On Having a Life--Monaco, a New Jersey preschool, Vegas, my whereabouts this past month

I once wrote a piece for no one's eyes but my own--this was pre-blog era, so there really was nowhere to post this thing--called "The Editor". I didn't know why I wrote the piece at the time; looking back I think I was feeling frustrated as a writer who wasn't able to run with the bulls and then jot down the experience over shots of whiskey; my most fruitful writing experiences didn't align with times when I was most physically able to write.

This year has reeked of that same alienation. A lot has happened this year--a lot that I could make more sense of if I just had the opportunity to mull them over on Pause. But I've had to settle for scraps of time, and knowing that I was writing in shortcuts, not fully fleshing out much of anything. Getting notes of support back from the community has been on the one hand incredibly gratifying, and on the other incredibly sad. I know that if we spoke on the phone, they would sound a lot like my mother, who supports my adventures and wishes I was blogging again at the same time.

In "The Editor" I took an Elizabeth Barrett Browning approach to my monologue, revealing underlying, contrary truths behind the words of my character. If I could find the damn thing I would include it here, but extracting the concepts from memory, I chided the editor, who was very self-important, had worked for all of the right people and had access to the stories of many famous people, but at the end of the day had no experiences of her own to share. Some of the best editors I've ever known, in fact, share this same even-keelness;they are boring to the core. And for years I aspired to being boring and find the best subjects that I could make more interesting. It sounds like the ultimate in selflessness, but I assure you it wasn't. It was a form of profit from others' fine acts.

In the essay I reveal the truth behind the editor, that in remaining in her rather privileged place, she was avoiding the muck of real life that would make her great--a writer, rather than an editor; or even better, a subject worth writing about.

In my business life, I help to support over 1,000 women bloggers by connecting them with brands that would be an advertising fit on their blogs. And in the process I've become active--a subject, so to speak--and yet the grass is always greener no? I do not have the access to the time I used to have to write about the trips, the people, the new thinking I come across. I've thought a lot about this, and I will aspire to change that and share more. But in grappling with the best ways of effectively managing it all, I cannot promise to yet.

So just what the hell have I been up to? The past month I've been to Chicago to keynote the Marketing to Moms Conference, shared thoughts on entrepreneurism at Ladies Who Launch, traveled to the East Coast twice for meetings, Las Vegas to present at BlogWorld, and to Monte Carlo for the Monaco Media Forum. Some of this sounds rather glamorous, and if it were someone else doing the traveling it might be. Bus since I'm the one traveling, and I see things in terms of absurdities, it wasn't. It just simply was a month's work.

Some highlights (or lowlights, depending on how you see the world):

--New Jersey: Picking up my niece and nephew from Daycare. Yes, an advantage of being in New York is staying with my sister, Julie, and her brood. This is where I get my dose of nuclear family living. I offer to do things here and there, and though my sister and brother-in-law are thankful, they are unaware of the pleasure I derive from "having to" pick up the kids. It was Halloween, and it seemed Manhattan shut down after 2. Parents headed home early to see the chillens in their costumes.

My niece and nephew, Bella and Bastian, were dressed up as Ariel (from The Little Mermaid) and the devil, repectively. Their daycare had organized a parade around the building. How fun, having people think I was my sister (we're identical twins) and observing these little humans walk trance-like around the building. Bella needed physical intervention before stopping, her little Mermaid bra-shells dropping lower and lower down her chest every lap.

Bella still has some challenge with the letter "R".

"Come see my friends Ant-Jah-ee!" she yelled to me. "Come see me dance!" Having spent little time around so many small kids at once I stood there pensively, wondering if I was supposed to join Bella and her friends in their little rave on what I assume was the designated dance floor--a scrap of carpet the kids gravitated toward and started jumping on.

"Diss is Mo-gan!" Morgan, I could tell, would be rolling her eyes if she were seven. But she was only one year older than Bella--five.

"She's got a thing for the older kids," Julie explained to me earlier, "though they really don't want much to do with her."

Bastian, 20 months old and temporarily mistaking me for his mother, clung to my leg, a dripping juicebox in one hand, showing off his vocabulary: "Maaaaaaaaaaaah!"

--Manning the door for Halloween in my sister's suburban neighborhood. "You go take the kids out," I said. "I'll answer the door." I had work to do and thought that this was the most active way to multi-task. Having no kids of my own and never living in neighborhoods conducive to heavy trick-or-treating, I found myself surprised with the way it goes down these days: Kids don't ask any more--they take.

I stood there, holding the bowl of candy, waiting, then realizing I wouldn't get to hear "Trick or treat." Then lowering the bowl and watching the pack descend, I fruitlessly insisted, "only one please!"

"Why don't you just leave the bowl out on the porch!" one kid yelled.

"I want to see your adorable costumes!"  I said.

Then, a few treaters later, a parent asked me the same question, and I wondered if there wasn't an efficiency that now played a role in this tradition. None of the kids' costumes were homemade, I noticed. No one had the time to make them? And apparently I'm not meant to slow down the candy acquisition process by monitoring intake, or even creating an impediment like requiring kids to knock.

"There's a lot of competition," Julie told me, when she returned with the kids. Some houses have better candy than others."

I noticed a proliferation of Almond Joys in our bowl. They don't go over like they used to.

--Going to Monaco. I had to remind my team several times, "I'm not going to MOROCCO; I'm going to MONACO." Which is similar in effect to saying, "I'm going to heaven on earth." It seems as such, even from the air, as you descend from the snowy tops of the Italian Alps and land in a place where Hondas and Pontiacs are replaced with Lambourghinis and Ferraris.

"Are these on display?" I asked, rather ignorantly, when I got to the hotel and saw a fleet of them in the front lot.

I must confess, while my hotel room was perhaps the nicest I've ever stayed in, I was less impressed with my access to it.

"Your woom will be weady at tree p.m., Mademoiselle Des Jardins."

"Yes, but it's 11 a.m. now. I've just spent the last 24 hours traveling. Could I check in early?"

"I'm sorry, that will not be posseeble."

Understand that I am standing at the check-in desk at the Monte Carlo Bay Hotel in Monaco in sweats, having not washed my face since I left Las Vegas, 20 hours and two layovers before. I sauntered to the spa and cleaned myself up in the washroom, trying hard not to think about jet lag, and emerged in something a shade above business casual in time to catch Kara Swisher's interview with Barry Diller. None were the wiser, but I kept fantasizing about a shower.

Had I known about the dressier-than-dressy-in-San-Francisco norm in Monte Carlo, especially when attending a dinner given by Prince Phillip II, I might have brought my plum wedding gown--it might have been more appropriate than what I was wearing and I finally would have an appropriate event for it. But Mariana Danilovic, a two-time attendee, assured me, "You look fine. There's always next year." This year, I would pretend it was intentional.

The sumptuous meal and baseline luxury I experienced in Monte Carlo, were starkly contrasted during the trek home. Needless to say, there is no direct flight, though I had the advantage of a traveling buddy, Tim an attendee who just happened to have the same travel itinerary of Nice to Frankfurt, and Frankfurt to San Francisco. And we were both on the waitlist for business class. I was doubtful: I had booked my flight only 10 days before. But Tim insisted that I flew enough to get shooed in.

That did not happen. And I experienced the precipitous drop in status the airlines perpetuate to make you forever seek to rack up miles in their club programs. Though I flew business on the way there, I was eighth on the list flying back and would not know if I would get into business class until right before the flight--after a four-hour wait. The question was: Where would that wait be? In the Admirals Clubhouse, or in a plastic chair at the gate?

Tim was upgraded and tried to pass me off as business-class-material, but without the coveted boarding pass as proof, I was a lowly economer, even if I would be upgraded eventually.

"I don't know what to say," Tim said to me, with the European version of free Chex mix and a table of libations behind him. "I'm feeling survivor's guilt."

I assured Tim that, if the shoe were on the other foot, I would be saying my goodbyes to him and then heading for the snack table. So we parted there. Problem was, I hadn't exchanged any currency, since I had prepaid my trip to Monaco, and the pretzel/pastry stands wouldn't take credit cards, so I sat in the cold, vacuous waiting area near the departing gate, for hours, alone, hungry, and feeling like United's bitch. Not an electrical outlet was in-site. I tried not to cry.

Thanksgiving: I've spent far too much time entering people's homes, admiring their furniture and tchotchkes, and wondering "when did you ever find the time to buy this stuff?" I'm in nesting mode, big time. For kids? I don't know. I want new lighting fixtures, a sideboard for the stuff we haven't been able to unpack since our wedding, and better linens. These catalogues that come to the house interest me now. Even the stupid stainless steel container items that you find in Red Envelope. All of a sudden, I need this stuff.

Even more surprising is agreeing to go with H-band to Whole Foods for our Thanksgiving shopping. It's just me and him this year, who are we trying to impress? And yet, paying top dollar for a hunk of Humboldt Fog cheese and organic produce seemed just the right thing to do for ourselves. We were entirely too decadent with ourselves, and it felt great. We ordered our own little eight-pound bird. I took care of the sweet potatoes and veggies, and H-band took care of the bird and stuffing. I even baked an apple pie the night before.

I even got dressed up. No lie. To cook, eat, and pass out in my own home. We took a reserve wine out from our mini cellar. It was a perfect accompaniment.

We set the table--taking out some of the good plates and flatware. H-band had washed our tablecloth.

We sat down, food steaming.

"Waitaminute," I said. "We need to show thanks." I rattled off something about being fortunate to be able to enjoy such fine food and wine. H-band said something far more eloquent about us having each other. I thought about that and realized that we would have enjoyed the meal had we shopped at the Safeway and washed it down with Two Buck Chuck. It was all good. And I reminded myself, it would all be good. Always.

 

Comments

[Joy]

OH how I love when you get a chance to write....anything....everything. I can't help but absorb every word you say. Your writing has always had that effect on me....almost like we were chatting on the phone. I miss you baby, but your Thanksgiving was wonderful and well needed time for you and Jesse....and I really loved your account of the time with Bella and Bastian. It really IS all good....always. ~Mom

[cz]

It's good to have you back.

[genevieve]

Happy Thanksgiving to you both - my, that meal sounds fabulous.

[Kay Dennison]

I understand, Jory! I am there myself. Life has a way of intruding on blogging as well as other aspects of life. I'm finally learning that I have to cut myself some slack and just do the best I can. Still, Catholic guilt rears it's ugly head and I feel badly about not doing what I think I should. I enjoy stopping by and seeing what you're up to and thinking (you teach this old lady a lot) but I understand that you are a busy lady with a boatload of responsibility and duty calls. Just do what you have to do and I'l keep popping by to see the gems you post.

[Marilyn]

Jory, this is lovely...and made even sweeter by Joy's comment. xoxo

[Donna]

Even little snippets that come in dribs and drabs are better than nothing! Thanks for the update.

[Chris Bailey]

Jory, as always, I'm enthralled by your exploits and the way your write about them. I was so absorbed that when I came to the end I was looking around hoping there was another page, something more...but there's always your next post, your next adventure.

BTW, there are a few places where trick-or-treating is alive and well...come to Austin, TX and we'll be happy to show you. If not for Halloween, come to Austin anytime and I'll be your personal guide to another adventure.

Be well.

[Jeb]

Hey Jory, Sounds like the drag of the trip outweighed the joys of the MMF. Trust with a bit of time, and a look at the "Best of" video (soon to be on-line) some of the good moments at the Forum will get better play in your own European travel reel. At least we found your purse backstage! In any case, do promise you'll come back next year, OK? May I suggest routing via Paris, with a day or two overlap each way to catch up with some old, and new, friends? Best Regards