My Ninety-third Day

So, what have a I learned living, working, and playing in and around the city of angels for the past three months? Well, this, for starters:

Not working is better than working.
Getting a paycheck is better than not getting a paycheck.
Not working and getting a paycheck is my goal for 2013.

The desert is better than the city.
The beach is better than the city, too.
The city is pretty great.

Traffic on the surface roads is better than the traffic on the freeways.
The surface road traffic is horrible.
There is no sufficient way to describe the horribleness of the traffic.

I really, really, really love the sunshine.
It never rains in California is a lie.
Even the rain is a little more tolerable here.

It's amazing how much stuff you can live without.
I regret selling and giving away some of my stuff.
I still have too much stuff.

There are some really interesting and cool people out here.
It's never too late in life to make new and amazingly great friendships.
Family comes is lots of different forms.

I miss my family, a lot.
I miss my friends, a lot.
I miss pizza and beer a lot too, but that has nothing to do with moving to LA.

Some people will never cease to disappoint you.
Most people will never cease to surprise and delight you.
People in southern California don't need an excuse to gather to eat and drink and be generally merry.

The holiday season is a bad time to move away from home.
There's probably not a really good time to move away from home.
Adventures are worth it, no matter when or where they take you.

I Am Not Miranda

Met Pumpkin and a few of his posse at a little holiday party last night in downtown LA. Went straight there from work, had a couple glasses of wine and nothing to eat, so was starving by the time I got home. And, that's when I almost choked to death on a bite of hotdog. I couldn't swallow it or cough it up. I couldn't speak or breath. For a split second I honestly thought, I'm going to choke to death, alone, in Casey in California's kitchen. How weird would that be? Those were the exact thoughts that went through my head. I was Miranda in that "Sex in the City" episode where she's choking on take out Chinese and throws herself onto the edge of the kitchen sink to dislodge the chicken and broccoli and then calls Carrie all freaked out that she's going to die alone in her new apartment and her cat will eat her. Luckily, Casey in California doesn't have a cat. I would have called K if it weren't for that damn time difference thing. Carrie and Miranda were always in the same city. Well, except when Carrie moved to Paris with Mikhail Baryshnikov. But, I digress. Clearly, I was in fact eventually able to cough the dumb dog up and out of my esophagus. Or trachea. Wherever it was. My throat still hurts. I may never eat another hotdog. Alone anyway.

I Love You

I come from a incredibly loving family. We show each other our love all the time. We gift thoughtfully always and lavishly when we can. We happily spend inordinate amounts of time together. And we are generous with our help and support. We don't, however, utter those three little, yet powerful words, linked together, to make that one perfectly wonderful statement.

The first time I remember my father actually telling me he loved me was a moment in 1989ish. I was living in New York City at the time, and it was the beginning of my dad's impending failing health. I had come home for a visit and because my dad was in the hospital. Most of the details of that particular trip home are no longer a memory, but I distinctly remember my father laying in his hospital bed, hooked up to dozens of tubes and machines and IV's. Visiting hours were ending for the night and I leaned down to say goodby and give him a kiss on the cheek and he kissed my cheek too and just said it, "I love you". Just like that. Like it was no big deal. My head exploded. I was angry. The only possible reason I could think of why he would say that to me was because he thought he was going to die and that scared the hell out of me. Growing up, I never questioned my father's love. He didn't need to say it for me to know it was there. Or so I thought.

You never think of a loved one's terminal illness as being something to be thankful for, for any reason, until you meet or hear about someone, who lost a person they desperately loved, suddenly. X's dad just died in his sleep one night. X had spoken to him on the phone the day before, but rushed off because he was busy at work. Many year's later, he still hasn't forgiven himself. Jack's paternal grandfather choked to death in a restaurant while on a business trip. Jack's father never had the chance to say goodbye. People die in accidents and unceremoniously in their sleep every single moment of every single day. Amidst the devastatingly horrific events that unfolded in Newtown two days ago, among all the discussions concerning mental illness and gun control and random violence clamoring for attention in my head, the one thought I could not shake was the desperate hope that when those children and teachers left for school on Friday morning, that someone they loved who loved them right back said out loud to them, "I love you." Not just so they heard it, but also so the one's who love them, who now have to live without them, had had the opportunity to say it to them.

Calm and I were in the car one day awhile ago and he got a call from a friend. They had some business stuff and some friend stuff to discuss so spoke for a few minutes and at the end of the call, he said to his friend, "Great to talk to you, I love you, (insert name of friend here)." Simple, right? It was so effortless and so warm and so sincere and just, lovely. I was awestruck. I remember thinking at that moment, I could never say that, like that.

I had an overwhelming urge last Friday to call everyone I know and love to tell them, "I love you, (insert name here)," but I didn't make a single call. Except to my son. I tell Jack "I love you" all the time. Every chance I get. He though, is the exception to my "I love you" embargo. My entire life, I have, well to say I've struggled would be putting it mildly, it's practically a phobia, but struggled with saying those three little, yet powerful words, out loud to anyone. My family, my friends, or my significant others. Maybe the not hearing it made the sentiment too precious. Too important. Too scary, even. I'm not sure yet, what I'm afraid of exactly. Maybe it's as simple as being afraid of not hearing it back. But, the hearing it back isn't what's important, is it? I mean, hearing it back is wonderful, but it's the saying it out loud and meaning it. To tell someone "I love you" is indeed precious and important and yes, even a little scary.

My 2013 New Year's resolution will be to say those three little, yet powerful words, linked together, to make that one perfectly wonderful statement, as many times, to as many of the people I love, as I possibly can.

I could start today, I guess, and probably should, but like all good phobias, baby steps, people. Baby steps.

General or Otherwise

On my way to visit Pumpkin in the hospital, I was reminded why I love California:

Then, I was reminded how much I don’t miss a hospital.

Soul Salvation by Fiver

Last Friday would have been my brother’s sixty-first birthday. I can’t even wrap my head around that fact. In my mind, he is forever thirty-something. He was fifty-four when he died, but he was thirty-something to me, even then.

I didn’t remember my brother’s birthday on Friday. It’s the first time I didn’t remember his birthday, on his birthday. I was super busy on Friday, kid and puppy sitting for a friend all day long and then hideous traffic getting back to the Valley from West Hollywood that made my commute twice as long as it should have been. Had been planning on driving out to the desert that night, but by the time I finally made it home, I was too worn out to even pack. And, if that all sounds like bad excuses for missing my brother’s birthday, it’s because there’s no excuse for not remembering my brother’s birthday.

I remembered on Saturday, because Saturday would have been my dad’s eighty-eighth birthday. Or as my dad would have said, just to get a rise out of my mom, the first day of his eighty-ninth year. I was finally packed and on my way to the desert, and talking on the phone with my X when I realized. I was astonished. And devastated. X tried to make me feel better by telling me it was a good thing, it meant I was moving on or something like that. Nice try. But, I never want to move that far. I spent the bulk of the rest of my drive in tears, completely guilt-ridden.

My first stop in the desert was to pick up The Empress Mr. Chin. We were going to run some errands for her party the following day. I began unburdening my guilty soul to her the second she got into the car, when we turned the first corner from her house and there he was, my brother, in his usual form - a small, brown, adorable bunny. My heart and guilty soul felt lighter the second I saw him. I stopped the car and watched him hop across Mr. Chin's neighbor’s yard and into the bushes and realized I was smiling.

Happy birthday, big brother, and thank you, for letting me off the hook so quickly, and much too easily. It was just like you.

Intervention Anyone?

I've had sleep issues for as long as I can remember. More specifically, lack of sleep issues. Does anyone have too much sleep issues? Narcoleptics, I guess. These days though, I seem to have given up sleep altogether. Unless it's the morning, when I should be getting up. Then I could sleep like the proverbial baby, well except for the daily trash truck and/or recycling truck and the incessant gardening with power tools. I don't know what the neighbors are growing out here in the valley, but they certainly do enjoy landscaping in the early a.m. hours, with as many pieces of motorized equipment as they can possibly get their hands on.

But actually going to bed and sleep at a respectable time of night? What's that? You would think this lack of sleep pattern would translate into blog postings, wouldn't you? Lots of late night/early morning ruminations on all the oh so deep thoughts swirling around in my head that are seemingly the cause of my awakeness? Nope. Apparently, I just desperately need to get caught up on The Tudors or Breaking Bad or Weeds or 30 Rock or...I haven't even started Downton Abbey yet! #addictedtostreamingnetflix #helpme

So Much Sweetness

A friend posted an article on Facebook where Bill Murray tells a story about physically carrying Gilda Radner around at a party when she was already quite ill. She was tired and ready to leave, but the group hadn't been seeing her much and didn't want her to go. So they took turns carrying her around and saying goodbye to her, over and over, and she was laughing and loving it. It turned out to be the last time he saw her. It's an amazingly sad visual and yet, I'll bet he smiles at the memory. I know I do.

Christmas day, December 25, 2005, one month and one day before my brother's death. We would have traditionally had Christmas at my mom's house or at my sister, Betsy's, house, but my brother, Bobby, was too ill to go anywhere. In fact, too weak to even walk from his upstairs bedroom to the living room downstairs, for the family holiday festivities. We took turns hanging out with him in his bedroom for most of the afternoon, but he really wanted to be downstairs with everyone, all together. My brother wanted his family together, pretty much at all times. I'm relatively sure he was the one who instigated the Sunday family dinners. He also made sure to spend at least one other night of the week (usually Wednesday's for some reason, probably because it was midway between the Sundays) at our parent's house throughout his adult life, and through years and years of cancer and chemo and radiation and whatever clinical trial he was putting himself through, right up until he could not physically get himself over there. Bobby expected the gang to gather not just for all Sundays, but all holidays (I do mean all - not just the big ones), all birthdays (and we're +/-20 strong, so on average two a month), and just about any other reason he could come up with (the Preakness comes to mind).

When I was 24, I bought a one-way ticket to Europe. I planned on backpacking around the continent for about three months -- or as long as my money held out. The only place I knew I would be on any specific date was Paris, two days after my 25th birthday, so my family sent me birthday cards to the American Express office there. One of my fondest memories of that three-month adventure is sitting on the steps of The Palais Garnier on that beautifully sunny, but chilly November 18th afternoon, and opening my cards. My brother's card was so completely and perfectly him: "Happy birthday, little sister. You better be home in time for Christmas or I'm coming to get you. Love, your big brother." I made sure to be home in time for Christmas.

On that Christmas day in 2005, we carried my big brother from his upstairs bedroom, up the narrow hallway, down the flight of stairs that twisted to the right on the way down, through the foyer, to the living room, and into the comfiest chair available. Where he sat and watched his family open gifts and talk and eat and laugh and play and endured photos and enjoyed us being all together until he was too exhausted to sit up any longer. Then we picked him up from that comfy chair and carried him out of the living room, through the foyer, up the flight of twisting stairs, down the hallway, and back into his bedroom and bed. We took turns hanging out with him in his bedroom for the rest of the evening. Never, in a million years, would I have ever thought we would carry my strong, strapping, 6' 2", big brother anywhere, but the memory of carrying him down and up those stairs that Christmas day makes me smile. I think it's because I know how happy it made him. And although I remember, at the time, feeling so completely devastated at how slight and frail he had become and how light he felt, I was happy to carry him wherever he wanted to go, even if it was just down and back up the stairs. There may be tears streaming down my face, but there's a smile on my lips just the same.

Mojave Desert High

Rumor has it I've been neglecting this thing. I guess it's true. Although maybe not technically neglect since I think that would indicate some sort of malice on my part, but it's been brought to my attention (more than once) that I've perhaps not been tending to it as much as I should. A girl's been busy! Just spent four glorious days in the high desert this past weekend with little to no phone or internet service and then there's those two pesky new jobs. How in the world did I find myself so quickly right back in the trap of working too much? Granted, my definition of working "too much" has changed a little, but seriously, it's almost like I can't help myself. But, I will make a better effort to pay more attention to the documenting of the adventures! I'm thankful that anyone is actually reading.

My holiday weekend didn't start as well as it could have. I stayed out too late last Wednesday night at a friend's art opening and was so lazy to get moving the next morning. This, of course, got me on the road later than I had planned. The traffic was atrocious and I was sorely missing my family and a particular friend or two, or three, or four, and listening to much too sad music for much too long of a drive. You know, it's quite a skill to cry your eyes out and talk on the phone and text and shuffle your iPod to only the sad songs and inch along in bumper to bumper traffic, all at the same time. After two detours and three freeway parking lots, what should have been at most a two and a half hour drive ended up taking me four. Although, now that I think about it, maybe it was a good thing I had such bad travel karma. It gave me plenty of time to blow my nose and fix my makeup, and I got to talk to my kid four times! So, that's something to be thankful for.

By the time I got to the Thanksgiving feast at the Joshua Tree home of friends of Pumpkin's, I was all cried out and honestly feeling better for it. I was also simply happy to be out there again. There's just something about that place. The light and the air and the landscape and the stars and the wide open spaces, I can't spend ten minutes there without finding myself dreaming and scheming about buying some little piece of it to call my own. One day. One day soon, I hope. The sun was just about setting when I finally arrived and the evening ended up being a complete embarrassment of riches: gorgeous weather, wonderful people, delicious and abundant food and drink, and an absolutely rockin' after-dinner Quonset disco hut! There was a lot to be thankful for.

Friday, I had leftover giant turkey wings, gf chocolate pecan pie, and pomegranate mimosas for breakfast and we spent the afternoon cruising around the high desert in the back of a pickup truck. I'll take all of that over standing in line at the mall every single time. I hit the local music hot spot, met W&L's two brand new and adorable puppies, had lots of good girl-talk time with the lovely and lovable and newly nicknamed MR. Chin, did a wee bit of personal birthday shopping, and dined and wined and played board games with a charming group of gentlemen. The entire weekend was a gold mine of food and drink and conversation - with a smattering of thrifty retail therapy thrown in - with new friends and old friends and newly best friends. I headed back to LA early Monday morning exhausted, and yet rested at the same time, and feeling eternally thankful for every single moment.

The Giving of the Thanks

I have so much to be thankful for on any given day that on THE day for giving thanks, I’m finding it impossible to express the breadth of my gratitude. So, I’m going to let Albert Schweitzer do it for me:

“In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.”

Word.

Frozen Hot Chocolate

Serendipity – “a happy accident” or “a pleasant surprise”. Who would have thought a cancelled international flight could be either of those things?

My bff, K, had flown from Baltimore to Los Angeles yesterday, the first of two flights en route to a three-week vacation in Australia with her friend, Jenny. She had only had an hour layover though, so no time for an California reunion, but just as I was getting home from work last night, I got a call from her saying their flight from LAX to Sydney was cancelled! Turns out a late night airport pickup, a bottle of wine, and some catching up with a best friend is just about as perfect as an evening can get.

We stayed up too late and slept in too long, but the day was too beautiful to waste, so we squeezed in a hike and a meal before I took them back to the airport tonight for their rescheduled flight. They may have lost a day in Sydney, but they gained a day to play in LA.

Serendipity? Or perspective? Are they different?

Here Comes The Sun

Birthdays are no longer a laughing matter. Don’t get me wrong, I’m hella grateful to still be having them, and especially so since too many people I love don’t get to any more. This year’s though is particularly, I hesitate to use the word difficult but, difficult. Not just because of the age, although I now completely understand why my mom has been thirty-nine for forty-nine years, but also because I'm feeling more than a little homesick today. I really like to celebrate a birthday -- difficult one or not -- a celebration is necessary and required, and if I were back east right now, there’d be a-party a-happenin’.

But I just could not decide what form said celebration should take this year. Not gonna lie, I kind of wanted to have a big party. But, I secretly wanted someone else to take care of all the details. The problem with being the new girl in town is everyone you know, and everyone you sort of know, already has their own life going on and you’re not actually a part of it. And the only thing sadder than having to throw yourself a party, is throwing yourself a party and no one coming. 

So instead, this year's birthday will be remembered for all its quiet, little, personal gifts: On Monday, there was health - Mother Nature gave me an absolutely perfect morning for yoga in the park. Tuesday, satisfaction - Spent the day volunteering for a wonderful organization with an equally wonderful cause. Wednesday, prosperity - I became gainfully employed! Twice! Thursday, happiness - By way of a gluten-free pumpkin and cream cheese frosted birthday cupcake. Friday, love - I'll be partaking of my newest (and new favorite) celebratory ritual, blood orange margaritas at the beach at sunset. Saturday, friendship - Spending the evening with friends, and friends of friends, celebrating another's hard work, good fortune, and new life. And Sunday, beauty - The Mapplethorpe exhibit at The Getty Center. You know, there may be something to this quiet, little, personal gifts idea.

Maybe, if I'm fortunate enough to get to next year's anniversary of my birth, I'll celebrate with a big party. But then again, maybe not. Either way, here's to one more adventure around the sun.

 

It's One Louder

Went to do yoga in the park yesterday and in the middle of telling us whichever asana he wanted us to bend ourselves into at that moment, the instructor mentioned it was 11:11. My magic number. For as long as I can remember, I’ve noticed that number pretty darn frequently. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve made a wish whenever I see it. Sometimes I feel silly continuing to do so, but I keep doing it anyway. Even yesterday, when Daniel, the comedian yoga instructor said, “…and it’s 11:11, so…” I thought, I wish not to fall out of this pose right now. It worked. That time. It usually doesn’t. But, the less than stellar wishing success to failure ratio doesn’t deter me any more than feeling silly about it does. And the funny thing is, I’m so sincere when I make my wish too. I mean, seriously. Sincere. I mean that wish with all my heart. Sometimes my wishes are super serious like when my brother and sister and dad were sick, I had the same exact wish every time I saw 11:11 for all those years. It didn’t work those times. Sometimes they’re completely trivial, like yesterday. Not surprisingly, the trivial ones have a much higher success rate. I really like my magic number though. It’s sort of a little game the universe and I are playing together. The universe sends that number to me way more often than you can imagine and it makes me smile every single time. I think it’s the universe’s way of reminding me to Stop. Smile. Breath. Wish.

“A mind wishing to benefit other people and other sentient beings is the very basis of peace and happiness.” – Dalai Lama

“The numbers all go to eleven. Look, right across the board, eleven, eleven, eleven and…these go to eleven.” – Nigel Tufnel

Girl Power

Spending a night out with girlfriends is such a great idea. Some laughs, a lot of laughs usually. Some food, never enough. Some drinks, typically one too many. Some conversation, even when it inevitably turns into boy talk. You just hardly ever regret a night out with the girls. Had one last night and it was all that. And a bag of chips.

I am constantly reminded how important it is to nurture your girlfriend relationships as conscientiously as you would one with any man. And girlfriends is such a broad (every pun intended) group too – your sister, or niece, or mom, or cousin, or aunt, or coworker, or classmate, or female soon not to be stranger – all have girlfriend potential. It always makes me sad to hear a teenage girl say she has more male friends than female. Now I’m well aware that teenage girls can be horrible to one another, I was one and suffered many and spent countless hours with dozens of them day in and day out in my last job. But the happiest teen girls and the happiest grown woman I have ever known are the ones who have strong girlfriend relationships. And lots of them. I’ve been so incredibly lucky throughout my life to have especially great female friends. Some are blood, some might as well be, and one is gone.

It’s cliché to say, but I’m gonna say it anyway, I wouldn’t be the person I am without the woman who’ve supported me, cheered me on, cheered me up, comforted me, put me in my place, laughed with me, laughed at me, gone adventuring with me, and who I can trust with my Facebook password.

You know, in case of emergency…only they know to break the proverbial glass.

Three Little Birds

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed yesterday, literally and figuratively, after a restless, sleepless night. They say things come in threes and I had three pretty big – I’m gonna go with disappointments – so here’s hoping I’m good for awhile. Why are human interactions so complicated, anyway? Seems simple enough: be nice, be honest, and be trustworthy. Those three tenets work well in every situation I can think of, actually. But, I was feeling like one of those enormously tall Beverly Hills palm trees on an extra windy day. Being pushed and pulled by forces of nature I couldn’t see, much less control.

So I had myself a morning freeway meltdown complete with the long phone chat with an old friend. Had a good cry and a good laugh and got some good advice. And some much needed love.

And I suddenly noticed what an incredibly beautiful day it was. The sky was clearer than I’d seen it since I’ve been in LA. Thanks to the cold front that brought the all day long chilly rain that dogged me on the freeway for four long hours the night before – big, bright, and gorgeously blue, with big, white, fluffy clouds, and most importantly, not a smidgen of smog. You could see for miles and miles in all directions. Sometimes, when I’m in my car and the windows are down and the sun is bright and the air is fresh and the tunes are blaring and I look over and the Pacific Ocean is right there and I turn my head and the San Gabriel mountains are right there and then the City of Angels is just right there and it is utterly, breathtakingly surreal that I am actually here. This was one of those moments. I sincerely hope that moment never gets old.

I could have driven around for hours yesterday simply enjoying the sun and the air – if I hadn’t been so astonishingly tired. Went home and took a nap instead. Naps are good too. The thing to remember is the palm trees may bend, and sometimes alarmingly so, but they don’t break.

A La Famiglia

Some, and sometimes all, of my family – my siblings, their spouses or significant others, my nieces and nephews and their spouses or significant others, and their children, and even exes and their current spouses or significant others, and their children – has dinner at my mom’s house every Sunday. We’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. Honestly, for as long as I can remember. It’s just something we do. Happily, the numbers have grown and sadly, the numbers have also dwindled over the years. I haven’t been to a Sunday dinner in seven or eight weeks. I’ve lost count, and I'm not gonna lie, I miss them.

I call my mom every other day or so. It’s just something I do. Typically my conversations with my mom revolve around the weather. She really likes to talk about the weather. It goes something like this: Hello? Hi, mom. Hi, Jan (my mother is the only person on the face of the earth allowed to call me Jan), how ya doin? I’m good, how are you? Pretty good, you got a nice sunny day today? Yep, sure do. How 'bout you? It’s cloudy here today / It’s raining here today / It’s cold here today / It’s nice here today / It’s insert appropriate weather condition here today. Then we talk about everything she can and can’t or could or couldn’t do that day because of said weather conditions and I usually get to hear about yesterday’s and tomorrow’s weather and how that affected or will affect her daily activity, as well. She’s pretty adorable.

Today though, she surprised me! I have a distant cousin who lives in northern California. I don’t think I’ve actually ever met her. She and my mom spoke on the phone recently and mom mentioned to her that I had moved to Los Angeles. My cousin asked if I was going to become a movie star now and my mom could not wait to tell me this story and even launched into it ahead of the weather portion of our call. Unprecedented. When I responded with, “Ha! Not too likely”, my mom said, “Well, you could be an extra, or a producer or something, right?” And I said, “Yeah! I’m gonna be a producer! In fact, I’m gonna do that tomorrow!” She said, “Great! Sounds like fun.” Clearly, she didn’t catch my sarcasm. Or maybe, I missed her sincerity. She is pretty adorable.

Baby Steps

I've had what an amateur, or me, might call writer's block for the last couple of days. I've sat in front of my laptop every night, fingers poised on the keys, staring at the blank screen. Nothing. Oh, I've typed some words. Then held the delete button down until they were gone. Stared. Typed other words. Repeat delete button action. Stared. Cycle those three things several dozen more times and you have the general idea. Even a trip out to dog beach yesterday didn't do the trick. We'd never been out there on a weekend day. Beautiful weekend day equals no parking, lots of kiddos, and a short leash. Not exactly the dog beach my pal and I had come to regard as our own private sanctuary. Oh well, one more night of staring and deleting wasn't gonna hurt anybody.

This morning, on the freeway of all places, it finally occurred to me that I haven't been able to write because my brain is consumed with two conversations I need to have. Well, more accurately, need to have and have been avoiding. I'm extraordinarily good at avoiding what I perceive to be a confrontation. It takes its toll on my overall well being, of course, but that's a small price to pay, right? I immediately began to "write" the first conversation in my head. Picked up the phone. Dialed the X's number. Nothing. Oh, I had plenty of words. Just not the ones I had planned to say. I could actually feel my brain holding down the imaginary delete button until all the meaningful words were gone. Coward was the only word I could think of for the rest of the afternoon.

Then Calm sent me this: Famous Writers on Overcoming Writers Block, and I was like, hell yeah, Ray Bradbury, you're right! I was attempting to write anything and everything except what I needed to write or in this case, say. So, I wrote conversation number one into an email, well, my part of the conversation anyway, and off it went. Oh, I'm still a coward. But, it's a start, right?

Four Little Words

What do I want? What do I want? What do I want? Seems like an easy question, no? No. But these four little words have been propelling me forward for some time now. I'm sticking with forward because I'm still optimistic that's the direction I'm headed. I think. Yesterday, I knew. Maybe tomorrow, I'll know again. But today, I think. Such a loaded question, too. Reeks of selfishness. It shouldn't, it's an important thing to figure out.

What do I want?

Right this second, I want my feet not to be cold. Slippers.

I Heart the Beach

My dog beach days with my canine pal are sadly numbered. We had a particularly great one yesterday though, and hopefully, we can sneak in a couple more in the next few weeks. I was a little, okay more than a little, hung over after a quick jaunt out to Joshua Tree Sunday night for W&L’s Halloween party, and almost settled for a nap instead of making the effort to go to dog beach. I’m so glad we did! I just always feel better after an afternoon out there. What am I going to do when my pal moves away? Sad.

The tide was really low yesterday. Lower than I’ve ever seen it at this particular beach and we always go at about the same time of the day. It made for an awesome rock and shell graveyard though at the bottom (or is that the top) of the beach where the surf is usually crashing. Maybe it’s because there was a full moon last night? Just as long as it wasn’t a sign that a tsunami is next.

It's Official

I’m a Californian. Experienced my first earthquake yesterday! October 28, 2012 at 8:25 a.m., 3.9 on the Richter scale. I honestly thought it was a really big truck driving down the alley underneath my bedroom window. I have a ceramic glove form that sits on my dresser. I hang my necklaces on it. It rattled for a minute or so.

It was a good starter earthquake, I think.

It's All In A Word

Drove from the Valley to Venice Beach yesterday morning and avoided using a single freeway. I am what you might call, surface road girl! I don't mind the freeways, honestly. I mean, yeah, they're super congested and it's a total drag sometimes, but I've found that I'm pretty comfortable on them after all. Confusing numbers, breakneck speeds, winding roadways, and all. I just like the surface roads. I feel more connected to the city or something. LA is s...p...r...a...w...l...i...n...g, so knowing which neighborhood is where and how to navigate through them to get to wherever you need to be is, well, kind of essential.

Yesterday's drive was particularly nice though. Most of my time was spent on the really beautiful section of Topanga Canyon Boulevard that winds, and I mean winds, through that gorgeous canyon and bottoms out right smack dab into the Pacific Ocean. Honestly, you exit the canyon and the ocean, in all its glory, is quite suddenly twenty feet in front of you. It's a stunningly abrupt and stunningly gorgeous moment. Hang a right, and you're headed for Malibu and all points north. I was headed south through Pacific Palisades, home to what has to be the most expensive trailer park known to man-kind, then Santa Monica, and finally into Venice. Had coffee with a new friend and lunch with an old one, and then drove back exactly the way I had gotten there just so I could enjoy that canyon one more time and take some photos.

I was so taken with the Topanga landscape that I decided a hike there was exactly what I needed today. Fresh air, long walk, clear my head. Or more precisely, get out of my head. This year, I've had a sort of 'meditation word' I guess is the best phrase for it, "unfolding". Simply a word I've been repeating to myself to keep all the madness and changes in perspective. Helps me to remember all things are fluid and evolving, nothing is certain. This past week and a half though, my meditation word had morphed, much to my dismay, into something much less affirmative, "unraveling". I had seemingly lost my badass mojo. There were a couple of events that started the spool spinning of course, but really it's been mostly just me, spending too much time in my head. And not writing about it! I've felt a sort of responsibility to keep, what I had come to be afraid was an illusion, going. Not to admit in writing that I was feeling anxious and unsettled and frankly, sad. It's amazing what a little fresh air, a long walk, and a chat with a friend can do. "Think" with your heart, my friends. It's a much more accurate tool than the computer in your skull.*


*With thanks to my always insightful and almost always calm friend.