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Tag Archives: Grateful Heart
A Gift Returned
I gave my daughter into the hands of doctors yesterday and they gave her back! Thank you for all your prayers. Her routine procedure was indeed routine but my little Diva remains completely unroutine!
Thank You by Led Zeppelin
If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you.
when mountains crumble to the sea, there would still be you and me.
Kind woman, I give you my all, Kind woman, nothing more.
Little drops of rain whisper of the pain, tears of loves lost in the days gone by.
Our love is strong, with you there is no wrong,
together we shall go until we die. My, my, my.
Inspiration’s what you are to me, inspiration, look… see.
And so today, my world it smiles, your hand in mine, we walk the miles,
Thanks to you it will be done, for you to me are the only one.
Happiness, no more be sad, happiness….I’m glad.
If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you.
If the mountains should crumble to the sea, there would still be you and me.
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I’m Taking the Long Way Home
So Day One of the Forty Project, AKA being 40, was a success. Of course, it is pretty easy to be happy when your family takes you to the beach (my absolute favorite place in the world!!!), feeds you great food, and throws a new iPhone, a Bluetooth ear piece, custom made jewelry, and other amazing gifts at you. But the best gift was an amazing day surrounded by people I love, dozens and dozens of well wishes here and on FB (seriously if FB can’t make you feel like a rock star on your birthday, I don’t think anything can), and an overwhelming feeling of love, love, love.
I could have included “All You Need is Love” but I did the Beatles yesterday (in fact I did “Yesterday” yesterday). Someone asked me once if my life was a film what would be the song that ran over closing credits. I thought about it a while and said, “Take the Long Way Home” by Supertramp. As I embark on the middle of my life (for the record, that does not make me Middle-Aged), it seemed very appropriate.
So you think you’re a Romeo
playing a part in a picture-show
Take the long way home
Take the long way home
Cos you’re the joke of the neighborhood
Why should you care if you’re feeling good
Take the long way home
Take the long way home
But there are times that you feel you’re part of the scenery
all the greenery is comin’ down, boy
And then your wife seems to think you’re part of the
furniture oh, it’s peculiar, she used to be so nice.
When lonely days turn to lonely nights
you take a trip to the city lights
And take the long way home
Take the long way home
You never see what you want to see
Forever playing to the gallery
You take the long way home
Take the long way home
And when you’re up on the stage, it’s so unbelievable,
unforgettable, how they adore you,
But then your wife seems to think you’re losing your sanity,
oh, calamity, is there no way out?
Does it feel that you life’s become a catastrophe?
Oh, it has to be for you to grow, boy.
When you look through the years and see what you could
have been oh, what might have been,
if you’d had more time.
So, when the day comes to settle down,
Who’s to blame if you’re not around?
You took the long way home
You took the long way home………..
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The Men That Made Me
As the countdown continues (well restarts, I was away there for a bit!), I couldn’t not acknowledge the two men who have influenced my almost forty years the most.
The first is obviously my Daddy. And yes, as a Southern girl, I still call him Daddy and will until I am in my grave. I may be a woman but he is always my Daddy. He and I are very different and he is responsible for many more than one fit of frustration and feeling of inadequacy. He is, however, one of the most sincerely kind, generous men in the world and I know now, have always known, and will always know that he loves me. He gave me life. That makes him a father. He gives me love. That makes him Daddy.
A Daddy can be a girl’s first love. But eventually other men start to invade the landscape once dominated by good ol’ dad. For better or worse (I usually think better), I don’t have a long list of men scattered along the map of my past. I found my soul mate very early. Like high school early. Like Reagan was still president early. Yeah… early. And while I sometimes watched Carrie Bradshaw with a little envy as she manuevered the worlds of first kisses and new loves, I always knew that I had something real and would never EVER be broken up with on a Post-It note.
So if my Daddy made me the girl I was, my husband has shaped the woman I’ve become. The first birthday we ushered in was in 1988. I was 17 and he took me to play Putt-Putt golf. We also stole a stop sign but as I don’t know the statute of limitations of theft of government property, we’ll leave it at that.
Outside of the ill-gained signage for my wall, he also gave me a really cute skirt and shirt (Liz Claiborne — tres chic at the time!). As I turn 40, I look back and can remember many a great gift. When I turned 21, he got me a Super Nintendo because he said that everyone else would be focused on me growing up and this was about still being a kid. (Oh the late night hours spent eating cheap pizza and playing Mario or Zelda or Tetris!)
When it was time to turn 30, he knew I was stressed about it so he counted down “30 days until Traci is 30″, giving me a small gift each day. that was pretty cool! It was fun. Made me feel like a kid again and therefore, not old.
Two years later, he gave me the best gift ever. He gave me a son. Followed three years after that with a daughter. Two of the most beautiful angels, God ever held in His hand. And their mine. Basically, he gave me a family and made me a mother. And being a mother made me the woman that I was meant to be.
I don’t know what he has in mind for the 40 (he definitely hasn’t done 40 days until Traci is 40 but that’s a little tougher after kids!) BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER.
Because really, I have it all. I may not be wealthy. But I am rich. I am loved by many including two of the best men I know. So Happy Father’s Day to them both and all the “Daddy”s out there.
17 Days…
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Posted in 40, Gratitude, Memories, Mommyhood
Tagged 40, Celebrations, Grateful Heart, Mommyhood, Mr. Hero, My Life
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An Inadequate Thank You
To all those who have made the ultimate sacrifice…
Thank you.
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A Break in Star Programming
Today, I had planned a post about personalities and about my recent foray back into acting last week, but the events of the last 24 hours have derailed that plan.
Those of you who have followed me for a while probably know that 9/11 played an enormous role in shaping the clay that is my life now. Much like Voldemort at Hogwarts, I will not speak his name. Though not out of fear but because I have zero desire to give one more moment of energy or time to him. But last night’s events do make me reflect on that horrible morning.
There may not be more to be said that hasn’t been said. It was a day that changed the world. It was a day that changed me. The morning had been stunning. A crisp, clear sunny day — still warm but with that hint of the Fall to come. In other words, a perfect New York day. I was excited because I had been called in to work on a film. And then… And then.
Evil comes in many packages. No people, no religion, no country holds the patent on it. It has existed throughout all times in all places. There is no single face of evil but his will always stand alongside other monsters of history.
So, I’m not sure how one should feel at a time like this. Relief? Vengeance? Disappointment? Jubilance? All of the above? For me, I am feeling a quiet resolution. I had long since disallowed this modern day Dracula to suck life from me. And yet, I am not immune to this development.
In the end, I think the best thing I can do, is appreciate that unlike many, I am here to note the event. I am here to hug the children whose very existence is in part in response to that day which will live in modern infamy. So I’ll state it loudly, “I am here!” That may be the very best answer. As Elton John once sang, “…I’m still standing better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid.”
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Posted in 9/11, Gratitude, Memories, Military, Tragedy
Tagged Grateful Heart, Loss, My Life
18 Comments
I Only Thought the Earth Below Me Was Shaky
So I have been suffering from a terrible case of isuckitis. It has had me couch-ridden watching bad television and feeling pitiful. For those of you not up on the latest diseases, isuckitis is pronounced I-Suck-i-tis. I have been swirling in a pool of frustration, self-pity, and overstressed mommyness.
I have hated my hair, been disgusted by the state of my apartment and the state of my bank account. I have been running around screaming things like, “Nobody in the is family listens to me” and “I just need a little help!” (as I pull something out of the dog’s mouth or the four year old’s hand).
I have ignored my blog and then felt guilty about it. I have ignored my bloggy friends and then felt guilty about it. I have used my ugly voice. I have heard this same voice and cringed.
And so I had succumbed to isuckitis.
There is nothing like a truly earth-shaking event to shake me out of the pettiness of my problems.
I, like all of you, am chilled to my core by the growing devastation in Japan. Much like Haiti’s earthquake last year that woke me from my hair nightmare, I have shaken my isuckitis in the face of real tragedy.
All of those in the disaster area are in my prayers. All of those waiting to hear from loved ones are in my prayers. All who are touched in any way by this heartache are in my prayers.
And this Mama is going to kiss her little tsunami-makers and be thankful that the destruction in her home is made by toys not water. I am going to kiss my husband and be thankful that I am looking for him outside, behind the car not on a list of names.
And, finally, I am going to hug myself and appreciate that I am alive and that unlike the failing nuclear cores, I can control my meltdowns. I can release a little steam before I fall deep into China Syndrome territory. And I can feel safe and secure in my home and family, knowing that I know where my children are, safe with full bellies.
And that my friends is the best cure for even the worst case of isuckitis.
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Posted in Gratitude, Perfectionism, TV, Uncategorized
Tagged Grateful Heart, Mommyhood, My Life, Perfectionism
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Why the Oscars Still Matter…
to Me.
Now being the Star that I am, you may assume that I have a mantel full of awards and therefore unaffected by the whims of the Academy. But I am forever in love with the Academy Awards. And not just the red carpet or the dresses. But the actual Academy Awards. And especially this year.
Because this year, a hero of mine is nominated. But to really understand why this matters to me, I need to rewind fifteen years to the 1995 Academy Awards. March 25, 1996. Back when the Oscars were still on Mondays and still in March.
The month prior to the ceremony, I had flown to Chicago where I auditioned for seven Masters in Acting programs. And for the following six weeks, I had been on pins and needles waiting to hear if I had been accepted. Now for those of you who don’t know, a letter is bad and a phone call is good.
And the weeks had been littered with letters. In fact, my husband and I had fought (terribly) when I found a stash of three letters that had come early. He had stealthily removed them from the mail over the course of a week. Unfortunately, his stealthiness (word? I’m not sure…) did not apply to his hiding place — the console between the two front seats of our 1986 Nissan Maxima.
When I found it, I freaked out. I wrongly took it as his lack of belief in me. How could he let me walk around thinking that I still had a chance at these schools? How could he let me be a fool? How could he let me BELIEVE??? This is when he told me that he was sure that I would be accepted somewhere and he didn’t want me to worry. He wasn’t going to trash the letters, just wait until I got a “yes” to tell me about the “no”s.
But two more “no”s had come. And the deadline was fast approaching. Until Monday, March 25, 1996. The night that Annette Bening sat on the Geary stage of the American Conservatory Theater to talk with Barbara Walters. She was one of the guests of Walters’ annual Academy Awards Special. As alumna of the school, Bening had returned to her theatrical home for the interview.
And as you might have guessed her home was one of my “Seven”. One of the two from which I had not received a letter.
On that very night, I got a call from that very school. From that very theater. From her home. My soon-to-be home.
As I remember, the interview began only moments after my call. That may be wrong. Memories are funny things. If someone pulled my phone records and told me that the call was another night, I would be surprised but not totally shocked. But I do remember this.
I felt a surge of joy, excitement, and fear that one only feels when they know that life has changed irrevocably. For better or worse, my life changed in that moment. At that time, I believed it to be the beginning of a magical fairytale wherein all my acting dreams would come true. I believed that I, too, would be answering Ms. Walters’ questions one day. Basically, I believed that I was on my way to becoming the “next” Annette Bening.
Well, a funny thing happened on the way to the Oscars. And, obviously I am not the “next” Annette Bening. I am not the “next” anything.
My life changed that day both for better and worse. My bank account (and enormous pending student loan payments) demonstrate the worse. And, no, I do not have a mantel full of awards to show you the better. But something happened to me that night that I have not thought of for some time.
It was the first time that this dreamer believed. I believed that night that dreams do come true. That dreams could come true to me. And while I had spent the better part of the last year, working, and preparing, and dreaming, it was not until that night that I actually believed that a dream of mine could come true.
Now it would be easy to look at my life now and say that my dream did not come true. But that would be wrong. I went to one of the finest acting schools on the country. I studied alongside many talents, several of which are household names. I acted on that same stage that Ms. Bening graced that fateful night.
But more importantly, I started on a path that brought me to this moment. And so many of my dreams have come true. A quick glance across my kitchen demonstrates my greatest dreams come true, two of them come in rather small packages (one of which turns four tomorrow).
And as for being the “next” something, well, that dream has passed. But as I learned so many nights ago, dreams come true. And I still believe that I can have an acting dream. But this time, I am not looking forward to being the “next” anyone, just the “next” stage of me. What this dream will look like, I do not know, but I do know this. It can come true.
So thank you, Annette Bening. I don’t know if you’ll get your long-awaited Oscar tonight, but you have this. My undying respect and appreciation for sharing your gift and unknowingly shared my dream. I may never have the moment to thank the Academy and you may never hear this thank you but it stands none the less. Thank you for helping me to believe.
I believe that dreams come true, do you?
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A Breath of Fresh Air
Amongst all the insanity that is my life right now, I have been reminded of my immense blessings. One of those blessings came in my childhood. I am from Texas, home of wide-open spaces. I always had a backyard and enjoyed many summers at my grandparents’ beach and lake houses.
Even for my children who live in an apartment, they are a 30 minute drive from countryside in any direction. Their neighborhood is safe and parks surround us. In other words, fresh air is readily available. But this is not true for all children. Many a child lives in the inner-city surrounded by tall buildings and pavement. And many a child would like to see a patch of world beyond those streets and shadows.
Now I love the city. Bustling with life and a rhythm all its own, the city offers many wonders. But it doesn’t replace the vastness of wide-open spaces spaces and beauty of unbroken blue sky. Or to say(or sing) it more eloquently…
O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And too often, parts of the city hold dangers for children. But an escape from those sometimes desperate cityscapes is beyond the economic means of many a child.
But in Manhattan, there is an organization that helps. An organization that provides that breath of Fresh Air to these children. The Fresh Air Fund matches children from low-income neighborhoods with host families who live in surrounding rural or suburban areas for two week vacations in the summer. And I was honored when they contacted me to help spread the word on their mission.
So now you know what Fresh Air is, but who is Fresh Air?
To start I have in-laws from New York that personally benefited in the ’60s and ’70′s from this very program. They have told me stories of their time at farms upstate and how wonderful it was when the host families invited them back (which happens 65% of the time).
But who is a Fresh Air kid today?
“Fresh Air children are boys and girls, six to 12 years old, who reside in low-income communities in New York City and are eager to experience the simple pleasures of life outside the city.”
And who can be a host family?
“There is no such thing as a “typical” host family. If you have room in your home – and your heart – to host a child, you could be one too.”
Now I hope that I have done my job and let you know the who, what, where, and when of Fresh Air. So, here comes the “how”. How can we help? Because whether you are city folk or country fried, I think we can all agree that every child deserves a little fresh air and fun in the sun.
Here’s how:
1. First, you can comment here. Much like my support of Heifer International, I am pledging a $1.00 for each comment here.
2. Secondly, you can link below to their site and donate directly. If you are looking for an end of year tax-deductible donation, this would be a worthwhile destination for your money.
3. Spread the word. This organization thrives on volunteers, hosts, and donations. The more who know, the more who are helped.
So, tonight I am honored and thankful for to support Fresh Air Fund.
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A Series of (Not-So) Unfortunate Events
Wow! Is November over? Whew! I was beginning to feel a little like my life was written by Lemony Snicket.
I have not been around the blogosphere at all as of late. I have not visited but I haven’t even been at my own “home”. I have felt overwhelmed by life in the real world. In fact, I was nearing feeling depressed.
To begin with, my children were ill. My daughter had such a bad cough that I was afraid that she had contracted the Whooping Cough that was going around her preschool. Fortunately, it was not Whooping Cough.
I hurt my wrist. Badly. I thought that I had broken it. It hurt so bad that I nearly fainted if it was touched. Fortunately, it was not broken.
My husband was in an accident on his Motor Scooter. He broke his leg requiring surgery. He could have been killed. I saw him in the ambulance on the back board with tubes coming out of everywhere. It scared me beyond words. Fortunately, he was home from the hospital in two days and recovering at home.
All the above had me in a tail-spin of huge proportions. I am usually a positive, up-beat person but I was walking around like a zombie dissolving into tears several times a day. I found myself saying how tired I was to anyone who would listen and to myself multiple times. I was edgy, irritable, and not “my best self”.
Then something happened. I had something of a belated Thanksgiving miracle. I chose to look at everything that November was and find something to say thank you. So I started to focus on the last sentences of each paragraph. My daughter didn’t have Whooping Cough. She just had a sinus infection. I didn’t break my wrist. My husband had a successful surgery that has brought him home and a future of a full recovery.
How did this Oprah style lightbulb go off in my head? I wish I could say that it came from inside my heart. That I am perpetually in a state of gratefulness and grace. If I were to imply that, you would never read this post because the lightning strike would short out my computer before I hit send.
No. As per usual, my children are my best teachers. Both my son and daughter have started using this odd little phrase. It starts with ”Lucky…” and then they insert whatever would’ve worsened the said situation. For example, if they were to drop a plate, they might say, “Lucky, it didn’t break” or “Lucky, the spaghetti didn’t fall on the carpet”, etc.
In other words, they have become the prince and princess of the Silver Lining. And in one of their “Lucky” moments, they started talking about their Daddy. “Lucky Daddy didn’t break his arm, too.” “Lucky Daddy’s moped didn’t get broken.” “Lucky they could fix Daddy’s leg”. And in that moment, I thought, “Lucky I have these kids!”
Don’t get me wrong. Life did not get miraculously easier. I am still healing. I am now taking care of a third human (one who can be less patient and more grumpy at times than the two children in my life!) But I have a lot of “Lucky”s.
“Lucky, my daughter didn’t have a horrible contagious disease requiring quarantine and potential hospitalization”. “Lucky my wrist wasn’t broken requiring two months of wearing a cast”. “Lucky, my husband will heal and be here to spend many more holidays with us”. Lucky, indeed.
Here’s wishing you a holiday of “Luckys” in your home, as well. In this spirit, I have an invitation to you. I would love to send out old fashioned in the post Christmas cards. And I would love to send my friends from the world of email and blogs something that requires a stamp (or two). If you would like a card, please email me your “real” address. And this is open to my global friends, as well. If you have a mailbox, I would love to fill it.
Either way, I wish you and yours a wonderful holiday season, whether you celebrate a Nativity, oil in a temple, or just the beauty of the people in your life, Happy Holidays!
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