originally written july 29, 2007... reposted in honor of Marvin Zindler. Eye. Witness. News. Thank you Marvin ...



I pretty much gave up watching television news after 9/11. A couple of years ago, though, I realized that I liked to listen to Channel 13 six o'clock news while I cooked dinner. I have a tiny black and white sony TV on my kitchen counter, I think it's from 1978—looks like it was made to go on the first manned space flight, but I digress. I'd pop 13 news on while the skillet heated up, and listen as Dave Ward punched his mid-sentence delivery and Bob Brandon lilted out the weather. It felt familiar. It was comfort news.
I'm a native houstonian. Channel 13 has always felt like my hometown news—remember the millionaire movie every day at 3:00? Pre-oprah. And even though Dave Ward, Don Nelson, Bob Brandon, even cutie Bob Allen have gotten older and rounder, 13 News sounds (if not looks) as it did when I was a kid. And then there was the prime minister of the semi-circular table: Marvin Zindler.
**If you're not from Houston, or just never paid attention to the news, Marvin Zindler gained national attention for his major role in shutting down the Chicken Ranch, outside of La Grange--which was famous for being the favorite destination of college boys and local married men for a little female companionship. Best Little Whorehouse in Texas cast Dolly Parten and Burt Reynold's in a flagrantly romanticized story of the hick-madam and good ole boy sherrif. Dom DeLouise played the Zindler character: wig and all. **
While the news droned on and my work progressed from chopping and checking to setting the table and putting ice in glasses, I didn't pay attention to the screen, maybe I'd put eyes on the week's forecast, it's like your horoscope: you don't believe it, but you can't resist reading it anyway. But when it was time for Marvin, I'd stop and watch. Something about him. that he was still on the air… at his age! with that hair! those suits! those blue glasses. … after all these years, I had come to respect his adherence to the accouterment of it all. Moreover, I loved to see what he was up to. He was forever walking into dilapidated homes, holding the hand of toothless woman in a wheelchair and putting the IRS in their place—to say nothing of the roach droppings, improper temp-a-too-ur food and SLIME in the ice machine. And always with a reliable sign off. MARvin ZINDler EYE WITNESS NEWS.
Marvin died tonight. Over the years I've run into him at Pino's or Kingwood Country Club. Always cordial, he was sincerely everything he appeared to be. A flamboyant character dedicated to the little guy, in pursuit of help for those who couldn't find it, and on a quest for a clean kitchen. When Dave Ward announced his passing tonight, I teared up a bit.
Another little piece of my history is gone.
I don't miss day-glo watches or paper-sack top jeans. I don't miss Flock of Seagulls, Wham or Devo (okay, I do miss devo, a little..).
This Friday, I will miss getting my weekly sign-off fix from the man in the big white hair.
To you old man: good tennis, good golf and everything that makes you happy.
Dave said it best, "Thank you, Marvin."

Here's to love .. Whatever it is...

and here's the second bit ...

more about the wedding tonight (second marriage for both bride and groom) .. for obvious reasons, it got me thinking about what i really wanted in a long term um, ... okay, wedding. ugh. there i said it.

it's been a long time since i've been a wedding guest; not exactly my favorite occasion, a bitter divorcee' , some may say-- although i deny it (every time).

i'm not down on marriage, especially for people are who married. as i've said before: if you're married, stay married: hunker down and be there for each other. laugh. cry. do the work. make it work. because it's worth it. seriously.
BUT.
if you are not married, or 'lucky' enough to have been through the marriage juggernaut and come out the other side relatively unscathed. well then, my friend, i say stay there. marriage is hard work. it's one of those things like italian creme cake: it looks better than it really is.
but i digresss....

so i go to this wedding. i am a guest of the bride. we are casual friends, at best. our daughters are long-time schoolmates and we had comradery in that we were both single mothers with relatively young children in the middle of suburbia. as a minority, we stuck together. truth be told, i'm sure if not for my daughter's connection with bride's daughter: i would not have been invited, let alone attended.

she's been dating this guy for about a year. that's all i really have to say about that. what i came here tonight to discuss is the wedding itself.

**as an aside i have to add: if there was every any question in my mind (which, there really wasn't), i now know with all certainty that i will never do the white dress and train with a veil thing ever again. she did. and that sealed the deal for me.**

i sat there and listened to the preacher bind them together til death do they part. yada yada yada. unity candle. traditional vows. what can is say dear reader? it made me squirm in my satin-covered chair knowing as i do, that she's already done this song with another partner. death did they part? fairly ugly divorces on both sides from the way she tells (told?) it. so.. death, not quite. but. this is her day. .. .. again.

then the reception: grand entrance. first dance. daddy dance. toasts from the four groomsmen. i felt my eyes rolling..
what are we, 23 years old here?

where is the realism? where is the part about : this is it fellas. no more dancing around the truth. we're here to take it to the next level, so both of you better be ready to cowboy up and ride this bull. because as you both know: it's a torn up road. so take a minute and think about it, because this is the last chance you have to take a step back without threat of serious repercussions from which you may-or may not-fully recover .. .. makes you wish sometimes it was as easy as holding onto bucking reigns for eight seconds.

i don't begrudge her this pomp and circumstance, but it solidified an attitude in me that i will not go back and say the same words. the same way. with the same hollowness. my crystal-crusted wedding gown didn't make a damn bit of difference a year from that day. by the time i got on the plane for my honeymoon, i could barely put together the fragments of memories from my wedding. it was a swhirl of snapshot moments in my mind. what exactly did we promise? it wasn't a moment of commitment, it was a lot of fluff about ... nothing. but this is only my experience.

i admit that i sometimes think what my 2nd wedding would be like. i can't see it, it's a vague idea.. but the images got clearer after tonight:
* it goes without saying that the dress code would be comfortable. the mood would be free and open. i'm not (necessarily) talking bare feet or cut offs in a city park .. .. i just mean the event would be momentous, without formality.
*then, the vows. in the comedy version of my vows, i say things like: "i promise never to gripe about the toilet seat and try my best not to one day hate you." because that's how i roll.
if i had to think about a real promise, i wouldn't repeat rote words from some preacher. this time, i need a spell i can trust.
maybe .. : "i like you so much i want you to be my family. i choose you because you see me better than i see myself, even when you look at the real me."
Romance and intimacy, yes, but there would be a sense of business at hand. i see the vows as a pact: an agreement. maybe we'd even sign a contract: that we would try to stay together. we would admit to each other that whatever it is that draws us to this place, to make this spectacle of our relationship: whatever that is: we agree here and now to explore it, nurture it and respect it. We acknowledge that there is strong love when we work together, and at this moment we enter into a partnership to foster that love. "for as long as we can possibly stand it. "

but that's just me. maybe i'd feel different if i'd walk a mile in her custom-dyed pump.

there is only so long you can re-gift.

I went to a wedding tonight that turned out to be blog-fodder gold...
here's the first bit.

i have an antique chest that i call the gift closet. you may have a gift closet: your backstock-- your re-gifting stash. my gift closet is where i collect the birthday, christmas and miscellaneous gifts that either a) we don't want; 2) we can't use; or c) we're just not in love with. and throughout the year, i pull out these never used, unopened items and wrap them up for someone else, usually another kid, just like mine. rarely, are these gifts for adults.

however: we were invited to a wedding tonight. i turned to the gift closet with a creative hopefulness. there in the back, i spotted a silver and glass "jam set", which by luck would make a lovely wedding gift, seeing as how i had received it as a gift for my own wedding. but. never opened it. (it's a jam set. what the hell am i supposed to do with a jam set? if i need jam, i'll dig it out of the jar then put it back in the fridge.) i knew it was time for the jam set to find a home in a new gift closet: one with a happily married couple to care for it.
so i plucked it out and dusted off the box.

somewhere between drying my hair and cutting the silver wrapping paper, i had the idea to check out this jam set. the cellophane that kept the box taped was sticky and felt old as i carefully pried it up. the box showed wear, no doubt. it should, considering it's been moved three times. as i noticed the delicate, white paper protecting the trivet-part was kind of yellowed, i started to do the math on this potential re-gift. let's see: i've been divorced for seven years... married nine... oh god, this thing has been in the back of that chest for sixteen years!

the numbers made me laugh, as i pulled the pieces out of the box.... ... only to find a tiny envelope atop the white-wrapped silver spoon. "on your wedding day" the card read. "To tony and julie, we wish you many happy years together." ... name with held to protect the innocent.

this clever lady had put the card INSIDE the gift so it wouldn't get separated in the moving of the gifts from the reception to the ... wherever. SIXTEEN YEARS AGO. thank god i checked it, i thought. how freakin embarrassing to give an obvious re-gift, but with the original card. wow, would my face be red.

but the worst part is: the silver was all tarnished. can't save that.

re-gift: fail.

check in tomorrow for my take on the ceremony and reception ...

same song second verse... no, twelfth...

here's another classic blog, originally written sept. 25, 2007....no, i'm not being lazy about posting... i'm just being... um, frugal -- using what i already have before getting new ...


I get so irritated with my daughter at the dinner table. Every single night she sits sideways in her chair and every single night she ends up spilling food on her lap, or dropping her cup off the edge of the table or something. All just because she's not sitting up straight paying attention. I tell her the same thing… every night. It's like she doesn't learn. I can't imagine where she gets it. Irritates.

So reader, as you may recall
when last we left this weary life traveler, i was feeling a leap coming on… forward movement
in the game of life lessons. I was looking for it; ready…to grow.

the problem with setting out to learn something new about yourself is… well, you learn something
new about yourself. something that is not usually cool. besides, by now, I already know all the cool things about myself.
I've spent the greatest part of my waking life glorifying, magnifying and generally extolling all the cool things I thought about me.
so I guess
now it's time
to move on

I talk to God.

I think one of my first mistakes here, was asking God to teach me how to be more loving. sounds good, doesn't it? I thought so. I didn't think
of it as such a challenge to master. in fact, I just dropped it into my prayers between wisdom and patience…'make me more loving'
... a sweet filling between the two biggies.
Mmm..warm fuzzies to me…muah! Love.

God has the ultimate sense of humor.

My second big mistake is being a slow learner.
I should know by now, that if I want more of something in my life,
like love.. or respect ..or acceptance.. I have to purposefully
do/give that thing for/to other people.

This is life 101: do unto others.
It's karma.
The great, goes-around-comes-around.
duh.

Conversely, if you find yourself not getting
something you want from this life;
logically it follows
that you are not giving enough of that thing.
Want your boss to be nicer to you? then bring the maintenance man cookies.

it's the universe man, wake up. Its real

So I shoulda known
when I wanted more love in my life
that He was going to show me
all the ways I act like an ass.
Yea. Fun lesson.
so much for fuzzies...

So I ask God to show me how to be a better person and he drops a dime to the universe and says, "hey man, go ahead and put it all in motion.
She wants to show more love and have more respect for people, so she's gotta learn lowliness.... This is going to be fun. I love this one."
(that's me paraphrasing God… I can still hear Him kind of giggling …)

I will not go into the myriad ways over the last few months that I have made a fool of myself and then had it served to me on silver the next morning at breakfast. I will not further shame myself regaling my public embarrassments; the times I was taken down to where I could see just how hurtful I can be to other people. I won't replay the times I've stumbled over someone's feelings or cut into someone's self esteem with clean-sharpened sarcasm. more times than not, I was made to answer for it. sometimes for the first time.

And in my misery; in the darkness of disappointment
and self-realization that I'm such a bitch …..
the universe whispered in my ear:
"You have to respect first,
before you are respected.
It doesn't matter if you think it's fair.
It's the game."

I'm learning to be more loving,
because I've see what a bitch I can be.
And that's not cool.

so…I've softened, I'm trying to be softer… girlie, if you will.
Holding back on those trademark sarcastic additions. snarkiness no more. Conversations with me will be dusted with colored sugar
punctuated by frosted muffin tops. No more piss and vinegar
from this little lady. Mindin' my Ps and Qs.
yes sir, mr. God sir… I done learned my lesson.
No more schoolin… please….

seriously

I'm begging you. stop.

This was a tough lesson, but i think i broke into bedrock; which is very cool. for now, I continue to offer apologies in my wake and walk the property nailing up boards I kicked out of the fencing around my bold, some might say strong, personality. and if out there in this anonymous web someone who knows me and maybe even loves me is reading this: thanks for loving me even when I'm a rude, conceited jerk. I hope you'll have to work less at loving me from now on… but I can't make any promises, I still can't get my daughter to sit up straight at dinner.

Mothers Day Past...

originally written May 13, 2007 ... look for more "classic" blog entries as i finally clear out the old myspace blogs in preparation for the big move to Wordpress... enjoy. and thanks for reading.

On Mother's Day morning many years from now, if God grants me the time, I'll roll over and wake up to sunshine coming in through gauzy bedroom curtains. I'll wrap a downy soft robe around me, then shuffle into the clean and orderly kitchen to make a pot of strong coffee. I'll sort through a fat, dew-kissed Sunday paper, setting aside a stack of coupons and flyers to savor that evening. I'll leisurely dress for church. My daughters will call with good wishes for my day. Maybe they'll even invite me to brunch where I'll eat with sticky grandchildren on my lap and have a tall, glossy slice of chocolate cake before waving them goodbye in carseats and SUVs of their own.

For now, I languish in the tentative years. As Sunday approaches, a dull ache creeps up my spine into the base of my brain as I an anxiously try to imagine the plans my beautiful, well-meaning daughters have for me this mothers day. Probing questions give their schemes away: "how many scoops do you put into the pot to make coffee?" the 8yr old asked me on Wednesday. "do you think M&Ms would be good on a waffle?" She pondered out loud Friday night. And then, tucking them in last night my youngest asked: "four is not too wittle to cwack an egg, wight mommy?" Note to self: hide eggs in the vegetable crisper.

But no eggs were harmed in the making of this Mother's Day morning. Fate had a different plan: this year, the girls would be sick.

As is our usual Saturday night ritual, they slept in my bed... My second grader began nursing a cold yesterday; by last night her congestion and rhythmic coughing kept me on the couch past 11:00. Finally, i succombed and went in to scoot feet off my pillow and retrieve the top sheet from a crumpled mess at the foot of the bed. After what felt like about 10 minutes of sleep, the little one awakened me with the tell-tale sounds of a stomach virus. Casualties were heavy. Sheets, bathroom rugs, the couch, even the living room floor took a hit. Each of us was splattered in collateral damage. After deftly avoiding another missile, I wiped her little mouth and adjusted the chilled eye mask wrapped around her forehead. With flushed cheeks and red lips she looked up and said, "all bedder now mommy." Something about it made me laugh out loud. I looked around at the mounting pile of soiled stuff. This is what mother's day is all about.

By four AM the house was quiet again. The three of us were toe-to-toe in my king-size bed, nestled in clean sheets and new pjs. The washer rocked with its load, the dryer hummed, foretelling my afternoon of folding. As I drifted off, with one ear open for a rumbling tummy, a chubby hand reached out for my face and rubbed my cheek. I heard the long, slow breath of a truly content child, secure that she was in the arms of a mom who was going to be there should sickness return. And as night creaked into dawn, my soul filled up with pride and Godly thanks in the assurance that I'm a good mom. Her sweet touch was, at that moment, the best mother's day present I'd ever had.

On my fantasy mother's day many years from now, as I retrieve my half-eaten slab of chocolate cake from the fridge and sink into an evening of coupon clipping in a quiet house, I'll wax nostalgic for these early mother's days. I'll smile with memories of restless mornings hearing the bump and crash of little chefs exploring my kitchen. i'll remember the squish of over-glued homemade cards and tissue paper flowers on my serving tray, with a cup of coffee grounds floating in lukewarm water. i'll laugh at the challenge of cleaning the trail of syrup from the kitchen floor to my bedside. And I'll remember this mother's day with it's sour smells, pale-faced children and piles of laundry—and I'll hope my girls will one day have a mother's day as rich as this.