Pining for the Young Me

Fuck.

Yesterday was my 19th wedding anniversary - and 24 years together.

We met in law school when I was 24 (yes, yes, honey, you are still a year younger).

He was way different than the guys I was dating and, in truth, I can't tell you what first attracted me to him. I mean, clearly he is cute, but I tended to date older, more sophisticated, more ambitious and self-assured guys.

But, something about him called to me (which is funny, because he was really a bit of a mess back then). He was smart, and funny sure, but something else: he was genuine. In truth, I was head over heels with him. There was tons and tons of chemistry.

We went through a few big bumps before we got married (including several break ups) and a few big bumps afterwards. Did I mention big?

And, yet, here we are.

Marriage isn't easy. And it isn't always exactly what I want. I imagine he feels the same.

But I still love the guy. I still admire him. I still want more than anything for him to be happy.

But here's the thing: I don't know where the fuck those 24 years went. And I'm pissed about it. And i want them back.

And, while you're at it, I want that waist and neck back.

I want that perfect, smooth skin, and my future stretched out ahead of me . . . even though, I am actually the happiest I've ever been at this particular point in my life. I want my future stretched out FROM HERE.

If only we could keep those lovely superficial externals as we gain the wisdom and contentedness that comes with middle age.

But we don't, and we can't, and I see this photo and pine for that external youth so badly it physically hurts.

I look in the mirror and see only the sags and the lines and find myself calculating the costs and risks of Botox and eye lifts and such.

I'm about to turn 48.

If I don't get a grip, what will I do ten years from now?

Twenty- five?

Thirty?

I should be so lucky, I KNOW.

Norah, you will be missed.

The talented, funny and beautiful Nora Ephron died this week. In her book, I Feel Badly About my Neck, she wrote:

"At the age of fifty-five you will get a saggy roll just above your waist even if you are painfully thin.
This saggy roll just above your waist will be especially visible from the back and will force you to reevaluate half the clothes in your closet, especially the white shirts."

I bet you're all thinking how, faced with death, she probably didn't worry about such things.

But I bet you she did. And, I bet you I would.

Even after surgeries and during illnesses, women want to look good. We may feel too sick to try, there may be a level where we say, "fuck it," but it doesn't leave our mind.

It's not vanity. It's what we know. So much of our identity -- of feeling loved and wanted -- is tied to being attractive and young.

I want to be bigger than this. I want not to pine for that old waist and smooth neck, but I do.

I want to toss out the white shirts instead of fretting that my back fat will show.

But, I'm not there yet. I'm not there.

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Even though my internal life is as happy as it can be.

Even though, aches and pains aside, I am stronger physically now, than I've ever been.

Even though I feel lucky and blessed.

Maybe, instead of botox and tucks,

I just need to have faith that the internal truth of this shines through, bigger than the wrinkles and folds.

Or better yet, really figure out how not to care.

- gae

Duet

There's a chalkboard that hangs in my kitchen that I bought for the quote scrawled on it:


"Marriage should be a duet. When one sings, the other claps."

I can't tell you how true I think this is.

But, there's a flip side of that quote, too. I think it needs a sister board that reads:

"Always give your spouse something fresh and new to clap about."

My hubby and I have been through some really crappy times in our marriage... times we were hanging on by a thread. But I think one of the things that keeps us together is that we do give the other something to clap about from time to time, and when we do, the other is there, obliging.

Us, at my sister's 30th surprise party...

I married David for many reasons (here, honey, I'll list some: he's kind, gentle, loyal, funny and really smart), but one of them was because of how beautifully he sings.

He wasn't a singer per se, but he sang in the car, and in the shower, and he left long (long!) singing messages on my answering machine.

Sometimes, just when I thought the long (long!) message was finally over, it turned out he was merely taking a breath. Sometimes, he had to call back to finish the song. :)

Over the past few years, my hubby has had a lot of opportunities to need to rise to the occasion of our blackboard.

Us, the first time we spotted my book in the wild.

With the release of my first book, and the attendant, if quiet, recognition that has come with that, David has spent a decent amount of time in the audience, clapping for me.



But, over the past decade, I've also had the lucky opportunity to clap for him, as he's pushed himself to step out of the car and shower and perform on stage, and my accolades still come from a place of genuine excitement, admiration and sincerity.

I am truly his biggest fan.

Of course, there are those rare, rare hours (okay, sometimes days) when I don't know how I've stayed married to him (and I remind myself there are days when he feels this way about me).

But most days, I'm utterly happy to have found him.

He's definitely where the love is . . . and when he stands on that stage, smiles like that, and opens his mouth to sing, I'd marry him all over again.


I'm still clapping, baby, and still grateful I get to go home with you after the show. 

- gae

Limitations and Distractions

Yesterday, I swam 2.25 miles, the last 3/4 miles alone.

Compared to what some people do this is nothing.

Seriously, why is this the first place my brain always goes? Why must I point this out to myself?

Or, maybe it's what keeps me striving -- maybe it's what stops me from being afraid?

Even for me, yesterday's swim wasn't exactly a milestone. I've swum over 3 miles before, though not completely alone, and not in yesterday's conditions: full moon tide, wicked current, some fairly roiling waves.

We had a two-mile swim planned as a group, but the others decided to cut the swim short, due to the conditions,

A post by Carol Moore on the West Neck Pod facebook page
Carol is one of the strongest female swimmers in the pod...
and way faster than I am.

but I needed to push myself. To keep proving I can.

I was tired but (momentarily) satisfied when I got back.

There are days like yesterday, when I feel so strong and capable, and days (like today) where I feel my age endlessly honing in.

I try to kid myself that 48 year old me (soon, soon) is the same as 30 year old me, and the truth is, in some ways I'm stronger, but in others... shit, how the body is cruel. . .

On other fronts, I am endlessly distracted these days by the usual "shiny" things -- facebook, twitter, trying to keep up with blog posts,

the endless lure of the open water

or a lounge chair by my pool.

I keep thinking how happy I am that I wasn't computer savvy (and that some of these things didn't exist) when my boys were little. . . how I truly and happily gave them my undivided attention.

I did. I gave them my undivided attention and I'm grateful.

They truly were my only shiny things and I tried to soak in every mommy moment.

And, still,

and still,

the moments are gone,

and those undivided days have

flown by.

- gae

Sharing from my YA blog: A recap of Teen Book Festival, Rochester

Oh. my. goodness.

Goodness being the operative word.

Just got back from TBF -- my first official author festival ever -- and let me just say it was probably a dumb and crappy way to start things.

Because, seriously, I imagine it can only go downhill from here.

As rumor had it, the dedicated organizers of TBF treat their authors like rock stars, and, let me tell you, in this case, rumor was true!

I'm doing a super-speed recap because I have a thousand other things I need to be doing, for example, finishing my unpacking, dealing with my parental stuff that's piled up, getting my ass to some yoga, and reviewing my contract that just came in from Algonquin!?!

look at my shiny new ISBN number! :D

But, if I don't do this now, real life will seep in, and I want to hold on to the glory long enough to share it with you.

So, without edits, and with apologies to anyone I left out (you were all so nice and amazing!), here goes:

Friday evening, we (my hubby and my older son -- my younger son stayed home due to a heavy load of travel baseball games) arrived to warm greetings in the lobby of the Radisson Riverside Rochester.

They must know how I feel about water because my room had a river view!

We went from there to a meet & greet dinner at the Rochester Library, where I got to meet all sorts of wonderful people I had only read, or been introduced to virtually:

I was especially excited to see my panel sister and fellow Class of 2K11'er, Amy Holder, again, and to meet to-date-only-virtual-writer-pals Shawn Goodman and Paul Griffin (link below).

Funny aside: during an early email exchange, Paul and I had figured out that Paul (who used to live on Long Island) was treated by my father, a pediatric orthopedist, for a broken wrist when he was a freshman in college!

Truth be told, I was a tiny bit star struck by some of the usual suspects: Laurie Halse Anderson, A.S. King and *swoons* Matt de la Pena:

sooner or later, Matt is going to get sick of me spreading rumors
about our love affair... or, more than likely, he's not paying me any attention...

After dinner, we returned to the hotel where we were given keys to the hospitality suite, where, I'm pretty sure I accosted Matt too fast and furiously, and where, having had my magic number of glasses of red wine (um, one half of one), I proceeded to insinuate myself into the presence of such amazing peeps as James Kennedy, Brent Crawford, Jennifer Roy, Terry Trueman, and AS King. *silly bathroom photo to follow if I ever get my hands on it...*

Let me just announce this to the world now. All Matt-jesting aside (and he is too adorable for words), Terry Trueman is my new (yes, yes, come on, we all know I am fickle) one, true author love, for now:

This is the back of Terry's head with a TBF tattoo. He is crazy,
wicked, funny, energetic and has a heart of gold. And check out his
incredible book (I'm in the middle of it) Stuck in Neutral.

Seriously, Terry is some kind of wonderful, and he'll NEVER get rid of me now.

Saturday morning bright and early, the TBF crew had us met by a fleet of classic cars, where Amy Holder and I were whisked to the venue (Nazareth College) olde- Hollywood-glamour-style in the back of a 1960 Buick Eddy:

where we were then greeted first by the sounds, then by the surreal view, of hundreds of screaming throngs:

... then by a red carpet...

and then by our walk of stars.

can you see the happy overwhelm on my face?!

A meet and greet breakfast gave us a chance to get to know our moderator and "handlers" who were all awesome, then we proceeded to the gymnasium for a riotous (especially thanks to James Kennedy's raucous, off-the-cuff, way-too-long and enthusiastic rendition of Oklahoma!) game show-style introduction:

Photo of the audience from the stage thanks to another one of
my tbf faves: Cat Patrick!

If I can ever get my hands on a video clip, I will bring it to you here, I promise. Until then, can I just say show-stoppingly, stupidly HI-larious?!?!

We spent the next two hours in small (well, ours was small...) panel workshops, which went swimmingly, and then were treated to a yummy lunch where I managed to pal around with some of the hot guys,

James Kennedy, Paul Griffin and Brent Crawford, total posers... :)

and then on to the signings.

My signing line was, to say the least, modest *coughs* and humbling... reminding me I still have dues to pay and many goals left to accomplish. Never a bad thing, not that I, um, necessarily needed reminding... ;)

After it all, we were treated to one more dinner, where I had the incredibly lucky honor of being seated with Laurie Halse Anderson who is as nice and generous as she is successful, which is saying a great big lot!

Then, it was one more raucous and memorable late night in the hospitality suite, where I had some more quality, wonder-and-laughs-filled and, yes, still a bit surreal, time with some of my personal favorites from the festival: James Kennedy, AS King, Brent Crawford, Paul Griffin and Jennifer Roy, just to name a few.

The next day, I dragged my patient family around downtown Rochester to try to catch a few of the places Nick and Jaycee go to when they are there (in my book The Pull of Gravity):

This is the Trailways bus station Nick and Jaycee come into
when they arrive in Rochester

... and this is the news station they go into which leads them to
the climax of the story! :D

All in all, it was a crazy-memorable weekend.

Huge props, awe and thank yous go out to Stephanie Squicciarini, the organizer of the Teen Book Festival. She and her team are a warm, energetic and amazing group of people.

If you are a YA author, I highly recommend you try to weasel your way into this festival. BUT DON'T TAKE MY SPOT!!!

It was one of the highlights of my life so far.


- gae

Blind Contours (with love and thanks to Lori Landau)

Ceci n'est pas une pipe

There's an age spot on my left hand.

It's been there for some time now.

I try not to notice it.




This is my father's pond:

and these, my father,

and my father's gardens.

My father was always ageless. Now, he is nearly 75.

He hauls pots and plants and small boulders up his hillside alone. Even as his eyes grow cloudier,

he gardens from dawn to dusk.

My father is old. My father is strong.

I, too, am aging.

I have a liver spot on my left hand.

It's been there for some time now.

If you were an artist, and you closed your eyes, this is me:

My friend Lori Landau drew this blind contour.
I love this more than words itself.
I see me. I am not old or young. I just am.

When I enter the water, I am strong. I can swim forever.

Yesterday, I braved the water alone.

The waves were strong. They slammed me down.

I was free and not afraid.

When I swim, I have no
age spots
or unfamiliar creases,
or tired eyes.

When I swim,

I am all blind contours.



This is the swing that looks out over my father's gardens:

today it was empty because he was working
in his gardens.
One day, it will just be empty.

How I wish everything could stay green.

- gae

Wind breathes longing,
greens the trees
Burns the mountain
Rains the heart,
Exhales fractiles of green

flecks the eyes

Kaleidoscope retina rearranges

vision

turns like seasons

Kisses open trembling lips

sings songs on tongue of green

Antique (green) syllables fall

amber unto a table set with green

Door opens,

woman stares at wheeling
copper Sun

streaking the sky with fading light 

I want to tell you

About the green of time

Bone, flesh and wild mind

Grasps greenly

here you are and here I am

and here it all is

in the palm of green sand in the green of the hand

fisherwomen go down to green

seas troll green waters

for green’s true and secret name that hides among

heartbroken weeds of green  

-  Lori Landau

** you can see more of Lori's amazing work here at the Art House Co op, Sketchbook Project.

The Other's Gold

Not the best shot, I know.
We were in a restaurant.
It was late and rainy.

I know. I know. It's the Brownie's mantra:

"Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold."

I quit the Brownies after just a few weeks.

Knowing me, I didn't like the uniform.

And, here's the thing. I'm not really a "saver."

Maybe I'm a little bit buddhist in that way. . . people come and go from my life; material things are just that. When I'm done with them, I'm done. My children aren't their childhood drawings or crappy ceramic pots. Or maybe it's just too painful for me to look back. . .

Either way, I'm not a scrapbooker, and I'm usually pretty good at moving on.

I've been blessed to make many friends in the last several years, and many amazing women friends,

my wonderful writer friends, Christine and Megan

My gorgeous, peachy friend, Heidi, who makes
me laugh and keeps me stocked with dizzy skull bags.

A few of my swimmy women friends who save me...

with my friend and partner in crime, Annmarie

More swimming girls, after a swim.

which is something I never truly appreciated as a twenty or thirty-something.

Maybe, it's because I'd been burned plenty of times in my life by my female friends, or maybe it's because I was insecure. Take your pick. One is no more right than the other.

At any rate.

April, 2012 in Columbus Circle, NYC

Yesterday, I spent the day in the city with my best friend from high school.

Understand, we were joined at the hip in high school.

We shared clothing, adventures, boyfriends,* and plenty of heartache.

As always, the relationship was fraught with complexity. The truth is, I envied her: her athleticism, her particular type of smarts, and her beauty.

As a teenager, I wanted to be her.

During periods of my life, when we weren't in touch, she permeated my dreams, and arose with love and, yes, pain in my writing. Here, from a still-unpublished manuscript of mine, is a snippet of my very-fictionalized first view of her:

"The first time I see Joanie, she is in fitted Lee jeans, a white button-down shirt and cowboy boots the color of wet sand.  A cherry red wool sweater drapes across her shoulders and her flaxen hair slips midway down her back in a perfect blunt line.  But it is not her hair or her moon-shaped ass I am in awe of, but rather the ease with which she wears the battered leather boots."

Maybe that captures some essence of the childlike awe I felt for her.

Jennifer, this month in Hawaii. :)

Yesterday, I spent the day in the city with her.

With my best friend from high school.

I still envy and admire her all the things I did when we were 16.

I still love her with a connection that is deep and visceral.

Turns out, the Brownies were right.


- gae

*rarely at the same time ;)

Fanfare.

So, it's official. You can all un-shhh.

The cat is out of the bag. Or, in the case of Frankie Sky, maybe the frog.

From Publisher's Marketplace today:

I'm delighted.

And, honored.

And, grateful.

As ee cummings once said, in just spring the world can be mudluscious. Today, it certainly is.

- gae

p.s. blogger, I do not like your new format. Just saying.