter the quality of the leadership: a leader will be voted off, and the the stronger the leader the quicker the torch will be snuffed. Far better to hang back, build an alliance of support, and make changes from within than to attempt to take the lead through executive fiat.

At the end of the day, Survivor is a test of who can handle the stress when life becomes physically difficult and emotionally unpredictable; the winners seem to be average people who know themselves well and have confidence in both their abilities and the abilities of those around them.

It isn't my GPA that is getting me through these last few years; and it isn't my resume or my positon either. It is my confidence in myself, my gratitude for those around me and my faith that even within the unpredictability of life there is an unseen order.

Survior is a text for the school of hard knocks - a school that most of us can claim to have mastered.

Social Studies

Middle school has a bad reputation. Among subsititute teachers, the word on the street is to avoid middle school at all costs.

And I am no expert after one and a half days at that level, but I gotta tell you, middle school is okay.

Today, the lesson was on Thomas Paine; it was fun to take Paine's concept of the "sunshine patriot" and attempt to make it a relevant concept for the students. Loved it - and they were old enough to hang in there with with me. The curriculim was challenging, and by and large the kids were well behaved - not necessarily engaged - but not bouncing off the walls either. Be not afraid of 6th - 8th graders!!

I am substituting in public school. Molly attended public school for grades 1-8 and attended private school for kindergarten and high school. I can't help but picture her in these classrooms. She always had excellent grades, and her teachers loved her for that, but was she involved? Would she have contributed to the discussion today on patriotism? Was she nice to the subs?

Molly is a part of everyday that I am in a classroom and I am helpless not to wonder if this teaching gig is moving me forward or if it is, instead, miring me in memories and imaginings that I have no way to verify. Perhaps a little bit of both.

My guess is that Molly wouldn't have cared one wit about Thomas Paine; she is the kid who resfused to say the pledge of allegiance at camp and never expressed a great sense of national pride. But - she would have gotten an A on the test.

For my part, even acknowledging the memories, I know that I loved the opportuinty to work with young teenagers on such an important topic.

Is teaching my next career? I'll keep you posted.

Building a New Life

Building a new life is a full time job and then some.

I suppose that most of us have had to re-evaluate our lives after a life-blow. And if you haven't, I imagine that you will.

And to be fair, I guess I have done this before: figuring out how to be a partner, a mother, an adult. But in each of those transitions I had youth on my side; I intuitively knew that part and parcel of relative youth is the the gift of second chances.

Maturity offers few second chances, and the sense of time infinitely opening up in front of me is GONE. If I am going to make a change, learn a new skill, find a new path, I have to do it now, and get it right in the process. I am in the midst of a once in a life time opportunity.

At least that's what my brain keeps telling me.

It is now or never this time, and I have never felt more responsible for who I am and what I create of my life.

So... whatever else this year "off" is, it is not stress free! I am busier than I have ever been, stetching to learn as many new things as I can and taking myself seriously.

Wonder how long this new engagement will last. I will keep you posted.

Thanksgiving

Yesterday, in the grocery store, I recognized within myself an overwhelming sense of contentment. I was fresh off of a flight into California that had been majestic - an incredible view of snow covered mountains peeking out from a brilliantly white cloud cover. It was a glmpse into eternity that convinces you that God is real and that our lives are sustained by a loving creator.

So as I was walking through the frozen foods, tyring to select a pie for dessert (bakers we are not!) my life just seemed right. The family was gathering; we are healthy; the weather was great.

And yet, within that contentment was a void - a space - that Molly should have been filling. Checking out the frozen dessert, I was overwhelmed with a sense that Molly would make the moment complete. And on the heels of that thought hovered the second one - unbidden - reminding my that I will never again feel the completeness that Molly made possible. She would have told us not to bother about dessert - I bought a pecan pie anyway.

And then the night. I am middle aged enough to have troubles sleeping on a somewhat cyclical basis. Ugh. The day had been wonderful; Thanksgiving was coming. But the sleep would not come, and all night Molly's death haunted me.

As much as I might try to leave her life in God's hands, I am still a mom with a hole in my very soul that will never again be filled.

The beauty of my flight into California could not help but remind me that life is more than we understand; that life beyond death is not as distant as we might imagine. And I may have felt Molly's presence primarily through her absence this holiday, but she has been here. She has been here.

Spending the Day Alone

Left to my own devices, I am a recluse. I don't know if it has to do with poor self esteem or just a general personality tendency, but the bottom line is that it is work for me to be with large groups of people and I crave time to myself.

And today, I am home alone. My partner has headed out to California ahead of me, and I am hanging around at home to go to class tomorrow night and to (hopefully) substitute teach during the day.

So, I have the house to myself and 100% freedom to do anything that I want to do. I'd like to think that I spent the day eating really healthy foods, exercising, reading significant litereature and doing my art class homework. After all, that's what I have been doing just about everyday since I quit my job.

I did do the art class homework.

But other than that, breakfast was a chai latte and a cranberry bliss bar from Starbucks; dinner was wine; and I spent some time on You Tube reliving the engagement of William and Kate and the antics of the Osmonds' careers.

Okay, okay, okay. I'll rephrase. It was a lot of time on You Tube.

Don't lose faith in me. Please. I may like spending time alone, but it's pretty clear to me that I am at with my best when I am with people!

Fixing Things...

We upgraded our master bathroom this summer from what I would call "dorm room chic" to something more along the lines of "grown up." No whirpool - no tub - no sauna - but the shower is new and modern and I like it.

This week, not 10 weeks since it was installed, the shower would only produce cold water. This brought to mind images of taking down the tile wall to get at the plumbing and paying thousands of dollars to re-do and/or repair the entire thing. Not great images.

Normally, even without discussing it, the understanding would be that the shower was my partner's to deal with. She is good with contractors, plumbers and electricians and I am perfectly happy to let her handle those "Ms. Fix It" items as they come up.

But this week, while I was standing near - but not quite in - the cold shower, I noticed that a valve cover was loose. This was new. With a bit of curiosity, I opened the cover, revealing a fairly straightforward screw.

Hmmm.... I was tempted. What would happen if I unscrewed the screw? Is their electricity invovlved with the shower pump? (yes, I asked myself this) Will I make everything worse? Will water come shooting out of the pipe?

In an unusual, and somewhat unfamiliar, boost of confidence I decided to unscrew the screw, separating some valve components and revealing some non-descript movable parts. So far, so good: no water was pouring from the pipe; I lived to tell the tale.

Now what? Figuring I had not much to lose, I moved some of those non-descript movable parts in no particular direction, screwed the thing back together and turned on the water. (I did all of this quickly, figuring I had about 30 seconds before the plumbing would all fall apart in some disastrous way that I wouldn't be abele to fix.)

And there was hot water. Yes, Hot water. I fixed the shower. The sense of accomplishment with this is overwhelming - not becuase it was hard to do (because it wasn't) but because I had the courage to try. I had an idea, and I acted on it. I was a willing to take a risk.

In some ways, its a tangible example of growth that I know I am experiencing, but can't quantify and have no good way of evaluating. I am doing okay as a substitute teacher, for example, but there are no road marks to let me know how well I am doing or what mistakes I am making. One does not get immediate results from substituting or exercising or anything that I am doing right now.

So when that shower poured out hot water and I had clearly succeeded in an unfamiliar task, I latched onto the feeling of success like an omen. I am learning. I am getting stronger. I am embracing new experiences. And it is good.

Vacation!

We are heading out to Palm Springs, California for Thanksgiving next week, and I am really looking forward to it. I know... I know... I quit my job and I am on a permanent vacation of sorts and I probably should not need a vacation. But I do.

I have crammed SO MUCH into this first month of "unemployment." My first gigs as a substitute teacher, doing some editing for my old job and doing some networking in case I need to get a new job. I've done my school homework, exercised and taken the time to actually cook some meals. A vacation sounds like a darn good idea!

In addition to a vacation, I really want to celebrate Thanksgiving. This will be our second holiday season without Molly. Last year, we celebrated Thanksgiving in California (we have family there), and it feels right to fly out there again.

When Molly was alive, we would often rent a condo in Florida for the Thanksgiving week; it was a way to get away, spend time as a family, and just recharge our batteries. They were some of my favorite holidays ever - laid back, comforting and familiar. My guess is that it would be almost impossible for my parnter and I to settle into Florida for the holiday week again - Molly's absence would overwhelm us.

On the other hand, if I take the extra weight of holiday memories off of a place, I have enjoyed re-visiting places that Molly loved. Molly visited California a lot and was very much a part of the family out there. It will be great to visit and celebrate Thanksgiving in a fresh way - in a place that Molly knew and with people that she loved.

Our holidays will never be the same - and I don't expect them to be. But we will still have holidays. It's time for new traditions that honor our past and celebrate today. And it is time for a vacation!

Exhaustion and Authenticity

I was really tired driving home from school tonight. I almost missed my exit, practically caused several accidents, and felt mysef getting too close to the cement lane dividers. In the past (yes, it has happened before) that type of drive home has been the result of emotional exhaustion.

Today, I can assure you, my bad drive was the result of physical exhaustion. After teaching 2nd grade all day, walking a 5K, and taking my evening art class, I am tired for all the right reasons: a day well spent, challenges met and new skills learned - if not mastered.

This new life, where I go to school and do hard work that doesn't pay much, is costing us about $50,000 a year. At least $50,000 a year. I was worth way more money sitting behind a desk that I am worth in a classroom.

But I was exhausted for all the wrong reasons when I was sitting at a desk. I used to end the day exhausted from office politics, worn out from an excessive commute and bored with the work that I was doing. My days lacked authenticity.

Authenticity may cost something - it may cost tens of thousands of dollars a year and a lot of exhausting effort. It is a price I am privliged to be able to pay.

A Thought for the Day

So... I stumbled across this quote today: "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." Maya Angelou

Every cell of my body resonates to that sentiment. I know the agony, but I can't quite hear the story.

Yet.

Art and Thanksgiving

Well, my art class might actually be making a difference. I have got to believe that the average 5th grader could have produced the watercolor at the left, but for me it is a BREAKTHROUGH. I really can't believe I painted it.

The painitng is of Molly's teddy bear and a ceramic dog that she painted when we visited Busch gardens and didn't want to go on any more roller coasters. The dog's right ear broke off at some point, and somehow that makes me love it more than if it were perfect. We are all broken in some way.

Thanksgiving is right around the corner... and with it the realization that our holidays have been permanently and forever changed. But, that doesn't mean that we dread them; it just means that we are going in to them with no expectations. The holidays of the past are over, and we loved them. What great memories.

But we are still holiday people. We still believe that people need to celebrate new beginnings and that it is good to remember to be thankful. We still believe that turkey tastes good and that Christmas trees can inspire a sense of awe and gratitude. And we will always believe that our bonds with both the people on this earth and those gone before are worth celebrating.

So no, I don't dread the holidays. But I don't expect much of them either. I'm pretty sure that they will be as good as I decide to let them be.

Ah, yes. Not that long ago, the phone was a convenient way to talk with people. It was a miracle really; one could talk with just about anyone at any time. Distance was rendered irrelevant by a black box with a cord, a clever handset, and a dial.

I got a new miracle today. An android. It appears that this phone is capable of setting off World War III, and I am not that good with it. You have been warned.

Serioulsy, the android funcitons as a phone, but that is really not why it exists. The android exists to put the accumulated knowledge of all time (inlcuding every fast breaking Tweet) in my hand. I can do just about anything from this little device, and technically it could replace my Ipod, my Kindle, my camera and probably my computer if I could stand the small keypad. It is even its own Wi-Fi hot spot. There is a booklet and a DVD to tell you how to make a phone call. I will never figure it all out and I am pretty sure that I don't need to.

The android also replaces Molly's phone that I have been using since she died. Molly used it to text her therapist just minutes before her death. Her phone stores pictures that Molly had taken. When Molly was alive, it was a daily connection between us - she really loved that thing! - and after she died it was a comfort for me to be able to use it. But it doesn't ring anymore and its way beyond time for it to be upgraded.

She would have loved the android. She'd probably already have it programmed to do all sorts of things; all her friends would have their own ringtones. She'd skype with it and download apps and probably lose it more than once if I know her.

I have kept all of her picutres and copied her texts. But in retiring her phone, I am adding to my understanding - my deep understanding - that she is not here anymore. And I miss her.

Wait a Minute.....

The phone rang again at 6:15 AM for substitute teaching - elementary art classes this time. I went, and it was fun, and I learned a few things that will be helpful both for teaching and for the art class that I am taking this semester.

Now don't get me wrong. I am delighted to be a substitute teacher. But, I figured that if I said that I was available to work Monday - Friday, I might get called for 2 or 3 days a week. I never imagined that I would be called every day that school is open!

If I am not careful here, I am going to waste the gift of time off by working. And what that amounts to, for me, is avoiding the hard work of bringing my body in tune with my soul, being too busy to really live life from my heart as opposed to my head, and deliberately steering clear of thinking about my daughter's death.

So I've put myself on a do not call list for subbing tomorrow. I want to control my life and not have an automated call system control me. I'll work on Friday - something tells me they will need more subs on Friday than on Thursday anyway.

In a spirit of full disclosure, I am interviewing with Macy's tomorrow. It's just for a holiday job. Just for six weeks.

Oh, and old my job got in contact with me today. They need me to do some editing. Which is great.

So, I am trying to find a new balance between the quiet that I yearn for and the activity that I know I need. And I haven't quite found it yet.

I'll keep you posted.

A Day in 2nd Grade

To make a few things crystal clear: my feet hurt, my back hurts and substitute teaching is hard work. Period.

I got called this morning at dawn and found myself two hours later in front of a classoroom of eager second graders. This was the first day I was even eligible to be called, so I wasn't really expecting a call so soon. I enjoyed the day; it was tough, but it was satisfying and I felt like I made a difference in a way that I never felt from the distant seat of mid/upper nonprofit management. I have been hungry to get my hands dirty and really do something for a long time.

Within the first ten minutes I was fielding everything from " I have a tummy ache" to "Can I get a drink of water?" to "Can I share my new toy?" to "Here are the school supplies I was supposed to turn in...." Yikes! The class and I sort of made it up as we went along and I was asked to come back, so it can't have been all bad.

The confidence booster for me is that this whole thing is BRAND NEW. I have never been in front of a classroom before, and it is freeing to step out of my familiar world and try something radically new and different.

I look forward to getting better at teaching, but I will be just fine if they don't call me tomorrow - as long as they call me the next day!

I'll keep you posted.

Must See TV

I am going to put this plug in today so that you can set your DVR: Marie Osmond on Oprah. Thursday, November 11th. Must see TV. Marie and Oprah will be discussing teen suicide and the death of Marie's son, Michael.

Marie lost her son almost a year to the day that Molly died. We had just made it through the one year anniversary of Molly's death - a huge day of pain made liveable with the help of family and good friends - and ba-boom, Michael's death was all over the news. I know it is irrational, but as a long-time Osmond fan, I felt a bit of Marie's loss. I had been there.

In a display of further irrationality, I have been imagining Marie's interview with Oprah, and what I might say to the questions that are sure to come up. Do you feel like the suicide was your fault? Could you have done anything to prevent it?

I was not a perfect parent, but we are so lucky to have some of Molly's writings and comments from her friends. After Molly's death, several of her friends wrote to let us know how much Molly loved us and how freely she expressed that love. Her diary gives us more confirmation. Molly really does love us, and I am so grateful to be sure of that because she kept so many secrets.... she kept so much to herself... that sometimes I wonder if our lives together held any authenticity. I am grounded in the fact that the love that we feel for each other is very, very real. No, I don't feel like her suicide was my fault.

The notion of what might have been done to prevent Molly's suicide is more difficult for me. She had been seeing a psychiatrist for several years; the last person she spoke with before her death was her therapist. She had help. She was surrounded with adults who loved her and could help her - and she knew it. But she decided to lie to everybody about what she was feeling and experiencing. Her final text - to her therapist - apologized for so many lies.

Molly's death was her choice. And I believe it was inevitable. She had been thinking about suicide for years - at least since she was 13 years old. Her final attempt was not her first. Perhaps if we had more agressively played with her medications, we may have postponed her death. Try a little bit more of this and a little bit less of that. But I don't really believe that we could have prevented her suicide.

The hardest thing that I imagine Marie dealing with on Oprah is coming to terms with her son's death, and then being an advocate for not choosing suicide. I don't believe that suicide is always an irrational choice. There is a piece of me that "gets" why Molly made the choice that she did and if I am angry with her at all, it is not about the suicide, but rather because she did not feel comfortable - for whatever reason - to tell her truth to ANYBODY.

And therein lies the challenge. If it was me on Oprah, I would be advocating for a world where there is respect for a wide range of human difference. I would be asking people to refrain from bullying or ridiculing. And I would be asking that people take the time to really listen to each other. I don't believe that bullying or poor listening cause suicide, but I do believe that they contribute to a world where people are afraid to speak their own truth. And not living one's own truth does contribute to suicide if only becuase our mental heath care protocols all require honest participation from the patient.

So, I am setting my DVR for Thursday... let's see what Marie has to say.

Friends, Pain and Sabbath

After a weekend with friends - all of whom are facing a crisis of one sort or another - it felt good to experience Sabbath.

On Friday and Saturday we powered up the crock pot, pulled out the flannel sheets for the guest beds, poured some wine and some Chai Tea and settled in for a long fall weekend. And it was wonderful, except that within that LL Bean picture, our friends were crying - or taking up smoking again - or screaming at our walls becuase there was no one else to scream at.

Almost immediately after Molly's death, I sensed myself becoming increasingly open to the pain of others. Part of this had to do with the ever-so-public nature of teenage suicide. There was no way to avoid people - and I didn't really want to. So there I was, in the darkest days of my life, in a confusion of shock and sleeping pills, with a spotlight of sorts focused right on my heart. And having seen my heart, I sensed folks wanting to share their hearts with me.

Molly's death also humbled me in a way that has made me more available to others. I am really proud of Molly. She is amazing. And I thoroughly enjoyed her successes in horseback riding and acting and music and school and just about anything that she tried. She lived surrounded by love and she never questioned that love. And yet she died by suicide. The humility involved in living her death has given me a new compassion for the pain of others. My friendships have definitely deepened over the last year and a half.

So to get back to this weekend... friends are over... and they are all hurting... and then they leave. Sunday. I had to do two things. First - spend some time at the cathedral; and second - get on the treadmill. The cathedral is the place that - at least for now - calms my soul. The treadmill strengthens my body to hold the pain of others, to prepare for the discipline of listening, and to fight the uncertainties of middle age!

I am also working on my art homework, which is due tomorrow and is very hard and while I like it very much, drawing is one of the hardest classes I have ever taken.

I will keep you posted.

Substitute Teaching

Another crazy plan that I have for this period of "unemployment" is to substitute teach. The thought here, if there is one, is that maybe I would like to be a teacher and that this is a way to see if I like it. A teaching license is not required to sub, and it goes without saying that I have never taken even one education class.

So orientation was yeterday. Our local school district hires literally thousands of substitute teachers - which makes me wonder how many quit after their first assignment. The training was amazingly - amazingly - void of practical advice. The point WAS made that we should be walking around the classroom most of the time, with the thought that "you can't hit a moving target." I found that advice so encouraging.

It was also noted that radiating confidence was necessary as the students will move easily from assessing their substitue as a "sucker" to seeing him or her as a "target." Again. So very helpful.

I left with all of the respect in the world for teaching professionals and a bit terrified of what my first day might feel like.

Theoretically, I could start next week.

I'll keep you posted.

Looking for Temporary Jobs....

No worries. I am not already scurrying about trying to find full time employment. But. I think it might be fun to get a part-time holiday job in a department store.

After Molly's death, Christmas is surely a challenge, and I don't want to mope through the entire season. So... the thought is... I'll try something new and festive and different. And I'll make a few bucks while I am at it.

So... not having applied for jobs with a big company EVER, I presented myself (looking farily professional, I might add) at the mall to fill out applications. WRONG. Oh no, no, no, no. One can only apply online. Which I did. And I am exhaused.

After finding the on-line site, opening an account, filling out the personal information, answering all of the government-required questions, writing and uploading a cover letter, and taking a personality inventory, I had invested a good two hours. At least. For one six week job that pays just over minimum wage if I am lucky. And then I went on to another site to do it all over again for another store, but there site was down.

REALLY? Is this what we have come to? Makes me feel a bit bah humbug about the whole idea, but I would still really like the job. I'll keep you posted.

Catching Up

Brief recap: I am now officially done with work; I have been to visit my Dad and he is doing really well all things considered; I have received some nice parting gifts from my employer. And now I face the reality of this choice. Okay. What now.

Oddly enough my first concern was WARDROBE. I am not a clothes person - heck I shopped almost exclusively out of the Salvation Army for a full year not that long ago. And yet. I don't want to wear anything that I don't feel really good in. I don't want to wear anything that I might have worn to the office. And I also don't want to just slob around all day either. I'd sort of like to look like the model at the top of this post... but I don't.

In search for that middle ground of non-grungy comfort that is age appropriate and figure forginving, I hit a sale at J Jill and added a few new pieces to my casual/comfortable collection. This was in anticipation of being paid out for my unused vacation pay, but OF COURSE, the folks at the job "missed" adding that on to my check. I have reminded them. Very, very nicely.

And I went to the gym today. Years ago, I went regularly, but with two to three hours of commuting (on a good day!) I had basically given that up. The guy at the front desk remembered me though - and commented on how long it had been since I had been there. It was nice to be remembered... even if it was for being a lazy load.

Lame Duck

Is Lame Duck Hood really necessary? I mean really. Is anyone particularly productive after they have given their notice? Does any employer really let them be?

This really, really, SUCKS.

I sit at my desk, and have maybe a couple of hours of productive work to do. And then I sit. And eat too much. And I fantasize about leaving and I try not to gossip too much because that would be so unbecoming.

To shake it up a bit, today I went wine shopping. I made something up so that I could come in late tomorrow.

Three weeks and counting. It is feeling like an interminably long time. My employer has to feel the same way about this. Can’t we just call it a day…wave a white flag… be done?

Giving Notice

I may have quit my job... but I still have to show up there. Sort of. Four weeks of notice is a very, very long time.

I am in that never never land between present and not present. I sit there. But my opinions no longer matter, I have little motivation to do more than is minimally required of me, and folks won't really even talk to me because I am an "outsider" now.

At least I have a fairly big office. And a computer. And I am reasonably comfortable with my own company. I have already cleaned out my desk, gone through my electronic files and improved my sodoku score.

Not sure what tomorrow brings, but I am not rushing in, and I am leaving early. What are they gonna do? Fire me?

Giddy

I am still giddy. Giddy about being unemployed. Giddy about being the entrepreneur of my own life. Giddy about being able to take a risk. People at work are jealous of me and tell me that I even look different.

I want to enjoy this feeling, because I imagine that it will be tested.

But I've got to tell you, the way I feel now, I may never again turn my life over to a company that decides where I need to be and how long I need to be there, whether or not I can eat at my desk, how much vacation I can take and how much time off I am allowed. I am creating a life where I am my own human resources department! Love it.

I will surely make short term and temporary commitments to employers (maybe I'll substitute teach? Or take a holiday job at a department store?). And who knows, I may even take on some freelance work. But making a career commitment of indefinite duration? I am going to think long and hard about that before I do it again.

One of the things that tied me to one company for a long time was the pension benefit. It seemed reckless to walk away both from a regular income (in the present) and a guaranteed income (in the future). But heck. My pension benefit was frozen this year so I am no longer impacting my future benefits by leaving my job, and I believe I'll find new ways to make money in the present. We'll see if that pans out.

Beyond all of that, I am giddy because my Dad just got released from the hospital. He has to go to inpatient rehab for awhile, but he is moving in the right direction. I managed to email my parents that I am leaving my steady paycheck (wimpy, I know), and got some words of support back. I am not sure there would have been quite as much support if they weren't so distracted!

Sabbath

I am intrigued with the idea of sabbath. When I was a kid, I think my dad went through a "sabbath" period, but the concept got so caught in contradiction that it just didn't last long.

Can you watch football on the sabbath? That seems restful. Until you think about all of the people that are working - including the players - to make watching football possible. And when my dad went along with the football he wanted to watch on the sabbath, but not the shopping that I wanted to do on Sunday, it was pretty easy to point out the gaps in his reasoning. Without a set of guidelines or a sense of what the sabbath is meant to be, the whole concept sort of gets lost in a wishy washy film of nothingness.

I recall Bible stories about what work can be done on the sabbath. This is not a new question. But for me, it is a personal question. And suprisingly, I am having a hard time answering it.

The only formal religious services that regualarly reach and inspire me are about an hour drive from my home. And sometimes, sabbath for me is making the drive and immersing myself in the formal worship. Two hours of drive time costs me some eco points, but I always come home with a sense of purpose and connection.

BUT WHAT ELSE IS SABBATH? Maybe for me, it is baking bread. Or reading a book. Or taking a walk with a friend. Or avoiding news. Or catching up with a friend over the phone. Or exercising. Maybe anything that grounds me in a sense of the sacred and a connection to others is sabbath.

What is sabbath to you?

Thinking Differently

I am working at redefining myself.

When my daughter died by suicide in 2009, I couldn't figure out if I was still a mom. She was our only child and the work of the largest part of my soul for 17 years. Initially, her death took that role from me. Today, with some distance from her physical death, I can see that, while "Mom" is no longer something that I do it continues to be, in a very deep way, who I am.

Molly's death has become a mandate for me. A mandate to stretch and take risks. A mandate to learn and to grow and be the best that I can possibly be. A mandate to live. I am beginning to live as boldly as I possibly can because there is no other way to honor Molly's life. She lit up my life for 17 years... and continues to.

In the midst of tragedy, it is important to note that I get how lucky I am. I can afford to take a year off because of a windfall and because my partner of 26 years works for a great company and I can lean on her for health insurance and a financial plan B if our finances go south. We are doing this - like we have done everything for so long - together.

Dad Update

Dad is still in Intensive Care. Mom seems upbeat about his condition and her own stamina, and if I was just listening to her, I would believe that they are going to get on a plane next month and fly to New York just like they planned.

And maybe they will.

But my sister gets different messages from Mom than I do. Dad can’t swallow; he is on a feeding tube; he sleeps on some sort of cooling device to bring down fever. His speech is garbled. All of that is true: my sister emphasizes it. Mom is more likely to emphasize positive facial expressions.

Conceivably, Dad can hear what is going on around him, and responding with appropriate facial expressions probably does mean something. But it is hard not to think of the new mom who watches her baby for the slightest glimmer of a smile and is likely to see a smile whether it is there or not.

As ONE WITHOUT A JOB, I am available to “help”. That’s tricky. Mom has made it clear that we are not to come home, and I get that. We are somewhat overwhelming when we move back into the homestead at the same time. So, until we can figure out what “help” means, I wait.

And I probably should tell my mother about my pending unemployment– haven’t done that yet.

Art

One of my passions is school. I totally screwed up my education when I was a full time student; I stated getting A's, liked it, and chose classes that I was pretty sure would get me an A. As a result, I graduated in the top 5% of my college class and learned very little. Memorize? Yes. Learn? Not really. College is such a blur for me: I wasn't a partier; I wasn't really a scholar; I wonder if I was really there?

So I am making up for it now by getting a Masters in Liberal Studies. Part of my unemployment plan is to take more classes and really dedicate myself to them. (I realize that there is expense involved with this plan - MAJOR expense - another reason to abandon Starbucks).

This time around, I am not doing anything that I don't want to do. I am taking risks with the papers and really expressing my ideas - even if I think my ideas might not be what the professor had in mind. And I am LOVING it. I am taking classes I never would have taken the first time around. Who knew philosophy could be fun?

Anyway, tonight was the first night of a required art class. God help us. My last art class involved a box of 64 Crayola crayons - the kind with the sharpener on the back. I have always considered my drawing ability to be at the stick figure level so this should be VERY interesting.

To get us started, we were asked to draw balloons so that the professor could get a sense of our ability level. I thought my drawings of balloons was done - and heck, I was feeling pretty good about it. And just as I was telling myself that I was not half bad at this and that perhaps this class would not drive a permanent wedge into my GPA, the professor suggested that I had done the entire drawing backward and had a ways to go. He was nice about it.

I will keep you posted.

Some Light

Right now they are saying my dad has Viral Meningitis and will fully recover. I was afraid he had samonella or e-coli because I gave him brownies for his birthday last week and they were just a bit gooey - undercooked even. The hypochondriac in me, a quality I picked up from Dad, was sure the brownies caused all of this when I heard that he was ill. So the news from the hospital is improving.

I went to the cathedral this morning - Dad would have wanted me to. And to be honest, I enjoy spending time there. Just arriving at the cathedral brings me a sense of calm; the grounds are a natural expression of God's boundless creativity, and the building itself seems to echo with the whispered prayers of generations . The sermons are spiritually challenging, the music creates a sense of infinity, and the rituals are performed with care. God is present.

Part of this next chapter of my life has to do with God. I am leaving my job because I was wasting so much time; I was more politician than servant; I was caught up in pettiness and image making that left me cold at the end of the day.

Whatever else I believe, I believe that how we use our time matters. In fact, it may be the only thing that matters. And I can simply no longer sit in a cubicle surfing the internet all day. So, I am practicing new ways to live my life. Ideas, anyone?

Cautions

Saturday morning... and I am making my own latte (which wasn't great but wasn't bad either) and trying to remember how to make Cream of Wheat so it isn't runny. The Cream of Wheat is boiling over, making a sticky mess all over the stove, and I am lost in thoughts of my new life, new opportunities, new challenges.

And the phone rings. It's my sister. "Have you checked your text messages today?" Uh, No.

"Mom just sent a text; Dad is in intensive care." Excuse me?

My father is not a healthy man - I know that. He never completely recovered from his triple bypass surgery and he didn't have that surgery because everything was just hunky dory. If you know what I mean.

And so my day has gone from lofty thoughts about living a disciplined life and stretching budgets and making the most of every day to the idea that life is sacred and profoundly limited. That it can end at any point. That I could lose my Dad.

Starbucks

I have two coffee makers, a cappacino maker, and a daily Starbucks Habit. Today, as I ordered my daily Grande Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte for just over $4 I began to understand some of the more nuanced repercussions of my pending unemployment.

I can't do this anymore.

I can no longer afford a daily latte.

I need to start brewing my own.

But it is such a comforting habit... even a bit healthy if we talk about all of the milk that is in those lattes. Perhaps I should cut myself a break?

I really don't want to give up my lattes. And Eric, my barrista, he's going to notice if I stop dropping by. I know he will. In fact, if I stop going to my local Starbucks, I think that the store's sales figures will show a measurable decline. (My waistline may show a measurable decline as well since I won't be picking up those deceptively caloric mini vanilla scones).

But you know, I have to make some changes, and lattes are going to be the first thing to go. It's a savings of between $75 and $100 a month. I sipped today's latte slowly. I knew.

And no, I have not told my mother yet about my unemployment. I have to figure out how to make lattes at home first. Then maybe I will tell her.