the woman – Page 6 – the chelsea chronicles

glass half empty no more

I used to be a glass half full type of person.

Then in 1986 I developed the passionate fatalism shared by my adopted New England brethren when the Boston Red Sox tragically lost the World Series.

And since then, I’ve had an “x thing I want to happen will never happen because my teams never win” outlook.

Absurd because my teams DO win. I’ve now witnessed not one but two Red Sox World Series titles. And I don’t even want to count the combined 49ers-Pats Super Bowl victories over my lifetime. (On the other hand, I definitely take the blame for Michelle Kwan never winning a gold medal.)

So when talking to Nancy the other night, I complained, “what happened to Year of Chelsea? 2013 was supposed to be Year of Chelsea!” Then I went on to tick off the bad things that have happened to me this year:

My cat ran away. (“But she came back and you got to experience the heartwarming response from your community in the process,” Nancy reminded me.)

My other cat died. (“She was old and lived a good life, and you had many happy years together.”)

I got a flat tire. The Boston Marathon bombing happened. Congress is never going to pass climate legislation. (When I’m on a roll, I’m on a roll.) My washing machine broke. I cracked my iPad. Got concussed. Not to mention the countless other mini Chelsea disasters that put dents in my spirit.

Nancy has this great way of turning the energy around in a cloudy situation. She takes a negative and manages to find the positive. And she has challenged me to try it.

It’s going to take some practice. I might not be very good at first, and I’m sure I won’t be consistent. But I think I will give her methods a try. With a glass half full of wine to help.

summer woes

I want to love summer. Pool time. Beach season. Easy breezy attitudes. Dry rosés and barbecue.

But the truth is, I hate it. Summer is stifling when it’s hot and humid and you have a professional dress code to adhere to Monday thru Friday. The pool is nice, but with kids it isn’t always relaxing. When was the last time I went to the beach? The answer would be Hawaii. In December.
Easy breezy? Congress is in high dysfunction mode and summer camp is harder to prep kids for than school.

But one of the factors I hate most is my summer casual wardrobe. I don’t find shorts to be very flattering. It’s hard to find summery dresses that fall between too girly and too soccer mommy. And I hate every pair of sandals on the market.

Which is odd because you know I love shoes. I have tried and tried to find acceptable summer footwear. I can’t do flat sandals, but I don’t always want a heel on the weekends or super hot days. Please no ankle cuffs. (I don’t like to look shackled, though I do like how gladiators look on other women.) Flip flops should be reserved for the pool and/or beach. Flatforms are out of the question.

(As my friend Hillary tweeted yesterday: “I don’t care if Coco Chanel came down from the heavens and told me to get flatforms, I will never ever (ever) buy them.”)

But I haven’t given up yet. I’m hopeful that my “friends I haven’t met yet” at the Shoe Hive can help rescue me. In the need for some retail therapy this sticky, concussed (still) day, I ordered a pair of sandals (pewter, simple, low wedge) from them that just might hit the mark.

And if they do, then please, someone host a BBQ. I promise to bring good wine.

happy birthday, little man

Nine years ago, at 1:55pm, you stormed your way into my world.

And since then, you’ve turned it upside down. You have a wickedly funny sense of humor. You’re an expert cuddler. The rare nights you crawl into bed with me, you know that the very best way to do so is to be such a stealthy and expert spooner that I won’t notice you’re there. And I don’t. Until I do. And then I savor each moment. I know they are numbered.

Every morning, you hold the screen door open for me, my arms full of bags as I fumble with the keys. (By way of contrast, your brother lets it slam behind him, right onto my shoulder.) I know you want to ride shotgun all the time. But in spite of what you think, while it’s true I worked in the Senate, I don’t make the laws. At least, I didn’t make the laws that dictate what age you have to be to ride in the front seat.

You’re messy. But you’re sweet. Sometimes sticky. Quiet and loud at the same time. (How do you do that?) You have not met a piece of trash you don’t think is beautiful. (Please don’t become a hoarder.) You are the only one in the immediate family who can carry a tune, and for that reason I apologize on my and Jack’s behalf for our bad car singing.

Speaking of, I could live the rest of my life not hearing Eye of the Tiger again and be fine, but it makes you happy. So we listen to it. On repeat.

You are our cat whisperer, the only one who can pick them up and cradle them in one arm without them twisting down and running away. You’re growing up so fast and are almost as tall as your brother. But you still cover your eyes when a kissing scene appears in a movie. I’ve tried to tell you that kissing is fun, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to the day that you decide to take my word for it.

The idea of loving someone so much it hurts was definitely conceived by a mother. There are days I look at you and I never want to let you outside where you will face life’s cruelties. But then I want you to be part of the world’s adventures, so I let you out the door in the morning.

The door you hold open for me. In so many ways.

13 in ’13

First came 43 by 43, and now 13 in ’13. That is, I’ve set 13 goals that I intend to pursue in the year 2013. A few of these goals are a continuation of my 43 by 43 efforts. But there are some new ones already penetrating my psyche. And because I can think of no better way to hold myself accountable, I share them all with you. I expect badgering, welcome participation and hope for encouragement.

In no particular order:

1. Get spin certified. You know I love my Biker Barre. I’m not expecting to attain a level of awesomeness that will allow me to teach there. (That might have to be a 2014 goal.) But every time I hear a song I like, I imagine what I’d do along to it on a bike. In that regard, spinning is as close of a sport to cheerleading as I’ve managed to get in my adult life. Just harder and sweatier.

2. Learn a new wine region. I know my California wines, but it’s time to branch out. And I know nothing about Italian wines. Bring on the Barolo, Amarone and Brunello.

3. Host (at least) quarterly dinner parties. I love to cook, but I don’t do it enough for my friends. Just understand if you’re invited to a Chelsea feast, I’m going to cook Italian so I can practice the skills attained in the advanced pasta making class I’m taking from Hill’s Kitchen. And I’m going to multitask by serving Italian wine (see goal #2).

4. Save money for college. Or get the kids discovered. But I don’t feel like I’d make a good stage mom, so saving is probably easier (though not on my shoe budget).

5.& 6. Travel. I promised the kids I’d take them to Hawaii. And I want to go to Italy. To drink obscure Italian wines (see goal #2) of course. It’s listed here as two goals because it’s two trips.

7. Make iconic fashion purchase. I dream of Chanel. And Cartier. But I may have to set my sights lower. I’m sure I will agonize in this very forum over any potential purchase.

8. Open my heart to relationship opportunity. I’m a dating disaster. I tried Match for 24 hours before canceling the membership. I went on zero dates after six months of e-harmony. Set ups are few and far between. After my divorce, dating wasn’t a priority. However, I’m now at a point where I’d like to share my crazy, drama-prone life with another (hopefully calmer and less dramatic) person.

9. Sign new clients. I have this hot new job. It’s time to exceed my potential with some great new clients whom I can help navigate the tricky world that is the U.S. Congress.

10. Publish the sequel to My Night with George Clooney. This is the only goal that has a very specific deadline. Which would be by the White House Correspondents’ Dinner in late April. If you read my first story, you know why this date is significant.

11. Refinance my house. It’s time. That is all.

12. Finish home improvement projects. That means have a deck built, fix up the yard and install window boxes. Maybe build a wine cellar. Some things the Warriors can help me do. Some I will have to contract to have done. And maybe I can bribe my talented brother to come down to Maine for a week of intense help.

13. Live life to the fullest. I know this particular goal will be difficult to measure. But I will know it when I’m feeling it, and those who are close to me will call me on it when I’m not.

There you have it. 13 goals. 11 months left to achieve them. Wish me success.

43 by 43: moment of reckoning

In August, I set some goals. 43 to be exact. A few were big. A number were small. Many fell in the middle.

I did pretty well. I didn’t score 100%, but I came in over 75%. I was never a C student, but I will take it in this case.

Where did I do well? I mostly achieved all five of my big goals. I published My Night with George Clooney. I have unofficially soft launched Cloakroom Style. I roasted a duck. I took a trip to celebrate my birthday. And early next year, I’m taking the boys to NYC. (I’m getting credit for future plans since I only gave myself a four-month window to complete these goals.)

I also have been awesome at picking up the dry cleaning on time. I did all the medical check ups that had lagged. Thanks to Weekend Warriors, I was a home improvement goddess.

Where could I have done better? Well, I didn’t meet any of my three financial goals (stick to a budget, contribute to college accounts, re-fi house). I also failed to go on five dates, though I did go on one and I asked someone to go on one, so I’m giving myself credit for that. I didn’t post to the blog every three days as I aspired, but I did try to write more regularly.

I’m growing my hair long. I wear red lipstick at least once a week. I don’t talk to the boys in a mean voice (as often) when frustrated. Over winter break, we have a schedule to watch some of my favorite (non-R) movies, and I plan to make them breakfast in bed.

The list was random. The list was long. It’s not done, as some items require continued diligence, but it was an exercise worth taking. And now I can begin plotting out what I want to achieve next year. Aside from sticking to a budget, contributing to college accounts, refinancing the house and going on some dates, that is.

all I want for Christmas (naughty version)

Last year, I caused quite a stir with my all I want for Christmas (naughty version) list. While I only ended up acquiring one item from 2011’s holiday covetables (don’t you wish you knew which one?) this year I have a brand new list. So let me continue to entertain (female) and tantalize (male) readers with this year’s semi-steamy desires.

The Chantelle Paris-Paris collection has had me salivating all fall. It isn’t my normal style of underpinning, but something really attracts me to it. I even like the (not pictured) corset. Gasp worthy, right? I doubt Santa is going to make way to Coup de Foudre this year, but should he, my size is on file.

I don’t have a problem with real fur except that no pelts in nature come in this color, which the interwebs affectionately (and rather grotesquely) call oxblood. This luxurious looking (but not costing) wrap would be so pretty contrasted against my winter white coat. It would equally serve me well lounging around my very drafty house. Clad in my Paris-Paris ensemble, of course.

Not naughty in style (slutty shoes at my age would vault me into cougar territory) but definitely sinful in price, these Prada pumps would leave me praising Santa all the next year and beyond. True to form when it comes to shoes, I can’t pick between the two. I don’t have a pair of gray pumps in my wardrobe, and these would be a nice (I mean, naughty) alternative to nude for winter. And the bordeaux suede? I’d wear these all.the.time. Just because they don’t scream bad girl doesn’t mean I can’t let my wild side loose when wearing them.

Santa, I promise, I’ve been very good (and just a little bad) this year.

My Thanksgiving with George Clooney

Poor George. He flew all the way to California in cargo. I’m sure it isn’t how he’s used to traveling. So he was a little cranky this Thanksgiving in Northern California, where the weather was perfect and my sausage and apple stuffing was divine.

Dad thought he could out-gruff George, but that didn’t seem to go over well.

So then we tried a softer approach. We opened a lovely chardonnay from Nickle and Nickle. I offered him a taste. But he declined.

Even by the end of the wine-fueled night, when it was time to take a photo with my brothers and our significant others, he didn’t crack a smile. He didn’t even hold me particularly close.

If George Clooney continues to act this way, he just might get left behind in Hawaii, whether My Night with George Clooney becomes a roaring success or not.

I asked out the doctor…

For those early readers who followed my every back brace constrained move in the styling my back brace days, you’ll remember with great fondness my miracle doctor. Several of you actually suggested at the time that I date said doctor, with whom I always had a good (borderline flirty) rapport. I scoffed at such suggestions because it seemed too much like mixing business with pleasure. I mean, I needed him to fix my back. Plus, on the awkward side, this guy has seen me in a hospital gown, several times. He saw me in tears more than once too. He inserted really sharp needles into my back. And I’m pretty sure that in doing so, he’s already seen me at least partially naked. Not to mention this is the very doctor who made me wear a back brace for more than two months.

Almost a year has gone by since I’ve had an appointment with him. Randomly, we recently connected on LinkedIn. We had a little email exchange about whether or not I should purchase a Living Social coupon for flying trapeze lessons. (He advised not.) I sensed the same energy that we had in the examination room coming through over our emails. I started thinking about how it’s Month of Chelsea and one of my goals is to take more risks. I just published a short story. How hard could it be to ask out the back doctor?

So I did.

I received an email back from him a few days later. Of course a divorced doctor under 40 who doesn’t live with his mother just started seeing someone. I totally get it. You snooze, you lose in this town. That isn’t to say that I’m not still a tinge disappointed. But rather than be sad or feel rejected, I’m proud of myself for going after what I want instead of waiting around for someone else to give it to me.

That, my friends, is what Month of Chelsea is all about.

Month of Chelsea

I have designated November to be Month of Chelsea. I’ve had enough of tears, frustration, bad weather, illness and death. I’ve had enough of sleepless nights, back pain, and wondering when things will turn around. There’s no sense in waiting for change. It’s time to make it for myself.

I had this epiphany exactly yesterday, on day one. And what did I do on this day? I early voted. It took a five-hour split shift on a rainy day to get it done, but it was important to me to fulfill this civic duty. In between line waiting, I spent some quality time with my hairdresser and dropped by the kids’ school where I had a nice chat with the principal about my kids’ education.

So far day two has found me breakfasting with one of my favorite people in DC and receiving this unexpected gift in the mail from my friend Kassie. It’s my very favorite shoe of all time, the Treat by Bettye Muller, custom dyed in a gorgeous coral-orange shade. Later today, I hope to make it to Biker Barre and after, to visit with my old boss to discuss an idea I have to return civility to Washington, DC. Yes, I am thinking big this month.

On tap for day three I have Weekend Warriors, one of my favorite days of the month. Other goodies in the Chelsea queue include: publishing at long last my story; heading to Michigan for Election Day to campaign for the Michigan Energy Michigan Jobs ballot initiative; and later this month, I head to San Francisco for Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. And then there is my upcoming vacation to Hawaii.

How can November not be month of Chelsea when I’m spending seven days of it in Hawaii?

I won’t torture you with daily updates, but did want to share my newfound energy, enthusiasm and purpose. If we all decide that November is going to be our month and we all made the most of these 30 days, wouldn’t all that positive energy result in a vast amount of goodness?

I’m not saying that this is the solution to all the world’s problems, but at least for one month, I promise to not let the negative get in the way and to live each day with the promise it deserves.

countdown to Clooney

GC photo credit here: http://www.contactmusic.com/news/george-clooney-hires-swine-psychic_1107048 — If Walter Mitty had internet access, he’d be as crazy as I am.

I’ve been promising it for months now. It turns out that publishing my short story is almost as emotional as giving birth, but scarier since the latter was done in private but this story will be available for the whole world to read. Not that the whole world wants to read it, though that would be nice. (After all, it’s better written than the 50 Shades series.)

As I mentally prepare to take this step, what am I doing to prepare for the big day? Like every good Type A person, I have a list:

10. Waiting for my George Clooney cardboard cutout to be delivered. (So much better than a poster.)

9. Editing and re-editing. (I know I need to stop.)

8. Watching my favorite George Clooney movies. (Out of Sight and One Fine Day provide perfect eye candy and background noise.)

7. Imagining what will happen if this story goes viral. (Otherwise known as the fantasy where I meet George Clooney on the Daily Show.)

6. Imagining what I will do if this story doesn’t go viral. (Would it mark the end of my short-lived writing career?)

5. Planning what I’d wear if I knew I was going to meet George Clooney. (Sort of pointless since I’m sure I’d go shopping.)

4. Working on the sequel. (I’m half way done already, so you won’t have to wait long to see where the story goes next.)

3. Working on a full length novel. (Because what better way to procrastinate the task at hand than to start a new project?)

2. Dreaming of becoming a screenwriter. (Could this be my true calling?)

And the number one thing I’m doing in anticipation of release day is planning the party where I’m going to invite you all to come celebrate with me, guilt you into paying the 99 cents I’m going to charge for it on Amazon, and since there isn’t a way to sign an e-book, let you pose for a picture with my cutout Clooney.

I promise, no paparazzi will be there.