Warning Signs

First, a story.
Every year when the kids get out of school and the weather starts getting warmer, I would sit in our morning news meetings as we discussed what news stories we should do about the weather.
"Send the weather guy go outside and really try to cook an egg on the asphalt."
"Let's get the cute blonde reporter to go on a boat and dive in the water."
"We can show the many ways people are getting relief: going to the movies, visiting the local water park, and show people walking around with hats, umbrellas, and little batter-operated fans."
Most of the ideas we pitch were ones we'd done already. It's hard trying to come up with the next gimmick to show that it's hot. But the stories will be told again, and again, and again. Kinda' like the water-skiing squirrel.
There's another story that unfortunately comes up every Summer, and we newsies have to tackle the challenge of telling a tragedy in a delicate manner. That story is about drowning. And it happens all too often. In fact, my sister-in-law told me that her neighbor's child recently drowned and it's affecting everyone in their world. How could it not?

Okay, so this is something I saw today and thought I'd pass along to you. This article gives the real-life warning signs of drowning. What really happens is totally different from the dramatic, arm-flailing, teen-shrieking depictions of drowning we see in the movies. Instead, a drowning person remains quiet, vertical, and could somehow go unnoticed only a few feet from you.
Check out the article and have a fun, safe Summer!

Bragging. Writes.

The questions people tend to ask when they see me these days...
1. How's the book?
2. How's married life?
3. Did your brother and his wife have their kid?
4. They have SEVEN?
5. How are you liking Los Angeles?
6. Do you miss New York?

Most of these questions have simple answers.
My book has taken up most of my brain space for the last two years and has whittled away all that was left over.  And I likely don't have the best outlook on Los Angeles because I don't really go out a lot.  My life isn't as exciting as I could make it appear on Facebook or Twitter with carefully crafted over-exuberant phrases like, "I love living so close to Beverly Hills!" or "The sun is SO GORGEOUS out here!"... which really means it looks awesome outside my window.
I guess I could tell people that life is a constant adventure filled with galavanting around Hollywood and meshing my life with celebrities.  But let's be honest.  That was really more like my life in New York.  I had size 2 jeans, a great paycheck, and lots of people who I called "friends" while others called them "famous."
I do miss all that.  But really what I miss are the guys who sat on front stoops grilling outside every day of the Summer, the walkability of everything, sitting outside a restaurant and seeing friends pass by, and the random dudes who would check me out.
Seriously, I think I might miss that the most.
The sensible side of me would suggest that I don't hear cat calls anymore because I have a ring on my finger.  But any wise woman will tell you that rings don't dissuade a man from a good opportunity to give a woman a compliment. After all, most common cat calls go something like this.
"You married?"
To which most single women respond, "yes," assuming it will end further questions... to no avail.
"You love him?"

Pretty much I'm in the land of no cat calls because:
A. my days are filled sitting in my apartment with my cat, snacking and typing while wearing my (size 8) sweatpants. 
and B., Los Angeles is a city where people drive.  Gone are the days of momentary intimate conversations between me and random dudes who likely find joy by hitting on every woman walking down the street.

Every time I'm asked, "Do you miss New York?" - or any time that I think back to my life pre-now - I have to remind myself that it's not just the city that I miss, but it's also the constant surrounding of human interaction, no matter how unwelcome or bizarre.  These days my constant interaction is with cupcakes, jelly beans, procrastinating visits to the refrigerator, and brisk walks to the corner Starbucks for my glimpses of crowds, celebrities and the five seconds of real life human communication with someone asking me what size I'd like of my hot chocolate.  I even give my real name when they ask.
Things have changed.

I constantly remind myself that if the potential for friends - or even cat calls - is as far in my past as my size 2 pants, then I will be okay.  Because I still have my dreams of changing the world, one word at a time, making my never-ending battle with a book seemingly "worth it."  I have love in my heart that I share with the few people I see, reminding me that love is grand, even when it seems small in scale. I still hold onto the hope that people everywhere will somehow hear my muffled voice shouting with joy, no matter where I am.  But most of all, I have to realize that being in the trenches is often the most teachable part of the journey. And because of that, my dear friends, I cannot forget (although, admittedly, too often I do), that God has not forgotten me, but in fact, He's been blessing me this whole time.

What's in a name?

For the past year I've been trying to figure out my new name.

Boys don't have to deal with this. They are born as Sam Smith and they stay that way. Girls? We have somehow traditionally been stuck with the decision making. Shall I just take his name? Should I keep my maiden name? Should I hyphenate?

A few years back I was really anti-name-change. I had just started dating a guy and we were sitting among a bunch of friends when this same discussion came up. From across the room he argued, "WHY wouldn't a girl change her last name? That's so dumb. She's part of a new family now, so she should change it."
"Um..." I piped in earnestly, "I'm not changing my name."
We stopped dating.

When I married Mr. Johnson I quickly became Mrs. Johnson. Maybe it's because I was in my 30s when I married. Or maybe it's because I had my whole career using my maiden name. Or maybe it's because there is only 1 Tamara Duricka in this world and (according to all-knowing google) there are more than 1,094 women named Tamara Johnson... I've been having a hard time with the switch. This has been a bit more than an identity crisis as I try to figure out which name to stamp on the front of my new little book.

These are the thoughts that go through my head...
*I did this project using my maiden name, so keep my maiden name as part of it.
*I'm married now. This is about a cynical girl who wanted to be better at dating and was surprised when she ended up married. Be sure to use your married name somewhere.
*Use all three names. It'll be fine even though it's a mouthful.
*Don't use all three. No one should, unless your name is awesome like Jennifer Love Hewitt. Besides it gives away the ending.
*Johnson is simple and easy to pronounce. The maiden name isn't, so drop it.
*There are already at least three other authors who have used 'Tamara Johnson' (two with a middle initial)
*Go totally different and use your given middle name: Tamara Jane Johnson. It's cute.
*No. No one knows you as that name, why would you use that?
*Does it really matter? You will be lucky if anyone other than your mom actually reads that thing anyway.

I've chatted with a few women who've debated their name changes over the years. They get married and use their married name. Then they change back to their maiden name at work. People think she got divorced. Or she actually gets divorced. And then maybe she remarries.

In some ways, I hate the fact that women have been forced into such a traditional role. Just as that old boyfriend said to me in heavy defense, "Women should change their name. You will be part of a whole new family! What will your children call you?"
"MOM."

But this name-changing opportunity does give us a chance to own our own identities. What do we want people to call us? How much of a statement is a married woman making if she chooses her husband's name? Is it an even bigger statement when she doesn't?
I have a friend who took her husband's last name when they married only under the condition that he take her maiden name as another middle name. Apparently it was much more difficult at the Social Security office for him to add a middle name than it was for her to change her last name.
Is this all too archaic? How important is it really?

I think of dear Samuel Clemens, who would still have been one of the best authors of all time had he stuck with his real name and not gone with Mark Twain. Does it really matter what we call ourselves? Isn't it more important that we deliver something substantial to the world than what we call it?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
-Romeo and Juliet (Act 2, scene ii)

When my parents divorced, my mom kept her married name. That way people would know she was our mom. Plus, the paperwork is a hassle. Then she remarried and considered keeping my dad's last name. My step-dad wasn't too keen on that idea. So she changed it to what is apparently the most popular Irish name: Pat Kelly.

What do you think about your name? Have you changed it? Would you?

(I'm also posting this on my 31 Dates blog)