Write thinking
There is a card that a former co-worker gave me that is now clipped to the stand-up file organizer on my desk. It says, “Merci” in lovely script and there is a little sketch of a hand with a quill above it. To me it says, “Thank you for the gift of writing.”
It is a perfectly drawn sentiment.
Moving forward
After spending the better part of this year chronicling my desire to manifest a wonderful man for a romantic relationship, I end it happy in the knowledge that I made great strides toward that goal.
I’m not sure if I will pursue it as stridently in 2008. This is not a sign that my desire has diminished. It is more a testimony to my increased confidence level, which brings with it the ability to relax and let things be.
There will be dates and eventually one great guy will emerge and show himself to be a keeper.
Nice.
Liz
I was on a long train ride today and settled in with the Sunday Times. By far, the best thing I read was — among the stories written about people who had died this year — a piece on Liz Claiborne. What a success story — she was innovative, financially prosperous and a humanitarian.
My favorite line in the story:
Her parents were so opposed to her career choice that her father, a banker, dropped her off on a corner in New York City, handed her $50 and did not speak to her for 20 years.
Don’t know what I can add to that.
You better watch out
I have never quite felt like Santa Claus as much as I did today. I went to visit friends who adopted a little girl and they hadn’t gotten around to putting up a Christmas tree and aren’t really prone to holiday decorating.
So I got the idea last week to buy a small Christmas tree and some ornaments and trek down to Baltimore to spread a little cheer. I did the wise after-Christmas-sales approach and found a bunch of really cool animal ornaments in Macy’s. Then, with the help of a friend, I grabbed the last four-foot tree in Duane Reade, complete with lights. This made the friend accompanying me exclaim, “A Christmas miracle!”
Today I unveiled the gift for my friends and little Pilar and let’s just say it went over very well. It gave me such joy.
Fun day
Naivete about the crowds in midtown Manhattan aside, it was a good birthday spent with a dear friend. My idea of strolling through MOMA has been postponed. However, visits to Tiffany and the windows at Bergdorf Goodman were fun and nearly overloaded my senses. Which, of course, led to a raspberry margarita.
Dinner at a down home Italian restaurant in Hoboken topped things off wonderfully. Mussels marinara, sauteed spinach, veal parmigiana with angel hair.
Splendid.
Many more …
It’s after midnight, so it’s officially my birthday.
Yesterday I was in a local cafe I don’t frequent much and as I was ordering my coffee, I was singing along to You’re The One That I Want by John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John. Next came an old Janet Jackson song and again I was mouthing the words. The young guy behind the counter smiled and said, “This is your music, right?”
Yes, young lad, it is. Nice to know it shows.
Happy Birthday to me.
They say it’s my birthday
I’ve never been one of those women who lies about her age. But I’m thinking about starting. HaHa.
It’s after midnight, so it’s officially my birthday.
I know, I know. You’re only as old as you feel. I feel like I’m in my 30s, whatever that means. However, I must say that my 40s have been transformative and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.
So, my 46-year-old self is ready to take on another year of possibilities with enthusiasm and grace.
Bring it.
Fine things
Today was the day to hit the sweet little stores of Hoboken to scout out half-price Christmas ornaments. I love to score really good deals on fine things. They make great gifts for next year and it makes me feel smart and organized to stow them away. The bonus is opening each ball of tissue next December and delighting in each new treasure.
All buttoned up.
Calling sweet dreams
So I’ve pretty much licked my conscious fear since having my apartment broken into a few weeks ago. As I wrote in an earlier post, I feel overwhelming gratitude that I am safe and that most of my belongings are intact.
However, my subconscious is not so restful on the topic. I’ve been having anxiety-ridden dreams. I think writing about it here will help release what is apparently pent-up.
Fear be gone. Please.
Sweet dreams, come on in.
Craft
I was putting the finishing touches on a Game Plan column for FOX today. On about the third read, I realized a line in the fifth paragraph should be the lead.
It was one of those moments where I realized what a gift it was to do daily journalism for so many years. It forces you to overcome and push through perfectionist tendencies, the kind that often stop artists from creating. They get hung up on one thing and it stops their flow. Had I dwelled on the imperfect lead and not written beyond that, I would have been in a real bind.
Instead, I’m excited about how it turned out. And furthermore, had it turned out good instead of stellar, I would have lived with that, too. There’s another column just around the bend.
I love my craft.
