Inauspicious Beginning

Yesterday I had hoped to leave on my journey across country by noon. I finally made it out of the driveway of my mom's house at nearly 3:30 a.m. Whew!

After 5-1/2 months of intermittently working on my mom's house, contents, estate, etc., making Phoenix my base, I only had a few things to wrap up, pack for movers and then put whatever I could fit into my car to take on my 2,400-mile trip from Phoenix to Columbia, Maryland. Simple. Sure.

I got to her house early -- 6:30 a.m. -- and figured I'd be out of there by 10:00 a.m. if I was lucky, probably more likely noon. I kept running into papers, pictures, treasures of all kinds that I didn't know were there and had to go through one by one. Plus, I'd accumulated a lot of my own stuff, especially paper (bane of my existence, particularly in the electronic age), over 5-1/2 months! Aaargh!

About 11:00 p.m. I didn't think I could go on, but I kept going. Bleary-eyed and nearly staggering, I finally got everything wrapped up and shut the garage door at 3:21 a.m.

By then, my goal was simply to make it from south of Phoenix, where my mom lived, in Ahwatukee, north through Phoenix so I didn't have to deal with rush-hour traffic in the morning. I traveled -- carefully! -- 50 miles to a Hampton Inn at Anthem. Good choice. New, nice, clean, safe. And, best of all, it had a refrigerator!

After just a few hours of sleep and taking care of some business chores, I'm about to head out again. Hoping to make Albuquerque tonight. On not much sleep and a bit of a sore body from all of the exertion yesterday, my challenge will be to stay awake. Wish me luck! I'll check in here again tomorrow morning.

My Love Affair with Jeff Bridges

I've had an ongoing love affair with Jeff Bridges for 35 years. We are the same age; we grew up together. I've been in the dark with him for hours at a time. I've looked deep into his eyes, reached out to comfort him when he's been in emotional and physical pain, and watched him tenderly as he's slept, even sometimes when it's been the hitchy slumber of a drunk. I've kept him in my heart for all these years.

Okay, so it's been a one-sided love affair. No, I've never met him. Never written to him. Never texted him. Never e-mailed him. Never tried. When we grew up together, it was at the same time but not in the same place. When I was in the dark with him, it was in a movie theater with him up on the screen and me in my seat. When I reached out to him, it was in my mind directed toward characters he was playing, not in reality. But it's been a love affair nevertheless, because I admire, respect and adore him. And, every man I've ever been married to (one) or seriously dated (uh, more than one) has known that I'd be faithful to them but had a free pass for Jeff Bridges, just in case.

Jeff Bridges is tall and a bit beefy (my kind of man!), naturally sexy, and amazingly talented both as an actor and a musician. He can play the piano and guitar -- well, too! -- and can carry a tune with that low, gravelly voice better than a lot of so-called real singers. Plus, in every interview with him I've ever seen, he's been patient, kind, humble, and has touted his great love of his wife of several decades, Sue. How rare are those qualities all together in a celebrity?!

My love affair with Jeff Bridges started in 1975, when he starred in the movie Hearts of the West. As Lewis Tater, a naive young writer who goes West to seek his fortune and bumbles into becoming a short-lived movie star, he was hilarious and endearing, and he captured my heart immediately. The rest of the world basically ignored him. It took absolutely forever for it to go to video and to this day, Hearts of the West is not available on DVD or Blu-ray.

I have not seen all of Jeff Bridges' movies. I mean good grief, there are about 70 of them! But while other people first remember him in The Last Picture Show in 1971 with Cybill Shepherd or TRON in 1982, and I thought he was cute and sexy in Hearts of the West, his amazing acting ability first hit me like a Mack truck in 1992 in American Heart. In that, he played a just-out-of-prison ne'er do well whose teenage son (Edward Furlong) shows up for him to take care of, which is the last thing he wants. Though he has since played many great and diverse roles, I think his characterization of Bad Blake in the new film Crazy Heart was the epitome of a showcase for his talent, range and, yes, heart. Close-ups are a study in effective subtlety; he is bravely naked in his expressions and mannerisms, which give his character depth and dimension.

Jeff Bridges can play dirty, grody, out-of-it characters better than nearly anyone I know. Sometimes in those roles he gets cleaned up later, sometimes he doesn't. I like him better all showered and shaved, but I admire him more when he's playing it rough.

There are so many really good roles that he has played. What a filmography! I want to catch up to see more of them. Currently my two favorite Jeff Bridges movies are:
1) 1989's The Fabulous Baker Boys with his brother Beau and Michelle Pfeiffer. The Bridges boys portraying the Baker boys, with all of their fantastic piano playing, blew me away. They really played all of those songs, even though it was Dave Grusin on the the soundtrack. My favorite line as I remember it is when Michelle's character says to Jeff's character, "Women need a reason; men just need a place."
2) Crazy Heart, his most recent role for which he's finally getting long overdue recognition from his peers. I'm hoping he snags the Oscar for that role. I immediately ordered the soundtrack, the deluxe version with seven extra songs, and am amazed at and impressed with the songs sung and played by him, Colin Farrell (how unlikely a star country-singer!) and Ryan Bingham, who wrote the Oscar-nominated song from the movie, "The Weary Kind." I like so many of the songs -- here's one of my favorites:



I don't love him in all of the ones I've seen. I admit, his role in The Fisher King didn't do much for me, or his portrayal of "The Dude" in The Big Lebowski, even though many people consider them wonderful, quirky movies. And when he was puking his guts out in Crazy Heart with his greasy hair plastered against his head, he was downright disgusting. He's just not appealing to me like that. But you know what they say: We like someone because; we love someone although. I love ya, Jeff, and all of your personas.

Happy Tears, Rough Tears

I'm a sap. I admit it. I tear up every time I hear the National Anthem. Same with Lee Greenwood's "I'm Proud to Be an American" and about 50 other songs. When I lived in New York City, I'd go down a few blocks to applaud and cheer as the New York City Marathon runners would come off the bridge from Queens into Manhattan, and those amazing athletes would bring tears to my eyes. I sob at movies when some wonderful person dies or when two lovers or family members reunite, especially the second time I see them when I know what's going to happen. Tonight's Olympics opening ceremonies and the debut of "We Are the World" are guaranteed to launch me into what Oprah calls "the ugly cry."

Commercials from Hallmark, Kodak, McDonald's and even Budweiser (that sweet Clydesdale that didn't make it onto the team and trained for a year with the dog and finally did) get the waterworks flowing. If I'm with someone else, I try to think about anything else as I dig my fingernails into my palms. In movies when I'm with someone else, I have to really concentrate to take myself out of the movie mindset and think about traffic, taxes or dinner so I don't blubber to the point of embarrassing my movie mate. If I'm alone I stay through the credits as much to compose myself as to see who did what.

As one person put it, I'm an "ocean of emotion."

And then there's the rough cry. Like when I'm walking through my mom's house and it hits me that she is forever gone, that I'm there to dismantle 25 years of her life -- and mine, since it's been my second home for that long as well. I am good at distracting myself with constant noise -- tv, radio, CDs, etc. -- and stuffing my emotions. But once in awhile they bubble to the surface anyway, sometimes at quite inconvenient times.

I think that crying in movies or books or during songs can be therapeutic and cathartic. I often am aware that a cry that starts out to be about the characters in a movie seeps over into a cry about my mom or dad (both deceased, my mom as of just a few weeks ago) or about those suffering in Haiti or even across town. I think that a good long cry, regardless of its origin, cleans out the tension and the sadness from a body much like driving for awhile at constant relatively high speeds cleans out the junk from an automobile.

I just wish I could schedule these teary sessions when I'm alone and when I don't have anywhere I have to be until I can recover and touch up my make-up. But life doesn't work that way. In fact, life doesn't work the way I want it to in many ways, such as when people suffer or loved ones die. That's what triggers the tears in the first place. Whether they are happy tears or rough tears, the biology is the same even if the psychology isn't. As long as I'm going to look ugly, when I can, I choose the happy tears.

Today's the Day

How many weeks (months) ago did I say here that I was ready to tackle my weight and health issues? Well, today is (FINALLY!) the day.

How do I know this? Because I took drastic action: I ran very hot water over the tub of my nearly-most-favorite ice cream, Edy's/Dreyer's Peppermint, which is irreplaceable because it only comes out around Christmas. It's gone. Down the drain. THAT's how I know I'm serious.

Baskin-Robbins' Pralines 'n' Cream is my all-time favorite but I haven't bought any of that for awhile so it hasn't been a temptation. It wasn't in my freezer like the peppermint was.

Stop it! I'm making myself hungry for that sweet, creamy-crunchy Pralines 'n' Cream! Stop it!

Deep breath. Okay, I'm fine now.

So what pushed me over the edge into readiness and willingness, my two least favorite and most lacking attributes? Writing. Writing is how I work things out, how I realize what I am thinking and feeling, and how I often move from one stage to another. I wrote myself into the realization that it was time and that the reward of it was what I wanted to focus on.

It feels real right now. We'll see how I feel tonight at midnight.

Turning In the Last Page Proof Is Almost as Good as Sex

I'm giddy! I'm thrilled! I'm so frickin' relieved!

Our book Building for Boomers is AT THE PRINTER! I just sent the last page proof to Smita, our project manager at Glyph International in India. I had my doubts about working with the folks in a foreign country with our time zones upside down from each other, but it's been fine. Fun, in fact, much to my surprise. I've been working with them largely on their time, the time of their workday, which means I've been up until 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. so we could ask and answer questions and communicate pretty close to real time. Consequently, Smita and I have developed a wonderful rapport that we probably wouldn't have otherwise.

What a process this has been. So far. It's not over yet. We've gone the mile, all but the last couple of inches, but those last couple of inches make it real.

For those of you who think you want to write a book, let me tell you that it's much more involved, tedious, time-consuming and, in fact, all-consuming than I ever thought it would be. Not just the writing -- that's really the fun part. The reviewing and editing of the text in Word was a little overwhelming. At that point it's still largely in code (production codes) so you can't see what it will really look like. The pictures aren't there; it's just amorphous text. We could add and change at will, and we did! We were grateful for the chance to do that.

Then come the page proofs, the way it will actually look when it's printed. We could only make changes that did not affect the indexing, so we could add a few words here and there and correct the mistakes and typos, which we kept finding endless numbers of, but couldn't significantly change much. We did find a couple of chunks of copy that had been repeated earlier, so when we deleted them, we had to fill in the space with something about the same length to not throw off the indexing. Challenging but doable.

I rewrote the acknowledgements about 10 times. That was the last piece I just sent in a few minutes ago. I kept thinking of people I wanted to include. My co-author Mike (Kephart) had a very long acknowledgement section, so my adding didn't make it lopsided. Being able to thank people is a great joy. And, we hope they buy the book! (snicker)

Both Mike and I reviewed nearly every word of the text in Word and then in page proofs, so we hope we caught nearly all of the mistakes, typos and repeats.

Now we wait for the index. That should be fun. I rely on indexes (indices, to be technically correct) in business books so I hope this one is good. They did an impressive job on the Table of Contents (TOC). We weren't all that consistent in our structure (ROFL! Understatement!) but the TOC makes it look like we were.

I ordered one of my own books on Amazon.com and paid the same as everybody else. I want to see what everybody's getting. I only get a handful of books for free from the publisher, McGraw-Hill, so nobody better be expecting me to give 'em one. Sorry!

Okay, now I'm calmer and my afterglow is giving way to fatigue. But I've earned it. The last page proof is in and I've gotten the okay message from Smita. Yep, it's almost as good as sex. Almost.

Temper Temper!!

I am going to have a temper tantrum...right here, right now. The difference between the one I'm going to have here and the ones I used to have when I was two years old (okay, and 10 and 13 and 31 and 42) is that I'm just going to vent in writing instead of throwing something that wouldn't break but would definitely make noise and possibly scar whatever it hit.

Don't you ever just get fed up with everything, including things that either don't bother you significantly any other time or things that you just put up with and accept as part of that huge segment of life called, "I can't control that"? Well, that's the way I am tonight.

First of all, speed bumps are the soourge of the earth, so incredibly annoying! All of that frickin' bumping can't be good for the car or the tires and they certainly aggravate the people inside the car.

Okay, that's out of my system.

This temper tantrum precipiting event was a late-night trip to the grocery store to buy hair color for my "natural" red hair. I mix two colors and I was out of one. So I went to a Fry's in the neighborhood, about two miles away from my mom's house in Phoenix where I am for a few weeks. It was about 10:20 p.m. Yes, they were open but help was sparse. No big deal...until I went to check out and not even one checkout lane was open. I asked someone who was stocking something or other at one checkout if any lanes were open and she said no, that the only person there had gone on break and may or may not be back.

Great!

So I disgustedly pushed my cart over to the self-checkout. I'd never gone that route before, or at least not for more than a handful of items, and, of course, I ended up with a relatively full cart.

The ambient noise was so high that I couldn't hear what the mechanical female voice was cooing to me in the way of instructions. Some of the items would scan, others wouldn't. It took me 10 times as long to check myself out as it would have a store employee, even a neophyte employee, and I was getting more and more frustrated! The voice, which by this time was getting quite annoying, kept saying that someone had been alerted and would be over to help me. I looked around -- nobody!

Finally, a young (20s) guy with a slump and an introverted nature came into the area and I called him over. He acted like I was stupid for not knowing that you had to move your items about 3 feet away from the scanner and the shelf to the right of it or it would block the scan. Well, pardon me, but there are no instructions there, and I've not used it before, and I never wanted to scan my own items in the first place!

I got more irritated with his attitude than I had been with the moody machine!

Finally I finished and paid and then I had to bag my own groceries! Their plastic bags -- no choice of plastic or paper -- peeled off of their hanging perches just fine but just try to get one of them open to put anything into it! They are welded shut, I swear! Eventually, I got each of them open and by then was quite open about my disgust and frustration with the whole experience, rather roughly tossing anything that wasn't breakable into the cart once I got the damn things into bags.

The topper, as far as I was concerned, was when I got no receipt when I'd pushed "receipt, yes." I called the slouching, introverted kid over and asked with rather clenched teeth if there was a way to actually get a receipt. Being a bright boy, he sensed that I was about to become an ex-Fry's customer. That and the fact that I said I was tempted never to return and to start going to Safeway. He offered to get a manager to talk to me. Yes, I said, please do.

A nice lady came over to me, a bit warily, I noticed. I told her testily of my experience and exclaimed, "I never WANTED to scan my own groceries and bag them!" She said I could have asked for someone and they would have come. Gee, the point, lady, was that no one was THERE!

Finally I said to her, "This has been such a frustrating experience. What can you do for me to get me to come back, which I'm not really interested in doing after this?" She looked at me like, say whaaaa? She asked, "Like what?" "I don't know, just something, anything," I said.

She went over to the young kid and talked to him and 5 minutes later (yes, it took 5 minutes!) he handed me a Fry's gift card for...all of $5. Geez. Well, it was better than nothing and I said to her, "Thank you. I wanted the acknowledgement more than anything."

I was mollified, realizing that this wasn't a big deal in the scheme of things. I was just tired and cranky and put out that my little trip to the store didn't go quickly and smoothly. I got out to the car, put my stuff in the trunk, and as I slowly and sanely (really!) drove out of the parking lot, I realized that the one thing I hadn't picked up was hair color!

Well, no way was I going back into the store after creating such a scene, and the drug stores were closed, so I drove another 3 miles to Safeway.

On my way there, I remembered a time in my late 20s when I was equally frustrated and upset over who-remembers-what. Only this time I was drunk and it was raining. I drove from the city (Denver, it was, then) to my place in Lakewood and had to exit 6th Avenue onto Wadsworth around a sharp cloverleaf. I just basically said, "F*ck it" and drove around that curvy exit without braking much at all. It's amazing I didn't kill myself. That's one of the reasons I don't drink these days -- flawed thinking when I do.

On to Safeway for my hair color. The people in front of me in line had a big cart full of stuff, saw that I had just one item and generously said, "You go ahead." The nice guy at the checkout was cheery and exhibited a sense of humor, which I matched, and it was a delightful experience. They would probably not believe that I had been so bitchy just a few minutes before.

Okay, I feel better now that I've vented. Thank you, all two of you who have read this whole rant.

Page Proofs!

Tonight I got my first look at the page proofs for our book Building for Boomers. That first moment when I opened the file of the first chapter and saw what it will look like when it's printed was stunning. It's been such a theoretical experience for so long and now it's inches away from becoming real. It started out as a blank page and it's turning into a book!

Three of my personal friends have already ordered the book from Amazon.com. Two of them have absolutely nothing to do with design or construction so it's purely a gesture of support and friendship, period. How great is that?!

Tomorrow morning I'll start reviewing the page proofs for the first two chapters. They're due back to our project manager tomorrow night, which is the morning of the next day in India, where it's being produced. The instructions as to how to edit or comment on a .pdf are a bit overwhelming, but then so were the instructions for creating the manuscript with the exact font, size and style, and I got comfortable with that after a chapter or two. This is much simpler than that.

My mom said she wanted to buy the first copy. She passed away in October so she won't be doing that, but I think I'll order one in her honor now that we're almost there. She would like that.

Midnight Musings on New Year's Eve

Happy New Year, everybody!

Am I glad to see 2009 go from the current file to the archives? You bet! 2009 will forever be the year that my mom died and some other much more minor things happened that I'd rather not think about.

Many good things happened too. My book, Building for Boomers, got done (and will be out in February). My co-author, Mike Kephart, was wonderful and inspiring to work with. I had some really warm and wonderful visits with my mom before she passed. My good friends in several states kept me entertained, sane, and safe. My health improved following my total hip replacement. Over the year, I received many blessings.

Every New Year's Eve or shortly thereafter, I make a list of the things I want to happen in the new year. Not resolutions. Not a to-do list. Not a prayer list. Not a wish list. A list of the things I just want to happen, some of which I can control, some of which I really can't. It's amazing how many of them have come about when I go back and read them at the end of each year.

This year my list isn't just all about me. I'm including "get-well" thoughts for our country and, in fact, the world. We are still coughing and sputtering, and I'm hoping, wishing, praying, affirming and declaring that some cosmic Vitamin C gets injected into the world so we can all get well.

This year on New Year's Eve, there's a blue moon, they just said on the news. Last one was in 1990, next one won't be until 2028. Well, once in a blue moon true miracles happen. With that as a harbinger for 2010, I'm expecting miracles. Maybe the Denver Broncos will actually make the playoffs and even go on to play in the Super Bowl, for example. Or, maybe terrorism will end, we'll be able to take more than 3 ounces of liquid on airplanes again, and everyone will be at peace. Neither one are likely, but hey, they could happen....

SOS! Save Me from Myself!

Okay, I have to do something about my health and my weight. I've been putting it off until...until my book is done (it's done), until my hip replacement has healed (it's been four and a half months), until after my birthday (it was a week ago), until all of the sugary junk in my house is gone (I keep buying more), or until I feel like it (ha!). But meanwhile I don't feel well. I don't feel ill, just don't feel well.

And I've gained more weight lately. I feel logy and puffy. I feel old and fat. I don't want to exercise. I hardly want to walk to my car!

Mornings start out fine. I drink a bottle of water to start out my day, and that is about as healthy as I get all day. By lunchtime I crave something sweet no matter what I've had as a meal. Night is the worst. At exactly the time I should be finished eating for the day my sugar cravings will grab me by the throat and bum's-rush me around my kitchen, into drawers, cabinets and the fridge to pluck out cookies, ice cream, candy -- sometimes one, usually more than one. And is there ever enough? Rarely do I quit because I am satisfied; more often it's because my head says "enough already!"

I know I have an addictive personality. Whatever I like, I want more of, if not all of. More, more, more. Fortunately I don't drink and I've never smoked, or I would be in even worse trouble healthwise. But this sugar/carbs constant craving has got me in a headlock and much as I've squirmed, kicked and punched, I'm still in its grip.

I've heard that we're only as sick as our secrets. I've put off blogging about this because 1) I didn't want to acknowledge how bad it is (as if people can't tell by just looking at me), 2) I didn't want to be judged (yeah, like that wouldn't happen no matter what), 3) I didn't want "advice," no matter how well meaning -- I already KNOW what to DO! It's just a matter of doing it! 4) I didn't want to go public because I didn't want to fail, again, in front of everyone (as if perpetuating what I've been doing isn't already failing), 5) I am addicted to carbs and sugar and that part of me doesn't want to give them up, even at the cost of years off my life (how sick is that?!).

It's not that I'm "ready." I'm not. But I'm eager to feel better again; to want to do things; to fit into my clothes, and not just the big sizes; to look in the mirror and see "me" again; and to stop feeling like a failure.

Oprah Winfrey talked about feeling like a failure in the face of her other successes because she was overweight. All of my life I've wanted to write a book and now I've got a book coming out in February. I'm already starting on my next one, my first plunge into the fiction waters. I live in a place I love with neighbors and friends who are God's gifts to me. I have things to do, hands to shake, babies to kiss, and I don't care about any of them but I care that I don't care.

Please do NOT give me advice. I am not open to it. I may be as I proceed down this trail, but right now I just want to poke anyone in the eye who has "advice." But feel free to give me your empathy. No sympathy, please, or pity, and if you feel resentful, derisive or negative in any way, just move along. Tell me your own story, whether success or failure or in between. Give me any support you can muster, even if you don't leave a comment. It would also help me if you'd follow me on this journey that I have no faith I can take, because knowing that someone is watching and (hopefully) cheering me on may be powerful enough to get me going, like a push on a swing gets a kid sailing into the air and keeps her swinging for awhile before having to be pushed again. I've learned through Twitter that there are no strangers, only people you don't know as well as others. All positive energy gleefully accepted!

Come to think of it, tell my enemies, not that there are many [*guffaw*]. If living well is the best revenge, maybe knowing that they're hoping I stay fat and logy will be the best motivator!

Strategic Social Media for Design Firms

Last week I had the privilege and pleasure of moderating a panel -- "Why to Blog, Text & Tweet: Strategic Social Media for Design Firms" -- at an evening event at Haworth Showroom for the American Institute of Architects - New York (AIA-NY).

Finally! A subject I know well, one I know from the ground up, one I am intimately involved with and not just as an observer or journalist. Normally moderators are asked to herd the cats (panelists and audience), making sure that everything goes well, that the panelists keep their presentations and answers to questions brief and interesting, keeping the audience awake, and ending on time. I've moderated probably 100 panels in my 25 years as a journalist and I've gotten the drill pretty well down pat by now.

This time I was also asked to give a 20-minute talk to give the audience context, from my experience as a design and construction journalist and as a longtime Web and digital maven. It was fun and also somewhat painful to skip down memory lane as I recalled fax machines that took six minutes per page, modems that sped data through the lines at all of 2,400 baud, the dot-com boom and bust, and our (McGraw-Hill Construction's) first blog when we had to explain what a blog was and when I was the only contributor for a good year. Ah, the good old days. Then I moved on to talk about nowadays: LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and who knows what's to come. The point was that everything in the past and present are merely tools to enable us to do the basics that make us successful: communicate, form relationships and collaborate.

Our panelists were excellent! Mike Plotnick, media relations manager for HOK, talked about HOK Life, their site that features blog posts from 30 HOK contributors worldwide. I'd met Mike in person the week before at the Construction Writers Association conference in Chicago, where he led a table in our roundtable discussions, and I knew he'd be good on the AIA-NY panel. I actually met Mike via Twitter when I was writing an article on social media from the Society for Marketing Professional Services conference in Las Vegas in July. I tweeted him and asked if he'd contact me and half an hour later we were on the phone. Impressive!

The other panelists I met for the first time a few minutes before the panel began, although I had spoken with each of them the week before for half an hour or so to get an idea of what they wanted to talk about. They were Adam Lutz, facilities manager for Google Inc.; Dorian Benkoil, founder of Teeming Media; and Jessica Sheridan, editor-in-chief of eOculus. Jessica is writing something about the event and maybe Jenna McKnight from Architectural Record. If/when they do, I'll post the links. You can also find the live (at the time) tweets on Twitter if you have an account by searching for #AIANYsocialmedia, thanks mostly to Laurie Meisel, who tweeted consistently and quietly throughout the session.

The evening went well. Feedback was positive from what the AIA-NY folks told us. People came up to us afterward, seemingly pumped and ready to go blog, tweet and make videos. The venue was classy. Best of all, the room was filled with New Yorkers, several of whom I have known for many years!

After Sliding Down the Back of a Stegasaurus...Now What?

About three weeks ago, my co-author Mike Kephart and I turned in our manuscript for our book, Building for Boomers, to McGraw-Hill. The real estate market was in good shape when we started working on the book. Within a few months it tanked and we had to start over pretty much completely since projects, people, and companies we had talked to just went away. It all kept getting worse and it made our job so much more difficult.

But now we've turned it in. And we have been notified that the book is in production. Our book should be available by mid-February, they told us. Very exciting!

It was a long slog. Neither Mike nor I are eager to write another such book any time soon. It reminds me of my friend Noah. A few minutes after his (first) wife gave birth to their first son, he got carried away with the moment and suggested they have more kids. She said, "Don't talk to me about that now. I feel like I just slid down the back of a Stegasaurus." That's (metaphorically) exactly how I feel.

So now what? Not with the book, with the rest of my life.

For the last year and a half, I've put nearly everything but the book on hold. Well, I also had to make time, lots and lots of time, for suffering with my left hip and then getting it fixed. It hurt so bad for so long -- I felt absolutely crappy day after day after day after day for over a year. My total hip replacement in June was a godsend. I wish I'd done it months before. It would have really made a difference in my quality of life and in my ability to work on the book. Many days it was all I could do to just get through the day. But...no regrets. Onward.

So now what? No pain, no book deadline. No job, either.

First of all I want to tackle some of the things I've put off. My to-do list has about 50 things on it: dentist and doctors appointments, clean out closets, hang pictures on my walls, get rid of some of my zillion books, go see my mom, shop for shoes (can't wear my beloved sandals much longer), reconnect with people I've been neglecting, send more goodie boxes to the troops through AnySoldier.com, redo the resident directory at my apartment complex, relearn the piano (bought a wonderful 88-key electric keyboard 4 years ago and it's been sitting), write my novel (started it the night of the day we turned in our manuscript)....

Then there's the Construction Writers Association Fall Conference Oct. 5-7 in Chicago. And the AIA-New York's social media seminar, which I'm moderating, on Oct. 14: "Why to Blog, Text and Tweet - Strategic Social Media for Design Firms."

Then what? Woo hoo! I can't wait to answer that!

More to come. MUCH more to come. Stay tuned.

Warning: Disabled Tags Go with the Person, Not the Vehicle

When I was visiting my mom in Phoenix last week, I took her car, a big boat of a thing, a 1993 Lincoln Town Car, to Wal-Mart. I parked close to the front door in a space for the disabled and went inside.

Before I'd gotten 20 feet inside, I heard a male voice: "Excuse me, Ma'am." Couldn't be for me so I kept walking. Louder: "Excuse me, Ma'am!" I turned around and a policeman in uniform was talking to me. "I believe you are parked illegally," he said. Whaaaat?

I frowned and looked confused. "I don't think so," I said. He said I was parked in a spot for the disabled, without a proper tag. "It's on the license plates," I said. He said that the plates are assigned to a woman born in the 1920s, "and I don't think you were born in the 1920s." "No, that's my mom, but I have my own tag," I said, and rummaged through my purse and came up with my own disabled hang tag.

His attitude changed. The accusatory tone disappeared. He said he wanted to run it through his computer and would I come outside with him while he did that? Sure, I said, even though it was well over 100 degrees outside.

I stood by my mom's car while he did whatever he did. He came back a few minutes later and said Maryland's computers seemed to be down but he believed me and would not confiscate it. Confiscate it?!? I hope not! Though I didn't say anything.

He apologized for making me walk outside and explained why he was there. "There have been a lot of complaints about people parking in those spots who aren't supposed to," he said. "I just caught three people. One tag belonged to someone else, one was expired, and one belonged to someone who was deceased," he said. Wow.

Then he told me that the disabled tag was supposed to go with the person and not the vehicle. So I needed to hang my tag when parking in those spots, even though the license plate had the distinctive wheelchair logo.

Okay, point taken. The fine for a violation is $350. Friends, take note.

Procrastinating on "Getting My Stuff Done"

Such a wonderful little animated video that hits all too close to home, probably not only for me....

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Now, back to work! Really.

Hip Hip Hooray! -- 2-1/2 Weeks After Hip Replacement

First of all, apologies that this is so long. It's info that I wish I'd had before my surgery. So maybe it'l be helpful to someone else.

Every surgery is different. I read about others' before I had my own total hip replacement, I talked to people who'd had it, I talked to people whose friends and relatives had had it, I poured over web sites (the most helpful by far was Dr. Todd Swanson's hip replacement site and you can follow him on Twitter at @tvswanny), I asked questions of the right people. I thought I was prepared. I definitely was not. What I learned was that the only experience is experiencing it.

Night Before Surgery

The night before my surgery, I couldn't eat or drink anything, even water, after midnight. I ate a Dannon coffee yogurt about 11:45. Wasn't all that nervous, more excited to finally be getting this done. Slept okay.

Tuesday, Day of Surgery

The day of surgery, Tuesday, June 9, my friend Mary Ann drove me to the hospital and stayed with me the whole day. I knew I was in good hands -- think Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment -- and I knew she'd scream for whatever I really needed.

Beforehand, I'd asked my surgeon's nurse and the hospital nurse if I could 1) keep my rings on, 2) wear light eye make-up, and 3) keep my contact lenses in. In essence, I got mixed yes and no signals. Wasn't looking good for any of them, but as it turned out, I got to keep my eye make-up on and keep my contacts in. I had to surrender my rings to Mary Ann but I got them back later in the day.

My surgeon came in to the holding room about an hour before surgery and chatted with me. He asked what activity I missed. "Sex!" I declared. He and Mary Ann laughed. He said, "Usually we ask people to bring in pictures of them doing the activity [to help motivate them to heal], but in this case maybe that's not such a good idea."

My anaesthesiologist came in and told me what he would be doing as he led me into "twilight sleep" while I had my surgery with an epidural. I asked him if I could keep my contacts in and he said he thought it would be okay. I was thrilled! As anyone with 20/400 vision like me knows, it's a fuzzy, fuzzy world without contacts.

I was wheeled in to the operating room and I frankly can't remember much until I woke up on my side, looked around, realized I was in an operating room where things were relatively quiet, and I said, "Am I supposed to be awake?" to whomever might be in the vicinity. It's okay, I was assured; the surgery's over. Sigh of relief! The whole surgery took a little over an hour. Amazing!

Was rolled into the recovery room for an hour or so. I was the only one in there for most of the time. They covered my shivering body with wonderfully warmed blankets, and I felt a tiny bit of fear of the unknown but mostly just like it would all be okay.

Mary Ann was already in my room when I was wheeled in. I was awake, unlike the grogginess I'd experienced last time I had a general anaesthesia. But I was scared to move. I had a little pain pump, which they said to push even if I wasn't in pain to stave it off after the epidural wore completely off. So I pumped to keep ahead of the pain. I didn't move much.

I don't remember much about that first day except being glad I didn't have to get out of bed. I had a catheter, and the anaesthetic and pain medication are guaranteed to constipate you for days, I was told. (How right they were!) They also made me quite nauseous for awhile. Not as bad as general anaesthesia, but miserable nonetheless.

I wasn't very hungry but I was allowed to eat a normal dinner. I have no idea what I ate but it was pretty good.

The only BAD thing that happened was when my IV got clogged and I needed another one. But...their IV nurses -- yes, special IV nurses -- weren't available for a loooooong time! Three hours! Then one came and stuck me four times and couldn't find a vein. She was a bitch, besides, so I was mighty unhappy. Another long wait. Second IV nurse came and stuck me unsuccessfully another three times. I was going crazy. But at least this nurse was very nice, conscientious and empathetic. I just have tough-to-find veins, I guess. Feeling like a pin cushion, I called time out and phoned my spiritual advisor, who's sort of my minister. She did her prayerful magic, as I knew she would, and the very next stab was a success. It all took 4 hours. I asked for the nurse in charge and gave her an earful.

I was told that I wouldn't sleep much the first night because they'd keep waking me up to take my blood and my vitals. Not true. I slept very well and they were only mildly intrusive.

Wednesday, 1st Day After Surgery

Breakfast came. Who cares? But it tasted okay. Cookies came. When my mom and her significant other said they wanted to send me flowers, I asked if they'd send cookies from Cookies from Home instead so I could share them with the nurses and others who tended to me. Great move! They were such a hit with those great caregivers who get such little acknowledgement. Flowers came, too. They lit up the room. Very much appreciated!

The nurse took the catheter out and I admit that I panicked. There was noooooo waaaaay I could get out of bed. She assured me it wouldn't be necessary any time soon.

Two people from Physical Therapy came. They got me up and standing. Wooooo, a bit lightheaded. They had visions of me walking and going for PT. Didn't happen. My body just wasn't up for it yet. I saw the look pass between them, and they told me they'd be back the next day and would arrange for a bedside commode for me. I knew I'd failed.

Ooooooh, no, no bedside commode for me! It arrived and I couldn't fathom getting to it, getting down onto it and getting up from it, let alone in a room where people come barging in with no notice. Talk about incentive! A couple of hours later, I requested that a nurse help me walk to the bathroom, I made it there, and that was the end of the bedside commode! I was walking back and forth like a (fairly) old pro. I joked that the nurse would have to write a note for the PT folks verifying that it was really me, the same person who could hardly stand up in the morning.

Thursday, 2nd Day After Surgery

My surgeon came early to see how I was doing and he was pleased.

More flowers arrived, these from my dentist! How many people's dentists send them flowers? I was delighted! More walking. Bedside commode long gone. Caregivers were still loving the cookies.

PT people came and were delighted and relieved to see how I'd progressed. I walked with the walker to "Independence Square" on the same floor, where they have a whole setup of kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, stairs, curbs and a car. Probably spent half an hour there and they discharged me from PT and in essence said I could go home! What?!? I didn't feel at all ready to leave the hospital and, fortunately, my nurses agreed with me so I spent another night. Minimal intrusiveness, good sleep.

Friday, 3rd Day After Surgery

Nurse showed me how to inject myself with Lovenox, an anticoagulant to prevent deep vein thrombosis, once a day in my belly for the next eight days. Didn't bother me, did it without flinching. Mary Ann came to pick me up and I was outa there. Felt shaky walking slowly to the car with the walker. Gingerly got into the car with a plastic bag on the seat for easy swiveling.

Home looked good! People brought food and cards. Too exhausted and woozy and a bit nauseous to fully appreciate it, but it was so good to be home.

Several people told me I wouldn't have much pain post-surgery, especially since I'd had so much pain beforehand. They either lied or I'm super sensitive. There was definitely pain! I took Dilaudid, a narcotic painkiller, which made me mentally cloudy but it did take the edge off the pain. Put ice on my hip to help the swelling and pain. Was surprised and not happy about the pain!

Slept half-sitting, half-lying down. Uncomfortable but I was mocus enough to sleep anyway.

Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Days 4, 5, 6, 7 After Surgery

Home physical therapy was supposed to come Saturday, Sunday or Monday, but by Tuesday afternoon I still hadn't heard from anyone, despite calling the home care service twice. Geez, can't get good help! I did the exercises the hospital had taught me and was careful not to violate the 3 rules they beat into my head: 1) Don't cross your legs, 2) Don't turn your leg inward, 3) Don't bend over more than 90 degrees. I'm so glad I did the exercises every day; it really helped since the home PT person didn't come. Very discouraged when I weighed myself and saw that I'd gained 10 pounds since last week. Surely my new ceramic/titanium hip doesn't weigh 10 pounds!

People where I live brought me more cards, flowers, books, and more food, including complete dinners! I love where I live!!

Didn't feel much like walking outside my apartment, slept a lot, and fought swelling in both legs. Friend who'd had the surgery the year before said he'd been swollen more than he thought he should be and it lasted longer than he thought it should, so I didn't worry about it. It sure was ugly, though.

Still having pain, took Dilaudid only when I needed it, soon switched to Tramadol, another painkiller, but this one didn't fog my head. Took the edge off of the pain but didn't give me any other side effects (that I felt).

Worst part was dealing with the TEDS, high-compression stockings that go to the knee. They are a bitch to put on, like trying to move a size 6 stocking up a size 10 leg. Can't do it myself, so Mary Ann volunteered to put them on each morning, take them off each night, wash them and bring them back to put on again the next morning. She and I both hated them! They aren't uncomfortable to wear, just to put on. Torture! And I'm supposed to wear these for six weeks? No freakin' way! But for now, on every morning and off every night.

Walking better wih the walker, doing my exercises, can feel myself healing a tiny bit more each day. Still feeling the pain, though. Grabber (found in hip kits) very helpful for picking up dropped objects and putting on underwear and jeans. I'm getting good with it!

Tuesday night was invited to a neighbor's apartment just down the hall for dinner. My first big outing. Good, real food. But didn't last long, really pooped. No stamina. Ugh.

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Days 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 After Surgery

Off all of the pain meds, walking with a cane inside the apartment for the first time on Wednesday, pain minimal, mostly waking me up at night. Permission to sleep on either side, though the side with the incision was too sore to really work. When sleeping on the non-incision side, had to put a pillow between my legs to make sure I didnt cross my legs or turn leg inward. Such a relief to sleep on my side again that the pillow didn't bother me much.

Still doing my exercises, still wearing the TEDS, still no stamina, still sitting and standing and moving gingerly. No energy, not completely clear-headed, still swollen in both legs and both feet.

Home PT person arrived on Wednesday and was shocked that I answered the door with a cane instead of a walker. Led me through exercises, was pleased at my progress. Very glad I'd been doing the exercises. But hurting Wednesday night and Thursday, probably muscles rather than incision, so went back to the walker on Thursday. By Friday felt okay again, went back to the cane and that was the end of the walker.

Friday evening went to a social event where I live. Lasted about an hour and that was sitting with people bringing me food! Just no stamina, still, and no interest in socializing. Just not up for any of it yet.

Sunday I started peeing every 2 hours, sometimes every hour, once in awhile every half hour. What is going on? Infection? No pain, just insane frequency, including all night long.

Sunday went to dinner at my neighbor's, had to go back to my place once to pee (on my toilet with the 5-inch-higher riser). Not only no stamina, also no patience for small talk. Just wanted to go home, so left early for the sanctuary of my quiet place.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Days 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 After Surgery

Getting better by leaps and bounds! Definitely have turned a corner. Zipping around on my cane, exercises are getting easier and I'm feeling my muscles getting stronger as I coax them out of the hibernation they've been in for the last year when I've been in such pain. Home PT person came and took me up and down an entire flight of stairs. Up with the good leg, down with the bad one. Cane on the current step when going up, cane on the step you're moving to when going down. And hold on to the rail.

Peeing every hour continued for three days, Sunday through Tuesday. Then ceased as quickly as it had begun. And I'd lost all of the 10 extra pounds, plus my swelling was gone. Ah, that explains it! Very relieved.

Still moving, sitting, standing with great care. Began washing my own clothes/sheets/towels again, retrieving my clothes from the dryer by raising my left leg behind me so I don't bend more than 90 degrees. Simple cooking and food prep appeal to me again. More energy, though still low on stamina. Still aware that I'm not back 100% -- maybe 75% at this point. Better than 20% I had when I came home.

Okay, confessions. No more TEDS for the last couple of days. Swelling is gone and I'm more active so I figure...I'll try it this way. And I'm supposed to be able to drive at four weeks. It's been two weeks and four days. I had cabin fever today and the weather was beautiful, so I very carefully got into and out of the car, drove to the grocery store, used the grocery cart as a makeshift walker, gleefully walked up and down the aisles. It was such fun! Don't realize what we take for granted until it's gone. So glad to get it back! Drove very carefully -- don't want any accidents. Was so good for my morale! The trip zapped my energy, am still working on my stamina.

Next is swimming, which I can do at four weeks. I may push it a day or two but respect that they want no infection and neither do I. Can't wait to do exercises in the pool! And can't wait til my stamina is back. I am looking to get my life back, and I can feel that it's close.

Remembering and Smiling, Not Crying, on Father's Day

I will be glad when Father's Day is over, and the ads for all the things men love or are supposed to love end for another 11-1/2 months. My wonderful dad passed away 15 years ago, two months after Father's Day. I miss him every day but, of course, especially on Father's Day.

We (my mom and I) had him on borrowed time for many years. In the early 1970s he was shot with a .45 at close range in a robbery attempt at his business. He conked the guy over the head with a little quart can of paint he had in his hand, which made the guy's second shot miss my dad entirely. Fortunately, the one that hit him was a through-and-through in his shoulder, and he spent the night at the hospital that best treated gunshot wounds because they got so many. We all got lucky.

Then in he early 1980s he got diagnosed with prostate cancer. He treated it and eventually was deemed to be cancer-free. But a decade later it came back, wreaked incredible havoc with him as it spread, and his last year or two were hard on him and very hard on my mom, who took care of him.

But on that Father's Day in 1994, we had no idea that two months later he'd be gone.

I came out from New York to see him in Phoenix for Father's Day. I can't remember what I gave him for Father's Day but I wrote him about 100 "thank-you" items for every big and little thing I could think of, and that touched him greatly. I am so glad now that I got to express to him how I felt about the many things that made him special to me.

My mom and dad were married for nearly 47 years. Happily. They were a great example to me of what a marriage and a happy family should be. My dad wrote my mom creative little notes several times a week and gave her many, many cards. My favorite card that I still remember was (front) "I like you more than I like chunklit covered grab crackers." (inside) "And I really like chunklit covered grab crackers."

This past week my mom came upon a huge bag of all of those cards and notes that she'd kept, and she spent a couple of hours laughing and crying and remembering. Her significant other of the last decade was encouraging and understanding. (How rare!)

I miss my dad's wisdom. "Nothing is free." "The only thing constant in life is change." "Everything works out for the best." I miss his humor. He was big on puns, he teased about everything, and he lived to make my mother laugh. I miss his heart. He could be crusty on the outside but was a mushheart inside. I miss the great example that he was. He only finished high school but was self-educated and I could never stump him with my questions. He knew something about everything. He could make, fix or build anything. (He must have hated that throughout my brief marriage, my husband paid people to do nearly everything, nearly up to changing the lightbulbs.) My dad was my problem-solver, my entertainer and my inspiration.

Rather than focusing on the fact that he's gone, I'm trying to be grateful for the extra years we had with him that could easily have been denied us. My dad -- and my mom's husband -- was a man we love to remember...so as I do today, I will not cry. I will smile.

What's the Most Romantic Thing...?

My hairdresser today told me about her husband's romantic surprise for their 25th wedding anniversary: renewing their vows at a spectacular place with their original minister, original bridesmaids, every detail arranged and perfect. Very cool, I thought.

Then she asked me, "What's the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for you?" Hmmmmm. Ah.... Well, let's see. Absolutely nothing came to mind. Oh, c'mon, I've had some wonderful men in my life over the years. Why can't I think of something outstandingly romantic?

Let's see.... It wasn't my senior prom. My boyfriend at the time, Tom, and his best buddy with whom we double-dated, took us girls home first and went out together afterward. Not very romantic.

Thinking back, there were some memorable romantic gestures. My gorgeous next door neighbor Tom (not the same as my h.s. boyfriend Tom) ripped grasshoppers apart outside my window in an effort to impress me. We were about 10 or 11 at the time. I was impressed by the fact that he wanted to impress me, not by what he tried to impress me with.

In college, my boyfriend Greg sent me yellow roses, my all-time favorite. They were my first yellow roses and they were special. So was he. That was romantic.

When I was dating Walt, one night we were lying on his trampoline at his house just talking. He reached into his pocket, pulled out all of the bills inside -- somewhere around $100 -- handed them to me and said, "I love you. You can have everything I've got." A few days later, he proposed. (Yes, I married him. We're long divorced and that was a looooong time ago, but it was a turning point and very romantic at the time.)

My perception of what's romantic has really flip-flopped over the years. Grand gestures, big surprises and the champagne-roses-chocolate-covered-strawberries scenarios don't do it for me (especially since I don't drink these days). What I look for now is someone who knows when I need something -- sometimes when I don't know I need it, sometimes when I do -- and gives it to me. It's being there for me, however that manifests. I'd rather have that on a daily basis than "romance."

When my special man takea care of me when I have a fever and my hair is plastered to my head or when some food or the flu rudely upsets my whole digestive system, that's romantic. When he's an early-to-bed man but stays up til midnight to be the first to wish me happy birthday, that's romantic. When he takes out the trash, fixes my shower door, cooks me an omelette, makes me laugh when I'm blue, rubs my back when I'm hurting, asks my opinion on a thorny business issue, wants me to give him a wake-up call when he's traveling, watches a NASCAR race with me when he's not a great fan, and takes me to the airport at 5:00 a.m., that's romantic.

My hairdresser "sexted" her husband, knowing that sending a sexy text message was so out of character for her that he'd crack up. Her young salon employees put her up to it and taught her how. Her husband, she told me, wakes her up each morning by rubbing her back, with a glass of juice awaiting her on the nightstand. In my opinion, those are romantic things that transcend the grand gestures, because they are showing each other how important they are, and they are keeping things fresh, even after 25 years of marriage.

What's the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for you?

Counting Down to Getting My Life Back

In less than a week, I'll have a brand new hip on my left side. Everyone tells me I'll get my life back after the surgery for my total hip replacement and a few weeks of physical therapy and recovery, and I'm absolutely counting on that! The past few monhs -- all 52 weeks of the whole last year, really -- have been progressively worse and worse, more and more painful, and I've been increasingly losing "me" in the process. That's probably not true, but it feels that way. So I'll be glad to get my life back and me back too.

I'm anticipating that the one thing I'll dislike afterward is the inconvenience and aggravation of having the bells and whistles go off every time I go through the security line in an airport as it picks up on my new metal hip. I'll be wanded every time I go through an airport -- and that better be the extent of it! -- until they come up with something more progressive than those big old lumbering walk-through sensor arches they have now. But being able to walk and not limp or hurt will definitely be worth it.

I resent arthritis. How dare it do this to me?! Everyone calls it a degenerative disease that there's no cure for and no way of reversing. Gee, how optimistic. Probably if I ate pure something-juice and raw something-berries from now on, I could stave it off, but the idea of giving up Flo's Filets at Longhorn, Stouffer's Turkey Tetrazzini, Baskin-Robbins Pralines & Cream and Campbell's tomato soup (cream of - I like it with milk) with oyster crackers just is too much for me to seriously consider. Maybe "they" will learn more about arthritis and figure out how to treat it or get rid of it, and I sure wish they'd hurry.

Meanwhile, I have a blue disabled tag to hang on my car's rear view mirror so I can park in the handicapped spaces. I'm grateful for that, as it makes the excrutiating walk shorter. With all of us baby boomers getting older and more of us limping along, I think they're going to need a lot more of those designated spaces in the next few years. It's already hard to find a free one at the movie theater, Costco (and they have a lot of them!), and most restaurants.

There's a lot to do before this kind of "procedure." I have had my pre-op tests; signed my medical power of attorney and living will documents; bought all kinds of aids for not being able to bend more than 90 degrees for four weeks (yes, that'll be a trick); bought the ugliest mammoth hard plastic seat you've ever seen to raise the height of the toilet 5 inches (not putting it on til 5 minutes before I leave for the hospital and taking it off the moment I can); been to the dentist (because for the next two years, minimum, I'll have to take an antibiotic when I go, even for just a cleaning, to ensure no infection); talked to nurses and reps from my surgeon's office, the hospital and my insurance company (they called me, I didn't call them); and done 100 other things on my to-do-before-surgery list.

After I get my new hip, I will be glad to not have to always seek out the handicapped stall in the ladies' room. Getting up off of one of those little low commodes about a foot off the ground with nothing to grab onto and a bad hip can be an incredible challenge. I've come up on occasion with some creative ways of dealing with that (which I won't go into here, even though I know you'd laugh). Let's just say that this may be the #1 thing I'm looking forward to when out in public after I get my new hip.

I'll also be glad to be able to get into and out of a chair, into and out of bed, and walk more than a few feet at a time free of the pain that has literally crippled me and given me a perpetual grimace, especially the last couple or three months. I'll be glad to sleep more than an hour or two without the pain waking me up. I'll be glad when I can put weight on my left leg again without feeling that acute stab of pain and fearing the hip would crumple and send me sprawling on the ground.

Pain is exhausting and depressing. Both have been a surprise to me. I thought pain just hurt. No, it drains you, or at least it does me. It sucks out my energy to do the simplest things, so that I'm tired when I get up in the morning, I'm exhausted by mid-afternoon, and I'm completely useless by early evening. Worse, much worse, has been the not giving a damn about anything but making it through the day. Accomplishing anything has been too much to hope for, I'd say, five days a week. I usually had a couple of good days -- no, less bad days -- each week, but I never knew when they would be. Then I'd beat myself up for not accomplishing anything, letting other people down, being a failure and a bad person. This has all been so *not me* and I have not dealt with it well. So the idea of being six days away from help and a few weeks away from being me again is wildly thrilling.

I will say that I've become quite adept at coming up with workarounds to some of the challenges. I've got a "sock donner" to help me get a sock onto my foot and pull it up enough to where I can reach it to get it up the rest of the way. I have learned to squirt body wash on the floor of the shower and rub my left foot around in it since I can't reach it to wash it. Next I'm going to tape my shaver to a long wooden spoon to shave my lower left leg where I can't reach. And probably the nicest thing I've done to deal with this is...get a pedicure. I'd never had one before about six weeks ago, but when I couldn't endure the pain anymore of reaching down far enough to clip my toenails on my left foot, I had to do something. It's pure bliss to have someone pamper your feet for an hour. I'm getting another pedicure two days before I go in for my surgery. I plan to enjoy it -- I don't know if I will be able to justify it anymore after I get my reach back.

One bright spot in all of this has been Twitter. The "tweeple" there have been wonderfully supportive and informative. One hip and knee surgeon, Dr. Todd Swanson (@tvswanny) out of Las Vegas, Nevada, twittered me with this link to his Web site, which has a cornucopia of information about joint replacements. Thank you, Dr. Swanson!

Thank You, Mom

Thank you, Mom, and I appreciate you so much for...

...always being there for me, no matter what (and I've certainly tested that).
...loving me even when I'm not lovable.
...marrying my wonderful dad, and making it a happy marriage until the day he died.
...giving me your values through example. It was never "do as I say, not as I do" with you.
...making it safe for me to tell you the truth.
...respecting my privacy.
...being a good person through and through. You do the right thing because it's the right thing. I do the right thing because I see that it always pays off.
...having the capacity to truly love two wonderful men: my dad and Lloyd.
...showing me by example how to treat a man: adore him, don't nag him, respect him, have fun with him, flirt with him, dress nicely and put on make-up every day, be someone he always wants to come home to.
...teaching me how to shuffle cards when I was young. I still do it your way.
...giving me 7-Up and Campbell's chicken noodle soup when I was sick. Those comfort foods still soothe and heal me.
...crying when I give you greeting cards that touch you. It makes me feel like I am giving you a gift.
...analyzing the handwriting of my friends and boyfriends when I was growing up. You probably saved me from some bad situations, correction, many bad situations.
...being the mom that my friends always wanted to talk to.
...greeting my friends at the door with a loud, happy "Hello Dere!" It embarrassed me at the time but my friends always laughed and I grew to love it.
...taking me 1,000 places a year before I could drive.
...paying me an allowance.
...teaching me to save no matter what.
...bailing me out in thousands of ways from birth to now.
...doing the horoscopes for me and whatever friend I asked you to. Very enlightening!
...learning the computer and getting e-mail years before your contemporaries. You've fixed your own computer glitches for years, something I can't even always do.
...playing a zillion games of ping pong in our basement with Dad and me.
...teaching Dad how to dance and having those great dance parties in our basement. You had the greatest dance friends and you shared your love for dancing with me.
...going shopping and to lunch with me whenever I visit you. And paying!
...your sense of humor. Your humor is never cruel, and you can laugh at yourself. And when you crack up, it's contagious!
...so many pet phrases I heard over and over. Some are incriminating to either you or me so I won't post them here. :-)
...cooking wonderful dinners for us every night, even though I know that cooking wasn't your favorite thing to do.
...jerking me out of the car when I was choking on a jawbreaker, turning me upside down and slapping my back til it dislodged and I could breathe again.
...teaching me how to roller skate and ride a bike.
...making our home always warm, comfortable, clean, well appointed and a place everyone wanted to spend time in.
...your artistic talent in ceramics (nobody painted those tiny little eyelashes like you did - incredible detail) and oil painting (such lovely scenes you painted).
...giving me piano lessons, even though I fought you over practicing.
...your love of all things blue.
...surviving a near-fatal heart attack, lung cancer, polio and post-polio syndrome, and a myriad of ailments that limit you and give you pain every day.
...your grit, your nerve, your determination to soldier on despite relentless pain and the aftereffects of polio. I don't know how you've done it, how you still do it, and I just hope you know what a great inspiration you are to me.
...trusting me to help you throughout the years and especially now.
...forgiving me, usually before I asked.
...disciplining me. Being a mom when I needed it.
...being a great friend, pal, playmate and mentor, as well as my mom.

I could fill pages and pages and pages of things I appreciate you for. I love you, Mom. I am the most fortunate daughter in the world! Happy Mother's Day!

New-World Friendship

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer" has been attributed to everybody from Chinese general Sun-tsu in 400 BC to Abraham Lincoln to The Godfather's Michael Corleone.

Friends don't always act like friends. A human resources manager told me that the worst clashes in the workplace occur between best friends. They tend to be the most volatile and the rifts often remain permanent.

I've had my so-called best friends deliberately go after the men in my life, and I know my mom's best friends did the same. Fortunately for both of us, that was a long time ago, and those women are long out of our lives.

Two very close friends have fired me, both men, both for things that, in my opinion, were not worth losing a friendship over. One woman friend long ago, one who deliberately sought out a guy I had, uh, dated and she, uh, dated him, fired me after she got fired from her job and I ended up with it a couple of months later. She was so vain that she wanted someone incompetent to get the job so she could look better. As it turned out, I didn't do much better in the job than she had, though for different reasons. (No film at 11)

Come to think of it, another so-called friend went after a guy I'd been very involved with and was still emotionally attached to, the most significant relationship in my life to date at that time. He's the one who told me about it, not her.

It's easier to be friends with people now, in the new world, I think, than ever before, mainly because less is required of each individual friend. The Internet has changed things; our mobility and wanderlust have changed things; lack of job security has changed things. We no longer grow up with, work with and are in the same geographical area with the same few people for 20, 30, 40, 50 years. We don't look to a small circle of friends to meet all of our needs. Our friends (mine, anyway) are spread out all over the country -- the world, actually. They fall into diverse categories. There's one for every mood, need, task and activity.

Now with the online world, especially twitter (which I love!), I feel that I have friends I've never met. I'm not sure I could count on them to bail me out of jail, but I can count on them to provide information, comfort, names and numbers of other resources, and most of them would do what they could to support my efforts, whatever they are. How cool is that?

I used to have a best friend, growing up. Now I have more than one best friend, a lot of good friends, many good pals, and a ton of acquaintances who turn into friends at different times. There are some I like but don't trust, some I trust but don't like so much, some I can tell anything to, some I have narrow conversations with, some who are for fun, some who keep me on track, some who help me go off track. I love my friends; I love having lots and lots of friends. I like the diversity of my friends. I like that I can cultivate so many different sides of myself with my different friends.

My spiritual advisor for the past 25 years tells me that no one is another's friend, that we are all each other's teachers. I like that idea. I can see it, that we are there for each other as teachers, sometimes in ways we like, sometimes not. I like the positive spin on it. But I am not giving up my friends!

Journalists: "Gee Whiz" Approach to Twitter Is Getting Old!

I saw yet another "Gee whiz - look at this Twitter thing" story this morning, this one on "CBS Sunday Morning." There's one every two minutes lately: On "The View," in the Wall Street Journal, on various evening national news programs and morning shows, etc. They all basically just start from zero, explaining in the most elementary terms what Twitter is and gee-whizzing their way through the story. They act like few of us have ever heard of Twitter, let alone are tweeting our hearts out.

Well, guys, as a journalist myself, I know there's such a thing in journalism as a "Day Two" story. That's when the news nugget has already been announced, either by your pub/station/etc. or in general, meaning that there's an assumption that a lot of your audience has already been given the raw news. Breaking the raw news - that's the "Day One" story. The Day Two story, then, advances the story, providing analysis and/or a deeper look.

Twitter has been around for a little over three years. Millions of people now tweet. It's not easy to find out exact numbers and they are rising exponentially anyway, but the point is that Twitter is not brand new. Just because you've never heard of it, Ms. or Mr. Journalist, doesn't mean the rest of the world is as ignorant.

Everybody whose story I've seen in mainstream media acts like they've just discovered Twitter and want to tell us about it. Gee, thanks, but a lot of us are already here and are getting proficient at tweeting, building networks and actually knowing what to do with them for whatever purpose(s) we are out to fulfill. We are ready for the Day Two story, guys!

I first heard about it at a web-oriented American Independent Writers seminar organized by Kristen King about seven or eight months ago and signed up on the spot, from my seat in the audience. (Thank you, Verizon broadband device!) I was shocked when after a couple of days some people I didn't know were following me. Why would they want to do that, I wondered? Now I have 1,452 followers, and I follow 1,256. I personally know about a dozen, yet I consider many of them my cohorts, co-conspirators, allies and some even friends.

Never have I had such access to writers; IT gurus; movie, tv & music stars (Jane Fonda, Ashton Kutcher & Demi Moore, Billy Bush, MC Hammer, Jimmy Fallon, to name just a few); fellow fans of NASCAR, "Dancing with the Stars," "Life on Mars," and people who are interested in discussing all kinds of topics. I have gotten technical advice, instructions (and a video) on cooking omelettes, recommendations and URLs on healthcare solutions, and wisdom on a multitude of subjects. There are people who are willing to promote my book when it comes out, people who pray for me when something goes wrong, people who would do me all kinds of favors and for whom I'd do the same thing. I could get writing jobs and even consulting gigs from my Twitter network, the Twitterverse, as it were.

That's what journalists need to talk about, not just what Twitter is and how gee-whiz interesting it is to microblog 140 characters at a time, but how Twitter really works for the tweeple who tweet!

And then they can write about how businesses are successfully using Twitter to expand their customer base, take care of their existing customers (@comcastcares is a great example of customer service extraordinaire via Twitter, as I know first hand), spread the word on specials or new products, or just be visible. Following @BaskinRobbins, @Starbucks, @DunkinDonuts, and @traderjoes has been fun and has been good for them as well. Individuals who are hawking their wares or services get visibility and customers. I've gone to a wonderful writing seminar put on by @Mike Geffner that I never would've heard of otherwise and joined some professional groups I hadn't previously heard of. There's a receptive audience for every product and service, if these firms know how to find those folks on Twitter or let them find them. That's another Day Two story. Hey, just trying to be helpful!