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.

Tonight, a pinnacle of deliciousness was reached within the confines of my crockpot. Because I am, at my core, a very generous person, I’m sharing with you this simple, yet tasty dish so that you can enjoy it without having to come over to my house and dirty up the dishes.

Before I get to the recipe, however, I will address the title of this post… Tonight will be the first in what I hope is a long series of recipes that I can fairly accurately refer to as “Stuff I Throw Together”. But since that phrase could refer to a lot of things that happen in my life (upcycled clothing, home improvement projects, marriages, parenting practices…) I think the official post section title should be “Uhh… what IS that?” Catchy, huh??

I have always thought myself pretty lucky in the kitchen. 94.2% of my “… what if I try _______?” meals turn out really tasty, and, as I said before, my generosity knows no bounds… so you get to read about them. It’s your LUCKY DAY!!!

Tonight’s dish consisted of two packages of chicken legs – 14 to 16 or so, two cups of vegetable broth, some sliced carrots (I used the pre-cut ones because I was feeling lazy in the produce section Friday), half of a white onion I found stuck away in my veggie crisper, and about 1.5 cups of salsa. You could use your favorite salsa, of course, but for this particular pot I used Pace’s Pinapple Mango Chipotle Salsa. It has a mild and slightly sweet flavor that works well. The end result is not sweet, but it’s also not overly tomato-ey.

The basic premise, as with most of my happ-accident meals, is that I throw all of the ingredients in a pan or a pot together and see what comes together. Put the chicken and veggies in first, then pour the broth and salsa over the top. This time I used my crock pot, and the slow cooking made the chicken fall off the bone nicely and mixed all the flavors together. Cook on low all day, or on high for a few hours. Whip up a little rice to go with it – and jiggedy jog – you have a great meal!

May I suggest a lovely baguette to sop up the juice on the plate? And Diet Dr. Pepper is a perfect accompaniment as well.

For the last twelve months it was nearly impossible for me to make many plans for the short-term future. My mother was ill with cancer, which led to a lot of things being put on hold, but for the last six months or so I’ve also been unsure whether the merger my employer was going through was going to lead to me losing my job or not. I finally learned a few weeks ago that I was definitely on the organizational chart, and was even going to get an increase in my hours which would allow me to qualify for benefits. Things are starting to settle down.

Our merger was approved by all the required board members and such, and yesterday we moved into our new offices.

Now, I have been happy to have a job for the last 16 months… but I have to say, the office space I was occupying left a little bit lot to be desired. I was sitting at a student desk with no significant storage space available, which meant a lot of stuff piled up here and there when I was in the middle of a project or event.  I shared an office with a colleague – which was both great and a pain. Great, because we have become very good friends and enjoy the same music on Pandora, and have been important for each other as we’ve dealt with some individually difficult issues together. Tough, because it’s just hard to stay focused when sharing an office with someone, and, the space issues…

So, check out the great office I have in our new digs!! I’m next door to my old office mate, which is not the same, but isn’t as bad as it could be. I have a HUGE desk, and bookshelves! I have a giant window wall looking out onto a courtyard on one side… I really love it.

Can you hear me sigh with satisfaction?

A year ago yesterday my sister took my mom to the emergency room and after a couple of scans, found out mom had a mass in her brain. That was 365 days ago. 12 months. 52 weeks. You know the saying that time flies when you’re having fun? Well, the opposite is also absolutely true. Time DRAGS when life is falling apart around you.

Less than a year ago my mom was living with me as we tried to figure out what to do about her living arrangements for the long-term as she went through treatment and prepared for her surgery to remove the tumor. It would be hard to believe if I didn’t have the skid marks from her wheelchair side rails on my bathroom door.

It’s hard to believe that only two-and-a-half months ago she was living at home and drinking coffee from her favorite mug every morning. She was watching the hummingbirds that had just returned after I had filled their feeders outside her picture window.

It’s nearly impossible to believe that there is no reason to have her phone number on my new iPhone contact list. Her name will never pop up on my display to tell me she’s calling. I won’t get daily reports about the deer in her front yard or a request for Ensure from the supermarket. And I won’t be dialing her number to let her know what happened at work, or that I made some new bags to sell on Etsy…and yet,  her number IS in my contact list. And it’s still in my email contact list too.

365 days fly by in our lives so easily… we let days and weeks and months go by without finishing projects, or making contact with loved ones, or taking the steps to change our lives when we are in a rut. But if we choose, we can pack so much in to those days. I hear a quiet voice in my head (no, it doesn’t sound like my mother!) reminding me that I need to make the most of my time. I need to live the life that I will be okay about leaving someday.

My mother had a lot left to do and I am certain that she was pissed about not finishing it all… but I doubt she had many regrets. She lived her life her way, and made an impact on sooooo many people she came across. Would that I can be so fortunate.

For the last 11 or so months I have written sporadically about the challenges I have faced as my mother struggled with a brain tumor. There have been some days that were better than others, and for the most part I kept a positive attitude and assumed that we would be fighting the good fight for a few years as mom met the recurrences and physical setbacks head-on.

Unfortunately, mom lost her fight on August 6. She never wore any of the clothes I put labels into for her.

We had a wonderful memorial celebration for mom on the 22nd, and it was a perfect day. Weather, flowers, music, pictures, friends, family. All the things mom loved were a part of the day. In place of hymns we had friends of mom’s play some country/bluegrass. In place of tears, we laughed and smiled about the slideshow and stories we shared. No one spoke, no eulogies were offered – we just visited, and hugged, and remembered what mom meant to us.

My favorite thing was the memorial card. I can’t stand those little things you get at funerals that have the date of birth and death listed, and the pallbearers and family members… blah. You feel like we should keep them, because the person is someone you cared about, but it’s such a piece of crap that’s so impersonal and has the little ad on the back for the funeral home… you don’t want to keep it… So what do you do??

We printed 4×6 cards with mom’s name and birth and death dates and a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson that I thought was fitting. Also, a little note thanking people for their support over the last year and their love for our mom. On the back, we pasted 4×6 photos that mom took in her garden. We made 100 out of 10 different photos – so people could pick their favorites. It was perfect.

Success:  To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.  This is to have succeeded!

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

The quote was so fitting for the legacy my mom left. I hope it inspires you to be a success in your life as well.