Mom…
05/07/2011
It’s time to honor your mom. I’m lucky enough to still have mine…Rosalynn Piekanski. Roz to everyone. Rozzie when “wine coolers” are involved…her favorite beverage to order. I know. Endearing.
Even though more than 2,000 miles separate us and I can’t take her to breakfast, she knows how much she means to me. After all, I did send her a Dairy Queen gift card. Sounds silly, but I knew she’d love it and she did, and isn’t that all that matters? I’m certain Zales would disagree, but my mom and I both know that making someone smile doesn’t require Zales. It’s one of countless lessons she’s taught me.
My mom and I are very different in terms of our career choices, life paths, worldviews and personalities. Growing up, she’d say black and I’d say white. Without fail. These days, she says beige and I say khaki. I now find myself doing some of the things that made me insane when she did them. Drying splashes out of the stainless steel sink comes to mind. We’ve come a very long way, as many mothers and daughters do over a lifetime, and I feel so lucky to have her. She supports me in every way, even when we both know she would make “the other” decision. I’m grateful. She has taught me to be independent, be strong and be myself. Always. I carry this with me. They are the most important lessons. They apply every day.
Hallmark can’t come close to crafting a card that’s just right for my mom…beautiful…nurturing…resourceful…predictable in a lovable way…organized beyond words…fan of Train…lover of instructional manuals…extremely thoughtful…an exceptional grandma to my niece…cheerleader and #1 fan even when she has to research and learn what she’s cheering for when it comes to some of my interests…luckier in a casino than anyone I’ve ever met in real life or the movies (Rain Man excluded).
She also has hot legs! And damn can she dance!
So to my mom, a complex lady that I love deeply, I raise my Bartles & Jaymes exotic berry wine cooler to you. I miss you. Every. Day.
Love,
Tara
Just another Friday night
04/29/2011
“C’mon baby, don’t say maaaaybe. I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna saaaave me…”
The Eagles are on the radio. The wind is whipping through the courtyard. I’m in my lounge. My favorite place. My feet are propped on my white ottoman, colorful toenails smiling at me. My dogs are playing down the hall. My girl dog has taken to humping my boy dog. I find this hilarious. I’m enjoying fabulous Pinot Noir that my brother-in-law sent me from Oregon. I’ve decided I’m not dusting this weekend. My favorite gray sweater feels cozy and comforting in a springy way. My favorite lamp is dimly lit. I’m smiling at the electric guitar and amp that live in the corner. I will play it this weekend. I don’t know how to play it. It won’t matter. It will sound good to me, and if a non-guitarist plays guitar in a forest and no one is listening…did the non-guitarist really play the guitar anyway?
It’s been one of those weeks where the universe spoke to me, taught me lessons I didn’t know I needed to learn. I’ve reconnected with old friends…strengthened bonds with new ones…had laughs with my husband…heard from cousins I’ve never met in person…enjoyed unexpected surprises…dedicated myself to fun new projects…let my curly hair be curly…ate a whole box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts (with no regrets).
This is what happens when you clear your brain. Open yourself to ideas. Stop worrying. Start living. Really living.
Less is fabulous.
Life is just beachy
04/23/2011
I grew up on the beaches of Lake Erie. Beach volleyball, beach bonfires, beach bike rides and (gasp!) even beach fishing were among my activities. I bought economy size baby oil, not because I had a baby, but because it produced a killer tan. Yet, I’ve never considered myself a beach person. Maybe because in my mind “beach people” were only in the cast of Baywatch. I’ve since learned that’s not true, and that I could definitely enjoy life as a beach person…
Day 1:
It’s spring break. I’m not a wild college girl or a Clark County School District student. So what am I doing in Oceanside, California on a Wednesday night at 11 p.m., chilled out on a balcony, beach towel wrapped around my legs, ocean 40 yards away, overlooking the lush grounds of North Coast Village with a salty sea breeze blowing through my turned-curly-upon-arrival hair? Did I mention I’m sipping Corona? My biggest concern…should I run north or south on the beach at sunrise? Life is exceptionally exceptional at the moment.
I had no intention of blogging about my little three-night California adventure with my friend and her 8-year-old daughter. Wasn’t even going to throw my laptop in my duffel. Flies in the face of minimalist packing. Turns out, my traveling companions hit the hay early and I couldn’t resist packing my computer. What’s a lonely girl with a Mac and an imagination to do but blog about it?
So here I sit, reflecting on the past 12 hours and anticipating my date with Shamu tomorrow. Here’s what’s struck me since arriving in my next-door-neighbor state…
- When a 5-hour car ride flies by and your throat hurts, you know you have yourself a great friend.
- Why do I want to wash off my makeup the minute I get to California?
- It’s okay to be as excited as a 5-year-old on Christmas Eve when you get to your oceanfront condo. You can even jump up and down a little.
- Sometimes you just have to eat three huge slices of pizza (and wash them down with bread sticks).
- Walking in the waves under the moon…in a category of amazingness unto itself.
Day 2:
Something about California just makes you relax your shoulders and want to get blond highlights. It also makes you want to write exclusively in bullet points…
- Getting up before sunrise, running six miles in the surf and throwing rocks in the waves…nirvana.
- Shopping at Pappy’s market and checking out with Pauly is as fun as it sounds.
- Did I miss my calling as a killer whale trainer? Shumu rocks.
- Why is cooking dinner in a beach condo kitchen so much more fun than cooking in my own?
- When your 8-year-old travel mate asks you to perform (that is, type as fast as you can with no errors) again and again…and she giggles hysterically…you know you’re officially buddies.
Day 3:
I could get used to this. Life is just easier and breezier by the ocean. Paragraphs are so overrated…dude.
- Makeup, shmakeup.
- Surfers really are cool. So are bait shop owners.
- When you run past cadets and they scream “Good morning, ma’am…” you know it’s going to be a good day. (I know they’re trained like dogs to say that to every “ma’am.” Indulge me, would you!)
- It’s hard not to collect rocks.
- The best days require no car.
- Remember when Monica’s hair went wild in Barbados? That really happens.
- Best bud Donna drove up from San Diego for coffee. Friend Marji drove over from Vista to chat on the balcony. Getting visitors on vacation is excellent.
- While my travel mate made a grocery run, I nervously watched her daughter at the ocean. She began burying herself in sand. I highly encouraged it and readily assisted to keep her in one place. It only seems wrong now.
- I wouldn’t mind starring in a Corona commercial.
- It’s after 11 and I’m on the balcony…should I sleep here? If I crack the screen door I’ll still be able to hear the ocean when I lay down on the couch. Good night…
- Humidity, I will miss you…you made 24 miles of beach running feel effortless.
- I haven’t seen any in Oceanside, but I’m pretty sure the cows in California really are happy.
- When you start thinking about the emotional state of cows, you know it’s’ time to pack your beach bag and head home…
Something about this vacation changed me a little bit.
For the better.
I’ll be back.
When fun trumps fashion
04/15/2011
To buy a Wonder Woman swimsuit or not to buy a Wonder Woman swimsuit, that is the question.
I stumbled upon this rare find while browsing swimoutlet.com for a sporty Nike tankini. (Fellas, that’s a bikini minus the itsy bitsy). After nothing met my criteria…practical, classy, simple, preferably black, sans doo-dads and swimmable…I ventured into one-piece options. Poor one pieces. They’re so underrated. Personally, I’m a fan. Two pieces have their place in the universe of swimwear, but they’re predictable. Expected. That settled it. I would remain the one-piece poster girl.
And then it appeared. The Splish brand “Awesome Girl” swimsuit, complete with a lightening bolt. Images of Lynda Carter popped into my head. I had flashbacks of the Wonder Woman Underoos I adored as a 5-year old—crying when they were in the washer. I found my suit! I smiled. Wider than I should have at a computer screen.
No no no no no no no no no. This is not a suit Tara Maras would buy. This meets none of the criteria on this nicely organized list of criteria sitting next to my computer. None. This is ridiculous. Absurd. Bright. Lightening bolty. Loud. Unprofessional. Impractical. Wonder Womanish.
But I love it.
No no no no no no no no no. I don’t live in Venice Beach. I don’t perform in “O.”I don’t know how I feel about stars on my butt. I don’t have the accessories (indestructible bracelet, red boots). I’m not proficient in hand-to-hand combat and the art of tactical warfare. I don’t even have a swimming pool. Is this my mid-life crisis?
But I still love it.
So I made a deal with myself. If after 24 hours I still had the burning need to own this suit of wonder, I would buy it. Then it would be a well-thought-out, non-impulsive, practical purchase. Right? Right.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The 24-hour mark arrived. I pointed, clicked and submitted my order.
But it will never fit. No way. Not a chance of ordering a swimsuit online and having it fit. No problem. I’ll just return it and the fun will be over. Whew, glad I have an out.
Of course, you can guess how the story ends. It arrived. It fit perfectly. I’m wearing it as I type. (Not really…). I’ve decided this is swimoutlet.com’s way of telling me that it’s okay to have a little fun…be a little impractical…that less doesn’t always have to be fabulous. Okay swimoutlet.com. Just this once.
Now, about that pool…
Red, white and voting blues
04/05/2011
Less is fabulous, except when it comes to the number of people sporting “I voted” stickers.
I just voted in today’s municipal primary election. The big-deal race: Las Vegas mayor. The even bigger deal: it’s the race to succeed term-limited Mayor Oscar Goodman, the self-proclaimed happiest mayor in the universe. Add to that the fact that his wife, Carolyn Goodman, is running against some other strong candidates, and you’ve got yourself interesting hometown hype.
When I walked into Arbor View High School to handle my civic responsibility, the volunteers practically high-fived me. Hooray! A customer! Being the inquisitive type, I asked if it was busy earlier. They agreed that it was a “little busier” (so three people?), but seeing page after page of empty signature lines in the roster didn’t exactly confirm things.
Pathetic is the word that came to mind. When I lived in Erie, Pennsylvania, where it snows from Labor Day to Easter, the weather was always a worthy excuse. But this is Vegas, baby. The sun blinded me as I exited. My car’s thermometer read 81 degrees. Nope. Not the weather.
I dig the stars and stripes. I like voting. It gives a person the right to applaud or condemn elected officials’ decisions. It’s a cool privilege, and being in the marketing and public relations profession, I know how much cash the candidates – even the highly unlikely hopefuls – pour into advertising. Even if I’m not passionate about platforms, I at least feel like I owe ‘em one so they can see a little ROI, win or lose. But then, I’m also the person who responds to Banana Republic and Fresh & Easy surveys because I feel sorry for the marketing director who had to convince a higher up that it was worth the bucks to conduct.
I’m not the super political type. I don’t care who you vote for just as much as you don’t care who I vote for. Everything I could possibly write about low voter turnout has been written before. It’s certainly not the first time I’ve been solo in Arbor View’s gym. But today I felt like sharing my two cents. Lucky for me, I have this blog and freedom of speech. So, before I get too preachy or keep you from getting to your polling place, I’ll sign off.
(P.S. Ladies, wouldn’t it be fantastic if they gave us those red, white and blue shoes instead of “I voted” stickers? Turnout would be through the roof.)
