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.