Kris’s Kolumn

Yesterday I was rushing to take a quick shower, hop on my scooter, get to my “other” job, pick up the mail, worrying about my daughter…well…and 45 other things when one of my favorite earrings flipped off and headed towards the bowels of this bigass condo.

When the cute little silver earring with a peace symbol on it hit the side of the tub it made a little ding, then a few more dings, as it slid down the tub and fell into a new world. It sounded as if the earring was laughing at me.

These day-earrings have been resting on my little lobes for a couple of years now. I wear them all the time, except when I need to look pretty, and I suppose they have become my adult-like blankie.  I touch them when I’m writing, sleep with them, take them with me when I travel, and it’s a wonder they have lasted this long.

This morning when I woke up and remembered those little babies are now part of my past  it got me thinking about letting go and embracing something new. I know. I know – it was just an earring but sometimes all we need is something tiny like that to help move us to the next life station. It’s so damn easy to hang onto to something because it’s comfortable and easy but who knows what we might look and feel like if we make one seemingly simple change?

I know too that someone like me, the observer of all things great and small, can turn a lost earring into a crusade for a major life change.  Sometimes we are just clumsy fools and we lose an earring.  But sometimes, if we are listening closely, the earring is shouting to us as it heads south, “Kris, for God’s sake it’s time for a bit of change.” Just listen.  There’s always an answer very close to your ear and your heart. I’m not certain which of these two possibilities are for me but at the very least I’m thinking about it – which is after all, something….

Today my bare little earlobes are getting a rest and I’ve decided that for a while I’m going to wear two earrings that don’t match – the last one I lost, a lovely turquoise beauty from my daughter and the little peace earring that is sitting all alone on my dresser. Why the hell not? Maybe my life lesson is that not everything has to match or fit or feel perfectly.  I’ll keep you posted.

Now go take a shower and see what happens to you!

This is a short story about my stomach.  My stomach used to start a few inches below my pointy little breasts, which are now starting to slide south just a bit, and then end an inch or two about my pubic bone. This is what I recall anyway when I look at old photos of a woman who looks like me only thinner.

Now that I’m pushing 59 things look much rounder down there and my stomach is so happy to be a part of my body it’s divided itself in half.  There’s one part that lives adjacent to my breasts and its big sister pretty much fills up the rest of the middle part of my body. Big sigh. Hello stomach!

There are many reasons for this and the other day when I was out power walking I decided it’s okay that I am not Jane Fonda. I am Kris Radish and I have had two bigass babies, and I drink wine, and my body is producing more fat because it knows I might fall sometime in the next 30 years and it doesn’t want me to beak a brittle hip.

So here’s the deal and my lesson for the day.  I think it’s important to embrace yourself every single day – even if you did have  kettle korn the night before – while keeping a notion in your mind’s eye about who should really be in control of your stomach and every other body part.  It’s not a magazine, or someone you live with or your best friend – but you.  It’s also important, and I work very hard at this, to make certain you have a sense of what your body needs to look like to make YOU feel good – to hell with everyone else.

I admire what Jane Fonda has done to keep her body looking like it did when she was 30 but I can’t afford a personal trainer, or a chef, or a massage or a home gym.  But I can go to yoga class, and lift weights in my office, and ride my bike, and pass on the french frys and crackers. I can put out more calories then I take in and I can hold the image of who I am striving to become – physically, spiritually, and mentally e in my mind’s eye.  See it and be it – why the hell not?

So I’m throwing down the computer mid-morning to go hit my self-created bike route and you can bet your sweet hinder I’m also going to finish the kettle korn tonight because it tastes really, really good. Life is about balance and I don’t want to miss one single kernel of it.

A parade just wrapped itself around my little city and there were three marching bands and every single one of them made me cry.  Mostly it’s the tubas that made me cry.

My son played the tuba and I’m certain that has something to do with my spontaneous sobbing when I hear a marching band.  The first time I saw his then-tiny body honking a tuba up the highway during a parade it made my knees weak. How he came to play the tuba is another story itself – let’s just say it’s not quite what I was hoping for but it was his choice and it became his passion.

When we lived in an apartment complex, with very thin walls and some really cranky neighbors, I made him go sit in the field across from the building and practice. Yes, he was outstanding in his field but it was soooo Andrew to do that anyway.

He got bigger each year and the tuba got smaller, or so it seemed, and then one day there was that last high school parade and the glaring fact that I couldn’t afford to buy him a $5,000 tuba and yes, I sobbed during that parade also.

A few years ago I thought I had finally found him a tuba.  I was so excited and had the woman from ebay send it directly to him.  It was not a tuba but a smaller sister instrument (no wonder the damn thing was so cheap) and I’m still looking for the tuba.

I love music and bands and yet I know it’s the tuba that makes me cry and remember and sometimes pine for one more look at my son as a little boy turning into a man who could now carry twelve tubas without missing a step. The music from all those years still dances inside of me – memories of laughter and noise, boys and girls shouting, the damn tuba falling over in the hall, Andrew’s big feet tripping as he carried it out the door, the excited cries from the crowd duing all those games when the tuba egged everyone on, and mostly Andrew’s face when he saw me in the crowd.

“I love you, mom”, he would mouth to me and then he would blow his tuba as he walked away and into the life he is now playing so sweetly.

It may shock everyone to know that I wasn’t always a good looking, smart, assertive, self-propelled, undaunted woman.  A long time ago I was a gangly girl from a little town in Wisconsin who wondered if she would ever become well – at the very least smart and assertive. (I was really only good -looking that one year back in the early 80′s.)

I had terrific parents but I also had the Girl Scouts.

Those of you who have heard me speak at events know that I also thank the Girl Scouts and for good reason.  They were a life-line for me- a place to be and grow and do and to discover the woman I am now-one piece at a time. And that discovery happened without question or harassment or without anyone ever once saying, “You can’t do that, Kris.”

Last week I bought some Girl Scout cookies after I was done grocery shopping.  Three little bright-eyed Brownies handed me my thin mints and in that sweet instant my entire life and the lives of all the girls I worked with, including my own daughter, swirled in front of me like a beautiful movie.  I sat in my car and cried for a while as I remembered all those years, all those lives, all that absolute fun and adventure.

I remembered Mrs. Baker who put up with all of us year after year, trip after trip, exploit after exploit, and who never once turned me away when I needed her.  I remembered day camp and how I skipped through the trees and quickly discovered that I could be in charge of the world if I wanted. I remembered the day I left Wisconsin and drove across the country to take my first post-college job as a Professional Girl Scout in the middle of Montana.  I remembered a thousand campfires, two thousand hikes, and how we didn’t give a crap what the kids in high school said when we all wore our scout uniforms to class. I remembered the little girl from my daughter’s troop when I was the leader who would come find me in the park so I could hold her because he mother never would. I remember the joy I saw in hundreds of tiny eyes over the years as they discovered the same pieces of themselves that I had discovered because of the Girl Scouts.  And I especially remember and cherish the relationships, the sweet friends, the women I still love because of the Girl Scouts.

The Girl Scouts are 100 years old this year and I can say, without hesitation, that I am the woman I am because of them. Thank you Juliette Lowe and thank you to all the women who were my leaders and who let me be me. I remain grateful and I will never forget any of you.

Hello customer service – is anyone home?

I’ve spent hours this past week and the one before it on hold for a variety of reasons.  Insurance, medical offices, more insurance, a travel agent and several other entities that I have tried to block out of my mind. I know not everyone likes their job.  I get that but is it that hard to be polite and nice to me? I mean really, I’m a pretty nice woman.  I try to confine my yelling to this office when the door is closed and I’m alone.  I have been known to cry in public when I get offended though and even when someone pisses me off I try and act with a bit of dignity and kindness.

Honestly, I don’t like everything I have to do either. Marketing stinks and now that I’m waiting on customers again at the wine bar there are plenty of times when I’d like to hold a wine glass in my hand and tell some smartass where to put it, but I don’t.  I smile, file away some of their horrid characteristics for a future novel, and calmly walk away – after smiling.

Is it too much to ask for the same thing when I’m calling your office?  Is it too much to stop putting me on hold, treating me as if I am a side of beef about to be processed, or someone who might, just might, be carrying a contagious disease?  It’s your job to process me.  I get that but must you always make me cry with your rude behavior?

Maybe you could all just try being really nice for, let’s say, one day.  See what happens.  Be kind and courteous and make believe you are in a play where everyone is happy.

Now I’m just going to go cry a little bit before I have to make my next pone call.

It’s a sweet rainy night and I’m writing instead of embracing book loving wine drinkers tonight.  So…I was all set to write a sweet column about the joys of quiet but that will have to wait.

I had to delete about six million spam emails before I even got to the first line of this little piece and I just do not get it.  Do those idiots really think I want to buy sex enhancing drugs, meet them in Spain, or send them a bag of money? Seriously?

Many parts of life and the world often do not make sense.  When you jump into this cyberworld you can add a whole new layer of head-scratching junk. I suppose there are some lonely people out there who answer these spamalots.  Maybe that’s why they keep doing it.  I can think of no better reason.  Although now I’m feeling really sorry for the people who actually answer them.

Who but a lonely, sit-behind-the-screen person would reply to a series of commas, someone named Dimitri, Florence from India , or Destiny from Havana?

This all makes me long for the good old days of letter writing, meeting people at the library, inviting your neighbors over for coffee or a beer and the general notion that the world is riddled with goodness and not these spamie stalkers.

So my plan is to wish for something wonderful for every spam-answerer each time I delete one of those nasty emails.  The way I live that’s very good karma. Tonight I helped three sad men in Brooklyn, a woman who just got divorced in a small town in Idaho, a girl who should be in bed and not on the computer, twelve elderly people in Tuscon who hit the wrong computer key and a dog in Miami who jumped on a desk.

Now….I get to fall into the quiet of my writing.

I am one of those lucky moms who has a close, lovely, open relationship with her son. He is a bundle of total joy and watching him grow into a spectacular man has been an amazing experience.

A couple of months ago when I was back in Wisconsin we took a hike to “our special place”.  It’s a bench on the golf course behind my parents home. It’s where we have deep conversations, catch up, share the important things in our hearts.  We hold hands and cry and then embrace for a long time as we walk back into the rest of our lives. I asked him during the last conversation about the marriage proposal he was planning and he told me all about it and he talked with such excitement, and such love, and such eagerness that I thought I might faint.

Andrew gave his love the ring his father once gave to me – a family heirloom that has been passed down for generations and that I imagine will one day be given to one of his children.   The proposal was on a snow covered mountain in Montana where the two lovebirds hope to spend the rest of their lives and I like to think his father was up there swinging above them with great glee and proudly watching from the heavens as his son professed his love.

Life is a string of endings and beginnings and the entrance of this daughter-in-law, Liz, into my life has already been  a gift of such great love, friendship, and unexpected loveliness that I am bursting every five seconds when I think about it.  When I lean over and look at the baby picture of Andrew that sits next to my computer I can’t help but smile. He was a baby but moments ago and now he’s getting married. Pardon me but holy shit!!!

If I could have picked his mate from every woman in the world I would have chosen Liz. How lucky I am…how lucky.

And don’t worry – she’s been forewarned about what marrying into this family is going to be like and she’s plunging in anyway.  What a brave woman!

As Julie Andrews sings – “These are a few of my favorite thing.” I suppose favorite isn’t the most honest answer – it’s more like obsessions. I’m always, always, always looking for the best flops, purse, and a vacuum cleaner that actually works and lasts longer than a month or so.

Flip flops are a no-brainer.  They have to fit perfectly, have a bit of an arch, look kind of awesome and last longer than a month or so.  I’m off to get a new pair later today and I’ll keep you posted.  Thus far – Merrell’s are the winners even if they stopped making them in bright colors.  Hello???? Did someone go color blind over there?  Black and brown?  Really? I was the last person in Wisconsin wearing flip-flops in December and it’s one of the many reasons why I moved to Florida.

Purses are hard.  Right now I have a vinyl blue thing with little birdies stitched on the side that I got at a bargain store for seven bucks.  I’m a bird freak but I have to say when I’m flying through on my scooter with the purse lying sweetly against my side, everything all snapped where it belongs,  I’m pretty damn happy. I can also put two wine bottles in it when I sneak home from the wine bar. What’s not to like? I’m on month three with this one so I’m pretty happy and just before Christmas I took a bag filled with dead purses to Goodwill.  What was I thinking?

The vacuum cleaner fetish may be just about over. I recently splurged on a Dyson and it’s into it’s fifth week and hasn’t broken down yet.  It’s the long one that you only plug in to charge and it was on sale at Target. I was all excited until my friend Justine told me about Rosa.  Rosa is her little computer-programmed vacuum that cleans her house all day long while she is at work.  Justine is a bit obsessed with her vacuum and when I saw it I immediately had dark thoughts of kidnapping her her.  There we were drinking wine in the kitchen while Rosa hummed away ALL OVER THE HOUSE>!!! OMG!!!

So now I have this dream about taking Rosa for a spin while I’m wearing bright red flops and my blue purse is hanging off my shoulder. Eat your heart out Julie Andrews~~~

This morning I paused by the door to my office and looked around my tiny little writing kingdom.  I’m usually so focused on plunging into  the work that awaits that I don’t pause but before I work today I’m going to go through the piles, and dust, and throw out the garbage.  It’s called cleaning.  It’s also therapy for me.

Before my first cup of coffee I was struck by how much I love this simpler way of living.  You know all about the selling house, selling car, selling stuff business and it’s pushing in on a year now since all of that has happened.  We won’t mention the running of yet another small business besides this writing stuff – that’s not a blog, it’s a book anyway but today’s thought is about how much I like the easy of having less.

I tried for a few moments to remember what I had on all my shelves in my last, much larger, office. I couldn’t remember a thing but I know there’s still a few boxes of stuff in the storage shed. My small kingdom warms my heart, makes it much easier to clean, and keeps me focused on the next page.  I love it….but….

The one element missing from this new way of living – besides parking and storage is outdoor space.  The balcony is tiny and I’m fueled by being outside as much as possible and here it’s possible ALL of the time.(Sorry all you blizzard people). So of course this makes me think of the beach or a place on the Intercoastal but that also would mean MOVING again.  Be still my heart.

So how much does one compromise? This is my thought of the month as I dust my dwindling book collection, the few do-dads I didn’t pack away or sell and when I can sometimes hear the people next door sneeze. This place of living is three minutes from the wine lounge and a minute from everything else but how important is that if you can’t open your bedroom window?

I also know, because I’m getting older and wiser every day, that we all want what we don’t have.  If we move to one place it’s impossible not to miss something about the old place. And is there a perfect place?  Well, I’m the Queen of Happy Endings so I think yes…~!!

First I’m going to dust, then I’m going to organize my desk, them I’m plunging back into research and I’ll have to take a power walk later to get some fresh air – because we can’t open the damn windows on the 12th floor. But the view is amazing and I’m luvin’ the lightness.

All good in Radishland.

It’s time to come clean. I bought a Kindle and I am totally, madly, seriously in love with it.

Half the world has asked me if I have an ebook reader.  I have always said no for two reasons.  First of all I never have much extra cashola and second of all…I love the feel of a book in my hand.  Don’t you?  Pages and black letters and the smell of the world you are reading about and the weight of the lovely thing on your chest when you fall asleep every night. Oh Lord have mercy – I love books~!

But then I saw how many of you buy books on Kindles and Nooks and whatever in the hell else is out there.  Not just any books either – MY BOOKS. One day three weeks ago I just up and ordered a Kindle and thus my affair began.  Now I can barely stand to be more than five inches from the lovely thing.

I usually write down the names of books I want to read on little slips of paper and then order them when I remember where I put the little pieces of paper.  The first time I remembered I could simply order one and it would be there in a literal blink of an eye I confess I was a little teary-eyed. There it was, in not minutes, but seconds. Well, it doesn’t smell or look  like a book and you have to plug it in now and then – but wowowowow.

Deep into research for my tenth novel, and there’s a @!#%load of research for this baby, I am still needing to get real books.  It’s quicker for me to reach over and pick one up and read and re-read passages and information that I need. And who doesn’t want to have the real book of a favorite author on their shelf…(hin, hint, hint – new book coming out in two weeks…) There’s also that whole autographing thing.  Yes, I know about electronic signatures but get real here – because they ain’t real.

So my Kindle has it’s place and I think it always will but there’s still nothing like the real thing.

And I’m thinking about what a deal this is for all of you – me too, I suppose.  I worked for 1.5 years on my new novel – Tuesday Night Miracles and you can buy a real book or a cyber-book for under $15. Book rights and sales are another topic – we seriously don’t want to get into that right now or this blog will turn into a novel.

But you should know that last night I feel asleep with my little Kindle on my chest and I swear it felt just like a book..and I didn’t have to turn the light on to read.