It's National Love Your Body Day!

Ok, we've had a week to ponder the beautiful body that is uniquely our own, in order to celebrate ourselves as delightful, worthy individuals who are part of this planet! You did ponder, right? I decided that I love my crooked toes, my freckles, and the way I can raise one eyebrow up high like John Belushi.

Today's not a day to shun mirrors, or berate yourself about the myriad clothing sizes found in your closet. You are a vital human being, no matter what your size, shape, color or talents. There's no one else like you, no one with your experiences, memories, or laugh.

I love the 2006 winning National Love Your Body Day poster, because a) it's clever, and b) it's true.

If only society could stop obsessing about weight, hair color, extreme fashion designed for human toothpicks, and cup size. Wait a minute...aren't we society? Aren't we part of the population who determines what is and isn't 'hot'? You bet your body parts we are, and it's time we stopped subscribing to trends that don't reflect our authentic selves.

I'm not dissing personal hygiene or the benefits of a great hair colorist, or the rush you get when you try on a fancy, spangly dress that fits perfectly, but any time a woman feels compelled to change any part of herself in order to be accepted, that's a wake-up call.

As I crawl toward "Late Middle Age," I have an entirely new perspective on beauty. Forget the strappy sandals, I now wear Birkenstocks for my heel spurs. Birkenstocks are the stuff of heaven, if you have foot problems, but I doubt the words "Birkenstocks" and "sexy shoes" have ever appeared in the same sentence. Mr. Birkenstock, I imagine, decided that comfort trumped cool every time. Millions of people who can walk without pain agree.

Now my size eleven feet are living examples of clunky German efficiency, and people can see me coming three blocks in advance. To celebrate my choice to live without heel pain, my toenails sport shades of red that were previously forbidden to 'nice girls'. Hey, if you're gonna be a bear, be a grizzly!

Embrace yourself today, whether you wear strappy sandals or Birkies, bikinis or muu muus. Every person on earth is a distinct entity with love to give, wisdom to share, and a soul to inspire. You have the power to love yourself, and you have the power to make positive changes in your life if you don't.

Go celebrate yourself, before I stomp you with my Birkenstocks!

WOMEN OF THE WORLD: Get Ready to Hug Yourselves!

My friends know I'm the Uber-Planner of the Western World, so it's completely in my nature to alert all of you out there in BlogLand that next Wednesday, October 18, is National "Love Your Body Day." This is a day, sponsored by the National Organization for Women (NOW), when women are supposed to embrace the miraculous body that is uniquely their own.

I can't honestly name one woman who loves her body, and that's pretty sad. Most of us would prefer to be less wrinkly, less lipid-enhanced, and model thin. I'd trade my thin thatch of thyroid-challenged hair for long, glossy locks that would put Rapunzel to shame, but it ain't gonna happen. I'd also prefer to wear a size 14, but that ain't gonna happen either, unless I stop stalling and start exercising and eating right...maybe tomorrow.

So I challenge all my Body-Berating Sistahs out there: you have exactly ONE WEEK to examine yourself and find something endearing about your body, so that next Wednesday, on National Love Your Body Day, you can tout and flaunt in style. Polish those toes, flex those biceps, flash those pearly whites and stand up straight, ladies. We are walking miracles!

A Prayer for Peace

Shattered buildings, lives snuffed out, dreams lost. We did not ask for this tragedy, but it is part of our inheritance, unwilling though we may be to receive it. It is our heritage, as much a part of us as those brave souls who stood up for their ideals, 230 years before airplanes were hijacked and used as weapons. Our duty is to never forget.

We are the proud members of a community; a community comprised of countless skin colors, surnames and faiths. A community whose members emerged from unnavigable darkness to survive another day. This is a community that never gives up; we leave no one behind.

This community is America; we are Americans. We shoulder each other's burdens, we comfort each other in crisis, we stand together as one people, when our way of life and our freedom is threatened. We rip the shirt off our collective backs and we clothe our neighbors; we take care of each other.

Words, weapons, and wars will threaten, until the end of time. Innocent people will die. Freedom lives on. Freedom is a gift, wrapped in tears, in blood, in anger. Americans embrace freedom, we wish to share it with all. But all do not understand. They may never comprehend the value of this gift, because they have never been free.

God bless America, God bless the fallen and their families, God bless us all as we seek to live in peace, in Your world.

It's Good to be the Empress...

My close friends have called me "the Empress" for years, because they are a) intelligent and b) they know it gets ugly when I don't get my way.

There's no better day to be the Empress than on your birthday, the day when Father Time smacks you on the head with more wrinkles, age spots and memory loss. But when you're the Empress, you can stare him down, and scream, "Back off!"

Even as Father Time ignores you, your loyal subjects get the message, and they bring you cake, because you can't scream with a full mouth. Eating birthday cake softens the March of Time a lot.

My poor husband is well-trained in this Empress ruse; this year, he gave me a Birthday Tiara with sparkly pink fringe on it, which I proudly wore on a 12-hour car trip to his family reunion. Hey, you make me travel to your family reunion on my special day, you get what you deserve!

The best thing about being an Empress is stretching out your birthday celebration for weeks on end. I'm in my second week of fun, and I still have friends calling, asking if they can take me to Starbucks or lunch. My very best friend baked me the most beautiful chocolate cupcakes I've ever seen, with handmade marzipan nasturtiums and roses on top! CHEEK SLAP!

Bring it on! I'm blessed, I know. My family and friends are the salt of the earth, with some paprika thrown in there, too. But let's face it, to have a friend, you have to be a friend, right? I've handed out my share of tiaras and birthday cards over the years, along with baked goods and supportive shoulders in a crisis. My friends treat me like the Empress, because they know I'm there for them, any time of the day or night. And I respond in kind.

Anyone can call themselves "Empress," but without an adoring public, you'd look pretty ridiculous, standing there in your crown, waving your hands in the air. Our 'loyal subjects' empower us to be who we are, whether we're an Empress for a Day, or SuperMom, or The Loony Woman Who Rakes Through the Garbage.

So check your calendars, note a friend's upcoming birthday, bake a cake, and shop for a tiara. It's good to be the Empress.

Now to find a small country to rule...

Third Grade is the New High School...

The state of Education these days...well, I'm here to tell ya that despite the naysayers, there is definite, rapid progress going on.

You know you're in for a wild ride when your third grade son looks you in the eye and says, "Mom, I was using a metaphor. Do you know what a metaphor is?"

"Of course I do! I'm a writer! Do you?"

Wrooonnng question, unless you wish to spend the next twenty minutes reliving a lecture straight out of your worst senior English class, delivered by a short person with a skinned knee and peanut butter on his chin. After this impromptu refresher course, I was treated to a sidebar about the history of Romance languages, and the origin of Portuguese. From a 9 year old...

Back when I was in school, there was none of this advanced stuff. None of this learning about metaphors and onomotopeia and Romance languages in the danged third grade! What's he gonna do when he hits high school, there'll be nothing left! I suppose by 9th grade he'll be dual-enrolled in Harvard, so that when he's a senior, he can work on his Master's Thesis in his spare time?

The photo on this page shows me hangin' with some brilliant students from the recent Humanities Tennessee Young Writer's Workshop. Here I was, trying to teach these kids a few tidbits about comedy writing. I put on my 'professor' hat and made a casual mention of Aristophanes, that ol' Greek goofball, credited with writing the first known comedic play.

The beautiful young lady who stands to my right in the photo, hollers out "OH! I LOVE Aristophanes! I'm studying Greek comedy at the University of Texas! With a world-reknowned scholar!"

Point, game and match to the student. Not only am I face to face with an 18 year old who knows more than I do about Greek comedies, she's attending my alma mater. What are the odds?

I'd love to stay and chat longer, but I've gotta go bone up on my World History...only 4 hours until my son gets home from school!

Yippee, Skippee, Another Book Written ...Sort of.

Thankyouverymuch, I very recently completed my THIRD book, along with my good friend and Comma Goddess collaborator, J.J. Ferrer, and boy, does it ever feel GOOD to be FINISHED!

We've slaved and toiled and conspired for over a year, long-distance at that, to sculpt words into paragraphs that should, if we've done our jobs properly, solicit raucous laughter and inspire chocolate-eating in women of peri-menopausal age, everywhere.

So why am I not swinging from the proverbial rafters and planning how to spend my next mil? There is quite a distinction between completion of a novel, and the sale of it. We're at the selling part, and it's making me crazy. By the stars, we know our manuscript is hilarious! The characters have depth, the language is honed and grammatically precise. We are two very marketing-savvy ladies who could sell oil to the Arabs...we have track records, for God's sake! We have FANS!

Yeah? So get in line...and it's a very long line, I might add. There's the whole Dealing with an Agent Thing, then the Contract Negotiation Thing, the Revision Thing, the Cover Design Thing, the Graphic Design & Reviews Thing...man, I have a headache, hand me that Hershey bar!

I'm personally going to crawl in a cave and make J.J. handle all of this, and simply wait until we reach the Deposit Big Checks into My Account Thing. And for all my fans out there, waiting to fall out of bed and break your elbow from laughing uproariously at my dialogue, don't give up! For every Thing has its season...right now it's Do the Agent Thing season...trust me, it won't be long. Will it? Gee, I hope not. Am I a failure? What should I do next? What if I can't get a deal? What if Hope & Bo never get back together?

Whoa, sorry about that. Just doing the Low Self-Esteem Writer Thing, it's in my genetic makeup and I can't control it. Experts say this is when I'm supposed to get back on the horse and start a new project. EWW! I'd prefer to eat bon-bons and watch bad TV all day, until I hear from my bank...

If I Could Just Have 5 Days To Myself, I'd Be Caught Up...

I'm admit that being a Wife & Mother is not what I envisioned as my life, all those years in film school ago. Lesson learned: if one can't change the world by creating the Ultimate Documentary, one can, at the very least, better the lives of those in one's own domain, by insisting that all hands be clean prior to the ingestion of food. There's more than one way to impact public health!

For 9 years I've juggled writing, consulting, and the insanity known as being a Stay-at-Home Mom. LOL! Stay-at-Home Moms are NEVER at home! We're in the car, driving to school, to Sports Practice du Jour, to the grocery store, to the cleaners, to PTA meetings, or Straight to Hell.

And for those same 9 years, I've moaned and whined (loudly, of course) to my husband, "If I could just have 5 days without interruption, 5 days to myself, I could finish every single project on my list. 5 days, is that too much to ask?"

People Who Know report that it takes a human being 21 days to learn a new behavior. My husband being a man, there is a Male Delay Factor of 9 years. But who's counting? My boys left on an adventure without me, for 5 days. Coincidence? Doubtful. Joy unspeakable? Absolutely!

However as time marched on, so did my To-Do List. 9 years' worth of Wishes & Projects & Improvements are written on that puppy, and memory having faded, I wasted 2 of my 5 days searching for it. Upon finding the List, I was so frazzled by the amount of work it represented, I treated myself to the movies, three times in succession. Day 4 found me engaged in Learning to Operate The DV-R, and the discovery that we get 14 Encore channels; I subsequently performed 'screenplay research' and watched 11 hours of TV.

Today is the last day of my precious 5; my windows remain filthy, my blinds are caked with dust. I can't wait for the return of my adventurers; I will inspect their hands and cringe in horror when they giggle about eating Twinkies for breakfast. My To-Do List is back in the nightstand drawer, hidden under the pile of trashy magazines I'm saving for When I Have Time.

If I really buckle down, I bet I could write my next novel in 24 hours...