Right Now - Hump Day Edition

Wednesdays are good and hard - hard and good. In one sense, VICTORY! You're halfway there. In another, GUH! Two more days to get through. It's a silly little day and I'm especially tired tonight - so it's a double whammy.

My brain is empty, so here's a peek at what's going on in my living room right now:

RIGHT NOW:

The stars of "Arrow" - dayummmmm.

-David is watching "Arrow" and I'm listening in and turning frequently to catch glimpses of the lead character's abs and/or his "blue steel" expressions. It's a little bit corny-cheesy but I think the narrative is interesting and it's definitely full of fun action. A perfect "popcorn" television show, as David calls it. (And lots of cuties, too!)

-I'm drinking red, red wine from a plastic, plastic cup. The picture of class over here.

-I've got my legs up on the dining room table next to my laptop as I type. Beside them is a sloppy stack of papers covered in numbers and scribbles - the fall out of the "family budget meeting" we had a few hours ago. I reeeally hate numbers and hate them even more when the numbers are...less than desirable. It's gonna be a cruel - cruel summa - now the money's (going to be) gonnnne.

-My toenails and fingernails are TOW' UP FROM THE FLO' UP. I don't know who I am anymore. Once upon a time, I kept my nails and toes painted in bright, fresh colors weekly, sometimes multiple times a week. I don't know where that woman went but she ain't here no mo'. I'm going to try to do something about that this week so I can get back to feeling all fabulous and successful and shit.

-Today was another soggy, rainy day in a string of three days of nonstop rain. It felt gloomy and gray and blah but I found a few things to be truly grateful for despite the crappy weather:

Fav couple of all time??

     -I just got to watch one of my all-time favorite episodes of "Sex and the City" - episode 11 "Domino Effect" from season 6, part 1. So much fun drama with Steve and Miranda sensing old feelings emerge, Charlotte having a personal breakthrough with her journey trying to conceive, Samantha finally opening herself up to Smith, and Carrie plunging herself in and then out again of the never-ending "Big Dance." I love how everyone gets even play in the episode and has equally amounts of "stuff" on the line. Carrie's closing remarks are so simple yet poignant. "It was a shift imperceptible to anyone but me. But I knew Big's heart had closed again. Maybe it would reopen in another five years, maybe it wouldn't. But I knew myself well enough to know that that's not enough."GAHHHHHH 

    -An hour-and-a-half phone conversation with my big sis never feels like a chore. The older I get the more I realize what a TREASURE my siblings are - they are everything to me. (And since they are basically the only ones who read this blog: I LOVE YOU BEANS!)

     -My building has a parking garage so I was able to avoid the onslaught of rain and get to and from work relatively dry - not everyone is that lucky.

     -I was reminded today that IT CAN ALWAYS BE WORSE. A close friend of mine who was born overseas and is not a U.S. citizen had her identity stolen recently and cannot work in the States right now. Not that she can't FIND work, she literally CAN'T work right now. So hard. She is my hero for not giving up and deciding to make the best of it. And also the reason why I have no excuse to whine about what's going on with me right now. It can always be worse, people. Sometimes it sucks to hear but it can be the thing we need to hear to snap us out of our pity parties. PERSPECTIVE, man

-Roo is sitting at my feet tootin'. I can't tell a lie.

xo,
L

My Funny Men

It doesn't matter if you're a six-foot-tall Calvin Klein model, if you can't make me laugh there's just no chance, buddy. (Unless you're Colin Firth, he always gets all the chances.)

A man who can make me laugh is better than one with riches, great confidence, intelligence, athleticism, anything. David and I have been through times of plenty and not so plenty, times of joy and times of struggle, but no matter what we've always been able to get through with the help of a little laughter. David sings, and parts his hair down the middle, and talks in accents, and cracks corny jokes - he makes me laugh every day and it makes all the difference.

My love for funny men came about from the geniuses I grew up watching next to my sisters, snuggled together on the couch. Those are some of my fondest memories. And whether together or countries apart, we're always quoting our favorite lines.

For me, it's gotta be the classics. Who are your favorite funny men?

Billy Crystal
I've gotta start with Billy because we're currently watching "700 Sundays," his HBO special and it was the inspiration for this piece. I fell for Billy in "When Harry Met Sally" (DUH) and "City Slickers." I loved his sarcasm, his wonky voice, his bite-size size. I loved how he wasn't Mr. Handsome or charming, he just seemed like a regular guy you knew, some guy who used to date your sister or second cousin. Even now, years later, he's still hilarious and quite a storyteller. David is pretty hard to please when it comes to comedy and he has been cackling at the special all evening. It makes me so happy to see him smiling on my TV.

Favorite movie quote: "Had my dream again where I'm making love, and the Olympic judges are watching. I'd nailed the compulsories, so this is it, the finals. I got a 9.8 from the Canadians, a perfect 10 from the Americans, and my mother, disguised as an East German judge, gave me a 5.6. Must have been the dismount." -Harry Burns, "When Harry Met Sally"

Steve Martin
Don't tell the rest but Steve is my favorite. "Father of the Bride" quite literally shaped my childhood expectations for parenting, tennis shoe companies, backyard weddings, and meeting successful/ handsome bankers while traveling in Europe in your early 20s. Steve's physical comedy is what struck me from the beginning - I'd never seen a joke carry from someone's words to a swinging movement of his hips or flailing arms. It was mesmerizing to watch him. Through other movies I loved, "Father of the Bride, Part Two," and "Three Amigos" and "Parenthood," etc., I realized this wasn't just a great role or two; this was Steve Martin himself. There is just something so warm about him (even when he's playing a jerk in "Shop Girl") - and his banjo playing is incredible!

Favorite movie quote: "I'll tell you what I'm doing. I want to buy eight hot dogs and eight hot dog buns to go with them. But no one sells eight hot dog buns. They only sell twelve hot dog buns. So I end up paying for four buns I don't need. So I am removing the superfluous buns. Yeah. And you want to know why? Because some big-shot over at the wiener company got together with some big-shot over at the bun company and decided to rip off the American public. Because they think the American public is a bunch of trusting nit-wits who will pay for everything they don't need rather than make a stink. Well they're not ripping of this nitwit anymore because I'm not paying for one more thing I don't need. George Banks is saying NO!" - George Banks, "Father of the Bride"

Robin Williams

OK so Robin has less of the fatherly vibe and and more of the oddball uncle feel but who doesn't love their oddball uncle? From classic comedic roles like "Miss Doubtfire" to sob-inducing dramas like "Patch Adams" and "Dead Poets Society," Robin is consistently witty, relatable, emotional, and sassy. He, too, uses physical comedy to deepen his jokes and make that much more of an impact. I always loved the dramatic flair he worked into his roles - impersonating an elderly european housekeeper, donning a red nose to cheer up pediatric patients, and inspiring young boys to change charge of their lives. He taught me it was OK to laugh, even when you're uncomfortable or heartbroken. And Lord knows I have carried that like a torch for all my days.

Favorite movie quote: 

-Mrs. Doubtfire: "Sink the sub. Hide the weasel. Park the porpoise. A bit of the old Humpty Dumpty, Little Jack Horny, the Horizontal Mambo, hmm? The Bone Dancer, Rumpleforeskin, Baloney Bop, a bit of the old Cunning Linguistics?"
-Stu: "Mrs. Doubtfire, please."
-Mrs. Doubtfire: "Oh I'm sorry, am I being a little graphic? I'm sorry. Well, I hope you're up for a little competition. She's got a power tool in the bedroom, dear. It's her own personal jackhammer. She could break sidewalk with that thing. She uses it and the lights dim, it's like a prison movie. Amazed she hasn't chipped her teeth."

or...

"I was going for a kind of a refugee motif. You know, 'fleeing my homeland' kind of thing. But look at you. This lovely Dances With Wolves motif. What's your Indian name, Shops With A Fist?" -Daniel Hillard, "Mrs. Doubtfire"

or...

"IT WAS A DRIVE-BY FRUITING!" -Mrs. Doubtfire, "Mrs. Doubtfire"

Ah, they don't make 'em like they used to.

xo,
L

Oh Motha'

Took a little break from blogging this weekend to hang out with this little duderoni and his mama:

  

 

If you missed them, check out Thursday's post with some angsty, young-adult poetry, as well as Friday's post recapping some of my all-time fav childhood books. Don't forget to comment with some of your favorites.

This weekend I was able to witness in-person just how hard and yet rewarding it is being a mother. It's an all-hands-on deck, constant attention, never-stop-moving role. I was in awe of my friend's (seemingly) endless energy and thoughtfulness toward her son. Her care surpasses checking boxes on a chore list and extends to making the extra effort to make him smile or show him something new about the world - not once in a while, EVERY DAY. And she works full time. This woman needs a medal. It also was crazy to see so clearly how being a mother has changed my lovely friend in so many amazing ways. Her love for her son is tangible and I think that's why he is the most happy, content, and curious (almost) nine-month-old I've ever met. Even though just watching her made me tired, somewhere in the back of my mind I felt myself starting to believe I can maybe, perhaps, I hope be a mother one day.

Keep in mind, I grew up around babies and mothers - young and old. Looking back on my youth, I think my mother made it look easy - bouncing a baby on her hip, soothing a cranky toddler, checking spelling on someone's homework, heating up some apple cider on the stove, talking on the telephone - all while having perfect 90s hair and the body of an 18-year-old. She seemed to take it all in stride - and to even enjoy it most of the time. (I guess I was too young to witness some of her early meltdowns. ;)) Of course, it wasn't easy. Raising six, eight children simply cannot be. It's not logical. No, she was not perfect but she loved us fiercely and still does. I have never questioned that.

My mother's mother, my grandmother, passed away in 2010, a few months before our wedding. As I've written about before here, she was a loving, talented, faithful, and magical woman who had a profound effect on every life she touched. She was taken FAR too early in her life - and her loss was felt by the flocks of people who came to her funeral. She and my mother didn't always have the best relationship but they had a special connection, as my mother was my grandmother's only child with my grandfather. My grandparents later divorced and my grandmother remarried, eventually giving birth to three more girls - my mom's step sisters. The hole that my grandmother's death left in my mother was shocking. I think early on I thought, "Give it a few months and mom will be OK." And now I better understand that my mother will never be OK without her mother. Just as you and I will never be OK without our mothers. Yes, we will get out of bed in the morning, dress in the darkness for work, force down some buttered toast, and face the day, but all of it is done with a piece missing. An essential piece of who we are. So, we will limp along through life without them.

Mothers, you amaze me. Where would this world be without you? You represent an eternal optimism, a hope for humanity that cannot be shaken. Thank you for being so selfless and hardly ever sitting down. For creating magical songs and games to bring us out of our sadness or boredom. For supporting us through our wildly nonsensical adventures. For meeting new boyfriends and fiancés and partners with endless optimism and love. For always bending and stretching our family circles to welcome new members with open arms. 

And thank you for never, ever giving up on us.

xo,

L

Defining Moments - Childhood Book Edition

Remember that school program Drop Everything And Read (D.E.A.R)? Gosh, I miss the 90s. My mom either invented that or just heavily capitalized on it, because once we grew too old for naps, she encouraged quiet time or silent reading time every day - alone in our rooms with books and barbies and the doors shut. Of course this was something we - or I, at least - hated and then grew to love.

It was my time to get away from the world of big sisters who were "too cool," and crying babies, and chores, and homework. It was my time to get lost in the pages of a book, to climb outside of myself and explore with reckless abandon and wonder. And the books I read and loved growing up helped define me. I can't wait to share them with my children and my nieces and nephews one day.

 What were some of your favorite childhood books and why? Here are just a few of mine:

Oh, these stories. One of my all-time favorites was Mrs. Piggle Wiggle and the No-Quitters Cure. Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle was my whimsical, dreamy grandmother-nanny, who could fix anything from whining and bad attitudes to scraped knees with her magical cures and charms. Before I have children, I am going to re-read these books.

Yes, this book, the one you give to expectant mothers? Maybe I stole it off of my mom's shelf and refused to give it back, but holy cannoli: I loved this book growing up, and to this day it still makes me ugly cry SO HARD. Such a beautiful narrative of a mother's love for her child.

Amelia was MY GIRL, my mentor, my confidante. She was just the perfect mix of Lucy from "I Love Lucy" and Pipi Longstocking, and there are few other characters in the HISTORY of fiction that I could (and still can) relate to more. In her charming klutzy way, she would ruin - and then save and then maybe ruin again - the day, but always with love in her heart, a smile on her face, and that daggone bonnet-hat-thing on her head. Plus she was ungodly lanky - what more could an awkward 10-year-old ask for? 

Ohhhh, Miss Rumphius - she was so beautiful, so classic-ly ageless, and so lonely in her secluded little cabin. I felt for her deeply and I was so moved by the hand-painted imagery - especially those gorgeous little flowers. American Book Award winner - 'nuff said.

Jan Brett, the storytelling sorceress, was my favorite author from the dawn of time until, maybe, college? I cannot tell a lie about this. I loved her stories and the beautiful artwork that lined the pages of her books. Everything looked so realistic. It didn't feel like kiddish "filler" art. "The Mitten" drew on my love of animals, the wonder of long Virgina winters, and the magic of the forest coming alive as soon as humans turn their backs. Not to mention, the concept of losing things, as is my signature. Great, great stuff here.

This, too, is sort of a book for parents, I feel like? You know, individuals who can comprehend the level of love, sacrifice, selflessness, and emotion behind bringing life into this world. But anyway, it spoke to me so deeply - again, the striking artwork, the lush dream-world feel it carried, plus the touching depiction of a parent's love for his/her child. Also one that still makes me cry.

Mmmkay, I maybe just shrieked and filled up with tears upon remembering this one. Carl was the most capable dog around - doing the Christmas shopping and wrapping on time, babysitting the kid, dolling out hugs and kisses when his family needed it most. I was obsessed with these books, as our childhood pup was a sweet Rottweiler named Maggie - the most loving and gentle creature you could imagine (unless you were livestock). My little sister would have tea parties with her and she'd follow us around the farm and sunbathe on the front porch. My love for dogs began with Maggie - and Carl.

Have you read this book? This should be required reading for all adults. I mean it. It was perhaps the first-ever self-help book. In it, the adorable little blue engine isn't sure if he can make up over the crazy, scary mountain - and he tries and fails and tries and fails - but he doesn't give up - and eventually he makes it over the mountain and saves the circus, or the small town's economy, or maybe both, or whatever. 

      WOW. I was reading this in elementary school. I was inadvertently learning that adversity is GOOD for us. CHANGE and FEAR are things we must face. "I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN," the little engine says at the beginning of his journey. The power of positive thinking. One of my favorite parts of the book (and I think this is from the book and not the movie that followed it?) is the part where the engine hits a rough patch in his ascent and begins sliding back down the mountain. "I THOUGHT I COULD; I THOUGHT I COULD; I THOUGHT I COULD," he says desperately. Openness, honesty about our struggles. HOLY CRAP I DON'T THINK I CAN DO THIS BUT JUST HOLD ON. This is powerful freaking stuff - all in the pages of a children's book. I look back at it now and marvel at the messages shared: "YES, WE CAN" (Obama owes royalties) and "WE CAN DO HARD THINGS" (a lotta' people owe royalties). They still ring true for me and you all these years later, whether we're able to see that through the fog of everyday life or not. Let that be a lesson to all of you - and to me, who needed to be reminded of this today - I THINK I CAN. I THOUGHT I COULD. I THINK I CAN. I THINK I CAN. I THINK I CAN.

And all of a sudden, we're DOING it, people.

Amen.

xo,
L

Throwback Thursday

People who work out regularly have cheat days, don't they? Can that apply to the blogging world, too?Because I'm tired, mama. I don't have much fuel in the ole' tank.

It's Thursday. Throwback Thursday, #tbt. On social media, this second-to-last day of the work week means you are guaranteed to see old photos of your friends or acquaintances as naked babies in tubs with their siblings, or photos of their mothers with 80s hair cuts, or photos with subjects wearing parachute pants somewhat unironically. It's amusing, slightly overdone, and one example of the strange camaraderie we all share spending so much of our lives online together.

Yesterday I wrote a little about the woman I used to be, and today I posted photo evidence of that on Facebook and Instagram for a little #tbt goodness. (See left).

Oy, the tragic, tangly hair.

Oy, the baby doll tee with The Cure lyrics on it.

Oy, the baggy, torn, and faded jeans.

Oy, the colorful bead necklace.

Oy, the self-conscious expression on my face.

Just oy.



Oy is not only my signature tag-line - I'm 50 percent Jewish, whaddya expect?! - it's also what I often feel while looking at old pictures of myself. And I've found the same sentiment comes from reading old pieces I wrote many moons ago. In the spirit of self depreciation, here's just such a piece - a poem I wrote in 2007 (age 20) for a college class. The assignment was to write a piece in the style of a classic poem - and I chose my favy Anne Sexton's "When Man Enters Woman." Without further ado, here goes nothing (and a whole lotta' young adult angst):

I Should Have Failed Outdoor Ed

The knot that is tied

each time man enters

woman, claiming to

never again

be separate,

that knot your mother used

to dissuade you

from dirtying 

your pristine insides,

is a fraud.

The tired strings

that bound us, 

thread-bare from your carelessness

from your ads, falsifying

"honey, you are my 

shining star,

don't you go away,"

were severed

without argument

Like you,

in(to) me then out.

Easy.

No struggle,

No fight to preserve

the knot.

It's been years,

but I saw you days ago

And you gulped down our memories

through the mouth of your liquor bottle,

then wiped from your mouth,

the taste of me,

of us, sour,

with the back of your hand,

and asked me to drive you home.

Still, always, pressing promises

of "no strings attached,"

as you slammed the door.

But I've been pulling at threads

ever since.

Rebellious strands that

trail behind me, 

scratch at my neck,

stick to my tongue,

refusing to be plucked out.

Like your words in my head,

now that they touched me,

again and again,

like a child running

to the shore, then back

to the shore, then back,

in fearful delight.

Back to the shore.

I drove, this time.

And covered my body in

black fabric,

in mourning of our

untangled knot

that unraveled 

two years ago.

What's left:

our scrubbed-clean limbs,

singular strands stretched out 

to again find warmth.

To find freedom from

each other.

And next time, tie tougher

knots.

I tie double knots,

wound loops inside

one another

then outside, and in again.

And the sky remains silent,

and so does he.

And no rivers are unleashed,

and I don't swallow a flower's stem

because I don't like the taste,

and I've fated myself to hunger only

for what is man-

made, by two hands.

Two bodies, dangling by thread.

I never learned to tie a bowline.

xo,

L

Ain't That Girl Anymore

Looking back at old pictures of myself, I'm always shocked at what's changed. How the shape of my face has widened over the years, how my once wavy locks have lost their boldness, how what I thought of back then as a heavy, clunky body frame was actually quite svelte! It's a ritual of acknowledging what has come before, what is gone for good, and what is left.

Aside from the tragic loss of my girlish good looks, there are of course parts of myself that changed for the better. I'm not the same woman I was seven years ago when I met David for the first time, or (GULP) nine years ago when I stood on the steps of my high school and threw my graduation cap in the air. I'm not even the same as I was in sixth grade, when, at a birthday party, some brave friends of mine streaked around my house in the middle of the night and the rest of us looked on in fear and amazement. I miss the days of little-to-no flabby-ness but I don't miss the bad, not-so-great parts. I'm glad they were around for a bit, I'm thankful for the lessons they taught me, but I ain't that girl anymore.

Yes, I just said "ain't."Bob Dylan said it a few times in the same folksy way so just calm down.

Upon some more reflection, here is a list of other things I "ain't" anymore:

...scared of what others think - Sure, sometimes I'm still preoccupied (read: consumed) with what others think of me (Am I a bitch to be around? Am I hospitable? Am I funny?) but the whole concept doesn't scare me anymore. I used to shut myself off to people for fear I wasn't enough for them. "Enough" fashionable, "enough" interesting, "enough" cultured, "enough" wealthy, "enough" slutty. ('Nuff said.) Now, I get through each day on the belief that we're ALL CRAZY so it's better to embrace it than run from it.

...as sarcastic. Please note the "as" there; still working on this one. OK, blame it on  the fact that I was a D.A.R.E kid but somewhere in my early years I started to get nervous about trying things out of my comfort zone. Don't get me wrong, like the rest of millennials, I was raised believing that WE ARE THE WORLD, and America is just a big, beautiful melting pot, and the sky is the limit, and if you believe it, you can achieve it. I wanted to see the world and try new things, I really did. But it turned out to be everyday life that I wasn't really ready for. I quickly discovered sarcasm was a great friend in low places who could help me put down and push away new people and experiences and always help me come out looking like I was on top. I bashed things that other people loved simply because they had passions and I didn't. I rebuffed certain books, music, movies - for a long, long time - just because I just wanted to resist something, not go with the flow. Because I was closed off and not accepting new outlets. Over time, I've learned to let go a bit and open myself up to the beautiful people and experiences around me. I've accepted that not everything has to be a definition of who you are. You also don't have to gain approval for the things you like to be valid, and vice versa. Sometimes it's just another Tuesday afternoon and you feel like listening to a little Bette Middler "Wind Beneath My Wings" (note: this is most Tuesdays for me). It's all OK; everything is going to be OK.

...bashful about eating. If you know me in real life: STOP LAUGHING! Truly, I am hungry most every minute of the day. But, c'mon, consider all the cosmic powers of force that must be mustered for this bag o' bones to rise out of a chair or walk down a hallway. (Also note: My metabolism is a freak of nature.) I used to be super self-conscious about how much and how often I ate, about being the one who yelled "CHEESEBURGER - with FRIES" from the backseat as salad-eating friends looked on regretfully. I'm over that now. As long as I am putting healthful food - well-balanced snacks and meals - into my body, I can do no wrong. So if my loud snacking on raw nuts is bothering you, so sorry. If a blob of my greek yogurt landed on your blouse, my apologies. Now SUPER SIZE ME, fools.

...so resentful. The great theologian George W. Bush once said "Fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again..." Look, it's a very complicated analogy so I understand his confusion. I used to be so damn angry - at the world, at everyone, at myself. Everyone had "fooled" me two times too many and couldn't be trusted. The slightest provocation would give way to an explosion of venom - tears, and words, and confusion - hurled at my victims. Everyone had let me down. No one had stepped up when I needed them most. I used to hold myself up so high on this imaginary pedestal; I would look down at the people in my life below, whispering their slights against me as each one's face came into view. Liar. Cheat. Phony. Deserter. Sheep. Everyone else's flaws made me feel better about myself. But those feelings were fleeting. This behavior lead me to continue pushing people away, keeping them at arm's length, which, in turn, only made me feel more alone and angry. 
     If you struggle with this: LISTEN TO ME. Give that shit up. That is the 100-pound pack on your back, breaking you down with each step. It's that pit in your stomach that keeps you up at night. Face the pain; it's so much worse than hiding. By concealing it, you allow it to grow that much stronger. Over the years, through experiencing much love and grace, I learned that the beauty of life is its fucked-up-ed-ness (sorry, mom). We all screw up, let each other down, sabotage ourselves and the ones we love from time to time for no good reason at all. We are imperfect, each one of us. We're the anti-hero with whom we can so strongly identify. We're the one who crushed someone else's spirit because WE were feeling miserable inside. We're the sneak at work who benefitted from someone else's hard work. We're the liar who wasn't-exactly-not-totally-straight-forwardly-kinda-not-really that honest about what that text actually said, where we were the other night. We're flawed and that's what makes us (plus Don Draper, Tony Soprano, Walter White) so fully lovable. What do you say we all just stop pretending we have this shit figured out all the time and have a good cry/laugh. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING WITH YOUR LIFE?! ME EITHER" hahahahahahaa "I THINK MY MY MARRIAGE IS FALLING APART" ahhhhhhhhhhh "I THINK I JUST WASTED THE LAST 12 YEARS OF MY LIFE" wahhhhhhhhh. 
     Once upon a time, I thought I wanted perfect, on-time, every box checked, and the lines matching up. These days, I just want raw. I want REAL. I just want you to show up - there on the sidelines, maybe sopping wet, or covered in dog puke, or naked and shivering. However. Just show up and  we'll stand there and breathe together, and eventually, when we're ready, we'll make eye contact and figure out our plan of attack and storm the field together. That's all you can expect from anyone anyway: Exactly what you're willing to put out there. And sometimes you even get lucky, score a peach, and end up with more than you bargained for.

...someone who says "ain't." That was the last time. I swear I ain't gonna say ain't ever again. Say it ain't so.

xo,
L

The Cherry Tree

Conversations surrounding the cherry tree out front of our new home started the weekend we moved in. My father-in-law and his fiance chattered about what kind of cherry tree it might be - it looked unique. They've since followed up with texts, phone calls - photos have been exchanged.

Apparently, it is a certain kind of cherry tree. A special kind. But I haven't quiet caught the name of it. Rather, David has told me but I can't remember it. To be honest, as soon as I hear "cherry tree" or think "cherry tree," things get a little fuzzy. Words become incomprehensible and I feel a strong force pulling me back to a lush and vibrant memory.

///

I spent the early summer months of 2007 living with a widow in her thatched cottage in northeastern France, just outside the city of Dijon. (The birthplace of mustard!) While the house was in a neighborhood, it felt remote - miles away from public transportation and quiet as if it had been deserted many years ago.

Silence. That's what I remember most about my time there. Silent mornings, not even birds chirping - the smell of coffee brewing. My host mother  in her dressing gown padding around the living room, snipping leaves off of small plants on windowsills. She was a small and frail woman with a short, playful haircut and a deep sadness creeping in from the edges of her face. Her eyes always appeared as if she'd just been crying; her mouth, a small crooked link of pale pink, rested in a slight frown. Even when she attempted a smile a frown always found its way in.

She had lost her husband, an esteemed train conductor, a few years back and she had started taking in foreign students to fill the emptiness in her home upon the suggestion of a close friend. She talked to me about him regularly in broken English, her voice breathy and jumpy. She missed him, her other half. She was a severed whole - now a half just trying to get by without all of her moving parts. 

"Ma cherie," she called me; French for "my dear." I like to think she pretended those of us who stayed with her became adopted children. A mother of three boys - now men - of her own, she played the role of mother well. Preparing coffee and breakfast before my classes and deliciously fresh dinners of stuffed tomatoes and peppers; roasted leg of lamb; warm and slender baguettes baked just hours before. Lecturing me for my long, late-night phone conversations back to the States. Wanting to know my plans, where I would be going, when I would be home. Correcting mistakes in my French, asking me to repeat words back to her until I got the pronunciation right.

Despite her hospitality, the piece de resistance was the small fruit-bearing cherry tree in her backyard. After dinner, she'd reach for the smooth ceramic bowl and push it toward me. After the first time, I didn't need instruction. I would make my way to the backyard - among the roses and rare flowers lining the back fence, breathing in the warmth of the summer evening - and pick cherries. My longer slender fingers weaving in between the equally slender branches, plucking the small red globs with a snap of the wrist. I can still hear the rhythmic sound of them plop. plop. plop-ing into my bowl, interrupted occasionally by my stealing a taste of the bounty.

Snapshot of the roses in her garden.

We'd sit in chairs on the back porch popping cherries, watching storms roll across the sky, hearing bees buzz and flit from flower to flower. I don't remember a single conversation we had out there - only the silence and the taste of the juice on my tongue. The perfect calm. My worries and fear, my past - all of it an ocean away. Her sadness, confusion tucked away for a while longer. There was, at once, so much and nothing at all in the world to say.

I'll never forget the last time I saw her. She brought me to the train as I left the city for the last time. I was fleeing my studies and heading south to Greece for the last leg of my trip. After many hugs and tears, I left her and slid into a window seat. I sat there watching her for a long time - she didn't move or fidget. She didn't check her phone. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, where they remained as the train slowly came to life and began sliding forward, pulling me - her temporary stranger - away from her. Maybe it was the memory of her husband, of her sons growing up and moving away from home, of the torturous cycle of "hello" and "goodbye" over and over again. Or maybe it was me, our secret bond of so many quiet evenings spent side by side. Her body jolted; she clutched her handkerchief and covered her mouth. I could see she was crying. She waved and blew kisses, the day's mild wind picking up the edges of her red scarf and making them dance. The train was picking up speed; there was nothing I could do about it - no power within me to stay. A heavy sob rose from my chest and I waved back furiously, hoping a simple gesture could express all of the things I wanted to say to her all of those evenings that the silence had kept at bay.

More than "Merci." More than "I'm sorry." More than "I'll write to you."

Something like: I will never forget you, your generosity - the love I felt in every hug you gave me. It seems impossible but I know one day you'll find another broken half that will make you feel complete. And I want you to know I will think of you throughout my life, every so often, when a stranger shows me kindness or offers me a warm meal, when I'm lost in the stillness of a summer evening, and - strongly, almost unbearably - whenever I see soft, doughy blooms hanging loosely from the limbs of a cherry tree.

xo,
L

All My Soldiers Are Painted

I didn't know what to write about today so David pushed me to write about a band that has had a great influence on us individually and as a couple.

I didn't know Pavement existed before I met David, but it wasn't long after we met that I started listening to their music regularly. "Gold Soundz" is the first song I remember loving. Then it was "Grounded" and "Painted Soldiers." It was unlike anything I'd ever heard before. Stephen Malkmus' talk-y singing and high-pitched voice both attracted me and bothered me, right off the bat. (Mirroring my feelings for David - ha!) There was so much comfort in the music, in addition to the pain, and humor, and confusion. The college years were a lot of those feelings for me, as I'm sure it was for everyone.

During our first year of dating, we stumbled upon "Love Is a Mixtape," a book by well-known journalist-turned-music reviewer Rob Sheffield. It is a memoir of his early life and the two great loves of his life: music and his late wife. Their love was so authentic and tangible, and music was the thread that tied them together. As it was the 80s and 90s when they met, they would make mix tapes for one another, with hits from their wonky mainstream or indie favorites, including Pavement, that communicated their love and fear. Before David even asked me out (the first time), he began making me mix CDs. It was his thing for a while. I can still remember every track on the mix he made me before I left for France for the summer in 2007. We had only been dating a few months when I left so you can imagine it was all very dramatic. David has never been a super Mr. Romantic but music has always been his love letter to me. And reading how it was the same for another couple was so soothing. We were obsessed. We shared it with all of our friends, who in turn became equally obsessed. We read it over and over. The book only made my love for the band grow.

Now, after seven years together, whenever I heard a Pavement song, I immediately think of David and feel like someone is squeezing my heart so hard it might burst. I wouldn't name it as my favorite band necessarily, but it just might be the record collection I'd bring with me if I was going to be an island castaway. It's the perfect soundtrack for the haphazard and absurd nature of life itself.

The songs are all over the place, erratic and full of emotion, at once impossible to get through and also something you just can't turn off - the lyrics and melodies lingering in your head long after the music has faded. That weird comfort you can't live without.

///

Blind date with the chancer
We had oysters and dry lancers
When the check arrived we went dutch, dutch, dutch, dutch
A redder shade of neck on a whiter shade of trash
And this emory board is giving me a rash
I'm flat out
You're so beautiful to look at when you cry
Freeze, don't move
You've been chosen as an extra in the movie adaptation
Of the sequel to your life.

A shady lane -- everybody wants one
A shady lane -- everybody needs one
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god
Oh my god, oh your god, oh his god, over god
It's everybody's god, it's everybodys god, it's everybodys god, it's
Everybody's god
The worlds collide, but all that we want is a shady lane

-"Shady Lane," Stephen Malkmus

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xo,
L

Day 7: Summer Reading List

One of the things I miss most about being in school (trust me, there is actually very little I miss) is the required reading (and writing). Each year, if you wanted to pass AP English or Intro to British Literature or (incredibly enough) Study of the American Food Memoir, you had to read a litany of books - sometimes more than seemed humanly possible - and write papers on said books.

In high school, much weight was placed on the summer reading list. For my district, that was a list of 30 to 50ish classics from which you had to chose eight to 12 over the course of the summer. Now that I think about it, that's a lot a books to read in less than three months for a nonreader. I am, and have always been, a big reader and also a pretty fast reader. But I'm sure that is tough for kids who aren't big on reading, and also is probably the reason things like Spark Notes exist. (Wait, do they still exist? Is there a need for Spark Notes in the internet age?)

I digress. As much of a challenge or a piece of a cake it was (autocorrect just change 'cake' to 'kale.' Coincidence? I think not!) I miss being FORCED to read books that pushed the envelope, or expanded my mind, or brought the great big world into better focus. Even the books that I hated (see: most of the reading list for the History of Human Bondage lit course I took in college) had an effect on me, molding and defining my interests in the world of literature and life itself.

So given the sort of "Back to Basics" kick I'm currently on, I've decided to hash out a rough reading list of 10ish books for this summer and challenge myself to knock out each one by summer's end. As you may know (and mentioned above) I am a big reader, but I'm not typically working from a list or recommendations. It tends to happen organically, and tends to ebb and flow. For example, I read 18 or so books last year - sometimes three in one month then nothing for a while. Hopefully this helps keep me reading regularly!

I have a few titles to start but I would welcome any and all book recommendations you might have to share! I like everything. Last year's reads spanned graphic novels, sci-fi, political thrillers, chick/mommy lit, poetry, self help, and more.

What's a great book you recommend and why? 

Now, in no particular order...

The Great Summer Reading List of 2014:

1. "The Divide: American Injustice in the Age of the Wealth Gap" by Matt Taibbi
Fascinating and very scary topic - heard him speak about it on Bill Maher's show.

2. "The Lowland" by Jhumpa Lahiri
The newest from my gal has been on my shelf since Christmas. Time to check it out. Also heard her read from any early draft in DC a few years ago!

3. "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
I was so sad to hear of his passing and committed to reading this as soon as I heard. "One Hundred Years of Solitude" had a profound impact on me as a young reader and I've always wanted to read this one. Also file under one of the greatest titles of all time. Can I get an amen? 

4. "The Most of Nora Ephron"
Nuff said. 

5. "Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte
Re-reading this incredible masterpiece because it is an incredible masterpiece! 

6. "The Fortress of Solitude" by Jonathan Lethem
From one of the last Borders' fire sales. 

7... And on, TBD! (I am curious about Hil's book "Hard Choices," released in early June, and Diane Keaton's "Let's Just Say It Wasn't Pretty.)

Now it's your turn, share away!

xo,
L

Day 6: In a Saturday Minute

I'm too tired to write a real post - it's past 10 on a Saturday night and I just remembered I haven't written today.

Stream of consciousness post, coming at 'ya:

It's really cute to me that so many people go home for Easter. I think I used to think it was just a southern thing, but it seems like it's common all over the place. I love ham and painting eggs. I probably won't do either tomorrow.

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I just saw "Frozen" for the first time tonight! Usually I am annoyingly (unintentionally) contrarian about crazes but I really enjoyed it. A big part of that was likely that I was watching it with my 7-year-old sister, who was giggling the whole time and so happy to be watching it for the 11th time. I loved that the heroine was so brave, independent, and just wanted to experience human connection. Not that that's necessarily a new thing for Disney movies - see "Beauty and the Beast," and "Mulan," etc. etc. Honestly, the song "Let It Go" wasn't as catchy as I thought it would be. The snowman's little feet were my favorite part. I also loved the girls' white hair (I am weird) but it reminded me of beautiful Lavonne Adams, for all my UNCW peeps.

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Last night we saw The War on Drugs in D.C. - it was an absolute blast but we didn't get to bed until almost 3 a.m. As a result, I've been a bit of a zombie all day. It is always such a treat seeing bands live with David. Concerts have been such a huge part of our relationship since day one. The first conversation we ever had was about a concert. The first concert we ever went to was Yo La Tango at the Cat's Cradle in Carboro, North Carolina. We drove up from Wilmington, newly infatuated with each other, when everything was nerve-wracking and exciting and secretive still. Over the years we've seen Radiohead, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, and many of our favorites. I hope we always find the time to go see bands together, now so much more comfortable standing side-by-side in the audience, swaying gently to the rhythm of music we both love so much.

Sweet dreams!

xo,
L