Beam Me Up As Soon As Possible, Please.

I think I have entered a personal twilight zone. Although I am in a familiar (albeit foreign) environment for the past two weeks (week 3 started Sunday), I actually think I might be able to head for home. But the question is: Do I want to? I am in no rush (for a number of reasons) but I also want to "get gone." My dog seems fed up as well. I think she misses her home and the rest of the "pack." I am sort of antsy to see my daughter and her new apartment (it's actually not so new, she's been there awhile, but I just haven't seen it yet). There is also my son and his new home to lay an eyeball on, especially since he is in a location that is sort of on my way back down 95. He just reenlisted in the service for another 4 years, and I would like to see him before he goes out of country again, as I suspect he will. It's a big reason to leave soon.

Do I stay or go? I am like the unfortunate Big Boy of Bob's fame. Remember when the Bob's restaurant chain held the contest on whether or not to keep their robust red and white checkered icon? I admit it, I voted to keep him. My decision was more than validated when the Big Boy showed up in the first Austin Powers film as an escape pod for Dr. Evil. This is exactly what I need - an escape pod. I just have to put new tires on it first.

Sibiling Rivalry (or Who Gets Their Favorite Coffee Cup First)

My mom has a coffee mug that I gave to her a million years ago (or so it seems) that has a picture of a gray and white stripe tabby Kliban cat sitting on a bar stool, legs crossed, playing a guitar and singing a song. The blues-implied song lyrics are printed on the mug (corralled within a cartoon balloon) and they go like this: "Love to eat them mousies, mousies what I love to eat, bite they little heads off, nibble on they tiny feet..."

I love this coffee mug. First, I must state for the record that my mother IS NOT a cat person, but she used to be able to sing and play blues BRA (Before Rheumatoid Arthritis), and the theme of this mug is why I bought it for her. Second, I am the one who is fond of Kliban cats, I have a cat (my other cat died last year after 15-1/2 years of ownership) but I am not a "cat person" in the way other people might be considered so. This coffee mug is a source of comfort to me when I come "home" to visit. I try to drink out of it every day. I sing the little ditty (badly) throughout the AM time period allotted for coffee consumption. My coffee cup obsession is, I am sure, (from comments I hear) annoying to both my mother and husband.

So imagine my annoyance, when I find out that my brother Joey, also loves the same coffee cup, and has had the nerve to pluck it, clean from cupboard, if I don't get to it first. This has happened for the last two days, as he has come to vist our mother this weekend while I am here in Virginia caring for her. Although I feel a bit miffed, I said (in true sisterly fashion) "That's ok, you enjoy it while you are here" all the while knowing damn good and well that I will win in the end. And why is that you might say? Because my mother has already said: "why don't you just take that mug with you when you go back to Florida"? At first I said no, I liked it being here, waiting for me when I come to visit. But now I am having second thoughts. Should the coffee mug stay, or go?

I think that I will ruminate about my decision over a cup of coffee...

Life is Haiku

Okay - here is my submission to the Washington Post per request of my sisters:

"I used to live here. I've traded palms for pines and oaks, but just temporarily. The humidity is the same. I am here because my mother is ill. I am the oldest. It's my job to take care. I am making everyone feel safe, but just temporarily.. I forgot that I miss the Sunday Washington Post. To whom I may offend: Sorry. Florida newspapers suck.

I will go home, back to palms and our daily fish-wrapper. (I have heard it called this, but not by me). Hopefully, it won't be just temporarily." (Wordcount=92)

A Star, if Born

I did something very bold today. I faxed a submission to the Washington Post for possible publication in their Sunday column: "Life is Short - Autobiography as Haiku." I originally wrote it out on the back of a to-do/shopping list this past Sunday. I typed it into Notepad when I found approximately 5 minutes in-between taking care of my mother (my drama is my mama). I did about 10 edits before I felt satisfied that it would at least receive a rejection letter, rather than be sent directly to the "round file." I had no idea how hard it is to write about your life (in the now), in 100 words or less. It so happens that I actually cross paths, on occasion, with writers who live in the same town that I do. The honest ones say there is no glamour being a writer, it's alot of thankless work done while wearing sweatpants, and no going out to 3 martini lunches everyday (sorry boys, but the women writers are the ones who have said this very thing to me. Unfortunately, the men writers I have met so far have heads puffed-out to the size of hot air balloons and would never admit it). It has always been a dream of mine to be a writer (this sounds SO cliche). I want to be an "unprolific novelist." I just want to write one profoundly deep, soul-moving tome. Like Harper Lee. Or Margaret Mitchell. I know I could be a excellent essayist. I am a huge fan of the Op-Ed page. Time will tell if I will burn bright.