Channeling my inner Jewel - 19 days to 35 - Writing a song

I absolutely love music. All kinds. To look at my CD collection (oh, that sounds so dated...to look at my iTunes playlist) you would think I had multiple personalities. I have everything from Dr. Dre to Garth Brooks to Limp Bizkit to Colby Callait. I pretty much like anything with a decent beat, but I am especially partial to songs with great lyrics. Give me a great story in song form and I will give you a concert. Not a good one, mind you, because I don’t really think that I sing very well, but dammit I try! In chasing my music making dream I learned to play the guitar a couple of years ago. Well, let me amend that. I took a guitar class. And for a couple of months, I practiced, developed wicked calluses on my fingers and could actually play what started to sound like music. Then the class ended, I moved to California and my guitar has been on its stand on display in my living room ever since. I am pretty sure the dust mites have played it more than I have.



Since I was about 11 or 12, another great love of mine has been writing. I started writing what I realize now to be HORRIBLE pubescent angst-filled poetry when I was in 5th grade. Each night I poured my soul out to my journal in iambic pentameter, fancying myself the next Maya Angelou. (Going through some old boxes I recently found the first collection of poetry that I wrote. It was bad. Laughably bad. But what the hell, I was 12!). As I got older, I had this idea in the back of my head to combine my loves of words and music. Inspired by the Lilith Fair generation of guitar toting, tortured artist-type, female musicians, I have harbored this fantasy of writing a song. Something smooth and soulful. Melancholy yet beautiful. How hard could it be, right?


So, I set about my activity for today hopeful and inspired. I didn’t want to be tempted (consciously or subconsciously) to plagiarize so I didn’t really listen to any music for a couple of days. Which is REALLY hard, especially if you spend any time in the car. But I had ideas bubbling in my head. I was quickly convincing myself that I was about to write the next Grammy winning hit. After I put the baby down for his nap (and knowing that might only give me an uninterrupted hour, two if I was really lucky), I dragged out my most recent (albeit several years old) notebooks of poetry. Flipping through the pages, I thought to myself, some of this ain't half bad. BUT...none of it sounded like a song. My original thought was to take something I had already written and change it a bit to put it in "song form" (whatever the hell that means). Half an hour of browsing my work led me to the conclusion that that particular strategy may not work. OK, I can do this. I decided to start from scratch. One idea for a song that I had been toying with was inspired by Facebook and all of the people that I have reunited with through the site. You know, something about people coming back into your life, life coming full circle, that kinda shit. That could be a good song right? Well if it is, it never made its way out of my (apparently non-musical) head.

After a day of toiling away in front of a (relatively) blank piece of paper, I now understand why Diane Warren is so special (if you don’t know who she is, Google her. My guess is that you know her, you just don’t KNOW that you do...) I realized that part of the problem is that I have no musical ability whatsoever. My aforementioned guitar lessons only taught me to play other people's already written songs. I know nothing about putting together melodies. Which makes songwriting a nearly impossible task! So the end of the day arrives and I have a couple of new poems (pretty good ones I think!) but I am no closer to that award winning song I know is lurking inside me. I can’t begin to express how disappointed I was. Part of me wants to just slap some new lyrics on an old tune and say I wrote a song. But that’s kind of cheating isn’t it? And I guess the whole point of this 35 day thing isn’t necessarily to totally succeed at everything you try (but dammit I HATE to lose). So I have decided that even though it wasn’t finished today, I will keep working on this song. I have a couple of friends who are pretty musical....and although they don’t know it yet, they WILL be helping me with this one! So maybe you will see me get that Grammy by the time I am 36.....

Mommy's Day Out - 20 Days to 35 - Getting my first facial (and leaving the baby for the first time)

I am a lover of all things spa related. I mean, who doesn’t love being pampered? Manicures, pedicures, massages...I love it all. So it was kind of strange to realize that I have never had a facial. And while it seems like something small, my current life circumstances make it oh so appealing. Just two months ago I had a baby. And yes he's fabulous, and, of course, the cutest baby ever. But the reality of pregnancy, childbirth and taking care of a newborn is not all cute baby clothes and the wonderful smell of baby powder. No the truth of the matter is that (until the last week or two) I haven’t gotten more than 3 hours of sleep at a time in almost 4 months. My life is a constant stream of dirty diapers, breastfeeding and sleep deprivation. So the idea of doing something, ANYTHING, that is designed to be relaxing and is all for me, was too good to pass up. I knew I had to include some form of pampering on my list.




As I found when trying to schedule my bikini wax (the memory of which still HURTS by the way), there aren’t too many spas in Bakersfield. Besides the site of my wax, which I was none too anxious to revisit, I know of one other spa in the area. Last year when Darlene was visiting we decided to get massages. That was the first time I realized that "spa" wasn’t big business in this area. Anyway, I found this place, La Petite Poullet, where I had a massage that was basically the best 30 minutes of my life up to that point. I was so relaxed after that massage I practically fell down when I tried to get up off the table. And it was only 40 bucks!! So I figured that if they could do that great of a job on the massage, a facial would be a piece of cake.


So I made my appointment, and after a morning of running errands (which included watching my baby boy get THREE SHOTS!!), I was more than ready for some pampering. As I prepared for my three o'clock appointment (you are supposed to wash your make-up off first, right? I don’t know facial etiquette), I realize that in planning this activity I have inadvertently scheduled myself for TWO new activities today. In going to the spa I was going to have to leave Aiden. For the first time....with someone who is NOT me. Now yes, I realize, I would be leaving him with his father. And, sure, that shouldn’t make me nervous. But it did. It REALLY did. This is the same man who changes diapers so slowly that Aiden pees all over everything...every single time! As my anxiety builds I try to talk myself down. I am going to have to leave the baby at some point....and Darin is his dad...I am sure they will be fine. Yeah right!! As I prepare to leave for my facial, I mentally check off everything Darin will need while I am gone. Now granted, I am only going to be gone for about an hour and a half but who knows what could happen in that time. "Ok...here are the diapers, wipes and some extra clothes in case there is an accident. I have a bottle already warmed and ready in case he gets hungry. If he starts to cry try walking with him. And do the sway not the bounce, he doesn’t like the bounce sometimes...." Listening to myself I knew I sounded like a neurotic freak. Never mind that I was supposed to be going to do something relaxing....Finally, after Darin practically pushes me out the door, I make my way to the spa. It only takes me about 8 minutes to get there and before walking in I just can’t help myself. I have to call and check on things. Darin answers the phone laughing "We're fine, the baby is fine, go enjoy your facial." Ok, we'll see about that.....


After getting all checked in, my esthetician, Kayle, led me to a darkened room. She questioned me about my skin care (who knew it was THAT complicated??) then asked if I had any skin related issues or questions. My mouth said "No" but my brain said "Seriously, can we just get on with it! I need some relaxation!" I lay back onto a pillow and the pampering began. She didn’t talk the whole time, so I have no idea what kinds of things she was rubbing into my face but the sensation was heavenly. First of all, she had the softest hands in the world. Seriously, I am talking like baby skin soft. And I didn’t realize that one could actually have their face massaged, but I realized pretty quickly that this was the magic of the facial. Within about 5 minutes I could feel the tension floating away. I felt like I was melting into the table.....That is, until I woke myself up with a loud snore. Yep, that’s right, I woke myself up snoring. Not once. Not even twice...five times. FIVE TIMES!!! And each time I laid there wondering "was that the first snore, or one in a series of snores and that last one was the only one loud enough to wake me?" I was mortified, but honestly, too relaxed to care. I figure, I can’t be the first person to ever fall asleep and snore during a facial. And besides it was her fault. Her and her damn soft hands!!
About 45 minutes later and my trip to spa heaven was over. I floated out of the spa and as I reached my car I remembered. Baby...home alone with Daddy...OH HELL!!! I raced back home to find the baby swinging contentedly and Darin folding laundry (seriously, he really was!!). Wow, smooth skin, a quiet baby, and a house chore-doing husband.....a girl could get used to this!

Take that Rachel Ray!! - 21 days to 35 - Cooking a brand new meal from a cookbook

I come from a long line of cooking women. Women who put Rachel Ray's perky ass to shame. My mother and grandmother taught me to cook. And our type of cooking doesn’t really have recipes and measurements. I pretty much just know the ingredient list then I have at it. This is the reason that every batch of homemade chili that I make tastes different. I once made a huge batch that was so hot I had to throw it out because everyone was sweating while eating it (guess I overdid it on one cayenne pepper). So when creating my list, I thought it would be pretty cool to actually get a cookbook and follow a real recipe. Even better, I wanted to cook something totally new. Something I had never cooked before. Which is how I found myself standing in front of my husband's bookshelf browsing cookbooks (yeah, I know, something so wrong with him having more cookbooks than I have). Ironically, as much as I don’t like her overly happy ass, I settled on a Rachel Ray cookbook (it was the best one he had!!). Leafing through "Cooking 'Round the Clock" I found a variety of meals that looked appealing. I settled on Barbeque Saucy Salmon on Romaine Salad with Orange Vinaigrette. One, I LOVE seafood, I figured I wouldn’t screw up salmon too badly. Two, reading through the recipe I realize that I would have to make a glaze for the salmon as well as salad dressing. There is something pretty damn cool about making your own salad dressing. If I actually pulled this off I would feel like a real chef.

So I load up the baby and the husband and we head to the grocery store. Before we left I went through the recipe and my pantry, looking to see what I would need. The list was long. Really long. I hadn’t anticipated this. So later, browsing the aisles and doing some mental calculations, I started to come to the conclusion that this "30 minute meal" was about to be a sixty dollar meal. Hell, we should have just gone to Red Lobster.

Forty five minutes later, I am home, ingredients are spread out on the counter, and the hubby and baby have left me in the kitchen. I look skeptically from the counter full of ingredients to the recipe. This could be bad. I suddenly get nervous. It is a bug part of my self-identity that I tend to be good at things. And cooking has pretty much been a no brainer for me. I started frying French fries when I was in the fourth grade. Seriously! And I have never understood these people who say they can’t cook. But at this moment, in the face of making my own salmon glaze with such unknowns as curry powder and Worchester sauce, I am really nervous. What if it's bad? What if I have to sit through a dinner with Darin smiling politely while trying to choke down a disgusting disaster of a dinner? Well, we are never gonna know 'til I do it so I strap on an apron (I figured if I am gonna be a chef I might as well go all out!) and get to it.

I start making the glaze (who knew maple syrup, curry powder and liquid smoke could make such yumminess?), and realize that I am going to have to be a serious multitasker. I need to start grilling the salmon while stirring the glaze. I contemplate asking Darin for help, but then I realize that defeats the whole purpose of this. This is supposed to be MY meal. OK, I can do these....Ten minutes later and things are starting to smell really good, salmon is grilling and glazed and I am whisking my own salad dressing. (There was a small hiccup when I had to figure out exactly what "orange zest" was, but I bounced back nicely.) I break out the plates and get ready to serve it up. Unlike when I normally cook, I resisted the urge to taste along the way. I have NO IDEA what any of this tastes like. It smells great but I have been fooled by that before. (I once had dinner at this supposedly awesome steakhouse and they brought me a plate of some seafood concoction that smelled awesome and tasted like something the cat threw up!) One thing was sure of, presentation is everything! Even if it tastes like shit, at least I can make it look pretty.

Barbeque Saucy Salmon on Romaine Salad with Orange Vinagrette

So I serve it up, pour the wine and set the plates on the table. I watch Darin nervously. Because I haven’t tasted anything I really have no idea what kind of reaction to expect. He spears the forkful of the romaine lettuce then starts to chew. "It's good!" he says, smiling. I want to believe him but I am not too sure. "Try the salmon." I want to dig in too, but honestly, if it’s bad I want someone else to eat it first. He tries the fish and smiles. YES!! He didn’t keel over and he actually looked genuine when he says "Wow! It’s REALLY good!" Finally, I take a forkful myself. And he's right, it IS good!! See, even within the confines of a recipe I can still work it!! DAMN, I'm GOOD!!

NOT a public school casualty - 22 days to 35 - Writing a letter to my most influential teacher

Following my dreams of becoming a pilot (see yesterday's blog), I finally settled on the idea that I would be a lawyer. Credit my many hours watching LA Law (probably not the most appropriate show for a kid my age, but whatever). I could just see myself as a high powered attorney in my designer suits, and high heeled shoes, making all the guy lawyers look like idiots. It was my dream job, to get paid to argue! So I went through high school and most of college with that career path in mind. Then, one afternoon, my whole world changed. I stopped in to see the professor of my summer school class. As a transfer student, he wasn't familiar with me and my background. He invited me to sit down as he pulled up my transcripts. When he asked what I planned to do after graduation I told him law school. "Oh no," he said, "There are way too many lawyers in the world. Have you ever thought about graduate school?" So, three hours later, head spinning, I walked out of his office with a whole new life plan. That afternoon, my professor changed my life. He was one in a long line of teachers to do so.



I took that professor's advice and went to graduate school. Several years later I became a professor myself. I never thought in a million years that I would be a teacher. But that is my life. I spend my days lecturing to a (sometimes) captive audience and my nights grading endless papers. And while I don’t spend as much time in the classroom as grade school or high school teacher, I definitely live the teacher's life. One characteristic of that life is that you very rarely get to hear "good job," or God forbid, "thank you." It happened to me once. A student from my very first research methods class (which is a notoriously hated course) is now in graduate school at my alma mater. After she graduated, before leaving town, she came by my office and dropped off a card thanking me for all I had done for her. I cried. Seriously. And her card is hanging on my refrigerator. Two years later. So in reflecting on my almost 35 years to create this list, I thought it would be a good idea to reach out and express those sentiments to a teacher who has influenced my life. I know how rare it is to hear that kind of thing.


The hardest thing about this particular project was deciding who should get this letter. I have been supremely blessed in my education. The Anchorage School District, unlike many other public school systems (I have since learned) was fantastic. I had a stream of wonderful teachers; from Mr. Schmidt, my fourth grade teacher who I thought was an angel, to Mrs. Whitmore my seventh grade math teacher who showed me that I really wasn’t bad at math, to Mr. Berkow, my nutty twelfth grade psychology teacher who taught me that thinking was fun, to Mrs. Terry, my twelfth grade English/social studies teacher who taught me to look at my world through different eyes. And those are just a few. That doesn’t even include the college professors who helped shape me and my view of life. So picking just one person was really hard. I could write a stack of thank you letters.....but there are only so many hours in the day!! So I decided to write a letter to my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Coulter. I will get to her teaching in a second, but from the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I would like her. She was SO COOL!!. She wore the greatest clothes (long flowing skirts and beaded necklaces) and had a trendy haircut. She was so much fun. She was the first really cool grown-up I had even met. And as a teacher, she was remarkable. Even though she was fun, she commanded respect and we all knew not to cross her. She was a great model of the kind of woman I wanted to grow up to be.


There isn't one particular incident that sticks out to me and really illustrates the impact that Mrs. Coulter made on me. But I know this: when I walked out of her classroom at the end of fifth grade I was not only more educated, but I was more confident, more self-assured, and more willing to take chances than ever before. Other teachers had told me I was smart. Mrs. Coulter made me believe it. She laid the groundwork for me becoming the kind of person who would change my career path junior year of college. The kind who would take a senior philosophy class as a freshman and believe that I could pass. Who would apply to two of the best graduate programs in the country with no back up school. More than an education, she gave me a belief in myself that has pushed me to reach for some awesome goals.


I have spent numerous hours counseling students on class selection, occupational choices, and life in general. I don’t know if most of them, when they leave me, remember what I said. But I think about the few times I have been lucky enough to hear "thank you" from my students and I remember the pride that those simple words elicit. And if I can do that for someone else, someone who inspired me and changed my life, well, that's a gift that I just have to give.

Look Ma, No engine!! - 23 days to 35 - Glider ride

As a kid I wanted to be a bunch of different things. When I was about 4 I just KNEW I was going to be a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader (cut me some slack, I was a child). Then I wanted to be a teacher, a cop, a lawyer. And after watching Top Gun I wanted to be a pilot (yes, I let Tom Cruise influence my life choices). Beyond the day dreams of watching hot oiled men play volleyball on our off days, the thought of flying appealed to me for so many reasons. I loved the idea of the freedom of floating high above everything. I mean, who DOESN'T want to fly right? So when coming up with my list of 35 things, I wanted to put some sort of flying experience on the list. My choices: skydiving (which I would REALLY like to do but honestly, am not sure I would be able to actually step out of the plane and jump), helicopter rider (which carries with it the distinct possibility of making me airsick given how choppy the rides are), and a glider ride (fun. adventurous, and which carries the added benefit of being available like 5 miles from the house). As I weighed the options, the glider ride sounded better and better. I called to make my appointment, not really knowing what I was getting myself into but seriously excited. Seriously.

On Saturday afternoon, we drove to the Santa Ynez Gliderport and pulling up, I started to get a little nervous. First off, the "gliderport" consisted of a small, shack-like building. Not exactly the fancy digs I was expecting, although, I didn't really know what to expect.

We get out of the car and look around. And I see, up close and personal, my fist glider. I am struck by the wing span of the tiny plane. Very. Tiny. Plane. We aren’t supposed to walk out to the airfield until it’s my turn to fly so I strain to see, trying to get an idea of exactly how much space is inside that thing. I watch the guy before peel himself out of it and conclude that it’s pretty tight quarters. (I'm 5'10", there isn’t enough leg room for me in coach on a regular flight. I was starting to think that this might get a little uncomfortable). It is while examining the little glider that it first hits me: this plane has no engine. NO ENGINE!! I mean, I think I knew that somewhere in my head (that's why it's called a glider, right). But it starts to hit me that I will be floating several THOUSAND feet above the ground without power to help out if the wind decides to send us into a nose dive. You would think that this realization would make me sacred, nervous even. Not so much. My dumb ass just got more excited. Talk about a rush!!

The 30 minutes before my flight, as I watch a guy and his girlfriend take their turns, seemed to take forever. Just get me in the air already!! At last it was my turn. I follow Shawn, the gliderport assistant, out to the plane. He says "You are between 115 and 235 pounds, right?" Laughing, I say "No, don’t I look like I'm 110?" But I am guessing this is the wrong situation in which to lie about your weight. (I was actually faced with a similar situation when I went bungee jumping. When your life depends on a rubber band, probably important to not let vanity take over!) Confident that I am within the weight limits, Shawn begins to explain how everything works. I will get aboard the glider with my pilot, Gary (I get to sit in the front...AWESOME!) We will be pulled up to our gliding altitude of about 3200 feet by another small plane, and then I - yes I - get to pull the cord. Anticipation fills my chest....I can’t believe I am really going to do this! I climb in and Shawn straps the very complicated safety harness around my body. (I can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing...I want to be strapped in nice and tight, but if we start to take a tumble and I decide to jump for it, I won’t be able to get out!! Ok, I need to stop thinking like this!)

I hear the engine of out tug plane start. THIS IS IT! The glider begins to rumble across the grass and onto the runway. I can tell we are picking up speed. As I look around, anxious not to miss the moment we leave the ground, Gary the pilot says "We're up!" Holy crap! This feels great. We ascend slowly as I crane my neck every which way trying to take in the view. The mountains are in front of us and the Santa Ynez Valley spreads below. It is an unbelievably beautiful sight! I totally got my money's worth and we've barely been in the air for 2 minutes. From behind me I hear instructions, "You see that yellow t-bar in front of you? Go ahead and pull it." The moment of truth...I pull the bar and suddenly...silence. Blissful, peaceful, floating silence. I feel like a paper airplane, not the crappy ones that you throw up and they immediately nose dive (like the ones I made), but like the one that cool guy in grade school would make that could soar smoothly across the classroom (before hitting the nerdy kid in the head). The sensation was exactly what I imagined flying would feel like. Amazing! "You wanna fly it?" Gary asks. Do I? DO I?? Abso-friggin-lutely I wanna fly this thing!! He guides me through taking the controls and making a left hand, then a right hand turn. Dude! I'm doing it!! I'm a pilot!!

My 15 minutes is up way too soon and we make our descent. I can’t control the smile on my face! The funniest part is that at no point while up there, 3200 feet going 40 miles an hour, did it ever occur to me that there was no engine. NO ENGINE!! I'm such a crazy dumbass!! But, feeling the exhilaration beating in my chest and the smile splitting my face, I realize, I am a HAPPY crazy dumbass!!

Shawn getting me strapped in

Tug plane pulling us...i think we are off the ground!

Beautiful sunset over the valley

Wall Street, Vegas...same difference - 24 days to 35 - Buying stock

I have a confession to make. I am not good with money. And this is hard for me to admit given that I am usually at least marginally good at most things I try to do. And, classic overachiever that I am, those things that I am not good at, I keep working at until I am. This has not been the case when it comes to managing my finances. My idea of budgeting has typically been spending money until it run out. More than once the calendar has rolled to the 27 or 28th and I've checked my checking account balance like a gambler rolling the dice with his last twenty, hoping for the jackpot. Needless to say I am not much of a saver either. I have opened three savings accounts in my lifetime....all of which were eventually closed for low balance and/or inactivity. I like to think of my savings account as my purse collection (after all, I could theoretically sell one of my Coach or Dooney and Bourke bags, not that I ever would, but the possibility of getting back some cash is there!).



Like most Generation Xers, I blame my problems (for me. my lack of financial skills) on my parents. We never really talked about money in our house. As far as we kids were concerned it was just there. Mom and Dad's philosophy was that as long as we went to school and got good grades (nothing less than a B was acceptable and only one or two of those would slide by without raising eyebrows) we could pretty much have anything we wanted. So like trained seals at Sea World Darlene and I got near perfect grades throughout school. So yes, we were a bit spoiled. When we left for college we really didn’t get much financial advice either. "Don’t spend all your money and don’t get any credit cards." Yep, that about summed it up. Not a whole lot of direction for two kids on their own trying to figure out how to pay the electric bill AND buy new shoes. Something had to give and too often it wasn’t the shoes.


So, recognizing my fiscal handicaps, I knew that I wanted to put something financial on my list. Since I had already tried (unsuccessfully) to keep a savings account, I thought that perhaps I needed something a little more adventurous, a little more fun. Now I know next to nothing about the stock market. In fact, what I DONT know could just about fill the Grand Canyon. But I decided that indeed stocks were the way to go. I like the idea of putting my money somewhere and checking back every day to see what happened. Sort of like my own private soap opera. But since I would only be playing with a little bit of money (not enough to ruin my life if I lost it) it would be a soap opera without all the drama. A little low stakes gambling, just what I need to spice things up.

After some conversation with friends, and several conversations with Darin explaining that I was buy stock for FUN (he has actual real investments), I decided to buy 5 shares of Mattel. I figured, people are always gonna buy toys. Plus in a recession, more people are staying in, spending time at home, so we are looking at an inevitable baby boom in the next couple of years. Barbie will be hotter than ever! And maybe my "fun" stock will have me laughing all the way to the bank.

It's not all about me - 25 days to 35 - Donating to a relief effort

Let’s be honest, the act of even writing a blog is pretty self-centered. Why would I think people would want to read about me?? But truth be told, I think we are all a bit self-centered. We get wrapped up in our own problems, forgetting how small and inconsequential we really are in the grand scheme of things. Until something like the Haiti earthquake happens. And then we remember. .


So today, for my activity, rather than thinking about how awful it is and how badly I feel for those victims (like I did with Hurricane Katrina), I wanted to do something. For the first time in my life, I wanted to actually DO something for people suffering in a situation so traumatic, so devastating. So I made my first charitable contribution today. I'm not rich by any means so I gave what I could. Because I just wanted to do SOMETHING....something to show that, even though I am in my own little world, I remember.