the courage crown

what does it mean to be brave?

for the daisies, five- and six-year-olds in the juniormost branch of the girl scouts of america, bravery is an achievement, marked by small paper flowers on a colourful “courage crown.” the photo you see above comes courtesy of my friend lou, and the courage crown on display belongs to her granddaughter, a pint-sized dynamo with a killer smile, a new pet finch named sharlene (!) and a hardcore daisy spirit.

the process is thus: the girls in her troop have a pile of different sentiments from which to choose – each printed on a cheerful paper cutout of a flower – and they decorate their crowns with whichever ones resonate most. it’s an opportunity for the girls (and their moms) to take stock, discuss fears and acknowledge bravery in a creative way. a time for them to assess what’s been done and to perhaps reflect, as five- and six-year-olds (or their moms) might, on what still needs doing. little badges of courage... plus the requisite ornamental trim and sparkly glued-on jewels, which add the appropriate amount of girly flash to a project so inconspicuously profound.

the sentiments are these:

I try new foods!

I'm brave at the doctor!

I'm brave at the dentist!


I used to be afraid of ________, but I'm not anymore!


I can speak up with my ideas!

I can talk in front of my class!


I’m not afraid to try new things!

I’m not afraid to meet new people!

I’m not afraid to ask questions!

I don't let mean words hurt me!


I’m not afraid to ask for help!

I don't let others hurt my friends!


I’m not afraid of the dark!

I can stand tall!

this is a very important exercise for the petal-seeking daisies, and would be just as useful for adults, i think. looking over the list, i was struck by how easily it might apply to my life, which ones i would choose to use, and how those markers could be just as beneficial for living healthy lives as grown-ups as they are for helping a troop of little girls growing up. the phrasing may be more basic, sure, but the idea contained in each paper flower remains hugely relevant no matter how old we are.

“i don’t let mean words hurt me.”

“i don’t let others hurt my friends.”

and my favourite, for the sheer joy and pride inherent within it:

“i used to be afraid of ________, but i’m not anymore!”

just look at those simple but subtly powerful statements.

and think of how awesome it would be if we, as adults, had similar sentiments that we’d wear on courage crowns of our own. how important that could be for self-confidence and self-worth. a tangible, visible, wearable affirmation of bravery. of accomplishment. and, simultaneously, a clear way to make note of where we might need to focus more attention. do i let mean words hurt me? do i let others hurt my friends? am i afraid to try new things or meet new people or ask for help?

i’d be willing to bet that, for many of us, if we got a little navel-gaze-y and took the time to ask ourselves those kinds of questions every once in a while as a way of checking in with our ongoing progress, like it or not, the answers might be yes. don’t scoff, because no matter how rich someone is, or how successful, or how beautiful... everyone possesses fear. it does not discriminate.

fear of failure.

fear of success.

fear of rejection.

fear of flying.

fear of dying.

fear of being alone.

fear of spiders.

fear of the truth.

but what scares me might not scare you, and vice versa. what scares us at five, however huge and terrifying it may seem at the time, might not scare us at all at 12. what frightens us at 12 might be a fleeting memory by the time we’re 21. what causes us sleepless nights at 21 may seem like a joke when we hit 30. our fears right now, right this second, whatever they are, might become just as forgettable when we look back on them ten years from today. fear is certainly fear, but it’s all relative. and the things we'd have rewarded ourselves for as children are no less valid than those for which we should be rewarding ourselves today. fears evolve... and bravery does, too.

so, think of what the world would be like if everyone in it aimed to fill their own personal courage crowns – not just once at age five, but repeatedly and in new ways over time. maybe we'd even be more willing to attempt bravery, whatever that entails for each of us, if we knew we'd get the positive reinforcement of a pretty paper-flower reward. and think of how great it would be if we regularly made the effort to congratulate ourselves for our courage, however minor it may seem in the moment or however daunting our fears might appear as we face them. everyone is afraid sometimes, but everyone is also brave. we just need to remind ourselves of that. and if it takes a paper crown to do it, then so be it.

i think what the daisies have implemented is fantastic. i think it’s a tremendous way to build self-esteem and affirm one’s greatness and to pause for a second – without judgment or criticism, but with love and support – to see where there might be room for more growth. i hope all those daisies are proudly marching around in their crowns as i type this.

while they do, please reread that list of daisy sentiments posted above. if you were to make your own courage crown today, which would you glue on? which ones would you have to leave off?

what would your crown say about you?

i’m not suggesting you actually sit down with safety scissors and construction paper to start cutting out flower shapes – though, if you’re so inclined, by all means clear the kitchen table and have at it.

but i am suggesting it might be nice to borrow a page from the daisies’ manual to occasionally applaud ourselves for the bravery we possess, and to strive to attain the courage we may lack.

random things i remember from childhood

* peanut butter on thick slices of just-bought fresh, crusty bread. and a coke. eaten on a TV tray while sitting on the couch in the family room at lunchtime on a saturday. watching the saturday-afternoon special on the ABC affiliate from buffalo.

* the smell of my birthday.

* outings downtown on the subway, which was red inside and out, with vinyl seats and windows that opened. the smell of burning tar as the cars rocketed along the tracks. the feeling of going on an adventure, even though the destination was just the eaton’s or simpson’s department store.

* the smell of sunshine on my skin after hours spent outside. playing with my friends in the yards around their houses or mine. baseball in the circular elbow of the street where it curved west. riding bikes to nowhere and everywhere. sitting on the front porch, having the kind of deep and insightful conversations only an eight-year-old can have.

* baskin robbins mint chip in a sugar cone.

* the cold, wet floors of the women’s change room at the nearby outdoor pool. the showers on the way out to the pool deck, which were so powerful they felt like they were actually shredding skin with the force of the spray. shower water that was always too hot or too cold. never perfect.

* hours and hours and hours and hours spent swimming at that pool. some days, for every available minute it was open. bleached hair that was nearly white. deep, pronounced tan lines.

* my grandmother’s asbestos hands.

* sledding on neighbourhood hills in winter... none of which look halfway high enough to count nowadays, but which seemed immense back then. playing on snow banks and in snowdrifts until snowsuits and mittens were soaked through and through.

* crying. a lot.

* the smell of the school bus on rainy days. like wet socks and disappointment.

* hostess smoky bacon chips, with an illustration of a bacon strip on the front of the paper and foil bag.

* tagging along with a neighbour to the vet clinic in the strip mall across the street, where she worked as a tech. helping to feed the cats. playing with kittens. seeing a rat splayed open in surgery.

* my horrible, horrible czech dentist with the thick accent, nicotine fingers and the perpetual scowl. who hated children. the mouth full of metal that remains as a result of his practice of eschewing preventative care for restorative/reparative “care.”

* all the dogs on the street. sadie, the white lab; tammy, the boston terrier; missy, the black poodle; frobie, the cairn terrier, and his gigantic best friend, toula, the great pyrenees.

* being afraid much of the time. not of anything or anyone in particular, just a semi-constant sense of dread and worry. it’s never completely gone away.

one drop

sometimes, it only takes one drop to make a big difference.

you can take an empty glass and add water with an eyedropper, slowly and carefully, one drop at a time, and it will gradually fill to a point where the next addition of one single drop will cause the water to spill over the edge.

just one drop can do that.

it’s like the straw that breaks the camel’s back. it’s not that one straw all on its own, but the cumulative effect of the addition of one more straw to an existing stack that makes the whole thing too much for the figurative camel to bear.

sometimes, the universe fills our life glasses one drop at a time, and it’s not until that lone meniscus-breaking drop falls that something transformative happens. sometimes, it takes that solitary, otherwise-benign drop – which, on its own, might be inconsequential – to cause a shift. a change. a new perspective. the spillage that leads to a new beginning.

sometimes, we add the drops ourselves. sometimes, other people add them. sometimes, it’s both.

sometimes, we recognize the drops as they’re added and we wait in anticipation for that metamorphic one. sometimes, we go in search of them, collecting them as we go. and sometimes, they land in our glasses all on their own... so quietly, so gently, so subtly and unexpectedly that they’re almost unnoticed.

but when that final one lands in your glass, regardless of how long the drops have been falling or how many times you think your glass couldn’t possible hold one more, you know.

then, for better or worse, your glass spills over and the world is instantly different.

two years ago today, i started this blog...

* in sticking to my 30-entries-in-30-days plan, i’ve come to realize that i’m much better at getting an entry written and posted in a timely manner if i’ve been home all day. if i go out, especially if i get home after 10pm, i find myself scrambling or struggling or just throwing up some half-assed offering. i’ve tried writing them in the morning, but some days the good stuff doesn’t happen until later in the day. i'm afraid today is going to be another one of those "what the heck am i going to write about?!" situations. alas.

* i went to my parents’ house for lunch today. my godparents (my mom’s friends) were visiting and, even though i vowed not to go because my father inevitably ends up behaving poorly when they’re over and i then wind up super-stressed and upset, i wanted to see them. so i went. we had roast turkey with an array of side dishes, a decadent chocolate-kahlua dessert, and angel-food cake with lemon crème and strawberries for a late-afternoon snack. my godmother gave me an antique necklace she bought when she was a girl and my godfather lllllllaughed and laughed when i said something funny. they’re good people. and my father behaved. mostly.

* earlier tonight, young beatrix and i went grocery shopping. i bought a bag of president’s choice spicy piri piri chips. when i got home, i opened the bag, ate four and thought i was going to die because they were that hot. i ate a spoonful of leftover lemon crème to douse the fire that had erupted on my tongue.

* yesterday, i went for a most excellent walk with my friend j-dub. we walked for four hours. FOUR HOURS. with a half-hour sit-down break in the middle, where we rested in the afternoon sun on an outdoor patio at an italian restaurant and ate tiramisu. though my muscles started getting sore much later in the day after i got home, it was so totally worth it.

* on the above-mentioned walk, we both learned how valuable muzzles are on very large, very angry pit bulls. especially when they’re being walked by a huge, thuggy guy.

* i’m watching the season finale of Sober House and wondering what the point of the series was. it started well, but is ending on a note of pointlessness.

* kyle is sad and lonely now that trix has moved out of my parents’ house. he and i had a cat nap together today.

* nestlé has discontinued the french-vanilla iced java syrup that i have been using for many, many years.

* i really want to have a deep, restful sleep tonight because i need one badly.

* there’s another salon this coming saturday. i’m excited.

* i am rediscovering cream soda.

* that is all.

better luck tomorrow

normally, when i write an entry like the one i wrote last night, i like to leave it up as the “lead story” on the blog for a few days (or a week) before bumping it down the page with something new. partly because entries like that are epic in size and need their time in the spotlight, partly because whatever i’ve written is something i want folks to see if they swing by unexpectedly (as opposed to, say, them surfing over and finding “a day in nouns”), and partly because the sentiment behind the entry is something important from which i’m not yet ready to move on.

but here i am with a 30-entries-in-30-days mission. which means i’m obliged to add a new entry today. which means that “encounters at the end of her world” gets shuffled down. alas.

at the same time, this is my blog. i make the rules around here. so i can let myself off the writing hook on a technicality if i feel like it.

and, tonight, i feel like it.

i don’t have anything i feel compelled to write about this evening, so why not just direct you to yesterday’s superior offering?

if you haven’t read it, just scroll down.

and if you have read it and feel cheated that there isn’t something fresh waiting for you to read tonight, well... i apologize.

mostly.

encounters at the end of her world

as a single woman, riding the subway alone at night is sometimes a little scary. the later the hour, the more likely you are to encounter someone weird. or creepy. or drunk. or frightening. or all of the above. i am, and always have been, a magnet for that kind of after-dark commuter. somehow, i must give off some kind of “hey, come chat me up!” pheromone no matter how inconspicuous i try to be, or what kind of angry, subway face i put on.

as such, i tend to be hyper-alert when i’m heading home late(r) at night. there’s no daydreaming or resting of the eyes – i’m always aware of who’s around me and who might be sketchy, and i always listen to that little voice inside that says stuff like, “maybe you should get off at the next stop and move to the next car...” or “just wait for the next subway and let the freakshow get on this one without you.” i’d much rather be mildly inconvenienced than hugely uncomfortable, uneasy or afraid. or worse.

last night, though, i had a very different subway encounter.

i was heading home from m-dub’s around 10:30pm. not very late at all, but she lives far enough away from my place that it would still be at least a good 45-minute trip. when the subway pulled into the station, i was positioned to get on one particular car, but noticed (as the train was slowing to a stop) a rather tweaked-out-looking woman inside it, right near the doors, so i opted to head for the next car in the hopes of avoiding her.

the tweaked-out woman got off her car and darted after me into mine.

dammit.

the car was almost empty. i think there were two, maybe three, other people on it. i found a seat and saw in my peripheral vision that the tweaked-out woman was very clearly following me. she sat down one seat away and, though i didn’t look at her (“don’t engage the scary person!” my brain was saying), i could feel her staring right at me.

my pulse quickened. i started having serious hell house flashbacks, and knew from my experiences there that someone tweaking as she was might be a problem. i started wondering if i should get off at the next stop and move to another car, but then worried that she’d just follow me again. getting off altogether and waiting for the next subway might not be the best idea, either, since i wasn’t interested in standing on a platform alone with her (for who knows how long) until the next train arrived.

i decided to just avoid all eye contact. i stared down at my lap and willed her to get up and move elsewhere. there was a young woman sitting nearby, earbuds in and ipod on, so i didn’t feel completely alone... but i also didn’t imagine she’d leap to my defense if the tweaked-out woman lunged for my bag or something. the young woman actually looked like she was silently hoping the tweaked-out woman would stick with me as a target.

as i sat there on high alert, eyes locked on my hands and mentally planning what i would do if the tweaked-out woman suddenly started freaking out or lashing out, i heard a voice say, “my name’s karen*.” i knew the tweaked-out woman was talking to me. the young woman nearby looked ready to flee. (*name changed for the purposes of this story.)

what should i do?, i thought. if i ignore her, she’s liable to get angry. but if i face her and respond, it’s possible i’d be welcoming a whole mess of trouble.

i decided to look up.

karen, the tweaked-out woman, was leaning forward, looking back at me with kind of herky-jerky movements, and smiling. i gave her a rapid-fire once-over – though she was disheveled and her sweater was tied very awkwardly around her neck like a bib, her clothes were clean. she looked like she might be about my age. her long, blonde hair was all askew and crammed underneath a baseball cap, but when she smiled her teeth were immaculate. i realized that whatever she was on had not consumed her to a point where she wasn’t taking care of herself... but it had definitely taken over her for the night.

nonetheless, her blue eyes – reddish and puffy, with eyeliner smudged – peeked out at me from under the chaos. with some kind of... hope?

so i engaged her.

i said hi and half-smiled in a way that screamed, “you’re acting strangely so i’m just going to be polite,” and she kind of sighed.

“it’s cold out,” she said too loudly, speech slurred. “and i had a REALLY, really crappy day.”

at this point, i felt myself relax a tiny bit. maybe she really did have a crappy day and was on her way from someplace where she’d been trying to escape that crappiness. still, i kept my guard up.

“those can happen,” i said sympathetically, not really sure how to respond. i didn’t want to upset her, but i also didn’t want to pretend i hadn’t heard her by just remaining silent.

“oh, you have NO idea,” she went on emphatically. “you have NO IDEA.”

without prompting, she then started telling me how she used to work with troubled children. “little kids can have problems,” she explained. i nodded. she told me about how some of them were violent, and how some of them threw blocks, but how she tried to be a good teacher to them. i told her that was a very admirable thing.

“i know,” she said flatly, in the same tone that someone might say, “oh well.” she said that over and over again at various points throughout what follows.

karen told me about her mother, who had also been a teacher (“she was SO AMAZING, you have no IDEA!”). she said she thinks her mom is the best mother ever, in fact. “i should just go and give her the biggest hug EVER,” she slurred, almost yelling. “i don’t know why i don’t. i don’t know why i don’t!”

by now, i was no longer feeling threatened by karen. she was still shouting and acting erratically, but something had changed in our dynamic as soon as she went from being a tweaked-out stranger who might hit me, to a real person with problems who was just looking for someone – obviously, anyone – to listen. i wondered how long she’d been riding the subway before we met, and whether she’d tried to talk to anyone else. i decided my best course of action was simply to have a conversation with her, so i started asking questions.

did she become a teacher because of her mom?

“oh YEAH, for sure,” she said. she talked about a paper she’d written in university, and how she got her teaching job because the person doing the hiring thought it was so well-done. karen told me about her family – her boyfriend, her sister, her parents, her nephews – it all came pouring out of her in a wave of release. who loved whom, what each of the interpersonal relationships was like, how much she wanted to DO something for each one of them. i found out all about her parents’ marriage, and the rivalry with her younger sister, and karen’s own unwillingness to have children because, she said, “it would be a REALLY really really bad idea for me.” with every story about each person, she said to me, “i don’t know what to do for him!” or “i don’t know why i don’t tell her that!” or the like.

a lot of what she was saying was also punctuated by random ramblings and rantings that made sense only to her. i tried to follow but, frequently, just nodded in agreement or understanding and that seemed to be enough for her.

while she was on a semi-incoherent tangent about trying to find her purpose in life and how we all need to find our reason for being here, out of nowhere, she paused, looked me in the eye and said, “i dunno. maybe I'M here for YOU. maybe i’m here for you.”

and, in that second, something strange happened.

it was like... i dunno, i can’t even explain it properly... but it was like a filter lifted or a picture came into focus or a light went on and i immediately saw her. not the tweaked-out woman fidgeting in the seat, but karen. karen the former teacher who probably wasn’t teaching anymore. karen, the sad and lonely and very troubled soul, who was desperately searching for... something. karen, the daughter and sister and girlfriend being slowly swallowed by some kind of internal struggle between the person she wanted to be, the person others want her to be, and the person she is.

karen, who – under different circumstances – could be me.

from that point on, we just talked. i listened as she told me her problems (and her family’s problems, and her boyfriend’s problems), and just let her purge whatever she needed to force out through her jittery, wobbly haze and stream-of-consciousness monologue. it was fascinating, and heartbreaking at the same time.

just before i had to get off, she reached her hand out to shake mine and said, “it was nice to meet you.”

i shook hers back and, despite my initial fears and uneasiness, i felt the same. what began under a big, ominous cloud of negative energy was ending in a very curiously positive light somehow. maybe she really was put there on that subway for me. maybe i was put there for her. who knows.

when we pulled into my stop, i got up and started for the door. she’d been in mid-story about how she feels responsible for telling one of her nephews how great he is because “he doesn’t always have to RIDE THE BIKE, you know?! he doesn’t have to do it! people expect him to, but he’s SUCH A GREAT KID!”, and was saying that she felt all she could really do to help him was to keep telling him how great he is. and to just love him.

“you should. that’s all you can do, and i think that’s great,” i said, and i meant it. “good luck.”

as the doors opened in front of me, she said thanks. then, just after i got off the train and the doors were closing, i heard her yell out, “bye!”

as the subway pulled out of the station and i carried on to my connecting train, i felt oddly moved by the whole thing, and really grateful for the experience. i also found myself worrying about karen.

did she have any idea where she was going? was she going to pass out? would she get off at the right stop? might she wind up hurt? would anybody keep an eye on her?

and, in the back of my mind, would someone somewhere ever tell her that she’s great... and just love her?

because, ultimately, that’s what counts. i know it.

and, even amid her demons, so does karen.

preamble

so, i've started writing today's blog entry, but i already know i won't finish it before i go to bed. despite the timestamp on this post, it's midnight. for some reason, blogger has me in the wrong timezone, or hasn't yet leapt to daylight savings time.

anyway...

all day, i wondered what i'd write about. not much happened, inspiration didn't land in my lap, and i'd actually started working on an "i have no entry today" poem earlier just in case i had to use it. i feared i might. i've been out of the house since around 5pm, and knew i'd be getting back late with little time left and even less energy to write something.

but then... i had a curiously profound encounter on the subway on the way home.

it started out looking like it might be kind of scary, but suddenly morphed into something quite different. and, even as it was happening, i thought, "this is what i'm going to write about."

problem is, i haven't yet fully digested it all or wrapped my head around what i want to say about it, and i need to get some sleep.

so i'm going to finish tomorrow.

because i think this kind of story deserves more than just a quick pass.

(note: technically, in writing this notice, i *did* write something today. the plan goes on!)

or, perhaps, next door is where the crazy is

i think my next-door neighbour has asperger’s syndrome. at least, i kind of hope he does. otherwise, he’s just a mildly creepy and weird guy.

don’t get me wrong – he’s nowhere near as scary or freaky or threatening as any of my former neighbours at hell house, and he’s always pleasant. he’s just... very peculiar. and seemingly unable to pick up on (my) social cues that say, “i’d really rather not talk to you, kthanx.”

for the purposes of this story, let’s call him stanley.

when i first moved in here, right on day one, stanley came a’knockin’ at my door. he was maybe in his late-40s or early-50s, tallish, average-looking with glasses and very tidy. sort of like a high-school math teacher. he introduced himself as my neighbour to the right, and asked me if i needed a dolly. thankfully, not a toy that comes to life at night and kills you in your sleep, but a wheeled device for moving heavy things. i thanked him, but declined. he wanted to know if i was settling in. i said i was. he complained about the property management, but (having previously lived in la maison du hell) i was thus far thrilled with them. he wished me a perky “good day” and left.

i didn’t really see him for a long while after that, though i’d occasionally come home and see his dolly or a grocery buggy sitting outside his door. the superintendent, upon learning i’d met him, rolled her eyes and proceeded to tell me what a headache he is, and how much she wishes he’d move out. from what she told me, it simply sounded like he was an overly conscientious tenant, which was fine with me. i was happy to learn there was someone else keeping tabs on the building and its goings-on, since i’d done that to no avail back at HH.

nonetheless, he did seem strange.

on the rare occasions when i did encounter him in the hall, he always had some bizarre proposition for me. one day, he wondered if i was interested in sharing the internet with him. as in, signing up for a single account with, he hoped, other tenants on our floor and then all setting up a “network” to split the cost. in my head, my answer was, “um, no, freakshow. i don’t even know you, and i kind of think you’re weird, so why would i willingly share online access with you?”

out loud i simply said, “no thanks. i’m not interested.”

another time, as we were waiting for the elevator, he asked me, “do you have a car in the underground lot?” i said i did not. he went on to explain (without me asking) that small bits of debris were falling onto cars, presumably due to the ground shaking from a large construction project next to the building, and he was going to complain. i learned stanley complains a lot. about trivial things. sort of a boy-who-cried-wolf scenario, only instead of a boy it’s stanley. and instead of “wolf!” it’s “the super is operating a gas-powered snowblower too close to the front door.”

then there was the night several months ago when i heard men’s voices in the hallway outside my door. i muted the TV and scurried to eavesdrop. based on what i heard, stanley had apparently called the fire department and was being reprimanded by a firefighter for abusing the emergency-services number. seems stanley felt the floor-varnish fumes coming from another unit on our floor – which had been rather strong earlier in the day but which had long since dissipated – were hazardous, and had complained to the super (who, as you recall, can’t stand him) several times. then, when she did nothing (not sure what he expected her to do), he called the fire department. all i heard was the firefighter sternly saying, “sir, you can’t call emergency services for something like this...” and stanley saying something about being concerned about anyone on a respirator who might breathe that air. please note: no one on our floor is on a respirator. that night, i figured stanley was one nuisance complaint away from being kicked to the curb.

cut to a couple of weeks later, when i heard something being slid under my door. it was a flyer, printed by stanley and evidently slipped under every door in the building, offering to come to the apartment and weather-seal the windows for $50. the flyer also talked about how inefficient the building’s heating system is, and how the radiator covers are never removed or the radiators cleaned (“i’m able to clean those for you, too” read the ad). as soon as i saw the flyer, i knew stanley was just asking for trouble.

sure enough, two days later, another notice was slipped under everyone’s door... from the property management company. it notified us that they (the company) had been advised that a tenant had been soliciting residents for “unauthorized and unapproved” repairs and maintenance work, and that “this tenant” (who remained nameless in the memo, but whom we all knew was stanley) had been warned that performing any such work or continuing to solicit his neighbours would result in his immediate eviction.

long story short: stanley’s been walking on thin ice as far as his tenancy is concerned.

and then, just this past sunday, came the pièce de resistance. as i was chatting on the phone with dan of ericanddan, there was a knock at my door. i wasn’t expecting company, and there’s no mail delivery, so i was curious and actually paused to answer. it was stanley.

smiling and used-car-salesman-y he said, “do you have any environmental wonks in your circle of friends?”

WTF?

“sorry, what?” i replied.

and then stanley said... totally seriously... no joke...

“i’m petitioning for the creation of an international criminal court to prosecute crimes against the environment...”

and i stopped him. “oh, i don’t know anyone who’d be into that kind of thing.” (i.e., i don’t know anyone insane enough to join you on your outlandish visionquest.)

“okay,” said stanley. “so, what do you do for a living?”

wait. was this turning into a social call?

“i’m a freelance writer.” as soon as the words left my mouth, i wished i’d never said them. my brain hit the FFWD button to stanley asking me to help pen his press releases and i felt myself break out into a panic sweat.

“really! what kind of writing do you do?” he asked.

“entertainment,” i answered quickly. “and i’m on the phone right now, so i need to go.”

he smiled and nodded, then issued his trademark, “good day!” and left.

i closed the door.

for now, stanley doesn’t worry me. he’s a little annoying, yes, but i rarely see him. i definitely never hear him. he’s (knock on wood) blissfully quiet, and evidently diligent to a fault. his business is his business... provided he leave me out of his schemes. and his complaints. i’m not actually sure why he still lives here, either, since he seems to take issue with so much about this building and its management (both of which, btw, are great as far as i’m concerned), and they haven’t been shy about expressing their desire for him to perhaps find a new address. like stanley, it’s weird.

a day in random thoughts

“what time is it?”

“what day is it?”

“five more minutes.”

“robin roberts looks good this morning.”

“i should flip the mattress today.”

“these flower books better come through.”

“the coffee syrup is almost gone.”

“this milk isn’t milky enough.”

“god bless routine.”

“maybe i should blog today in thoughts.”

“wow, it’s gorgeous out.”

“i forgot to thaw that chicken breast overnight.”

“i wonder...”

“figures.”

“why am i still trying?”

“what should i have for dinner?”

“why doesn’t she see?”

"it's very warm in here."

“cats are funny.”

“who knew there was this much to know about flower mythology?”

“i should have lunch.”

“why does this bother me so much?”

“i should turn off the computer.”

“i’m going for a walk.”

“i love this street.”

“i love this sidewalk.”

“there are no clouds.”

“dogs are funny.”

“i am alone.”

“SNAP OUT OF IT AND KEEP WALKING AND LOSE THE NEGATIVE THINKING!”

“i wonder if it’s been 40 minutes yet.”

“i don’t feel like soup.”

“maybe she does see.”

“i love cheerios mix.”

“oh, i had forgotten how good this grapefruit sorbet is.”

“how many more flowers do i have to research?”

“i’m bored.”

“maybe a nap would be good.”

“if i take a nap, i’ll be asleep for at least an hour and dopey for several more after i wake up.”

“nevermind the nap idea.”

“i think i can feel my cranio-sacral tide.”

“i wonder if the kraft dinner has expired...”

“gotta finish with these flowers.”

“i need to call mom to ask about the chicken.”

“dammit, the kraft dinner has expired.”

“five flowers to go.”

“i don’t think that’s supposed to be that colour...”

“well, at least it’s not rancid.”

“ooh! the raspberry cookies!”

“done!”

“done!”

“done!”

“i still have Kings to watch...”

“that song always makes me cry.”

“she doesn’t have a clue.”

“why is facebook so slow?”

"i'm going to keep the windows open overnight."

“is my email broken?”

“i’m so glad i started my blog entry early.”

“i need to get up early tomorrow.”

“i should go to bed early.”

“yay!”

“done.”

“what time is it?”

a day in nouns

bed.

morning.

stretches.

regis.

kelly.

crunches.

weights.

milk.

cookies.

ellen.

email.

facebook.

laundry.

lunch.

sunshine.

walk.

library.

bakery.

bank.

email.

facebook.

snack.

review.

lyrics.

phone.

email.

facebook.

blogs.

couch.

snack.

news.

magazine.

shower.

dinner.

dessert.

email.

facebook.

lyrics.

blog.

bed.

hearing voices

today i heard my friend lou’s voice.

for the first time.

we’ve known each other... wow, maybe 11 years? 12? i’m not even sure anymore... but i’d never heard her voice before today.

we met online in the late-1990s, back when the internet seemed much smaller, much simpler (comparatively speaking) and, despite the prevalence of social networking, much friendlier. she, moob (cod) and i met in a women’s chat space, where our mutual irreverence bonded us fairly quickly. we’d “meet” at least once a week with several other women from around the U.S. and elsewhere in the world for a dedicated poetry chat, where we’d share our writing and, more often than not, goof around. from there, we eventually branched off into private messageboards and emails and blogs and the like. lou is one of my closest confidantes, perhaps because of her physical distance, and one of my most trusted advisors, because she’s a super-smart lady with a world of experience... and she's an amazing listener. which is oddly ironic, since we've never had a spoken conversation.

in all these years, we’ve never met in person. lou lives in california, and i don’t. since we’re both writers, we connected through the written word and, as such, haven't even talked on the phone. but that hasn't mattered, because our friendship grew just fine on its own, online. not all online friendships work that way, though. sometimes, you do meet in person and hit it off immediately and an IRL (in-real-life) relationship instantly materializes. sometimes, you meet in person and you realize, “oh. you’re not the same person you are online...” and not only does an IRL relationship never happen, but your online friendship eventually evaporates, as well. or sometimes, for whatever reason, you don’t meet in person, time goes on and the online friendship slowly fades to black.

say what you will, voices matter. the way people wrap their mouths around words. the inflections. the pronunciations. the accents and intonations and reverberations. everyone’s voice is different, and they’re not all music to a listener’s ear. haven’t you ever heard a supermodel give an interview and been shocked at the flat, nasal voice that came out of a gorgeous face you’ve seen on magazine covers? (where do you think “just stand there and look pretty” came from?) or perhaps you’ve seen someone from across the room, felt a flutter in your heart and then had that flutter stop on a dime when the object of your imaginary affection opened his or her mouth to reveal a voice that instantly erased your attraction. conversely, maybe you've had your heart unexpectedly melt at the velvety, dulcet tones of someone you’d initially thought might sound like gilbert gottfried.

all this to say: it was really freaky (in a good way) to finally hear what lou sounded like. earlier today, she’d posted a couple of home videos on her blog and, though she was behind the camera, she was posing questions to her onscreen subjects – her grandkids, who were animated and funny and adorable, showing off their home and chatting about their lives.

and then there it was.

lou’s voice.

!

last year, lou heard me for the first time when i sent her a video i’d made for ericanddan, and i remember her saying at the time how strange an experience it was... to hear my voice after all these years. it was equally strange for me the first time i met (in person) and heard moob – i had no idea she’d have a hint of a southern drawl! ericanddan didn’t sound a thing like i’d expected when i first met them, but now i can’t fathom them sounding any other way. the list goes on.

when you make friends online, and i’ve made a few, it’s often a curious undertaking because of the inherent nature of online communication. for the most part, especially in the days before webcams and skyping and the like, it’s often silent. distant. with varying degrees of anonymity. and that very first glimpse of the other person in person, in the 3-D world of real life (even if it’s just a voice), is sometimes surprising.

but for some reason, lou kind of sounded exactly as i’d imagined – warm, soothing, loving and fun.

and, really, i wasn’t surprised at all. :-)

three good things

a while back, at my weekly meditation group, our regular “discussion period” was unusually quiet. no one really wanted to talk, it seemed, and the silence after the question “does anyone have anything they’d like to share?” was awkward.

crickets.

tumbleweeds.

silence.

so, our de-facto leader that night decided to try sparking some chatter by suggesting each of us share three good things about the day. just any three things that made us happy, or relieved, or feel nice, or were simply positive somehow.

“if you can’t think of three, two is okay,” he said. “if you can only think of one, that’s okay, too. and if you’d rather pass, you can pass.”

pass? would there really be anyone who couldn’t think of a single good thing about their day?, i wondered. turns out, yes, there were a few people who passed. but i think that had more to do with them being shy than them having had a day devoid of an ounce of goodness.

for the rest of the group, it was an opportunity to share everything from the minutiae of their world (“i had a really great sandwich at lunch”) to the life-changing (“my husband’s cancer is officially in remission”). one by one, we went around the circle (because that’s how the chairs are configured) and thought about our days, each one of us picking out a few things to offer. for some, it was challenging to find three things, for others it was easy. overall, though, it was a surprisingly moving exercise – a few people shed tears, and i tried hard not to (especially after the remission admission) – that allowed each of us to share as much or as little of ourselves as we liked with the others. it reminded us all to be a little more mindful in our day-to-day lives. to look for the good if it didn’t seem obvious at first.

it was also a nice way to acknowledge that there’s something good in every day... and that those good things don’t have to be Big Events like winning the lottery or getting married or eating a platter of cupcakes. little things count.

little things add up.

little things are good.

little things can be great.

so, later today, i encourage you to think about three good things about your saturday.

even if they’re little.

home is where the crazy is

let me just get this out of the way right now: i’m crazy. i am. i know it. and i’m okay with it.

lest you suddenly worry that i actually have gone off the deep end, or am somehow being offensive to the mentally ill, let me explain:

we’re all crazy in our own ways. each one of us. everybody.

not the “should be heavily medicated and in some kind of supervised-care facility” crazy, but idiosyncratic. different in very unique ways. possessing foibles that, to the casual observer, might seem a little strange or weird or silly.

or crazy.

the way you fold your shirts. the time you get up or go to bed. your preferred organizational style when it comes to your cupboards. your habit of rechecking all the lights to make sure they're off before you walk out your door. your inability to eat anything with caraway seeds in it. the fact that you enjoy sitting around naked and watching TV in summer.

everyone has some crazy in them. no matter how seemingly sane and together and normal and ordinary. everyone has some crazy.

after sitting here tonight for the past 90 minutes, writing a long, blathering, rambling, epic blog entry (that, by the way, still isn't done because it was that massive in size), i decided to scrap it all. the overall gist of what i was writing is: i'm crazy and so are you. and, for me, my home is my sanctuary where all my idiosyncracies and foibles and quirks can flourish and live comfortably. where my craziness can kick off its shoes, stretch its toes and recline on big red without fear of judgment or scorn or ridicule or rejection.

i may or may not finish the epic blog entry tomorrow morning. it snowballed into something of a personal-therapy-session avalanche of words, and i don't know that posting it will be a benefit to anyone... in fact, i think it may simply wind up being a gigantic navel-gazing bore.

but i did write it. consider this the condensed-for-your-pleasure version that, for all its brevity, is a much better, much more coherent encapsulation of everything i wanted to say, anyway.

embrace your inner crazy, accept it with love, and don't apologize for it.

oh, don't think i forgot...

i got home very late after a day out, and knew i still had a blog entry to write before bed.

so i'm writing it right now... but wanted to put this placeholder up in the meantime, lest anyone swing by, look at the clock and think, "feh, she's already bailed and it's only day four."

entry coming shortly.

validation

yesterday, it felt a little like the universe had me on speed dial. i was getting messages throughout the day, all relatively subtle and easily miss-able, but they made sense when i took a step back to see the bigger picture. as noted in yesterday’s blog entry, it was about change.

but today the universe had something new it wanted me to know. just as important. just as fitting. delivered just as subtly.

today’s message was: validation.

the importance of validation. of being told, “you’re great, i like you, you’re valuable, you’re special.” everyone needs it, and the world might just be a happier place if everybody took a moment or two each day to be as conscious about giving it out as they are when it comes to taking it in.

think of how nice it is when someone pays you a random compliment. or tells you the cookies you baked were delicious. or remarks at how fantastic you were at that presentation the other day. whatever form it takes – because sometimes it’s as simple as a passing smile or a warm hug – validation feels good. for all involved. i truly believe that, and try to practice what i preach. you should try it, too, if you’re not doing it already. you’ll see.

somewhere – maybe elsewhere on this blog or in an email or someplace, i can’t remember – i commented a while back that i sometimes feel like i’m constantly striving for validation. not a gold star or a hearty slap on the back, but just a sense that what i do matters, and what i say matters, and that i matter. that desire for validation ebbs and flows. or, i suppose, it’s always there but just more pronounced sometimes. and i find it creeps to the surface more often when i’m in a funk or likewise blue.

or feeling adrift.

cue: the universe.

tonight, at my weekly meditation group, the woman who leads the group enthusiastically suggested we all check out this really sweet short film on YouTube. she said it was very charming, and it deals with how all interact on a day-to-day basis. so, of course, upon arriving home i logged on, found the film and watched. at first, i thought it was cute... but wasn’t really super-engaged. i understood its moral about a minute in, and was enjoying its message of “say nice things to people,” but with a running time of over a quarter of an hour, i wondered what else it could possibly say to fill another 13 minutes.

then, right as i was pondering surfing elsewhere online, one of the characters onscreen turned around and i saw that she was wearing a nametag that said, “victoria.”

okay, universe, i’ll keep watching.

and i’m glad i did. it’s not a groundbreaking film and its production values aren’t slick or flashy, but for all its simple storytelling and rough edges it’s unexpectedly moving.

and in its lead character, i saw myself. in so many ways. not surprisingly, i cried at the end.

so, tonight, i want you know that you're pretty cool. that you coming here to read makes me happy. that your comments, for those of you who leave them, mean a great deal to me. i'm glad you drop in. thank you.

and tomorrow, i hope you validate someone else. pay it forward. tell someone they have nice shoes. or point out how wonderfully friendly your waiter was during your meal. or just smile at a stranger you pass on your way to work. please do it. because it does make a difference. trust me.

oh, and here’s the short. it’s called... Validation.

yes, it’s a little long. but worth it, if you have the time.

in dreams

i’ve talked about my dreams before. sometimes, i wish i lived in my dreamlife because it’s frequently so much more fulfilling than my waking life. in my dreams, i’m happier, or braver, or more confident, or more successful... and i’m certainly much luckier in love when i'm asleep than i am in actuality.

but sometimes my dreams are unsettling. they’re not nightmares, per se, but they’ll occasionally leave me shaken or uneasy, even hours after i wake up. i had one such dream the other night...

i was in the living room of my parents' house... waiting to die. just sitting in one of their armchairs, perfectly fine physically and dressed normally, but very upset because i somehow knew i was going to die before the end of the day. but i didn't know how and i didn't know why. just that it was going to happen, that it was my time to go. it was probably afternoon (time-wise) in the dream, because the sun was shining in the big front window.

i was crying, and kept saying that i wasn't ready. i thought (in the dream) that if i could just manage to stay up past midnight, i would have survived my predetermined fate and would be fine (because the date of my death would have passed). sort of like, "maybe i can sneak through and live..."

i can't remember what my mom and my sister were doing or saying, but i know they were there. i also remember a very deep, very profound sense of sadness, fear and regret... so much so that i woke up with that feeling (it took me a few minutes to snap out of the dream and realize it WAS just a dream) and it hung with me for much of the following day.

initially, i chalked it up to just another manifestation of stress, but decided to consult my friend steph, who is a bonafide savant when it comes to dream analysis. i emailed her the above description, and this morning she sent me this reply:

“My first instinct would be to treat death as a metaphor for an ending. You are afraid to end one part of your life, and afraid to start the new part. You are afraid you aren't prepared, that you won't be able to handle it, you will fail, and you will be devastated so much that it will feel like a death sentence. The fact that everything seems normal on the outside would indicate that you are ready, despite your internal anxiety. Waking up with the profound sense of sadness, fear and regret indicates the level of emotional gravity of the ending. Whatever this ending is, you've lived it your whole life - you are being torn from it. The sneaking through part would be you trying to see if you can make the transition without really letting go - tricking death as it were.”

i know there are a few of you who will instantly see how freakishly telling the above interpretation is. without knowing much about what’s going on with me (she lives on the other side of the continent), she was nonetheless so dead-on right (no pun intended) that i almost wanted to cry when i read it. and it gave me a strange sense of comfort – maybe because of the bit about me being ready despite my anxiety.

the arrival of this astute analysis was especially appropriate given yesterday’s entry on my sense of being unmoored and directionless, as well as entries in the last months of 2008, where change was definitely a recurring theme. then, later today, i read this, which popped up on my computer screen seemingly at random... but i knew it wasn’t just a coincidence.

things have been changing. some subtly, some not. i’ve been moving towards the new and letting go of the old. or trying to, anyway. and, amid all this, i’ve sometimes felt like i’m spinning in the middle of a whirlpool, where i’m reaching for something rooted... something moored... in order to feel okay. but, ultimately, i'm the only one who can truly make me feel that way.

in the past few weeks, i’ve definitely been sensing the need for change – or, perhaps, the necessity for it amid other changes already in progress – which is probably from whence the secondary feeling of being adrift came in the first place. because, for me, change has always been scary. something unsettling. something that forces you to let go of what’s familiar and secure for the unknown, unproven and unfamiliar.

but, as it says in the linked story, change is necessary.

and so are dreams.

the plan

i’ve been feeling a little unmoored of late. personally and professionally. just kind of... adrift. directionless. spending more time than i probably should looking at my life and thinking, “what am i doing?”

am i happy? what do i want? where do i want to be? who do i want to be? am i wasting my time? am i squandering it day after day?

am i living up to my full potential? do i even know what my full potential is?

and so on.

earlier tonight, i chatted online with a friend overseas, relaying my existential ponderings and hoping that talking (or typing, as it were) it out might help me find some answers.

unsurprisingly, it did not. at least, not the kind of crystal-clear, definitive, be-all-and-end-all-and-solve-all answers that would make everything so much easier.

but it did help to open my eyes a little – “opening my eyes” being another recent, recurring theme for me – to the fact that i feel i am not doing enough. in various contexts and relating to assorted areas of my life. that somehow i feel like there’s more to life than what i’m experiencing, and that there’s so much more to living than the way i’m doing it. not that there’s some exciting adventure i’m not taking or some remote place i’m not visiting... just that i could be living more but, for whatever reason, i’m not. that i am to blame for the shortcomings in my own life.

to be clear, it’s also not a feeling of inadequacy, but more one of disappointment in myself. sort of like looking in the mirror and recognizing that i can do better than this. that i deserve better than this. and then asking myself, “why aren’t you trying?”

so, i have some work to do. both literally and figuratively.

in the meantime, i’ve realized that i haven’t really been blogging enough, either. i know people visit this site daily, but i don’t write daily... so maybe i should.

to that end, for the next 30 days, my plan will be to write something every day. not every entry will be as epic as some of the ones i’ve written in the past few weeks, but i’ll write something. it’ll be a little exercise for myself and, if all goes well, i’ll wind up with 30 really unique, kick-ass entries when all is said and done.

i might not feel like it’s enough when those 30 days are over, but it’ll be a pretty decent start, i think.

see you tomorrow...

to "L" in a handbasket

i just finished watching the series finale of The L Word.

it was terrible.

truly truly crappy.

it BLLLLLLLEW.

beyond bad.

the show's entire sixth season has been a complete mess from the get-go, but its last hour was mind-blowingly awful.

in fact... it was, quite possibly, the worst hour of TV i've ever watched. and i have watched MANY hours of TV.

the producers knew the series was ending, and had time to develop the last eight episodes carefully and thoughtfully with well-constructed storylines and scripts... but no. instead, a season full of absolutely nothing, characters who became strangers to their audience, and an entire series tossed onto the dung pile without an ounce of resolution, closure or sense in the end.

what a massive, massive waste.

salon selected

saturday night, i went to my very first salon. 



not the kind of salon where you sit down in a big chair to get your hair did; the kind of salon where you sit down on a big couch in someone’s home to get excited as you watch all kinds of actors, singers and musicians perform. live. in the living room.



if you’re only interested in the short version of the story, read this: i had a phenomenal time. 



if you’re a glutton for verbiage, who prefers the long version and doesn’t mind me prattling on, here you go:



the lovely and amazing and generous p-lo and her husband, j-lo, occasionally have get-togethers chez eux where they assemble their equally talented pals for a night of food, drink, music and socializing. guests who are so inclined are encouraged to get up and test-drive new songs or hone works-in-progress or just tinkle the ivories (or strum a guitar or blow their horns) in whatever way they choose. it’s a way of sharing one’s gifts with friends, while simultaneously enjoying an opportunity to gauge audience reaction to fresh material (does this work? are the funny parts funny? the sad things sad? etc.) if needed. saturday night’s event, for example, featured the world’s most adorable piano duet – a very simple but fantastically delivered piece, played by an expert and a novice, which turned into equal parts music and comedy.



anyway, a while back, p-lo invited me to this soirée. the guest list was very impressive, and there was no way i *wouldn’t* be showing up. she and b-dub were already planning on performing themselves and, last week, b-dub told me that they would also be debuting a song for which i wrote the lyrics. 



?!



SUCH an incredibly sweet gesture, and i was truly honoured that they’d choose to use what i'd written at all, let alone at the salon and very fancifully arranged into an extravaganza (including j-lo on trumpet!) by p-lo herself. that news also added an element of “OMG” to the event for me... because, i mean, omgholycrapwow. it would be the first time ever that i’d be hearing any of my words performed for an audience... AND these ones would be in the form of a song. indescribably exciting.


so... swallowing the nerves that are inherent whenever i go to a party, i got myself dressed [both for the salon (kinda sexy) and the weather (bulky and decidedly unsexy)], packed up a batch of cookies i’d baked (b-dub said they tasted just like my mom’s, which is the utmost compliment as far as i'm concerned), borrowed an absent m-dub’s man – maisnon, who acted as my extremely chivalrous, wonderfully attentive faux-date for the night – and headed out.



the Home of the Lo (HOTL) is gorgeous and spacious and tailor-made for this kind of shindig. the spectacular kitchen opens directly into the performance area – that’s right, there’s a performance area, complete with microphone, piano and every accouterment one might need – so you can load up your plate, check out the fridge, fill your glass and lean on the counter while warblers warble eight feet away.

the potluck-ish menu for the night included two slow-cooked chilis (turkey and vegetarian) with a huge assortment of toppings, a bushel’s worth of caesar salad with enormous homemade croutons, an array of fancy breads and even fancier cheeses, and a full-service bar where j-lo mixed drinks, poured wine and listened to tales of heartache and angst. (wait, was that just me?)

with a ding of her triangle, and amid the din of chili consumption and conversation, an apron-clad p-lo announced that the show was about to begin. i scored a seat up front on the couch with dan2, sharron matthews (oh hell yeah, i'll be dropping names) and maisnon. (total aside: went to sharron’s “sharron’s party” show on friday night and it was fantastic and she was amazing, as usual, and i highly recommend you track down her rendition of radiohead’s Creep, because it will blow your mind. for real. okay, back to the story...)

first up was the aforementioned adorable piano duet (between guy and richard), which was met with thunderous applause and cheers, and which set the tone for the rest of the festivities. p-lo and b-dub then did a trio of songs – including the one for which i wrote lyrics (which, mercifully, they programmed early in the night so that my stomach could untie from its knots-of-anticipation-anxiety-and-delight). they were AWESOME, and knocked everyone on their asses.

while the evening was filled with copious amounts of laughter, there was fair degree of poignancy, as well. b-dub had everyone in tears for a very moving song called My Brother Lived in San Francisco (note: that’s not him in the linked video, obviously, but it’s the best audio-quality rendition i could find for now). both p and b were choked up before the first note had been played, and the rest of us followed suit once it had. such a beautiful song and so wonderfully, tenderly performed. for all his hilarity and shenanigans, b-dub can also break your heart with a song, and i love that about him. midway through their set (and at several other points in the evening) i just kind of looked around, took stock for a moment and thought, “wow... i love this...” not only with regard to what i was watching, but simply what was happening in the room. i felt very very lucky to be there.

DESSERT BREAK!

intermission arrived and, with it, a call to dive into the collection of desserts, or refill wine glasses, or go for seconds on the (delicious!) chili. i’m sure it will surprise exactly none of you that i skipped more sensible food and went straight for the cake and cupcakes and everything with sugar. about halfway through my slice of a rather elaborate confection, i was informed by miz matthews that nestled within the banana-esque cake base were chocolate-covered espresso beans. i’d been chomping on them quite contentedly but had no idea what they were. by that point, i’d probably eaten a half dozen. and it was 9:30pm. (cut to 4am when i was at home, in bed, staring at the ceiling, STILL wide awake and thinking i probably ate six too many of those yummy but cursed crunchy hyper-caffeinated kernels.)

after a while of noshing, the second act began with another triangle ding. we watched selected DVD clips of comedian and fellow guest sandra shamas, who’d brought along a sampling of her work to share; singer-songwriter nancy white performed a couple of very sweet songs, including When You Fall in Love Like That; sharron’s super-talented and totally charming actor-singer husband, george masswohl, was yanked (mostly willingly) from the audience to do a really lovely little song called Coney Island by john bucchino, which talks about not going through life afraid, but opening your eyes (*rrrring* “hi, vickie? this is the universe. i’ll be sending you a message around 10:30 on saturday night, so do me a favour and make sure you’re present enough to get it. kthanx...” *click*); and then sharron got up to sing another bucchino tune called Sweet Dreams, and told a lovely story before she began that was so genuine it touched everyone. wait... now that i think on it, sharron might have sung before george. doesn’t matter, though, because they both turned it out.

[note: yes, i realize the above paragraph is, quite possibly, the longest run-on sentence in recorded history, that no amount of semi-colons could ever conceivably disguise.]

the performance portion of the evening ended (far too soon, IMO) with a few more superb songs from p and b... and then the mayhem began. because, after a night of laughter and tears and food and drink and music, there was still plenty of gas in the collective party tank. (i’ll let you make your own gas/chili joke. go ahead. you know you want to.) it was time for cutting loose and, for many, cutting a rug into the wee hours. j-lo cranked the stereo to 11, pink floyd took a thunderous spin on the sound system (much to maisnon’s delight), dan2 and r-dub (a fashion designer) took turns arguing over what my pant- and bra-sizes might be, and several people congratulated me on my lyrics, which was so hugely flattering given the crowd.

just before 12:30am, i packed it in. the party went on for at least another hour after that – there are photos to prove it – but i was pooped and knew it was still going to take me an hour to get home. on public transit. maisnon was kind enough to escort me on the bus and to the subway, so he and i said our goodbyes to the group and walked out into the icy but serene night air, both of us reveling in the fantastic time we’d just enjoyed and at the soul-nourishing marvels of spending an evening surrounded by artists and their arts.

it was divine, in every sense of the word.

rereading everything above, i don’t know that i’ve managed to fully capture what it was like being there. sure, i’ve outlined the evening’s events, but more than just who sang which song or what topping i put on my chili (grated cheese) or how many times i was hugged (blissfully often), i wish i could properly articulate how wonderful the whole thing was. at the risk of sounding like a complete cornball, it was strangely magical. it was a big houseful of warm, engaging, supportive, creative people just enjoying each other’s varied talents, and i felt truly blessed to be a part of it.

i know i’ve said it before, but i really feel so immensely lucky to have dropped like a pebble into this lake of new friends and new experiences, where each ripple in the ever-expanding circle is just as amazing as the one before it.

it's coming... it's coming...

i know a few of you have been checking back here several times today, looking for the entry i promised you. it's en route, i swear! i was waylaid by an unexpected trek to IKEA (yes, with b-dub and dan2 again) today, so i'm writing it now.