Results tagged "United States"

I went online this morning to look up how to beat Pneumonia, but apparently it isn’t on the top of Google’s list…

But WHY NOT?  Because, Will is currently moaning after every Pneumonic cough. Josephine is coughing as well, but with only a cold we hope. And I — well let’s just say that I’m attempting to keep my head above the sea of mucus that I’m currently drowning in. Gross, I know… And apparently — Google doesn’t really know anything about priorities, although deleting Facebook might find us a healthier society… you know, one that doesn’t obsess over Superbowl commercials staring Clint Eastwood.

I’d say that I’m going to do something about this… get angry and mad that it always seems to be ME searching for the answers when there are so few. But no. I’m tired… SO VERY TIRED. So, here… while we’re getting better, this is what we looked like last week — when life was fair and noses were simply running and Dirty Harry was, well…. DIRTY.

Currently accepting love and sympathy at an arms distance.

HOMEMADE DONUTS.
Need we say more?

Donuts—1st attempt (Also, we love kitchen gadgets)

I know. Who needs a Donut Maker? I mean, one could go through life — several lives, actually and never even once consider how much better things could be if one were to acquire a Donut Maker. Right? Which is exactly why… read more… (don’t stop now!).

Enter Frank.

Hailing from the archives of unused promotional “Despicable Me”, 2010 movie paraphernalia, Frank entered our lives during one of the sweatier weekends in August. Hanging there — among duplicates of himself in the Carni Whack-a-Mole trailer at the St. Catherine’s Fair. Little did any of us know that he would soon find his way into our lives as a permanent fixture in the arms of our son. The necessity at bedtime – where is FRRAAANNNKKK? And why Frank? Usually when you ask Will what the name of something is, he comes up with something creative like BOKI, CRUD, or TIMBLEBOCHMAN. This one was very decided and definitive. FRANK. I have a few Uncles named Frank, although I don’t think this is an issue of keeping it in the family. We also have a dear friend named Frank, but I fail to see the similarities, although he might be flattered. The attraction? The one eye? The crooked smile? Frank only knows, and having never seen the movie version of this character — we think that FRANK is here to stay.

Frank, who has already required several repairs due to exhaustive play, is an everyday kind of bloak with a serious Boston accent. He practically whispers when he speaks and says things like “balls”, “you gonna eat that”, “he married a girl with ching” and “I’m gonna take him out back and beat the shit out of him” when the mailman makes the dog bark. On more than one occasion I’ve glared back — you know, trying to win the staring contest… but only once have I lost my marbs, screaming “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LOOKING AT”, when faced with the 5 o’clock frenzies of overtired, hungry kids that won’t admit their delirium. I mean whatever — you try having that eye on you all day… silently judging. But then that crooked smile always pulls me back in — a swamp yankee’s charm.

He agrees that saying “Oh my GOSH” or “GOODNESS” is acceptable as a replacement for GOD — but has yet to concur with an alternate to “SUCKS”… Referring to this whole Red Sox Francona mess as a “WICKED SUCK BALL” which isn’t quite appropriate, but not entirely off the mark either. He’s simple, yet diverse — and, what I think I like about him the most is, he doesn’t shed — although he isn’t above stinking the place up. Frank, since we’ve had a few months now to grow into one another, for all that he encompasses, just might last as some other plush toys do. Meanwhile, I’m trying to overlook the overall design of his being — the germ like qualities and semi-failure of his movie career. But at the end of the day, how can you blame Hollywood for it’s misgivings when Will emulates nothing short of love.

At least that’s what I thought Kathie Lee said as I walked past the Today Show on our TV this morning.

What a GRAB! Those marketing geniuses… Just look at the brains on them as the seedier side of America lit up… FINALLY. The answers that we are ALL WAITING FOR. Because marriage isn’t important anymore — That is, unless you’re a reality TV star… As my Dad asks the same thing we are all questioning — Just who the Hell is Kim Kardashian? And WHY, exactly, is she famous? Please note the usage of ‘exactly’ in that question — people have lost serious positions in life for utilizing that word as such. And, no. I didn’t have to use the word ‘Hell’ either, but since we are bringing up the whole “Affair” idea, I thought it was appropriate despite the fact that you might have gone the other way. So there.

And, yes. My fingers are bunny-hopping the quotation marks all over the place with this…. Just like that girl, Sheila.

But no. As it turns out… Because I didn’t actually wait to watch and hear about ‘How to have an affair and get away with it’. Instead I thought, ‘HUH – Isn’t this a NEW WAY TO GO’ and gasped slightly while making some sort of inept bore-hog snorting sound that made the baby cry. I didn’t hang out to hear what the segment was really about, during the drunk section of the Today Show staring Kathie Lee and Hoda, and I was about to write a mad post about humanity, faithfulness and the moral values of media… in society… AS A WHOLE. As Kathie and Hoda threw another few back… IS NOTHING SACRED? But then, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and decided to put the angry away and actually went to find the transcript of the show where I found out that I was wrong. Misled. LIED TO. No. The segment was actually about having an affair with YOUR OWN HUSBAND. Right! Because that is the way to ‘…rediscover passion and romance with your spouse.’ Which is fine. Do it. I’M ALL FOR IT.

However, as I dim the lights and bring my voice to a respectable whisper and let my eyeballs get all scary. Dare I say that I am disappointed in not getting to see how low they all really can go… Right? RIGHT?! Because they were all LET’S TRICK SOCIETY INTO THINKING THAT WE ARE ABOUT TO TELL THEM HOW TO CHEAT SUCCESSFULLY. That will get them to tune in to where, apparently — THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH IT. And, again, no. I’m not interested in finding out how to get away with having an affair, let alone having an affair….Or getting caught. As I giggle about the thought of even thinking about the idea of such a notion. I really do believe in love, trust, honesty and all that jazz… which, apparently NBC does too, maybe — but not without the trailer of SCANDAL — a little test of how people can lean one way and then the other… YOU TOO CAN GET AWAY WITH IT! And then they tricked you into thinking that they were actually going to tell you how. The brains on them.

I remember wishing that I could feel more.

10 years seems too long ago. Living in our apartment in Portsmouth–just north of Boston, having just quit my full time job to be a freelance designer. I wish now that I hadn’t procrastinated that morning and wasn’t in my bathrobe when the 2nd plane hit. I stayed in it for most of the day. I was so far away. There was nothing I could do. I still feel helpless when I think about it. Because, just like every other American, I remember every second of that day.

My best friend had just moved to Los Angeles, and I had just flown back from seeing her. I had driven there with her, across the country and the feeling of this great land was still fresh in my mind. I returned via Logan Airport in Boston where flight 11 took off from. Could it have been the same plane? Later I learned that the pilot was from a neighboring town, Stratham, NH. I called my Mom. Panicked. My Dad was in New York City — in another trophy building, nonetheless. He had an office in the Twin Towers too. What were the chances? I called and called with the lines going nowhere — my Mom — My Dad’s office. Finally my Mom called me. He was fine.

I called Bill — my now husband, at work. I called my friend in California. I called my Mom again. I couldn’t stop calling people — eyes glued to the television. Why? Tears pouring down my face. No. Not happening. I threw up. The day went on and I thought of everyone I knew that might have been killed. Hurt. Annie, my sister, called me from Australia where she was studying abroad. She was so displaced and didn’t understand — I told her that I didn’t either. They said it was terrorism. Everything was going to change and everyone everywhere was effected.

Later that night I drank too much wine. The news media had become too much. Someone mentioned a possible threat on the Empire State Building and I lost my mind. My Dad was still in the city — only blocks away. My head started spinning and I called my Mom again. She insisted that I not let them–the media, get to me. I breathed through it, standing against the wall in our kitchen, crying. Our neighbors upstairs were playing guitars out on the deck and I started to think that I had no business in taking the attacks personally. Some of the parents of my sister Kate’s classmates (then in high school) were among the missing… Simply not returning on the train home from work. I thought about the car accident that I was in several years before — one that left me with slight PTSD and the loss of feeling in most of my right hand. The ambulance ride. The paramedics. The smell of I-95 encrusted on my clothing. It should have been a fatal accident but we were spared by the Guardian Angels sitting on our laps. I tried my hardest to imagine what it must have been like to be in New York City, the Pentagon or on one of the planes but I couldn’t come close, and as I stare at the scar the car accident left on my hand, I still can’t. Bill and I couldn’t sleep, despite the alcohol. We agreed to not watch the television except for one or two hours from that point forward, a plan that lasted for about ten minutes.

A woman I knew through work was on the plane from Boston. We had only met once during a meeting a few months before at my old job. I had heard that she quit her job as well and was going back to California, where she was from. I barely knew her, and yet suddenly she became a fixture in my mind. She was simply trying to go home.

I didn’t want to be in New York, but I didn’t want to be where I was in New Hampshire either. I was blessed with not losing loved ones. But I couldn’t help thinking that if I could just feel what it is like to be witnessing all of this terror firsthand, then I might be able to understand. Then I might be able to find some kind of juxtaposition in fate and how things happen to other people while the rest of us just watch. There’s just a little something pathetic feeling about having to remember that day and how removed I was while so many were suffering. How the varying degrees of how each individual was effected found me way out in the spectrum of barely touched. Because that’s most of what I remember — the feeling, and how I didn’t think that I was feeling enough for the enormity of the situation, which may never end.

It’s been a week and one day since we were told to go.

And, although we returned this past Tuesday, the whole “get your family off of the island” train of thought has yet to find a comfortable place in my heart. You know, that nice cozy corner where I keep other random things like Philly Cheese Steaks, V.C. Andrews novels, Chris Botti and pedicures with extra long leg & foot massages. Because if you’re going to get the massage, why not go for the extra? V.C. Andrews, by the way, was brilliant when it came to simplifying incest. Like those kids HAD NO CHOICE, right? Step Mothers were evil, Mother in Laws were absurd… even the REAL Mothers wouldn’t flinch at poisoning their own, I mean EVERYTHING was wrong about those novels… which I still think about fondly whenever faced with being marooned during a natural disaster. Because there’s nothing like adolescent light reading for the virgin imagination, especially when paired with meat, cheese, and eclectic clarinets. I tried to add the pedicure back into that scenario, but I don’t think that the nail salon has their power back on yet.

But there wasn’t anything imaginary about this ORDER OF EVACUATION, which actually saw us vacating our home last Thursday in an effort to get ahead of the mass exodus off Long Island. And it was a quick decision too, seeing as how we had nothing to do for the weekend, really…. Aside from waiting for something–So why not wait somewhere else? And so we went. Annoyed. While I rolled my eyes all over the East End of Long Island — damning the media onslaught of what could maybe possibly happen. I jammed bags full of toys and clothes for all weather scenarios. Calmly of course, while the three year old attempted to understand the reasoning behind our immediate departure.. One minute playing outside — the next scrambling in a FOR THE LOVE OF GOD– ESCAPE!!! I packed up our cooler. I convinced the dog to get into the car. Then the kids. Chumps Are Us, I thought as I watched the Mayor of New York suggest that he might not screw up this time by shutting down New York City…. and then I turned off our TV and headed North, in-land. Fools, damn you.

On the phone with a friend as I was driving out of town I felt embarrassed. Where had my coastal mentality gone? Why was I not out stocking the house with booze for day-long hurricane parties and WHY was I driving so fast?

But in the end, it didn’t really matter. I mean — things happened here, trees down, limbs dangling, flooding, docks washed away, but the only real loss was in our gardens, which were crushed by the elements. Damages that are certainly recoverable over time. We only decided to return to find the lovely notice above when our power returned on Monday night. And we never really did escape, as the fury of all things Irene simply said “Oh – they went that way”, and followed not so lightly to, in many circumstances, worse situations.

And we were safe. And dry. And not being blown around in gale force winds that look ridiculous as they hit the news reporters on the beach. We may have acted a little typical, as we ran for cover… And the storm may have been completely blown out of proportion… But never before have I taken my cynicism by the throat and decided to go the route to safety. Kids, I tell ya.

[Subtitle: After Three Years of Blogging, It's Still Important]

I went online over the weekend, and the internet bored me.

And when I say bored — I don’t mean it in the sense of disappointment it’s just that nothing exciting is going on. And, whatever, I know. AUGUST. For the love of mud. Because WHO else is looking online for anything at 4 pm-ish on a late summer Saturday? I’ll tell you who. No one. Not even the people that you suspect might be online all the time. Guess what… they aren’t. They’re ‘out’ — said with my hands fluttering. Or sleeping… maybe they’re sleeping and dreaming about a time when the internet was solely used for stalking, research and shopping. Oh the shopping.

I remember when the internet started to become important, AND — I’m not that old. It was 1997 and I was just graduating from a college that DID NOT have internet access in every dorm room… or dorm… or library even. I had to book a date with Rick in the computer lab and then login via AOL on dial-up in order to do any surfing… which was limited anyway because, you know — RICK, the computer lab guy who’s desk was strategically placed in the middle of the room so he could stare at our backs and the screens we were looking at. At the very mention of going ‘online’ Rick would break out the beads of sweat. But despite the limited access, we weren’t internet starved or anything… My friends and I lived off campus my senior year and I don’t think any of us (meaning all three) even had a computer… or a cell phone. Not to mention that I was a Graphic Design major — I learned oldschool — rubylith, rulers and missing fingertips due to x-acto blades. Drawing meant something and computer graphics were a side dish. Forget about a PORT or DIAL UP connection… right? Because I didn’t know how important the internet was going to be… And you know what — it was nice.

But I couldn’t just let it stay nice. No. I had to go and get all up inside the web and learn about designing for it. Websites. Banners. gifs. jpgs…. FLASH. Knowing the science of what will work and what won’t… but not really caring at all about why. All very open-ended… and constantly changing — FAST… So fast that the thing you learned one day was insufficient the next. It all makes me think about Kit — the talking car from Night Rider. He was fast. And smart — and genuinely nice– unlike the haunted car in Christine that just tried to kill everyone… And dudes, he could talk. But was this really going anywhere? I mean — once the car could talk, it still couldn’t do many other things — it was defunct in the ability to evolve… And now, that the internet can answer just about anything you throw at it — is there anything left? Lost friends, check. Medical emergencies, check. Family, check. Shopping for everything (except H&M, damn you and WHY?!), check. Money matters, check. News, check. Life, check. And don’t let my fascination with Kit the talking car throw you, I’m still not that old.

Because three years ago in August 2008, I started this blog. Yay, Happy Birthmonth Blog! GIDDYUP! I’m not really clear on the exact date that I started posting, because at one point I became frustrated with the “beginning” and went back and deleted stuff… An action that only exacerbates the tumult of my relationship with this website. Because who can recreate the beginning? But wouldn’t it be great to go through 3 years of something, decide that things might be better if the beginning had been different and then go back and alter it? Right? Because, for whatever reason that is what I did… and you know what — IT MADE NO DIFFERENCE. This blog is still this blog…

Regardless, as I sit here, amazed at what this blog has brought to me via the internet. I had no idea of the connections I would make — both professional and personal, and I NEVER could have predicted the abundance of friends that I have made as a result of blathering on about this and that. When I started, I didn’t know about the 60 million other blogs out there… I think I knew of and read 10, half of which ended a long time ago.

I was struggling to define my life that was in the midst of enormous change… kids, economy, design, ALLERGIES, the FDA…The IRS — you name it, AND I’m still searching. The whole experience has been priceless — and it isn’t even OVER, despite my occasional threat to damn the internet and all that it contains. Because apparently, it contains 3 years of me– personal, private, and OUT THERE… like a sitting duck. Because, okay — maybe not for you, but for me– that’s kind of important.

((Huge Sigh))

There she is. Taking my picture again.

Can’t a dog just take a nap around here without interruption? I mean — I already wag my tail around these kids that she allows to stay in the house, can’t I just have one moment of peace? I know, I know. She’s all happy and proud because the vet said that I lost nine pounds. As if that’s anything to be surprised about… My last appointment was 6 months ago — What? Doesn’t she know that unlike a certain 3 year old around here, I listen?!

And she’s happy like ALL THE TIME.

Remember when she worked in an office? How whack was that? All the screaming over the telephone about press proofs and color matches…UGH – and the money. I mean it smells nice but I never did get the point. I did all I could by laying my head on her lap to calm the crazy down. But now. Taking my picture again. Hopefully this time she won’t go and post it all over the internet like she did last winter when I was “fat”. Hasn’t anyone ever heard of a “winter coat”.

And yes. I get that she loves me…. Despite the fact that she moved my dogbed four inches to the left…. Not the one in the TV room, the other one that I sometimes remove the stuffing from. Because, if that “new one” is going to scream about absolutely nothing, can’t I let out a little frustration every once in a while?

But I’m not some pathetic character dog that enjoys social media and internet attention. Because. I’m stout, stoic, and if being eleven years old hasn’t taught anyone around here anything — I’m in charge.. And I’m not going to stand for all of this laughing and playing around all the time. Don’t people know how to control themselves? Just the other day that 3 year old had a water pistol and thought it would be fun to test it out on me. And you know what? I let him. And I smiled the whole time. Dammit.

All I want is for everyone to behave. And bacon. I’d really like some — Did she ever think of that?

Hey Martha,

It’s been a few months since I’ve communicated with you in such a public format, but after reading your help wanted ad this morning, it might be time for us to have a Pow-Wow. And no, I don’t mean that in some sort of Pow-Wow The Indian Boy way… because this is anything BUT politically correct. What I’d like to say is that although the Hallmark Channel is a soft porn version of fabulous, it is time to step up the game. And I KNOW. You have the corner on every possible street in America and beyond when it comes to BEING THE BRAND. From Home Depot to KMart to that weird Home Decorators catalog, I don’t even think it’s possible for you to know your actual reach on a daily basis… But time is short, my sweets. Oprah has left the building.

BUT NOT FOR LONG. It’s only a matter of days… MINUTES, SECONDS in fact before the big O walks right around the corner (with your name on it by the way) and into her own fledgeling cable network, OWN, where she will set her laser beamed gold fingers on the buttons of SUCCESS. Only tiny pixels of color and black and white space before she launches her own line of every product known to man. AND only shards of left over fabric projects before she picks up a glue gun and realizes that, not only has she accomplished everything one can possibly reach for, BUT she’s also rather CRAFTY. Did you NOT see the truffles on her last show?

So, yes. Yadda yadda, whatever. Oprah might not be of the same BREED when it comes to STANDARDS, but dude — there are others snapping at your heels and NO, they are not all guns out Mrs. Fields (who failed, by the way).. Ignoring the idea of competition when in fact there is none. No. These ‘everyday’ women have been watching. They’ve been filing your road map, AND — while you were out collecting the morning dew for this weekend’s spring chicken recipe, THEY HAVE BEEN FLUFFING. I mean really. Gwenyth Paltrow on the cover of the new trashy Bon Appetite screaming about how when she puts pasta in boiling water it becomes edible… Jennifer Lopez, “toning down”… And MY GOD, PIPPA MIDDLETON — DON’T EVEN let her near a sewing machine as she sets the “spring time trends”…

I hear you. I hear you almost as clear as the ice cracking as it wears thin. You are turning 70 soon. You work 7 days a week as it is, and (despite the trail you’ve burned) you can’t do it all. AND WHY SHOULD YOU? But here’s the thing. Looking for a big money investor isn’t the answer… No. All that is going to do is fuel an already overgrown empire. What you need, if you don’t mind a little advice, is to partner with someone that has some but can offer more. Yes. That’s right. Without pointing to the obvious or, better yet, running out on Main Street to prostitute myself as the next game in town (again), my qualifications and life practices are seemingly endless:

Procreation of the cutest kids only.
Complete and total financial dependence.
If you can read, you can cook.
Traditional design theories paired with lots and lots of alcohol.
Anything in excess is bad, unless it makes you disgustingly happy.
Wisteria.
Shallow, but down right Honest.
All eating issues, self-image and PTSD are completely kept in the closet. Locked.
Being a Bitch is OKAY.
When running through the Louvre, take very little seriously.
And of course, on paper I look even smarter and more creative than I think I am…

So, without being too pathetic… I think that this might work out for both of us. I really need someone to complete everything that I don’t finish, and you obviously need someone that can only best be described as ME. I’m easy to reach. Somewhat affordable, and boast an ego equal to whatever you want it to be… That is, unless, you question anything I say or do. AND, without being too repetitive, because you already know all of these things about me, there is a very good chance that I will preach more than I practice, speak in hushed insinuations, AND assume that you are constantly OKAY with any decision I make on behalf of Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia. Because that’s what you’re looking for. Trust me.

Related articles

• Is Martha Stewart For Sale? (blogs.wsj.com)
• Martha Stewart Company Announcement Triggers Sale Speculation (huffingtonpost.com)

I took this picture the day before Josephine was born. I remember thinking that I was all wrong about this baby coming earlier than predicted… I even muttered that she was right on for the target date — May 23rd. A few short hours later I was in labor… a few even shorter minutes later, she was here. Now she’s gurgling in a baby “soother” next to me while I type.

Since then, things have become more and more clear despite the rather chaotic scene that surrounds me. But when I say “clear” I have to admit that I’m focused almost entirely on the smallest of small…. Like details that I missed or couldn’t grasp in a pregnancy haze. For example, we had been talking for weeks about finally adding the missing leaf to our kitchen table — so as to allow dining comfort for our growing family and the host of guests that have already been penciled in for the upcoming months. And I know — this is way beyond boring. I mean WHY am I blogging about this? Who cares — and more importantly — WHY ARE YOU READING THIS? But the point isn’t about how small the universe becomes when there is an infant in the room… it’s about how much bigger all of the small things seem to be. While we tried and tried to pull apart the table so as to accommodate the missing leaf, our frustrations grew and grew. Why hadn’t we ever attempted this before? We paid for a big table — were we EVER going to get to use it? The whole thing was beginning to feel like a ShamWOW! commercial when suddenly, whilst I was dozing off for a few minutes in the wee hours, I remembered the latches underneath the table. Unhook them and let the growth begin. In our haste and impatience we had cursed the table to no end when really — all we had to do was look underneath. Life, my friends, should never be so difficult.