Snow!

No big thoughts today...just a huge sense of gratefulness for the morning's snowstorm. Watching the dog run around in it, listening to the kids shriek as those first flakes came down, standing with my face tipped up and feeling the clumps of coldness...it's a wonderful, light-filled break from the drip, drip, drip of the dark winters around here.

I remember my dad, a Seattle native, complaining about the endless snow in the small Lake Michigan town where I grew up. When I said I wouldn't want to live somewhere where it rained all the time, he said, "Well, honey, you don't have to shovel rain. And if you want to see some snow or go skiing, you just drive right up to the mountain."

Dad was right. You don't have to shovel rain. But I wouldn't mind the chance to shovel snow on a more regular basis. 

In the meantime, no big thoughts--just gratitude.

What to Read When You have the Flu

Other than those horrible hours when you're unable to read at all because of the pounding headache, wracking nausea, feverish delirium and quivering limbs (or because you're lying on a sleeping bag in your bathroom shaking and crying and generally being The Cul De Sac's Biggest Drama Queen Ever), having the flu gives you the perfect excuse to hang around in bed and read. Based on recent personal experience, and with the stern reminder that you should be accompanied by tea, crackers, popsicles and household pets (one large snoring dog and two purring cats is optimum) in order to fully enjoy the recovery period, I recommend the following books:


Cleopatra, A Life by Stacy Schiff. Marvelous research--transports you back to that time and makes all the sights and sounds and smells come alive...ooog, the smells. Maybe not such a good choice. Moving on...

Vision in White, by Nora Roberts. Those who read her hard-hitting detective work (written as JD Robb) may not know that Roberts got her start writing romances. Sassy dialogue, good girlfriends, drama queen narcissistic mothers, sexy sex scenes...yuck, not really so great, either. Moving on, again.


Shadows on the Rock, by Willa Cather. Sometimes re-reading a classic, especially one set during the early days of Quebec City (my mom's people arrived on the second boatload over from France, so I love this book for many reasons) is just like comfort food. Until we get to page 156: " A great many people in the town were sick at this time, and Cecile herself caught a cold and was feverish. Her father wrapped her in blankets and made her sit with her feet in a hot mustard bath while she drank a great quantity of sassafras tea." I do NOT need the reminder that people have been getting sick like this for centuries. I wish to wallow in my own personal hell and feel Put Upon by the Universe. Next!


Dark Road to Darjeeling, by Deanna Raybourn. Somewhat spooky, definitely mysterious, perhaps a leetle bit bloody...let's try something else.


The Huffington Post Complete Guide to Blogging by various editors and Ms. 395 Gazillion Dollar AOL Buyout herself, Arianna Huffington. Okay, now my head is spinning again and the nausea is back. And just because I'm feeling pissy, I'm not putting in the link to that book. 


At this point, I did what any sensible person would do: I turned on my laptop and played online Scrabble, losing horribly, of course, and making words such as DOG and RAG and AM. When I'm feeling better, I'll get back to the stack of books on my bedside table, including one I've been saving for months, the newest YA book in the Bartimaeus sequence, written by Jonathon Stroud. "Bartimaeus: The Ring of Solomon" might be just what I need to get my mind off my own little world.

I Don't Want To!

I don't want to.
I woke up one morning last week with those words running through my head. 
As I lay in bed, I let my mind tell me all the things I didn't want to do. The list was long, and petty, and whiny, and persistent:


I don't want to get out of this warm bed.
I don't want to walk down that long driveway with the old dog and get the newspaper in the freezing cold.
I don't want to get the girls up.
I don't want to make breakfasts.
I don't want to make lunches.
I don't want to make peace, if necessary, between siblings warring over the bathroom and personal space and anything else they could think up.
I don't want to drive them to carpools and bus stops.
I don't want to walk the dog in the mud and cold and clean her up afterwards.
I don't want to cook, to do laundry, to scoop the cat boxes, to go to the bus stop, to make dinner.


The entire day stretched in front of me as one big DON'T; the only thing I did want to do was stay in bed all day long.


Reality check: My life is pretty easy; I'm blessed with friends and family and animals and work that I love and a warm house. I can hike with friends and dogs on a regular basis. I can buy food at the grocery store. I can turn the key in my car's ignition and know that it will start. I can afford gas for the car, and insurance, and maintenance costs. My jeans fit and my boots are watertight and my coats are warm and water-resistant. I thought of all these things. I scolded myself with all my blessings. I railed against my ungratefulness.


And yet the parade of DON'Ts continued, finally crashing into I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER THAT THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BROTHER'S DEATH IS ALMOST HERE.
All the other DON'T's suddenly made sense, and I felt something shift inside me.
And so I got up and made breakfast, and lunches, and walked the dog, and edited a book, and the sadness lifted.
Year by year by long year, I'm better at being grateful for his life, and not so hooked into mourning his death. I'm not sure what more I can ask for.

Mom's Spiritual Journey

Not much to say about this, other than that it's short (two minutes) and you might get a laugh out of watching my very first movie. Also, happy holidays. May you be calm and peaceful. HAH!

Nanny Tells All!

You've seen it at the grocery store, right? The latest ripped-from-reality expose of famous parents and their kids, told by the nanny/housekeeper/gardener/tutor/insert-function-here.
Makes me think: Is there a single one of us who'd want a member of our family (since most of us don't have staff) to go public with their real life stories? I certainly wouldn't want my temper tantrums, sarcasm, rudeness and occasional immaturity put out into the public arena. 
And yet as human beings, that's what we're drawn to--tales of other people's failings. Is it because we can measure ourselves against outrageous behavior and feel relieved? After all, we're not that bad. I might drop the occasional F-bomb, but at least I'm not allowing my under-age kids to drink. Or to drive one of our many cars around the estate (yeah, okay, we don't have an estate. but still...). 
I'm not that bad.
We're not that bad.
Are we?
Given money and fame and adulation, surrounded by people who we pay to tell us what we want to hear, insulated from many of life's inconveniences, how would we be? Who would we be?
Would we be that bad?

Seven Great Things About Teenagers (and preteens, too)

Yeah, right. But hang on...
1. Teenagers force you to examine your cozy little assumptions.
There you are, going about your daily life, meeting work deadlines, doing laundry, planning next spring's garden, la la la la la---WHAM! Veganism! Laptops for 11-year-olds! Religion! Animal rights! Skateboarders' rights! Politics! Purple hair dye! Clothing! Relationships! 
2. Teenagers are hilarious.
Goofy, occasionally childlike, willing to look ridiculous if it makes them laugh (teens are not above posting video of themselves dressed up as woolly mammoths and cavemen), clever with wordplay, endlessly creative, occasionally sarcastic (see #3, below).
3. Teenagers are cruel.
And when they are, remember, acknowledge, and examine the times in your life when you've been cruel. Great reality check.
4. Teenagers demand accountability.
Don't want them to swear? Stop swearing. Repeat ad infinitum, with everything: eating junk food, lying, cheating, cleaning your room, hanging up your towel, and owning up to that time you broke every rule in the book when you and a few dozen friends snuck into the university pool at 2:00 AM.
5. Teenagers are passionate.
Remember what it was like to get all worked up about stuff? If you can regain that passion (without the exhausting drama and hormones), it can change your life, no matter how old you are, no matter how set in your ways you've become, no matter how scared you are of failing.
6. Teenagers dream big.
Semester at Sea. Juilliard. Harvard, Yale, MIT, Berkeley. Book contracts. Movie contracts. World travel. World transformation. Long-lasting romantic love. Delectable vegan brownies (probably the most impossible item on this list).
7. Teenagers work hard.
Babysitting, lifeguarding, flipping burgers, digging compost, stacking firewood, endless piles of homework, team sports, team projects, being cheerful (remember what hard work that was as a teen? OUCH!), making polite conversation when guests are over for dinner (again: OUCH!), dragging through life sleep-deprived because the teen circadian rhythm is not set to coincide with getting up at Oh Dark Thirty to catch carpool/subway/bus/train/whatever during the school year. 
8. Bonus Item! Teenagers force us to remember and to give thanks.
Remember when the world seemed big and welcoming. Remember when our options seemed wide open. Remember back to when the grooves in our brain weren't worn quite so deeply. And...give thanks for the choices we've made, the options we've turned down, the grooves we've worn, the insight we've gained.


What can you add that's great about teenagers and preteens? Leave it in the comments below. And as always, if you have a question for Mrs. Ditter, leave it in the comments or email at mrsditter@gmail.com. Anonymity guaranteed.

It's Been HOW Long?

Well. All I can say is, between a few unexpected medical issues (one of which required an overnight stay in the hospital which OF COURSE happened when my husband was out of town and yes, thank you, I'm totally fine), a kitchen fire that totally destroyed the microwave and proved just how wonderful firefighters truly are, the typical end of school chaos, the four days devoted to dance recital, the start of swim team, the demand of the 15-year-old to be sent to an early-entrance college program, and an unexpected flurry of extremely quick-turnaround writing projects (note to Universe: I AM NOT COMPLAINING. I AM GRATEFUL FOR THE WORK. PLEASE SEND MORE AS IT SEEMS I MIGHT BE PAYING COLLEGE TUITION THREE YEARS EARLY, ALSO THE CAR NEEDS A LOT OF WORK, AND DID I MENTION THE HOSPITAL BILLS?), it has indeed been three months since I've posted. And we are heading into the middle part of summer, even if this morning it was 52 degrees and raining at swim team practice. 


So anyway, hi to all you wonderful blog readers, and when I think of something profound to write, I will. Until then, be happy that your life is not such that one of your brothers thoughtfully offered to set fire to a kitchen appliance in your honor.