A Room of My Own

I need a room of my own. Virginia Woolf unearthed this nugget of truth years before and I'm finally conceding the brilliance of this simple notion.

I read "A Room of One's Own" when I was far too young to appreciate the importance of this piece of advice. I appreciated the beauty of the prose and the clarity of her ideas but I didn't truly understand the meaning. It's the same way you can't fully appreciate the joy of sleeping in on a weekend morning unless you have young children and can no longer abandon yourself to the pursuit of guiltless leisure. I read those words from a great distance for I was still a child with the whole world at my feet. What care did I have for a room of my own, I already had that, I was seeking the stimulus of the outside world.

Since I firmly set my course on becoming a writer, I've resisted the idea of creating my own space. When my ex-husband and I moved from our tiny East Village apartment to a three-bedroom co-op in Brooklyn, I entertained the idea of creating a real office for myself. I was pregnant with my son at the time and thought my daughter and the baby could share a room and I could have a room with a door. But the master bedroom was the only large bedroom, the other two were quite tiny, eventually I would have been forced to relinquish the room when the kids were too big to share. So I opted to set up an office in the alcove off the living room which felt much like setting up a work space in Grand Central Station.

Then we moved to a smaller apartment which did have three bedrooms. It was a temporary place we rented before moving out of the city. I turned the third room into an office but the room was small and uncomfortable ( too hot in the summer and freezing in the winter). I also moved from a desk-top computer to a lap-top and felt free to roam about the house to write. What need did I have for a stuffy office? I could write whenever the muse struck. I squeezed in the writing when I could. When we moved to a real house, then I'd get some real writing accomplished.

So we moved into a four bedroom house with two adults and three children (number four made his appearance two years ago). The two girls would share a bedroom and so would the boys. I didn't want to put an office upstairs in our bedroom not liking to confuse my sleeping space with my working space. This left the fourth bedroom. Once again the opportunity was presented but I backed away. This would be our tv/guest bedroom, the place where the kids could hang out, play video games, watch movies and use the computer. I set up my office in the dining room. I loved the view and believed it would be better to be in a central location where I could keep an eye on a busy household. Big mistake! This was Grand Central Station all over again.

By not allowing myself a private space in which to create, my writing is not taken as a serious pursuit by anyone, not even me. I attempt to squeeze it in around the needs of a household which seems to need me incessantly. Yesterday I escaped to Borders just to have time where I was left alone. Even as I am writing this my husband is cutting my son's hair while his best friend looks on, my daughter wants me to test her in Spanish, and my toddler is tossing shoes.

In the name of creativity and sanity, I need a room of my own. Not want, but need. I need to have a door that can close with the understanding that when that door is shut, only an emergency requiring fire-fighters, ambulance or police warrants the opening of the door.

I have decided to claim the tv/guest room for my own. Like the early explorers, I have planted my flag and claimed it for my own. In this case I don't need to enslave the natives, only displace them to other parts of the empire. I am filled with excitement over the birth of my creative oasis. Like all births, the labor will be tough and there will be a rough period of adjustment but it's well worth it.

Do you have a room of your own or sacred space just for you? How have you been able to maintain the integrity of your sanctuary?

Suffering With TDD (Time Deficit Disorder)

"I just don't have enough time!" It's the most popular complaint in my unscientific study of casual complaints. A lack of time comes in first pushing money and weight to a distant second and third.

A friend confided that the one thing she wanted more than anything was time. Time to stop and catch her breath. I had to agree with her on this one. Days rush past me in such a blur that I'm left dazed and confused. What the hell did I do today? Of course once I lay in bed, I can conjure up the rushed series of events- errands, writing, chasing toddler, homework help, cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc, etc, etc. But this exercise just makes me even more anxious in the middle of the night as I begin to realize that there were hundreds, maybe even thousands of things that I didn't even get to. AAH!!

Then a couple of days ago, while rushing around the kitchen trying to get dinner ready at a decent time, after picking up my son from drama rehearsal, helping my daughter with her homework, keeping my toddler from throwing pencils at his brother while he did his homework, put dry laundry away, and tried to write one more page in my novel- I realized that I wasn't breathing. Not in the technical sense, the heart was still beating, the lungs were indeed working but I wasn't taking those rich cleansing breaths they teach in yoga. I was one giant cramp, struggling to complete all these tasks at the same time. Is this what I do every day? It's no wonder I'm exhausted all the time.

I realized that I was suffering with TDD- Time Deficit Disorder (my professional diagnosis). It's a tricky little disorder which causes the sufferer to believe that they can maximize time and actually create more time by packing as many activities into one segment of time. Basically, it's the equivalent of trying to read a page from five different books all at the same time. Sure you'll finish five books but it won't make a heck of a lot of sense in the end.

We're slaves to multi-tasking. We praise those who get a lot done. It's not quality but quantity. I read an article not too long ago while waiting for an appointment. It was a feature on a woman who had just been promoted to some new corporate title. Not only was she just promoted but she was taking classes for her MBA at night, she was president of several women in business organizations, she was an active member in local politics, she taught continuing ed classes, she volunteered at local charities, and she had published several non-fiction books in her industry, while raising three children. I was tired after reading the article. I was exhausted for her. She wasn't an exception, she has become the norm.

We're all cramming as much as we can into our waking days because we think we're supposed to. People won't be impressed unless you're a administrative assistant who is also training for a black belt in karate, is president of the PTO, reads to the blind, and run your own business at night while homeschooling your seven children. There's absolutely nothing wrong with having a rich multi-faceted life but when you cram so much into your day that you don't have the time to read a book, call a friend, have a casual chat with a neighbor or play a game with your children then something is wrong. We're not living life anymore but chasing time.

I've had enough. I'm off the multi-tasking roller coaster. I've pledged to focus on one thing at a time before moving on to the next task. This isn't as easy as it sounds. I'm the high-priestess of busyness. The first day I gave it a real try, I found I was actually relaxed and had accomplished a pretty fair amount. The next couple of days, I failed miserably as I found myself trying to do three things at once but I'm determined to conquer my TDD.

How about you? Are you guilty of doing too much? If you've conquered your TDD, please share.

Tired of Being Broke

I've had it. I'm tired of being broke. By broke, I mean the act of holding one's breath when looking at the bank account balance; the chill of fear when you stare in shock at the negative value in red. "Someone's stealing our money!" is the first thought. But then that kick in the stomach comes when you stare at the statement and realize that the only crime perpetrated is your inability to think before you purchase.

Now, we're not shopaholics. We don't have cable, we try and keep our purchases down and attempt to avoid impulse buying but still we're riding close to the edge. It's not just because we're a one income family. Most dual-income families I know skirt just as close to the edge. The only difference is that they have more income for discretionary spending so they can buy even more stuff they don't need. Generally one income goes just to pay for all the extra stuff they really can't afford.

The New Year has come and I realize that I can't go on this way anymore fearing what each month is going to bring. Doom hovers around every corner. We're constantly holding our breath and wiping the sweat off our brows as we sigh into the next month, hoping that this one won't be as bad as the last. Lately, we're saying this every month.

I think back to my childhood and see how patterns have repeated. Both my parents worked but it was my mother who paid the bills. My father's salary essentially supported his active social life (politely read- gambling and hanging out with his pals). My mother's financial system was based on the "rob Peter, to pay Paul" method. She was no spendthrift but she was also no planner. If she didn't have the money she often wouldn't buy it but there were those times she'd put it on the credit card and cross her fingers. She always paid her bills on time but things were pretty tight. She kept all the anxiety to herself and I was unaware of how close we were to the precipice.

And here I am repeating the same pattern. There are times when I should just shake my head, cross my arms firmly and say "No" to some purchase but I don't because I don't want anyone to feel bad. I cross my fingers and hope that it won't leave too big a dent in the end. Generally it doesn't and we're able to find the money somewhere to pay it off but I'd like to give up the mental anguish that comes when it's time to pay the bills. So I've taken on the gargantuan task of changing the financial mindset of my family and let me tell you this is not going to be easy.

Just as I am writing this entry a cold draft is wafting through the house. My first thought is that something is wrong with the boiler and now we were going to have to pay even more of the money that we don't have to fix it but then I discover the culprit. My eight year old opened the window in his room because... (his rational not mine). I wanted to scream. We just had a conversation yesterday about money, global warming and the future of the planet. Aah!!

We also have two pre-teen girls who are being marketed to heavily from every source imaginable. They're continually confusing their wants with their needs. They're at the age where they are deeply cognizant of the power of the consumer market. Unfortunately they don't want to slay the beast like I do but want to party with it.

I know I have my work cut out for me but in the end I look forward to a good night's sleep, knowing that we're not going to awaken one morning to find that we've rolled into the precipice with no hope of rescue. Plus, worrying about money sure takes a lot of time from my creative pursuits. I think I might be the first person to make a clear connection between financial planning and creativity.

Okay, the first step is to create a budget.

Anyone out there going through dozens of what-if nightmare scenarios about their finances too? Let's commiserate together.

Another New Year, Another Chance

It's another year. I've had to allow myself a couple of days to settle into it. The holiday vacation was quiet and like a princess in a fairy tale, I slept. I didn't realize just how tired I was until I didn't have to wake up early to get everyone in the house moving. It was terribly indulgent but I must say I came to the New Year feeling relaxed and ready for what comes my way. This is a far cry from the past.

The approach of the New Year filled me with dread as I agonized over the mistakes of the past year. I'd remember all the expectations I set up for myself and how I failed miserably. And yes, it was failure for I was still the same imperfect being. I'd then fill a sheet of paper with a list of impossible resolutions. This would be the year I attacked this wishy-washy behavior and rooted out imperfection. It would be war. Battle would commence on New Year's Day. New Year's eve night would find me unable to sleep feeling jittery about the enemy. My plan rested on my ability to hit the ground running on January 1st. One slip-up and that was it; I'd slip back into the pit of imperfection. Geez, no pressure there!

Now I'm older and wiser. I've lost the resolutions and the anxiety but I am still excited by the prospect of the New Year. It's the idea of that clean slate that gets me all the time. Sure you can have that at any time. You can tell yourself that on Monday, you'll wake up earlier and exercise or that on the first of the month you'll start saving money but this doesn't have the same thrill as the start of New Year. It's like telling people you ran 26.2 miles the other day. They'll probably be impressed but it won't have the same affect as saying, I finished the New York City Marathon. It's all in the presentation.

This year finds me relaxed, focused on the goals that I've chosen for this new year. The list is manageable and achievement rests on my ability to plod along, taking one day at a time but making certain I take those first steps. Failure no longer rests in the one slip-up which would absolve me of all further activity, beginning the terrible process again at year's end. Now I pick myself up, dust off, and continue on greeting next year with the same relaxed awe.

So how did you approach the arrival of 2008?

Finding My Inner Detective

Two days ago I received a terrible fright. My mother, who is a creature of habit, was missing. She's 80 years old and you can tell time based on her schedule. I called her around 5:20pm as I usually do and she wasn't home. This was odd, indeed. I immediately assumed I had been distracted and dialed the wrong number. I waited a few moments and dialed again, this time the phone was picked up not by my mother but, by my uncle who lives downstairs in their two-family house. The first red flag went up.

My uncle informed me that my mother had gone to the bank. She called about an hour ago saying that she couldn't find her car. My uncle offered to come and pick her up but being the stubborn woman she is, she refused saying she'd look for the car.

Occasionally my mother has shown some signs of forgetfulness which I've never been too concerned about. Her mother, my grandmother, died at the age of 102 and possessed a memory like a steel trap. I've always attributed her memory-lapses to her tendency to converse while watching the news. But losing her car? Could this be the first sign of something more serious? Then a more plausible explanation presented itself.
My mother has a terrible sense of direction. If she parked her car on an unfamiliar block, she could very well lose her way.



What did concern me was the fact that my uncle stated that my mother had rushed off to the bank an hour ago, that would mean she left around 4:20pm. That was impossible because at 4:20pm Oprah was on. My mother can not miss Oprah! Why would she leave during Oprah? She won't even talk to me between the hours of 4-5pm. The second red flag rises.


I phoned 15 minutes later and there was still no sign of my mother. It was night. It was raining with a chance of snow showers likely. My mother does not travel at night nor does she travel when the weather is bad. She's obsessed with the weather forecast. If rain or, God forbid, snow is predicted, she loads up on food supplies days ahead in the event of that biblical flood or the blizzard that will envelop all of New York City. My mother was really missing. This wasn't some sick joke. It wasn't a misunderstanding. This was real.

Panic was rising. My mother does not have a cell phone. I live two hours away. My uncle is 83 with a bad leg with poor night-time vision so he can't go out and search. The bank she went to was closed. My husband was on his way home from work, he immediately turned around and headed for the city. I was left at home with an active of imagination.

She'd fallen. She had a stroke or a heart-attack or maybe even both. She'd hit her head and lost her memory. She'd been mugged or stabbed or the victim of a hit-and-run. Each time I phoned my uncle only to learn that she still hadn't called, the images became darker and bleaker.

I did what I do best. I researched. Trapped without answers, I went online. I found the local police precinct in the Bronx where my mother had gone. I discovered there is very little the police can do when you're searching for someone who is missing, if that person is not ill and in complete control of their mental faculties. I considered lying, telling the officer she was a raving lunatic suffering from diabetes who was without her insulin but my damn religious schooling prevented me. I thanked the officer for his help and hung up. I learned that in New York City, you can only report a person missing in the precinct in which they reside, not in the area where they were last seen. Also, if someone makes a 911 call regarding an elderly woman who has been fallen, suffered a stroke and a heart-attack, been the victim of a mugging, stabbing and a hit-and-run the local precinct will not have this information. So, I went to the next step.

Although, the officer couldn't give me more information, he did provide me with the list of hospitals my mother would have been taken to in the event of an emergency. I go back online to track down the emergency room numbers.
Thankfully they did not have my mother or any unknowns or Jane Doe's. It is quite terrifying to conceive of one's mother being an unknown or a Jane Doe. I was pleased that she wasn't there and that no other family was suffering through the pain of an 80 year old woman brought into the emergency at that time.

I kept checking in with my uncle who sounded more panicked by the moment. He was standing in their vestibule with the telephone watching and waiting. My husband was staying calm and offering hope that once he got to the area he'd be able to find her. I tried to keep my children from knowing their grandmother was missing. I had to struggle not to cry during each phone call.

I considered everything. Maybe she found the car and had gone to the store but no, she is a creature of habit. She only goes to the store once a week, either Sunday or Monday. It was Wednesday. No that was out. Ah, maybe car trouble. Perhaps she called AAA with her last quarter. I called and a very concerned customer service operator could not find a call from her but she did offer her prayers and I took that willingly. I was beginning to run out of answers but I knew if I did that I would not be able to bring her home.

I'd call the police back, then the hospitals. I'd even try Visa and Mastercard. I didn't have her account numbers but I'd keep talking until I found someone who could at least let me know if there was any current activity on her card. If this worked, I'd call her bank and do the same. Was there a neighborhood watch? I'd find out if they were listed and see if they could help me. I'd call my neighbor who is a New York City Police Officer and see what he could do. Perhaps there were channels he could cross that I, a lone citizen, could not.

But then at 6:36pm the phone rang with the melodious sound of my breathless mother. No present can compare to knowing she was home. She was safe. She was cold. Her bad leg was bothering her but she was fine.

I started thinking about this incident in light of my novel-in-progress about an amateur sleuth. I write with my eye focused on the credibility of a character with no law enforcement, no legal and no professional sleuthing ability to solve a crime. Will anyone believe that someone like this could be so persistent that they take matters into their own hands? I certainly received a resounding yes two days ago. Of course my real-life situation involved no dead body, no murderer, and no life-threatening moments but real-life has never been as satisfying as having my Mommy back from the unknown. I would tell her this but it's after 11:30am and she's watching The View right now.

Write on!

The Nano Express is Chugging Along

I know by virtue of my publishing this on my blog a crash is bound to occur, but NANO (National Novel Writing) is going smoothly. I'm actually over 31,000 words. YEAH! Last year this time, I was in tears. The 50,000 goal was about as far away as the prospect of paying my credit card balance in full. This year I'm feeling like I might finish the whole book, not just reach 50,000 words.

What surprises me most is that I've been able to write everyday and still manage to keep my life functioning. Yes, there's dirt but it's not the embarrassing kind where you pray no one ever visits. We even had visitors stay with us for an extended period of time and still I managed to write everyday.

I've continued writing through indoor soccer tryouts, tantrums, bloody noses, way too many children running through my house, school closings, while explaining the rivalries between the European nations during the colonization of the new world, or how to regroup three digit numbers and while my toddler head-butts the screen of my laptop

I've written while standing up, laying down and even on the toilet (don't ask but it's the one room with a lock on the door).

I've even written holding a sleeping baby, a fussy baby, a curious baby and a baby prone to eye-gouging. I can squint and still see the screen.

I've written while the dog barks at the UPS truck, the FEDEX truck, the mailman, Rufus the Chipmunk who hangs out by the kitchen, the deer, the leaves falling from the trees, squirrels, turkeys, cars, motorcycles, at me for typing, her own reflection in the window and because she can.

If there were a writer's obstacle course, I'd be in medal contention. I just might be able to call myself a writer without having to look over my shoulder in case someone is listening.

Write on!

The Consumer Generation

I turned on my computer this morning and found another story about a toy recall. A toddler swallowed a bead from an Aquadot craft kit
and began vomiting and lost consciousness. Apparently the chemical used to coat the beads causes the same reaction as the date-rape drug. Oh great, another recall just in time for the holidays.

Yesterday, my daughter and I were stuck behind a slow-moving flatbed truck carrying a humongous shed. You know the ones I mean, they're all over suburbia. They're the size of the average home 40 or 50 years ago. We watched amazed as the truck stopped outside one of these 6000sf McMansions with attached two level, three car garage. My daughter wondered what they could possibly need a shed for with that much space. I resisted the urge to launch into the George Carlin comedy routine about stuff but man, I realized what a prophet he was all those years.

Here are some scary facts:

Though Americans represent a small portion of the world's population, we produce over half its waste. In one day, we generate enough trash to fill the New Orleans Superdome twice. (www.NAPO.org)


There are 6.86sq.ft of self-storage space for every man, woman and child in the nation; thus it is physically possible that every American could stand- all at the same time- under the total canopy of self-storage roofing. (www.selfstorage.org)



Average home sizes have grown by more than 50% since the early 1970s while the number of people in most households is shrinking. (Milwaukee Journal Sentinel 3/30/07)

Consumer spending accounts for two-thirds of total economic activity. (Business Week 11/7/07)




Perhaps the cash register should replace the eagle as the symbol of our country.

The message, from above, after September 11th was to keep right on buying. That'll show those terrorist, you can't keep Americans from shopping. Patriotic shopping, what a concept. I guess FDR missed that one after Pearl Harbor. Could the civil war have been averted with a little more consumer spending? Who has time to make war when there's a sale?

Aquadots joins a staggering list of recalled toys. Going through the list I saw a connection. It's not just that most of these toys are manufactured in China but that they're all pretty much crap. They are a perfect symbol of our consumer gluttony. We purchase all manner of junk for our kids. Why do we buy it? Because it's brightly colored, it has cute characters, because we think we're supposed to and the number one reason (drum roll please)- IT'S CHEAP. It's so cheap that we can buy lots of wonderful crap for them. It doesn't matter that they have rooms filled with the exact same crap; we buy it because we can. For $100 you can fill a cart at WalMart. How great is that! It's not about substance but quantity. We're training our kids to take on the family business- shopping. Just go ahead and look at the amount of crap you have hidden in some dark place. Do you even remember why you needed to buy those Chia pets?

There's so much of this crap in our homes that we can't even contain it, it's spilling out. We're buying shed's to store it. We're paying rent for air-conditioned storage spaces in a country that lacks affordable housing. We have houses for our stuff but not our people. Our homes are bigger and bigger and we have to buy more things to fill it up. When it starts to get out of control we purchase container systems, when that doesn't work we move to a bigger home (at least we did before we realized that we couldn't really afford those big homes and now they're being foreclosed).

Here's my solution: STOP BUYING CRAP WE DON'T NEED!! I know it's radical and can be considered unpatriotic but revolution has to start somewhere. It's time to take a stand. Some of you might be hyperventilating at the prospect, after all , the season of gluttony is fast approaching. But we'll take baby steps. Let's start with a day first, then go for a week. Those of you who feel strong may be able to go a whole month.

Hey, like you, I'm a product of our times. I start feeling a slight ache, dull pain in my head and a tickle in my throat when I haven't purchased something in a while. There are things in my house that I can only justify by claiming a momentary lapse of sanity. I haven't reached the point of the storage shed or climate-controlled space yet but I do spend my free time scanning books and magazine in a quest for that perfect container that will make all the stuff disappear. I'll be the first to admit I'll need some support; come join me.

Perhaps we'll end global warming, work ourselves out of debt. Maybe we'll spend more time with our family and friends. Maybe we'll find peace on earth.

Everyone repeat after me: STOP BUYING CRAP!

Write on!