The good things

Things are pretty dire right now.  My unemployment has ended, and today I am placing my beloved bird Cricket in a new home.  If I let myself think about it all more than a couple seconds I melt into a puddle of fear and sadness.

So I need to focus on a good thing for at least a few moments.

I have a history of being a sad bastard on my birthday.  It's always been less about getting older  (though that is becoming more of a factor these days) and mTore about having way too many expectations and then being disappointed when no one lives up to them.  (The month is still young, however, and there is still time for me to catch up!)

There was, though, the year (2008?  I think it was?) my old book club and my friend D.P., in particular, had the sweetest and most thoughtful little surprise celebration for me at our monthly meeting.  I still have the origami cranes from that.  And the melted record album bowl.  And the cards.  Because it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.

Anyway.

Ivan called me from work on Thursday, breathless with excitement.  I was surprised, because usually when he calls from work he sounds much more tired.  He started telling me what all errands he'd run during a couple hours he had off earlier in the afternoon, and then he burst in with, "and I got you something!"

He told me all about how he had wanted to find me something so special, something that could possibly convey the depth of his love ("That's a lot of expectations for one present," I pointed out as he shushed my skepticism.)

"I went to Haight Street," he said, "because there are so many weird goddamn shops close together that I figured if I was going to find something for you it would be there."  I rolled my eyes.  "Did you know there's a store there for Edwardian fashion?  Like, nice stuff.  I bet they only get customers one time a year..."

"Halloween," I broke in, just as he said, "Burning man."

"Anyway," he continued, "I went from store to store.  I even went into the Edwardian place.  Who knows?  Maybe they have something for you in there.  But I couldn't find anything.  I could find anything just right.  That said what I wanted to say.  I gave up.  Honey, I had given up!  And then I saw it.  Out of the corner of my eye.  There it was!"

"What, in a window?" I asked.

He went on to tell me about how the store clerk had been so helpful to him as they examined his options.  My curiosity grew and grew.

"You're going to love it!" he promised.  "You're going to know instantly why I got it for you and you're going to understand what you mean to me."

This was dramatic language even for Ivan.  I could barely disguise my doubt and disbelief, though I was completely intrigued by whatever item he thought could accomplish all this.

He wasn't done.

"Also I'm going to prove you wrong over what you said at Christmas.  How you said I didn't get you at all.  I do get you!  I get you and I love you so much!  You mean so much to me.  Do you want it now?  Yes!  Let me give it to you now!  I don't think I can wait."

I was completely blown away by the level of enthusiasm he was showing for this (and it doesn't even involve Warhammer!) but I said, "Look.  You would not believe the history I have for negotiating my presents early.  But I want to wait for this one.  Things have been so hard for so long for us and my birthdays usually feel so crappy to me that it would be really nice to have something to look forward to on my birthday."

He was doubtful and pointed out that he had to work on my birthday and I would be home alone with the baby.  I knew that, though.  And I don't even need the present.  The thought and effort that he put into really touched me, and this birthday, in one of the last days that I will be able to stay home with my girl before something--one way or another--changes.  This is enough. 

Three three

I'm a little late with this post. I think it is a good thing.

So I just turned 33 yesterday, and usually I am feeling quite nostalgic and write a rather reflective blog post. You can read those from years past by searching the tag "feliz cumpleanos a tu" if you're looking for some type of self-flagellation aside from reading this blog, in general. And who am I kidding anyway: almost ALL of my blogs are nostalgic and reflective. This year felt different. (Although it started off as par for the course.)

To begin with, I dreamed** about C. Now I should say that anytime I go on a date--irrespective of how good, bad, dull, or uneventful it is--my dreams take me to him. This one was particularly affecting.

**Brief dream aside: I came home to an apartment that was somewhere in the middle. It was a combination of all the apartments I've ever had in Richmond and San Francisco. He was waiting at the door for me with quiet brown eyes. I felt a rush of relief and said, "I knew you'd come." I unlocked the door and let us inside, and we sat down and looked at each other. The years apart left us unsure of how to interact, of how familiar it was acceptable to be. I started by asking him questions. "What have been your favorite movies that came out in the last three years?" We described our favorites to each other and I saw his favorites through his eyes and he saw mine through my eyes. I didn't want to know who he'd been with, who he'd loved or cried over; I was just so happy he was there. I hugged him and he said, "This feels so natural."

I woke grateful to have dreamed of him, and happy that I had taken the day off and allowed myself to sleep in. I decided to buy myself a birthday present.

I got a pedicure. I also decided at the last minute to get my eyebrows waxed. As I lay down on the table, my Vietnamese waxer lady said, "Why you neva wax mustache?"

I got some kind of crazy fancy new phone that I can use as a camera and video camera, and can use to access the internet as well as other regular phone things. (Look out Twitter and Facebook! Now I can write status updates and tweets all the time.)

I had Vietnamese spring rolls.

I had a brief nap, and I lay thinking about birthdays past**.

**Brief birthdays past aside: I remember on my 3rd birthday, my mom and I lived in our apartment on Broadway--the one with the cockroaches. My two major impressions of that birthday are, 1) I got roller skates that clamped on over my shoes, and 2) my grandpa and uncle taught me how to rub a balloon against my hair and make it stick to the wall. (My hair thus ended the night in particularly rare form.) I remembered my 13th birthday when I cried because I felt like I was leaving my childhood behind. (Yes, melodramatic and emotional from the start--that is yours truly.) I remembered my 23rd birthday in 2000 when I talked to my father for the last time for the following three years.

When I woke, the mail had come. Danita, C's mom, had sent me a beautiful card, and my old friend from Shepherd, Sally, had sent me a package that she put an awful lot of thought and effort into. I held them both and sat a cried with the emotion of being thought of and remembered by these two wonderful women.

I went out to The Orbit Room and to Pauline's pizza with four dear friends and had a lovely time. As one should on her birthday, I completely overindulged and ended up ill and in bed, being sung to over the phone by Miss Mary Smucker.

I felt loved.

Happy

Happy birthday to you (wherever you are).

Thirty two

I like to write a blog on my birthday that reflects what I've been thinking about and what I've been doing. This morning I read over the entries from my 30th and 31st birthdays.

My life has changed in leaps and bounds. At times, the speed was dizzying but (sometimes) because I didn't have the thing I wanted most, it seemed to be just more of the same.

I have tried my best to document my journey...partly for me, partly for you, and partly for the me and you that would someday be.

Lost yet?

I hope not. Because, for once, I am right where I want to be. At this moment, at least, I am not looking back, and I am not looking ahead. I am right here.

At this moment I am so happy.

At this moment I feel incredibly loved.

At this moment I know that the waiting and the searching and the hopefulness were actually leading towards something.

Sometimes the moments that change your life the most feel ordinary and fairly uneventful and it is only in hindsight that their import becomes apparent; other times they knock you on your back and you are left breathless and trying to regain your composure.

The terrain between where I was a little over three weeks ago and where I am right now is almost unfathomable. Thank God.

My eyes are open. I'm breathing deeply. All those feelings over the past three years that I was supposed to be paying attention...? I'm so glad I was.

On the day of my first best friend's birth

Today is Traci Renee’s birthday, and after sending her a piddly little MySpace birthday greeting I was thinking more about her. Quite some time ago, her mom Robin sent me a picture from what I believe was Traci’s sixth birthday. There was a party in her backyard, and Beau and I both attended.

Here we are below. Beau and I were watching as Traci opened her gifts. I am wearing an outfit that could have only been chosen by yours truly, and I was extremely jealous of both her party dress and the gift that she had just opened:



I’m not sure if she remembers it or not, but I can remember the day I first met Traci. I was five, and my mom and I had recently moved out of our roach-infested apartment and into a tiny little white house. I was happy because I could run through our neighbors’ backyards and get to my grandparents’ house. It was one such day in late summer when I was running home that I saw two little girls—Traci and her older sister Christel—in their backyard. Their family was obviously just moving in; it was just short of when Traci and I would both start kindergarten at Simpson Elementary.

I wanted to play with these new little girls terribly. I was an extremely shy and rather lonely little girl, so I hid behind a tree in their yard to watch them. They were eating McDonald’s Happy Meals on a table in the backyard. They called to me and invited me to come out and tell them my name, but I ducked further behind the tree. Embarrassingly, Christel lured me out by jiggling some French fries at me invitingly. (My God, that is a humbling thought.) We became fast friends after that.

I have so many memories of playing with them for the next few years, but I’ll just mention a few of my favorites.

I remember tormenting my cranky, elderly neighbor Lucille, and the dirty old man who lived across the street (“Horny Butt.” He had that name for a good reason.)

I remember their sweet Dukes of Hazzard swimming pool. It had pictures of Bo, Luke, Daisy, Uncle Jesse, Boss Hog—everyone—in it, and we would argue over who got to sit on Bo’s face. (We were dirty little girls; we fully realized the double entendre.)

We used to love to play “Witchy.” This basically involved gathering weird berries and anything else we considered fit to put into a magic potion and squishing it up into a paste and daring each other to eat it.

Traci and I invented a game that I always called the “Kill Your Family” game. We had a favorite red maple tree in Traci’s backyard. One of us would climb the tree and sit on the low branches, dropping leaves one by one; the other had to stand on the ground and catch the leaves. Each leaf represented a member of the person’s family. I’d cry, “This is your dad! This is your aunt Kathy!” If Traci didn’t catch the leaf for that person, they were dead. The winner was the one with the most “living” family members left.

I remember that Traci taught me to ride a bike. I desperately wanted to ditch my Cabbage Patch Bike with training wheels and a banana seat to be able to ride her BMX. It took me so long to learn. She showed me over and over again how to do it, and one day it clicked and I went sailing down Olive Street crying, “Do you see me!? I’m doing it! I’m doing it!”

I remember playing Barbies with Christel and Traci on their front porch, especially when it rained. They had a little pink Barbie nightie with a blonde-headed Barbie face on it that our Barbies liked to wear when they were going to be having sex that night. We always disputed whose Barbie’s turn it was to wear the nightie. The stakes were important: no nightie = no Barbie getting laid.

Obviously, everyone knows the story of me punching her for snatching the magic wand I was playing with out of my hand. (I still maintain that it was my turn.) And, uh, I’m sorry about that, Traci. In case I didn’t say that 24 years ago. But you deserved it.

I thought I’d throw in a couple more old pictures, just for fun.

Our elementary school:



My old house:



Traci’s old house:



Our favorite climbing tree that has since been cut down as Traci and Beau’s old houses have been merged into one giant monstrosity. This was also the site of the “Kill Your Family” game:



Anyway, to make a long story short: Happy, happy birthday, Traci Renee! Much love.

Pre- 31

Last year I posted a thoughtful birthday blog. I suppose this was fitting for the 30th birthday. But 31 is not such a big affair, so I'm freewheelin' a bit more this year.

There are a couple of things that have always happened on my birthday. One was that my grandmother always called and sang "Happy Birthday" to me over the phone. (I'm really going to miss that this year.) The other is that, at some point, my mom calls me and--whether I like it or not--allows me to relive the glory of my birth with her.

This year is a little different because I'll be out of town and incommunicado. Tonight I was at home doing my normal freaking out before any big trip, except this one had a tropical theme ("Where the fuck is my passport!?" and "These are the ugliest bathing suits ever made and Nannette better not judge them," and "I know I have a blue sarong and red flip flops around here somewhere..."). I was also treating myself to my favorite "white trash dinner." [This would be Kraft macaroni and cheese, baked beans, and canned peaches and I'll thank you not to laugh.]

My mom called during all of this excitement and, when I told her what I was eating, said, "I had a 50 cent turkey pot-pie for dinner!" Then she proceeded to tell me about an arm wrestling contest she had just been in where she defeated a beast of a man not once but TWICE. Apparently this man's masculinity was so denigrated that he proceeded to get up from the table without speaking and leave the American Legion in shame. She was very proud of herself and I congratulated her on her guns. I didn't know what else to do.

It was like being home again!

She called again later in the night after closing time at the Legion. As she was getting into her car in the parking lot we started to take our trip down memory lane to the day that I emerged from her loins, but we were interrupted. She was in the middle of fighting with her quasi-boyfriend. He stumbled toward her car yelling because she'd made him return her house keys, and she shouted, "I'm trying to talk to my baby girl!" He paused to say, "Tell her I said hi!" She passed along this information to me: "Junior says hi," [his name really is Junior], and they continued arguing.

Once she got away from all that and was driving home, we had my annual birthday conversation a few days early. She recounted how she went into labor with me during "The Blizzard of '77" and all of the trials and tribulations that went along with it, namely: my grandpa driving her to the hospital on top of a shower curtain so she wouldn't mess up his red crushed-velvet seats, his desperate phone call to the fire department in the middle of the night asking, "Can't you do anything about the roads? I've got a granddaughter coming!" and my mom's amazement that her best friend and my father showed up at the hospital in the same car ("Of course, I didn't know he was fucking her until later!").

It was a good talk.

Anyway, I'm leaving in a couple of hours and I'm going to try and catch a nap first. With any luck I'll finish packing before the Super Shuttle comes; luck is definitely needed, so please wish me it.

You were right--no one's running this whole thing.

Alternative titles for this blog:
A Few Things I've Learned Since January 22, 1977
Shit King of Fuck Mountain

I’ve learned to tread cautiously around words such as “never,” “forever,” and “always.”

Losing toenails doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as I imagined; bloody nipples do.

I don’t believe in God and, although I’ve spent about a decade coming to terms with this, I still find it terrifying.

Girth trumps length any day of the week.

Patience really is a virtue and something with which I have a difficult time. Even though I don’t want it to be my m.o., sometimes there is a great deal of power in waiting and holding back.

Formal education is mostly overrated.

When I was little, I truly believed that I could fly if I just tried hard enough. What I would give for five minutes of that belief again.

Most of the passionate black and white thinking of my youth has faded into varying shades of grey. This is a good thing.

There’s nothing in the world quite as nice as a bird’s belly feathers.

Depression teaches valuable lessons if you pay attention.

Hot baths, red wine, or candles can make almost anything more bearable. All three at once are unstoppable.

S’mores also have great healing powers.

I need massive amounts of affection. I think most people need more than they may even realize.

Ohio should be avoided whenever possible.

I don’t believe I’ll be able to forgive my mother, but I think I can find ways to love her in between those wounds.

I feel that people’s treatment of animals is a more powerful indication of their character than is their treatment of other people.

Although I’ve taken care of myself for a very long time, I’m only starting to get an inkling of what it means to truly love myself. How sad that it took so long! How wonderful it’s happening now!