Recommending Read: The Teahouse by the Tracks by Eric Schoeniger

I just finished The Teahouse by the Tracks, the first novel of Eric Schoeniger and I loved it.  At the core, it’s the story of five random (or are they?) people drawn together by circumstance and the strands of other relationships outside of their group that make them who and what they are, past, present and future. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of reading a novel with such wonderful character development.  The narrator brings you inside of each character’s world through their musings, their actions, and their inactions so well that I really started to believe Janet, Charles, Ben, Ann, and Paula were real and that they were frozen in time as when I put the book down, and that they sprung to life as soon as reading resumed.

The author has an amazing way of integrating philosophies, viewpoints and observations via the characters’ self-awareness and lack of the same.  The writing was so descriptive yet not overbearing and I found myself reading for hours on end, forgetting that I was a bystander and not somehow a part of the story.

If you’re looking for something simple and enjoyable with lots of great imagery and characterizations and well-constructed musings, spend some time at The Teahouse by the Tracks.

A Good Day So Far

I've been more busy than usual, which is saying a lot...it's been non-stop with the business since I came back from Hilton Head early on 9/4 to work on a new business pitch due that week.  I try to keep this blog to the personal side so I will spare the details of everything that's transpired on that front and just record that so far, today is pretty good.  Here's why:


1.  I found my favorite earrings that i thought I'd lost in Boston.  We left Boston in a hurry a month ago after an event and I remember throwing them in a bag.  I thought it had been one of my suitcases or briefcase.  When I couldn't find them after much looking, I gave them up as lost.  They're just costume jewelry, but they were my favorites.  Today, I found one at the bottom of a purse which made me empty everything in that purse, and the other one was in my make-up bag that I had looked in previously.  So yeaaa.
2.  I found out that my favorite car wash does dent repair, so in 2 weeks my favorite car will no longer have a dent in the side of it.  They are getting rid of the scratches too.  Small thing to be excited about, but I've never really had any damage to my cars and this one, my favorite, had something happen to it while I wasn't around, so I'm glad I can get it repaired.
3.  Wil sold back a bunch of video games to Game Stop in Plainsboro.  The guys working there are really cool and clued him into all kinds of ways to get bonus points, better deals, etc.  Long story short, he walked out with $215 and is thrilled.


So thank you to the good forces that seem to have aligned for today.  Oh, and thank you for helping me to help Rachel find her phone...she emailed that it was missing and I called it 3-4 times before she found it.  It's a little smelly, she found it in the garbage can.  But she's got it back, so that's 4 good things so far.

Summer Wrap-up

The Bermuda cruise with Wil was nothing to write about.  There were a series of inconveniences, including his luggage getting lost (one of the risks we thought we were avoiding by not flying).  It eventually showed up, or, rather, we eventually took it upon ourselves to track it down after several calls to the people in charge yielded no real help.  There it was, with a few other bags, sitting outside a room on a lower deck.  How 2 sets of tags came off from drop off to ship, less than 1000 yards away, is beyond me 

We were disappointed in the ship itself, Royal Caribbean’s Enchantment of the Seas.  It was one of the smaller ships in their line and in need of updating.  There wasn’t much for us to do together on the ship:  he is 16—too old for the “teen” activities that are much for tweens and too young for adult amusements like gambling—even bingo was off limits for him.  We ended up walking around the ship for exercise and reading his summer reading assignments on my iPad from our room, and dining in the one nicer restaurant on the ship because the main dining room was noisy, crowded, and when we discovered that we were sitting with 6 strangers each night, we opted for table for two upstairs.  (The fact that the 6 other people didn’t’ show up the first night was a blessing—we really wanted dinner time to be for talking with each other.)

As is the case with Wil and I, we made the best of it, and enjoyed each other’s company.  We did enjoy the “excursion” to a beach in Bermuda and he liked the shopping in the port village.

Well, that feels like a lot of writing about something that isn’t worth writing about.

The rest of the summer was a blur.  Working through growing pains at the agency but came to good solutions that are being implemented now, just in time for what, knock wood, looks like a good wave of new accounts and extensions on existing ones.

Then there was the over-the-top week.  My sister’s husband Lenny went into the hospital on a Sunday morning so we were there by the afternoon.  It was serious at one point and the issues linger, but at least he’s home and seems to be improving.  (He’s got a chronic pain disorder that is wreaking havoc with his body for the last 15 years.  Most people with RSD don’t last nearly this long, the pain is beyond description, and it’s a daily issue.  On the 10-point pain scale he is off the scale without medication, a 6-10 with it.  In writing this, I don’t think I can describe my week I’m writing about as the week from hell.  I’ve rewritten the intro to this paragraph accordingly.)

So,, Lenny was in the hospital for a few days.  One of my favorite friends, Gerry, was diagnosed with cancer and was recovering from his first surgery (we were supposed to visit him that Sunday but rushed to Barnegat instead).  Then there was a 5.8 earthquake here, a rare occurrence here in NJ.  I missed it because I was driving but my son was home by himself and a bit freaked out, and I learned later that at the office, everyone rushed out and were shaken up—no pun intended.  (I know I can edit it out when I realize I made stupid pun, but this is me, I’m writing like I talk, and I make bad puns too often.)

As if the earthquake weren’t enough, it was followed by Hurricane Irene, which threatened to be a category 2.  By the time it reached NJ, it was a tropical storm.  What no one anticipated, at least, no one I knew was that the rains would soak our already very wet August beyond bearing and that every river, stream, creek, etc. would overflow.  That flooding caused power outages for over 800,000 utilities accounts across the state.  I’ve lived in NJ most of my life and have never been without power for more than a few hours.  40 hours later, our power came back on.  Some people were sill without power 5 days later.  The house was fine, no flooding here, but no power for 40 hours started to get to me.  I was a good sport for the first 24 hours, more or less, and Marc wen to the office and saw that it had power so that we could work on Monday, so it could have been a lot worse for us, but still, what a week.

So when Marc and I flew down to Hilton Head on the Thursday following the storm, we were ready for a vacation.  We had a major presentation to a potential client on the following Wednesday.  It was our second presentation to them, to a larger group, and I was worried that I wouldn’t have enough time to get everything done with a new executive starting on Tuesday.  As it turns out, it was raining on Sunday so we came back a day early, and drove the 12 hours.  That got me home in time to work 14 hours on Labor Day (and the presentation went VERY well).  But Thursday-Saturday in Hilton Head was one of the 3 best vacations I ever had.  We stayed at the Marriott, had an ocean view room, which meant there were about 200 yards between us and the ocean.  The water was as warm as bath water and I spent hours and hours boogie boarding and enjoying the whole experience.  I’m still thinking about it and would go back in a heart beat.  I found out that there are more direct flights to Savannah from Newark (4x per vs. 1) so going forward we’ll fly out of Newark.

We had meals at Alexander’s, Claude & Uli’s, and Crane’s Tavern.  Crane’s was the best and the others were good too.  Alexander’s had the nicest décor and ambiance.  Claude and Uli’s is in a strip mall.  It’s got really tasty French cuisine.  And Crane’s was amazing.  I had the most delicious lobster tails and Marc had scallops with cilantro pesto and a chili paste of some kind.  It was outrageous.  Oh, and my favorite cocktail, the Sidecar, was confusing to the bartender at Crane’s (it was awful, I switched to something else), mediocre at Alexander’s, and kick-ass and world class at Claude and Uli’s.

So, it was a great summer on the personal side of things, and autumn is off to a good start.  I am missing the family cruise but am excited that on Wednesday I am being inducted into the NJ Ad Club Hall of Fame—if I’d been on the cruise I would have missed that, and again, there is so much going on with potential business, I would have been a basket case trying to enjoy the cruse knowing what I was missing on the business side of things.

Wil has been looking at colleges in California—he’s interested in computer animation and design.  Rachel is having a good semester so far at NYU Tisch.  Full steam ahead.

Is It Wrong?

A few weeks back I decided that rather than buying another version of Angry Birds for my iPad, I would go back through the original version, which I rushed through, to get 3 stars in every level. Last night, I was up until 2:00, while Marc was bouncing between two movies that we’ve seen several times before, playing Angry Birds. 

My eyes hurt and I simply could not get passed the last game of the 3^rd and final level in level 4.  The game taunted me by setting new “high scores” but only giving me 2 out of 3 stars when I had killed all of the pigs and knocked down quite a bit of surrounding dynamite boxes.  I think it should be called Angry People because the birds don’t seem angry (well, the yellow ones do if you have the sound on), but I genuinely do.

I get equally, or perhaps even more, elated when I win a game. 

This morning, eyes literally puffy, I vowed to regain my perspective and put my time to better use.  I will exercise at the gym today while Marc is playing golf with a friend.  I will work on the presentation that I am making in New York on Wednesday.  I will not worry about my son being in a doorless helicopter over a volcano in Hawaii with his father.  I will polish my nails, load Dragon to my MacBook Air, write a blog post (check), organize my filing, pay some bills, water the outside plants…all after one more try at level 4 section 3, last game. 

And guess what!  After just 5 minutes, I won!  I killed the pigs, beat the high score AND got 3 stars.  And a golden egg appeared, apparently because I got 3 stars in all of the 3 games in that level.  I was so happy, literally happy, to have won.

Is that wrong?

It seems wrong to be so happy when: 

• It is just a game
• There is so much pain and suffering in the world
• It is meaningless to kill animated pigs (especially when I don’t eat mammals in real life, let alone kill them myself)

I could--and probably will--at some point further explore why it is that I feel the only time I am entitled to be happy is when I am being productive, as if that is the only time I am being good and therefore entitled to be here at all, earning my keep and such.

If you wonder why I think like this, well, that’s a 52-year long story, but here’s a glimpse:  Within 3 minutes of feeling true joy, I decided to review my triumphs and went back to level 1 only to discover that I had, in fact, not earned 3 stars in all games in every level.  Apparently the darn game puts you where you were when you restart and apparently I never went back to game 1 level 1 (as early on I didn’t know some levels have more than one set of screens).  And so, dear reader, my joy was short-lived.  I need to go back through levels 1-3 to get 3 stars in every screen. 

I need to do this. 

I won’t be happy until all the pigs are dead and I have 3 stars everywhere to prove I am successful and entitled to happiness.

This is wrong. 

I need help.

But for now, I think I’ll go to the gym, work on my presentation….

Last Day of School

My daugher ended her freshman year at NYU-Tisch on May 9 and has been finding ways to keep herself busy ever since.  She's working at a video production company this summer and writing her next screenplay.  My son is taking his last exam as I'm writing this.  He'll be a high school junior next year.  I envy them that "end of the school year" feeling.  That feeling that at least for the next 3 months your life is on vacation to pursue the things you love, whether that's writing your next movie script or playing X-Box for hours on end and texting your girlfriend 24/7 with no one to tell you you need to go to sleep. 

I, of course, had my turn at my generation's version of all of that, so my envy may be nostalgia too.  Now, mostly my summers look almost identical to the other 3 seasons, though the view from the window is greener and this year I am taking my vacations with "the kids." 

But I did like that feeling of being a pony let free into a very green field of very fresh grass for 3 summer months.

Compromise Is A Wonderful Thing

So, I did it.  Sort of. 

I decided that life is too short to drive around in an SUV all summer.  But instead of getting a new car, which I don’t need, and couldn’t justify, I bought a used Eos.  2008, white (again) with (this time) black interior.  Pre-Bluetooth so my phone doesn’t connect to the sound system for hands-free.  But it’s a convertible, it drives great, is familiar (because I had a similar one, a bit nicer, a 2009 with beige and wood interior) a few years ago.  That’s the car that I had for so short a time period that my daughter doesn’t even remember it.  But anyway, I got a good price (and practiced my negotiation skills) and have been driving everywhere with the top down since Friday night.

Wil will be learning to drive on this and I think it’s a good car for that too.  Good pickup, easy handling.  Small enough to maneuver easily.  Now if his dad will just get the paperwork from the insurance company documenting that Wil’s insured, we can get out there and drive. 

In the meantime, I’m having a blast.

Thank You, Paris!

Thank you to Paris for such a wonderful and much needed break. 

I had promised my daughter Rachel, who just finished her freshman year at NYU-Tisch, a trip to Paris when she graduated high school last year.  For so many reasons, we couldn’t take the trip, but this year we headed out from Wednesday, May 25 and came back Sunday, May 29.  (Marc came too to make it all a little easier to navigate--he's been there many times.)

I now understand why people fall in love with this city.  It was so beautiful and the people were so incredibly accommodating and nice. 

We stayed at the St. James Albany Hotel on Rue de Rivoli, opposite the Tuileries Gardens.  From our balcony we could look down onto the gardens.  To our immediate left, about a city block away, was the Louvre.  To our right and out a bit was the Eiffel Tower.

I have been in love with the Eiffel Tower for years, much as a teen girl loves the idol of the month—in others words, from posters and afar.  Seeing it with my own eyes was one of the high points of my life, for reasons I can’t even explain to myself.  But when I touched it, Marc was taking the picture, Rachel was in the picture with me, and Wil was on the phone.  It was special.

Our meals were wonderful and Rachel enjoyed the fact that she could drink legally.  She also found out that about 1 glass of wine is her limit, otherwise, “Oops, it’s happening again, I’m tipsy.”

The best thing I had to eat was an amuse bouche at Jasmin in St. Germaine de Pres.  It was a gazpacho made with asparagus and cream with a few flecks of red pepper.  The best escargot were at a brasserie around the corner of the  hotel whose name escapes me.  The best meal was an amazing poulet avec morrelles and I don’t know if what accompanied the chicken was potatoes or a potatoe pasta that was out of this world. 

Our taxi driver on the way home looked like Henry Kissinger and was a sweetheart.  The hotel staff were very helpful and always very polite.

I was a little intimidated that my high school French would be offensive to the people of Paris, but the reverse was true.  They appreciated—or seemed to appreciate—the effort the 3 of us made and were gracious to speak English when we struggled and happy to play along in French when we seemed to be plodding along well enough.

There was beauty everywhere and how it evidenced the appreciation the French people have for beauty in all of its forms.  From the very ornate fountain at the Place de la Concorde to simple flower boxes, from the immaculately clean streets to the simple display windows in the stores, everywhere the eye was greeted with something pleasing.

Merci beaucoup Paris!

No New Car...

I decided that needs win over wants, at least for now.  I don't need another car and so I'm not getting another car.  Let's see how Wil does as a student driver.  I'm being practical.  Ouch, it just doesn't feel like me!  

I did, however, see a gorgeous Audi A5 convertible on the road today.  Steel grey. Beautiful, just beautiful.  I wished I was driving it, the driver looked so happy!

My Next Car

I love cars.  I think I was a stable boy in a past life and have, over time, transferred the passion I feel for horses to cars.  I love sleek, sport cars.  I love convertibles.  I love stick shifts.  I know nothing about engines and the things under the hood, anymore than I understand the technology that powers cell phones, the Web, or my iPad, though I use those constantly, everyday, too.

My friends have teased me mercilessly over the years about the endless parade of cars through my life.  Since getting my first car 30 years ago, I have had 13 of them shown below (years are model years, not the year I got the car, and they are estimates):

1974 Dodge Dart, brown (used)

1983 Honda Civic hatchback, gold/beige (first new car)

1990 Nissan 240SX, black (new)

1988 BMW Sedan, dark grey (used)

1992 Nissan Altima, teal (new)

1998 Infiniti G20, red (new—worst car I ever had, never buying Infiniti again)

2000 Nissan Pathfinder, white (new)

2002 Saab hatchback, white (new)

2004 Mercedes E, black (used—tie for worst car I ever had)

2008 Mercedes ML-3, white (new)

2009 VW Beetle convertible, triple white (new)

2010 Eos, hardtop convertible, white (new)

2010 Audi Q5, black (new—best car I ever had and probably the best one I will ever have)

I hated the Dodge Dart.  My mom helped me buy it when I graduated college and I had wanted a smaller car with a stick shift, but all we could afford was the Dart.  It was in good condition for an older car, but it went downstream rapidly and was constantly leaving me high and dry. 

When I was at the first ad agency and feeling like I was starting to make a little money, even though it was a real stretch, I bought the Civic, my first new car.  It was good to me but it was not a lasting love. 

My first love was the sporty Nissan 240SX that I bought after my mom passed away in 1988, though I think I got it in 1990.  What I remember about that was how badly my then husband was behaving at the dealership.  He didn’t want me to spend my mom’s inheritance on the down payment for the car, though he had no problem using it for a down payment on his car or on updating our kitchen.  The dealership owner took me aside and said I was welcome anytime but to please not bring my husband.  The other thing that I remember is that the car didn’t last long—it was the first time I had to give up something I loved for Rachel—she came along in 1992 and her car seat didn’t go easily into the back seat of the 2-door 240SX.

I drowned my sorrows with my first “executive” car, a used, dark grey, black leather interior BMW, stick shift.  It was a good car, but the rear-wheel drive was a bitch in the snow.  I also was convinced people weren’t nice to me when I drove it, assuming I was an a-hole because I drove a B-mer.  No one let me into traffic, no one gave me a break.  Didn’t happen in any car before that, didn’t happen with any car since.  Form you own conclusions.

Next up was the Altima.  I saw another woman driving it and fell in love (with the car).  I got it in teal with cream leather interior.  It was a wonderful car, very reliable.  I held onto that one for a while until the interior started to look worn and my head was turned by the new, red, Infiniti G-20, which turned out to be one of the 2 worst cars I ever owned.

I wanted the Infiniti J-30 (which looked a lot like the mid-range Nissan, the Altima) but went for the low-end Infiniti that I could afford (which looked like Nissan’s low end Sentra).  It was a piece of crap from the word “Go.”  It looked great but rattled like crazy and I lost a lot of valuable time driving back and forth to the dealership trying to get it remedied.  Rather than try to make a lemon law claim, I just turned it in and got another new car, this time a white Nissan Pathfinder, leather interior. 

(Actually, every car that could have had leather interior did.  The only pleathers were the Dart, the Civic and the VW Bug.)

Then came the leased Saab, the only time I leased.  It was white with tan interior.  I liked it but didn’t love it.  What I remember about it was the hard-ass negotiating I did to get it (the sales guy expected a cream puff and got a piranha) and the time I was in the service waiting area and had a nice conversation with a woman who said I should talk with her daughter who worked at Johnson & Johnson.  I thought she wanted me to give her daughter a job. “Oh, no honey, I think she can help you.  She’s in charge of marketing several products there.”  I had lunch with her daughter and the rest is history. 

After the Saab I “upgraded” to a Mercedes, albeit used.  It was a horror show.  Even though I did my homework on the car, it turned out to have one problem after another.  So then I bought, at a great price, a new Mercedes SUV.  At first it was disappointing because it had a number of problems:  unbalanced steering (pulled hard to the right), electronic issues with the gas cap, warning lights coming on for no reason, etc.  But then it settled down and was actually a very nice car.  But never a great car.

While I had the Mercedes, I also bought, for fun, a convertible VW Bug that I nicknamed Digby (Digital Brand Expressions).  I really enjoyed it, but then money got tight during the recession, Rachel wasn’t getting her license as expected, and so I traded both Digby and the Mercedes for an Eos.

That was a mistake.

The kids complained about how cramped the back seat was.  Nobody loved the roof being down but me.  And it was simply too small to have as the only car for a family.

So less than 9 months later, I turned in the Eos, which was one sexy looking car, for the love of my car life, the Audi Q5.  The Audi Q5 is a small SUV.  It’s shaped like an SUV, it has room in the cargo area for “stuff,” but it is a true luxury vehicle everywhere else.  Leather seats, great sound system, “wood” trim.  It’s beautiful, it rides great, and I absolutely love it.  Love it. Love it.

So what is the purpose of this post?  I’m in conflict.  I’ve got the fever again.  I am staring at the Eos’ I see and thinking, “That could be me driving that.”  I don’t want to turn in my Q5, I love that car. 

But then again, I don’t need another car.  But I am working 70 hours a week and I want to enjoy the summer in a convertible.  But I don’t need to spend money on another car.  But I would really enjoy driving a stick shift convertible. 

I could lease it…

Stay tuned.

Post Mother's Day Celebration

Sunday was Mother's Day.  It was a day to remember, and I will, always.

Rachel couldn't be home because of the work she was doing at NYU, but she did give me a beautiful bouquet of roses when Wil, Hei, and I went to the city on Saturday to bring home some of her things for the end of the school year.

On Sunday, Wil spent the whole day WITH me and surprised me by taking me out to lunch at one of our favorite spots.  Ever the gentleman, he paid for everything and tipped well.

Rachel checked in twice to make sure I was enjoying the day.

Marc, Wil and I went to a friend's 50th late in the afternoon, didn't stay long because I was very tired, and headed back home to relax together.

I think it was my best Mother's Day so far.  Why?  Because my kids showed me they cared in ways that really meant something to me.  Every good mom wants to know she's doing a good job.  Having kids who show they care shows you're getting some things right.

And They're Off!

Boy, I just looked at my 4-16-11 post and realize it’s been a while, so I thought “I’d better post something new lest people think my Hell days continued. Actually, it’s been a busy 3 weeks but for the most part, it’s good. At work, we landed a very exciting new client and are having lots of good conversations with potential clients and potential strategic partners—I feel very energized.


And it's Kentucky Derby Day.  They're about to start any minute now.


So, I just got back from NYC, picking up some of Rachel’s clothes, books, etc. to help empty her room as her freshman year winds down. Wil and his girlfriend, Hei, took the ride with me and all 4 of us had lunch together at a little place on a corner of Greenwich whose name already escapes me. There was a street festival going on right outside, with booths and lots of decadent, fried food. The entire time we were in the restaurant I could see the Zeppoles, Deep Fried Oreos, Calzones sign taking up a good 33% of my view. I didn’t want them, but my brain kept reminding me they were a possibility.


Rachel had surprised me with a bouquet of beautiful pink roses for Mother’s Day when we got to her dorm today. She can’t come home tomorrow and I honestly didn’t expect her to give me anything. How sweet and wonderful it was. She’s turning into a really cool person. And a true New Yorker. Now when we need to go somewhere it’s she who knows where we’re going and it’s me who’s following. Although I did keep pulling her back when she tried to cross the street when the sign said not to—even when there weren’t cars coming.


We didn’t stay long, much to Rachel’s chagrin. I worked over 70 hours this week, and she didn’t understand that I'm tired and get anxious about the parking outside her building, the logistics of the luggage and other things we had to drag downstairs. We did get lucky and there was a spot when I came up the block with the car. Hei, Wil and Rach got everything in. It was good to see her and hug her. I miss her so much.


I know I was annoying her when I kept trying to protect her while crossing the streets. I told her when I Skyped her a few minutes ago—“You’re becoming quite a woman and I’m really impressed with you—but you need to understand that while I apologize for forgetting you don’t need me to cross the street, you’ll always be baby Rachel to me.”


Man, where does the time go? They’re almost both all grown up.  


The horses have reached the starting gate.  And they're off!


Thank you, Universe for all the good stuff. :-)

Day From Hell, Parts 1 and 2

We all complain from time to time about the day from hell.  Then we hear about someone else’s day from hell and ours doesn’t seem quite so bad.  So here’s my day from hell for Friday, April 15 (and what happened the day before that set it up) and how I got through it:

I woke up on Friday determined to shake off the day before.  Thursday had been a series of annoyances and challenging emotions--being upset and trying to understand the other person’s situation that was causing my upset.  I was great at making the other person feel okay, but I wasn’t doing well because each situation made me uncomfortable because I was the one “sucking it up” and going on as if everything was “okay.”  For example:  the cleaning lady who is a wonderful, sweet, reliable person overslept and called after she was an hour late saying it would be another half hour before she could arrive.  Okay, I rolled with it and moved some projects around.  Separately, a great person was leaving my company after many reconfigurations of trying to make things work and me finally pulling the trigger that it wasn’t.  The other employees don’t understand the situation and I’m left feeling like the bad guy that I’m not.

There were many new business projects in key stages to be dealt with, and then the emotions of the day got the better of me, I felt sad and awkward, and I went home early and planned to work late.  I was one cup of coffee into my evening when a series of unanswered calls to my son and ex-husband and his girlfriend revealed my ex had hit something on the road, had a flat, and was in a bad spot.  Discovering the approximate location, I drove out to try to help only to see flashing lights as I approached.  Heart in throat, I drove closer and saw they were both okay.  Emotional words about cell phones being off were exchanged as was a hug and kiss for Wil and I drove back home, shaken and tired.  

Marc was a a hockey game so I worked well into the night after 2 calls to my sister who has a way of making me feel better no matter what (thanks B!).  Sometime in the evening I found that one of the cats had, again pooped outside the litter box, off in a corner--a new twist on things that had started the previous Saturday when my son’s friends were in the basement where the litter box is kept.  I cleaned it up, ranting at both cats about how this was all they needed to do to find themselves back at the shelter from which we adopted them as kittens.  Unlike a dog who will at least act penitent, cats just look at you like the crazy person you clearly are.

During the long hours at my computer, the cats were nearby and at one point around 10:00 p.m. Glinda came up to me and I ruffed her head and we looked into each other’s eyes.  All was forgiven, as usual.

So I was determined on Friday to start fresh.  It was a day that should have gone smoothly.  We had officially landed a new client the night before (perspective:  so Thursday wasn’t all bad) and I had a call with another potential new client scheduled for 10:00.  There were some things I needed to review, a few strategic initiatives to tackle,  and then I was going to take my son to get his driver permit paperwork submitted and to look at cars.

Uh uh..

Right before the 10:00 call, I realized that I still hadn’t seen Glinda that morning and didn’t recall Marc saying he’d found her.  We both had observed not seeing her in the morning over coffee, but that wasn’t unheard of--her highness usually shows up later in the morning than the other cat, her brother, Jerry.

At 9:45, I started looking for her, expecting to find her under a chair in the bedroom of Marc’s daughter, Ali.  I could’t find her anywhere on the two main levels so headed to the finished basement, expecting to find her on the new sofa and ready to shoo her off.  

Instead, I found her dead at the bottom of the stairs.

I knew she was dead before I saw her eyes.  

I called Marc, then the vet.  The vet called me back.  I postponed my 10:00 call via Marc.  I spoke with the vet about Rachel having lost her dog, her grandmother, and now her cat in just a few months time.  The vet recommended against Rachel seeing the cat “like this” but I knew Rachel would need the visual confirmation.  I convinced the vet’s office staff to go against protocol and not freeze Glinda until Rachel and WIl could decide if they wanted to see her one more time.

Rachel was taking the train to Rutger’s to visit friends there.  I called her and said I missed her and could I come give her a hug at the station before she visited her friends.  She said, “Sure” and we agreed to meet at 1:35.  Then I drove with Marc to the vet, left Glinda there, went to Wil’s school, told him the bad news.  I had been concentrating on Rachel because technically Glinda was her cat, but realized of course Wil would be very upset too.  Of course he was upset and he came home with me.  Marc went back to the office, Wil and I waited around until it was time to go to the train station.  Then we waited, WIl hanging back until Rachel saw us.  She saw me and smiled, then saw WIl, asked him why he was playing hooky, the look that something was up spreading on her face.  I quickly hugged her, held her, and whispered that Glinda had died.  She instantly cried out “No!” and she became hysterical, wailing, chocking.  We sat--all 3 of us--and hugged her and waited for her wailing to subside.  She looked like zombie as we walked to the car and drove the half hour to the vet.  The emotion was about the cat, and then again, it was about more--just as we knew it would be. 

(Freshman year at college is hard enough.  Being in a challenging academic program makes it harder.  Put that program in NYC when you’ve only lived in the ‘burbs your whole life--more stress.  Roommate challenges--pile it on.  Have your dog be put to sleep right before you start it all at the end of August.  Wow.  Now add your beloved Nana dying right after spring break....  Had enough?  But wait, there’s more--now your 6-year-old cat just died.  Go ahead honey, cry--let it out!)

They were pulled together by the time we got back to vet in Princeton.  The vet’s team  made Glinda look peaceful, repositioning her and closing her eyes.  (Many thanks!)

Wil was very upset about the cat but also because by leaving school early, he didn’t get to spend time with his girlfriend before she left for a family trip to California for a week.  I said of course she can come over after Marc agreed to be chaperone because I assumed I was driving Rachel back up to Rutger’s right away.  It turned out that now Rachel’s friend couldn't meet her until 8:30.  Okay, change of plans:  Wil hangs out with his girlfriend, Rachel and I have mom-daughter time.  Marc goes to his home office and works.  (Marc, you are a trooper!)

Bill arrives to take Wil for the weekend and afterwards Rachel falls asleep on the couch.  Up at 7:30, out at 7:45 to get to New Brunswick by 8:30. Incoming texts say her friend is sending a proxy to meet Rachel because she’s tied up until 9:00.  Rachel knows the other girl and they exchange a series of text messages about where exactly to meet.  Frustration growing as pedestrian friend doesn’t know street names or building numbers and gives directions designed for other Rutger’s students.

New Brunswick is an absolute zoo.  It takes us an hour to drive through this very very small city.  Bumper to bumper, lights changing with no progress, something is going on but we can’t tell what it is.  Inching--literally--our way down George Street I can feel my blood pressure going up, my face flushing from the agitation.  

Finally we get to Hamilton Avenue and see a host of firetrucks, ambulances, and police lights several blocks ahead.  Traffic is at all but a stand still.  I ask Marc to walk Rachel to meet her friend’s friend which will be faster than I can drive the last 1/2 mile.  Kisses and love you’s and Rachel is off.  I continue to plod along until I can finally turn onto College Avenue and pull off to the side, flashers on, parallel to the “grease trucks” and the hordes of students feeding on a Friday night.  

Marc finds me 15 minutes later and we head out, moving faster now, then turn right and see Route 18 and supposed paradise--the promise of open lanes and a fast exit.  

But of course not.  

Every driver seems to be on adrenaline and steroids and we witness (and are a part of) 3 near misses before, in seconds, we come upon a newly minted accident in the left lane, cars smashed, EMTs working hard to get things right.  The police haven't’ arrived yet so we’re able to move around the accident quickly.  Sidebar, the other side of the highway is at a stand-still just like in-town had been.  

I feel like I’m in the Murder by Auto video game, which is what my mouth says when I mean to say Grand Theft Auto as I quickly dart around the other cars and move to the fast lane, joining in the chaos and driving well over the speed limit, zig-zagging my way to Route 1 and the familiarity of insanely timed lights.

Two and a half hours after leaving our home for what should have been an hour-long jaunt, we sit down at the Ruby Tuesday’s on Route 1 in Princeton and I succumb to mac and cheese--the ultimate comfort food--and tears.

On an up note, today seems (suspiciously) quiet.

Hello Universe? I Think I Hear You Listening

This morning I wrote the outline of the table of contents for a chapter I’m doing for a book being written for a hot segment in the marketing industry.  It was flattering to be invited to contribute a chapter, and I’m thankful to be given a kick start for writing professionally.  

At the same time, Rachel’s screenplays are getting better and better.  She shared one with me on Wednesday that was very powerful.  I was so certain her class and professor would love it and was shocked that they “didn’t get it" when she read it for them on Thursday.  She’s being so cool about working in their notes and holding onto the integrity of her piece.  Her game plan is to resubmit what the people want but to hold onto her original, more streamlined piece to submit to writers’ contests or festivals or to wherever it is that screenplays get submitted.

Then, as it turned out, Marc and I were at separate networking events in the city that night and took Rachel out to dinner with us afterwards.  We ate at Gotham Bar & Grill on 12th Street in the West Village, one of my two favorite areas of the city (the other is Murray Hill).  She was so funny and intelligent that night.  The conversation the three of us had was one of the best I’ve had all year.  Very inspiring and motivating.  How funny that one of the sparks for my writing more often is my daughter going off to college to be a writer.

How nice that another spark is the woman who invited me to contribute the chapter.  Her name is Shari Thurow and we met when I spoke at conference last year.  I’d always admired her and she came up to me after the panel discussion and was so complementary of my company’s practical approach to social media.  And here it is, a year later, and she’s asked me to write a chapter for an upcoming book.

Another door that has opened is that American Express Open is looking for business owners to write content for it’s blog.  I requested more info and they asked me to submit some ideas for blogs I would post, so this is another potentially large-exposure writing assignment I’ll be doing.  Coincidentally (or is it the Universe making sure I know it’s paying attention?), I met the woman who heads Amex Open at the networking event/panel discussion in NYC on Thursday evening.  Her name is Marcy Shinder and she is brilliant and very down to earth at the same time.  She was one of the panelists at the event, which was hosted by the NY Business Marketing Association at the Forbes building.

The funny thing about all of this is that I’ve been actively thinking about ways to be creative, write more, and generate income from my activities.   I have just finished Stephen Covey’s The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and am working through the companion workbook.  In setting out plans for one set of objectives I wrote about how important it has always been to me to write.  One of the exercises is to think about what kind of work you fantasized about doing when you were young.  I have fond memories of sitting at my roll-top desk in our basement “playing newspaper.”  I was the publisher:  I wrote editorial pieces and ran the business side too.  

Today I head a company that does a great deal of content marketing though I myself do very little writing other than proposals and presentations.  I need a channel for my right brain and for now, this blog and my little forays into writing more often professionally are helping.  It’s a start that I think is going somewhere.å

Bye Nana

Marge passed away last night.  It’s been a difficult time for Rachel and Wil.  What was originally predicted to be a few days of hospice care had rolled into 10 days and there was talk of moving her back to the nursing home because she was dying but wasn’t dying in a way that required hospice care, or at least that’s the transcript of what was going on as I heard it through the grapevine.  

In fact, while my daughter and I were talking by phone about Nana’s situation, Nana was quietly slipping away.  So when we were sharing how, for her sake, we wished she could go, she went, or, as best as I can calculate, she passed within that hour.

The same thing happened when my mother was dying of cancer back in 1988.  She was in a great deal of pain and, ever the mother, didn’t want us to see her suffering.  She forbade us (my brother, sister and me) to visit her after she said her good-byes, and she thought since she was  officially done, that was it.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t it, and as two emotionally painful days went by, by the third I decided to go back to see her.  I was talking with my secretary on the phone, sharing how I just wished my mom could pass and end the suffering, then headed to the office.  My plan was to go down to the shore that evening to sit with my mom for a bit again with my brother and sister, who had decided to go back too.  But when I got to the office, the VP of our group met me at the door and walked me back out, giving me the news (my sister had called my office).  So when I was ranting about how unfair her suffering was and how I wished she could go peacefully to the next place, she did.

I’m wondering if they heard me.  I’m wondering if they could feel the spirit in which those words were said.  I hope it’s not like the 1939 movie version of Wuthering Heights with Laurence Olivier in the shadows hearing Cathy’s harsh words about him and leaving before he heard the loving expressions that followed.  I hope they know how much they are loved, even now, and how the expressions of speeding them off were for their benefit, not mine, because the emptiness of the loss never goes away, no matter how long they linger or how quickly they depart.

My Relation to the Patient

“What’s your relation to the patient?” the nurse asks.

I think I’m going to get kicked out.  I blurt out the truth.  “I’m their mother,” I say, pointing to my children, Marge’s grandchildren.  The nurse is sweet but it’s clear I didn’t answer right.  “Her ex-daughter in law?” I say, my voice rising at the end like a teenager making a statement.

She smiles and begins telling me about the medications Marge needs and how they will be administered.  She is very kind and I smile. 

Marge is a sweet person.  I’ve never known her to be anything but nice and she’s always been so good to my children.  On the grandmother level, she definitely has sainthood status.

She’s been in a nursing home for several years, ever since she was hospitalized for stomach problems and kept falling out of the hospital bed, injuring herself.  She never went home again and it was, as they say, downhill from there.  But it’s been a long, low sloping hill with little hills of hope in between.  Sometimes she knew everyone’s names, sometimes she slipped on one or two but got the rest right.  But over time, the hills leveled and the downward slide continued.

Recently, the speed picked up and she’s tumbling headlong to hospice care.  

Rachel told me last night that “Nana” recognized her, but then admitted later that perhaps she didn’t know her name but seemed to recognize her face.  She said Marge couldn’t talk or hear and that she was heavily sedated. She then said that Marge is going into hospice care on Sunday and that she’s got renal failure and is teetering on pneumonia.  If her grandmother seemed somewhat “with it,” I wanted to see her.  

It’s been a while, I admit.  I take the kids to the nursing home but it’s so hard to see Marge like that, and she frequently doesn’t recognize us, is argumentative, or doesn’t want to bother with the protocols of visiting, its dialogue, its breaking of a pattern she knows and we don’t.

So when we went to the hospital and I saw that little slip of a body framed underneath the covers but a fairly alert woman in possession of it, I was a little surprised.  She smiled when she saw us and seemed to be struggling to say something.  She seemed to warm up under my touch and I smiled at her and said, “It’s okay, don’t try to talk.”  But she looked as deeply into my eyes as a person can look into another’s and she said, very clearly, “Thank you.”  She was so glad to see the kids, and I guess me too, and it made me feel good to bring her a little happiness.  I felt like the tumbling had returned to a gentle downhill ride.

We stayed for almost an hour and then promised to come back tomorrow.  The script writer in me, always running dramatic scripts alongside reality, suggested she may not be there, but I know it will be a few days, or weeks, before she slips away.  

I hope she gets some peace soon.  It’s been a long life, a fairly uneventful one, and one that she deserves to wrap up soon and move on.  Her body is a prison and her soul is somewhere in there as we had the joy of sharing today.  Who knows who will be in that body in that bed tomorrow.  

So now as she slides gently down the last slopes of the long long glide, I hope the grass is soft, the breeze is gentle and the sun is warm on her sweet smiling face.

Enjoy those you love while you have the time together, even if together is a term used loosely.  Today we felt together, and it felt good.