watermark

there are experiences so visually riveting, so emotionally moving, that they leave a permanent etching in your mind's eye.  recalling these frames of memory can transport you across years and miles of the years and miles you've traveled, to forever savor.  the impact of such a moment can touch you with such force -- it literally becomes a part of you.

and one day, many years and many miles ago, a little boy's unusual connection to a usual afternoon interruption became a part of me. 

it was late spring in mid 90's houston, texas.  when i say mid-90's, i refer to the decade and the temperature!   it was around 1995 and around 95 degrees.  quite possibly 95 percent humidity, too (!).  i had joined friends, and their young children, for an afternoon of visiting, kvelling, watching the kids run around and enjoy each other and the physical freedoms of an overcast, lazy saturday. 

there were about 8 of us, adults and kids all totaled, and the lively, impromtu gathering had somehow landed in the middle of the street. not a major thoroughfare, car traffic was so scant on this street, that it was an oft-chosen (and perfect!) playing/gathering surface for neighbors of all ages. 

and that was the place and the day: adults firmly planted at a meeting-place in the road, little ones racing and buzzing about the adults, squealing, chasing, laughing.   and, as was the place, sub-tropical houston, was the day, sub-tropical weather - and a rain storm out of nowhere was very common.  the conditions were ripe for it, too; warm, damp breezes washed us in bad-hair/good-skin caresses, and threatening clouds carrying booms of electricity moved in.  

and with a jarring flash and a crackling rumble, the deluge was on.  the sound of our collective fast foot steps could not keep tempo with the steady smatter of fierce-falling raindrops all around us.  the girlie squeals and little boy roars added to the wet cacophony as we darted for cover.

we stampeded onto the safe shelter of the porch, out of breath and laughing now at each other's skin-soaked clothes and drop-dotted hair.  someone went inside to get towels, kids wriggled little feet out of wet socks and soaked sandals.  and that was when i noticed that one of us was missing.  

through the heavy sheets of warm rain, i could see one of "our" little boys standing right where he was when the skies opened.  and what i saw next, i will carry with me in my mind's eye forever.  you see, this little boy, ryan (a grown man now), has autism.  at the time, i knew very little (read: nothing) about autism.  rainman was my only frame of reference.  rainman.  oh the irony.  now, one thing i DID "know" about autism (at the time), was that children have emotional (and seeming physical) disconnect from others around them.  and this was the case whenever i was around ryan.  he interacted sometimes, not always, on his terms, and that was just how it was.  he was clearly loved and safe and cared for, so i never really focused too much time on him or crowded his space the very few times i was in his company.

but on this day, from my vantagepoint on the porch -- ryan was all i saw, and he was all i felt.  at this point,  my only hope is that i can render the words to paint the picture  i'll try:

the image of this little child's lanky pre-tween body, dark rain-matted hair, pale-skinned face up to the sky, thin arms wide open, thin little fingers, outstretched in 10 directions of up,  water running over him shellacking a shiny sheen onto his form -- this image is seared in my memory.  but it wasn't just what i SAW that stopped me in my tracks, it was what i imagined he was feeling - what i felt.  how could this little boy, whose condition dictates disconnect -- HOW could this child had opened himself with all of his being, to mother nature, to the universe?  i swear i was witnessing this little boy having an extra-sensory experience, a FEARLESS AND TOTAL CONNECTION --  with his whole little body and his entire being.  this child was connected to something that was just his, and nothing could pry him from his moment -- not his mother's calm, sweet pleas for him to get out of the road, not his siblings' coaxing, not the deafening echo-roars of thunder.  nothing.

it was intense and beautiful and sweet and mysterious all at once.

and i was so happy for him.  and i was so happy for ME that i saw this.  and felt this.  and would keep this.   for a fleeting couple of seconds, i felt equally sad that i could not possibly convey to him what his moment did to me, but that was ok - it was HIS, after all.

at this point, in my trance-like state, by another of "our" kids, also named ryan, noticed my staring.  sweet little diplomatic child that he was, he came up and sort of hugged my arm with his arms and said "andrea, ryan is autistic (very slight little lisp on the "s" in autistic); he doesn't really know any better".  i looked down at this ryan, smiled at him and said "dude, i think he knows MORE", and this ryan next to me issued a wonderful little giggle of relief, and said "yeah, cuz you know what? really it's just water" and on that note, a bigger grin and a high five, i started home.  any other day, i'd have asked for an umbrella, or waited for the storm to pass.

but this day, this now very new day, i just put one foot in front of the other, into the downpour, past the ryan who was now being gently escorted out of the road by his mother, and squish-squashed up the street to my home.  i walked, lightly, gently and happily, and of the thousands of rain drops that landed on my skin, i swear i remember the feel every single one.

many years and as many miles have passed.  but that memory, that feeling, my watermark, is still alive inside of me.  i carry it whever i go.  and when it rains,  if my feet get soaked, my clothes drenched, my hair messed -- all i have to do is remember the gift that was given to me by a little boy's unusual connection to a usual afternoon interruption.

cuz you know what?  it's really just water. 

***UPDATE.  ryan, the little boy who inspired this entry, is now living in austin, texas with his family.  he is featured in many interesting independent film and animation films.  in fact, one film was on exhibit at MOMA for a while!   i have viewed several, but have 2 favorites.  please watch the even more fun trip here and ryan's capitol tour here.  both are just beautiful.    

and this is, perhaps why these pages have been dormant for more than a year.  i will do better.

just kids

i started reading it in a blizzard blackout, shivering under the covers with a flashlight under my chin.  i deliberately slowed the pace, taking in once chapter at a time, not wanting to let go of this love story. 
i finished it just as the colorburst of spring finished painting the landscape.

just kids.

it's patti smith's memoir of her and robert mappelthorpe's relationship.  if you have ever experssed your love to another with creativity you never knew you had inside, just

because the energy of your connection inspired it, you will feel yourself in patti and robert. 

saying goodbye to the book was perhaps as sad as saying goodbye to robert through patti's words.   

it is everything love:

tender;  thoughtful;  artistic;  raw;  bittersweet.

just read it

accidental tapioca

a friend of mine is as big on breakfast as i am.  she and i we realized we were sisters in the most important meal of the day when we found out that each of us, without the other one knowing, takes steel cut oats, stirs in a yogurt (or soy yogurt, or just tofu sometimes), adds some berries and lets it "marinate" overnight in the 'fridge for the next morning's "grab and go" breakfast.  well, i recently, and completely by accident, discovered something similar. 

do you like tapioca pudding?  i have to say it's not my favorite, but that could be because it's hard to find a "clean" tapioca out there.  and by clean, i also mean non-dairy.  milk does a body no good.  no body.  no good.  nobody.  ok ok this is a not an anti-dairy rant.  there's plenty of time for that later. 

so, part of this discovery came about when i was reading about foods that helped with muscle regerneration and recovery.  i had pulled a calf muscle while training for a half marathon, and needed to see what i could eat to aid in its repair.  my quest yielded the obvious results, like potassium-rich fruits and veggies and of course, water.  but i also found out that quinoa and buckwheat (soba) were two wonderful sources of anti-inflamatory and other healing properties for muscles. 

who knew?

off to the store i went for a bag of buckwheat.  i have had buckwheat pancakes and you know, buckwheat has that distinctive taste somwewhere between dirt and tree bark.  now, in soba noodles (which usually have some wonderful tamari mixed in), it is not so harsh, but in its grain form, well, it needs flavor accompaniment as far as i am concerned -- and i LOVE this sort of culinary challenge.  well, i got home and made the buckwheat and decided to eat it with soy vanilla yogurt stirred into it, and just a sprinkle of cinamon.  the almost-crunch  of the whoe buckwheat grain was an interesting, but not really great "feel" on my tongue with the yogurt,  but whatever, i had muscles to heal, so i  had a few bites and put the rest in a container and in the 'fridge.

now we get to the good part. 

the next day, i find that container in the 'fridge and i have no idea what it is.  i open it and see that it's my buck/yo/cin concoction and i can see that the buckwheat grains have expanded quite a bit and they actually look like they had softened.  then a sweet waft of vanilla tempered by the subtle blunt of the buckwheat hits my nose and i can't get a spoon in my hand fast enough to see what this forgotten muscle-healing potion now tastes like.  what a wonderful surprise -- the soft buckwheat and the yogurt had formed a gel that not only tasted but FELT like tapioca -- a clean, DAIRY FREE tapioca! 

and voi la -- there you have accidental tapioca.  make it for dessert!  bon apetit!

the best history teacher? just listen.

as a child, like most kids, i was often accused of not listening.  but i pretty sure it's a scientific fact that words like 'don't slam the door' and 'clean your room' are inaudible to humans under the age of 16.  so, those accusations feel on deaf ears. 

there were times that i was all ears, though, and these times brought me such joy that i just could not get enough of it.  these were the times when my grandparents would tell stories about their childhoods, or how they met, or stories of their struggle to "make it" through the Depression, WW2, etc.  i remember being awestruck by their stories, so foreign to anything in my spoiled sense of reality or any of my frames of reference.  their stories connected me not just via the family tree, but to their work ethic and their pride and their modesty.  their stories made me feel so important and so relevant. 

even as a little kid, i realized that i was proud of them for how they lived their lives, and how lucky i was to be loved by them.

my grandparents' stories are america's stories, and i retell their tales with pride to anyone who will listen :)  so, the other day, i ran across a newspaper article that reached inside of me and touched that sweet place where i keep those memories, and i want to share it with you.    

below the asterisks on this blog entry is the article. when i come across pieces like this i am reminded of how important it is that we sit down and TALK TO this generation of americans. their stories and their spirit are so humbling and inspiring at the same time. their hardships got us to our lives of creature comfort and endless opportunity. next time you find yourself bitching about your life, read this article and remind yourself how good you've got it.

********************************************************** from The Houston Chronicle April 5 2010 And now to blow out that 110th candle … Ahead of party, Harris County’s oldest ward ever reflects By PAIGE HEWITT HOUSTON CHRONICLE April 5, 2010, 6:10AM Like any bright-eyed birthday girl, Louvenia Posey welcomes the attention. She's certainly experienced in such celebration — the soft-spoken country girl who grew up picking cotton in Central Texas turns 110 today. As the oldest ward ever of Harris County's guardianship program, Posey will celebrate today with a party, attended by her caseworker, friends and staff at the Windsong Village Convalescent Center in Pearland. She's outlived virtually everyone else in her long life — siblings, cousins and three husbands, one of whom fought in World War 1. “I was born April 5, in the year 1900,” Posey said, emphasizing the year. “I'm not bragging, but I have lived a clean life.” Posey, the granddaughter of a Louisiana slave — “who cooked the best corn bread you ever saw” — was born in the Central Texas town of Fayetteville, where more than a century ago she learned how to cut, chop and pick cotton on the family farm. She also learned to cook, wash and iron as a child, and she taught herself how to sew. Her father was murdered in a rowdy card game before she was born; her mother died giving birth to twin boys when Posey was 12. She and six siblings went to live with her nearby “auntie,” and she left school after seventh grade to cook and clean for families. “We had to make a living,” Posey said Saturday. “You have to learn to do a job, and do it well, or don't do it at all.” For fun, the youngsters played checkers and rode mules. When she was 17, Posey, whose maiden name is Womley, set off for Houston looking for work. “After I got grown, I cooked for white people,” she said. “I washed and ironed and took care of their children. I loved the children, white and black. It didn't make a difference to me. I loved the children, and they loved me.” Posey lived in Acres Homes and over the years worked primarily for two families. She also earned money as a seamstress, making women's dresses and coats for $2 or $3. Posey said the world is a changed place. She recalled the years when she had to yield to white people and go to the back of lines, and eat at separate tables. Today, the world is fairer. She looked up at a photograph on her bulletin board of President Barack Obama. “I didn't think I'd ever see it,” she said. “God is working in there. They've changed it up for the better. Now we've got black teachers, lawyers, doctors and all.”

UPDATE to defining soul (see happy birthday, soul sister 2.26.10)

UPDATE!  mark morford, writer extraordinaire whose work graces The San Francisco Chronicle and sfgate.com (plus his new book...) says he recently read someone's claim that:


 "soul is to be found in the vicinity of taboo".  


well at least i am in the vicinity.  HA 

happy birthday, soul sister

ah, i met her my first day of work at at a natural foods grocery store in texas...nearly 20 years ago.  she knew all about wine.  i knew a lot about food, and wanted to know more about wine. and there you have it: the recipe to feed a friendship that has lasted half my lifetime.  we spent 16 years together in the same city, several of those as upstairs/downstairs neighbors and at the same workplace.  whether we see each other 3 times a day, or 3 times a year, each new time picks up right where the old one leaves off.  a seamless continuum of human connection -- the connection for whom you always pick up the phone,for whom you always have a shoulder for tears or an ear for laughs, for whom you are a ready rescuer from a bad date, for whom your futon and extra pillows are always available.  THAT person.  

i was able to visit THAT person's neck of the woods for a few months recently.  i had not seen her in 3 years, maybe more.  we poured wine.  we broke bread.  we relived our memories of each other, our lives, our loves, our laughs, our foibles, our sorrows.   we confessed to one another how "that little thing you did, that simple gesture back in 19_ _ or 20_ _ it saved me", each of us having no idea how the actions of our friendship sustained each other in challenging times.  

we toasted and smiled.   we were warm and wonderful. 

as i watched my friend cook (as she insisted while i sit at the table and sip my wine), our conversation veered into the most magically stimulating discussion.  i cannot recall what preceded or triggered the topic, but we found ourselves wrangling with the meaning of the word soul.   

soul.  the human soul.  

that oh so ponderable never-never-place that is touched but not with hands, that is felt but not by nerves, that is seared but not with heat, that is rocked but not by music, that is pierced but not with arrows, that is soothed but not with medicine.  

from soul, we meandered to afterlife, heaven, religion, politics, art, literature, humor, food, wine and friendship and back full circle to soul.  and, no closer to a tangible understanding, we decided, or maybe we let the wine decide, that we are not here to define soul, but rather to live it, and let it live, and that eventually, we would understand soul better, but also respect it as undefinable, not finite, not absolute.  we toasted to our wine-laden revelation and thanked our lucky souls for these things:

  happy birthday my dear friend.  i can't wait to see you in a few weeks and pick up where we left off.  

of running and religion

so, when you have found the thing that brings you peace and balance, getting addicted to it is easy. and so it goes for me and running. or perhaps some my call my gait jogging. anyway, a good 5-6 mile trek before/at dawn is my peace. it's a time for a new day's first thoughts, reflections, plans, musings, meditation, or just a sunrise solitude with whatever comes to my mind*body*soul.

running.

it's my choice of workout, too -- it's free, i don't ever have to wait for a machine, i do it on MY time, and all i really have to do is put one foot in front of the other. usually, i go to a local high school track. the surface is so easy on my middle aged knees. i can really lose myself in my steps, too, b/c there no traffic to dodge, no surprise potholes, no traffic lights, etc etc. it's nice, but can be monotonous. so sometimes, for a change, i hit the local streets, which in these parts, are quite hilly. the hills are not my favorite, but they add a periodic challenge to the aforementioned joys of running. either way, it's great to have choices of where to run.

until this winter.

unless you have been living under a rock, you've heard about some snow. 2 feet, then 3 feet then another 2 feet. usually, a DC-area snowfall is plowed and cleared within a day or two, so it's not long before you see your fellow runners out and about. but not this winter. plow crews are just not quipped with manpower nor machines to handle the recent dumpings. those addicted to that runner's high endorphin, like me, sought out gyms or treadmills i guess. i have neither option. even though i got some great upper body workouts of shoveling in, i haven't not gotten in a good long run in several weeks. it's just not safe: there are ice patches in the roads; roads still not plowed; the high school track is a huge white tundra. i have found an alternative "workout", though...i don my snow boots and go for a long long snow hike. it gets me moving, yes, but it's not running. it's just not. but i resigned myself that it will have to suffice until things thaw out.

then one day in my car travels, i noticed a HUGE church parking lot. it had been plowed clean, no ice remaining, and it was FLAT! what a great place to ruuuuuuuuuuuuun! this flat, big, dry, church parking lot can be my morning sanctuary for now. AWESOME! addicts find ways to get their fixes and i found mine.

so this morning, so thrilled, yet oh so jonesing, that is where i went. what a great feeling to find my stride, circling the quarter mile perimeter (which of course i had measured w/my car odometer)! and JUST when i was breaking sweat, just when i had transcended into my own little endorphin-secreting meditative state, i saw him.

he was about 6 feet tall, well coifed salt and pepper hair, friendly eyes. he was all dressed in black, save the collar. you know, that pastor/priest/clergy ring of white. he smiled at me, and asked me if i knew i was on private property. this was so disturbing on so many levels (mainly because it had interrupted my run) so i came to a stop but stood there, jogging in place (refusing to let go of the beautiful endorphins). a few seconds went by and i tried to come up with something, ANYTHING to keep going, when the following words came out of my mouth:

"yes sir, i do. but here i feel so much closer to god"

and with that, he gave me an authoritative but relenting ecumenical nod, and walked back into the church. as i picked up my pace and got back to the rhythm of the sweet solitude of my meditation, i looked at the cloud-wisped morning sky and thought:

our god is an awesome god.

she really is.

today i was remembering

laugher-filled and kiss-dotted scrabble games. turkey sandwiches and pinot grigo. loading my grandparents' picnic basket with cheese and fruit, putting the top down and getting LOST.

i was remembering

those balmy sunsets
the angelica
cafe japon
unhinged productions
margaret cho
roundtop
austin
kurt & courtney
and chai tea.

i was remembering you today.

i'll take light rock for a hundred, alex

i'll take light rock for a hundred, alex

Share

 Today at 11:54pm | Edit Note | Delete

so i was thinking about the tv game show jeopardy! and i thought up a category group of my own. it's called "light rock". in this category, i will give you contemporary or classic rock lyrics and you are to come up with the title of the song, which includes the word "light". (artists are not required, but are listed here)

here are the answers and the questions:


$100

Answer:

Mamma always told me not to look into
the eyes of the sun
But Mamma, that's where
the FUN is!

Question:

What is "Blinded By The Light" (Bruce Springsteen)

************

$200

Answer:

All the world's indeed a stage
And we are merely players
Performers and portrayers
Each anothers audience
Outside the gilded cage

Question:

What is "Limelight" (Rush)

**************

$300

Answer:

Time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre

Question:

What is "Light My Fire" (Doors)

**************

$400

Answer:

Sun turnin' 'round with graceful motion
We're setting off with soft explosion
Bound for a star with fiery oceans

Question:

What is "2000 Light Years From Home" (Rolling Stones)

**************

$500

Answer:

It was late last night
I was feeling something wasn't right
There was not another soul in sight
Only you, only you

Question:


What is: I Saw The Light (Todd Rundgren)

2009

in no particular order, these are some of the things i did in 2009:

1. saw stevie wonder, bono and bruce all on one stage in the same day.

2. stood for 6 hours in sub-freezing temp's to see the 44th president get sworn into office.

3. reconnected with my high school, junior high and elementary school (hello facebook)!

4. dipped my toes into the atlantic ocean, pacific ocean and the gulf of mexico!

5. had my first hot stone treatment/massage.

6. saw a shooting star.

7. picked figs from a napa valley tree.

8. saw the fab faux - TWICE!

9. overcame my fear of flying.

10. celebrated the best dog in the world's 10th birthday.

11. went to my first "high tea"

12. went to the legendary warner theatre for the first time.

13. ate a porterhouse steak and had the best cabernet ever at francis ford coppola's "cafe zoetrope"

14. partied with a drag queen dressed as anne coulter.

15. walked on air

16. saw the full moon and the morning sun in the sky at the same time on opposite ends of the sky.

17. saw fireworks.

18. showered outside.

19. poured brandy in the hot chocolate.

20. planted flowers, raked leaves, shoveled snow.

21. lost my job.

22. won tickets to U2.

23. prayed a lot.

24. gave thanks.

25. threw a penny in a fountain (no really i did) and made a wish.

26. ate coffee cake in brooklyn.

27. hiked a marin headlands trail.

28. gave blood.

29. slowed down.

30. kept the change.

31. got by with a little help from my friends.

32. moved forward using all my breath.

33. forgave myself.

34. laughed. cried. connected. lived.

What did YOU do?

not that i would run, but...

my platform

Share

 Today at 6:25pm | Edit Note | Delete

don't worry, i am sure there are damaging images of me somewhere that would preclude my run for office...but if i WERE to run...here's what i would be screeching about:

-damaging images no longer preclude one from a political career.
-get out of Afghanistan and Iraq
-end the war on drugs/decriminalize marijuana
-rapists, child molesters and elderly-beaters - life in prison no parole
-overhaul the No Child Left Behind Act
-tax the churches
-annex mexico
-legalize prostitution (regulate the business, protect the sex workers and clients from disease and abuse)
-liberals: NO MORE WHINING
-conservatives: NO MORE PREACHING
-shut down Monsanto
-condoms on every corner
-birth control in the water
-every American must screen Waiting for Guffman when they turn 18.
-every American must sample The White Album and Dark Side of the Moon, whenever they want, but before age 25.
-no more plastic production
-Dancing With the Stars is the new enemy of state.
-more rights for divorced dads (overhaul the family courts)
-teachers, social workers, care-givers, first responders -- all get audited and those still standing get 40% raises.
-2 words: solar power
-pinot noir, goat cheese, and ginger snaps become their own food groups
-free health insurance for pets (put THAT in your reform pipe and smoke it)
-tea parties are limited to little girls and old ladies, and tea is actually SERVED
-no commercials during Mad Men, The Office, Southpark, or The Famliy Guy.
-stupid is now class 1 misdemeanor
-breeding stupid? a felony
-production of styrofoam, phenylalanine, Scientologists, bovine growth hormone, and Jon Gosselin's TV career stop NOW
-bike lanes in every city and town
-Halliburton-KBR pay us all back for the wanton quadruple over-billing of the wars in iraq and afghanistan - WITH TREBEL DAMAGES.
-no more selling "skinny"
-dark chocolate for everyone!

my name is andrea and i approve this ad

dear zachary:

tonight i watched the documentary that your dad's friend, kurt kuenne made for you - his letter to you - about your dad's short life.  he travelled the world looking for pieces of your dad to show you.  but the inspired mr. kuenne had no idea that when he started his project, your little life would be cut short, too -  by the same woman who took your dad from you.  mr. kuenne almost gave up on his project in the wake of your tragic death.

why continue with a letter you would never see?

fortunately, dear zachary, he found two other people to whom the letter - his film - would be written.  and those are the two people who fought for you, loved you, believed in you:  your grandparents.  tonight, i met your amazing grandparents through mr. kuenne's eyes.  and even though i cannot see through my own tears right now, i see very clearly why the project went on.

dear zachary:  your death was not in vain.  your life and your dad's life breathe through all that knew you both.  and kid, you should SEE the sparkle in their eyes as they go on and on about both of you!

and mr. and mrs bagby, your grandparents, who i saw you love very sweetly and very deeply in the footage of your 13 months here on earth, are now child advocates for children just like you. and they will do everything in their power to see that NOT ONE MORE CHILD gets handed over to danger.

ever again.

and they do this in YOUR name.

in your memory.

dear zachary,  tonight i said a prayer and asked the universe to give strength to your grandparents. and the next time i see a star (it's been cloudy here, dear zachary) i will say a prayer for you. and your dad.

a man in the film said it best:  'grief is love's unwillingness to let go'.  and dear zachary, your grandparents will never let go of you.  

dear zachary movie trailer

conversation with director kurt keunne

facebook status updates i have censored -- UNTIL NOW

The Facebook Status Updates I Have Censored-UNTIL NOW

Share

 Today at 6:02pm | Edit Note | Delete

so it has been more than a year now that i have been on facebook. and over the months, these are the status updates i held back. this is not something to be cut and pasted and used to harrass everyone on YOUR friends list. just sit back and enjoy! or cringe...

Andrea...

...is crampy and bloated.

...wants to unfriend you, but secretly loves watching you make an ass of yourself on FB.

...couldn't care less about your dinner plans. probably all lies anyway.

...ran out of toilet paper 3 days ago. thank GOD there are paper towels!

...just drank 3 glasses of wine and is reaching for a new bottle.

...has that not-so-fresh feeling.

...still knows what you did last summer.

...is watching an Andy Griffith marathon.

...wonders why you posted that pic of yourself.

...ran 6.2 miles at 5am and still hasn't showered (5pm)

...is trolling the personals ads.

...just drove home drunk.

...drinks the tap water.

...has the runs.

...is stalking the shit out of her -ex's friends' lists.

...thinks your dog us butt ugly, but clicked "like" on its picture anyway.

...just ate a whole fucking bag of pretzels, while i posted that i just ate an orange.

...thinks you are gay.

...just shaved you know where.

...forgot to flush the toilet. who cares? the dog? no!

...knows some secrets being circulated about you on FB that would make you cringe.

...hopes this list made you laugh so hard you sharted.

circe

serendipity brought this to me today.
i don't have an island palace or power or magic,
but i get it:


But I would give up
rock-fringes of coral
and the inmost chamber
of my island palace
and my own gifts
and the whole region
of my power and magic
for your glance.

-H.D.

the brown sweater

so i had a brief but intense path-crossing with a woman who, among other things, told me about a sweater.

a brown sweater.

her FAVORITE sweater.

and it was troubling her that it was so old and there was even a hole in it and it quite possibly had seen its last days on her body.  i remember hearing about the sweater in a phone call first.  and, as always inspired by her to do, i listened to every word, every nuance, every inflection and every emotion that the woman used to describe the sweater.  her attachment to this sweater oozed lovingly from every syllable that she issued.  she adored this sweater, this was for certain.  but it was also clear that this sweater and her were soon to part ways.  it had seen its best days, she said, and the hole?  well, that hole was going to eventually be the catalyst of the soon-to-be sweater separation.  i found myself caught with her, in that seemingly trapped place of sweater-keeping indecision -- where emotional and practical vie for triumph, and wondered if perhaps she could hang on to the smallest sweetest joys that the sweater brought - at least in the SPIRIT OF small sweet joy, which of course, is huge.

it was in that phone conversation that i asked her not to toss it/donate it/recycle it just yet.

could i please SEE the sweater before you part with it?

yes, she said into her cell phone receiver.  and i could hear her smiling. but i kept that to myself, smiling.

so one day, about a week or so later, i was visiting her and we were meeting for coffee (she joined me from her office on or near to her lunch hour) and when i saw her walking toward me, i complemented her sweater. and i'll be damned if she didn't say: "this is the brown sweater i need to throw away".  i was slowed in my tracks and just could not believe it.

THAT is the sweater?  but there's nothing WRONG with it!

in fact,

let me tell you how it accentuated her perfect form.  no wait.  i cannot.  there are no words to describe that. ok then, let me tell you how beautifully the woolly brown weave blended into the long cinnamon-spiced streaks of her side-graying light-brown hair.  well, i can't do that either.  i am not that word-worthy.  ok, i wonder if i can muster how the dark of the sweater rendered a sunny day in her her sky-blue eyes?  sorry, can't give THAT justice, either.

damn.

ok, let me try this, which is more important anyway:  she looked comfy and easy and natural in it.  she was comfortable in her own skin with her own skin wrapped up in that sweater.  the old brown favorite sweater of unknown fate.  i asked her again, now looking into her eyes: 


don't throw it away to PLEASE keep it? 


this time, i SAW her smile and she nodded and said she would.

but still, she showed me the hole that bothered her so.  wow.  not only was the hole NOT VISIBLE, it just didn't matter.

it's just a hole.  a blemish that in no way shape or form (puns intended) impede the sweater's love for her nor her love for the sweater.  at this point, looking into her eyes, walking in an urgent sideways stride facing her graceful forward gait, i insisted she keep it.  i was not asking anymore:

keep the sweater.  keep.  the.  sweater.

The perfect feel and the perfect fit CAN BE imperfect in places.  a hole is not the end of the world; it's not even a setback.  it's just a hole.  it's what you DO WITH the hole that keeps the feel and fit you love alive and new.   the little hole can be filled every second with all the little things, the little joys, the little inspirations that make life feel so big.  in that spirit, you keep love alive.  because the way i see it, you can't be whole with out hole.

can you?

you can try

your best to help someone in danger:

you can show good example;
you can reach out your hand;
you can offer your time;
you can offer your love;
you can listen;
you can be gentle;
and of course, you can pray.

the thing is?

when you try to help someone, someone who REALLY needs it,
an age old cliche sometimes smacks cold in the warmth of your efforts.

you know the one.

the adirondacks

no, not the mountain range...but maybe you will keep reading anyway?

so, i am not sure when my adult fixation on adirondack chairs began (but i can get within a couple of years and will do so in a few paragraphs) but i sure do know the reason for it.

like most of my fond childhood memories, this one is all about my grandparents, and summer visits to their home. at this point i will have to let you know that my grandparents were the salt of the earth: beautiful; peaceful; intelligent; kind to each other and everyone else. they lived simply, and mostly with their hands, even though both were white collar professionals dedicated to public service: he a WW2 Vet who was a middle school principal then a social worker, she a 1st grade teacher for more than 40 years (see what i mean?).

anyway, back those warm, breezy days on their 2-acre spread, where granddad oversaw what we called "the orchard", which consisted of 2 pear and 2 apple trees, the fruits of which grandad sliced with his swiss army pocket knife for a snack and which grandma canned, or made preserves, or pies. there was also a vegetable garden, a huge bounty of carrots and sweet potatoes and corn and cucmubers and snap beans and tomatoes. again, the harvest was canned/preserved mostly, but often picked fresh as needed for lunch or dinner. the garden was a long walk from the house, just past the orchard. and near one of the pear trees, was the chair that became known as "andrea's chair", a sturdy, wooden, hastily white-washed adirondack chair - dubbed so by my grandmother, whose affection for me was unconditional, unyielding and unmatched.

ok, my grandmother -- wow -- this woman taught me more about life, love, and living than anyone. through her gentle eyes, i saw that i was the most special person in the whole world, as did everyone she ever laid those eyes on.  let this set the tone for the rest of what you are about to read.

as a little girl, my hair was long-ish, very blonde, thick. my grandmother used to love to touch it, "pet" it, smile at me and comment on it. on accasion, she would wash it in the old timey sink in their downstairs bathroom. i really loved this time we'd spend together; she'd tell me a story as she lathered way too much johnson's baby shampoo (no more tears, thank you), usually something about my mom or aunt when they were little girls. i LIVED for these stories! she'd rub gently and thoroughly and lovingly, and always mentioned that when you rinse, you know your hair is clean when it "squeaks". i'd beg her to "make it squeak" (accomplished by her rubbing her tightly closed hands along my clean, wet locks) over and over again. just to "be sure" - and to prolong this special time i am sure. we'd hear it "squeak" 5 or 6 times before i gave the "OK" for the towel, because at the end of this ritual was what i REALLY couldn't wait to partake of. so then she'd gently dab with a huge thirsty terry cloth towel (the kind ONLY found in your grandma's linen closet), and i knew i was one step closer to the grandest of finales.

from the sink, she and i would walk together, my hair damp and the ends dotted with water droplets, out the back door, to the orchard, and over to the big white adirondack chair by the pear tree. there was something about climbing up over the top and sinking down into the chair that made my young body feel triumphant and "grown up". i'd sit still and grandma would comb the "tangles" out of my squeaky fresh hair ever so gently and we'd make sure that chair was in the sun so, as she would say, your hair can be "sun kissed" while it dries. then she'd look at me with a twinkly smile and ask, "orange or lime?" i'd usually say "lime". grandma would walk back into the house and return with a bowl full of lime sherbet for me. i'd smile and pull it close with both hands, delerious with anticipation. as i shovelled the sherbet into my watering mouth, she'd primp and fluff and "check" my hair for dryness, saying that in the time it took me to finish my sherbet, it ought to be dry. she would leave me to my lime treat, and i'd lap it up as fast as i could before the heat of the day melted it into the inevitable green puddle at the bottom of the bowl. i'd spoon this lime liquid into my mouth like cold soup and fall gently and triumphantly back into the wooden valley of that sturdy chair, clinking my spoon rhythmically on the porcelain bowl and surveying the ripe pears that had fallen from the tree around me while my hair dried. i'd gather three or four (as many would fit in my sticky-sweet bowl) and run them into my grandmother. she's smile down at me, thank me, and we'd run them under the faucet, dry them, and place them just so as a centerpiece on her table.

fast forward 30 years.

a dear friend in houston had 2 adirondack chairs on her porch. i never EVER went over her place without sitting in one and insisting she brave the heat and mosquitoes and enjoy them with me. i often recounted the story you just read, and she'd listen each time, sincerely and sweetly. one time, she even bought sherbet and brought me some in a bowl. she cracked a beer and smiled as i showed my appreciation and lapped up a childhood memory. we even had a joke between us that those chairs would be bequeathed to me in her will. i wonder if they are?

suffice it to say, any time i see an adirondack chair, especially a set of two, i smile. lately, i have taken to shooting pictures of them when i find them in unlikely places. i will share the two i have so far, and maybe i will add more as i gather more:

these two i found on a grassy knoll in washington heights, nyc, right after i got our of my car after driving 4 hours to meet a friend for a concert later that night (late sept).  i ran right over to them (on my way to her place) and snapped this one.  you can see that they overlook the staggering george washington bridge and the mighty hudson.

these two i stumbled on when i took a stroll through the willilam hill estate winery in early october.  check out the view of the rolling hills of grapes! 

right now i just wish i had a picture of that big, sturdy, wooden, hastily white-washed adirondack chair under the pear tree in my grandad's orchard.

i woke up this morning

thinking about light-sparkled waves and sea salt on chocolate. pondering figs and wild sunflowers and peaches and cinnamon. imagining yesterdays and tomorrows where flashbacks flash forward to meet in the same frame. feeling the place where reaching out reaches much deeper inside - the place where foreign and familiar embrace under the stars. have you ever been here before?  i am.  right now.

sometimes, feeling is better than knowing