98 cents

As I write this, the first born should now be safely be in the Dominican Republic where the Peace Corps and her new life awaits. Twenty-seven months she will be gone, blog friends. She has all that she needs to be a wonderful contributor while she is there. And she arrives in a new country stuffed with all the love and support her family could give her before she left.

Today, I mailed my first letter to her. I want to see how long it takes the mail to get there and was also very curious about how much it would cost to mail something globally as I have never done it before. Ninety-eights cents. That is how much it will cost for a letter to leave Hubert and end up in Santo Domingo. And the best part?

The post office already has books of self-stick 98 cents stamps. I was amazed and oh so happy at this discovery. I love self-stick stamps. I love self-stick stamps that will get my letters to my kid in the Domincan Republic. It’s like the post office just knew.

After I dropped her letter in the mail, I took a walk on the beach at Emerald Isle.

(click pic for bigger view)

Here are my footsteps in the sand. Please notice they are veery and wavy as though I was walking in a stupor. I was quite sober, I assure you. I can’t explain my steppage. Maybe I’ve always walked in curves and just never knew it?

Before long, God showed up.

I was quite glad to see him and we had a long talk about changes and children and love and life in general. It was a wonderful conversation and I am more at peace now than I have been in many weeks. For that, I am very thankful.

And for these two, especially, I am thankful.

Amber is fulfilling a dream by serving in the Peace Corps. That is a powerful thing and knowing she’s doing exactly what she wants to do brings much joy. Paul, who left the same day as Amber, has gone back to his hometown to pursue his education. I will miss having these sweet faces nearby, but their presence on this earth is a blessing all its own. It’s true. I got it straight from the Big Guy.

Those rays don’t lie, blog friends.

In like a frying pan being tossed against one’s noggin

There it is, blog friends. The new masthead for March.

February 2010 will forever be known as The Month of Goodbyes and frankly I am glad it is over. There were many changes, many strange days and moments and many, many tears shed in the month known for love.

I am ready for spring. Renewal. Rebirth. Reconstitution.

Maybe some ricotta cheese.

The “joy” that you can’t hide in the masthead is a nod to my precious sister Adina who moved to Florida during The Month of Goodbyes. She is like a mobile sun. A bright object around which others orbit. I love her and miss her.

She would never dress up in a really bad outfit, as the masthead mentions, as she is quite the snazzy fashion forward princess. The really bad outfit refers to depression, which, unfortunately, has settled in the general area of my life for several weeks and is stubbornly refusing to leave. It is impervious to morning walks, Bible study and syndicated episodes of The Office. It’s just here. Dressing up my joy in shitty ensembles and generally making The Goodbyes much, much harder.

But March is also here and I am certain that, by the time it is over, I will be more like a triumphant, empowered lioness and less like a whimpy, gloomy lamb.

Besides, who can feel gloomy whimpy when they look at such artistry?

My daughter and the national stone of the Dominican Republic

I am researching the Dominican Republic as this is where my first born shall be traveling to in the Peace Corps. I have learned about its national flag (the only flag in the world to have a Bible on it, thank you very much), its national bird – a song bird called the Palm Chat, which sounds very much like a new cell phone that’s about to come out – and finally, the most wonderful, most affirming fact of all. The country’s national stone?

AMBER.

Yes, blog friends, there is actually something called “Dominican Republic Amber” which is such a GOOD THING. SUCH A VERY GOOD CALMING THING. I can not even tell you.

But I will. Because telling you is my job as your blog hostess and I take that job seriously.

Amber was named for amber. Her father and I both loved the stone, the fact that it is formed from a living thing (tree sap) and often preserves other living things in its bounty. Amber is the keeper of history. Plus the color variations of gold and brown the stone is known for were all factors when we choose to name the kid Amber. Before we learned all about amber, her name was either going to be Ryan O’Neal or Jamie Beth. Yes, I *did* drink a lot of Bartles and James wine coolers back then, why do you ask?

Here’s a little about the stone amber which oh so closely resembles the daughter Amber.

According to wonderful website I found here, Amber is “said to bestow joyfulness and happiness to its owner. The cheery yellow stone is believed to lighten the burdens of life.” Amber is also believed to be able to “attract energy and power” and “aid the intellect.”

Healers have said amber “helps us realize the full power of our spiritual intellect.”

Oh. Don’t they know it.

Amber’s powers include “love, strength, luck, healing, humor and joy.”

But my favorite part of my research was an instructional list I stumble upon called “How to care for amber”

HOW TO CARE FOR AMBER:

-Since Amber is soft and brittle it needs to be handled in a special way. It can melt and lose its gloss easily.

-Do not let hairspray and perfume touch amber.

-Do not let amber rub against metal or other jewelry.

-Do not use an ultrasonic or steam cleaner. Amber will shatter.

Do not let amber come in contact with any strong solution, soap, detergent, jewelry cleaning solutions. They can dull the finish or give a whitish coating.

-Do not let amber contact any common kitchen substances IE: lard, many different oils, butter.

-Do not let amber anywhere near any heat source IE: ovens, stoves, tanners, strong sun, lights.

-Dust and perspiration can be removed from amber with lukewarm water and a soft flannel cloth.

-Dry and buff amber with clear olive oil, buff with a soft cloth to remove excess oil and restore the polish.

-Store in a soft cloth.

I think that list pretty much sums up my parenting skills the last 23 years.

I’m just sayin’ …

View from master control

Here’s where it all happens blog friends.

This is my current view at work this week – please note the bouquet of lovely flowers to the right as they are the sole reason I took this shot. They are a Valentine gift from my effervescent husband. The man I love. Because he is fizzy.

I show you this photo also that you may see my glorious NCPA awards in the background that I deal in words all day. The commodity of words. What their value is, how they’re being used, which ones to buy, which ones to sell, which ones to consolidate. I work in words. That is my job. Word working. So I am familiar with them. I like to think I have a decent size vocabulary. I have a broad lexis. And I’d like to be a broad in a Lexus.

So, it bothers me greatly when I read words that I have never heard of. It is maddening. I am compelled to find a dictionary and look them up and understand. Or if I can’t find a dictionary, I must jot the word down so I can look it up later. Otherwise I am haunted by its illusive meaning. I have been this way my whole life. Someone should have really started a support group for this by now.

I have, for the last week, been reading this book:

Oh, it is chock full of flagrant upper echelon words. Like “pettifoggery” and “fealty.” About every other page, I have to stop and add a new word to my vocabulary list that I will have to look up later. It is quite annoying as the uptown words do NOTHING to add to the story or help communicate the message better. They are just there to look pretty. Superficial signs that the authors write for Time or New York magazine and they want you to know it so they’re going to use the word “coterie” instead of “clique.”

I believe one of the worst afflictions that can come upon any prose is when writers write for other writers and not the masses. Not the people they truly want to communicate with. When writers write for other writers, the message or story they’re trying to convey gets smothered by their need to be impressive with their big large vocabularies and ability to wield terms. The masses want you to communicate with them (especially when they’ve plunked out 25 bucks for your book). Not place blockades in their literate path that cause them to stumble and that continually remove them from the story.

As is the case with this book.

While being truly fascinating, it is equally exhausting in its intemperate use of seldom used words. (I’m sorry, the book’s use of the word “pyrrhic” doesn’t even make sense in the context and really? Priapism? Seriously? My guess is whoever edited this book is dead now. Suicide being a more pleasant activity than editing copy filled with words like pernicious and hoary and maladroit.)

That’s my view. Not so much a review – I leave that to the strong beautiful skills of the Mankiller, but a view. From the word worker.

Who very much needs a support group.

Way to snow

In the summer, my favorite tree in our yard – our mimosa – looks like this.

Today, it looks like this. Click pics for bigger view.

We got snow, blog friends. Lots of it. At least this much.

And I have to say, as much as I miss my sun and hate it here on Venus, there is something so calming and lovely about waking up to scenes like these.

Snow brings this zero demarcation factor. This naturally unifying element. I can’t tell my yard from my neighbors. All the cars are covered. All the trees. Everything. It’s like the world’s on equal footing. The perspective has changed drastically. The coalesce brings balance somehow.

Or maybe I just had too much hot chocolate last night.

Here are some close ups…

Branch … look closely to the right, you can see my husband on the porch in the distance.

And speaking of the most wonderful man that ever lived who I love with all my heart and very much like to pounce on – in a good way – here he is de-snowing my car.

The house …

A little jdn plug …

Have a seat …

No? How about here …

The scripture that’s coming to mind right now is 1 Thessolonians 5:18 which tells you to be thankful in all things, cause it’s God’s will.

So I am thankful for this snow and this time on Venus.

And that God is peeking through the clouds …

I’m pretty sure he’s gonna send the sun any second.

On staying out of the closet

I feel like Margot.

Some teacher somewhere back in elementary school made us read “All Summer in a Day” when I was little. It’s a short story by Ray Bradbury, which should tell you something. Elementary school kids should not be reading Ray Bradbury. Why not just let us chow down on some Edgar Allen Poe or W.W. Jacobs and then hand us a bottle of whiskey and maybe a candle and a small spoon while you’re at? Certain literature should be for adult minds only. Not for young formative minds that can forever scar from stories like The Tell-Tale Heart and The Monkey’s Paw. (P.S.? They also made us read “To Serve Man” around this time as well. How did I become the life-affirming person that I am? I don’t know, blog friends. I don’t know.)

Margot was this little girl who lived on Earth then had to move to Venus where it rained all the time. The sun only came out to shine on Venus for about an hour like once every 7 years or something. Margot’s all excited about the sun coming out and her classmates are all jealous because she knows about the sun and they don’t. So they get pissed and lock her in the closet and they go play in the sun without her.

And I am Margot. Specifically eastern North Carolina is Margot and we are no longer on Earth. Our sun is not hanging around all year like it’s supposed to do. It is not bringing temps in the near 80s in December like it’s supposed to do. It is not flipping the bird at February by being all shiny and springy like it’s already March like it’s supposed to do.

Somewhere at the beginning of 2009, North Carolina moved to Venus and now our weather is, pardon my French, Merde!

I do not ever remember this much rain around these parts. Our streams and rivers and creeks and lakes and oceans are FULL blog friends. There is no where for this poor water to go. And it can’t help it! It’s just raining like it supposed to do as we now live on VENUS where it rains all the time.

Yards are flooding. Roads are flooding. People are depressed because we do not have our large mood elevator shining down on us. We’re wet. We’re cold. And we’re very, very confused. We do not heart Venus.

And *I* am making damn sure that when our sun comes out for an hour, that we’re going to soak it up while we can and enjoy it. NO ONE is going to lock us in the closet … like maybe those Northerners who’ve been shoveling snow for several months now. I’m keeping a weary eye on them as they are cold and have been locked in their homes forever. They don’t care anymore. And if they don’t get any sun, they don’t want anyone else too either. They’re watching for the sun too and they want us in that closet. They need us in that closet.

But you can’t really blame them. In elementary school, they had to read Bram Stoker.

I am ready, beloveds. I want my sun. I want to shed my Margot persona. I need warm winds and blue skies and a bright gaseous mass radiating from above. I long to bounce in fields of clover! I long to run on sandy beaches! I want to wear short sleeves and open toed sling backs!

I WANT TO LIVE ON EARTH AGAIN!

And the sooner, the better.

Preparation

We are preparing for peace, blog friends.

We will be for the next few weeks. Amber has been accepted into the Peace Corps and will be leaving at the beginning of March to go to another country and work for two years.

I will be blogging about this a little at a time because the countdown has begun and I have to get in shape for the DOD – Day of Departure.

Currently, I am quite emotional about the whole thing. While I’m very proud of her achievement with this (I seriously had no idea how difficult it was to get into this program. Many steps to complete, many things to take care of, many people wanting to join). I am equally selfishly fussy as I will not be around her Amber-ness for the first time in … ever.

I’ve gone a few weeks without seeing my kid, but never a whole month. Never many whole months in a row.

For 23 years, she’s been within reach. I am not wanting that to stop. I don’t ever NOT want to be around either of my daughters. As I’ve mention ad nauseum on this blog, they are beautiful, witty, weird and smart. What’s not to love? I birthed fembots and am oh so proud.

So I am preparing. Getting in shape. I write a little here, pray a little there, journal a few fragile feelings, cry a few tears and yell at the cat. Because I can.

I am believing these small daily steps are going to rid me of the mushy pile of weepy mom blob that I am and help me get to the mom she needs me to be on the Day of Departure. The strong, calm, loving and encouraging mom. The one who will have gum for the plane ride. The one who will know obscure, but witty facts about the country she’s going too. The one who will have anecdotes and quips verbally handy just in case she’s nervous. The one who will be excited for her bright future and for the incredible opportunity she’s getting. The one who will be amazed at the path her kid has taken. The one who will be so together, she can just say goodbye with an Obama fist bump. Hugs are optional.

The mom who can take it.

That mom. That’s the goal.

So for the next few weeks, I will keep you up to date on how this is all going, blog friends. Starting with a visit we had last Friday. We went to see Amber at her awesome job, which she will soon be leaving. Here she is at her fancy desk.

Here she is with her sweet BF Paul. Who I also love and adore. Who is also leaving soon to go to college.

Here she is showing us something she made then laminated then stuck in the elevator.
It’s handy information for people coming to and fro.

No more wasting time riding in an elevator all uneducated. No. Amber says you can take that 30 seconds to learn something, bitches. There may even be a pop quiz, so read faster.

Oh Peace Corps. You don’t even know how lucky you are.

Professional Stuffed Animal Organizer

For the first time in 20 years, I don’t have a child in school.

Crystal is done with high school – finished up her classes more than a week ago. Amber is college educated and will soon embark on a journey that renders me both proud and apprehensive as she will be in another country for two years. But more on that later … when I’ve come to terms with it completely. And when I’ve tried valium for the first time ever.

Crystal is now facing the dreaded “now what?” question. What is she going to do? What does she want to do? Who does she want to be? Where is she going? Why is she doing that? Why isn’t she doing that?

It’s enough to drive a kid to drink. Or worse, to dinner with her mother …

We had a mother-daughter date a few nights ago that was wonderful because we had awesome food and delicious desserts like these…

As soon as the waitress set those plates down, daughter and I whipped out our cameras and started taking shots – she for her Internet savvy friends to whom she sends and receives pictures and texts all day long and me for my blog because I love you all so much.

This stuff was good. That cookie over on Crystal’s plate? WAS FILLED WITH MELTED CHOCOLATE. I took a bite and was so overcome that I slid under the table. Then got on my knees and thanked the Lord Jesus for the coco bean. This is why my daughters do not like to eat in public with me.

The night was also amazing because my kid was very animated and happy and full of herself during the whole dinner. This is when I love being around my children the most – when they’re caught up in the general happiness of their lives – not in an obnoxious “I’m a rock star” kind of way, but in a “I’m just happy there’s dessert” kind of way. When my daughters are in this place, it’s an amazing thing to behold and I find myself having to keep from saying “I love this part” outloud.

Since the kid has been out of school, I’ve had a lot more time with her. Now *I* get all the fun energy she used to expend at school. Now *I* get to hear what’s on her mind and how her day went. Now *I* get to help her write fake notes to get out of first period so she can go to Burger King where they have the awesome croissan’wich.

And she is figuring it out. Each school-less day offers a new adventure (she had to pen “Remember to recycle” with a Sharpie on our trash can because we’ve recently begun recycling and I keep forgetting to put the plastic in the bin) a new something-something to investigate (in the last 24 hours she has researched the Miss Teen pageant, home based businesses and cleaning condos) and new discoveries (fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, fabulous new eye shadow and the best Nicholas Sparks novel ever).

I have complete faith in my kid that she’s going to do exactly what she is destined to do. And I keep encouraging her that, eventually, she’ll know what that is. She just has to keep learning as she goes.

At the end of our dinner, we were talking about all the things she loves and what, of those, might be a career possibility.

“I think I’d really like to be a Professional Stuffed Animal Organizer,” she said.

“I think you’d be great,” I replied. “And you’d probably get your own realty show.”

The view from sick bay …

When you take a sick day, it is comforting to have a loved one handy …

Last Wednesday I had some pains similar to that of a kidney stone (though I’m not totally sure that’s what it was) and ended up in bed for a day under a heating pad and heating blanket. Crush was very happy about this and kept me company by insisting I pet him and not get on the computer.

The cats really do not like the laptop. I don’t think they see the point in it. As soon as I get on it, they crawl in my lap or paw at the power cord or sigh, roll their eyes and say “What is it with that thing? Does it purr? Can it rub your legs while you’re doing the dishes? Does it leave you large presents in the cat box? No? Then why must you spend so much time with it?”

Codah simply stares it down. When I work in the living room, she perches right beside me on the floor and stares at me with her big green eyeballs. She wants very much to crawl in my lap so I will rub her furry cheeks, but my lap does not have enough room for the top and the cat. So she stares.

And waits.

Because she knows eventually I will acquiesce.

I am convinced cats have healing properties.

And maybe a condo in Maui.

I believe there’s still much to believe in.

Oh February masthead, thou are so hearty.

I thought I’d share a little of the communication between my brother and I as the designs for these take shape because I want you, super friends, to see the vast difference in our correspondence styles. Mine being long and boring detailed. His being short and severe economic.

Here is what I sent Toby as a general idea the masthead:

“For Feb, I was thinking something with hearts (duh) and it will say”
It’s a Toler Thing February 2010
Lost in love and I don’t know much.
Now, I know that it will hurt the very essence of your soul to design a masthead with hearts AND with a line from a song by Air Supply, BUT, that’s why I’m here, little brother, to help you grow as an artist. To help you through painful vomit-inducing blog titles and girly fried images. Just think, if you can do this month’s mast head? Designing for Barbie has GOT to be right around the corner! YES!”

See? See how I was sensitive to his artistic soul? This is my sibling who thinks that country music is the devil’s work, that rock and roll is heaven sent, that anything labeled “Christian rock” is an oxymoron, and that songs by Air Supply will, one day, be found to contain subliminal messages encouraging terrorism. And those messages are activated by certain mass produced dolls named Barbie.

Yet I knew he would be professional enough to get past all that and do something amazing. Which he did.

And here is his response:

“I’ve made the adjustments that you specified.”

See? See how he is sensitive to my artistic soul? As I am his sibling who believes country music and Christian rock are destined to bring world peace, that songs by Air Supply *may* have been involved in the conception of my children, and that Barbie’s line of “Ladies from the 80s” dolls featuring Joan Jett, Cyndi Lauper and Debbie Harry is just further proof that God exists.

I mean, if heaven doesn’t include a Barbie Dream House, then can you really call it “heaven”?

I also want to remind you that February is the month for love. Now is the time to forgive, soften the hardened heart and open up and embrace love and all its gentle movements in your life. Send it out. Receive it. Remember that love craves attention. The more you give it, the longer it hangs around.

And if I’m going to be lost anywhere, I so want it to be there.