What I Like About You

This is Kendra.

She just turned 39. (I know, right?) She blogged about it here, but I just had to add my two cents. In 39 years, this girl has managed to live a life that most of us can only dream of. She found the love of her life in high school and allowed him the honor of marrying her (lucky guy!!), then had three gorgeous kids in her 20s when the rest of us were navigating our messy love lives. She has built a successful career as an interior designer and gets the craziest kick out of transforming spaces from unusable and unlivable into beautiful rooms and homes that showcase her clients' (and friends) own style. She's volunteered at her kids' schools countless times and raised money to build a computer lab during the recession - I'm not even kidding. She works full-time, drives a Suburban and has a backyard full of pets.

And she's done it alongside her own creative, full, rich-with-love-and-friends-and-family life.

To say I love KP is an understatement. She is a mentor, a wealth of knowledge, a fashionista, a baker extraordinaire, a bubbly and entertaining writer (who manages to sneak in a lot of good info within her blog posts), a walking encyclopedia of People magazine and pop culture, always on-trend with her awesome nail polish and shoes, a phenomenal friend and the best person to invite ANYWHERE. She can crash a wedding easily (even in a coral dress and red lips) and comfort a friend in need. She can fix a boo-boo and bake a lemon cake at the same time. A gathering is not a PAR-TAY until Kendra shows up. And I have never laughed as much as I do with Kendra, on a regular basis (my face will hurt, my belly will ache, and my kids will be all, "What did she say? Well, why is that funny?").

Happy 39th, dear Kendra. I can't wait to see what you do next!

(And here's your quiz... can you even tell which picture of Kendra was taken 7 years ago and which is new?  No! Because the girl doesn't REALLY age!!)

Dreams

Images and text from Christine Rose Elle via Pinterest

I am a big believer in dreams. 

Most mornings, I wake up and consult my dog-eared copy of The Dream Book by Betty Bethards, to see what my subconscious was trying to work out while I was sleeping. This practice has not only helped me curb my real-life irritation at my real-life husband over things his dream likeness may have done, but which my kids are starting to adopt.
One of my go-to songs at the local open mic night is “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac, for the symbolism as much as the melody and Stevie Nicks’ boho growl.

I collect cute images, like this one, on Pinterest and elsewhere, reminding me to live my dreams. In fact, this very second, I’m looking at one that’s pinned in front of my laptop that reads:

The future belongs 

to those who 

BELIEVE 

In the beauty of their dreams. 

And I want to believe it, I do.

My summer has been one of struggling to complete a project that I started about five years ago. FIVE YEARS. My project could be going to kindergarten in the fall. It continues to be daunting, even though my silent, observing self can see that it is progressing, and I’m just trying to get it done by the end of the summer.

This is a long way of saying to you “THAT’S why I haven’t been blogging lately!” I have things to share and say and show to you, but they will have to wait until I’m done with this project. I am trying to say “no” to more things/invitations/fun stuff, all for the greater good of my own dream: to finish a book.

However, if you’re missing some good blogging this summer, I have a few great suggestions. These are some of my best friends AND some darn good writers:

Kendra Kay - A super-hot celeb interior designer who just so happens to have three kids and a hilarious perspective on life. Plus, super cute DIY projects. You will LOVE.

Christine Rose Elle – The grande dame of glamour and sparkling well-being. One moment, she’ll weigh the pros and cons of eyelash extensions and the next, she’ll help you face your fears of being the most awesome gal you can be. Plus, it’s a damn fancy, pretty website, like cotton candy for your eyes.

Deirdre Lewis – The “David Sedaris” of Los Angeles, if David were straight, had three kids and reported his findings on each morning’s dog walks. It is like nothing else you’ll read. I am constantly amazed by her blog posts – each one will make you laugh out loud AND want to cry. Wicked, irreverent, so well written.

I don't miss a single post of any of these blogs, no matter what. Deirdre and Christine are also avid Tweeters, so look 'em up... And YOU'RE WELCOME!

Here's to the beauty of all our collective dreams.

xoxo

Getting to Know Me...

I’m not real big on doing what I’m supposed to, especially when it’s online. I will generally not forward chain emails, which means I’ve probably had all sorts of voodoo placed on me from the internet gods.  It also means you will likely not have to wade through a bunch of recipe exchanges or “oh my god, there was a granny luring young girls into a dark van at Target” emails from me; if I forward something to you, I have hand-selected you from my friends because that particular email may mean something to you…or else it’s spam and you can just delete it.

But my super good friend Kendra posted this on her blog. Of course, I avoided it for a week, but now I’m ready to play.  If you have a blog or a Facebook account, feel free to play along.  (But please know I won’t be checking in on you or waving a wand and putting a whammy on you if you don’t!)

The rules:

1.  post these rules.
2.  post a picture of yourself and 10 random things about yourself that people may not know.
3.  answer the questions set from the original post.
4. create 10 new questions and tag people to answer them
5. go to their facebook page or their twitter and let them know you've tagged them.

10 random things about me:

1. I love Taylor Swift songs. They sometimes also make me cry, which is really lame in my workout class during final stretch, I assure you.

2. My deepest desire in a parallel universe would have been to move to NYC and become a rock journalist in the vein of Cameron Crowe.

3. I drink green juices or smoothies every day. You know what I mean by green? Kale, spinach, avocado, parsley, ginger… I love ‘em. And if I don’t drink one, it sorta throws me off. I would actually rather drink one of those than coffee… and that’s a big deal, y’all.

4. I sing at an open mic night near our house. I’m not super good and sometimes I’m so nervous I can barely remember the words, but I still look forward to it.

5. I don’t feel like I’m 40. I guess I don’t know what exactly 40 is supposed to feel like. Maybe I’m just not good at it yet??

6. One of my greatest talents is connecting people. I wouldn’t hang a shingle on my door as a professional networker or anything, but if I hear that someone is looking for something specific, I will generally know the right place for them to look… or else the answer comes to me a few days later. It’s a mysterious talent.

7. I don’t regret not having a son.

8. Kendra had to teach me how to wear high heels a few years ago in Vegas and now I’m addicted. Thank god my husband’s tall.

9. When I visit my parents or go to Austin, I kind of lull myself into believing that I actually grew up in Texas.  And I didn’t.

10. My favorite smell in the whole world is citrus blossom – lemon, orange, tangerine, lime… Yum.

questions:

1. what is the most important quality that you look for in a friend?
dependability

2. what is one thing you regret-big or small?
not applying to more than one university.

3. can you stand up in a crowd and give a speech?
yes

4. coffee or tea? when was the first time you had it?
I love coffee, but I am becoming a tea fan, too. I lived in Italy when I was a teenager, so that was probably when I first had coffee…

5. your all time favorite movie and why?
“The Darjeeling Limited”… We saw it after my father-in-law died and the themes of the three brothers feeling lost after the death of their father hit very close to Raf’s heart.  Plus, it’s India, Adrien Brody and Wes Anderson with Kinks songs… I can watch it over and over.

6. if you had to choose between wearing a dress everyday or wearing heels everyday which would it be?
heels for sure

7. favorite dessert?
ice cream in any form – gelato, sorbet, coconut ice “cream”…

8. whats in your purse right now?
red wallet bought in France, checkbook, three pens, a sharpie, a gift certificate for a massage, a coupon for a facial, a list for Target, two spin pins, a tampon, a Michael Kors lip gloss/perfume combo stick

9. who was the last person you laughed with? what did you laugh about?
Raf... and who knows why? Kids, life, dog… there’s a lot to crack up about.

10. when was the last time you were so excited you couldn't sleep? why were you excited?
When I’m on retreat in Ojai, I usually can’t sleep at night because I’m so excited about spending days on end with my yoga friends AND I’m nervous about over-sleeping and missing meditation. I just don't want to miss out on anything!

Sweet Dreams

I went to my yoga retreat in Ojai last weekend, as I do twice a year.  After four years, I've observed that each retreat seems to take on a sweetness of its own, a shared thread that binds each of the participants to the others.  This one seemed to take on the shape of a tempest in a bottle, a little spark of lightning housed in its own vessel. By the time it was over, my feelings of sadness and bittersweet desire to go back in time were overwhelming. 


But I also recognized the glorious special-ness of retreating only once in every 6 months. If it were more often, we might take it for granted or remember each step of the process so well that we react to it like adolescents who recite every line of a favorite movie.  There are things that you cannot predict, no matter how many times you've done the same ritual. The alchemy changes, the mood shifts, the emotion hits you in ways you didn't expect, your age and experience brings you up the mountain with new eyes each time. 


And then it is over.


Prospero's monologue from "The Tempest":


Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.


(Thank you, Julian Walker.)

We're All Made of Stars

I hate late night phone calls. There comes a point in your life when late night phone calls aren't drunk-dialing friends or booty calls from your FWB or an alert that your bestie is in labor.  They won't call you after 10 o'clock at night to say you won the lottery or that you have been chosen for Dancing with the Stars. 


On Friday night, I was brushing my teeth when the phone rang. I didn't know the number, so I let it go.  Minutes later, I noticed a voicemail.  Listening, I could hardly comprehend what was going on.


My dear friend is dealing with the "worst case scenario" that all of my married girlfriends fear.  Her husband is going to die. Today.  At 12:30. And she's the one who has to say "yes" so that it will happen.


Here's the thing: he shouldn't be dying.  He's only 50, perfectly healthy, and he went to Saint John's in Santa Monica for a knee replacement surgery last Monday.  It was successful. He went into recovery and spent the next day there, in a lot of pain but doing well, and Bren said good night to him on Tuesday, planning to see him the next morning. He was given an Ambien, on top of pain meds, and went to sleep.  The nurse checked on him at 1:30, then took his break. When he returned at 2, Steve had flatlined.


They revived him, but he never regained consciousness, stuck in a state of paralysis while they assessed the damage to his body (so much brain damage, liver and kidneys shot). Their best guess is that he had a sleep apnea episode, something blocking his airways, then went into cardiac arrest.


That's the physical part of this story.


I spent hours with my friend on Saturday afternoon, watching her smile through sad eyes and talk to her husband lovingly from his bedside while the beeping machines help him breathe and keep him alive.  She's being asked questions like, "Where will the funeral be?" and "What will you do with his stuff?" while she's looking right at him, clinging to his remaining hours on this Earth.  She wants him to wake up and help her navigate the details - they have a will, of course, but it doesn't tell her how to teach her son about astronomy or drumming or how to deal with waiting through the entire weekend until they can take him off the beeping machines and allow him to die in peace.


At one point while I was there, the neurologist told her, "It's best if can start to get on with your life."


A week ago, if she'd been told that, she would have reeled from the insensitivity. But now, she understands. There's only a little of her husband's energy left in his body.  He needs to be let go and she's the only one who can let him go.


Her birthday is next month; she'll be 40. He's only 50. They got together the same night that Raf and I did.  We were college friends, but we also lived next door to each other in Hollywood after that.  On the way out to LACMA on a Friday (a weekly ritual for our apartment "family"), she told me about this guy at work that she'd invited to meet up with us, and then she said, "I know it's crazy, but I think this is the guy I'm gonna marry." And we met up with our neighbors, and her husband-to-be, and Raf was there, and we all went out to the Snake Pit later (where another neighbor looked at me and Raf and pointed to herself and said, "Bridesmaid?").  Clearly, it was the night everything changed for all four of us, the very beginning.  We married, they married, we had kids, they had a beautiful boy.  I always observed how deeply in love they were, how she never had a mean thing to say about him, never complained about their life because she was so happy to have "her guy." 


Steve was an Eagle Scout and an amateur astronomer.  He took a group of us to Joshua Tree in the year before Raf and I got married - the first and only camping trip my husband has been on - and led us on a hike that lasted HOURS in the desert.  It was crazy, hilarious, wondrous, unforgettable. He was a drummer, a rocker, an encyclopedia of rock-n-roll and pop culture.  He knew a little somethin' about everythin'.


And he had a spark. You know what I mean? That twinkle in someone's eye that says, "There's so much more to me than I can ever even tell you."  The thing that makes you say, "Okay, fine, but can I sit down and just listen for a while?"


There's a song by Moby from several years back called "We're All Made of Stars." Thinking of Steve and his connection to the stars, to the world beyond this one, I began to think... Maybe it's true. Maybe we *are* all made of stars, of the same crazy, cosmic energy as every other thing, each of us miracles wrapped in a flesh-and-bone package, suffering through the human condition as we make our way back to the cosmos.


This post doesn't make as much sense as I'd like, but I wanted to write it to affirm that our lives are happening now.  We may not get another chance.  We may not make it to retirement.  We may only get a string of moments to say "I love you" and hold each other tight and lay our heads on each other's chests while watching bad TV at the end of the night. And when that's done, I hope we all make it up to the night sky, linking ourselves together into a constellation that wraps around the universe.

More Collective Compassion

When I open up my email on my laptop, I first have to wade through the "news" that AOL deems appropriate for its subscribers.  Often, it takes a few seconds longer for my mail to load than it does for a few grisly news items to pop up on the Huffington Post feed.  And often, I'm lured into stories that I cannot seem to turn away from, like a train wreck.


That is my challenge: to ignore the push of gore and hatred in our media.  Everywhere, they're in our faces, pushing horror stories like drug dealers with candy-colored pills.  I see it on the morning news, I see it on the front page of every newspaper, and I'm subjected to it through my email provider. All the while, as they spill the blood-letting details, they say, "Isn't it awful? Look at that child's mother crying. Aren't you glad it's not you?"


I remember that Eckert Tolle called for us to stop the perpetuation of hatred and ugliness by choosing our thoughts wisely. If we are allowing ourselves to read ugly stories and watch horror movies and let those thoughts seep into our consciousness, then we are actively promoting these acts of violence in our society. Why? Because...


Thoughts become things. 


If we want to break the cycle of hatred and violence, then we have to break our cycle of interest in these things, too, even the seemingly innocuous act of taking a peek to say, "Gosh, isn't it awful?"


Here's to more compassion and a self-regulation of media that doesn't serve to better us unless it's making money.

"Date Night" version 2.0

Thanks to my dear mother-in-law, Raf and I had the opportunity to get away last weekend for a quick overnight trip.  Now, one thing I've learned since having kids is that any time away from the needs of other people - particularly those that you've created yourself - is a vacation.  So, from the moment we shut the garage door behind us and made our way down the hill of our driveway, I was on vacation. No matter that we only went 45 minutes north.  No matter that we would be home exactly 24 hours later.  It was time away from our usual daily routine and that seemed like a vacation in itself.


After we'd checked in and gotten used to the lovely luxury of our room, we sat by the fireplace for a good long time, staring into the crackling red flames, growing increasingly attached to the quiet.  We didn't talk for a little while, just settled into the comfortable contented quiet of being alone with someone you know so well that you don't need words to be together.  I thought we might feel a bit out of sorts - you know, we're so used to being 100% available to our kids that being away from that "job" might seem weird - but it was really rather... amazing. 


At some point, I looked at Raf and thought, Yeah, this is what it's all about.


People can say all they want about marriage taking the spark out of love and attraction, but I don't buy it for a second.  It occurred to me as I sat there that one of the worst things for married people is "date night" - not the idea of getting away, really, but the idea that you can leave your house and pretend that you are dating again, that you're the people that you once were, when you were both single and giddy and had energy and didn't really know what else you wanted from your lives.  


For one thing, we're not the people we were when we were dating.... and I don't want to be. We like to talk to each other about our kids. We actually  look forward to getting back home again, even though we know it will instantly be as chaotic as it was when we left.  I love getting away together - for an hour, a day, whatever - because it reminds me that we are both still there, together, as the people we've become, with the life that we've built together. 


So long, old date night. Hello, version 2.0.