Late Friday evening looked post-apocalyptic in the metro. Severe weather (what some call the worst storm they’ve ever seen here) had taken its toll. I had spent the last two hours on the air with you, meteorologist Mike Lynch, Edgar Linares, Jonathan Lowe, Daphne Adato, Roshini Rajkumar, and one of our WCCO sales guys Hutch, giving storm warnings, watches, updates and damage reports.
My favorite yoga class was canceled a few weeks ago, so after boycotting the new class that replaced it for a while, (my silent protest that hurt no one but me) I decided it was time to try the new teacher. After all, it wasn’t his fault the other class was canceled.
Nearly two years ago a very well-meaning friend sent me a book called ‘Divorce is a Mitzvah.” I threw it in a closet … too soon. Two years later, I still haven’t read it, because now I don’t need to. Is it too soon for me to write all the good things about my divorce?
I received a beautiful gift today. It’s a necklace, handcrafted, to protect me. It was given to my by a massage therapist, Aisha. I’ve written about her before, she’s a great therapist and very intuitive about body energy. She knows mine. The necklace she gave me featured the stones Tiger’s Eye and onyx and it was wrapped in copper. It’s beautiful, but art is not its mission.
I had two extraordinary meetings with amazing women this week.
I love cleaning. Not toilets or ovens, but my closet, yes. Usually when I tell my friends I’m about to embark on this endeavor, they get nervous. Because my closet (and yours) is the physical manifestation of what’s going on in my head and heart.
My Grammy is 93. She’s sharp as a tack, lives independently in Florida, still drives and wears as much bling as my 9-year-old. I saw her this week for Passover and my dad’s 70th birthday party.
When did I get to be the grownup? Some of the things that come out of my mouth have made me pause and look around for who actually said that. This happened the other day in the car. In the car that wasn’t totaled.
Crazy title I know, because when my kids were little and I was doing ECFE some mom’s would wax poetic about how much they were learning from their infant and how they were growing as a person now that they were a mother.
Words are powerful and when they are used for good, spoken with love, they can create moments and feelings you never forget.
A visit from the parents is always an adventure. You never know if there will be a blowout fight, some passive aggressive verbal slights or just typical disdainful judgments about who you’re sleeping with or how you parent.
I had a sister once. (I still do have one blood relative sister, she’s amazing, alive and well in Long Island, love you Deb.) This sister was not blood, but we shared a brain and a heart.
I got the get. Let me give you some background (thank you Wikipedia) before I dive in to the experience.
The need to shop is overwhelming. It’s a familiar feeling. It’s my vice, my weakness, what I do when I’m super stressed. Not healthy, but I’m aware of it. And here it is again. The trigger was the email from my lawyer that I’m officially divorced.
It looks like Judah Maccabee threw up in my dining room. And I love it. Dreidels hang from the ceiling, menorahs are fully candled, Hanukkah is here.
So, I’m in the Target checkout line with my youngest, my sweet, angelic, perfect, Ruby. I say, “Ruby, say thank you to the Target lady, her name is Trish.” Ruby deadpans, “Your name sounds like trash.” I turn ruby-red, apologize profusely, and slink out of Target. OMG! Humility thy name is Motherhood.
For the first time ever, I mean ever, my house was too quiet on Thanksgiving.
It happens. At least, it happens to me: Complete and utter loss of control of emotions, physicality and rationale. It happened last week.
I recently visited my family in New Jersey. N.J. will always feel like home to me and my family is great … most of the time. This time I had an interesting conversation with my mother that still plays over in my head.
So I went to get a massage today. My upper back is tied in knots and I can barely turn my neck. The therapist is late, she calls me the wrong name, I’m annoyed. I tell her exactly where it hurts, get on the table and she starts with the other side, I’m annoyed again.
So I atoned, I apologized, I prayed, I fasted. Now it’s time to set intentions to be better. There is no way I’m going to eat healthier, exercise more or be nicer (never gonna happen). So let’s get to the stuff I may actually have a shot at.
So today I had a moment. I was walking into the gym (late for yoga) and I bump into my husband’s mistress. Awkward. She stops in front of me, I stop, we are the only two people in the parking lot.
“I’m so lucky.” I actually said that this morning as I watched my three healthy kids get on the bus, drank coffee and folded their laundry.
Phil Pritchard is the curator of the Hockey Hall of Fame, but hockey loyalists know him better as the man who travels around with the Stanley Cup.