Gone Missing? Nah.

I thought I’d found the perfect hobby two years ago when I started, it was free. Right, free, I thought yesterday, as I paid two blogging bills. This redesign/move/move thing with the website has been one royal pain in the ass. Yesterday, mid-day, I gave up as I prepared the kidlings for a week long visit to DisneyWorld with their other family. I found a designer who will just “fix it now.” Well, not exactly now, but maybe in a week or so, once she gets my check. I’m just glad I’m not a starving 21-year-old with only a can of beer, a box of Saltines, and some dog food in the house and 10 days until payday as I was at one point in my life—I can hire her to save my life. Anyway, I can be found at both www.hahnathome.com (unfinished site) or http://hahnathome.wordpress.com/ . You can update your bookmarks with the normal site address if you would like.

Thanks to Paul at Jestertunes who did try to help, along with several other folks. What they didn’t understand is that they would say things like, “You should just be able to…” and “Just type in your…” First of all, yes, I should, but have you met me? And second of all unless you tell me exactly what to type and exactly where to type it, I’m lost. Have you seen a CSS stylesheet? Paul was shooting me instructions and it wasn’t working. Turns out I was missing a file. Who knew?

Okay, it’s not all bad. WordPress is very pretty. I love the open-source idea. But, jeez, you have to be a rocket scientist to figure that stuff out. I bought the book and guess what? They actually want you to READ the entire thing.

At least I have my content there. My blogroll is updated. I put in my Cast of Characters.

One thing that was a lot of fun was to read through my archives as I was doing all of this. It’s pretty wild how it started out one way and ended up another. Several of my family members don’t read it anymore – too startling. Me. My life. Startling. Colleagues who used to read diligently, not so much anymore. They probably get enough of me in the real world without having to know even my decidedly edited thoughts.

When I looked through my blogroll I counted how lucky I am. I’ve met some great people here online. Some of them have even found each other in a bigger way. I’ve met some and talk to some on the phone. Then, I got to thinking, what hobby gives one so much pleasure for only $.75 a day? Can’t think of one other.

Something New: Magical Samantha

Check out the bloggers participating in Robin’s blog project. In my continuing saga of Something….

1. Something old
2. Something new
3. Something borrowed
4. Something blue

What’s new? What’s fresh? What’s happenin’? Well, most of my life is an endless sea of sameness, punctuated by teenage hormones. I get up, go to the gym, walk the dogs, come home, wake the kids, drive them to school, go to work, come home, make dinner, sign mounds of parental permission or acknowledgment forms, clean up after they clean up, and blog. Sometimes I work at odd hours.

Something new came into my life in September, that something being Magical Samantha. This is totally something new. I feel passion again—that’s nice—but if I were to be honest with myself, I feel passion a lot. Sometimes just in my head. And, passion has never been an issue. I could feel passion for someone briefly, or for a while. I’ve experienced a lot of passion. And, I’ve always loved the chase. The build up. Closing the deal. It’s not quite selling insurance, as I used to do in one iteration of my life, but it is like getting the bonus for top sales performance.

Something new…having someone who is committed to dating. Getting to know one another. Taking the time it needs to see if it’s a fit. Bumping up against those things we bump up against that either makes us throw the baby out with the bathwater, or—perhaps—stick around to work through it.

At my age, I’m not easy (well, except in that one special way). I have a life. I have priorities. I have things I don’t want to deal with—like people who refuse to deal with their own traumas and insidiously spread the collateral damage. The people I date may not want to deal with my confused family situation, teenagers, my suburban lifestyle (puuulleeez…it’s temporary, really), or the demands of my job. I bring my own issues with me—some dealt with, some I’m still working on.

Magical Samantha is a determined monkey—her mom’s words, not mine. She is thoughtful and measured in dealing with discord, or the potential thereof. It totally deflates my defensiveness. When she listens to me in full, without trying to come up with her response before I’ve uttered a full thought, it builds trust. When she respectfully replies, it builds rapport. I listen in ways I never have. I reply in the same thoughtful manner. Committed to taking this to a level where I’ve never been. I’m grown up now, somehow. And, I like it. It feels pretty damned good.

It’s not perfect, nope. We’re different people who have reached the mid point of our lives. What’s new is that I love that about her. I love that she is who she is and the way she treats me. I love that she is sticking around. And, most of all, I love that she’s making me a better person (Maria – that one’s for you). Oh, and I love the fact she’s so hot and I want to jump her bones—but that’s nothing new, is it?

Sit Down Before Reading, The Shock May Kill You

Well, for long time readers, this is going to come as quite the shock. I, the one who does not cook, is cooking. Meh, maybe three times a week now. The children are staring at me with this look like, “Who is this person, but stay…we’ve been very, very hungry” look on their faces. I had requests for this, so here it is, a first in the annals of HAH – a recipe. I guarantee that you will absolutely love its succulence, beauty, and healthfulness. Who knew?

Ingredients

1 regular-size foil oven bag
Cooking spray
1/2 cup uncooked orzo (rice-shaped pasta)
2 teaspoons olive oil, divided
1 cup diced tomato
3/4 cup sliced green onions
1/2 cup (2 ounces) crumbled feta cheese
1/2 teaspoon grated lemon rind
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
3/4 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil

Preparation

Preheat oven to 450°.

Coat inside of oven bag with cooking spray. Place the bag on a large shallow baking pan.

Cook the pasta in boiling water 5 minutes, omitting salt and fat; drain. Place the pasta in a large bowl. Stir in 1 teaspoon oil and next 7 ingredients (1 teaspoon oil through pepper). Place the orzo mixture in prepared oven bag. Combine shrimp and basil. Arrange shrimp mixture on orzo mixture. Fold edge of bag over to seal. Bake at 450° for 25 minutes or until the shrimp are done. Cut open bag with a sharp knife, and peel back the foil. Drizzle with 1 teaspoon oil.

Yield

2 servings (serving size: 1 cup orzo and about 5 ounces shrimp)

Nutritional Information

CALORIES 498(26% from fat); FAT 14.4g (sat 5.5g,mono 5.1g,poly 1.9g); PROTEIN 38.8g; CHOLESTEROL 219mg; CALCIUM 258mg; SODIUM 817mg; FIBER 3.4g; IRON 6.5mg; CARBOHYDRATE 52.7g

Cooking Light, MARCH 2000

The Catnip Is In The Room

Thanks to ALL of you so far who have nominated me at TLL for Lesbian Blog of the Year. If you want to nominate, please click the picture above and leave a comment. The rules are a little confusing, but just leave your nomination for your favorite Lesbian blog. Top five nominated sites will move on to the voting in the middle of February. Ask the Middle-Aged Lesbian is up next.

I’m out of here for a couple of days so I can go oceanside with my baby. Ya’ll keep warm, stay dry (well, unless…heh), and be as good as you can to as many people as you are able.

“I,” she said, “Am in a catnip phase. I’m trying to stay focused, but there is catnip in the room.”

A common theme, it seems in this sisterhood we share. We were both raised by shared parents in the same town until we both left, two years apart, at 17, never to return. We both spent time moving here and there, to the next assignment, the next job, the next adventure.

We settled, briefly, at the same time and even in the same place. We both grew restless again. My restlessness found roots—due to needs outside of my own. She’s happy now, in her new home, in her new job. But, the catnip—it’s there, in the room, waiting to be chased, tossed around, and batted with both paws until it slides under the couch and is unreachable again.

“I’ve decided for my 5-year plan, I will either join Peace Corps, become a kept woman, or marry a European man and have a dual passport.”

“I am so tired of American men. They all watch football here. “

She went on to detail the man she sought—he’d be a man named Carlos, be 6’2, speak five languages, be of Chilean-French heritage and live in Northern Spain and the UK. He’d have a 15-year-old daughter who is just a hop, skip and jump from 18. He’d work in the hotel industry and have access to great rooms throughout Europe. He’d have a dual passport of his own. He’d look like a Kiefer Sutherland sort of chap.

“He’s not the one for me, but on the right path.”

I wasn’t paying close enough attention, it seemed.

“What, this isn’t your made up dream man?” I harkened back to the time about three or four years ago when we made her a scarecrow man who was a real heartthrob. The kids threw all their energy into making him the perfect man down to height and shoes and big heart, and I wrote the biography that was pinned to his chest when she got him for Christmas. He was named Raoul as I remember, for she has a penchant for the Mediterranean man, without the huge machismo factor—and he was perfect in every way, except for being a scarecrow man.

“No, no…he’s real,” she said.

I shook my head again, “What do you mean…you know him?”

“We talk all the time. I met him after I saw a website talking about the movie PS I Love You. You know, Hilary Swank, who we all know and love. She has this great Irish husband and he dies and she suffers.”

I’m still confused. What the hell is she talking about?

“So, I Googled Irish dating websites, because I was thinking I needed an Irish man.”

Huh? Okay, so I’m sort of following.

“And I joined a dating website for UK and Irish people. Then I decided that I wanted a man with kind of Scandinavian-Chilean thing going on, but he’s Chilean-French, close enough. He’s taller than me, that’s what matters. And he has a good accent and travels. If the Peace Corps or the kept woman thing don’t work out, I’m marrying a European man.”

“You are settled and you are a couple person. But you know—you know what I mean. You chase catnip too.”

So, the catnip–it’s in the room.

The sea has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the accomplice of human restlessness. ~ Joseph Conrad

Strong, Resilient, Amazing

This is gonna be short.  I am working tonight to help an organization in Arkansas that is trying to start a resource site for GLBT people, where today there is none.  I’ll give you the scoop later.

The woman who came up with this idea is just one person.  She enlisted another, and another.  Soon, she will have many more people on board, ready to help.  That’s all it takes.  One person with an idea.  She’s not quite sure what it’s going to look like completely when she’s done, but it’s taking on a life.  A life that will help countless people who had nowhere to go before.

I’ve had to start over a couple of times.  I’ve had a couple of long relationships that ended.  Starting over was scary.  Coming up with the nerve to do it was not an issue.  It had to be done.  I’ve changed careers, changed homes too many times, and took two steps forward and one step back more times than I can remember. Who hasn’t met with adversity or challenge, right?

Women are truly amazing creatures.  Many of us face old demons, or new challenges, or face impending loss or help someone else through theirs, fought addiction, faced illness, experienced tragedy, faced potential retaliation, or lost love. Sometimes, it takes us a while until the pain is so much greater than the pleasure, no choice remains.   Somewhere, from the innermost depths, the strength is summoned to meet the challenge.  We are resilient.  We can and we do. 

And, remember–if you aren’t ready to meet that challenge–every day is a new day and it’s never too late–never. 

Now, don’t ya just wanna’ sing, “I am WOMAN hear me roar!”  Damn, we’re fine.

 Bravery is being the only one who knows you’re afraid. ~ Franklin P. Jones

 A society that has more justice is a society that needs less charity. ~ Ralph Nader

I Think I’m Onto Something

Dating and getting to know someone is always a tricky thing. It’s an in-joke, this whole lesbian keep-the-girlfriends-as-friends thing, but there is some basis in fact. Be sure to see Michele Paradise’s “10 Rules for Lesbian Dating” (see Part II for the coverage of the friend issue) on You Tube. Check out Michelle’s website too – isn’t she a hottie?

A while back, I met nice woman. Surface was good. Rockets didn’t go off or anything, but she bore a closer look. I’ve come a long way, baby – I heard, in subtext, the most amazing things. She had no personal power. She was happy to parcel out blame to everyone, but never take responsibility for herself or the choices she made and never grabbed the opportunity she was given to make the changes she needed to fully live as an adult. Her parents, ex-husband, coworkers, and friends had all repeatedly let her down. It was a life full of, “If only…” When do we toss aside blaming others and grab the reigns ourselves to allow ourselves to develop to our potential—all that negativity just holds us back, right? It wasn’t a matter of judgment, but a matter of fit. I was on alert, and signs pointed—hell, giant neon 30-foot danger signs were flashing at me—life is too short for bitter. I never slept with her. I could have—10 years ago, I probably would have.

I like to think that I provided a disengagement from the situation that was kind and caring. Rejection, on any level, is never easy, but I had a well of empathy for being on the other end of that conversation and I have no regrets about the way it was handled.

Dating is a grand experiment in finding fit. How can we create a healthy, mutually-supportive situation, where our needs are mostly met, we can create a solid friendship, and still have a scintillating romantic relationship—all in one, gooey, wonderful package?

I think I’m on to something. Magical Samantha keeps surprising me…getting sick of hearing about her yet?

Breakin’ Up Mix Music

Mike at Mike’s Mixed Memories wanted me to write about great songs and how they made me feel. The Breakup Matrix of Grief has five stages. So, I thought I’d share a little breakup mix. This is by no means an all inclusive list. In fact, I now sport about six or seven thousand songs to work through a breakup. It’s a science (most links are YouTube, but some you’ll have to hunt for on the Amazon page I was able to find).

Denial - You break up, but you secretly hope that it’s not true. You still e-mail, and text each other, and you have moments believing it will all work out somehow, no matter how dysfunctional the relationship. You know where she shops on Sunday morning, so you start going there—just so you might catch sight of her. You sleep together two more times, just to keep it friendly.

       Sozzi – Letting Go
Murmurs – You Suck
Alanis Morisette – You Oughta Know
Fiona Apple – Get Gone
Janis Joplin – Piece of My Heart
Fleming & John – Ugly Girl
Liz Phair – Divorce Song

Anger – When you get to the bullshit stage, you are just plain angry. How could she do this to you? Suddenly all those little things she did that were mildly annoying become the reasons you are no longer together. Forget the “two sides to every story” thing. It’s all. Her. Fault. Or, she keeps e-mailing and calling you saying she still loves you, but then you see her noshing someone else next time you go out. You have sex two more times, but you’re really pissed about it.

Sozzi – Letting Go
Murmurs – You Suck
Alanis Morisette – You Oughta Know
Fiona Apple – Get Gone
Janis Joplin – Piece of My Heart
Fleming & John – Ugly Girl
Liz Phair – Divorce Song

Bargaining – You go back out on the dating scene, because God forbid you should actually take a break from serial monogamy or whatever it’s called that you’ve been doing, and psychotically believe that what you left is far, far better than what’s out there—and so you beg for one more chance, or she does. You sleep together two more times, because it’s easier than starting over.

Van Halen – Right Now
Journey – Open Arms
Big Runga – Sway
Patty Smith – Pissing in a River
Harry Nilsson – Without You
Toni Braxton – Unbreak My Heart
Sister Seven – Know What I Mean

Depression – It’s set in. You are not getting back together. And, though you sleep together two more times anyway, you know it can’t happen again. You have decided that your prospects of ever loving again are, well, nil. A bottle of Petron and senseless one night stands to verify your assertion may also be involved in this step.

Ben Folds Five - Mess
Jann Arden - Insensitive
Etta James – Damn Your Eyes
Billie Holliday – Stormy Weather
Cure – Pictures of You
Earth Wind & Fire – After the Love is Gone
Bonnie Raitt – I Can’t Make You Love Me

Acceptance – Suddenly, one day, you wake up and she is not the first thing you think about. In fact, you’ve been thinking a lot about that girl with the dreamy eyes who walks past your cubicle every day. Suddenly, the world is full of lesbians, and it’s a beautiful thing. You buy a Hitachi Magic Wand and have frequent sex alone—it doesn’t accuse you of cheating, flirting, enabling, or constantly remind you to squeegee the freakin’ shower.

Puddle of Mudd – She Hates Me
Eskobar – Someone New
Supertramp- Goodbye Stranger
Sheryl Crow – Every Day Is A Winding Road
Deep Blue Something – Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Harry Chapin – Taxi
Tom Cochrane – I Wish You Well
and, saving the best for last - Jo Dee Messina – Bye, Bye

The next installment will include those songs to fall in love by…

I Am Sam, Sam I Am

Bent Fabric posed the question:  “Are you the person you want to be?” in this installment of the “you pick the topic” saga.

My 25^th reunion was coming up a few years ago, so one of the more organized of our class decided to coordinate communication via Classmates.com.  It was nice, as I heard from a few people I had fond memories of, but weren’t good enough friends to keep in touch with for the long-haul. 

I heard some of the “elite” would be there—like the guy whose dad gave each of his two sons a car lot and they now own the bulk of the auto sales in our county.  All I remembered of him is he seemed kind of dim—not dumb, just dull.  He was a jock and wore white leather sneakers before anyone else could afford them and used to walk around with a straw in his mouth.  He married the cheerleader out of high school.  They had five kids. Their life is not perfect and no money can make it so.  I never wished I had someone else’s life.

One of them, it turned out, is also a Lesbian.  Had I known that when we were hanging out in 3^rd grade and created that club we had called “The Persimmon Queers,” it would have all made so much more sense. At some point, it became clear why my dad made me change the name of the club.  I was struck, though, when she said to me, “I always admired the way you didn’t seem to mind being different.”  Ah, the dawning came, it wasn’t just me that thought I was different.  Well, I did mind sometimes, but I knew no other way to be. 

I’d say I spent most of my 20s being an ass—a mere half-step up from teenagerdom.  It was about winning, not living.

My 30s were about figuring all that out.  Finding my place.  Building.  Realizing money and a cool job were not the be-all-end-all.  Recognizing the fact injustice and inequity unfortunately exist on the same plane of as honor and integrity. Watching my rose-colored glasses shatter into dust.  Learning that a comeuppance isn’t such a bad thing, if you do something with it.

My 40s have been about service, mentoring, and experiencing as fully as form and function allow.  Finding belief in myself that I can get through anything, but that I might have to call upon others to get there.  Learning how to receive love, kindness, compassion, and friendship.  Learning where and how to expend my energy to make my life and that of those I love easier or better. 

I can be stubborn as hell.  Cranky.  I can still ride a mighty moral high horse on occasion. But, thank God I can also climb down and step back and look at the horse’s ass.  I’d like to be more impetuous.  I’d like to trust enough again to truly love and be loved.  I wish I didn’t get frustrated with my sister and hurt her feelings.  I wish I could take back some of the hurt I’ve caused others. 

It’s extremely satisfying, my life.  Far beyond the picture I saw at 17.  I’ve been accused of being the luckiest SOB around—but it’s not luck—it’s having people in my life who believe in me who’ve helped me believe in myself.  So, yes, I’m the person I want to be…for this moment.  But, I’m not stopping here…I have to complete the journey to be the person I still hope to become.

Life is rather like a tin of sardines – we’re all of us looking for the key.
~ Alan Bennett

Kindness of Strangers

Focused solely on buying that key chain for Em to make it a little easier for her to find her house key in the pit of Hell called her bookbag that night, I ran into the little store and bought the $1.07 item and headed back for the car.  An old gentleman, walking with a well-worn cane, still fit and looking younger than his 80 years, was also making his way to his car, and it was clear we were going to intersect at some point before we reached our vehicles.  I looked up and noticed his hat, which said “Air Force.”  I don’t know what made me say it, but I said, “Hi!  Are you a vet?”

Not usually one to engage unnecessarily in conversation, I knew instinctively I was going to enjoy this conversation.  For the next 25 minutes, he and I connected.  By the time we parted, I knew all about his battle scars from war and life.  He was a bomber pilot in three wars. He had two wives—his love for the second leaving him with a twinge of regret.  He felt he didn’t let her know enough while she was alive how much she meant to him.  Somehow, I have a feeling she did know.  And, by the time I left, he knew all about the hopes and dreams I have for my kids and provided not only words of wisdom, but words of encouragement.  On parting, he shook my hand firmly, we looked each other in the eye and both nodded.  A silent acknowledgment of what had passed between us.

It’s one of those vagaries of my life—connecting with a random stranger.  We each wanted little from the other at the outset – the Colonel wanted only my time and I wanted his story to add to the tapestry of my life. 

We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken. ~ Fyodor Dostoevsky

Kidless

We’re in Week 4 of no Hahns at Home except me.  I could have used the time to do any number of projects, but I didn’t.  Somehow, I never managed to get to them and think in the waning days of summer, I won’t.  I did stuff like spend entire days in my jammies and go to the ocean.  I’ve emptied the trash three times.  Washed about 20 forks and 20 glasses.  Did six loads of laundry.  Went mini-shopping three times and only because my freezer only holds so many frozen dinners at once.  And, I did something I never do—I bought things I should have gone to Target for and bought them at the grocery store.  Saving money has always driven me over convenience.  But, I rationalized.  I’m learning these valuable skills from the Aries in my life.  I rationalized that with gas costing what it does, it was silly to go down the road, eating up valuable natural resources (and untold Judge Judy time) to get liner for the cupboards and a lunchbag .  The cupboard liner is still sitting in the kitchen, waiting for me, now several days later and the lunchbag, well, after carefully filling it with all sorts of healthy snacks the first day, got left at work.

I’ve frequently thought, “OMG, what will I do when they all leave for real?”  

Somehow, I think I’ll adjust.  But, I miss them, yes, I do.  Tons.  J-Man complained that the littler kids are following him everywhere and there is no quiet place to write.  Em is ecstatic having new cornrows so she can use the pool every day.  Notorious B.E.N. passed geometry in summer school with an 85.  When the twins come back, I think they’ll have an appreciation that they get the best of both worlds—being part of a big family part of the time while enjoying all the financial perks like vacations, swimming pools, and movies on the weekends while there and getting lots of individual attention, and the space and place to pursue their quieter creative interests here.  Could it be any better?

We need quiet time to examine our lives openly and honestly. . . spending quiet time alone gives your mind an opportunity to renew itself and create order. ~ Susan Tyler