not that i would run, but...

my platform

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 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

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 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.