crime fighting duos on television

I just had a piece I wrote published on Like Totally 80’s about crime fighting partnerships of the 80’s. As always, fun to research and write, but what fascinated me about this one was how evocative all the theme songs were. EVERY ONE, even Cagney and Lacey, which I didn’t even watch (I think as soon as I heard the song, I switched the channel) is super-familiar to me.

My vote for best crime fighting pair was Maddie and Dave from Moonlighting, but Crockett and Tubbs are strong contenders.

big chicken

So, the fear thing, it’s better than it was, for sure. I rarely wake up from nightmares about something happening to him anymore, so that’s definitely progress.

But still…

I will be so exhausted and ready to sleep, but when the lights are out and my head gets settled into the pillow, I see this horrible slideshow of What If’s that makes my heart pound and adrenalin surge.

He yanks his hand from mine and dashes into city traffic..

He lurches from my arms as I carry him past a second floor bannister…

I’m driving with him and an out of control semi is headed my way on a twisty highway…

My eyes fly open.

This is stupid. Everyone is safe in bed.

I turn up the monitor to hear him breathing. He sighs. He’s fine.

There is no crisis here. Go to sleep.

The images flicker on. The Fear says But! But! But!, showing me all these awful things that it wants me to believe are inevitable, and I can almost smile, almost, because the Fear sounds for all the world like a mindless chicken chasing after me going Bock! Bock! Bock! with beady, dumb little chicken eyes.

I try to meditate then, although it usually ends up being more of a visual prayer, because it’s really hard to calm myself enough at that point to slip into the meditative state.

I visualize my woods now, with winter bare branches that are delicate and black against the blue sky. The ground is clean of debris and carpeted in thick, springy apple-green moss. The air is bracingly cool, but the moss is warm because it’s growing up from the living Earth. It feels perfect. I walk barefoot through the trees, relishing that living carpet under me, and reach my spring. It bubbles up, pristine and sparkling, from between clean, smooth, frost-tinged rocks. The water forms a shallow pool and then trickles away down a brookbed lined with grapefruit-sized rocks. I sit on the mossy bank and an angel comes to sit beside me. She smiles. “Take it,” I say. “Please.” I give her my bucket filled with fear, gloppy and viscous like an Uruk-hai’s breakfast. She nods, not grossed out at all, and takes the brimming bucket of filth from me, leaving me to rest on the mossy cushion by the spring.

And it helps, although I still usually have to just read or play iPhone Scrabble until my eyes get tired enough to ignore that damn chicken’s slideshow.

I think next time I will try drop-kicking that clucker off the horizon. I’ll get some satisfaction from hearing it squawk and seeing the feathers pouff with impact, even if it does come back to peck at me.

Stupid fear.

Bleary, but better

Whew, I’m feeling less maudlin today, so that’s good. The morning started on a shaky note when Rainbow woke at 4:30 and didn’t go back to sleep; I started his classical music cd for him after rocking him awhile, but as soon as the music ended he was ready to party.

So, yeah. Add that to the fact that we had friends for dinner last night (fun!) after Rainbow went down and I quaffed fancy wine with the meal (whee!), and I was ONE BLEARY MAMA in those predawn hours.

However, I got in a two hour nap after Daddy J took lil bun to preschool (YAY for daycare!) and am much more human-ish right now. I’ve gotten in a few hours of test writing and 80s work, and am working my way up to a shower before I pick little man up.

Brad’s friend is here for a visit, which makes the house a happier place. His good friend moved several hours away a few years ago, but they have stayed in touch (the miracle of Facebook!) and visit often. It’s so funny to me how these boys are cut from the same cloth; they are so similar in style and humor. Side note: his friend’s stepdad is one of my best friends from high school, so it’s REALLY amusing to us that our boys are hanging out together. Brad sets off in a few days for a canoeing trip with his school, and I will miss him so very much.

We took the boys (our teens plus Brad’s friend) out to Songwriters’ Night. It was so cool that it was at a restaurant and we could let the boys come; so often music shows around here are in bars. Daddy J was one of the featured musicians and he totally rocked. And looked smokin’.

on little cat feet

It started yesterday, the introspective malaise and feelings of inadequacy and vague sadness. It’s an ache in my chest, a wishing-things-were-different, an organ rejection of this sorrow that’s thrust in me forever.

I realized today that it’s because the Bad Time is coming, the anniversary of the Horror is on its way. I’m a dumb bunny crouching in the grass while the cat sneaks up on me: slow, intent, and dreadful.


by: Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.


I can’t even tell you what a hoot it is to write for Like Totally 80s. Like, I kind of can’t believe I get paid for it. (I would say, Don’t tell the boss that! except I’ve been friends with her since 9th grade, so I’m sure she knows. This is nothing but fun for me.) Writing this eighties stuff is A BLAST. I get to reminisce, shop, email with people selling vintage and like-vintage stuff, and watch Taylor Dayne and Poison videos. And then write about it!

Between this and the standardized test work, which has me writing every kind of reading passage for kids grades K-12 and which I madly enjoy, and with Rainbow loving his daycare so much that he begs to go even when I choose to keep him home, I’m kind of in work hog heaven. And I totally don’t take it for granted.

Anyway, I have a couple of new articles up on LT80s:

First up, Bermuda Bags. Did you have one? I LOVED mine. O, yes. And the Mommy and Me ones that All About You design offers? Yeah. I KNOW. I might have to get some for my nieces and call them Auntie and Me purses.

Next are Rock Star/Model couples of the 80’s. ALSO super fun. I’ve always been intrigued by the pairings, especially when the rocker is less, um, cosmetically gifted than the girl, like Rod Stewart and Rachel Hunter (a 90’s couple) and Ric Ocasek and Paulina Porizkova. I know I shouldn’t assume that models are vain and stupid and only want to be around physically beautiful people, but it’s hard to get past that when they’re so, you know, physically beautiful.

That’s all for now, but there are a few more in the chute that should come out in the next day or two. I hope you enjoy them a little bit, because I enjoy writing them a lot.

Note: there is not an option to leave comments on the Like Totally 80s site, but you can like them on Facebook and join the discussions there.

talking it up

I think it was in Adoptive Families magazine where I first read this excellent advice (and I really wish I could remember where, so I could credit the writer) about talking with your little ones about adoption. It’s a given, nowadays, that adopted kids should know they’re adopted. Social workers advise adoptive parents to make adoption a fact of their adopted kids’ lives that’s there from the get-go, so there’s no dramatic “breaking it to them” moment or anything like that.

However, this was a little tidbit that I thought was so great: planting the seeds from a very young age that adoption is entirely positive. So, every time adoption comes up, adopted kids will naturally think: Yeah, man, adoption is terrific! and know that their family structure is awesome. The idea being that their knee-jerk reaction when they hear the word “adoption” is that their origins are GOOD.

And yes, yes, adoption has grief and loss intrinsic to it, and I am not trying to negate or deny those realities. But obviously, we all want our kids to feel good about how they came to exist and join their families, right?

The adoption talk with Rainbow is going great. I love his enthusiasm. This conversation is generally part of every bedtime and morning cuddle session:

Mama: Hey, do you know what ADOPTION is?
Rainbow: Doption is GREAT! Is bsrkljkdzzer FAMILY!
Mama: Yes! Adoption is great because it’s how we became a family. It’s how I got to be your Mama!
Rainbow: Miss Noelle brzoiudghhcphr TUMMY!
Mama: Yes! Miss Noelle had you in her tummy when you were teeny-tiny. She loved you SO much, and she knew she couldn’t take care of a baby. She thought about it really hard and looked for a long time. She picked Mama and Daddy to be your parents. She thought we would be the very best parents for you.
Rainbow: Mama!
Mama: Yes! Lucky, lucky Mama. So lucky because I get to be Rainbow’s Mama. I love you.
Rainbow: Awwww. (plants a mushy kiss on me) So sweet.


So, it seems that I now have a fifteen year old with his learner’s permit.

Which is great and all (and I’m very proud of him passing easily on the first try) but doesn’t stop me from being totally nervous and nauseous when he’s behind the wheel.

It’s a rite of passage for both of us.

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