What an unusual weekend.

It all started last Friday after work when I found myself sitting in a darkened theater watching a first-run movie in a first-run theater on opening night.  How unlike me.

My niece, Kathleen, decided to rally the “girls” to see Dear John - a movie based on a book of the same name authored by Nicholas Sparks.   So we the girl’s gathered right after work, tissues in hand and ready to cry.  After purchasing tickets for the second sold out show we proceeded to the theater and settled into our seventh row seats.

In our rush to claim a group of seats together we’d neglected to purchase any popcorn.  Lucky for us when the concession was wheeled into the theater - baseball park style - right behind us.

“Popcorn, want to share one?” my friend asked.

“Sure,” I lied while screaming inside, “Share one? No! I wanted my own popcorn drenched with butter topping.   Share one?!  No!  I want my own popcorn smelling delicious and ready for eating by only . . . ME!”

Instead as we sat and watched the movie, our container of popcorn was passed from one to another, handfuls being placed on my little, greasy napkin. Finally, when my little napkin was beyond absorbing one more drop of butter topping I declined when the container was handed to me with a question, “Want some?”

“No thanks,” I whispered while inside I was screaming, “Yes, I want my own!”

Then on Saturday I found myself with Tom, again, in a darkened theater watching a first-run movie (Avatar) with my 3D glasses on and yet another container of shared popcorn.

Since then I’ve been thinking a lot about this popcorn sharing thing.  It is a character flaw, this not wanting to share my popcorn?

Is it my fiscal irresponsibility?  They tell me it is cheaper to get a big one and share.

Is it my food dysfunction at work?  That desire to eat the whole damn thing myself.

Good heavens it could be all of those things or not one.  Whatever the reason next time I’m sitting in a darkened theater watching a first-run movie in a first-run theater and I’m asked, “Popcorn, want to share one?” my reply will most certainly be, “Share a popcorn… Sure.”

Why is it so hard to get restarted?  I know from experience that my creativity ebbs and flows and I’ve learned not to fight the times when I retreat from the art to some other activity or commitment.   It’s SOP (standard operating procedure) now to just wait for the well of motivation to fill up and when the well is full I know it’s time to play again.

The thing is . . . knowledge of this cycle does not make the returning any easier at times.  What inevitably happens is my fears and insecurities begin to surface with a vengeance as soon as I have brush or pencil in hand.

“You can’t paint!” . . . “Artist . . ha!” . . .   “Pretending you’re an artist again hey?!”

My insecurities have a loud voice and are quite insistent at times.  They wield a lot of power if allowed to go unchecked.  This noise that comes from my fear can drown out the creative urge.  As my wastebasket fills with half-starts and failed work, the negative self-talk can intensify and shut down the whole process.

So over the past couple of days I’ve turned the volume way down on the voice of fear and insecurity while remembering that this creative process is supposed to be fun, a time to practice, learn and connect with God.  I find that even when my drawing or painting isn’t my best effort the peace and enjoyment I reap is still beyond measure.  My positive self-talk is what keeps the whole process fun whether I end with a success or failure it’s that CAN DO attitude that will bring the best results in the end.

I read once that every failure is necessary in order to produce that one masterwork.  I take comfort in the fact that I’m one painting closer to my masterwork with the added bonus of having had fun the process.

The truth is I’ll continue to paint even if every piece comes out like crap because you never know that next one could be IT and I’m never happier than when I’m being creative in some way.

I had this boyfriend in high school that ate liverwurst everyday for lunch and then he’d burp.  He’s the one who is responsible for my first broken heart.  I can’t help wondering sometimes whatever became of him and whether they even sell liverwurst anymore?

I had another boyfriend in high school that ate peanut butter with grape jelly everyday for lunch.  He tortured our cat, which made me very angry though I was never assertive enough about making him stop.   He had long hair that his father hated and I sometimes wonder whatever became of him and whether he still eats PB&J everyday for lunch.

Oh these lunchtime memories.

I remember when I was a kid living in Alabama we used to eat fried bologna on white with mayo for lunch during the summer.   My sister and I would lock my brothers, affectionately referred to as the “boys,” outside and then “throw” sandwiches out to them and quickly re-lock the door.  Looking back I can see that was cruel (sorry guys) and I sometimes wonder if my behavior left them with a permanent emotional scar?

And then today I opened a little jar of Orange Marmalade that came in a Swiss Colony Christmas gift package from my mother and father.   I admit to eating the strawberry jam that came in the package first and waiting on the Orange Marmalade till last.  I really wanted to like this orange marmalade, but wasn’t at all certain I would so I decided to couple it with my peanut butter on wheat today for lunch.

At first I wasn’t sure about the bitterness of orange rind blended with sweetness, but then just as I thought my review would be negative, the marmalade mixed with the peanut butter won me over.  Delicious this old fashioned marmalade.

This discovery makes me wonder, does anyone even eat orange marmalade anymore, or have they repackaged the vast quantities of marmalade produced ages ago into small jars specifically for inserting into Swiss Colony gift packages?

Well, enough of those old and new lunchtime memories.  The bigger question is whatever happened to make fruitcake such an outcast and what can be done about it now?

Wow!  I can hardly believe it was one year ago that my son, Jonathan of JEG Design fame, set me up with this blog.  Looking back to day-one I can see that my writing style has changed just a little.

I recall writing that first post and how awkward it felt.  There were so many questions at the beginning.  Who was I writing to?  Would anyone be listening (reading)?  Did I really have anything to say that would be worth reading?  Now, one year later I’m still writing on a semi-regular basis and the same questions persist.  The thing that keeps me going is that the writing is therapeutic and I’ve “met” some wonderful people this past year.

A change to my blogging surfaced on February 1, 2009, when my post included a brief mention of the Eight O’ Clock Coffee I recently tried and found to be quite delicious.  What surprised me was I actually got a response, albeit from my daughter-in-law, Calico, but a response nonetheless.

Inspired by that “nod” I decided to post something everyday, but it wouldn’t be long before I realized that an everyday post, plus a full-time job was unrealistic.   Surprisingly,  I was able to maintain that lofty goal for almost three months while only missing eleven days total.

These days I try to post three times a week if possible though I can see this month has been a little lean.

Anyhow!  Thanks so much for stopping by to read and drop a comment or two from time-to-time.

I’m hoping this will be a year of changes with lifetime dreams beginning to take shape.   As always I thank you for your friendship and feedback.  Here’s to a word filled 2010.

Last Saturday morning our little “Gracie alarm” didn’t go off as early as I’d anticipated.  It was around 7:30amish when I heard Grace’s sweet voice and it wouldn’t be long before she emerged from the bedroom, happy, smiling and ready to tackle the day.   No shuffling out of the bedroom in a haze, desperately needing a cup of coffee before greeting the morning.

No - not our Gracie - she’s a feet-on-the-floor, alert and chatty gal - ready to face the day without the need for a shot of caffeine first.  If I hadn’t witnessed it myself, I don’t think I would have believed a day could be started without a strong cup of coffee or two.

While Michael got breakfast going - French Toast with a hint of cinnamon, crispy bacon with a touch of brown sugar and chilled, orange juice - Kathy, Grace and I waited patiently, taking in all the enticing aromas wafting from the kitchen.  When  breakfast was served we all ate with great pleasure.  I can tell you that Grace is a good little eater, stowing away a sizable portion of food given her tiny frame, then wisely stopping when she knew she’d eaten her fill.   She’d not consume one bite more.  How wise, our wee Grace, listening to her body’s cue.

After breakfast we washed up sticky fingers and face then set Grace loose to play.  We all played, seated on the floor, we played.   All smiles, laughter and discovery.  I can tell you that smiles are infectious and sitting on the floor with nothing else on the agenda is likened to meditation.   Sit, watch, smile.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Repeat.  Sit, watch, smile.  Breathe in, breathe out.  I heartily recommend it as relaxing and just plain fun.

The afternoon would be filled with a nap or two, bathing, lunching and shopping; finally meeting Kathy’s parents for dinner at the Grand Lux.  The dinner company, conversation and food were enjoyed by all.  Afterward we headed back home to sit, smile and play till bed time.

I can see that  little children can teach us valuable lessons.  That is, of course, if we’re tuned in and paying attention.   Let me tell you what I learned by spending my day with Mike, Kathy and Grace.

- I learned that it’s okay to greet the day with a smile first and then have have your coffee.

- I learned that it’s okay to eat delicious food with pleasure and enjoyment so long as you listen when your body says, “Stop!”

- I learned that it’s fun to just sit on the floor, smile and breathe.

Finally, I am reminded that there’s nothing like spending time with your children and when they start families of their own, there’s nothing sweeter than slipping into their lives for a day or two or three.

I always defer to Dr. Seuss when I start feeling sentimental about the geographic distance between us.  “Don’t cry because it’s over.  Smile because it happened.”

I feel like I’ve been a world away from my own life for the last few days.   As soon as I arrived in Long Island Friday evening I was taken into Mike, Kathy and little Gracie’s realm with open arms. What a treat.

I’d been looking forward to this visit for weeks and was admittedly a little nervous to be traveling alone, after dark into a notoriously aggressive traffic environment. Add to all that the fact that snow had been falling on and off all afternoon and I was a little edgy.  My uneasiness began to evaporate gradually as the miles behind me became greater than the miles before me and any unease I may have felt disappeared altogether once I saw those faces - Michael, Kathy and Grace!

I quickly settled in while Kathy prepared a roasted chicken sandwich on wheat with stuffing and mayo - delicious! I was so happy to be there, so happy to be a part of their lives for a day or two.   Not a sightseer, but a participant.  Not an intrusion (I hoped), but an inclusion.

Seated on the floor playing with my granddaughter Grace would become my post for much of the weekend and within a few minutes of my arrival Grace would point to me and say, “Gaama.”  What fine welcome and a wonderful start to the weekend.

We stayed up late that first evening (long after Grace had been tucked into bed) enjoying a glass of wine while getting caught up on all our goings on.

Fatigue finally overtook us and one-by-one we headed for bed.  Rest would be needed, Grace would be up early and I didn’t want to miss a minute.

I neglected to tell you that I’d be a travelin’ fool this weekend!  

The plan:   leave right after work Friday and hit the road for a long overdue visit with Michael, Kathy and Grace.  Leaving Albany around 5:30ish there was light snow falling, which quickly dissipated  as I headed south to Long Island on I87.   

While crankin up the tunes (my new favorite - movie soundtrack from Sleepless in Seattle), singing with great abandon and peddle to the metal I drove at a steady pace merging onto the Grand Central Parkway around 7:30 or so.  

What a nice surprise to find the traffic was lighter and a bit less aggressive than the Parkway’s typical daytime mob scene.   I’m proud to report that I actually passed someone driving at a slower pace that me!  

From the Grand Central to the Cross Island and finally to the Southern State marking my arrival safe and sound!   More later…