On our yearly trip to Cambria, I watched my son “facing off” with the ocean.  He stood at its edge, barefoot, with his jeans rolled up.  He was ready and waiting.

“Oh yeah!”

“Bring it on!”

“Come on!”

Last year during our trip, we had spent some extra time at the beach before heading home.  We’d played.  We’d collected rocks.  And then suddenly the ocean surprised us with a wave that knocked us down and saturated our clothes.

For a while, Ryan had said he wouldn’t want to play down by the ocean again.  Ever.

But that was last year.  And this year, he was back at it.  Over and over, he approached the incoming water, ready to feel the shock of cold on his bare feet and legs.

He was excited.  Eager.  Fearless. 

I wanted to capture his “go-get-’em” attitude and bring it home with me.  Keep it, so I’d have it available to dispense to him in the future, when fear may try to hold him back. 

Because I know from experience, that the older you get, the more difficult it can be to approach the world with a “bring it on” attitude. 

I have a confession to make — I don’t have a blog post for this week.  Well, I didn’t have a blog post for this week until I decided to write this short note and let my readers know what’s going on.

First off, I’ve done a lot of writing during this past week.  The only problem is the writing I’ve done isn’t for this blog.  I’ve been writing for my UCLA Extension class.  Namely a personal essay about mindfulness and another essay on breasts.  Yes, you read that right.

I’ve also been busy writing and publishing posts at MomsLA.com.  The last one I wrote was about where to see spring wildflowers.  Spring break is coming up, and if you’re looking for something to do, check it out: http://momsla.com/9-places-see-spring-wildflowers/

Since there isn’t a lot of new material to read this week, I invite you to take a look at my published work.  There are links that will take you to the pieces I’ve written over the years.

As always, thanks for reading.

I celebrated my 40th birthday this week. 

I’m not quite sure how I feel about that fact.  On the one hand, I know it’s good.  The more birthdays you have, the older you get, which means the longer you live.  That’s definitely good.

But there’s something about turning 40 that I just can’t wrap my head around.  Maybe it’s because my husband and I started dating right around our 21st birthdays.  (He had just turned 21; I was about to).  And now we’re 40.  It feels so sudden; like I blinked and somehow time fast-forwarded. 

I think I met this birthday with a strong level of ambivalence because of my health.  In certain respects, I feel much older than 40.  My mom (almost 71 years old) is more physically fit than I am.  And if I’m already dealing with all this medical stuff now, I worry about what may happen as I get older —  you know the time when you kind of expect your body to go through lows, to experience pain, to have things “break down.”  And of course no one knows the answer to that.  Let’s face it, no one really knows how their health will be tomorrow.

But up until about five years ago, medical problems always seemed so far off in the future.  Something that could happen.  Something that might happen.  And for me, it’s happened.  It’s here.  And most likely, I’ll be dealing with this autoimmune condition for the rest of my life.  And that thought is exhausting.

In certain respects, my life at 40 isn’t quite as I thought it would be.  I can say that parts are really hard and parts are really upsetting. 

But, I can also say that there are parts that are pretty damn great. 

It was a very simple exchange. As I was leaving my gated community and waiting for the gate to open on my side, a driver on the opposite side was having difficulty opening the gate with his clicker.

I picked up my clicker, aimed it at his side, and the gate opened.  He waved his hand in thanks.  We each began to drive through the gates.  But he stopped, rolled down his window, and told me, “You’re so nice.  Thanks so much for caring.”

That quick exchange happened a week ago, but I’d like to think of it as a deposit in the good-karma bank.  I did something nice for someone else.  It obviously made an impact because that driver didn’t just wave his hand as a quick thank you, he spoke to me.  He thanked me. 

And I know I left that exchange feeling good.  Feeling proud that something I had done had such a positive impact on someone else.  And it left me hopeful that the other driver would carry with him the memory of me doing something nice to help him.  Because maybe it would influence his later actions.  Maybe he would do something nice for someone else, just because it was a nice thing to do.

And maybe, more people would go about their days thinking there really were kind people out in the world. 

After all, one of Claire Cook’s characters in Multiple Choice said it best:  “Karma is a boomerang.”

More than a year ago, I was taking a writing class through UCLA Extension.  The instructor gave us the following prompt: “Write about the fabric of your life.”  Is your life silk?  Flannel?  Cotton? 

From that prompt, I wrote a personal essay about Neil Diamond’s song “Forever in Blue Jeans.”  And that personal essay was adapted and then selected for inclusion in an anthology titled Everything I Need To Know About Love I Learned From Pop Songs.

The book was recently published and is now available for purchase.  Here’s the link:

http://www.amazon.com/Everything-Need-About-Learned-Songs/dp/1523826142/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455930994&sr=1-2&keywords=everything+i+know+about+love+i+learned+from+pop+songs

And, I’ll pose these questions to you:

• How would you describe the fabric of your life?
• Is there a song that has taught you about love?

Feel free to share your answers in the comments section!

From time to time, I select a book from my bookcase to be re-read.  I do this for a few reasons.  First of all, I have so many books, and am always finding more books to add to my collection, that it comes down to an issue of space.  Secondly, some of my books were initially read so many years ago, I don’t even remember them all that vividly.  So, if a book isn’t one I would enjoy reading again, then I don’t need to keep it. 

Recently I re-read Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff with Your Family by Richard Carlson, Ph.D.  The book has a copyright date of 1998, and I remember I first read it when I was still a full-time college student and working part time at the Beverly Hills Public Library.  I started teaching in 2001, so it’s been at least 15 years since I’ve last read this book.

What surprised me on this re-read, is that the advice that resonated with me then, still resonates with me now.

Take for example tip #11:  “Live From Your Heart.”

Upon my first read, I used a pink pen to underline different phrases.  I had drawn an arrow next to the tip’s title.  I had even folded down the page.

This time around, I put a post-it on the page as a reminder that this was something I wanted to write about.  (Hence this blog). 

“Living from your heart means that you choose a life and a lifestyle that are true for you and your family.”

During my first read, I was newly married.  During this read, I was on the verge of celebrating my 17th wedding anniversary, and my son will be turning 8 next month.  And I’m proud to say that I had acknowledged we were living from our hearts then, and we continue to live from our hearts now. 

“Living from your heart means that you trust your own instincts more than the pressures from advertising or the expectations of society, neighbors, and friends.”

We certainly don’t let others’ expectations dictate what we do or don’t do.  I know several people who strongly disagree with our choice to rent instead of own.  I know others who disapprove of me not enrolling my son in any after-school activities.

But that’s them. 

I ignore them and instead, continue to listen to my heart. 

Last week, my blog was about my dad.  This week, I’m inspired by my son.  I recently wrote an essay titled, “7 Reasons Why My Son Is Smarter Than I Was At His Age.”  It began as a list I started scribbling down after one of my showers.  And the more I wrote and developed the piece, the more I realized how much has changed since I was 7 1/2 years old. 

The essay was published at Role Reboot.  Here’s the link:

http://rolereboot.org/family/details/2016-02-7-reasons-why-my-son-is-smarter-than-i-was-at-his-age/

 

Today is my dad’s 70th birthday! And I’ll be honest, it’s not always easy to get him gifts.  I know he tells me that he doesn’t need gifts (and really, no one needs gifts). But that’s why they’re gifts. They’re given because you want to give them.

So although I have already given my dad his birthday gifts, today’s blog serves as a “surprise gift” for him —  a top 10 list of reasons why I love my Daddy.  (And yes, I still call him Daddy).

1. He’s affectionate.  My dad did not grow up in a home where affection was abundant. But, that didn’t stop him (and my mom) from creating a home where showing affection was (and still is) the norm.  My dad is still affectionate with me and incredibly affectionate with my son.    

   

2. He’s hard-working.  I remember my dad working a lot when I was a kid.  I remember the middle of the night phone calls (he worked for the phone company).  I remember the business trips.  But I don’t ever remember my dad complaining a whole lot about it (except for the middle of the night phone calls).  He had a job to do.  He did it to the best of his ability.  I watched, and I learned to do that too.
3. He’s mischievous.  As my dad has gotten older, and is no longer working full-time, he’s gotten sillier.  He’s not shy about letting strangers know that before he met my mom he didn’t have any gray hair.   

   

4. He’s in love with my mom.  My parents will be celebrating their 41st wedding anniversary next month.  And my dad remains very much in love with my mom.  It’s clear in the way he holds her hand.  In the way he reaches for her tush as she walks by.  In the way he looks at her. 
5. He always kept us safe.  I always had faith in my dad’s ability to keep us safe.  He was our family’s designated driver during our family trips, and I knew he’d get us where we were supposed to be, and get us safely back home.
6. He was a willing travel partner.  During high school and my early college years, I became increasingly eager to travel. There were a couple of things holding me back though, including a lack of finances, a lack of transportation, and a lack of self-confidence to do it all by myself.  That’s where my dad came in.  He and I went on several “daddy-daughter-dates.”  We went on a sunset hot air balloon ride.  We went to Santa Barbara via Amtrak.  We went to San Juan Capistrano.  We went horseback riding on Catalina Island.  We went whale watching out of Dana Point and spent the night in Laguna Beach.  And, we spent three days in San Diego.  Those trips will always hold a special place in my heart.   

   

7. He’s always encouraged me to be smart.  I’m a smart girl.  In school, I was equally strong in math and English.  For about half of my childhood, I had aspirations to be an astronaut.  And my dad always supported that.  I never felt that it wasn’t okay to be a smart girl.  My dad always made me feel like it was okay for a girl to want to go into space; in fact, that there was nothing particularly special about it at all.  

   

8. He’s a quitter (in the good way).  My dad started smoking cigarettes as a young boy.  As an adult, he smoked pipes.  But in 2016, my dad will celebrate his fourteenth year as a non-smoker.  Within the last few years, he’s also quit adding salt and sugar to his foods.  He’s made positive changes and has shown me that though it might not always have been easy, it’s possible to quit bad habits.
9. He’s easy to please.  When it comes to breakfast, one of my dad’s favorites happens to be a big bowl of Cheerios. He loves my mom’s spaghetti and meat sauce. He knows what he likes, and luckily, his favorites aren’t fancy, gourmet meals. They’re classics for a reason. 
10.   He’s a good guy.  My dad sets a fine example, for both my husband and my son.  He’s genuinely a good guy.  He’s decent and kind and likable.  He’s someone who loves his family.  And I’m proud to say that he’s my Daddy.

It happened 30 years ago tomorrow.  I was nine years old and in the fourth-grade. 

The space shuttle Challenger launched from the Kennedy Space Center with a most famous astronaut on board — Christa McAuliffe, the first teacher in space.

Our class was supposed to have been in the auditorium to watch the shuttle launch.  But, noisy boys had made us late.  And by the time we got downstairs, it had already happened.

As we made our way into the auditorium, a kindergarten teacher was running in from the other door.  She was yelling, “It blew up.”  I was confused and didn’t understand her outburst.  And then, I’m embarrassed to admit, that my first thought was confusion about her concern.  In my mind, she didn’t know any of the astronauts, so why was she so emotional?

Surprisingly, it was this accident that sparked my interest in space.  I became intrigued, curious, passionate, and not fearful.  Even though I had seen the worst, had seen how lives could be lost, I wanted to be an astronaut.

Christa McAuliffe had showed me I could.  She was a “regular person.”  A teacher.  A mom.  Someone who was a good person and liked learning.  That was me. 

I wanted to do what she wanted to do.  I wanted to go into space and share what I learned with others.  I wanted to share a message of peace and hope and beauty and wonder with those back on Earth.

I saw space flight as an opportunity for humans to get a “do-over.”  To try and do things right, to fix the wrongs and mistakes that had been made on Earth. 

Looking back, I’m honestly quite surprised that I wanted to be an astronaut for as long as I did.  (It was my goal until high school, when I volunteered in an elementary school classroom and had a special connection with the kids I helped.  Then I became passionate about teaching). 

Christa McAuliffe used to say, “I touch the future.  I teach.”  And I did that for twelve years. 

But now it’s my son’s turn to dream.  To tell me he wants to walk on the Moon.  That he wants to do a Michael Jackson-style moonwalk on the Moon.  And I tell him to go for it.  I tell him that he can do whatever he wants to do.  I tell him I believe in him. 

Because that was Christa’s other message — “Reach for the stars.”

   

This week, I’m pleased to share that one of my personal essays has recently been published online at Breath and Shadow.  On our trip to Cambria last year, I was inspired by what I saw and what I felt and the result is my personal essay, “Seven Lessons I’m Learning From the Ocean.”  Here’s the link:

http://www.abilitymaine.org/breath/win16e.html