Douglas Buchman

You must, simply must, check out this guy's watercolors. Just amazing.

Today's the Day!

Hoorah!! Doug starts his new job today. Yippee! Happy dancin' all over the place.

Book Season, Like Tax Season

If you have anything to do with book design, editing or publishing, this is the busiest time of the year. BookExpo is on the horizon and every book that has been put on the back burner by publishers all year long suddenly HAS to be finished for galleys in the next three days.

I’ve gotten about 12 hours sleep in the last 72 hours, which IS NOT ENOUGH! And yes, I am up now, Saturday morning at 4:00am, because after catching a couple of hours of rest, I’ve got to get back at it.

The good news is, the book I’ve been editing, which BTW happens to be one of the funniest, most heartwarming, well-written books I’ve ever read, is just about finished. It’ll go to galley next week and we’ll take it to BEA in June. And that is very exciting.

Also on deck for today is design and layout of a poetry book entitled She, with some amazing artwork in it. And an etiquette book written for men. That one oughta be interesting, I have only skimmed through it, but so far it looks like something maybe everyone could use.

There is no excuse for scoffing food into your mouth (with or without a fork), talking with your mouth open, and smacking like a hog, hunching over your food, pawing your utensils, and dripping sauce down your chin. Get the picture? Knuckle draggers are an embarrassment.

I’m looking forward to this one. I’ll probably be laughing hysterically through the whole thing. And keeping a list of everyone I’m going to give it to for Christmas.

Holy mackerel!

Well, I guess I will eat my words from earlier today. I poked a little fun at my horoscope, but now take great delight in the fact that I have indeed been brought something I've been waiting and wishing for. Doug has been offered a new design position. This is something we've been waiting, wishing, praying, begging, pleading, pining for.

So whatever is working in our favor, unlikely planets or otherwise, I thank heaven for this blessing.

Monthly Organization

Once a month--along with being a raving b___h--I organize every nook and cranny of our house. It isn't ever necessarily the same number of days each month, and it ends very abruptly, but during this lunar cycle, I get more done than ten people in a given day.

This month's projects so far have been to organize my computer files and install a new wireless router; update six months worth of photos in the photo albums (complete with writing names and dates on the back of all of them); update filing; organize kid's videos and DVDs; finish all the projects I've been working on so that now I am sitting and waiting for my clients and every project I have; work on family history and laying out a family tree; started a workout and diet program; and reorganize the fridge and pantry. This since yesterday morning, not twenty-four hours ago.

BUT, as Doug will tell you, it is imperative that you play along with my organizational whirlwind, stay out of my way and participate in anyway I ask you to--or all hell breaks loose.

It's fun for my family.

One Thing Resolved

Yesterday I resolved an unresolved emotion--how about that! A good, good, dear friend of mine and I have been out of touch. Turns out for no good reason, but me with my various insecurities and paranoias had determined we had a falling out. About what? Who the hell knows.

I got an email from my friend Joe, with a synopsis of what's been happening with him for the last six months and we are now officially back in touch. Funny how I had turned it into something it wasn't. I wonder how easily some of my other unresolved emotion-stuff could be resolved.

Anyway, Joe and I have been friends since the eighties. He is like a brother to me. He is smart and funny and talented, one of my very favorite people. And I missed the hell out of him.

The day Doug proposed to me he said, "Do you want me to ask Joe to be in our wedding?" Two things about that: first, how sweet it was of Doug, knowing that as an only child, Joe was the closest male friend/closest thing to a brother I had, and acknowledging that. Second, Joe was in our wedding, so that tells you, yes, we were very good friends.

Joe lives in LA and is one of the busiest people I know. He's got lots of friends and lots of business-stuff to do all the time, and me, I've got kids and nothing but kid stuff to do all the time--so we don't connect as much anymore. But that doesn't change how much I love him and how happy I am to have him in my life.

Horoscopes

I don't really believe in them, but it appears on my home page every morning and I usually read it. If it's good, I attempt to make my day fit suit, if it's not good, I ignore it. Today's:

Capricorn
You've been thinking that things are going so well that they couldn't possibly be any better. Well, guess what? As of today, and for the next month, too, things are going to get better. Much better. You've got nothing but helpful planetary ambassadors circulating above you, and they're all planning to bring you exactly what you've been waiting and wishing for. Congrats!

Wow. Goody!

Beck

I didn't think we would have more than one child. In fact, I was so sure Frank would be an only child, I was in a newspaper article about parents of only children.

I had a really difficult pregnancy with Frank and had to be hospitalized for most of it. I was on TPN and very, very sick.

A couple of months after Frank was born, Doug and I discussed adoption, which he was strongly opposed to; surrogacy, which was a possibility; and having another child naturally, which neither of us thought was a good idea. I told Doug I felt as though there was someone missing, that there should be a fourth member of our family. I couldn't explain it, but I felt it.

A friend of mine considered carrying a baby for us, but decided against it. We were concerned about the overall expense of surrogacy anyway and the idea just seemed to fade with time. Periodically Frank would tell me that he was going to have a little brother or sister and I would gently explain that he wasn't. And he would say, "Yeah I am Mama. You'll see, he's coming." My heart would break each time.

The summer of 2003, we were on vacation, going to Canada Lake for my fortieth birthday, and I wasn't feeling well. I remember telling a couple of people before we left that I couldn't believe I was getting the flu right before a trip. We spent a couple of days in Pennsylvania with Doug's parents and I woke up each morning feeling like hell. By the afternoon I was okay. The third day it finally dawned on me, I told Doug, we made a mad dash for the pharmacy, and sure enough, I was pregnant.

There was some familial opposition to the pregnancy, but after much soul-searching while basking in the sun on the dock of our Canada Lake camp, I decided I was going to have this baby no matter what.

For the first four months, I wasn't sick, then it set in, and I ended up in and out of the hospital, blood transfusions and on an IV at home. All in all better than with Frank since I didn't have to stay in the hospital for weeks on end.

Beckett Slade Buchman was born a month early, but healthy as a horse. He is the missing piece of our puzzle, the one who makes our family complete. Our unexpected, but greatest source of joy. Frank is the best big brother there could be. He's compassionate and caring, protecting and nurturing. Remember, he knew Beckett was coming before we did, and he takes great care of him.

I pay close attention to every minute with Beckett. I didn't think I would hold a baby of my own in my arms again. I didn't think I would experience the absolute joy of rocking a newborn to sleep, seeing my child take his first step or hearing him say his first word.

Beckett, like Frank, is a gift from God.

Important Decision

I've made a very tough, but very important decision. There is a person in my life who I have referred to in my mind as a friend. And they are not. I serve a purpose and when not needed, am cast aside until the next need surfaces. The moments of insecurity and therefore communication can be timed like clockwork.

After reflecting on my resolve to stop putting energy into people who cause me unhappiness rather than putting energy into people I love and love me, it is abundantly clear that this relationship does not fall under my friendship guideline. The unhappiness so far outweighs the happiness, the scale has tipped over.

It was very sad today that CJ noticed how I was affected and gave me the advice to walk away, quietly. You'd think I'd be older, and wiser, and smarter, and all that. But I'm not.

It will be a little hard for me. But the nail in the coffin? It'll probably be years before this person notices I'm gone.

It'll be just as quiet when I leave as it was when I got here.

Oma and Daddy

My grandparents, who I knew as Oma and Daddy, raised me. Oma is German for grandma, and I called my grandfather “Daddy” because when I started to talk it is what I shortened Grandaddy to, and it stuck. Even as an adult I called him Daddy, because it was never meant to be “Dad.” That would’ve been weird, as if Daddy weren’t weird enough. Given the very, very small town I was raised in, and the amount of gossip that was spread on our party line, I would imagine there were times our family was the main subject.

Daddy was the Fire Chief at Bethlehem Steel until I was about five. Always ambitious, he did painting and wall-papering on the side, and more after he retired from the steel plant. Later he would say he was an “interior decorator.” Here was this 5'2" bald man, with bow legs and a nose the size of Jimmy Durante’s, big strong hands rough from working “down in the cellar” or “out in the garden,” fingers crooked with arthritis—not the typical image of an interior decorator. But he was very proud of all he did.

One day, as an adult, I was driving home from the city on Seneca Street. There was a terrible accident, a fatality. Seneca Street was backed up for miles. In front of me was a big, black Mercedes, not a car regularly seen in Elma, New York. The license plate frame said, “Buffalo Sabres.” We sat in our cars for awhile, then bored, both the driver of the Mercedes and I got out and started a conversation. Turns out it was Seymour Knox. The Knox family owned the Buffalo Sabres, Marine Midland Bank and had been in partnership in a five-and-dime called Woolworths. (Seymour H. Knox was Woolworth's first cousin). They were the wealthiest, and most talked about family in East Aurora since Elbert Hubbard.

I told Mr. Knox who I was and he recognized my name. When he was a boy, my grandfather would be at the Knox estate almost year-round, painting or wall-papering one of the houses. Mr. Knox said he remembered three things in particular about my grandfather. One, his perfectly bald, shiny head. Two, that his aunt would give my grandfather pieces of broken china, or a petal of a flower, or a tiny snip of fabric, and ask him to match the color. He believed his aunt probably saw it as a game and enjoyed the challenge of seeing how close Frank Slade always got matching paint to the precise color she was looking for. By the time he finished one room she had a new color sample ready for him to repaint the room he had finished six months prior. The last was that my grandfather always shared his lunch with him. And he had given young Seymour his very first taste of an orange. Ironic.

Mr. Knox asked me to remember him to my grandfather. When I finally made it home, Daddy and I sat at the dining room table for hours while he reminisced about the Knoxes and the crazy things he saw take place on their estate.

My grandmother, born Irma Louise Marks, was a pillar of Elma society. Her mother was Alice Irene Allen—and the Allen family was one of the town’s founding families. Henry Allen, an author of several books, traced the family back to the mid-1500s in England. I have a 200-page document outlining the Allen family history through to my generation.

Daddy’s family, the Schiefersteins, came to Elma in 1848 from Hesse-Darmstadt. Sometime between 1900 and 1910, the family name changed from Schieferstein, meaning "slatestone," to Slade. I've been told it had something to do with the name being too long for the railroad payroll registers. The Shiefersteins ran a saw mill along Buffalo Creek, were the proprietors of the general store and worked for the railroad. (I wonder where both Daddy and I got our ambition.) They also founded and built St. John’s Lutheran Church on Woodard Road. The Shieferstein monument remains the tallest and grandest in the cemetary. Many of the stained glass windows that run along the side of the traditional white church, complete with a tall, white steeple, have the names of my ancestors in a pane near the bottom.

Daddy's mother, Minnie, nee Bommer, was the daughter of Adam and Christine Bommer. Adam and Christine came to America on the ship Adler from the port Bremen in 1862. According to the manifest, they were not married, yet their first son, John, was born in 1862 as well. (That's pretty interesting...) They were also from Hesse-Darmstadt, and as of 1870 were settled in Elma, but I have yet to find a connection between the Schiefersteins and Bommers prior to 1888 when Minnie married Frank Slade (my great-grandfather).

Oma and Daddy went to school together, first in a one-room schoolhouse in Elma and then they took the train to East Aurora for high school. I have a composition book of my grandmother’s. She asked her friends and family a series of questions and one of the entries was from my grandfather, Frankie Slade. My guess is they were eleven or twelve at the time, and already smitten with each other. In 1925, my grandfather was twenty, my grandmother eighteen; she went to watch him play baseball; he was pitching and took a direct hit in the stomach by a ball at close range. He had to have his spleen removed. Oma said the doctor didn’t think Daddy was going to live and so, “just threw him back together.” They were married the next day. Everyone said she was crazy since she would be a widow by the end of the week. They were married almost sixty years when she died of cancer. He went on to live another eleven. In fact, he outlived most of my grandmother’s sisters’ husbands. I think Oma always got a kick out of that.

Canada Lake: The Introduction

When I was growing up, my grandparents had a camp on Canada Lake* in the southern Adirondacks. Every summer we would pack up the station wagon and head “up to the mountains” for a couple of months. Most years my grandmother’s sister, my Aunt Dorothy and her husband, Uncle Ed, would come with us. There were other relatives or friends who would come and stay for a few days here and there, and when I got older, I always brought a cousin or friend with me.

Our camp was on the channel. It had a dock, motor boat, canoe and sailboat. It did not have a telephone, television, mail delivery or hot running water. This is where I learned to swim, sail, waterski, paddle a canoe, explore, fish, catch salamanders, build forts, gamble, find beaver dams, love water lilies . . . and kiss. It was a magical place and a magical time of my life.

When I close my eyes I can see the sun shining on the lake, looking out over London Bridge. I can picture the local hermit, “Old Geoff,” who would walk down from some cabin hidden on Keane Mountain swinging his kettle as he went on his way to collect wild blueberries. I can hear my Uncle Ed whistling as he walked down to the water, collected some in his tiny bucket and washed his car. And then later, he would fall asleep and and we would all giggle as we looked out the window to see and hear him snoring.

I can hear Wanda and Walt’s bassett hounds howling at noon when the siren would go off at the volunteer fire department. And at the end of the day, the sound of Chink Arnst’s garbage truck coming over the bridge—which meant the fun would really start!

To say Chink was a character would be a vast understatement. He was my grandfather’s very best friend and a very big part of my childhood. I would imagine today I would find Chink a little scary. He was a heavy drinker, lifelong bachelor, had a horrible, loud smoker’s hack and drove a garbage truck. He was over six feet tall, and weighed about 110 pounds. I heard stories through the years that I was afraid of Chink until his mother’s funeral, at which I broke away from my grandmother, ran up to the front, stood next to Chink, and held his hand as tears poured down his cheeks. I was three. And I wouldn’t leave his side for the rest of the day. From then on, Chink was my pal.

I’ve also heard stories that he would calm me when I was teething by rubbing whiskey on my gums. My grandmother said she would cringe as she watched him, not because of the whiskey, but because she wasn’t sure how long it had been since he washed his hands. Which goes to show you two things. First, a little dirt didn’t kill me. Second, what a deep respect my grandmother had for people. She knew if she scolded this seventy-year-old man who was holding a baby in his arms for probably the first time in his life, she would humiliate him, and he would likely never try to care for or hold me again. I learned a great deal from my grandmother, my Oma.

to be continued . . .

*If you go to the Canada Lake website, the lower photo is of the channel and shows London Bridge. The boat with the red canvas cover is parked at "our" dock.


Chink, Oma and me, on the bulldozer, building our camp.


View of our camp from across the channel.


Sittin’ on the dock with Aunt Dorothy, (me), Oma and Uncle Ed.


C’est moineau (circa 1968).


First catch.


Chink’s birthday (circa 1973).

The Tough Books

I’m working on one now, a book that is just so hard from me to get through. Ugh. It’s a memoir basically, about a family that experienced hardships and tragedy I cannot fathom.

I read every book I design, but some are sooo hard to get through. I found myself nauseous reading part of it; it is so tragic, it made me physically ill. I’ve found I have a particularly hard time reading about any tragedy involving children, or sexual abuse of a child, or abandonment. My mind wanders to my own children and the overwhelming instinct to protect them from any and all harm takes over. I start imagining the horror of what my unexpected death would do to them and what it would mean for their lives. And I could go on, and on, and on. Which is why I don’t choose to read this type of book. I will undoubtedly have nightmares tonight.

I’m only halfway through. I look everywhere for distraction and for some sort of comfort to help me carry on.

Frankisms

Last week, or the week before (time flies past me at rocket speed), the day the pope died, Frank was playing but stopped to watch some of the coverage on the news. The crowd in Rome was mixed, but some people were crying. This perplexed him. He came to me and said (excitedly), “Today is his happiest day ever! He gets to go to heaven!” Whatever forces are working to make my son so sensitive and always-looking-for-the-silver-lining and just downright sweet, I thank them.

Yesterday I asked him to make a birthday card for our pastor since we were going to be having dinner with him. He was very concerned he get it right and at first was hesitant and he said, “Mama, I don’t know how to make a birthday card for a pastor.” I reassured him and Doug helped him. Before we left he came up to me and whispered, “Pastor H. is my favorite, but please don’t tell Pastor S. that.”

What a Day. What a Weekend.

My wonderful weekend continued. I went to the early, traditional service at church by myself. It was a nice service. Came home and we went to Irvine Park for the day. We rode bikes and played on the grass in the sun and talked and just had a nice family day.

Tonight we had dinner with some friends. We made plans for dinner quite some time ago, and I hadn't thought about it much. Funny how things you really build up can be a let down and the things you don't think about can turn out to be magic. This was one of those nights for me, pure magic. The food was amazing, and we've all decided Craig should give cooking lessons. And then, the mix of people was really ideal. Lively intelligent banter. Smart, funny, interesting people. I found out more about them tonight that made my admiration grow ten-fold. Isn't it wonderful, after an evening spent with friends, to appreciate your friendship that much more? I wouldn't have changed a thing.

I gave one of the other guests a birthday gift of Food for Talk, (packaging design I did, but more importantly a fantastic product that I cannot recommend highly enough to anyone especially families). He pulled out one of the cards and the question was, "Describe your day using a color; what color was it and why." Everyone had such great answers and, again, what a wonderful way to learn more about people I was already so fond of. The thing that probably struck me the most, and it was on the way home: I spent these hours amidst and among great conversationalists, enjoyed lots of spontaneous laughter and experienced real fellowship.

What more could a girl ask for in a weekend?

Quote for April 9th

I love Beckett, which is why my son is named for him. I've taken slight literary license so this quote reads more closely to what I'm feeling today.

Where I am, I don't know, I'll never know—in the silence you don't know. You must go on. I can't go on. I'll go on.
—Samuel Beckett

In Case I Forget

I'm pretty good at remembering when Doug does something to irritate me, but not so good at remembering how great he can be.

We had an incredible morning, let's just say I'm tension-free today. Was it the restaurant last night? Probably not, we're regulars and I don't think we ordered anything new, although we did have a different sushi chef (hmmm ...); maybe it was the tea he bought at the Japanese market, I think I'll find out what it was and buy him a case of it.

Then (funny how they're like this) he made everyone veggie omelets for breakfast ... and this was all WITH a little league game at 9:00am. Then he volunteered to go to Costco (no really, he volunteered), and now he's watching the boys "to give me time to relax."

The planets must be aligned exactly in my favor ... or something. I wouldn't complain one bit if the rest of the weekend was like this. So if you bump into me and I'm smiling and even humming, I guess you'll know why.

Angst

I didn't write anything last night because I'm trying to be mindful of not making this a negative arena for me. When I read back on things I've written I would rather be reminded of positive things happening in my life rather than client and/or friend and/or family angst.

It's been a tough couple of days and I'm sure it will even out, always does.

I had to drive to my mother's this morning for something, an hour there, an hour back. I listened to Rachael Yamagata the whole time. Even though she was reviewed in People magazine a while back (significance is circulation), she still isn't taking off popularity- and recognition-wise the way I had expected she would. I saw her at the El Rey a few months back, and while I don't care for the El Rey as a venue, I'd see her live again anywhere she performs, she's so damn good.

Yep. Magic.

As a mother of a 13-1/2 month old and lover of anything well-written— especially with humor—I was thrilled to read Liz's post referring to Heather B. Armstrong's "monthly newsletter." I'm filled with inspiration, envy, and lots (and lots) of appreciation. When I grow up ... or if I had three wishes I'd wish for:

1. This kind of ability to communicate through writing
2. This brand of wit and sense of humor
3. The mindfulness to pay attention (every single day), and remember, this magical, priceless, God-given gift of time with my two precious beautiful boys.

Connections

I was having a conversation with someone about spirituality a couple of weeks ago. He asked if I ever feel so connected to people around me that it is like there is no separation between us. And I do, and maybe I think I feel that more than other people do, and maybe I feel a connection that other people simply don't feel with me.

Do you have those friends where you start to say or do something at the same time? Or, there is something you feel you need to say, and hesitate, but say it anyway, and then find out they were going to say the same thing?

This happened tonight. I needed to tell an author I was concerned about the title of her book, only it wasn't really that simple. My timing was horrible and I ended up upsetting her, and then over-explaining that more often than not, I was wrong. And subsequently not to base any decision on what I said without getting a lot of other opinions. Fifteen minutes after she left the phone rang. It was her. She had thrown her hands up in the air (figuratively, she was driving), then, starting with the "so if you really exist" question, she challenged God to make it clear to her what she should do. And then she thought about things in the book she really liked. And it popped into her head, the title she had previously considered, but decided against. So she called me. Sure enough, it's perfect. Absolutely perfect. So much better than the other title, it says what the book is about and it also tells everything about how the book is written. It's just perfect.

Then followed a conversation about how she knew, and I knew, and how funny it was that so many things happened this way with the book. Whenever I struggled to tell her something, she would tell me it was something she wasn't happy with either. This happens about a hundred times on a day we're working together. It's such a great thing.

AND THEN, there are other people who think they have a connection with you, or you with them ... and you simply don't. Really tough. Because I'm not the kind of person who can fake it. I know I can't sound sincere, so I don't even try. Or, when the other person says something about "your great connection," you think they can't possibly be sincere, because you don't feel a "great connection" at all. Hard to know how to handle it when it happens.

Quote for April 4th

A friend is one who sees through you and still enjoys the view.
— Wilma Askinas

At my age, which isn't really all that old, considering I heard the other day that seventy is the new fifty ... anyway, when I turned forty I decided I was DONE with anyone who brought more unhappiness to my life than happiness. And that I was going to stop spending energy on, and time with, people I don't like so I had more time to be with people I do like. Isn't it sad it took me until forty to figure it out?

The good news is, I did. And the better news is, I've got lots of GREAT friends, who I love to pieces, who see through me and still enjoy the view.

The Happy Dance

I've been very perplexed by the possibility we would lose CJ over the summer as "manny" to our two boys. His girlfriend, and our first nanny, is off school in the summer and anxious to get back to her full-time status, which leaves CJ with no hours.

As it turns out, Janel has been offered a job doing wedding coordination for the company her mom works for. Her dilemma? Telling me she wants to try it for the summer, without hurting my feelings. My dilemma? Not acting too happy that CJ will be staying with us for the summer, and subsequently hurting her feelings.

Honestly it isn't that I don't love Janel, I do. She's the best nanny we've ever had. But, CJ is great. He will be so good for my boys. He's athletic, coaches sports and is the all-around best male role model I can imagine my sons having with the exception of their father.

I'm secretly doing a happy dance ...

My Three Men

They're not really mine. Well one is, sort-of—in the sense I'm married to him. The other two are just men I talk to on a fairly regular basis, almost daily. One is my sons' manny (as he likes to call himself, our male-nanny), the third is a dear friend. What makes this remotely interesting, to me anyway is, the manny is twenty-four, my husband is forty-three, and my dear friend is seventy-two.

I can tell you, if by happenstance, I have a conversation with each of them about the same topic on the same day ... it is simply fascinating to get each of their perspectives. Funny how sometimes its the twenty-four-year-old who has the most conservative views; and also seems to be the most protective of my feelings (how sweet.)

If you add my five-year-old into the mix, I've got four generations covered. If I need the opinion of a man, on any given topic, I can get three or four. I could write a book.