lisa lisa

there are a lot of things people could say about me.

there are many ways you could take me down, fill me up with sadness, make me feel like i am as small as they make 'em.

there are endless ways to get under my skin or get my goat.

however, no one can ever claim that i don't feel things deeply. specifically, no one can say that i missed the music of my teenage years, and that it didn't impact me in ways both tragic and spiritual. no one can say that top-40 didn't make me who i am today.

yesterday i proved that by singing the words to "all cried out" by lisa lisa. all the words. all. the. words. words that i haven't thought of in years came to me in a second before they were needed, and in kim's kitchen, amidst the women whom i love so much, i was a superstar. they were amazed by me, by my retention, by my devotion to retelling the tale of a love gone wrong. all i needed was a simple hello, people. but the traffic was so noisy that you could not hear my cry-ay-ay-ay.

i rocked that shit.

today i can't get the damned song out of my head, but laughing that hard with my best friends was worth it.

snowy heart.

drinking wine by myself, making soup, watching the snow fall down. this is the way i dreamed late december would always present itself to me in my midlife; this is the way the world should feel.

my kid is playing the piano in the background, some sort of meandering song that is paving the way for her to become more dear to me. the kitchen radio plays a boston station, and when the dj stops and talks about the weather i can look out the window and agree with her.

snuggled up with my other kid today and watched a movie; my arm around him, smelling the boy hair/shampoo/cold air scent of him, marveling at the momentary connection, grateful for the time when he loves me outright.

tomorrow i'll be spending the day with my dear friends east of the mississippi. we have no plans. we will meet up and make them. there will inevitably be food and drink, but the nourishment will come from being next to them, sharing the same air, and laughing together. after more than 25 years being friends, we are good at that. its one of the things that i'm best at, to be honest.

the snow is still falling, caught in the glow of the streetlamps. it's supposed to do this all night; wake me up with more winter to wrap me with, more winter to steel my soul against the inevitable return to los angeles heat. it does a body good, this cold, these flurries.

this is a good night.

i'm wishing i could take all the people in my life that i adore and need and make them be with me at this moment. all the los angelenos afraid of freezing temps, all the old friends lost to time and space, all the family estranged and strange--i'm wishing that i could have them all here with me right now. i would engulf each of them in a hug, look them in the eyes, and swear that this is a good life we have, made all the better by the fact that we would be together in this dream of a moment.

i would hug you tight, adore you for a few minutes, then send you on your way to wherever you are supposed to be. spend just enough time with you to let you know that i am grateful for you, grateful for whatever we've made together.

filled up, way up, with the kind of love that must make this world stay aloft.

the view.

day after.

christmas is officially over. we've done three versions of opening presents, the children are suitably happy, and now begins the part of my vacation where i can actually rest. in theory.

tonight i made vegan brownies and helped my mother-in-law make pasta fagiole and soon we'll all be having a family dinner--ten people around the table. there will be hot bread and warm soup and salad. later there will be fudgy chocolatey goodness with soy ice cream for me, because i deserve it this time of year. all year 'round, in fact.

feels like a holiday.

yesterday morning we woke up in my parents' extremely lopsided bed, under covers that had been keeping my family warm for decades, and smiled as my son came in and said, "well, it's a perfect white christmas!"

never has there been a more beautiful ten-year old boy to utter those words.

we looked outside and watched the snow fall gently, while we all exclaimed about how beautiful it was. the squirrels ran down the branches of the trees, knocking off snow in a line so quickly it looked like a kind of gorgeous explosion. selkie ran outside in her pajamas and got a handful of snow to eat, which started her feasting for the day.

it was perfect snow; crunchy and malleable, soft yet firm--the kind of snow that people write about. it is the kind of snow that makes me adore this place where i was born.

tonight we're waiting again for another snow to fall, this time it might be sizeable--possibly enough to go sledding in the schoolyard next to my in-laws' house. my children are happy.

i am happy. being here, being in this place, it rounds me out and makes me whole again. the cold air on my skin slaps me awake and reminds me that there is good, good, good all around me.

funny how the season that supports creatures rest and hibernation fires me up and lights me up from inside.

the meaning of christmas.

i listened to my friend mark maron's podcast today. he is one of my favorites, and his quirky blend of self-loathing and self-indulgence is familiar to me, so i appreciate him. today he was expounding about the feelings of the season, and wished everyone would find it in themselves to "be nice to the people who fucked you up".

happy holidays.

i've been here, in my parents' home, for a little less than three days, and i've maintained an aura of goodwill and good cheer that i'm pretty proud of. i've overlooked my parents' sniping at each other and let moments float by me where i used to jump in and engage in the madness. instead i've just offered up as much love as possible.

until this afternoon when we were going to exchange presents with my brother's family.

my mom insisted that she read the story of christmas to the grandchildren before they open the gifts. she insisted (erroneously) that she has read them the story every year. and she started off on us about how we've forgotten about the true meaning of why we celebrate christmas. why WE celebrate xmas.

we, meaning my family.

and the truth is, my children don't think about jesus's birth for a second during this time of year. they are not being raised in any church, under any mantle of belief other than we are here on this earth to take care of each other. they have to find their own way, make their own spiritual path, whatever that may be. it is not up to me or my husband to dictate an idea to them.

and it certainly is not up to my mother.

having a discussion (argument) about whether i found it appropriate that she decided to share a book about the birth of jesus under the heading of "this is why WE celebrate christmas" may have seemed overwrought and ridiculous to some. maybe better to let that one just float by? maybe i should have just sucked it up, the way i've done the past couple of days?

i couldn't. just couldn't.

i let her read the damn book, but as she closed with her grand overview of this holy holiday i threw out there, "yes, but we are not christians, and so we celebrate christmas as a cultural event--we celebrate because we can be with family." but of course this is not the true meaning of christmas. not valid. not real. i am among the non-believers, and i am not to be trusted.

i can't imagine how my mother feels about having a daughter like me.

a daughter, for instance, who listens to her mother wish a very hearty, very aggressive, "NO, Merry CHRISTMAS!!" to the nice young woman who helps us in anthropologie, as she is buying said daughter a shirt for her birthday, in response to the young woman saying "happy holidays!" a daughter who looks in the line behind them, sees many people smirking and listening, some not so happy with the outburst, and then loudly proclaims, "what's wrong with happy holidays! she could celebrate diwali for all you know!" a daughter who then walks out with this mother and begins arguing about allowing for other faiths to be represented at this time of year while the mother argues her incredibly detailed point about this nation being a "christian nation"; one founded on "christian ideals"; what's so wrong about reminding people of that? and then said mother yells something like, "your PC-ness drives me crazy sometimes!!"

jesus mary and saint joseph.

its that moment in my favorite holiday movie, "home for the holidays", where holly hunter asks dylan mcdermott, "do you ever look at these people and wonder, who are these people? where did i come from?" and he tells her, "i do, but then i just look at them and think they must be thinking the exact same thing about me."

its the holidays. its happening all around me. tonight, before i head out to my aunt's house to spend time with more relatives, i wanted to re-christen (pun) this blog, usher it into a new era of writing, and in doing so hope that those of you who are reading it are somehow sharing this holiday season with your families. perhaps you are having a moment yourself. perhaps you are wondering how you will make it through.

i stand with you, my friends. i stand with you in the glory of the season, in friendship and family, in sacred moments of arguing and yelling in the most holy of ways, the ways that only people who love and loathe each other know how to do.

peace out.

hot stuff.

oh monday, how you slay me.

its oh so hot here in the san fernando valley, my friends.  we've had triple digits and high 90s for over a week now, and it makes a girl feel gloppy and sticky and just not nice.  i've discovered new places for sweat to occurs, such as between my fingers or in the quiet folds of my tummy.

shit, its been really hot.

i'm tired of air conditioning and constant fans.  wait, let me back up: i'm so grateful for air conditioning and fans, but i wish we didn't have to use them.  as it is, we set our thermostat to 77 degrees, which is pretty reasonable, if you ask me.  but all of this energy use and waste and heat leads one to contemplate the huge drought that is plaguing our country, the drought that's peppered by bouts of flooding and tornadoes, and one can't help but feel that we are FUCKED.  we are FUCKED by our absolute inability to change the way we live and take huge steps to save this place we call home.

more specifically, our children are FUCKED.  that's how close it is now.  our children, not seven generations ahead.  its coming faster than we thought it would and our collective response is shameful.
shame on us.  shame on me.

shame on me for knowing that those stupid fruit cups with tiny oranges in them should not be bought just based on the fact that we will be adding four more bits of plastic into the ocean after throwing them "away" or "recycling" them; shame on me for buying them anyway to placate whiny children who are pestering me in target.

this soapbox is getting slippery.  i'll leave it at that.

except to say that the wave of despair hits me hard, but since the meds have kicked in so good i can feel it wash over me and then trail off behind me, like muddy footprints that eventually get walked-off clean again.

(pause for me to wipe off my palms on the blanket; too much sweat on the keyboard).

i'm ready to start writing again with daily doses of this life of mine.  i've been missing these moments to unload and reconnect and think hard about stuff, as well as the more banal posts about my children and their antics.  right now my daughter is being tag-teamed licked by both dogs while she giggles uproariously, thereby guaranteeing that she gets french-kissed as well.

in this family, we share the germs like we share our emotions: boldly and with complete abandon.

so, to close, its good to be back.

burning

And with the burning of the whoopie pies, she swore to the heavens, then waited for the frustration to swallow her up.

Surprisingly, she was able to savor the singeing, and chucked the mess into the trash can as she exhaled.

She remains amazed at the way her new brain takes care of her.

lasting.

had you driven by my parents' house today, you would've seen the following picture:

two people, sitting on the bumpy cement steps on the front porch, understanding that the discomfort is somehow pleasurable.  the mother sits on the top step, the daughter directly below her, wearing her nightgown at 3 in the afternoon.  she is wiggling, as she always seems to be.

the mother is reading/skimming a book that she does not want to take on the plane with her during her journey back to her home the next day.  she holds it just above her daughter's head, which smells of salt water from her parents' pool.

the daughter is holding her mother's iphone with all the dexterity that a seven year-old girl can, and plays various games while telling her mother that she isn't good at any of them, and it is so frustrating to her.

the mother rarely responds, other than a gentle, "uh huh."

the day is overcast and casually muggy, as if the weather couldn't quite decide on its look.

there is serenity to the scene, which is not an indication of what is happening inside each of their bodies.  or maybe it is.  maybe for just a few minutes the two of them were at peace with each other, with their geography, with their station in life.

there is calm, quiet, longing, determination; feasting on the end-of-summer air that feeds their lungs.

this is the snapshot, the photo, the still frame of the last day in massachusetts for a while.

coasting home

two more days in massachusetts.

the summer is winding down for me, for us.  my husband is on his trek back to los angeles with his trusty co-pilot clay, and the kids and i are making the best of five days without him, and five more days living with my parents.

we are tired.

my girl selkie threw two, huge, down-on-the-floor, kicking and screaming fits today.  they were gnarly.
one was about her inability to decided whether or not she wanted to go in the 72-degree pool at 8 o'clock tonight, and while she stood poolside whining and crying about it, the mosquitoes feasted on her and she has welts all over her body.  The tv room upstairs where the kids sleep smells like a calamine lotion factory.  inevitably, she'll wake up in a couple of hours, begging for some kind of relief, which i will not be able to provide for her.

i seem to be stuck in a position of not really being able to help out these children of mine lately.  their issues are their own, and i can only do so much.  i'm feeling very much that things are out of my hands.

given that they are still so young, perhaps that's not the most productive mode of thought right now.

every year at this time i wonder if we've stayed too long.  if this trip across the country to stay with relatives for a month-plus is a blessing or a trial.  the truth is that its both.  how lucky i am to have the kind of job where i get to take time in the summer to be with my family in massachusetts.  how lucky we are that my husband is employed in such a way that he can do his work from here.  how lucky are we that the kids demand to spend so much time with their grandparents and their cousins, and have come to expect it as part of their year.

i have too.

i've written about it before, about what coming home does to me, and its certainly not an unexplored subject for writers.  the furious pull that keeps me saying "home" when referring to the place i was born has not lessened over my 18 years living in california.  i am consistently challenged by my need for this place, and yet i've given over to it out of the desire to keep my mental health intact.

this is my home, and i will always long for it.

i have kept this fact mostly hidden from my kids.  i know this is hard to believe, but its true.  over the years i have maintained a cheerful disposition (mostly) about los angeles (sort of), and they have drawn their own conclusions about the disparate offerings of the east and west coast.

this summer, milo has become extremely vocal about not liking california, and wishing that we could move to massachusetts.  he has said this repeatedly in front of my mother.  you can only imagine the impact that has on her.  i've pointed out to him that massachusetts has been only vacation to him, and that if we lived here he would indeed have to go to school and struggle with homework and friends and would have the same rules about screen time and treats that we have back at our house.  up until now this argument seemed to placate him.  but this summer he has reasons why massachusetts is better.

"first, there are woods everywhere.  it's so green!  if we want to see green in california we have to drive, like, really far.  and second is family, of course.  and third, the seasons.  in los angeles its so hot and sunny, and we like, never ever get rain! its not good for the plants!  i want to live here, for sure."

(this is the moment where i suck up all the air around me and keep in in my lungs to submerge myself deep inside my own body.  i cannot let any of myself out, because then he would know that he has spoken my heart's desire, my soul's quest, my yearning that has consistently peppered his childhood with bouts of depression and anguish.  this is the moment where i lie.  i simply fucking lie to my child.)

there's not much more to say about this.

in three days i'll be on a plane, and when we ascend from logan airport my eyes will fill with tears.  then i'll turn on bravo and watch five straight hours of shows i swear i never watch.  when we finally make it to the other side of the country, the descent will take us down through the layers of smog, and once again my eyes will fill with water, but not enough so that my children will notice.

soon we'll be at the baggage claim and the person who loves us the most will be waiting for us, and the reunion will be a trigger for me; the gun pulled on my heartstrings and in that moment i know i will be okay again.  i will be so relieved to walk into my little house in the valley with two glorious dogs who will cover me in relieved kisses.  i will be so happy to unpack months of shit from suitcases; happy to start living out of dresser drawers again.

i will be anxious to get settled, to get food in the house, to hug friends who are family, to get back to the routine, to get to work with the people i love, doing the work that i was born to do in the school that i am devoted to, deep in the heart of van nuys, california.

in the meantime, i will soak it all up, all of this massachusetts goodness, even when there is madness going down in front of me.  i'm talking to you, selkie snow.

goodnight from the musty basement of 2 meadowbrook road, franklin, massachusetts.

scenes from the road: illinois, indiana, ohio.

snack list.

here is the complete list of snacks that we have left in the car, all of which both of my children have refused, despite their hunger:

Peanuts
Salted sunflower seeds
Almonds
Lemon almonds
Pistachios
Apples
Grapes
Bananas
Fruit leathers
Clif bars
Popcorn
Honey nut rice cakes
Honey graham crackers
Veggie sticks
Snap-pea crisps
Peace-sign pretzels
Tortilla chips
Trail mix
White bread
Peanut butter
Strawberry jam

these are the healthy-type foods. we've got plenty of treats, too. i ask you, dear friends, are my children spoiled? are they incapable of understanding the bounty that is before them? or is it simply that this food has been with us for seven days, and as it is with the humans in the car, they are just bored with their choices?

either way, if anyone is hungry on rt.
80 going through illinois, we've got you covered. look for the gray prius covered in bugs.

day eight.

we're in wisconsin, heading towards madison, listening to "beezus and ramona" on dvd. selkie just ate two rounds of two different kinds of potato chips, and milo is drawing his own search and find pictures.

we're tired.

the front of the car looks like a jackson pollock painting gone very wrong, as the splattered bugs from past states have left their marks. selkie has decided that it's her job to clean the windows every time we stop for gas, and i wholeheartedly approve.

last night we saw our dear friend sean, and he took us to a bowling alley/pub/restaurant in minneapolis, then to izzy's ice cream parlor in st. paul for dessert, where the vegan ice cream made me swoon. it was so surreal and lovely to see our old friend, to introduce him to our kids, to see how happy he is.

the scenery is all looking the same right now, as we make our way through the middle of the country. its lush and green, and the clouds are alternately fluffy and ominous. we're seeing rivers and lakes and creeks. it's filling me up inside even as i become immune to it.

a week from today i'll be in florida with the women who've known me the longest, and we'll spend four days without our children and husbands and families and it will be glorious.

every time selkie starts to whine about how hot she is or milo starts to panic that he can't find his backscratcher, I try to stay calm and breathe, florida,
florida florida.

i'm not losing my shit here. far from it. but this is a small car, and things can get tense. so when i tell you that alex and i spent most of the day talking aim elmo and fozzie bear's voices, i hope you take that for what it is (an obvious diversion to keep our kids occupied) and not what it seems (a screaming, desperate cry for help).

"elmo loves his trip across the country!! elmo is having a great time, and elmo is very grateful that there was a whole foods in minneapolis. elmo loves the usa!"

scenes from the road III.

road rules.

Five o'clock on Monday afternoon, sitting on a road somewhere in Wyoming, taking deep breaths and trying not to want to open the door and escape. The brush looks inviting. There are baby deer around. Maybe I could become a wild woman of the west; I could buy a shirt that says, “Ride a cowgirl, not a horse.” Maybe if I just left this car right now and ran off, jumped over the barbed wire fence and into the hills, maybe then I would find some peace and quiet within myself.

Not very likely, but if I have to listen to my daughter complain about the computer being too dark or her seat being too hot, or if I have to hear my son whine about how his itouch is messing up his game, I just might have to try it. Let them try and catch me. Let them run after me calling my name, and just see if I come back.

Can you tell we're on the fifth day of our trip?

It has actually been lovely. We've laughed a lot, and listened to our kids cracking themselves up. There has been much more of that than of the aforementioned drama. We've driven through some frickin' amazing scenery; watched all kinds of deer find their way across the landscape, begged the signs that say “Be Bear Aware” actually produce a bear, bribed our kids to look out the window by telling them we'll give them five bucks if they see a fox, ten for bald eagles, bears were 20, and moose are worth $50 in cold, hard cash. So far we are out no money.

There are farm animals everywhere, and it must be calf/foal/lamb season, 'cause there are so many babies with their moms out there, drinking the milk they were meant to have and enjoying their families. “Hi, beauties!” we all say.

The ukelele is in the front seat, along with a huge cooler, my camera, the road atlas, my purse and various other stuff. There is not too much room for my legs, to be honest.

I can't get over how lucky I am to be doing this trip, to be taking this ride with these people. I love seeing all of the bikers in their full-on americana gear. Yelling at the Halliburton trucks as we pass them by. Taking the chance and passing the slower cars while we watch the incoming traffic getting closer and closer, and even though we know we have lots of time and can make it no problem, there is always that feeling just under the surface that says, “Oh shit, we're dead meat.”

So far, so good, though.

We're heading towards Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse, staying in Rapid City, South Dakota tonight. The next day we're taking the kids to the country's largest indoor water park, god help us. I can only imagine what that will be like.

We stretch every chance we get, but its all negated by the fact that we are sleeping with our children. Last night Selkie kicked me in the head with her feet, which I sleepily swatted away as if they were flies. She is happy most of the time, brushing her doll's hair in the backseat, drawing little scenes that she then animates in her head.

Milo is more interested in stuff this year, making a point to tell us when he is looking out the window. He is affectionate and happy when he's with us in private, but in public he puts on his aloof costume, and pretends that he just doesn't give a shit. Therefore, when he says things like, “Those deer are so beautiful!” I want to squeeze him tight and tell him how much I love him but instead I just ruffle his hair a bit, which is all he'll give me in front of other people.

So far I still love my family, which after about 1500 miles seems pretty damn good. Except for the moment that just happened, when I asked Alex how far we've gone and he said, “I'm not sure,” and I said, “Well, just give me an estimate,” and he said, “Well, if you'll just look at my notes I can give you a more accurate--” “I'm just writing this for the blog!! I don't need the actual number—just give me a ballpark!!!”

That was a tense moment.

Anyway, things are good. We have about 34 license plates recorded. Hawaii is still our holy grail.

I'll leave you with a quote from Selkie. When discussing the fact that we were not going to get a speeding ticket this year, she said, “Well, then you better not drive, Daddy.”

South Dakota, here we come.

Scenes from a trip II.

Reno buffet.

My children are in a casino. Selkie said, "it's just like an arcade!" Milo's comment: "this buffet is reckless!"

Just please, let us get out of here without having to explain about the drunken, oxygen-tanked, chain-smoking, mostly elderly clientele.

I miss Whole Foods.

scenes from a trip.

bear-ly anywhere yet.

oh sweet morning.

let me tell you, there is something about waking up in a hotel that makes you really appreciate your own bed.  that lumpy, stained, tired mattress that you complain about throughout the year suddenly seems like a dream cloud when you've spent a couple of nights away from it.

just sayin'.

my kids are snuggled up in a bed together, one watching hotel tv and the other playing his itouch. they got less than 8 hours of sleep last night, thanks to a tremendous clusterfuck of chaos brought on by hotwire and the sacramento crowne plaza hotel.  when we finally settled in to our second hotel of the night (thank you la quinta inn), it was way past 11:30 and we were all so tired it was laughable.  literally.  all we could do was laugh.  but let me start at the beginning...

two days ago we started our trip and headed up to kings canyon/sequoia national park, and saw some of the most amazing trees on our planet.  we stayed in a tiny cabin with signs posted inside telling us to lock up all of our food, on account of the bears.  we did all we could to summon bears to us throughout the day we were there, but no luck, even when there were prominent "bear crossing" signs, which i now consider to be false advertising.

at one point, my jaded, cranky ten year old son said excitedly, "i just love nature!"  and he wasn't being sarcastic.  he really meant it.  he had stars in his eyes when he said it.

i'm gonna ride on that one remark for a long, long time.

we had terrible food, just terrible, terrible food; i finally cracked open a barely ripened avocado and tried to scrape bits off with a tortilla chip in desperation.  the kids even remarked about the quality of the food served within the park, which, if you know my kids, isn't really unusual.  we drove the windy, twisting roads throughout the park, took a kick-ass tour of the crystal cave there, and got stuck behind lines and lines of cars as we all waited for the nice construction lady with the stop sign to let us all pass on a one-lane road.

then, as we journeyed to the last destination in the park--seeing the general sherman tree, which is the tallest tree in the world--we got stuck behind a line of cars again, and getting out of ours we walked ahead and saw that one of the sequoias had uprooted itself and was lying across the road, blocking two lanes of traffic.  in a moment of true human folly, we all tried to move it together, then began picking pieces of the bark off, in hopes of pulling it apart to make way for all of us to get by.  after a few minutes of this, we all gave up, and my family turned our car around and made our way out of the park without the satisfaction of having seen the famous tree but knowing that mother nature made her mark on us anyway.

our plan was to get to reno last night, stay at some swank kid-friendly hotel with a cool pool and hang out a bit.  but time got away with itself, and we decided that sacramento was a better choice.  so we hotwired a hotel and made our way up there, stopping only at the fresno whole foods for some dinner.

this story is sounding really boring to relate to you.  but last night it was ridiculously exciting, in the worst way possible.

we finally arrived at the crowne plaza around 10:30.  i waited in line for 20 minutes to check in, while selkie ran around the lobby like a girl on drugs, which she was, sort of, since she'd had a soda with dinner.  the woman at the counter was by herself and frazzled but nice, and she got us all set up with a room.  we took out all of our gear, of which there is a lot, and made our way up the stairs to our room where ONE KING BED awaited us.

fuck. fuck. fuck.  (those were the exact words i uttered.)

i called the desk lady who said there were no rooms with double beds, and when i reminded her that we had just had a lovely conversation about me traveling with my two children and husband cross-country and how could she check us into a room with one bed thinking that would suffice she had no answer.  even mentioned that there were no roll-aways available.

cut to us calling la quinta inn, kids crying from exhaustion, me on the phone with hotwire getting our money back, finally arriving to the other hotel where we walk in with exhausted children to our new room which reeks of pot.  "someone was smoking in here!!" said milo.

yup.

now its today, and the kids and alex are in the pool and i'm having a few minutes to myself.  i am determined that we are going to get into idaho tonight if it kills us, as being only six hours from home seems so wrong, given all the driving we've been doing.

anyway.  this concludes this morning's update from the road.

we're still here.

backseat action, Fresno for dinner, 104 degrees, lost sunglasses, "Bunnicula" audio book for all, banana chocolate chip bread sustenance. vacation on.

the road.

here's one way to pack a chicken dress that can't be left behind. just wear it.

with love and gratitude to my dear Jessica Wallenfels, who ushered us out the door with grace and steadfast love.

bootiful

thursday afternoon and i come home to an empty house.  everyone else, including the dogs, are at a friend's house, and i have moments to myself.

i'm just letting that sink in a bit here.

today i woke up and put on my new/old doc martens that i just got for mother's day.  i also put a flower in my hair, because i'm determined to do that more now that i'm forty.  i'm going for a signature look here.  this could be it.

i used to own another pair of docs, but gave them away long ago.  these were the ones that i bought in london when i met my husband.  i was so proud of those shoes.  they were dark maroon, black laces, big and clunky and perfect, and they made me feel like i could take anyone, anyone, anyone down who messed with me.  i wore them with granny dresses for years.  they were gorgeous.

i saw this new pair at the pasadena flea market last weekend, and i knew that they had to be mine.  i was with my friend amber, who prefers heels, and who has been my own personal fashion guru for many years now.  however, much as she tries, she can't take away the overalls/baggy/clunkyshoe core of this girl.  and when she saw me try them on and i lit up like the july 4th sky, she said she hadn't seen me that happy in a while.

is it wrong to be in love with a pair of shoes?

i'm not denying that their power is more about how they make me feel.  i am on solid ground when i wear them.  i am straight and tall and full of insight about this world, and i really like myself.  all it took was some wrangling with the two fine gentlemen who were selling them (okay, maybe i fluttered an eyelash or two), and $15 bucks later i was in possession of self-confidence.

strange how it happens sometimes.

there is a demand inside of me right now to take care of myself.  i seem to be doing this in several ways. for starters, i'm trying out some anti-depressants for the first time in my life.  this is a big deal to me.  it was not a decision i entered into lightly but i felt like it was time.  so here i am, slightly medicated.

i'm also going to the gym, that beloved little ymca right down the road from me, and doing the circuit machines while listening to the same songs over and over.  i think "shuffle" is a crock, by the way.  i have over 900 songs on that ipod; how come i have to hear britney spears' version of "i love rock and roll" every single time, and sometimes twice?  (i didn't put it on there.  just to be clear).

i'm also writing again, trying to gently tell myself with each word i type that i have to say.

for today, it seems like i do.  and it can best be summed up by this: whatever it takes, whatever form it comes in, i am sitting here with open arms awaiting the joy i think i deserve.

so for today, i sit down on my chair and gently unlace my boots, grateful for their support, knowing that  the weight of them was a constant reminder of the pull of gravity.  it is enough for today to just know that i am awake and walking on this earth.

teeter-totter

well hello there.

jeepers, its been a long frickin' time since i've written anything in this here space.  a long time since i've been writing anything of any interest at all, save for my little "thank you" journal that sits on my bedside box/table.  i seem to have spent the last few months feeling that i have nothing worthy to say or to share, which is a cryin' shame.

i've been sucked back into facebook like someone paid me to scroll down the posts every day, and i'm not sure it makes me feel so good about myself.  i cannot seem to manage a casual relationship with that service.  facebook makes me feel like i need it, several times a day, like some sort of weird boost that claims to give you the right kind of attention.

i'm pretty sure its the wrong kind of attention.

still, i stay on it, for the occasional brilliance of my friends and the videos that make me swoon and the comedy that unintentionally unearths itself there.  maybe its worth it.  maybe not.  for now, i stay, until i find a better way to feel like someone is listening to me.

things are percolating inside of me right now.  i'm trying to figure this shit out, trying to come to grips with turning forty and feeling that i am just on the cusp of discovering something new about myself.  or at least hoping that's what is happening; otherwise this approaching feeling of doom/fear/excitement/anxiety is too much for one girl to take.

i feel like i'm finally growing up.

and i'm curious to know what that looks like for others.  for me, it is this seesaw in my head, the one that tips from one side of my personality to the other.  on one side, i have come to grips with my life as it is: i realize i'm a good mother, great teacher, decent wife, all-around okay human being.  on the other side, i try and try to find what i am missing, and there is a feeling of constant searching and longing that can't quite be quenched.  on this side i berate myself for all of the passions that have since been lost to me.  remember when i wanted to work with adolescent girls and save them from the scourge of our patriarchal society?  how about when i believed that collaborative theatre could bring new awareness of women's rights?  or later, when i did nothing but think about how my family could downsize and live simply, with every action dictated by the thought of helping to save the planet?  how could one girl have so much belief that she could change things and then simply let that part of her fade away while the rest of her life took over?

that's the question.  i look at all of these people who have done something of substance, who make a difference with their lives, and i wish i was one of them.

i know being a teacher is a less glorious actualization of that--making a difference--but still.  still.  i miss that feeling that i have something inside of me that is necessary and important to this planet.  i wish i had the other part of that--the fuel that keeps me moving forward and finding a way to make it all happen.

but who's to say that this simple-enough existence of mine isn't worthy or beautiful enough by itself?  who's to say that my crooked little heart and decidedly imperfect yet kickass body and this soul of mine that longs to connect with others, and feels things with a dive-down-deepness that i can't truly explain--who's to say all of it doesn't combine into exactly who i am meant to be?

certainly not me.  i'm not ready to give up on myself yet.

and hey, thanks for reading this again.  i've promised myself that i will write every other day now, so let me know that you're out there.  it does a girl good.

homesick fever

there's a feverish cloud surrounding my house right now.

both kids had strep this week; one went back to school today and the birthday boy is still at home with a low-grade fever. meanwhile, his father and i got nailed on the same day; fevers, chills, coughs--a first in our 20-year relationship, i think.

i haven't had a fever in many, many years. maybe not since childbirth. its an interesting world to be in--full of hot and cold at the same time, fuzzy around the edges, feeling like i just want to crawl into my bed and stay there for a long, long time.

i don't do "sick" well at all.

for some reason, i keep thinking about what this past week would've been like if we lived in massachusetts, near our families. put simply, we would've had help. there would have been people to help take care of our children, thereby taking care of us. someone else would've made us some soup, probably, instead of me trying to throw stuff in a big pot while i take breaks on the couch, covering up with a huge comforter.

did i mention its in the 80's today?

i don't let myself go to this place too often these days; this place of longing for the life i could be having back east. it's too dangerous for me, like running my finger along the edge of my just-sharpened knife. it's too easy to sink back into the comfort of my alternate universe, and i've worked really hard to stop doing that and pay attention to what is right in front of me.

still.

i do mourn for that life of mine, the one where my children see their grandparents so much they start complaining every time we say they are going for a sleepover. dear god, a sleepover.

there is nothing i would like more than to reinstitute sunday family dinners, like we used to do when my pa and grammie were alive; of course, this time there would be a lot less meat served. but still. we would be together. my children would know their cousins, know them so well that they might get in fights sometime. and they would know that february brings chill and coldness and frost and snow and bitter winds. most of the time.

it's so strange to think about how far apart most families are these days. i know that i'm certainly not the only one missing my people. i know i'm lucky, in that i get to visit a couple times a year. make no mistake, there are many families in this city of angels that have had to say goodbye and know it will be years, years, years, before they can touch each other again. i know how blessed i am, being a white girl with resources. i have not overlooked this.

but today, i wish my mom could take care of me a little bit. i wish i could go outside for a breath of fresh air to cool my burning cheeks. i wish that my family was near me, so that i could unabashedly ask them for help.

i wish i was back home, just for today.

bequeathed.

making soup in my kitchen tonight, i sang my heart out with adele and watched my little girl spin round and round and round until she couldn't stop laughing.

she took her arms and stretched them to the ceiling, trying to grab the words right out of the song, right out of my mouth.

how so much joy could collide with so much longing was astounding; cosmic in its shattering weight upon that little moment while the soup simmered.

and the ipod shuffled.

next she gathered herself in my lap while i sang her every word to "fix you", and i doused her in the lyrics and put my cheek to hers and stroked her hair as if the song transformed into some kind of kitchen lullaby.

she wore a quiet smile the whole time.

and a smirk when i said, "wait, here comes the guitar part. . ." and "are you ready for the drums? here they are . . . oh wait, not yet . . . okay, now here they are . . ."

a fragment of a second of my life, but there it is, the moment when i pass on the love of a beautiful pop song to my daughter. she cannot escape the power. she is doomed forever.

and then, when the moments had passed and the soup called to be stirred and she shimmied off my lap she asked, "why are the songs always about love?"

and i told her that most songs are about some kind of love, that its one of the most important things to sing about, and that sometimes, when you are a young person, who you love is the only thing you think about some days.

"when you were a teenager did you think about who you loved?"

and i told her all the time. all the time. all the time.