Over Field & Stream

Imagine my surprise when I found two issues of Field & Stream magazine in my mailbox last Friday? I assumed my mail carrier had delivered them to the wrong house and quietly wondered which of my neighbors could be a gun toting hunter, apparently it is me. The mailing label not only showed my address but indicated I had a year subscription.

Aside from Guns & Ammo, I can't think of another periodical I would have a greater aversion to than Field & Stream, yes I think I would rather get a subscription to Playboy. The current issue, "The Accuracy Issue" has a close up of a rifle with the caption "Buckology - The New Science Behind Better Deer Hunting." This is a glimpse into a world I would prefer to think does not exist.

As I slipped them into my recycle bin I began to wonder, "Who would do this to me?" The answer was, no one. I was given a free subscription because of being on a mailing list for another magazine (does a subscription to Domino or Better Homes and Gardens meet a certain demographic hunters are looking to tap?) When I called to cancel I had to hold myself back from screaming, "Please don't ever send me this magazine again!" The poor operator was gracious but I could tell she didn't understand why I was so annoyed by this "free gift."

It is one thing to know people hunt it is another to be thought of as someone who hunts. Magazines have a way of tapping you into a world you want to be part of which is why I haven't read a beauty magazine in over five years. No, it's not because I don't think I'm beautiful, it's because I don't want to live on the gerbil wheel of not being good enough unless I have the right mascara. While I do care about cool handbags, I don't care about cellulite and aging so I stick to home magazines (which I affectionately call decorator porn.) I'm okay with my mail carrier thinking I care about my house (although overgrown weeds and the lawn chair that's been on my porch for a month isn't going to get me the cover of Architectural Digest anytime soon) or literature (New Yorker, Poets & Writers) or city life (New York Magazine) or even cooking (Cook's Illustrated) but I feel like I owe him an apology for the Field & Stream and while I'm at it, I should also thank him for trying to keep my deliveries as dry as possible.

As for the big buck on the cover that had a rifle pointed at him, I hope my deer friends remember all the times I have stopped for them on the road and waited for them to cross. Now that I think about it, I may not hunt animals but I sure have killed a lot of trees.

Personal Bests

Last Wednesday, I watched my nephew Christoper swim laps for charity for two straight hours. When the whistle blew he had traversed the pool 191 times. He wanted to hit 200 but needed 150 to collect his sponsor money.

As I watched him and the other BlueFish on his team, I was struck by how swimming is a sport where one is always striving to beat the clock, to do better than we did before. While it is hard to ignore the bodies swimming next to you, what matters in the end is what you do against the clock. While many of us compare our "race" in life as a competition with others, it really is more about our personal best and not about someone else's.

During the two hours, Chris had moments where he appeared tired and would use his arms more than his legs, other times he would get a burst of energy and zip down the lane. Sometimes he would flip at the turn, sometimes it was enough to touch the edge and head back. He said he kept track in his head of the laps but at times lost count or started counting by tens rather than ones. Even when he wasn't sure of how many laps he did, he kept swimming.

While it is a cliche to say life is about the journey not the destination, it is true, isn't it? Our expectations of ourselves are constantly shifting. Chris may have started out wanting to swim 200 laps but by the time it started raining and he got into the ice cold water he may have thought, "I just want to do 150," as the second hour wore on, he may have wanted to just make it to two hours without quitting. How his goal changed doesn't matter as much as the fact he kept going.

I wake up every morning with a goal of what I want to get accomplished. A plan for how I will wrestle form from chaos. I always plan on doing my best. That plan is usually in the crapper by the time I finish my first cup of tea. Sometimes the day takes unexpected turns that lead me to places I never dreamed, other days the toilet backs up, the dryer breaks and your car leaks. It is on those days we have to remind ourselves that this is the journey to a destination that is constantly changing. We may have started the day wanting to go to the beach but ended up waiting for the plumber. We may have wanted to be a princess but ended up living in Queens. We may have wanted 200 laps but surprised and pleased our self when we did 191.

That's the thing about a personal best -- it's personal. You decide what it means to you, you can make your life about failure and defeat or you can make it about discovery and reward. That is up to you.

As for me, I'm taking my cue from Chris, I'm shooting for the stars and jumping in the pool. Ready, set, start swimming.

Skin and Bones Under a Clear Blue Sky

Last Monday night I read from Skin and Bones as part of the Summer Gazebo reading series in Oceanside, Long Island. It was a perfect night to sit out on the beautiful green and listen to poetry and prose. The evening is hosted by the local Kiwannis Club and helps to raise money for underprvileged children to go to summer camp. Who can't get behind that? My friend Gina came with Christopher and Matthew who are getting used to attending readings as this was their second one in three days! Christopher served as my photographer and grabbed a bunch of shots while I read (thanks Chris!)

Bundt Cakes, Cocktails, Jeopardy and Friends

One of the things I am learning is that there is always a reason to celebrate and sometimes, waiting until everything falls into place is just stupid.

Although it's been over a year since I signed with a great literary agent and more than six months since I got the news I had sold my first novel to Random House, I had chosen to celebrate these milestones with casual toasts here and there but nothing more elaborate. When friends offered to get a group together for drinks, I put them off. "Let's wait until..." and then I would rattle off one of many reasons I felt the need to hold off from getting the contract signed to turning in a round of edits on July 1st.


I'm not sure what I was waiting for...the actual publication which won't happen until well into 2009.


Well, the waiting is over. On Friday, my friend Donna hosted a small gathering of friends at her house for an evening filled with great food including a chocolate bundt cake (it's in the book!), a beautiful outdoor deck with fully stocked bar, lots of good wishes, laughs and a short reading. The evening was truly a collaborative affair with my friend Christie contributing great recipes, quotes from my book, a KILLER game of literary jeopardy (in which I still can't believe I forgot Helen Fielding's name!) great appetizers and a signature cocktail (that is in addition to copy editing my July 1st revision for me!) Connie was the artist who worked with Donna to conceive the beautiful invitation (it opened like a book! -- see the image above) and who also rolled up her sleeves and assisted with the prep for the party. Donna, of course, was the ringleader, orchestrating all the pieces and cleaning her house for me (that's huge and my least favorite part of throwing a party!)


A great party is a like a great recipe, it just isn't the same without every ingredient and the special ingredient to this party were the people. What do you call a group of people who come from all over Long Island on a Friday after work to help me celebrate? I think you call them friends.


It's official -- I'm one lucky duck.