Julie Pippert: Using My Words

I am driving in my car, with the windows down because it is a beautiful day and I don't care if the wind messes my hair. It is sunny and 60, my favorite. The sky is an even blue sheet above me, and the road is a blur below me. Lily Allen is singing "Smile" on my iPod and I do, because I am old enough to know it is complicated, how she means it, not ironic. That's what we do: we just smile. Plus it's a pleasant and light tune. I'm still in my workout clothes, fresh from the track and my laps. I sped along that track, relishing the fresh laid gravel, still damp from yesterday's rain, so the dust and pebbles didn't kick up so much. I circled past the sea twinkling back at the sun, over and over. I watched seagulls and pelicans fish the schools who risked the surface to catch some of that warm shine for themselves. The huge birds dove, scooped, then rose---the only white specks in the otherwise spotless sky. Triumphant, they tickled their full bellies alon...

One day, it seemed that the crisis was over, the disaster passed, even if the situation wasn't completely at an end. Blue tented roofs covered well-lighted houses that received phone calls once again, and where the people within made breakfast, squabbled about what to do for dinner, ran showers a little too long, and folded laundry while watching reality TV. The traffic lights no longer dangled into the streets, bigger than you imagine up close, and just one more obstacle to drive around. And though they still flashed, instead of running the red, yellow, green cycle we expect, flashing made everyone stop, instead of allowing some to pretend it meant a free for all where you never have to halt. The big government trailers and trucks still hogged the roads and parking lots, but there were fewer of them. As the public sector moved out, the private sector moved in. The big sailboat still leaned against the palm tree next to the hotel. I wondered if the owner had to drive by and see it ...

( Photo by Scott Peterson. ) Yesterday a good friend dropped by my house and said, "Come over for dinner later. I feel like cooking and having people over. Wear a swimsuit." "What can I bring?" I asked. "Anything you like. We're eating what makes us feel good," she said, "I already asked Friend and Other Friend. They're bringing side dishes and desserts." "So like an appetizer?" "Sure. Just come. I need to cook. I need to entertain." "Okay," I said. This friend's father passed away a couple of weeks ago. It was a surprise/not surprise. He'd been suffering strokes for years and---despite really effective treatment that not only prolonged his life, but also prolonged the quality of his life by minimizing the effects of the strokes---doctors had warned the family quite some time ago that the next big one would likely be fatal. So they knew that death loomed. When her father passed away, as her friend, I ...

Case in point...Jami Gertz then and now... Bret Easton Ellis' book Less than Zero exploded into our culture in 1986, earning him fame, a movie deal and shining a light on a generation and culture that revealed itself, through Ellis's words, as self-indulgent, pointless and degenerate. Or so the preceding generation presumed. As all preceding generations presume when watching the follies of the youths. The mid-80s brought a crackdown on the party lifestyle, just in time for me to hit the main party age. In 1984, I watched high school seniors vehemently protest two things: making the drug X illegal and enacting The National Minimum Drinking Age Act . Elders may have been impressed to finally see Gen X care about something passionately, but I'm sure they felt it was too bad that the inspiration was drugs and alcohol (very ironically, I am sure, in a fair number of self-righteous cases). Still, thanks to Nancy Reagan we learned to Just Say No and thanks to Tipper Gore we could...

We stood in the small exam room at the veterinary surgeon's office Friday morning as he explained the procedure he and our regular vet believed was the best course of action for our dog. I tried not to wince because the concept of how he does the surgery made me cringe inside, in empathy. It sounded a lot like how childbirth hurts during and after, only without the balm of the baby. The surgeon was a young, interesting man. Apparently our questions and perspectives were extremely revealing about the sort of people we are. He was intrigued, and shared how he and his wife believed similarly to us. We mentioned a change in lifestyle---which is either an understatement or euphemism, depending upon how you look at it---for us and the dog when we moved here. "We do a lot less outdoors now. Before we moved, we hiked, walked the beach, took trips to the mountains...just so much activity, pretty much every day, some sort of activity," we told him, "But here, not so much. We ...

Life is a study in discord, chaos and catastrophe right now. I have developed a habit of breaking things down, one by one, in my mind so that they don't seem overwhelming to my head. I have not mastered this skill for my heart. My heart murmurs quietly inside my chest, its demure speechlessness no match for the big voice of my mind. It's so easy to listen to directive and solid words, thought out loud or stuck inside to rattle around my skull. It's harder to stop and let the heart have its say, simply feel. I find myself flailing, crying out in a childish and needy voice, "Hear me, HEAR ME, I am lost in this mess, but it is my job to guide everyone out and clear it up." Except I do not use such precise and clear language. Instead, like my children, I focus on the minute and concrete, "What a mess! We need to tidy up the playroom!" "Who left these shoes in the center of the hall? They need to be in the shoe shelf!" "Markers and crayons nee...

Once upon a time I had a hellish job. I was harassed so egregiously that it earned me a large settlement check, three straight months off due to PTSD, and intensive therapy. My story was so compelling that the therapist turned it into a book, which is probably a movie produced by Quentin Tarantino now. That's how ghastly that job was. I am largely Over It in some respects---I can speak to men again and have managed to work in an office---but a small ugly, bitter part of me isn't fully past it and hopes to hades that karma has visited the perpetrators in dreadful covered-in-honey-on-an-anthill sort of way. I'm bloodthirsty like that at times. The worst thing about being abused and harassed and why people let it go on in many cases is because the perpetrator convinces you to convince yourself that it is all your fault. And I had. I am generally a fair and open-minded person with an over-developed sense of personal responsibility, thus I had convinced myself that I was somehow...

Today's post inspired by the Monday Mission . Dear Life, I have a few words of thanks for you today. It's been a real rush of life the last few weeks and well, I'm not sure I've paused to be grateful for enough. In fact, I'm not sure I've been able to process it all yet. But if I could, I'd like to take that moment now to process, be grateful and offer up my thanks for a few things: 1. AT&T Thanks to AT&T I've had no phone since Thursday. And they "think" they can get my service fixed by tonight. But it's not just down, it's crossed wires. This means that starting sometime late last week, my neighbors a few houses down began getting my calls and I began getting theirs. We hadn't actually gotten to know one another before Saturday, but now we know each other pretty well, I'd say. It also means that people who wanted to reach me actually had to come to my house and talk to me in person. I had more company on Sunday than I ...

Tip was smarter and Teddy was sweeter. They had heard it since a time before memory. Sweet and Smart or Smart and Sweet. Either way it should have been a name of a magazine for teenaged girls or a brand of hard candy or a sauce for crispy duck. The teachers in their elementary school said it when the boys were a grade apart. ... "Tip is one of the smartest little boys this school has ever seen," the teachers would confide when Doyle came in for conferences. "But Teddy is just so sweet." --- Ann Patchett, Run And, in so saving the most precious comment for the end---best for last--we reveal what we value most: sweet. The truth is, I think, that the majority have a taste for sweet, but fewer have a taste for smart. That's how I always knew my sister was better---because she was prettier and sweeter. Like Tip and Teddy, we were Smart and Sweet, Smart and Pretty. She had layers, outward assets. I was just smart. Smart got you in trouble. It made you ask questions th...

My husband's day on Friday began at 2:15 a.m. when the alarm went off. This means my day also began at 2:15 a.m. when he hit snooze and rolled over. The alarm went off at 2:16 a.m. and started its oh-so-pleasant escalation in volume, necessitating domestic violence on my part. It was less painful for my husband to turn off the alarm and get up, so he did. Then he drove out to his construction site for a 4 a.m. concrete pour (and don't call it cement, trust me on that one). This is what it looks like at a construction site at 4 a.m. You are thinking, "Wow, that is hands-down the most exciting photo I've ever seen on a blog!" I know. I'm all about the excitement. That's why I am going to ratchet it up a few notches with this: Oooh aaaah. UPC pipe. Have I dispelled the myth of the rich, glamorous life of an architect yet? 4 a.m. concrete pours and UPC pipe. Allegedly this concrete pour was scheduled to accommodate the girls' birthday. (I doubt that's ...

The other day, I visited Slouching Mom, one of my favorite bloggers. I know that bit isn't news to anyone who watches me trail her around, saying, "Ditto to Slouchy!" The news bit is that she was handing out an award , this one: I saw one to a "Julie" and although my heart surged, I didn't believe she meant me until I clicked the link and it went to my blog. LOL Thank you, Slouching Mom, for the honor! *********************************************************************************** When I got that award, it tickled a memory. Kellan gave me one recently too, which I haven't passed along. I'm not sure but this one probably needs passing along, too. There is certainly "deservedness" out there for both awards. However, for some reason, now simply doesn't feel like the right time to pass them along. It feels like I am waiting for something that is coming. Isn't that odd? As I contemplated these awards and the obligation I have to pay ...