Midnight Playground is Available for ordering or downloading!!!

Archway: http://bookstore.archwaypublishing.com/Products/SKU-001038918/Midnight-Playground.aspx

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Midnight-Playground-Simone-M-Richards/dp/1480836672/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1478548467&sr=8-1&keywords=%09Midnight+Playground

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/midnight-playground-simone-m-richards/1125041350?ean=9781480836679

BookFinder4u (shows all current online links):http://www.bookfinder4u.com/IsbnSearch.aspx?isbn=1480836672&mode=direct

Here it is... my debut novel! Happy reading! 

It's in the Production phase!

Hello! It's been a while, that's for sure. I've been working diligently editing my book, Midnight Playground Where the Soul Plays. It has taken me almost as long to edit it as it did to write it. But I have to say, it's really good.  The feedback from my beta-readers has been amazing and encouraging.

I sent the final draft and the cover artwork to the publisher two days ago.  Now I'm working on creating the social media presence for my book and developing the brand, Simone M Richards - author.  I'm learning TONS!  Eventually I will be migrating the Minivan Philosopher over to Simone's blog and website.  You will be notified when that happens.

It seems very surreal. The book could be available as soon as Christmas and as late at March.  Either way, I know that when it's ready it will be the right time for me. I've had wonderful support throughout the whole process from my family, my friends and my editor.  His feedback is immeasurable!  He saved the world from my first draft, ha ha ha!

I'm excited to get this underway and then head back to my keyboard and my office/study at home.  I've treated myself to an upstairs study. I kicked the Rockstar to the basement and moved the Sage to another room so I could have my own library/office/study.  I feel like a proper grownup now.  The Rockstar protested initially but I think he kind of likes his mini apartment in the basement.  Of course, I have to remind myself when I go down there to get to the laundry room, that the putrid smell is of his soccer cleats and not a dead animal.  He'll be off to college in twelve months. I'll miss him but not that smell.

Anyway, I apologize that I've been a bit neglectful to you here at Minivan Philosopher and wanted to update you. It's exciting times for me and pretty much everyone connected to me.

I saw this on a wooden sign at a store in Chicago recently.

She believe she could, so she did

Yep, you're right. I bought it.

Oh and it's been three years since my surgery and I'm still cancer-free!!!!

The Ferris Wheel in Seattle!  Yeah, I've been vacationing a bit as well as writing and editing. I'll post pics from our absolutely beautiful hikes in Oregon and Seattle, Washington soon.
Cheers!

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Lather, rinse, repeat.

This is how it feels.  Except of course, I don’t do much lathering/rinsing/repeating of my hair because it continues to ‘thin’ at a high rate… The docs told me I wasn’t going to lose my hair totally but I’m not  exactly sure how much I will have left in 15 weeks (hopefully more than a few strands on my head. If not, I might have to borrow my neighbor Paul’s “flair hair” www.flairhair.com .  I’m hoping not to because it really looks better on him than me.) 

 

However, all the great interweb doctors and experts say that one’s hair starts coming back within weeks of finishing chemotherapy and usually all restored to normal within a year.  So for me, that could mean a nice thick head of hair again maybe around St. Patrick’s day?  Until then, I simply manage the best I can, picking the multitudes of strands off my black coat and feel good that I am contributing, singlehandedly, to the comfy, soft “hair pillows” the birds in my neighborhood now rest upon in their nests. 

Lather, rinse, repeat… it’s like I’m in a holding pattern. 

My time in Opposite World

So I, the Philosopher, recently celebrated my birthday. 

Remember when you were school age and you and your friends would declare "today is opposite day!" and everything was opposite.  So, for example, instead of telling your friends that you liked them, you said you hated them but everyone understood it was all okay because it was opposite day.

Well my birthday was its own opposite day.

44, 4 & 4.  How old I am.  If I could put the two fours back to back that is exactly how I felt during this birthday.

Example 1)
Day started out sunny and beautiful with me driving in the convertible with the top down and the wind blowing through my hair.  Smiling.  I knew the weather was predicted to be rainy and cold later so I was enjoying the spring weather while it lasted.  And the forecasters were right, it quickly progressed to a gray, raining, and cold day.  Top was going to be staying up for several days. 

Example 2)
I received birthday wishes from friends near and far including a sweet birthday wish from my Fox that made me smile deep down inside my heart.  But I received nothing from my children.

Example 3)
I received a letter in the mail from the high school that my son is supposed to attend in the fall and has been dreaming of attending for over three years now that they will be offering no financial aid to us.  "Ugh!" I thought, more appeal letters to write.  At least I've gotten good experience writing those letters during the college hunt for my daughter.

After reading the letter though, my daughter called to say she has gotten a job for the summer!  Great  news there!

Example 4)
Planned birthday celebrations were also total opposites.  First one was intended to be karaoke and drinks with several of my best girlfriends.  And although Karaoke guy didn't work that night, my best girlfriends & I still had a great time.  The mix of personalities couldn't have been more perfect.  The conversation was clever, witty, sincere and the drinks were too.

Second planned birthday celebration was to be at one of my favorite local bars where the drinks are amazing and the bands fun to dance to and the people watching fantastic.  It is where I met my Fox so this bar has a very special place in my heart.  And I had planned to dance tango with my dance partner too.  Well the only thing that was consistent was the tango and the drinks.  First, a man who has been stalking me since Thanksgiving showed up and completely inserted himself awkwardly and annoyingly into the mix.  It was not a good combination of personalities.  The conversations were stilted and awkward and were full of passive aggressive undertones that I escaped to dance tango as much as possible.  And my escape to dance tango was the perfect excuse for my girlfriend whom I was supposed to be celebrating with to leave me.  Yep, alone. On my birthday.  And to blame me for being selfish for dancing tango.    However she was not pretending it was opposite day; she was being sincere in her accusations.  I told her to drive home safely; because at 44, I don't engage in high school behavior. 

However even with all the weird yin & yang, Libran-like (keeping things balanced - not all bad and not all great) experiences, I'm still grateful and thankful to be alive and surrounded by terrific people.  This is a new week.  New experiences to enjoy, new lessons to learn and more tangos to dance and I'm definitely okay with that. 

Solo steps

"Yes, please dance with me, " I said to him. My heart was aching but if he held me close, maybe, for a few minutes the crying would cease.

He moved me slowly, tenderly around the floor. I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent. I floated, and with every step, I longed for my love to be the one holding me. But he would not put his arms around me. He would not come to embrace me. I am alone. My dance is a dance of longing - longing to be complete again. And I get to pretend for four minutes at a time. When the one I want to dance with for four million minutes isn't coming. He's not. Ever. I know that. I will arrive alone and leave alone. My soul crying with every fleeting step.

Pretty is as pretty does...

Why is it that when I look the prettiest, I don't dance as often? Why is it when I don't get all dolled up, I don't have any time to sit between dances? Why is it when I look my best, men shoot quick glances my way but never come to speak to me? And why is it, when I happen to go out with no makeup on, I can't seem to walk one block without a man stopping me to talk?

I don't know how to explain this. This has happened to my sister too. We just shake our heads and shrug our shoulders because we prefer to look our best, but it seems we would be dating more frequently if we dressed down more. Hmm... this is gonna be a hard habit to break. But is it worth it? Do I want to be with a man who is afraid to talk to me when I look my best? Or do I wait for one who can talk with me when I am at my prettiest? But then I ask, will he accept me when I'm without makeup or dressed down? I don't know the answer. We have only recently been able to track this phenomenon within our lives. More experimentation is needed. But don't worry, dear readers, I'm still planning to continue trying to look my best.

It's okay to touch, I will not break.

I need to be touched. I know this. I accept this. Everyday I need to have physical contact; it is essential to my survival. Sometimes it is satisfied while cuddling on the couch with my children as we watch our favorite television show or movie together. I wrap my arms around them and bring them close to my heart. There is a sense of peace and comfort that envelops all of us. Occasionally I will fall asleep while my kids remain awake. And sometimes, they drop off while encased in my arms. Whichever it is, it is good.

We kiss each other hello, goodbye and good night. It is just how we are and how we operate. In the morning, if we are rushing and don't get in that kiss goodbye, a frantic "I love you" is hollered as they run to catch to the school bus and a "I love you too!" hollered in return. I am comforted in knowing that if today were our last day together, the last words spoken were of love. Same at bed time, the last gesture towards each other no matter how stressful the day is one of love.

For the last several years, this contact with my children has sustained me. However, a few years ago, I began to realize that I needed more physical contact than my children are capable of giving. It really came to the surface when I began swing dancing. I found myself energized instead of exhausted after a night of swing dancing. I sought out more opportunities to dance, to experience that exchange of positive energy between me and my dance partner. I added Argentine Tango to my dance repertoire about a year later. I naively believed that I danced it because I loved the music and the dance. But I quickly began to understand that it was the touch, the embrace, the intimacy that I craved and that I loved in the dance. It became very important for me to find ways to satisfy the craving. A blissful week was when I could dance tango three to four times!

I'm not referring to this need to be touched as a sexual desire. Sure, I have those too, but this was more basic, more integral to my well-being than the occasional romp in the sack. It is the fulfillment of connecting with another human being without words - through movement and music. I am happy when wrapped in my lead's arms with my head resting on his; my soul fills with peace and calm. Energy is exchanged and I feel refreshed. But I also know that dancing tango is just one avenue for me to satisfy my need for touch.

Touch is very important to me in my romantic relationships as well. And this has been the most difficult need for me to reconcile. My experiences have consisted of wanting more touch than my partner either knows I want or is capable of giving. And again, I'm not talking about sex, necessarily, but rather, the small everyday touches: holding hands, light touch on the cheek, a caress of the arm, a hug that lasts 60 seconds or more, gently stroking the hair. These touches say to me that everything is okay. It is a subtle yet extremely powerful reassurance to me that I am loved and desired. And I find that I want to give those touches to my partner. I want to give him the assurance that he is loved and all is okay and there is a sense of peace between us.

Just like I cannot dance swing nor tango by myself, I know that I cannot be satisfied with being the only one to give the physical touches or assurances. I need it back. And I can't compromise on this - it is as vital to my well-being as oxygen. And until I have the lover who can give this to me, I will keep dancing.

Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love

We were driving on our annual trip South. Grooving to iTunes Tango, boys watching the 2nd of many movies on the minivan DVD player. My Ladybug sitting in the passenger seat talking and talking and talking. She is telling me about what happened yesterday, what she feels about whichever topic floats into her brain. These are special moments that we share. I treasure them just as much as I treasure the times I sit in the passenger's seat and tell my mother what happened yesterday or how I feel about whatever thought floats through my brain. Even as a 40-year old, those are special moments. (However, instead of listening to Tango, it would be Broadway Show Tunes for that is part of my mother’s soul.)

I let Ladybug talk as my mother let me. I know Ladybug wants to share her soul with me and by listening, I learn even more about her. She is in (from what I remember) an awkward transition time – no longer a kid but not quite a woman yet. She wants to be both but is not entirely comfortable with either role. However this ‘phase’ (which clinicians and doctors and esteemed academicians refer to as puberty, but I, the Minivan Philosopher, refer to as “OMG, OMG, my va-jay-jay kweefed!”) is temporary. Soon, in what feels like a blink of an eye to me, she will shed the trappings of childhood and fill out her womanly curves. It will feel more natural to her.

Have I adequately prepared her for womanhood? Have my theories and philosophies about raising her proven to be true? Will she thank me when she’s older or spend her life savings on therapy complaining about me?

From what I can tell so far (and we’ve not even made it out of Missouri yet on our trip), I think I’m on the right track. She’s a pretty amazing stuck-in-the-middle-of-all-this-physical-and-emotional-change person. I feel in my heart she’s going to be phenomenal!

And a one and a two and a three, turn!

Listening to Dreamgirls loudly throughout my house – I Am Changing – seems appropriate for me right now – yes I’m changing…taking back my life, my soul, my heart – this song is from my past, my youth so the images that flood my mind and heart are of dancing, pulsing to the music and working hard to get the body to do the choreography, some of it easier to accomplish than others – much like life – some stuff you have to work extra hard at, pushing and pulling, molding, shaping, stuffing, fighting to put it the way it should be and then whatever was resisting finally gives and it sorts itself out. Other times life comes together so easily it’s like you’ve never had to spend hours working on a particularly hard dance step. But in each instance, the dance at the end is still beautiful.

Heartfelt Gifts

They were the loveliest red roses that I had ever seen . I was overwhelmed when they gave them to me because I knew it was a tradition in their family to mark special occasions with roses. But I never expected to receive roses; I was touched deeply.

An ornate jewelry box designed and created by The Artist and a beautiful red necklace and earrings inside the box from his wife, The Piano Teacher. I was speechless. I just shook my head "no" saying, "What generosity, oh my."

A few days after I received the ornate jewelry box and flowers, I told The Artist that I couldn't believe they had given me such lovely gifts. I told him that they had already made me so happy with just the flowers, but when I saw the box that I was overcome and then to find the jewelry simply rendered me speechless. I said to him, "You shouldn't have. It's too much."

"Why?" asked The Artist. " You don't think you're worth it?"

I stammered "Uh uh well, no... I guess I don't?"

"You are." He said and waved me off as I tried to say thank you again. He had stated his truth. There would be no more discussion about the gifts.

The Dancer met me one night at a local studio so we could dance tango uninterrupted for a few hours before he moved away. It was beautiful, lyrical, sensual, joyful and more. I kept thanking him for the generous gift of his time and his dance over and over.

The Dancer tried to thank me back for the dances, but I kept deflecting his thanks because I felt that surely he was only dancing with me as a favor, not because he wanted to as well.

"You don't think you're worth dancing with?"

I stammered, "Um, well no I guess not?"

"You are. You are a lovely follow and very fun to dance with. It was my pleasure too."

I blushed. This was the second time in as many weeks when I admitted that I didn't think I was worthy of the gifts people were giving me.

In the following days, I thought about this difficulty of mine to accept that people would want to do things for me just because I am me. Why was it so hard? Was I always this way? I tried to remember a time in my childhood when I didn't think I deserved any of my birthday or Christmas presents. Fortunately, I could not find one time. As far as I can recall, I deserved them all.

So what happened between then and now? Was it the years of being married to someone who only gave me something when I either asked for it or he wanted something from me? Was it the years of constantly giving to others who just continued to take and take? Was it because after living as a non-significant other, I internalized that I was not worthy of kindness from friends or strangers? Was it a result of being divorced with three children and having to do everything for my family, that made me feel uncomfortable receiving help from others for fear they might judge me? I suspect it is all of these and more.

The Artist, the Piano Teacher and the Dancer – who knew that their gifts would be me?

Some things I have learned....

Some things I’ve learned:
If you smile pretty, the sales guy at the Auto Zone will put on your new windshield wipers for you at no charge.
There is a big difference between organic chicken and that other stuff in the stores. Organic chicken actually tastes like chicken.
It doesn’t matter if I do one shot of tequila or 12 shots of tequila, I’m gonna throw up.
Children under 6 are brutally honest even when it is not requested.
No one is going to show up on my doorstep with my dream job on a silver platter; I actually have to go out there and get it for myself.
Houses do not clean themselves, no matter how much I twitch my nose back and forth.
I’m not ready to dance with just one man.
Floss.
You can’t orgasm when you’re dead. So you might as well have as many as you can while you are living.
Carrying around guilt and shame that is 20 years old is like burying yourself alive.
When they say to take ibuprofen with food, they really mean it.
I do not have to be unhappy; I can change my circumstances.
Dancing tango is like being hugged for three hours.
No matter where I have traveled, people are the same. We cry, we laugh, we get married, we have families, we dance and we die. Oh and the sun shines everywhere not just here.
Having children does not fundamentally change who I am, they enhance my life.
White wine or red wine, it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m sharing it with a friend.
I cannot live without passion in my life.
Sometimes I have so many thoughts rushing around my head that I just have to get it out on paper. And sometimes, I just want to dance.
Our hearts have an incredible capacity for love and that it really is better to have loved and been loved even if only for a short time than to have never felt it.
Not to give up on hope. Having once lived without it and after reclaiming it, I will never let it go again. It is too precious.

How I found tango...

I have been on a quest to replicate a dance that I did not know the name of or how to do it from 20 years ago. When I was a cocktail waitress in college, I worked at a lounge that catered to the older, business community in the town. They had live music (a man on keyboards and a man on bass guitar) and dancing every Thursday through Saturday. I would love it when I danced with one of the bar’s customers. His name was Robert. I loved dancing with him because he would hold me tight and move me all around the dance floor. He would navigate around the floor so that we had criss-crossed and touched every corner several times during the song. It was heaven for me – moving and walking to the music. I tried, unsuccessfully, to teach my then boyfriend, (who later became my husband, who later became my ex-husband), how to dance the way Robert did. My ex-husband could never do it and he gave up trying.

Fast-forward 20 years (well that’s how it feels anyway). I began swing dancing and really enjoyed it. I learned a lot from swing dancing on how to be a good follow and the importance of the connection between the dance partners. However, I still had not been able to replicate the dance that I did with Robert.

Then, about eight months ago, I went to my first tango lesson and milonga at a quaint, local wine bar. I learned to walk, pause, rock step, and ocho along with the others taking the class. I was enjoying myself but still no “Robert-dance”.

That is until I danced later that night with an experienced tango dancer. He wrapped his arm around my waist, held my other hand in his and pulled me close. He then moved me gracefully, rhythmically around the dance floor and for a brief moment I thought I was dancing with Robert again. I knew then that my search was over. I had found the dance and I wasn’t going to let it get away from me this time.

The only thing that matters is the heart

I hear the music coming from the ballroom as I walk down the elegant hallways of the Ritz. My step quickens as I draw ever closer to my Sunday night heaven. The weariness of daily life, the frustrations and anxieties disappear once I step into the ballroom. I am surrounded by warmth and love. I see the smiling, happy people who come to this retreat every Sunday as well. And for four hours, we hold each other in our arms, moving rhythmically across the dance floor, turning, walking, wrapping our legs around each other, and sliding our feet from one side to the next. Daintily tapping our feet, holding each other close so that we can hear each other breathe while simultaneously releasing our embrace to where we can see each other’s smiling face. Every dance, every embrace brings us all together in our own space. Who you are, what your job is, where you live, where you went to school, what you drive is immaterial on the dance floor. The only thing that matters is the heart and connecting with your dance partner at the most basic human level, with love.

Riding along the waves of the beautiful music floating through the air of the Ritz is kindness and beauty. The ballroom’s elegance is matched with the elegance of the human spirit gathered to dance the Tango. Every couple on the dance floor is creating and re-creating their story with every side step and circle of their legs. He stands tall protecting the beautiful woman in his arms guiding her safely around the dance floor. She stands close, draping her arm across his neck and shoulder and placing her hand tenderly into his. She presses her face next to his and relaxes in his arms. He holds her close. For the next several minutes they listen to each other not through speech but through the embrace. He indicates where he’d like to go through his chest and she accepts that lead, moving how he intended. The music flows into their souls and they dance the dance that resides in their hearts. Every dance is unique never to be danced in the same way again no matter how many times they may dance together. The conversation is never stale.

As I finish my last dance and remain in his embrace long after the last note played, soaking up as much love to last me till the next Sunday, my heart and soul are filled with the beauty of life. I know how lucky I am to receive this love from others and how lucky I am to give it back. This love is in its purest form, there are no expectations, no baggage, no heart-ache… just pure love to give and to receive. I change back into my street shoes and put my coat on. And give one last hug and kiss to my dance partners as we wish each other a good week and commit to seeing each other again the next Sunday. I walk back down the hallway away from the ballroom and the anxieties, frustrations and weariness of daily life stay far away from me because my tango memories insulate me. And I begin the countdown till the next Sunday night tango.