Part of my problem is but I don't really have any super close friends where I live. I'm grateful for Sarasota and everything that it brought to me, but somehow I haven't established any physical soulmates here. I realize that social media is a poor substitute for true intimate connection, but it's probably one of the reasons that I gravitate towards it is my feeling of aloneness here. It's not like everything that I read on Facebook or Instagram moves me personally, but often I come across an intellectual or humorous friend who informs me or lifts my spirit or suddenly makes me feel closer. When I get off the Internet, I look around me at my mess of the house the things I need to get done.

It's a big bad world out there.  Far too many distractions.  So I've decided to take refuge, for a day, a week, a month... who knows for how long?  Right here in my little Ginsblog part of the universe.  It's not that I instead couldn't be interacting with my very loved (or less loved) ones on Facebook and elsewhere.  The fact is I could probably get absorbed in that all day long. 
What do I hope to cover here?

Ginsblog: Whats going on in the here and now
Lawsuits:  they are finally heading somewhere!  Every day, describe at least one of them.
The Compassionate Landlady:  Tales from the Rugged Rental Realms
Family Ongoings: What's going on for the Ginsberg-Klemmt world
Throwback Thursday: far reaching memory day... back back back... stories from the days of yore.
Including photos and scans from the file cabinet.

Time to sleep.

I haven't written here for years.  It's like an old dark country house I used to visit, thinking someday I might even plant a garden here, put up some curtains, and make it home.  Never happened.  Resentment must still be seething from my mantra.  "Comon, I had a blog before the word blog was even invented!  But now it's time to get over that.

Today is our 24th anniversary and my last married year before I turn 50.  Growing up, I always thought 50 year old women were grandmothers, not moms of 10 year old children like I am.  I also thought it was too depressing to have kids too early, so I started late, never thinking about how it might cramp my style to be a middle age mom of an elementary school kid.  Many of my friends who had kids early have the parenting part out of the way.  I'm in no way resentful.  In fact, I wouldn't want it any other way.

My life is one big mixup of  the war between literature and litigation, between writing memoir and rental management.  And now tax season looms.

"If your tired of starting over stop giving up."

Attn: Jeff Dotson, CFO/CIO at Shapes Total Fitness for Women, Tampa

Dear Mr. Dotson,
Here is a lovely photo of the motivational quote on the back wall of your Bee Ridge fitness club.

"If your tired of starting over stop giving up."

I realize we are all trying to get rid of the tire around our waist...
I have politely pointed out the spelling error to Crunch employees for over 6 months.

This letter is to attest to the fact that you, Mr. Dotson, stated to me that the above grammatically incorrect sentence has been approved by your corporate offices and will not be taken down because your company wants to foster an environment of "No Judgements/ No Judgments."

No, this is not an alternative English spelling issue.

My requests to admit your error and improve your intellectual image were met by both you and others in your corporate office with defensive and even offensive responses.

"This isn't a library, lady."
"Who cares, anyhow?"

Quite frankly, many of us do care.

A prompt response would be appreciated. If a higher up corporate entity wishes to chime in, I welcome that.

And you think your tired.

Blame the half a cup of coffee. Blame the hard work that has paid off thus far.
 I had an epiphany.
We have three kids ages 13 11 and 7. We have a 50 foot aluminum sloop.
We have investments which will, if we work hard for another XX amount of months and organize well, will allow for cash flow. Where am I getting? I smell a cruise on the horizon. I say 2 maybe three years max. All three kids, Achim and I back Out There. It was meant to be.
You can take the technomad and make her stationary for awhile, but the techno will sooner or later turn her mad until the NO-mad rears her head again. Everything will be Different, of course. It's a different world, politically, technologically, economically... and my family is different, too. Bigger, for one thing. One main difference is, when you have something to conserve, one does become more.. conservative. I have no need for complete open endedness.
I may even create a "schedule" or itinerary, complete with a date for completion.
 Always thought that sounded sucky.
Now it gives the cruise a kind of segmented quality that allows for the specialness of the lifestyle to come to the forefront, since you know it's temporary. I'm thinking one year. We likely won't visit the natives or do anything too insane like a northwest passage. But I will get my kids off the traditional grid and have us living in close quarters experiencing that lifestyle together, and they can either reject it or embrace it. I guess I wanted to let you know that the seed was planted and I'm going to integrate that seed into my next year's plannings.
 My kids are in a special full time gifted school and I want to integrate the experience with their education (as if that could somehow be severed anyhow).

Love, an original Technomads (1996) Erika Ginsberg-Klemmt
don't be fooled by the pic... we haven't done much sailing together since this photo from 6/11.

What a journey.
I've been spared.
Whether I believe in a guardian angel or not doesn't matter: an angel saved me from death.
My naivity would have killed me.
We bought a condo and I was in the attic.
The previous owner had left lots of stuff in the attic and I was getting the stuff out.
No one,
no one,
no one has ever told me:
you can't just walk anywhere in an attic.
One minute I was hovered over a box, the next second the floor/ceiling caved in under my weight and I was face down on the living room floor. All the weight taken by my jaw.
I've smashed four or more molars, we won't know for a month because my jaw was fractured in 2 places and needed to be wired shut.

I hadn't been 48 hours back from my fantastc three week trip to Austria.

I didn't mention the 8 stitches to my chin and that my front tooth went through my lower lip, bending it in so much as likely to need root canal.

I am in a peacful painful place. Gratitutde is pouring from every cell as I heal.
I love life with a deep intensity and greatfulness.
Love has flowed from every crevice of this great earth to help me heal.
I feel so much luck.
If I had fallen any other way on my head, you wouldn't want to know what state I would be in. Today, Facebook is Mine. It's my Face. It's my life. I could cry my beautiful 5 year old daughter to sleep in my arms in the kitchen tonight. I could make love to my incredible husband. Yes, I recommend everyone break their jaw if that's what it takes to feel this...
PRAISE be to LIFE!

letter I received from an old copain

Since I'm on FB, I've wanted to share a letter I received from an old boyfriend to whom I sent one of my good ol' newsletters:
Paris September 6, 1986
Erika, I'm sorry, but I'm very disappointed by this letter-writing system: I don't like being taken "en masse," with a letter which does not reflect a relationship between TWO PEOPLE.
I understand that this is an American methode, but I truly disapprove! (especially type-written)
How could you send a letter to several people, even though each person is so different in their complicity and in personality.
I send you kisses nonetheless, but I will only respond again if you write to me like a human being and non like a number. Kiss on the cheek, Laurent

So: here's my personal message to you, Laurent: Have we come a long way, baby?

Jammin to Common Sense, summer 2009. Totally unchronological. So what.

Where are you, ARI? You'll be SORRY!

Story of my son going missing... Published in the local paper, The South Gator.

During a Myakka State Park boat tour last February, a seasoned guide explained to us that the distance between the alligator's eyes and nostrils in inches is an estimate in feet to the alligator's total length.

Yesterday morning, Achim came up from his office to tell me that there was a large gator in our pond.

The week before, we had seen what we thought was a small gator, and thought little of it.


This time, however, we looked at what we could see of the head. It looked like there must be close to a foot between the wider and narrower ends of the trapezoid making up this reptilian face.

A little research online helped me to determine what to do:



"Generally, alligators may be considered a nuisance when they are at least four feet in length and pose a threat to people or their pets or property."

So in this case, this gator was double the minimum size. Did it pose a threat to us? Well, it was right at the edge of our property, hunting. I sat for over an hour, watching this floating head almost at my feet. We were having a kids bash on Sunday, and my three will be out of school in a week. Did I really want to wait until this giant gator 'posed a threat?'

The gator has been living in Sarasota for longer than we have. The gator was in his natural habitat. I struggled with the decision we had to make. We made it, and called.

The trapper came with what seemed to be two kids and maybe grandpa. With very few words and just a few minutes of quick, swift pulls, Sarasota Dundee had the lasso around the gator's neck. He yanked the beast out of the pond, threw a towel across the gator's eyes and had the snout wrapped up with electric tape.


It happened so quick I didn't have time to say, "wait! I change my mind! Let my children risk swimming with a 9 footer! I can't do this to such a majestic creature!" But it was too late; the trapper had his catch.

The only words he exchanged with me was the reply to why he didn't fight more: "this gator is tired."

He focused on the job of dragging the beast over the lawn to the front yard, where they heaved the wrapped up animal in the back of his white pickup and was gone.

I felt like our neighbors were booing and hissing. We were the perpetrators, the wildlife killers. These were neighbors who either had no small children or didn't live on the water. In fact, we are the only people on this body of water, as far as we can see, with children.

Can anyone understand why we needed to call 866-FWC-GATOR? Am I simply to tell my kids not to go near the water, period? It was a sad sight, but I learned that they have "harvested" 9,733 such gator in 2008 alone. That's 26 of these every day! From what I understand, gator are not an endangered species. And I promise, if I see a sweet little gator in my pond, I'll leave it alone. But after all is said and done, I feel relieved that I don't have to fear for life and limb every time I open the screen door to the backyard (this gator would have had the screen door for lunch.)


That's how I feel. How the gator and its family feels, I couldn't tell you.

I’ve been missing the good ol’ days.

The strange thing is I know for a fact that I’m living the good ol’ days. How do I know that as a fact? Simple: every phase I’ve lived in my life, up until now, has been the good ol’ days. So why should that fact stop now?
I started digitizing my life textually around 1994; I have my old, handwritten diaries up until then. I started digitizing image-wise around 2003. This memory- catching, whether per diary, email, digital snapshot, has made available memories which all make me sentimental. I have no doubt in my mind that, ten years from now, I will think back on these days, with three small children, as another phase of the good ol’ days. This makes me feel good this May first morning.

Why am I stuck on Facebook all day these days?

Perhaps because the past seems so glamorous, more so than the laundry, shopping list, dishes, homework shuffle I'm contending with now.

The phases of life have struck me so hard lately it's as if I'm not thoroughly feeling the warm sun on my skin or the sweetness of the sugar.

I think of my own mom. She didn't ask herself so many damn questions! Why is that? She just did. I shot out from between her legs and was there to contend with, not to ponder, test, probe, experiment analyze, fear, loathe and focus on.

Not that I focus on my kids; I obviously don't otherwise how the hell would I be writing this email to you? Someone says miserable people go through their lives feeling either guilt or resentment. If I focus on them: resentment. If I don't: guilt. hat a joke. And they become the brunt of it.

Take this morning for example. There's my 7 year old son, sitting at the counter eating his dry graham cracker cereal. He refuses to put milk in his cereal, never have, never will. He won't sit at the table with Maeva and Antonia because, he says, something stinks over there, and it's just "too complicated." Mom is rushing around the kitchen, making Maeva's lunch, worrying about whether Toni took her Omega 3s, thinking about how she has to walk the dog... and I look at his bare feet under the counter. No shoes on yet. And where's his backpack? I go to his room: A bear pit! I just cleaned it for him last week, that ungrateful little oinker! With pencil sharpenings all over the floor mixed in with clothes and books and blankets and other sludge. No, no backpack in there... there it is, in the living room bay window, his homework strewn all over the place. I start screaming at him! Ari! What is this! And your hair's not combed! And you didn't write in your reading log (the guy reads novels already but they make him write what book and how many minutes in this damn log) and look at your spelling choices! you didn't do them right! and and and! I keep going, I'm on a rollercoaster of Nag.
I hate you, mom.

Yes, I know, I am hateful at that moment. Resentment crashes up against guilt, creating waves of darkness, the darkness that at best is the fodder for sitcom conflicts and at worst the motive for Lizzie Borden. All the self help books, all the yoga, breathing exercises, affirmations, massage therapy, all the wisdom of the ages and knowledge of human behavior, nothing can stop me from wanting to throw both him and myself out that brand new casement bay window that cost us more than a ski vacation in Austria, including the flight.

But I hold back. I withdraw. I pack up Maeva's lunch, I get her dressed against all her protests. I bargain and bicker and bribe and manipulate and prepare until we are all in the minivan.

Then I drive those little mo'fo' to school. God I love em.

Saw Barack Obama Today in Dunedin (N of Clearwater, FL)