Is there such a thing as too happy?

I've missed you. Or, put another way, I've missed me... since I'm one of the very few that reads this blog. (smile)

What I really mean is that I miss writing. I miss being able to talk about one thing, uninterrupted, for as long as I'd like. For most of my life, I kept a journal, which, at its best, was like a travelogue, dispatches from the adventures of my life. Even in the rough spots... ESPECIALLY in the rough spots... the very act of chronicling transformed my day-to-day experiences into a journey, a story, a narrative arc that felt bigger than my own four walls.

And there's the rub... that part about writing being ESPECIALLY good during the rough spots. I am just much less inclined to sit and write when I'm happy. Too busy getting on with things to brood about what it all means. And lately, I've been living an exceptionally happy life, on every level. Yay for me! But, eh hmmm... not so good for my journal that used to be my best friend, and not so good for that whole "narrative arc" deal.

I guess what I'm saying is though I miss writing, I'm not sure that I miss being a person who has something to write about.

So what to do? Hmmmm. I suppose that before I sit down to write, I could concentrate on the things that annoy me. Get myself worked up about rude drivers, right-wing wingnuts, and people who chew gum with their mouths wide open.

Let me chew on that for a while, and see where it takes me. Or, heck, maybe I should just change the name of this blog from "GenMGirl" to the "The (Invisible) Adventures of a PollyAnna" and call it a day.

Easter in October

Birthdays are to me are like high holy days are to Catholics.

First there's all the fuss... party, people, presents. And what self-respecting attention-loving Libra doesn't like parties, people, and presents? Bring on the noise makers, people... life is short.

But it's also the only time of the year that I feel free to navel gaze, be introspective, and catalog the changes in my mind and my body... without feeling guilty. In the weeks before my birthday, I can convince myself that I am an anthropologist as I count the crows feet; that I am doing research when I gut check all of my current insecurites; that I am a historian as I take stock of the choices I've made, and the changes they've wrought. In other words, I save all my heavy lifting until the last few weeks of my natal year.

But then, when the actual day dawns, and the birthday hoedown swings into life, it's like biting the ears off the chocolate Easter bunny after Lent. It's all sparklers and confetti.

This has been a wonderful year for me, by the way. And I have lots of thoughts about the year that came before... in addition to the current count on the crows feet... many of which may be the fodder for future blog posts.

But since this is my first day of being 44, I'm still in celebration mode. And boy, do I have a lot to celebrate. Life is beautiful when there's love in it.

So my birthday wish for all of YOU is a big, fat, dark chocolate Easter bunny with really bite-able ears... it sure takes the sting out of the crows feet.

A Spud's Life

For all of you potato heads, couch potatoes, and most especially for Dan Quayle, there's big news from the United Nations... 2008 has been designated the Year of the Potato.

The good news is you can eat potatoes and still look good in a bikini... see?

Feed the world and pass the french fries. This spud's for you.



Check it out here.

Up in Smoke

October 21st is coming fast, and it's a big day for me... a celebration of three momentous occassions. These are, in order:

1) The 44th anniversary of my birth.

2) The 28th anniversary of my first cigarette, bummed off my best friend (and still the champ-eeen smoke ring blower of the universe), in a London pub.

3) The 1st anniversary of me running, not because I'm being chased by a dog or I'm late for a plane, but because I have somehow come to the conclusion that it's good for me.

Now, I can't take much credit for the first one. My mother, after all, did the heavy lifting.

Numbers 2 and 3, though, are all mine... the product of my choices. And what seemingly contradictory choices they are. Except... they're not. I started smoking and running for exactly the same reason. I wanted to be cooler than I thought I was, and my birthday seemed like a good day to reinvent myself.

And they have something else in common, too. I really REALLY enjoy them both.

When I started running, it took me about 6 weeks to be able to run one mile without crying, turning purple, or throwing up. (Coincidentally, when I started smoking, I had almost the exact same learning curve on being able to finish a cigarette.)

Breathing was such a painful experience during those first few runs that you'd think it would have turned me against my Marlboro fixation.

But with my first cup of coffee, or a glass of wine, or (dare I say it) after a long run, nothing tastes, feels, or smells better to me than a long drag on a smokey treat.

In my 28 years of smoking, I have been unwavering in my worship of the cigarette -- from the ritual of unwrapping the pack, to the silky feel of the smoke in my mouth, to the ridiculous party tricks I've learned, like popping smoke rings and french inhaling.

The only thing that has changed is that I no longer think it makes me look cool. In fact, I think I look so UN-cool that I sometimes pretend I'm a non-smoker when I'm around people that don't know me well.

And now, it's not just about me and what I want anymore... there's my son to consider, too. He's 12... and they've learned in school that smoking kills you. He wants his mother to live, at least for now... puberty hasn't kicked in yet. And I want to be the kind of mother that is "do as I do" rather than "do as I say."

So... I see the writing on the wall, as clear as I can read the writing on the side of my pack of Marlboro Ultra Light 100s... smoking kills. And I like birthdays.

I have promised my son that by Christmas of this year, I will have become a non-smoker. Which means I only have a few more months to prefect my smoke-rings... I better run and get busy.

Into the Ether

There are few things more valuable to me than my first cup of coffee in the morning. Turns out, it may be worth even more than I thought.

Here's a quote from today's edition of The Detroit News

"You can buy two shares of Ford stock this morning for the price of a jumbo latte at Biggby Coffee."

Wow. I'm drinking a jumbo-sized cup of Biggby coffee right now... I better sip it and make it last.

We don't have much money invested in the stock market... and I haven't looked to see how much less it is today than it was last week. No point in making myself crazy.

But I'm thinking about my parents, and my husband's parents, and their retirement income... and how they may not have enough time to recover their losses.

I mean, when the market loses a trillion dollars in value in one week, where does that money go? How can can a trillion dollars (I don't even know how many zeroes that is) just disappear into the ether?

It hurts my head to think about it. I think I'm going to go make myself another cup of Ford stock, and take a hot bath.

Stuck in the Middle

I was cruising around the internet, thinking about writing my first post for this blog, when I found this picture on Flickr. It kind of sums it all up.

There's this gummy bear, see? A smiling bear-shaped ball of sugar that'll stick to your teeth if you bite it. It's candy. It's happy. It's one of a kind... sort of.

So, what's the gummy bear thinking? Cue the Steeler's Wheel song... "I've got friends to the left of me, jokers to the right, and here I am, stuck in the middle with you..."

Actually, I think what the picture really means is that I spend way too much time on the computer cruising around the internet, listening to songs from the 70s.

Check out the whole series of gummy bear photos at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/furiousgeorge81/sets/72057594051411617/