Dark Circles and Laugh Lines

On Monday, I will turn 36. I'm a few pounds heavier than I would like, I take pride in the few fine lines I see when I smile hard and laugh hard. My under eye dark circles are erased by my eye cream and water. Genetics I am fighting, time I welcome, but hours in the day are not enough. I made a decision tonight to relax with a glass of wine instead of working out. It wasn't the best decision for my goals, but it is the one I made. The last few years I have learned I can survive through economic downturns, through marriage heartaches, through disagreements with loved ones, through loss of once upon a time true friends. OK so it was 2 glasses of wine. Years ago, or maybe even last year, I would have taken this opportunity to not look at what I have to be thankful regarding, but rather what I haven't yet achieved. I have been hard on myself for as long as I can remember. I have high expectations, I am my own worst enemy. For a few moments, I started down this path again. Thought about the jeans I couldn't yet wear as I came closer to 40, thought about the level of my career and it's compensation as I near 40, thought about a house I love that even though reasonably priced, I can't purchase and take it's for sale sign down just yet, thought about once upon a time. Thought about grad school loans and upcoming Ignatius tuition. *pause while I sip wine not thinking above paragraph* Then I thought about the bigger picture. I thought about all I have accomplished through trials and tribulations, through personal struggles I have not yet blogged regarding, perhaps never will. It always works out, not always on my timeline. I realized that 36 is just a number, that I may be getting closer to 40, but I wouldn't go back to closer to 20, or closer to 30. I've accomplished too much, learned too much, become closer to my true potential. There is no going back, only forward. I will meet closer to 40 head on, I will pack away the white flags and tears. I am a woman, a mother, a wife. I will concur. I do not know or recognize any other way. My life is not up for comparison, my life is mine to own, and it may be the only thing I own outright until I hit that next decade.

What We As Parents and As People Really Need to Stop Doing

How many times have you said the following or a similar sentence:  I wish I could go back to high school;  I would love to be 5 years old again;  I'd do anything for the "problems" I had at 16?

As we grow up, as we mature, as we gain responsibility both at a job and in our personal lives, our problems change.  It's nature.  Most of us will go from having someone else (i.e. a parent) care of us, make sure there is a roof over our head, food on the table, and clothes on our back, to doing this for ourselves.  Obviously, this is a stress changer.  Food, clothing, housing, it all costs money, and the day comes that we have to make that money.  Some of us, may chose to someday have this accountability for someone else, perhaps a spouse or a child.  Yet again, this is a game changer.  That money you made when it was just you, doesn't stretch as far as it did.  Suddenly, we go from bringing in the mail, to seeing envelopes with our name on them, bills that belong to us.  Maybe we even have days where the mail stays in the mailbox, one less thing to consider.

These changes in life, don't negate the challenges or stress we felt earlier, it's just different.  Does my gas bill coming to my house today cause me the same stress it did when I was 22?  No, but that doesn't mean my 22 year old self wasn't justifiably stressed.  Do I know what my friends with kids going off to college are going through?  No clue.  Do they know what it is like to have a 10 year old?  Of course, and while they may look back longingly for the challenges I am just now facing, it doesn't make my now any less important than their now.

So why do we act like those at a different place than we are have concerns that don't matter?  Or worse, laugh at them?  Is this how we "help"?  Maybe we need to think about the kind of help the person needs.

A friend's niece recently broke up with her first love.  He cheated on her. My friend wanted to say so many things, but instead she paused.  Instead of saying she didn't know her 15 year old boyfriend's name, couldn't remember why they even broke up.  She paused.  Then in this pause, she remembered herself at 15.  Instead of giving grown up advice, instead of negating her niece's now, she chose to listen. Then she did what a good aunt would do, a good aunt, who doesn't want to spend life in prison, that is.  She took her niece for a pedicure and ice cream.

This evening, Gabriel and I went over homework as is our normal.  Gabriel became very distressed when making a few corrections.  He started crying. Gabriel shared that 4th grade is stressing.  He is worried he won't have enough time to get everything done.  He is worried that the line for his teacher to check his homework book is too long, and he won't get pencils sharpened.  He feels rushed, but yet wants to do well.  I paused.  I remember 3 things about 4th grade:  I wore brown framed glasses.  I was devasted that the teacher got me in the Christmas gift exchange.  I received a beautiful necklace in the Christmas gift exchange.  Faux pearls, I still wear it.

But I paused.  I listened.  Did I share with Gabriel that I barely remembered 4th grade?  Of course not.  That wouldn't have been helpful to him.  Instead I listend to his concerns, really listened.  This is his now.  We brainstormed on some ideas.  I didn't use terms like time management.  I didn't tell him to stop crying.  I didn't tell him to man up.  I was his mother, his friend, his helper.  I stayed in his now because my now is to help him complete 4th grade in the best way he can. 

and tomorrow I will buy a portable automatic pencil sharpener for his desk.  Surely, that will shave several seconds off pencil sharpening. 

The Great School Supply Breakdown

Those of you who know me well, and maybe those of you who just have picked up on a few things between blog posts and Facebook statuses, will not at all be surprised to learn that I love school supply shopping.  I love the lists, the organization, the labeling, did I mention the lists and the organization?  I take the "steady supply" part seriously having a handy container with all the extras at the ready.

I loved watching as a younger Gabriel would pick out a Transformer Thermos, a Star Wars lunch bag, a super hero backpack, Disney Cars themed folders.  As he entered 2nd grade, he started moving away from the themes and more to colors.  I loved this too because who doesn't love the green folder with the green themed notebook for the same subject?!  Coordination is the Type A person's dream.  Gabriel enjoyed finding as many different colors as he could. Picking out his backpack was a science:  he would compare each style and color weighing the pros and cons. I would patiently wait enjoying all the options and his mind processing it all.

Then came Third Grade. 

He picked out a black Adidas backpack complete with a laptop space, a bag more appropriate for college than 3rd grade.  I blamed his father.  

A paperbag was all he wanted on days he decided to pack his lunch.  A great joy was found in my heart on days I got to put soup in the Tranformers Thermos. 

Half way through the school year, Gabriel made a rule that I love yous had to be said before he opened the car door and all the windows had to be up.  What choice did I have?  I had to comply.  Some days he would say I love you back while standing on the parking lot pavement and shutting the door leading me to giggle at the rule breaking.

While in my naive mother mind,  I didn't think 3rd grade would be such a year of change, I definitely was not prepared for what would happen next.

Gabriel and I attended the "Getting Ready for 4th Grade" week long program at his school.  While I knew it would be a year of change and challenge, I didn't expect to be sitting in a school desk when my son's childhood would flash before my eyes.  That week Gabriel and I spoke a lot about 4th grade expections.  Gabriel understood that this may be his first year of real classroom challenge and he definitely understood the homework change.  "Mom, you will help me learn how to study, right?"  Gabriel asked as we went over how tests would work and that this year books would be coming home daily.  "Of course.  You are very smart this will be a good year for you, but it will be more work than before"  I replied.  Gabriel said he knew and he felt prepared. 

I felt like crying.

Which I did, a few weeks later while standing in Target.  By the school supply section.  Looking at an Angry Birds lunch box and a little girl carrying a Barbie bag.  I looked away only to see them:  the Disney Cars folders.  Stupid Mac and Sally, I thought, as I dried my eyes hurridly walking towards sporting goods.  I'd get erasable pens and reinforced college ruled paper later. 

About two weeks ago, Gabriel attended soccer camp at St. Ignatius High School.  As we were in the car talking about how camp went, he said "ya know, mom, St, Ignatius isn't that far away really.  I mean I am half way to high school now.  I will be there soon." he added, as he smiled.  I saw the excitement in his eyes, he really does like it there.

Today I sorted school supplies while thinking about how my child was right.  High school is around the corner.  My days of buying Disney Cars products are over.  My days of helping my child reach his full potential in school, are just really beginning. Thankfully, I layed a great foundation full of flashcards and awesome twist Crayola crayons.

My First Time

My first time on an airplane I was around 13.  My mom and step dad took my brother and I to Disney World.  My mom bought me an entire new summer wardrobe for the trip. I packed it all carefully, keeping all items for each day together - I was anal retentive even as a child.

We had taken vacations prior to this trip, but this was the first airport needed mode of transportation vacation.  As soon as I boarded, I was in love with air travel. My mom always said she can't take me anywhere without me seeing someone I know, and crossing state lines was no exception.  I saw a girl I knew from softball, Jessica something.  It was a great vacation, and the one where the phrase "you got a mouse in your pocket?" was coined by my step dad whenever my mom said "we".  My brother and I use this phrase to this day.

A little over a decade later, I had a child.  As I had written in my graduate school application essay, I needed to work hard in order to provide the same, let alone better, for my child.  I want him to experience all life has to offer and expand his boarders: his understanding of different cultures, his understanding of different socioeconomic settings.  I could write an entire blog about what I want for him. Maybe stay tuned for that one...or those five...

Yesterday, I booked our air travel for Gabriel's first trip via air.  We are going to San Diego.  We wanted to do something special for his10th birthday.  I can't believe he is 10 already. While he did not get a new wardrobe, he did get a new suitcase, a big kid suitcase - one he will hopefully use on many more airport needed vacations. I hope by 13, one he will earn a passport stamp for, a stamp from a country not on our continent.

Today, Gabriel and I were discussing our trip.  We broke out maps so he could see exactly where he was going.  We have a connecting flight in Atlanta, an airport I visit frequently, but a city I have never actually visited.  Gabriel asked if we could stay a night, and I said not this time, but in my head I was thinking what a great trip it would make, some day, a stop over on our way to my beloved Savannah.

Gabriel went on to play on the chalkboard that was mine when I was a child.  He is making a list of superpowers. If only he knew...he is my superpower, my motivation every day.

For My Beautiful Mom, Happy Birthday!

During my Baptism, the priest upon bringing me up from the 2nd dunk, prior to immerging me for the 3rd dunk  looked at my father and said, "you can't deny this one, she looks just like you."  Both my mom and dad share this recollection, thus, I know it is true.

For most of my life, I was the spitting image of my father, as I got older more his family's side in general.  Most people at the church his family attended for years knew me as one of them on site.  At Vatra (church camp) the other parents would know I was related to the family, of the children they knew from childhood, when my jelly shoes and pony tail got out of the car.

When I was in junior high I was sitting watching a little league baseball game in my uniform waiting for my coach.  There were two women a few "seats" away from me talking.  I overheard part of their conversation-- "...the woman with the sunglasses and long hair, she's beautiful.  I looked over, my mom was sitting a few feet away, she must have just arrived for my game.  I asked the women, "excuse me are you talking about that woman there?" Yes, they said.  "That's my mom", I said.  The one woman smiled and the other looked at me and after a brief pause said "yes, yes I see she is".

I can't remember my exact age (high school years), but I do remember seeing it.  I looked in the mirror, and I saw it.  I had her nose. The little bump about half way down, was just like hers.  For the next several weeks, I would look at it long and hard when I washed my face or put make up on.  Hmm, I do resemble her, I would think.  So I have some Moore genes, I would think.

Years later, I would find myself doing laundry at 2am during the few hours Gabriel, the baby, was sleeping.  It occured to me, I had turned into her.  The only other person I knew that did laundry at 2am after a long day was my mother.  The only difference was I wasn't cooking a dinner as well for the babysitter (the term nanny didn't exist in the middle class yet) to warm up the next evening, while she was at work.

A few years later, we would rent a house across the street from my mother's parents. Gabriel was a toddler, so he has limited memories of the house, but he does remember the gumballs (see previous post) at his great-grandparents house.  After we bought our house, we would visit. At some point during this time period, a picture, the only picture of my mom and her 9 siblings would appear above my grandparent's entertainment system. My grandma immediately showed it to me upon it's framing and showcase in her house.  "Look at this picture", she said, smiling.  I saw myself, I saw myself with 9 siblings of various ages around me.  I stared at my mother.  Later, Gabriel was shown the picture and his response was "mom, who are those kids and babies with you and where was I?". 

Over the course of  years, I have not only grown into looking more like my mom, but I have also grown into her unconditional love, exhasperating caring (my nieces and nephew "lovingly" refer to me as grandma sometimes), overly worrying ways, and dedication to children (in her case two, in mine one).

My mom has shaped the woman I am, the lioness mother, the dedicated professional, the helper of others.  There will definitely be a place for her in Heaven, I can only hope she will argue with God enough to get me there too.  Somehow, I think she will prevail.

Happy Birthday, Mom.  You are amazing in more ways than you will ever know.  You are my inspiration every day and I can only hope I leave this Earth giving it as much as you have.

Closed for Business, The End of Dirty Mondays

For a few months, Dirty Mondays "the establishment" hasn't seen much action. Gabriel, "the owner" has moved onto other activities.  However, he assured me he was not ready to give it away.  I inquired on several occassions.

I rearranged a few items in our kitchen (see blog entitled "Dirty Mondays") and as a result "the establishment" was to be relocated to the playroom.  However, the husband, "the father", relocated "the establishment" to the garage.

"The owner" asked several times regarding the whereabouts of "the establishment", wanting confirmation "the establishment" was indeed still in our possession. He confirmed on multiple occassions he would like "the establishment" relocated to the playroom.   I mentioned this several times to "the father".  He did not seem phased or at all interested. 

I tried to move "the establishment" to the playroom.  This proved to be challenging due to our stairs (and the fact that "the establishment" stands nearly as tall as me).  Obviously, a large plastic kitchen that lasts 7 years is a pretty serious piece of plastic. As a result, "the establishment" stayed in the garage.  "The owner", must have noticed it more and more as he stopped inquiring regarding its whereabouts.  "The father" became even less interested in hearing about the relocation procedure needed for "the establishment".

I know what you are thinking.  "The owner" didn't notice it anymore than he had previously.  He just outgrew it.

I know what you are thinking, "the owner" is almost 10 years old.  Double digits.  

I know what you are thinking.  My ill fated attempt to move "the establishment" was a last ditch effort to hold onto my little boy.

I know what you are thinking.  "The father" was not at all interested in the relocation because he was aware "the establishment" would not be relocating, but would be closing.

I know what you are thinking.  The tears running down my face are pathetic.

Dirty Mondays is gone.  There will be no more birthday hats, even when it's not your birthday. 

Dirty Mondays is gone. There will be no more cheap meals, but expensive desserts. 

Dirty Mondays is gone.  There will be no more pizza girl. 

Dirty Mondays is gone.  The tears streaming down my face are full of memories.

Someday, I May Shower Alone

When Gabriel was a baby and I was back at work, I tried to shower before he would wake up.  It became a task of tip toeing and wondering if the city knew just how loud the water actually was.  Maybe I should call them?  Seriously, how did I not notice the octaves of water prior?  While he didn't sleep through the night until  he was a year old, he did always sleep through my shower.

Eventually, sleep cycles changed and I would strap Gabriel into his carseat and take a very quick shower hoping he either didn't cry or the cries wouldn't break my heart too much.  The loud anguishing cries were probably similar to what torture victims sound like when they still have voices.  He was much happier free and exploring, something that still hasn't changed, nor do I expect it will.  This is the type of experience that can make one sweat in the shower.  The stress, the rush, the forgetting to shave the 2nd leg, just anything to end the experience and give your child what they want. This is how they train you...to always think about them and what they need, want, desire. It starts with your morning shower.  Someday, I thought, I will be able to take a peaceful shower.

Approaching the "not so much a baby not really a toddler" years, I was very lucky to have the help of my step-daughter.  She would help get Gabriel ready in the morning during the week---changed, sometimes cereal fed.  At the time she probably enjoyed this (to an extent), but until she had a child of her own, she probably never realized what her minutes to an hour of help actually did for my well being.  A semi-peaceful shower no matter if 2 minutes or 15 minutes is a jackpot of diamonds to a mother.  Of course, I still rushed, thought of a million things that could be going wrong, dissected if i really needed to wash my hair, justified shaving my legs a few days apart. Someday, I will shave both legs in the same day I thought.

I'm pretty certain that somehow toddlers and small children have brains that automatically switch into need mode when they hear anything related to the closing of a door. Is this what they are really doing that first night at the nursery hosptial?  Does a nurse walk around with a clipboard instructing the others which babies still need "the chip" inserted?  This chip turns the very word you couldn't wait for them to say into a shrilling blood curling, cringing, and sigh inducing word:  Mom. Someday, I will manage an entire hair and make-up session without being needed.  I often go without make-up. Someday, I will look like a movie star every time I leave my house. Well, I do have some pretty cool sunglasses...

When Gabriel started school he used to sit in the bathroom while I did my hair or put make-up on (ok so both didn't normally happen on the same day).  We would talk, the dog would often get in the way, first Lobo, later Arlo.  It became our time and it brought us closer. I enjoyed it. Of course, there were still times I got aggrevated when I tripped over Gabriel or the dog, or for a short time the dogs.  I would remind myself, this time won't last forever, be in the moment, enjoy the moment.

My brother's children started coming over in the morning several years ago.  The only visitor to the bathroom in the mornings now is Memphis and the occasional child letting me know of some discrepancy by another child that morning.  At times, I leave the bathroom stressed because of the noises in the other rooms (are they fighting, playing, an ER visit needed?), but for the most part I do my thing and they do theirs.  Occassionally, the click of the door in non-morning hours activates "the chip", but at 9, Gabriel can wait a minute or two and sometimes I purposefuly take longer.  He has to learn patience, you know.

Over the weekend, I had the radio on full blast while in the shower.  Something I don't do often if I'm the only adult home. A song by Gabriel's favorite band, F.U.N., filled the speakers.  Only this time my dormant chip was activated.  When I heard the opening of the door, I smiled.  For the next several minutes, we sang at the top of our lungs, me in the shower and him dancing on the tile floor.  I will miss these days because they really are limited.  They really are coming to an end.

No, You Can't. Yes, I Can.

One of my biggest problems has always been listening when someone tells me what to do.  No, you can't drive in this snow storm (I did without issue); no, you shouldn't wear those shoes with this ice (I fell); yes, you should always put the guards on your ice skates (cut lip). Sometimes, my stubborness or my belief that I know what is right, correct, better has worked out, sometimes, not so much.

It didn't help that I was raised by parents, who taught me that I could achieve anything I wanted to achieve.  I could be anything, I could do anything.  My mom worked long hours in the ICU Department as a RN, when I was young, she picked up over time hours whenever she could.  I never wanted for anything to be honest.  The latest K-Swiss shoes, had them.  The hockey skates for Friday at Winterhurst when the borrowed figure skates were no longer "cool", bought.  The new outfit for the dance even though I probably had clothes I hadn't worn yet, bought. The private liberal arts college, when she had prepared for only state school, paid. The wedding dress I ripped out of a magazine and saved for half a decade not realizing it was couture, wore it. My dad was working on a college degree when I was in grade school.  I would attend classes with him at a very young age.  I didn't know I wasn't "in the class".  I aked questions.  Professors shamed the college kids, who didn't pick up what this little girl did.  He called out injustices in socio-economics, in treatment of people.  I stood on the lines with him, I called out grown-ups, who used degrating words, that treated people poorly.  I dreamed big, and they supported it. 

In my early 20s, I became lost.  I didn't know what I wanted to do anymore (see previous blogs). They say God laughs when you make plans, I despised Him for his laughter, for His lesson that I wasn't in control.  Yes, I was, how dare He make me doubt.  Show Yourself, play on my field.  Show himself He did.

In the mist of confusion, in the mist of figuring it out, I found out I was pregnant.  I hadn't really even thought about kids, and then bam, I had to think about the baby I would have.  I had to grow up. I didn't make a plan, I did something out of my character.  I took one step at a time, one step at a time towards the life I wanted not knowing yet really what I would do "when I grew up."

When asked on interviews why I chose HR as a profession, I tell the truth.  I followed a lead a friend gave me and I applied for a recruiting job.  I had done a lot with recruitment in college for my sorority, for Greek Life.  Surely, it had to be similar.  I fell in love with the world of recruitment, with training, with developing others.  I knew I had found my calling.  I had found my calling because of the angel, I would name Gabriel.  I wanted more, I was hungry.  I went back for my MBA.  I worked around 45 hours a week, took my graduate classes, ran a household, and raised a baby.  I graduated with a 3.87 GPA. I achieved it.  

My career grew, I focused more on all areas of HR, stepping more and more away from talent acquisition and more and more into employee relations and performance management coaching. I started to earn a name as "the one to ask", the "one to get coaching from".  My career was not without setbacks (see previous blogs), but I started to feel like those post college years spent in non-career jobs, were no longer important. 

Gabriel has morals, he calls out adults who treat others poorly, he has a vocabularly that people don't believe.  He plays soccer forty some weeks a year, baseball in the summers, piano lessons.  He plays on his iPad, he doesn't understand why social  injustice exists.  He talks about Yale, Harvard, and sometimes how he's gonna move to New York City.
The past year has been challenging.  My hours are often difficult, I've missed a few school functions, I've lost sleep, I've woken up in the middle of the night and turned on a lap top, I've arrived at work at 4am, I've left work at 4am.  I found a mentor to help me help my employees even more.  Turnover has decreased, employee morale has improved, employee engagement is strong. When asked in interviews why I am passionate about my field, I tell the truth.  I make a difference to the business, to people's career path, to lives.  I am one of the lucky few that gets to go to work everyday and earn a paycheck doing something I love, not something I have to do.

Today, I was told that if I truly wanted out of my career, what I have stated (executive level is my end goal), that I would have to dedicate more to work and less to sick child days, soccer games, family life. That I couldn't have it all.  That in today's world, you have to make the hard choices.

I've made the hard choices.  I finished an undergrad degree in Political Sciences, I knew I would never use. I ended a relationship with someone I loved very much, when I knew he didn't feel the same anymore, when I could barely stand up from the knowledge. I went back for a MBA when I still needed my full time job and was raising a child in diapers.  I supported my husband when he quit his job and went back to nursing school, at a time when we were not fully prepared for my salary alone.  I brought a puppy home when my work hours were long and my child's social calendar was reminiscent of my teen years. Those are just the ones I am willing to share on a social blog.

So tell me again, what I can't do?  I don't think I heard you correctly.  I can do anything I set my mind to achieve.  

I Never Had a Sister Until...

When my brother was in high school, he ended a very long term relationship with the girl, who had been his first love.  Like a typical teen boy, he started dating several girls over the course of a short time.  As I was away at college, and none of these girls stayed around long, I didn't pay much attention.  My mom had some concerns (her middle name is actually Worry), but I thought it was pretty normal.

I was home for a school break, and noticed a little bit about what my mom was worried about.  My brother was not in a good place still.  I understood.  As a result, I did my sisterly duty and paid absolutely no attention to any of the girls that would show up at the house.  ...and by that I mean, I was rude.

Then I was leaving to go out with friends and noticed there was a Tempo in the driveway.  A girl that drove herself? Maybe she didn't care about the red Mustang my brother drove.  Then I saw her, tall and blonde.  I rolled my eyes and left.

Over the course of the next decade, she would prove me wrong.  She would treat my oldest niece like her own daughter, she would drive the kids to Alliance for a family funeral, which my brother could not attend, when she wouldn't know anyone, she would put up with my brother, and my mother.  Those are not easy tasks...

She's been there for me during mother doubts and marital challenges.  Literally, sometimes arriving 5 minutes later to my house. She carried my dog when I could no longer pick him up, she was there when we had put put him to sleep.

As a little girl, I would sometimes pretend I had a long last sister, who I would find and then confront my parents.  (This would at times mean painting my brother's nails...).  I guess  I just never knew that I would eventually have a sister, my brother just needed to find her.
 

The First Time

The first time I heard Janis Joplin, I was in Junior High.  It was the Summer before my 8th grade year and I was at my friend's house.  She had the Pearl album, Me and Bobby McGee was the song she played.  I immediately had to buy the CD too (I am proud to say with 3 exceptions, I own everything released.  One item has never been opened as it is a limited edition).  I had never heard anything like it:  the rawness, you felt it, you knew, even when you you were 13 years old ("I figured it out at 13 years old...")

Over that school year, we drifted apart, her to her own blues and me to my world.  Two junior high friends would go through situations that year that even at 35 I can't fathom.  But my love for Janis and the Blues would only grow. In my early 20s, I would be the only white person and the youngest by generations to attend a tribute to Etta James' (one of Janis' favs) career (at the time, she was still alive, of course). I am not sure she, my friend, even knows (until she reads this) that she was my intro to this world.

Now let me be clear, my dad played Zeppelin, Floyd (my son, who he is with often sang 4 songs off The Wall for me the other day), Neil Young and Skynard.  He played Joe Cocker, Rush, Beatles, and Stones.  And yes, he played Janis.  But it wasn't until my pre-teen years that I heard Janis.

The thing about Janis is that you feel her, you feel the anguish, the talent, the confusion, the love, the pain, the want. I am often struck by the Sublime lyric that says with music, you feel no pain.  You feel it, people take drugs to numb it.  You feel it in your core and if you don't, you are listening to the wrong band/singer at the wrong time.

I am sure I drove many a high school boyfriend crazy with my love of a blues/rock singer, who died years before we were born.  Perhaps, being raised by a hippie dad and a not so hippie mom shaped me to my core.

Both my parents always supported this love, and when you have divorced parents, them agreeing on something isn't the norm.  My mom bought me books, my dad shared Woodstock and 60s and 70s knowledge.  Years later, You Tube would make many things "viewable" to a girl, who would never see a favorite live. I created a binder full of news articles, play bills, press releases, while I am certain there is far more out there than I have, it's my way of following someone who has been dead for over 30 years, but still lives through her art.

I've seen Love Janis, (of course, I own the actual book too) and I've seen A Night with Janis.  When my mom first took me to see Love Janis, I was nervous.  Who was Beth Hart and how would she be Janis?  It wouldn't work, I thought.  This is going to be disappointing.  Beth Hart was Janis, she was amazing.  She went on to have (last I knew) a tortured life of her own, I went on to buy her own actual CD.  By far though, as many Janis shows I have seen (and been nervous for) Mary Bridget Davies was the best Janis.  I forgot she wasn't Janis, I forgot it was a play, and for a few short hours I saw Janis live.

Throughout my 35 years, there have been trials, tribulations, second guesses, mistakes, love, heartbreak, joy, pure bliss.  I have, for the most part, stayed true to myself -- my passions, my beliefs, my respect and love for myself.  A woman, who was never truly able to do this for herself, has helped million of little girls do it for themselves. Janis will rock on in my house, in my heart, in my soul, because I feel it in my core.