what to do???

Need to think of a focus for my blog> > > > Think, think, think. I know little stuff about alotta stuff.

Quick meals that border gourmet?
Gardening the simple quick way?
Teenagers - grow 'em nice and easy.
Politics - what matters most to everyday folks?
Music - new stuff, not the same 'ole same'ole.
Writing for a living - - - scary!!!!
Sandwich generation stuff?
Movies . . .yea, likey likey.

Okay, now i'm even more confused.

Springtime!

The weather in Austin today is spectacular! Not that Austin doesn't have its fair share of those - between the end of May and the end of September it's miserably hot here. For sure. But the remaining 240 days or so of the year are generally - well - exquisite. (Admittedly, a little more rain would be nice, especially for the aquifer.) So think I of the people up north who are still fighting snowstorms and I think of how lucky I am to live in such a great city, full of energy and brimming with hope. There's so much going on in this town at any given moment it's like a mini-universe unto itself. And people here seem so hopeful, in spite of the failing economy that is, yes, leaving its mark even on sunny Austin. What impresses me most about this place, as opposed to New Orleans, which is one of only 3 of my other points of reference since I've only lived in 5 towns in my life, is that it's a town that seems to always be open to new ideas. The energy is fresh and the word 'progress' isn't sneered at.

I like that, and I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.

At least, not for now.

Just lucky I guess.

The weather

It occurs to me that the weather effects my mood dramatically. It's strange I've only become aware of this in the last year or so. When days are gloomy and overcast, and that's a rare thing in Austin, I am much less motivated, energized and much more melancholy and anxious.

Today is spectacular, as most days are in this sunny town. I have a lot to do. I'd better get back to it.

And happy birthday to my beautiful, smart little niece, Marie Lucie, who is 9 today! The world is at your feet, Marie! Go at it with gusto, and bask in the sunny days!

Clutter me messy

I have been assigned to do a story on the woman who concieved 'the clutter diet' - wrote a book about it, blogs about it (www.clutterdietblog.com), and is becoming known for it. I still know little about her, or her diet, but I know one thing. As I sit here, on my dining room table in the middle of the living area of my house, I know that clutter is about 40% of the reason my heart stays constricted most of the time. The other reasons are too melodramatic to go into, or not, so for purposes of this blog, let's just say, clutter is not my friend and it doesn't make my heart go pitter patter. Rather, it gives me a headache. So, I think I'll start reading her blog, sign up for it, maybe even heed some of her sage advice. Then maybe, just maybe, when I meet her, I'll touch her arm, and some of her organizational zeal will rub off on me.

Or, I could just get my act together, find a nice big work table I love, organize my perfectly good study already equipped with a decent amount of shelving, and DE-clutter my life.

Granted, things have been topsty turvy, on so many levels, for about a year now. But this year, albeit six weeks into it, I'm settling in. I'm going to quit waiting for something to happen so my productivity level can sore. It's now or never - and I don't mean that in the love-song sense.

Brad Pitt Darling

Last night, my daughter and a young guest were debating whether Brad Pitt was desirable in "Interview With A Vampire", a movie resurrected because of our vampire convo. My daughter thought he was 'hot' in that movie, and that he always is. Our guest, probably aged 15 or so, disagreed. She found him atrocious looking.

I remain neutral. I barely remember the film, but what I do remember is being mostly bored and underwhelmed by it. I certainly don't remember whether Brad was gorgeous in it or not, although I'll err on the 'likely he was hot' side.

Today, I like him okay. He's a handsome guy, no debate. But he doesn't do it for me like Clive Owen or Javier Badim.

But I digress.

Neverthelesss, this conversation then morphed into another concerning invitro-fertilization and zero population growth (the way conversations do) and must have spurred the following dream last night:

Enter utter chaos, people everywhere in a club or restaurant, no rhyme or reason to the setting. Sitting at a table, alone, was Pitt. He looked forlorned, distraught, and about a decade older than he looks now. I walked up to him (because really, that's what I 'd do if I spotted some poor lonely schmuck with a 10 for a face hanging by himself in a crowded restaurant. Or not.) So I said to him, "What's wrong, Brad?". He replied in a whiny tone that doesn't remind me of much of anything except my ex-husband, "Angie is leaving me. She's taking all the kids and she's leaving me." I was shocked. I showed it.

How could she???

So I said, "What will you do now, Brad?" The empathy was oozing from my voice.

He replied.

"I am on my way to China. I need to go buy myself a baby."

AAAAH, the rich. Always buying more kids and thinking nothing of it.

Fab Four

Last night, the Fab Four got together at my house. It's rumored that we are talked about in certain circles and even stalked by paparazzi here in Austin. Of course, we made those rumors up ourselves. Nevermind that we are own biggest fans.

It's completely per chance that someone like me happened onto such a distinguished association. Made of only four members (really?), the Fab Four as we girlishly named ourselves, consists of Josephine, eighty-something, Gwen, just eighty, Mary Gordon, who is in her 60's, and me, barely hangin' still in the ballasts of my forties, peering well into the next decade.

My girls met the group last night. They've heard me for two years now shuffle off excitedly to my Fab Four gatherings, and always wondered what all the fantastic anticipation was about. Now, they want to join! That's how cool this group is - my nineteen and twenty-one year old uber-hip daughters want to join.

Josephine is right. We aren't taking any new members. Cause we're not changing our name.

my daughter

My daughter Claire is in a wheelchair. She's 21 years old, a sight to behold. With long, dark hair and wide, knowing eyes the color of Elizabeth Taylor's, she enters a room with the grace of an earth angel. Some likely notice the wheels first. Perhaps others never notice them at all.

She is translucent, miraculous, a siren.

No matter that her legs are rubber now, though nearly immovable at the ankles. No matter that she struggles mightily to adjust to a step-happy walking man's world.

It's barely noticeable, her awkward struggle. She is translucent and light, edges glowing like an angel-shaped cloud.