Obviously, the holiday season is going to be different this year. We won’t spend any time at mom’s house. Mom won’t making the candies she called Martha Washingtons like she did every year (like it or not!). But somehow, I didn’t really think things would be unbearably different. Naively, I didn’t think that this year would be that bad since we will be in Kansas City.

But of course it will be different. The whole thing will be different. My brothers aren’t coming to Arkansas, I’ll be away from home for the week of the 25th, and when I get home, mom still won’t be here. And thanks to the brilliant minds who program the holiday movie schedules, it seems that fact will be driven home on a regular basis this week.

I watched The Family Stone last night. I’d seen previews for it, so when I saw it was on television I settled in on the couch to watch. I was totally invested in the movie about a guy and a girl and the guy’s family who doesn’t like the girl much… and the family dynamics of the siblings during the holidays… when, in the last 15 minutes of the damn thing, the storyline reveals that the mom is dying of cancer. Of course I sat and sobbed as the fiance character, Sarah Jessica Parker, gave the family each a portrait of their mother that she had made from a snapshot that sat on her boyfriend’s desk. Then I sobbed more when, in the final scene, everyone gathered for Christmas the next year and the mother wasn’t there. What kind of happy holiday movie is that, exactly??? It sucked. They could have done the same exact movie, with the same exact lessons taught, without losing the mom.

Then tonight, when I saw that Big Fish was on – a movie I have wanted to see – I thought, oh great! But when, ten minutes in, we visit the main character’s dad as he convalesced at home with cancer, I decided that I wouldn’t put myself through it.The mom explains that the dad isn’t eating well, and is getting weaker due to his lack of appetite, then she gives the son a can of Ensure to see if the son can convince him to drink it. Serious flashback time. And when the son goes into the bedroom to see the dad, the dad wants a drink of water, and the cup has a bendy straw in it. More serious flashback. If the man had brown eyes and had been wearing a knit cap on a bald head, it would have been my mother. It was way too much.

So, hey all you television execs out there (I’m sure you’re all reading my blog…) Let’s find some happy stories to air during the holidays, how about? How about nothing with dead or dying parents. No sick or missing children. No soldiers who won’t come home. Those of us who have had these things happen to us recently REALLY don’t need to see the Hollywood version. I promise.

So, let me apologize for the bizarre posting of the visitor map in my blog last week… I remember looking at those maps thinking they would be cool to use to track my visitors, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t intentionally put it in a post… not sure what’s up with that. Blog post fail.

But today’s embarrassing moment involves the eating of the evening meal at the table in my kitchen. (No, this table is not mine – I found it here.)

It was last night, and it was the first time in at least three years that I have set the table and dined with my husband in our kitchen as a family. It’s the epitome of what many would say is a result of the disintegration of the traditional American family. Of course we have eaten at the table… but only on a holiday, or when we have friends over for something. Never just he and I and the kids. Ridiculous.

Now, I’m not saying this is going to happen EVERY night. Tonight he ate pizza in front of his computer and I ate pizza with my laptop in my lap… it’s the NEW traditional American family. But we are going to be “more intentional” (are you sick of that phrase yet? I am.) about sitting together and having a conversation over dinner. It’s important somehow.

Looking forward – what are some things you will be doing in the new year just because you feel they should be done? Even if no one else cares.

I promise you, my dear (and possibly imagined) readers – I will NOT be writing about my mother in every post. I truly do think about other things… but today is a special day.

Today is my mom’s birthday. That’s her in the picture with the Mary Tyler Moore vibe going on… the jowl-sporting infant would be moi. Mom would have been 65, and I’m sad to think about the things on her list of “to-do” items that didn’t get done. I won’t list them (those I know of) here, mostly because it would make me cry, but also because it would be a bit morbid, and a little silly.

I will just say that I miss her, and I wish she were here to celebrate with us.

Happy birthday mom – I love you!

We went out to mom’s today for a check up. Rick wanted to bring the riding mower home, and I wanted to see if the fleas we were fighting all month in August (and into September…) were finally gone now that her cats have been in their new homes for a couple of months.

On our way over, my son asked if Nana was going to be there. I told him no, Nana isn’t with us anymore. Then, when we were pulling up, he asked where she lives now. I reminded him that Nana died, and that she lives in our hearts now. Finally, when we had been there a little while, he said “Mommy, I’m really sad that Nana died.”

Aren’t we all…

p.s. the fleas survived.

I came to Oklahoma City with two goals ahead of me. The first, to successfully complete the training I was sent here for by my employer. It consists of five days – seven hours a day – of sitting in front of a computer monitor being instructed in the art and science of maintaining and utilizing information in a fundraising prospect management software program. I say “the art of” even though there is absolutely no art about it. I hope thinking it might have some art to it will keep me enthused. It is most assuredly all about data and tables and fields and proper placement of information. Thank god they keep the room meat-locker cool so I don’t fall asleep, for even a moment of inattention would cause a huge gap in understanding.

But my second goal, the one I take on with just as much trepidation as the first – or perhaps more – is to write.

I have been longing to write; meaning to write; planning to write; writing about my desire and intention to write… it’s just about time I got my ass in gear and put words together and got it done. So, in preparation for my first evening spent alone in countless years, I began at Barnes & Noble.

Now, don’t be a hater all you purists who only shop at local booksellers – B&N is right down the street from my hotel and they had an AMAZING selection of magazines. I could become a magazine and literary journal addict. I truly could. Lest you accuse me of yet another contrivance put together to allow me to procrastinate and distract me and lead to a fruitless evening, let me interject that I was thinking about something one of my favorite professors told me: “Good writers read. A lot.” I can’t tell you which of my favorite professors said it, but I’m sure they have all said it at least once to someone. So, my supporting goal of the week is to read. A lot.

To that end, I purchased a couple of books (Riding the Bus with my Sister by Rachel Simon, and the Best American Short Stories of 2009 collection) and the latest copy of Writer’s Digest. The magazine, which I’ve never read before, was $5.99… more than I like to pay for a magazine. But I thought it would be a mistake to let the cost of a sandwich stand between me and my second most important goal for the week. Plus, the issue is focused on writing “small” (which I do), and includes an article on different kinds of essays. Since it is my deepest desire to write essays and get paid to do so, I took it as a sign and swiped my debit card.

And it was worth it.

Now, as I lay sprawled across my perfectly-firm-but-not-too-firm bed in my little suite, I am newly energized by the last line in the article about essays written by Dinty W. Moore: “But first, you must start writing.” It’s so perfect. So simple. So inescapably true. It is what I need to tell myself every single day. Not only does this man make a lovely mass-marketed stew, but he speaks the words of angels. At least, the angels I am interested in hanging around with.

No goal was ever attained by wishing it into existence. I know what I want to do, and I know I can do it. And now, I must.

I’ve decided that some people are just not really getting the whole idea of Halloween. Or at least, MY idea of what Halloween is or should be. And, since I’m the one writing, it’s my idea that counts here.

Yesterday I had to run to Walmart to pick up some candles for the luminaries I was making out of vintage jars, and was amazed at the number of people crammed into the Halloween aisle there. I’m sure thrift stores were also being slammed… people just wait until the very last minute to pull something together. It seems that there is no embracing of the holiday as a thing to be enjoyed for weeks anymore. The desperation set in, and the rush was on to get the kids done up in something acceptable to send them out to bring candy home for the parents.

That’s right. For the parents. You know as well as I do that when the kids are in bed, mom and dad pull out the candy that they are rationing to their children, and hog a few miniature Twix bars and packages of Skittles.

We live in what I would call a safe neighborhood. Most of the people on our block have been here a while – lots of people in their 60’s and 70’s. The streets are very wide, there’s not a lot of through traffic…  we also don’t have a ton of youger kids here. However, on Halloween night the neighborhoods surrounding ours – mostly to the South – send reconnaisance missions down our street and stock up on several weeks’ worth of candy per family. They come by car, van, truck… dad or mom is driving, and follows them down the street with the motor running as a cluster of kids goes from house to house begging for sweets.

Now, I’m all about going to other neighborhoods if yours is not safe, or if there are just hardly any houses around yours. When my girls were small we lived out of town a few miles, and we had one neighbor – my grandmother. We would go to her house to show off our costumes and get pictures made, then we’d head into town to one of the neighborhoods where “coutry kids” would go to have an actual trick-or-treat experience.

But here’s what’s different: I would actually WALK with my children. I didn’t shuttle them from block to block, following them around in my car. I parked. I dressed up even! Halloween was not about taking the kids out to score a bunch of free candy, it was about being creative, giggling and enjoying the compliments of the folks who thought my kids’ costumes were cute, and enjoying my kids’ enjoyment. Just driving around dumping kids off seems a bit like pandering to me.  Why not just drop them and tell them you’ll meet them a few streets over in an hour? Most of these kids were old enough to walk alone. Obviously I wouldn’t suggest telling your 4 or 6 year old you’ll see them in an hour.

The prize last night went to the couple who were not dressed up, and were pushing a stroller with a BABY in it from house to house. Seriously. They dressed up their baby, and were taking it around to get candy. Who, exactly, was going to eat that candy?? My girlfriend, Katy, and I speculated that if they came to our house we might not tell them to bug off, but we might give them an apple instead of candy. Or a piece of cheese. Something far less “fun”. So ridiculous.

I won’t pretend to be the expert in raising teenagers. My husband would tell you I’m far from it, actually. But I think I may redeem myself with my son, who is now five years old.

We were driving through the Lowe’s parking lot in Fayetteville on Sunday afternoon, and there were a few teenaged boys hanging around by their pre-fab sheds, looking like they were up to no good. Rick and I commented that they were on their way to getting themselves in trouble. As we went on through the lot, Griffin piped up “where is their mother?”

I almost had to pull the car over I was laughing so hard.

My mom died in August after an eleven month battle with brain cancer. As most children do when a parent dies, I’ve been considering how to go about dividing up things of hers  amongst myself and my siblings. It’s going to be a chore, and will probably be pretty emotional at times, but my sister and I will be working together, so I think we’ll manage. And there will likely be a LOT of laughs as well…

Then there are the moments when something “big” happens… my kids’ milestones, my own celebrations of new jobs or whatever. I thought those might be difficult, but I have a seriously cool bunch of sibs who are just as giving and supportive as mom was about accomplishments, big and small. So, not a big problem so far.

But let me tell you what’s been difficult:

Finding mom’s contact info in my email account.

Scrolling through my phone contacts and seeing her name.

Looking for an old email and coming across the last ones I received from her.

These things are so painful. SOOOOOO PAINFUL!!! I can deal with the single moments. I can deal with sorting and putting away her favorite books or her photographs. The thing that is impossible, and that causes my breath to catch in my throat as I try not to sob, is not wanting to delete her name. Closing her cable account or turning off her internet connection is nothing really… but not having her name on my phone seems like it would be the end of the world. I cried the other night because I just wanted to call and chat with her.

I know the number on my sim card is not HER. Of course I do, I’m not delusional. But somehow, it is.

I do a lot of my meal planning while actually carrying a basket through the supermarket. I’m going along, thinking… “hmmm… what sounds good?”  Tonight, I thought I was going to do some salmon something for me, and swiss steak for hubby. But then I found tomatillos, cilantro, and oranges, and it occured to me that those would make a great marinade/sauce for some shrimp – something the hubby will eat.

So, I picked up a bag of potatoes for baking (I’m trying to stay away from white rice and pasta), and a bag of frozen, uncooked, 51-60 shrimp.

Here’s the marinade:

1/2 a small red jalapeno

1 medium tomatillo, chopped

1/4 c. chopped cilantro

3 Tblsp chopped red onion

3/4 c. fresh squeezed orange juice

1/4 orange, sectioned

1/4 c. pinot grigio

I had some things on hand, bought the rest. Chopped and/or squeezed it all into my Magic Bullet (it was a gift… don’t point and laugh), and whipped it into a greenish yellow frenzy. I let the shrimp soak in it for 10 minutes or so, then threw it in a skillet to cook on medium until the shrimp were pink. Not too long, or it will get rubbery!

I’m thinking it would be fantastic in a salad as well. It’s tangy, and has just a tiny hint of that jalapeno in it. SOOOO good, and so easy.

I know, I know… first I’m telling you what I made for dinner the other night, now I am posting pictures of my feet. But it’s all about me, right? That’s what a blog IS.

You’re a voyeur of sorts for reading, so enjoy.

$12.99 at Target. Tell them I sent you.