"Mom" he says sleepily. I grunt, because he's supposed to be going to sleep, and he says "I just have to tell you this one fact that amazes me before I go to sleep. Spiders were alive in the time of the dinosaurs!"
"Birds, too" I say.
"I know. There were no words then, were there? When were words invented? Did someone invent them? Like, God? Or maybe the Indians? Probably the Indians."
And with that he went to sleep, leaving me in his gigantic brain dust, while he heads off to dreamland to come up with other facts and questions to stump and amaze me.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Where are you?
is not a question
I need to ask.
I know.
You are right there,
dancing like you did that time
to make me laugh so hard
I ached to breathe.
Sitting beside me as I pasted together
my life from scraps and bits,
until it resembled something I needed.
When I finished,
you swept the leftovers into one hand
and tossed them out.
There you are.
Nestled under my left breast,
beating in my heart.
Always.
You are always there.
is not a question
I need to ask.
I know.
You are right there,
dancing like you did that time
to make me laugh so hard
I ached to breathe.
Sitting beside me as I pasted together
my life from scraps and bits,
until it resembled something I needed.
When I finished,
you swept the leftovers into one hand
and tossed them out.
There you are.
Nestled under my left breast,
beating in my heart.
Always.
You are always there.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
HeadSong Sunday: You've Got To Have Friends
I don't often post on Sundays, since they are a day of rest and all, but I woke up with this song in my head. Do you know why? Honey, sit down, I'm gonna tell ya.
When I was twelve, I heard, for the first time, The Divine Miss M. I think this is the album that made me want to go into theater, because I became wildly obsessed with getting on stage to sing The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B". I wore out the groove on that song, I listened to it so much.
But there was another song on that album that I listened to: You've Got To Have Friends. It spoke to me of friendship beyond cool, beyond what I was wearing, beyond who got invited to the pool party. It spoke to me of the kind of friends I wouldn't actually make for years to come, but I always tried my best to be that kind of friend.
When we lived in LA, I made those friends. We made art together, we drank beers together, we had babies together. And when we moved away, they helped me pack. It was so hard to leave them. So, so hard. I still miss them. My friend Shannon showed up one particularly awful day while I was packing. I was weeping. Charley was already in Portland looking for a house, working his new job, and I was packing our condo myself, with Joe-Henry. I had so much help, but I was falling apart. Charley and I had had a horrible fight on the phone, and Shannon showed up, gave me a hug, listened a bit and packed up my kitchen, while I dealt with the mover who had come to give us an estimate and the exterminator who had come to test for termites. Shannon was my rock, along with Amy and Erin and my in-laws. They held me together with kitchen twine, and somehow I lived to tell the tale.
And today, today I get to return the favor, at least to Shannon. Because she and her husband and her beautiful girls, all four of them, are moving to Portland! Today! I will get to show up bearing food, and squeeze her and her family, because it's been far too long, and dance a happy dance because the siren song of Friendship has been heard.
Have a happy, happy day. I heart all of you, my friends - you too, keep me going. Though most of you, I've never met in person, I feel so grateful for your online presence.
When I was twelve, I heard, for the first time, The Divine Miss M. I think this is the album that made me want to go into theater, because I became wildly obsessed with getting on stage to sing The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B". I wore out the groove on that song, I listened to it so much.
But there was another song on that album that I listened to: You've Got To Have Friends. It spoke to me of friendship beyond cool, beyond what I was wearing, beyond who got invited to the pool party. It spoke to me of the kind of friends I wouldn't actually make for years to come, but I always tried my best to be that kind of friend.
When we lived in LA, I made those friends. We made art together, we drank beers together, we had babies together. And when we moved away, they helped me pack. It was so hard to leave them. So, so hard. I still miss them. My friend Shannon showed up one particularly awful day while I was packing. I was weeping. Charley was already in Portland looking for a house, working his new job, and I was packing our condo myself, with Joe-Henry. I had so much help, but I was falling apart. Charley and I had had a horrible fight on the phone, and Shannon showed up, gave me a hug, listened a bit and packed up my kitchen, while I dealt with the mover who had come to give us an estimate and the exterminator who had come to test for termites. Shannon was my rock, along with Amy and Erin and my in-laws. They held me together with kitchen twine, and somehow I lived to tell the tale.
And today, today I get to return the favor, at least to Shannon. Because she and her husband and her beautiful girls, all four of them, are moving to Portland! Today! I will get to show up bearing food, and squeeze her and her family, because it's been far too long, and dance a happy dance because the siren song of Friendship has been heard.
Have a happy, happy day. I heart all of you, my friends - you too, keep me going. Though most of you, I've never met in person, I feel so grateful for your online presence.
Friday, July 25, 2008
HeadSong Friday: The Impossible Dream
Because I can't kick you, internets, but I want to, dammit, I NEED to.
Because I'm an aging Theater Geek (like an aging Marching Band Geek, only more dramatic), and this is perhaps one of the best songs ever written for the stage.
Because Brian Stokes Mitchell's voice makes me moist in my nether regions.
Because I saw him for the first time at the Hollywood Bowl way, waaaay up in the cheap seats and thought he was singing directly to me:
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you:
Because I'm an aging Theater Geek (like an aging Marching Band Geek, only more dramatic), and this is perhaps one of the best songs ever written for the stage.
Because Brian Stokes Mitchell's voice makes me moist in my nether regions.
Because I saw him for the first time at the Hollywood Bowl way, waaaay up in the cheap seats and thought he was singing directly to me:
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you:
Who Am I Kidding?
How we spend our morning, or The Things My Son Has Learned From Me.
What hath I wrought?
If you'll excuse me, now it's time to power down and seize the day in some manner that does not involve a screen of any kind. I'll miss you, internets.
What hath I wrought?
If you'll excuse me, now it's time to power down and seize the day in some manner that does not involve a screen of any kind. I'll miss you, internets.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Perspective
Apparently, Twitter is having some issues, and lots of people are losing "followers" and those they are "following". Many are "bereft", "angry", "upset", "Pissed", and some are questioning life itself. According to the Twitter site where the problem is being followed by millions of pale, pale people.
Jesus. Get a life. Yes, it's annoying. Like when you spill water on your keyboard and fry your computer, or send your cellphone through the laundry. Only it's someone else's bad, and you can bet they are working on it like mad, because it's their baby, but folks are up in arms. Make that UP IN ARMS !!!
This is why I was reluctant to join Twitter in the first place. It's like Geek Crack. So addictive that if you go five minutes without you start to twitch and sweat. I mean, yes, if you're tweeting for business purposes, then it's a drag. But even then, no one has died. No one has cancer. You haven't lost the use of your arms and legs. But most people are just randomly posting their "thoughts" to 2,003 of their closest "friends". How do you even FOLLOW that many people and still have time to go pee? Or are sales of Depends way, way up?
I don't consider myself a luddite, by any stretch. And if you asked my husband, he'd probably say I have a "dependency issue" with my blogging and tweeting. And it is a bit of an inconvenience to lose my peeps, if not my tweets, but I am 46 years old, and I'm using words like "peeps" and "tweets", so how seriously should my complaints be considered?
People, people, people. Look up. Walk away. Stretch. Go for a walk. Or call a friend that you know in real life. Do your dishes. Take this inconvenience, because that's all it is in the grand scheme of things, as a reminder to take a shower. Maybe then you will notice that you are a bit pasty and smelly and pale. And if you think I'm talking to you directly, I'm probably not, because I don't think that the people who read this blog are in this category. I could be wrong, and if I am, I'm sure I'll hear about it.
I'm going to go smell my kids hair and clean the kitchen and get out in this beautiful day. Who knows if I'll be back.
Real life ROCKS.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Cold Fear
"Are you okay, Mom?"
That's the question my son asked after I got off the phone with a dear friend. Her wife, the mother of their two kids, had been diagnosed with a rare cancer about three weeks ago, and had just started chemo, and was hospitalized because she could no longer swallow. The tumors that showed up on the initial baseline ct scan were shown to have spread in the more recent ct scan taken a week ago. I'm sure I was ashen, and he was frightened. So was I.
These friends are like family to us. We met years ago doing theater together, and as fate would have it, they lived in the same building we did. We were the managers of the apartments for a time, and they still loved us anyway, even though we had no idea what we were doing. We watched each other's cats when we went on trips. We used their apartment to cook Thanksgiving dinner when they were out of town and our oven wasn't big enough for the pterodactyl we had stuffed for our dinner. We attended their wedding, on a beautiful, sunny Seattle afternoon in a park overlooking Puget Sound. Their first child, a girl is two months older than Joe-Henry. Their second child, a boy, just turned one a few months ago. We've stayed close, and the kids have helped us get even closer, if that's even possible. Joe-Henry loves their daughter Hazel, and seeing them together is like watching the future in living color. He loves baby Gabe too, asking for one of his own every time we leave their house.
We don't talk on the phone as much as I'd like to. They are both incredibly busy, talented people with lots on their plate. We email a bit, but it never matters how infrequently we see each other - we always pick up where we left off. But when she emailed about her diagnosis, and said they were leaving town that morning for the Adirondacks, but would see someone at Sloane Kettering, and would be back.....it's all just happening too fast. It's too much to take in, you know? And if I feel this way, I can't imagine what they are going through.
Our conversation was mostly very informational. I got caught up on what has been happening, because it's been so fast they've barely had time to process it themselves. Her voice was strained and exhausted, but she sounded remarkably strong, and buoyed by their family and friends. Someone got a philanthropic group to pay next months mortgage, someone else was cleaning their house, another friend dropped by and weeded the garden. I could tell that these things meant so much to them, and it wasn't lost on her how dearly they were being held in everyone's hearts. And their kids are helping them stay in the moment, something that has to be a necessity when panic threatens to send you racing through the streets in ten different directions.
I am setting them up with a blog and a great organizational website to arrange for friends to help, but I still feel completely helpless. I wish I could cure cancer instead. I wish I could kick cancer's ass to the curb. I wish I could not feel scared for my friend. I feel guilty for my fear - I want to just be fierce and organized and helpful and unemotional. And honestly, I am those things on the outside, for the most part. But inside - I am wobbly black jello. It won't stop me, though. I think I just had to say it, just once, acknowledge it, and now it's time to get to work.
Love to you all - it can't be said enough - love to you all.
That's the question my son asked after I got off the phone with a dear friend. Her wife, the mother of their two kids, had been diagnosed with a rare cancer about three weeks ago, and had just started chemo, and was hospitalized because she could no longer swallow. The tumors that showed up on the initial baseline ct scan were shown to have spread in the more recent ct scan taken a week ago. I'm sure I was ashen, and he was frightened. So was I.
These friends are like family to us. We met years ago doing theater together, and as fate would have it, they lived in the same building we did. We were the managers of the apartments for a time, and they still loved us anyway, even though we had no idea what we were doing. We watched each other's cats when we went on trips. We used their apartment to cook Thanksgiving dinner when they were out of town and our oven wasn't big enough for the pterodactyl we had stuffed for our dinner. We attended their wedding, on a beautiful, sunny Seattle afternoon in a park overlooking Puget Sound. Their first child, a girl is two months older than Joe-Henry. Their second child, a boy, just turned one a few months ago. We've stayed close, and the kids have helped us get even closer, if that's even possible. Joe-Henry loves their daughter Hazel, and seeing them together is like watching the future in living color. He loves baby Gabe too, asking for one of his own every time we leave their house.
We don't talk on the phone as much as I'd like to. They are both incredibly busy, talented people with lots on their plate. We email a bit, but it never matters how infrequently we see each other - we always pick up where we left off. But when she emailed about her diagnosis, and said they were leaving town that morning for the Adirondacks, but would see someone at Sloane Kettering, and would be back.....it's all just happening too fast. It's too much to take in, you know? And if I feel this way, I can't imagine what they are going through.
Our conversation was mostly very informational. I got caught up on what has been happening, because it's been so fast they've barely had time to process it themselves. Her voice was strained and exhausted, but she sounded remarkably strong, and buoyed by their family and friends. Someone got a philanthropic group to pay next months mortgage, someone else was cleaning their house, another friend dropped by and weeded the garden. I could tell that these things meant so much to them, and it wasn't lost on her how dearly they were being held in everyone's hearts. And their kids are helping them stay in the moment, something that has to be a necessity when panic threatens to send you racing through the streets in ten different directions.
I am setting them up with a blog and a great organizational website to arrange for friends to help, but I still feel completely helpless. I wish I could cure cancer instead. I wish I could kick cancer's ass to the curb. I wish I could not feel scared for my friend. I feel guilty for my fear - I want to just be fierce and organized and helpful and unemotional. And honestly, I am those things on the outside, for the most part. But inside - I am wobbly black jello. It won't stop me, though. I think I just had to say it, just once, acknowledge it, and now it's time to get to work.
Love to you all - it can't be said enough - love to you all.
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