The Great Antagonist

We can be sure that even Charro has antagonists driving
her to look this good in her 60's.  Photo snapped
 by me in Times Square in the winter of 2011. 

If you find yourself looking over your shoulder as you're about to be lapped again, or maybe your nemesis was just named person of the year, don't despair. Instead, take stock in yourself and remember what you're made of. You are NOT meant to merely breathe the dust kicked up by others.


For many of us, most days are about going about our business, keeping our house in order. But we're only human. Count on having days when you feel jealous instead of generous, or envy when you want most to feel gratitude. Everyone has days like this, even the most kind and giving among us, when we lapse and our egos shrivel to a sad, deflated state. When this happens, we become easy targets for other folks which can make us feel small, unworthy and  unsuccessful. It can be difficult to see ourselves as the powerful, unique individuals that we are. We needn't consider or defer to others when going after our dreams. We should never compare our achievements against those of our neighbors, but we do. Oh how we beat ourselves up.


If you have a tenacious antagonist in your life, remember that antagonists are like motors, reliably driving us forward to our next destination. The antagonists in our life make us great (and most of us have at least one). So next time you feel jealousy or envy, relabel that feeling and call it drive. Drive yourself forward to make yourself great. You can do it.  Remember, every story worth reading has a great antagonist. What's your story?

Memories of Mom

Backside reads in her script:
October 1972 Claudia's Birthday
Claudia & Mommy

A day doesn't go by that I don't miss my mother. And why should it be otherwise?  When I think back, trying to harvest bits of my past in an attempt to bridge time with memory, I'm always left wanting.


There are certain things I can remember with almost no effort. For instance, I remember when, on multiple occasions, my mother would come home with a bag (or bags) filled with clothes from Marshalls®. Those red stickers made me giddy. The more clearance items my mom saw that she thought I might like, the bigger the bag. "You don't have to keep anything you don't like," she'd say. She had such great taste. 


Most of my memories are non-specific. I remember the kind of music that always played in the background when she was in the room. She instinctively connected with music and blended it into our life. Big band and jazz standards set the perfect mood for impromptu dance lessons in the kitchen, in between chopping one thing or another.


I remember the two of us getting take-out pizza and practically inhaling a large between us. 


And whenever one of life's barbs would cause me pain, I remember the way she held me. She held me tightly and completely, whether I was two or twelve.   And despite my predictably brazen show of tears, her impressive calm restored me, every single time. 

Splendor in the Grass

My mother was 38 years old when this image was taken. My family rented a lake house during the summer when I was too young to remember. And while I don't recall ever seeing this photo, it was taken while my family was on vacation. Of course, right away, I marvel at how flat her stomach appears just ten months after giving birth to me. 


For the time, I was a late-in-life baby. My brothers were born in 1958 and 1959 respectively, and then there was Martin, the brother I never knew, stillborn, who bridged the span before I came along in 1968. My mother always seemed old to me, but mostly because I was surrounded by friends with much younger parents.  


Seeing this picture of my mother is bittersweet. On the one hand, it reminds me why I'm the kind of mother I am. You see, I do that - I lie on the grass when the sun is warm. I wrestle my dog to the ground and do cartwheels on the lawn. For me, this pose is standard fare. 


She looks relaxed, so carefree. I wonder who held the camera. Was it one of my brothers? Or could it have been my dad? Could he have had the sentimental insight to capture this rare display of my mother's calm, centered connection to her younger self? 


She died when I was 23 and never once did I see her lie in the grass. 

Picture with Santa, 1971

Claudia McDonald, age 2, probably at Sears in Hamden, CT.  But who knows for sure?

I was two when this photo was taken. My only memory of this particular occasion is the photo itself. Outside of knowing that the photo exists, and knowing that the child reflected back at me when I look at it matches other images I'm told are me, there's no other connection for me. 


I love this picture, and even though I don't look through my childhood photos as often as I used to, I have always remembered this photo. But it's really just an image. I don't remember seeing Santa, let alone sitting on his lap. I don't recall wearing the blue jacket or the red checked pants. And I can't tell for certain if I was allowed to eat the candy cane used to still my toddler nerves.  


I revive my existential center when I think about how many moments I've experienced that don't link up with present-day me with any tangible breadcrumb trail to trigger a memory. 


I'm glad I have this picture, and I'm glad my parents helped to create this memory, however buried it remains. It seems like the kind of photo a person ought to have.

Ebay & the Internet

The preowned Sit n Spin I recently sold for $36.

I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I wasn't immediately won over by the concept of the Internet. In the late 1990s, I worked as the marketing manager for Turtle Fur®, a cold weather accessory company in Vermont. Fortunately, we were already using some progressive techniques to market our products. For instance, we were using a digital photo studio and adjusting color electronically, as needed, to produce our product catalogs. So it was a natural next step to talk about launching an Internet presence. We planned to create a virtual catalog online, but when talks turned to customers actually placing orders on the Internet, I was the great naysayer. 


I'll never forget saying it because I laugh out loud whenever my memory whispers, "hey, remember saying this?":  "No one will ever buy anything on the Internet." I still feel the weight of my skepticism because, honestly, it was more than that. I believed emphatically that the whole idea of buying and selling goods on the Internet was PREPOSTEROUS!  

Yet by 1999, I had purchased a digital camera and was photographing and selling my own things on ebay. By now I have made well over $20K (it's likely twice that), mostly from selling stuff I no longer want in the house. Since I began selling on ebay, I've sold thousands of things: a used toilet seat was an early coup, but the list includes sheets, pillowcases, diaper bags, clothing, fabric, belts, blankets, comforters, scarves, drapes, pillows, hats, games, gloves, china, glassware, cookware, jewelry, toys, dolls and stuffed animals, purses, shoes, briefcases, luggage, art, ornaments, books, show and event tickets, electronics, rugs and furniture as well as vintage and antique items of all kinds.

I have fully integrated the Internet into my purchasing style for everything from granola for my husband's yogurt to Mogo bracelets for Christmas. I love it and my list of favorite sites is forever growing – Amazon, Craigslist, Etsy, Overstock... If you ever want advice or tips about ebay or how to get started, please get in touch with me. It's a terrific marketplace and makes for a fun, money-making hobby for many millions of people. 

Nora and I share a moment

By the way, not an omelet.

“You know what I love?”
 I nod, waiting for more.
“Spinach or broccoli, umm... What is Aphrodite's necklace called. You know, Zeus’ daughter.”
“I don’t know. Oh, an amulet?”
“Yeah, I love amulets.”
“Do you mean omelets?”

Beautiful Black Squirrel

Only a few short years ago, right here in Durham, I caught a glimpse of something I had never seen before: a black squirrel. Now at the risk of overselling what I still consider a complete marvel, the black squirrel gives me tremendous joy. When I first saw one, I had no reference for the cute, nimble creature because in almost forty years, I had never lucked upon one. I have since learned a few things about them. For instance, most Americans have never seen a black squirrel and their discrete numbers pop them into a ratio of 1 to 10,000 when stacked against the grey squirrel in North America. I also learned that they represent a subgroup of the grey and grey squirrels can produce black offspring. 

But most fascinating to me was the genetic superiority of the black squirrel. Only brief observation was needed to realize the black squirrel was more than just super cute in his jet black coat. He is faster and more spry than all the other grey squirrels, and he is more aggressive about EVERYTHING in his world. I wasn't surprised to discover that in some parts of the world the black squirrel is rapidly overtaking the grey.

These days, my eyes are always ripe for a sighting and when one occurs, believe me when I say that I stop whatever I'm doing, alert anyone nearby and bask in the glory of my tiny black circus star. Even funnier, for the longest time I believed there could only be one living in the area. Now I know better.

On one lucky occasion (lucky for me, not for him), I spotted one "swimming" in my pool. I practically tripped over myself to get to him, grabbing a skimmer on the way. He was so pissed and scared; I could see him weighing the drowning option. Of course I'd never let that happen, but I had also grabbed my camera and his rescue would have to wait until I snapped a shot or two. The fiercely independent little bastard fought his own rescue, but I vanquished the Reaper for another day.