Happy Thursday 13, to all you usual suspects. I haven’t been over here for a long time, sorry! Bad blogger. Bad.

This morning, I am once again putting off studying. How am I ever going to make it through grad school if I can’t even get through this one little class? I am tormenting myself and the Internet. How am I going to teach my kids good study habits, for middle school, high school and college? I had a hard time my first two years at college (Portland State University, gooooo Vikings!) because before I could pass any classes I had to learn to study.

Now, I realize that it’s summer, and for some people, school is the last thing on their minds. But I am hoping to be accepted into a graduate teaching program, and get a dual endorsement to be a media specialist (aka: Librarian), too. For educators, summer means time to take those extra classes and brush up on your skills. And for those of you who are parents… reading abilities tend to fall behind in the summer, but math skills really take a hit. Why bother, when there are all those good video games to play, right? Please do what you can to keep your kids’ heads in the game, so to speak.

Here are some tips, for yourself or anyone who might need them. These can also be tailored for work situations… Hope they help!

1) Focus. I try to work out every morning, even if it’s just a little deep breathing and yoga to stretch. A walk helps, or better yet a run. Once your head is clear you can make a plan.

2) Have a snack, make a cup of tea, grab a bottle of water, use the restroom — no excuses to get up once you’re studying.

3) Have everything ready — post-its, sharpened pencils, a notebook to take notes, index cards. I’ve been using index cards to scribble down definitions. My class is Psychology 311, Human Development, and my term paper — only five pages, not too bad! — is to write down my life story, with “explicit reference to the facts, principles, and theories presented in the text.” First of all, that’s crazy. Second of all, I’m a blogger! I can deal.

4) Find a spot where you won’t be tempted to take a nap.

5) Read. Read, read, read. Blink. Read, read, read. Blink. It takes me sometimes a half an hour to really get into my textbook.

6) I try to put myself into my kids’ shoes. (They are going into 2nd and 5th grade.) They truly have no incentives to do homework. They know they’re not going to flunk, even if they bail on their homework half the time. It’s boring. Worksheets are usually involved. It’s too easy. Or too hard. Or too, uh, boring? Yeah, that’s it, Mom! They are not being challenged! Now this one especially pertains to work. No one likes the drudge work. No one. But it has to be done. So I try to stress to my kids that they can’t just cherry-pick their assignments — sometimes it takes pages of drudge work before you get to the fun or interesting stuff.

7) Don’t complain, whine or have a fit. The work could be done in the time spent doing that.

8) Rewards are good. I know after I finish this class, my employer will reimburse me the $400+ I plunked down for the class. If I bail on the class, I don’t get reimbursed. That is a good incentive. For younger kids, it can be something as small as a sticker chart, a nice dinner out, a trip to the park, or maybe baking cookies. For bigger kids? I’m sorry, but you might have to be mean. No TV time, no techno toys, no sleepovers unless that homework is getting done.

9) Try not to let anything stand in your way — the phone, someone dropping by (your house or your desk at work), drama… keep it at bay. When you let others know how important your studying (or project) is to you, they will back off and (hopefully) the interruptions will dwindle. (Edited to say: I forgot the most important thing — unless you’re using the computer for research (my class, for instance, has cool flashcards I can access online. They helped so much with the two tests I’ve taken so far) — STAY OFF THE COMPUTER. NO blogs, Facebook, e-mail, nada.)

10) Pace yourself. Set aside chunks of time for various parts of the project, or schedule study blocks so you don’t have to pull any all-nighters. My kids had three or four big projects apiece this year. (First and fourth grade! Please. I thought that was a little too much pressure.) Dino reports, speeches, animal projects — it was crazy. So we charted it out: Diorama materials gathered up one night; diorama assembled the next night. Index cards compiled; speech outlined; speech written. I think they’re going to be ready for college in three years, at this rate.

11) Another thing — don’t pressure yourself or your kids too much. Relax. At the end of the year, I finally started drawing lines through my son’s homework. (Huge packets, weekly.) He’d finish a chunk of it, then another chunk. I would draw a line through whatever didn’t get finished, initial it, and write a note for the teacher saying, “This is as much as we were able to complete in the hour we spent on homework three nights this week.” It is insane the pressure that is put on kids now.

12) That being said, it has become necessary now more than ever to learn to get along/go along. (There are a lot of us out here who feel lucky to even have a job, or be able to go to school.) Life and work — what are you going to do, you know? The bills need to get paid, the classes need to be completed. Working as part of a small group? You can expect that at least one person will bail out and “let” the others do the work. Just do the work to the best of your ability and get on with things. It will be obvious to whoever is in charge (teacher, boss, supervisor) who was and wasn’t responsible.

13) Look on the bright side — it’s pretty cool to pull off something you didn’t want to deal with, or thought you couldn’t handle. That sense of completion is pretty satisfying.

OK, off to study now.

wm

Cat fight outside (not ours, but you still wonder until you get up and go check), early newspaper delivery (thwack) and where am I? Oh, yeah. This is my room. In my house.

Insomnia. 4 a.m.

And I think we used up the last of the coffee at the beach. I’m askeered to go look. Ack.

We were at the beach! Staying at a beach house! For a few days, even. Isn’t that a thing of beauty? My mom and late, Dear Granny share(d? what do you say after they’re gone? It’s still her birthday, even though we can’t call her to tell her feliz cumpleanos) a birthday. Mine, as you may recall, was a week ago. It was always cool, having them together like that.

But this year is different.

Man. Is this year ever different.

When I called my mom to ask her what she wanted to do (thinking she’d say dinner out, maybe go for a hike…) she surprised me — “Take the kids to the beach!” Well, alrighty. So she rented us a beach house, and we covered the driving, groceries and meals out. It was so rawesome, as my son would say. Rawesome. We haven’t rented a beach house since I was a kid. (Pixie Kitchen, Pixieland, hours on the front porch reading, digging an entrenchment and castles in the sand, walking on the beach forever… fun.) (More pix of Pixieland? Okay, here you go. I’ve linked these before, I love ’em.)

I was convinced that the Dorchester House was the old Pixie Kitchen, until my mom reminded me that it burned down. Denial, denial. It is a beautiful place to go in your head. (I had completely forgotten that it burned down. I’ve also forgotten which motels and hotels we’ve stayed at, our favorites, the best routes to the beach, once you’re there. Our house was great, but the staircase to get beach access was not. Concrete, carved into the hillside, 132 steps from here to there.) And being the Oregon coast, and not say, Carlsbad, California, it was blustery, cold and gray. Fleeces, hats that won’t stay on, long pants…

“Perfect weather!” says Hockey God.

We didn’t do any of the touristy stuff (including, but not limited to: Depoe Bay and the Sea Hag (we did go to Mo’s twice, yay, Mo’s), Newport and the coast aquarium — Wacky Boy is fond of the Oddwater exhibit — Devil’s Punchbowl, agate beach, the outlet stores, the freakin’ casinos… so many options, so little enthusiasm for driving). Steve and I did take a walk one morning and went for coffee. The girl was confused by his double espresso order and wanted to put chocolate or ice in it.

We visited Connie Hansen’s garden, which was, as always, delectable and perfect. They built sand castles and entrenchments, I watched until I got too cold. The news about the tides was right — they have been way out and the tidepools were extraordinary. Steve took some cool photos and I’m hoping he’ll post some. We watched movies, ate like pigs, read, did a puzzle, played games — it was a great weekend.

I read Joyce Carol Oates’s “We Were the Mulvaneys” cover to cover like a madwoman — could not put it down, stayed up late, got up early to finish it. It is her masterpiece. She just got out of the way and let Judd tell his story. Oates, the writer, who is such a strong presence in her own work that you can almost hear her voice sometimes, moved out of the way. It was Judd’s story, and Marianne’s, and Patrick’s. And there was Corinne and her husband, Michael Mulvaney, and their eldest, Michael Jr., who, in that frustrating way of older brothers, was elusive, bigger than life, then just almost there — then gone.

Oates is reliably good, spooky, deep, Gothic, emotional and detached all at once. Her writing means a lot to me, as a writer and as a woman. “Black Water” for instance was so good — years later it is still tucked away in my mind. (This is why I can’t remember our phone number, the password for the voicemail, which buildings have burned and which haven’t — it’s all those books tucked away, taking up space.) Intense book.

Gotta work out, catch y’all later.

Hope everyone had a good Fourth (if you’re in the States and like to blow things up). We loved being away from the fireworks and howling dogs.

xo

wm

“What can they do
to you? Whatever they want.
They can set you up, they can
bust you, they can break
your fingers, they can
burn your brain with electricity,
blur you with drugs till you
can’t walk, can’t remember, they can
take your child, wall up
your lover. They can do anything
you can’t stop them
from doing. How can you stop
them? Alone, you can fight,
you can refuse, you can
take what revenge you can
but they roll over you.

From “The Moon is Always Female”, published by
Alfred A. Knopf, Copyright 1980 by Marge Piercy

Not “hmmm” or “mmm” and certainly not “mmmmmmmmmmm…”

“The writing has been an exercise in trying to work my way towards clarity. Get out the pen and try to face the beast yourself. And what’s bothering you, right? Well, that’s not exactly it. It’s very hard peeling the layers off your own onion. When you get to the truth, do I want to say that in public?”
— Joni Mitchell in an 2003 PBS interview

Reading Michelle Mercer’s biography of Joni Mitchell, “Will You Take Me As I Am.” It’s excellent.

I’ve been doing the Wii-Fit every damn day practically since God spoke to Moses and have I lost weight? No. First I did, oh yes, I did. Seven pounds. But now it’s back. I blame it on the cupcakes, cheesecake and adult beverages we’ve been enjoying since my mother-in-law has been in town. And the pizza.

Yes.

Maybe I’m lucky it’s just the back and forth seven pounds and not, say, twenty.

Goodbye, pizza. You are no friend to me. Desserts? You’re next. Get to steppin’. It was my birthday I wanted cake. Aiiiii. (In the words of our friend Ilsa, “More cake.”)

How goes the healthy eating for you? Doesn’t it seem like it should be easier in the summer, what with all the carrots and fresh fruit and everything?

I’ve been thinking about this whole Farrah and Michael thing and here’s what I’m thinking — why do I care? Sure, the Jackson Five was the first album I ever owned, and I loved Charlie’s Angels, but I didn’t know them. I didn’t give birth to them. They didn’t belong to my family or go out for coffee with me or bring me food that time when I was sick. We never did a neighborhood clean-up together, broke bread together, talked gardening, yelled to each other during a parade or any of the things that count in my version of “real” world.

As Steve put it, “They represent the ’70s. There goes our childhood.” True, that.

I guess why their deaths bummed me out was 1) Unrealized potential. 2) Unrealized happiness. Or maybe it’s because it’s only been two months today since we lost my Dear Granny. It is still too fresh. In my mind I can hear her say, “Ol’ Elvis, that poor boy had too much, too soon” and “Patsy. Now Patsy had her a hard life.”

The same can be said for MJ. Poor guy really did have too much, too soon. And Farrah had her an exceptionally hard life. Hair, teeth, talent, skin, looks, ambition, money, money, money. None of it matters, does it? Not if you’re choosing to be with people who abuse you, or you can’t get away from your demons. All the money in the world can’t save you from your own self.

My Grandpa, my Dear Granny’s beloved husband, installed draperies, raised cattle, played with his grandkids, loved his wife, loved to laugh at the everyday foibles of the world. He was such an Arkansas boy. Hard working, minded his own business, didn’t cheat or bullshit. He would shoot the breeze, but would never bullshit. Would rather wear the same pair of jeans, patched twenty times, than buy a new pair. I used to ride along with him sometimes to jobs, if he was working out of town. Such a chatterbox — my Granny and Mom knew that he wouldn’t fall asleep on the long drive home, exhausted after a day of physical labor, if he had me riding shotgun.

We were working in this big, beautiful, brand-new house once in Sun River, over in Central Oregon — OK, he was working, I was perched on a window seat upstairs, writing in my journal and reading my book. I said, Man, Grandpa, this is a nice house. I want a house like this when I grow up.

He tells me, “The lady who owns this house is dying of cancer. She won’t be around much longer.”

I’m all, awww, that is sad!

He says, “Honey, things are not always what they appear to be.”

Work hard, play hard, have fun. Be good to yourself and fight those demons cuz you’re the only one who can.

much love,

wm

Almost two years later, I’m still blown away by this quote from a mom in my neighborhood:

“Rosa Parks was a law-breaker.”

I’m re-posting that link because in Portland, Ore. we’re still talking (arguing) about whether or not to re-name one of our streets after American hero Cesar Chavez. This time, 39th Avenue is under consideration.

Easy: Re-name it “Cesar Chavez Blvd./39th Avenue” and call it a day. You’re a business owner, you don’t want to buy new stationery or new business cards? Don’t then. You can keep calling it 39th.

People, can we be welcoming to non-whites in this town?

Love, love and peace to everybody,

wm

Woot. IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!! Second of all, my husband and I celebrated by going to Willamette Week’s big ol’ rooftop party gala extravaganza in honor of their new magazine. Why were we invited? I have no idea. It was not on the rooftop of the Hotel Deluxe (aka formerly the Mallory, where we went on our wedding night), but rather was on the rooftop of the Mallory Hotel Deluxe’s parking garage across the street. We ran into Byron and Juan (I love you Juan! OK, Byron, I love you, too, you know it. But mostly I LOVE JUAN, go Basic Rights Oregon) (ps — they could use some donations, y’all, if you have some change to spare)… Byron and my husband compared play-off beards. They both look extremely virile and handsome is my take on it.

We drank a lot of beer. In fact, we just parked it next to the keg line because that way we’d see everybody. Who did we know? No one. Because we’re old and don’t know who all these crazy 20-somethings are, rampaging around. We did see MS, and he and Steve only talked school politics for thankfully a short time. And we saw my delicious girlfriend K and her perfect, flawless boyfriend J. (Suits her, as she is perfect and flawless, too.) (Seriously.)

Also, there was the cutest woof-woof there, begging chips off of everyone. And a tiny Chi-hua-hua, too. (Say it: Chi-hoo-a-hoo-a. That is how it is pronounced.)

OK, back to Byron. He wanted to know, “Nancy, are you that Crazy Mama?” I’m all, Byron, you know I’ve had my blog for like five years now, duh. I am The Crazy Mama.

Then he wanted to know why I hate The Mayor. I don’t care what the man does in bed, just don’t be a big liar like my gay ex-boyfriend is my deal.

me: “You know why I have issues with this.”

Byron: “Mm-hmm.” (because hello, he was my next door neighbor — he totally knows why I have issues with this.)

me: “People think I am having a certain set of issues but I am having a whole different set of issues.”

Byron: “Mm-hmm.” (snaps my picture)

Then, we visited, ate some too-spicy mango habanero salsa which made steam come out my ears, so I had to drink all of Steve’s beer plus some of my fancy, glamorous bottled water. Then I had to pee of course. And I won’t use porta-potties because damn. Why would I? So we ran over to the Hotel Glamorous Deluxe Mallory, where I took a pee in their Deluxe Glamorous bathroom. Then I made reservations for us to stay there in September, to celebrate our whatever anniversary that will be.

A lot is what it will be.

A lot of years, Internets. Poor Steve.

Then (isn’t it just like you’re right there with me?) we had a drink at the Driftwood Bar, where I spent untold hours drinking with my favorite uncle in the world, my dear departed Uncle Chuck, my daddy’s brother, and I’m all — This is not the same bar, while I sipped at my vodka tonic.

“It used to be in the restaurant, right? Not separate like this?”

The dog from the party was there. At the bar. What? OK. Then Steve says, “The girl sitting at the table right next to us is like two years older than our daughter.”

And you know what, Internets? She really was. (OK, now I know Leslie and Zip will be all, Where were the children, Nancy? At grandma’s is where. For the night.)

So we had to leave. Our friends Peg and Mike gave us a lift home and we drank more beers. (I know, I didn’t think it was possible either.)

The End

Sunday Parkways was a blast yesterday — Steve had a good Father’s Day, I think. We never did run into my Mom and her friend — there were a lot of people out there! We saw a bunch of neighbors and friends we haven’t seen in awhile, that’s always nice. The kids got to play and we hit most of the parks along the way (Peninsula, Arbor Lodge, Trenton, Kenton… fun).

There’s another one planned for July 19 in Northeast, and Aug. 16th in Southeast, so if you’re in the area, go for it. It’s fun to walk it but it’s funner to bike it.

Mother-in-law arrives Thursday for a visit. Must clean (we got most of it done this weekend, but really, when is housework ever “done”? “The house is clean!” is such a lie), need to study, the kids are looking forward to watching a movie later and playing all day long…

All for now. Oh!!! MamaToo had a boy, yay! She hasn’t posted yet. She’s prolly a little busy, huh?

xo

wm

Yes, it’s my 45th birthday next week, which makes me officially halfway to dead. “If you’re lucky,” Steve sez. (My response: ???. I think, before it’s too late, he needs to take some “hints” from our Facebook friends on how to talk to ladies. Sheesh.) In honor of the big day, we went out for a little birthday dinner tonight at Pizza Fino, over in beautiful historic downtown Kenton, North Portland, U.S.A.

Of course our poor, beleaguered, misunderstood and sometimes, allegedly, drinkin’, drivin’ and cryin’ Mayor of Portland, Ore., Sam Adams, was there with three of his associates, constituents, friends, what have you.

That sentence was too long, I’ll start over.

I’m assuming the associates were picking up the tab, since between lawyer bills and all he can’t afford to make his mortgage payments. (“Portland: We’re So Broke Our Mayor Can’t Afford A Grown-up Boyfriend OR His Mortgage.”)

The staff was playing, as always, a lot of really sucky music that I believe the kids refer to as “techno.” That, combined with the fact that we had to wait an hour for our food, combined with the fact that the mayor was there, combined with the fact that our waitress was so absolutely beautiful and sweet that I couldn’t even hold the whole “food never arriving thing” against her, gave me what I refer to as “fucking headache behind my left eye.” Then, out of nowhere, they played ZZ Top, I’m Bad, I’m Nationwide, I’m assuming in honor of my birthday and the mayor.

Only he isn’t and I am.

“We going downtown in the middle of the night
We laughing and Im jokin and we feelin alright”

You know how old Wacky Mommy was when that song came out? That’s right. I was a freshman in high school and already getting into bars and never getting carded when I bought booze at the store. You poor kids nowadays, I feel for you. Don’t drink and drink, though! That’s bad.

Then they played a bunch more techno crap, I drank a lot of water, tried to figure out if that was our friend Babe across the way, I think it was, why couldn’t they have seated Babe next to us instead of the damn mayor, I love Babe… Finally the food showed up and my son ate an entire large cheese pizza all by himself, Wacky Girl split her pasta with pesto with me and we just chilled.

More techno.

Then again out of nowhere, they played “Low Rider.” Which I’m assuming Steve took as a hint to buy me the ’64 Impala with hi-jackers that I’ve only been wanting my entire goddamn life how many hints do I have to drop?

“I’m dropping hints/
candy for candy-coated tongue”
— Violent Femmes

That Impala, it was born the same year as me. I’m telling you — as soon as we get a garage I’m getting an Impala to put in it. You heard it here first.

Then I heard the lady at the table next to me tell her husband, sotto voce, “She’s 44.” Husband grunts. Wife continues, “She looks old for her age.” I’m sure she wasn’t talking about moi, as I am not just incredibly yummy and hot, but also Bad and not just limited to Nationwide — I’m international, mama. And the mortgage, she is getting paid.