Goodbye to Nora Ephron: A Guest Post

Nora Ephron, the beloved filmmaker and writer, passed away today.  My sister, Melanie, was a great fan of her work, and when she emailed me tonight about Ephron's death, I asked her to write something about Nora's importance in her own life.  This is what she wrote:

My chest literally aches as I write this but because my sister asked me to, and because Nora would say, "Everything is copy," I will lend you my thoughts...and my heart for a while.  Nora Ephron died this evening and I can't help but feel that a great light has been extinguished. She was known to the world as a brilliant screenwriter/director and humorist, but to me she was a teacher, fellow optimist, and literary role model. I know I write as though I knew her, but that's only because I feel as though I DID, and that she knew me too, the Reader, and could speak directly to my proverbial heart. I feel so sad to know that tomorrow morning when I awake to the red glow through my window and enjoy my first round of coffee, it will be in a somehow quieter world- a world without Nora's great charm.

My love affair with Nora's work began years ago with her romantic movies (When Harry met Sally, You've Got Mail, Sleepless in Seattle). I was born a bleeding heart so naturally, I was drawn to this genre. But there was always so much more in her films that made her art stand out to me. She ENJOYED life. She made much of the small things like flowers on a windowsill or a sad Joni Mitchell song and these nuances came out in her movies. She made her characters lovable and real and made romance seem as though anyone could experience it, even a late bloomer like me who wanted the fairy tale. And still do.

I went to see Nora perform last spring at the Paramount. It was called "An Evening with Nora Ephron" and what an evening it was! I am so happy that I paid the big money I did (on a teacher's salary) because it means so much more now that I know she's gone. Her talk was short and witty and she told us how when she was little and experienced heartache at school, her mother would look at her and say, "Nora, everything is copy." She told the audience that writing is what saved her and helped her in life.

I tell you this because her writing has helped me over the years. When I have been lonely or sad, annoyed or just in the mood for a laugh, I pick up my copy of I Feel Bad about my Neck and dig into one of her many anecdotes about life in New York, or raising children, or delicious savory items that disappeared from a menu overnight. I read her words and marvel at her talent because her gift to the world is to make light of this life and this is something I desperately need to learn. Not to take it for granted ever, but to enjoy the moments as they come, good or bad, insignificant or grand, romantic or not. 

  

There is so much more I could say but it's late and I'm a guest on here.  I just want to end by saying that even though I never knew Nora personally, I feel a real and personal loss. Her musings, her comedy, and her love for the beauty in life were not lost on me and I am forever grateful that she taught me how to relish the lovely that comes along, and how to laugh even when my heart is breaking. Farewell, Nora. You will be so greatly missed.

On Courage

While I was at the salon today, I overheard several women of different ages sharing their birth stories with a young stylist, who is newly pregnant, and some of her co-workers.  I wasn't part of this conversation, but it was impossible for me to ignore their discussion, and it reminded me yet again how very important birth is in all of our lives.

There are those that will say it doesn't matter how a baby enters this world, but ask any new mother and she will agree that birth changes you.  It's important, and it does matter.  How could a group of women sit with foil-wrapped hair and share their stories, some in painstaking detail, with complete strangers if it did not?

April is Cesarean Awareness Month and I'm reposting this piece because it is so beautifully written and meaningful.  I cannot read it without tears.

My sister is in the midst of her own defining birth story, one that will likely play out over the course of the next few weeks and months, and she and her unborn baby can truly use your prayers.  She is the very essence of courage, and I admire her so much.

Welcome to the Boys' Club

Well, it seems the Augusta National Golf Club finds itself at the center of another controversy regarding its openly sexist membership policy.  The club only offers membership to men and has refused to change this rule since it opened in the 1930s.  As the site of the Masters Tournament, Augusta National grants membership to the CEOs of its corporate sponsors, including IBM which has, since January, been led by Ginni Rometty.  A woman.

If that's not a conundrum, I don't know what is. 

Let's hope those men in green jackets put on their big boy underwear and do the right thing.  After all, it is 2012, for crying out loud.

I'm not a fan of golf at all and find it quite boring, to be honest.  As my mom says, "If you want to take a walk, take a walk.  You don't need to push a little ball with a stick along the way."

But I'm watching this with bated breath.

On Science and Technology

I ran across this article on ICAN's Yahoo list today, and I found it quite fascinating, for my own personal reasons.  I'm a huge advocate for natural birth, and while my own experiences were quite different than the writer's, as I've discussed in great detail in the past, I agree with her point of view completely.  Please consider the article on its own, separate from the vitriol in the comment section, and form your own opinion.

ICAN CBAC Week

My friend, Melek, is the official blogger for ICAN's website, and she designated this past week as CBAC (Cesarean Birth after Cesarean) Week.  I'm so thrilled that she chose to focus on this issue, because it's important for CBAC moms, like both Melek and me, to feel supported in our decisions, especially when our plans for a VBAC change.

You can read the week's worth of stories here.

Longevity

Congratulations to my wonderful husband, who celebrates ten years with IBM tomorrow.  His company celebrated their 100th anniversary this year, and today, they announced that Ginni Rometty will become their first female CEO in January. 

That's pretty cool in my book.

Age of Innocence?

As with most things these days, I'm late to discover this article about later in life motherhood, but it is truly fascinating.  The pictures are lovely, too. 

Tooting My Own Horn

My friend, M., is the official blogger for the ICAN site, and she recently asked me to do a guest post.  I jumped at the chance and it's featured today.

I can't believe I get to say this, but come see me here!

Ta Da!

My living room is not the only place getting new curtains!

When my mom was visiting a couple of weeks ago, she talked me into wearing purple nail polish on my toes.  Even though I'm a cosmetics junkie, I'm pretty tame when it comes to color, and I never stray far from basic reds and pinks.  Purple is out there for me, but I tried it and it grew on me.

And guess what?  Now, my toes are blue!  Not bright blue, but a light, silvery color that actually looks nice with my skin tone.  So I figured it was time to update my blog again, too.

There's that whole movement now inspired by the Eleanor Roosevelt quote, "Do one thing everyday that scares you," and I think purple toenails have to count for something, at least in my case.

A Driving Force

In Saudi Arabia today, a few courageous women took matters, or steering wheels, as the case may be, into their own hands and drove down the streets of Riyadh.  There's nothing particularly interesting about women driving, aside from the fact that it is banned in Saudi Arabia.  To do so openly and in full view of authorities could lead to arrest and other severe forms of punishment.  Here's hoping that this small act of civil disobedience will help usher in a time of change for the women of Saudi Arabia.

When I read stories like this, I'm reminded of the Margaret Mead quote I often see on a forum I frequent:

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."

This Woman's Work*

Lately, my days are spent playing referee to my two little boys who seem intent upon wrestling each other all day long.  I'm convinced I need to invest in a black-and-white ref shirt, a pair of coaching shorts that leave nothing to the imagination (you know the kind I mean), and a really loud whistle.   On days like that, I appreciate a blog post like this one. 

And then something happens that brings you back to reality.  This week, my sister lost her unborn baby.  While it is not my story to tell, I will say that she has handled her grief with grace and beauty, and I admire her strength and courage immensely.

Motherhood is hard work*.  It's the hardest job I've ever had, and I've worked retail, taught middle school, and written a master's thesis.  I'm reminded of this fact every day, and I am rewarded with the love I see in the faces of my two precious boys.

I'm not one to put much stock in inspirational sayings, but recently, I opened a fortune cookie to find the phrase, "Treasure what you have."  Of course, the old high school joke is that you are supposed to add "in bed" to the end of your fortune.

And this is what's in my bed.


* From She's Having a Baby, directed by John Hughes

Courageous Moms

Since my baby is 10 months old now, my family is complete, and my heart is healed, I'm not focusing on birth and VBAC stories as much as I did in the past.  But I did run across this post on my friend's blog this week, and it really touched me deeply.  Mother's Day was last weekend, but this piece deserves to be read and shared.  All mothers make sacrifices, and this reminds us of that fact.

There's also an example of cesarean art on the page, and if you've never run across that before, it's shocking and meaningful at the same time.

A Girl Can Dream

If money were no object and my house wasn't filled with testosterone, it would look like this.  There's not a single masculine thing in sight.  Enjoy!

Rodeo Queens

There's a fascinating article in today's Austin American-Statesman about rodeo queens.  And I can't say one snarky thing about these girls, because, even though I was born in Texas and spent time on my grandparents' farm as a child, I can't do any of the things they are required to do, all while looking like a million bucks. 

That Woman

With the recent popularity of The King's Speech, it seems that Wallace Simpson is in the news again.  I've always been a bit intrigued by the American woman who single-handedly disrupted the line of succession to the British throne, and two new books and a movie directed by Madonna attempt to explore her life more intently than the way she's been depicted for so long. 

As Anne Sebba, one of Simpson's biographers asks, "Why and how did a middle-aged woman, not conventionally beautiful, beyond childbearing years and with two living husbands win over a man so forcefully that he gave up not just a throne but an empire to live with her?"

I'm curious to find out.  Here's a recent article about Simpson and her newfound influence in popular culture.  

The Big, Bad Wolf

James is scared of the hallway by his bedroom, which doesn't have any windows of its own and can get really dark, even during the day.  He calls it the "pretty scary hallway" and doesn't like to walk down it alone.  I don't want him to feel afraid, so I've decorated it with toddler-friendly decor, we leave the windows to the bedrooms open during the day, and I praise him for being brave when he does venture into it by himself. 

He's also fascinated by and fearful of owls right now, largely because his grandfather has an artificial one in the garden to scare away birds.  "Harold" has glowing eyes and makes a loud noise, and he can be pretty disconcerting to a little guy.  We used a gift card left over from Christmas to buy a stuffed owl online, and James had fun picking it out on his own.  Hopefully, "Pink Owl" will help him see how harmless and helpful owls really are, especially since they are so popular right now.

Going through these innocent fears with my son has got me thinking about my own childhood monsters, which were, in no particular order, The Big, Bad Wolf and Moammar Gadhafi.  And now that Libya is in the midst of political unrest, I realize that they are really one in the same.

My fear of wolves, which exists even now, undoubtedly comes from the fact that those frightening beasts featured heavily as the antagonists in the literature of my childhood and, for whatever reason, I really took them to heart.  Not to mention that my mom had a music box when I was little that played "Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf."  I still get chills whenever I hear that song, and I refused to bring the music box home when she recently dug it out for my boys.   

And then there's the fact that I was a precocious second grader who watched the news and read the newspaper in 1986, right around the time that the U.S. decided to bomb Libya.  I remember lying in bed after President Reagan addressed the nation, and listening to planes flying over our house.  I prayed and prayed that they were not sent from Libya to bomb us in retaliation, and I'm pretty sure I stayed awake all night.  After that, I remember feeling sick to my stomach whenever I saw Gadhafi on the news or heard his name mentioned anywhere, but I don't think I ever properly vocalized my fears to my parents.

Now that he's back in the news and I'm an adult with children of my own, I don't feel that feeling of sheer panic any longer.  It is interesting to watch this revolt unfold from the perspective of a rational adult, rather than a scared little girl with no understanding of the world's politics.

I realize that, no matter how much I try to shield them, my boys will see and hear things that will frighten them as they grow.  I'll do my best to be there for them.

**Random side note:  Did you know that Gadhafi supposedly has a group of 40 female virgins called the Amazonian Guard that act as his own, personal army of bodyguards?  How does one get that job?  I don't really want to know. 

One Year Later

A year ago today, as fires burned across Austin, we found out we were expecting a healthy little boy to round out our family.  We fought incredibly hard to have you, little Rhys, in the best way possible, and I'm so proud to be a part of your life's journey.  You are the icing on the cake and I love you very much, sweet boy.

For Carolyn

I didn't know you very well, but you were always so funny and cheerful to be around.  You worked in reception at my rheumatologist's office, and between you and Jan, the other receptionist, it was a real hoot and a holler to check in for an appointment.  As I've said before, you were the real-life version of Sister Myotis, and I'm pretty sure you weren't from Austin originally. 

You kept huge color photos of your grandchildren on your desk, so it looked more like a display for missing children than a tribute to them, but that's how much you loved them.  I once overheard you explain to a patient that your daughters married a set of brothers, so all of your grandchildren were "double-related" and looked exactly alike.

When I was pregnant with James, you made me turn in a circle so you could "see my butt," and you correctly guessed that I was having a boy.   You loved his eyes, and I would turn his stroller toward your desk so you could talk to him for a bit.  At Christmas, you told me to take him to see Santa, and that the funniest pictures were always the ones in which the baby cried.  You knew I was having another boy and you offered your sympathies.

I used to see you smoking near the Women's Center as I went to my prenatal appointments, and you always greeted me with, "Hi, honey," in your salty voice.  You filled out the customer satisfaction surveys yourself so you wouldn't have to ask the patients to do it.  You wore press-on nails and hot-rolled your hair, like a woman from a small Texas town, and you laughed like crazy at your partner in crime sitting next to you.

You died in a car accident on July 1st, and I just found out today.  It was during one of those freak thunderstorms that filled the skies last summer in the days before my second son was born, and it happened instantaneously, the nurse told me.  You had everything in order and you said you just wanted to go when it was your time, so you did, and you made it easy on everyone.  Well, as easy as leaving could be, I guess.

The nurse said you called her "Little Bit" because of her height, and she has to make the coffee now in the mornings because you aren't there to do it.  My doctor told me you once spilled something on your shirt, looked at him, and said, "With a mouth as big as mine, you'd think I could get it all inside."  And Jan said she misses you every day.

You were the first and last person we saw when we entered the office, so even if we were scared, or in pain, or feeling down, you cheered us up and made us laugh.  And we are all better for having known you.

I know I am.

The Craft: Part II

I openly admit that I am not crafty, and I don't really enjoy making things with my hands.  But I did recently run across a cute craft project that looked incredibly easy and inexpensive, so I ventured out to Hobby Lobby last weekend and gathered the supplies.  I'm proud to say that I found everything for around $10, including a glue gun, which I can use again. Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?  (The fact that I now own such a device humiliates me just a little.)

Without further ado, here is my creation.  Yes, it's kitschy, but it was fun, and I guess that's the point.

I must admit that I had so much fun making those little flowers that I completely covered the bottom of the wreath with them after I took this picture.  And my mom loved the idea so much that she went out and bought the supplies to make more wreaths when my sisters and I visit her this weekend.  We can all sit around the table wrapping yarn around plastic for hours while our children play unsupervised at our feet and our husbands shoot the breeze outside.  How very Jane Austen.

And that's a good thing.

A Sign of the Times

Tina Cassidy has a piece in New York Magazine today in which she examines the growing trend of texting during labor and the issues that go along with our culture's need for immediate and constant communication.  She argues that, because birth has become so controlled and cold within the hospital setting, parents are doing everything possible to stay connected with supportive family and friends, most of whom are outside the delivery room.

I'll admit that I am uncomfortable with labor updates from friends and family, especially the cervical dilation checks.  That just seems really private to me, and when I was in labor, I didn't want my husband's friends (or my dad) knowing how far my cervix had opened.  As if they even cared.

I do know several women who have tweeted their way through home births after cesarean (HBAC), and it was interesting to read their experiences as I cheered them along from the privacy of my own home.

And I'm forever grateful for the birth videos of both my children, which our hospital allowed my husband to film, since without them, I would have no actual memories of their very first moments.

I guess, as Cassidy points out, it's just one of those things that happens as times change and we seek to maintain the personal connections that society used to value more.