The Better You Look, the More You See

“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvellous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.”  ~Albert Einstein

With that in mind, I try to include a few things in my morning routine that support the desire to inch toward a healthier mind and body as I careen through my 50s. I'd like to avoid slipping off of the tracks for as long as possible. I'm not always successful including everything in the routine, but it doesn't stop me from trying.

The list for the body:

The Magic Cloth

1. A few stretching and breathing exercises.
2. Some dental hygiene and a shower that includes a good scrub with something called a Salux that Scott discovered. While it initially seems like punishment (it's so scritchy), it quickly becomes addictive.
3. Some creamy emollients to ward off dry skin after that scritchy thing.
4. A few minutes using a percussive massager (I bought it for Scott, but it was too intense and he never liked it) to pummel my flesh into prime Kobe beef (my daughter's description). I can tell when the sound changes that things are being positively affected by this activity. (The less noise, the better.)
5. Some comfy clothes.
6. Some coffee while I feed the critters.
7. Omega 3s (fish oil), vitamins and a huge glass of water.
8. Oatmeal with flax seeds and soy milk (Yes, I'm a true California native...why do you ask?).

The list for the mind:

1. A few minutes learning to play the bass (then a few more minutes and a few more minutes). 
2. A few minutes spent with something inspiring or thought provoking that's unrelated to my usual bookkeeping and/or other mundane tasks. Usually something from Ted.com. 

Today I watched a fascinating talk by Oliver Sacks. For me, hearing him speak passionately about his life's work is like being read the most engaging bedtime story. I lean in, I smile...I don't want it to end...I love Oliver Sacks.

If you've got 18 minutes, this is a fascinating and often humorous discussion of hallucinations that blind people can have and other odd visual manifestations the brain provides. Eyes are apparently not always a requirement for vision. I was particularly interested in how the brain processes cartoons, since I'm such a huge fan of animation. He also discusses the geometric light flashes that people with migraine headaches sometimes experience.

About this talk

Neurologist and author Oliver Sacks brings our attention to Charles Bonnett syndrome -- when visually impaired people experience lucid hallucinations. He describes the experiences of his patients in heartwarming detail and walks us through the biology of this under-reported phenomenon.

iAnxiety

I keep the telephone of my mind open to peace, harmony, health, love and abundance.  Then, whenever doubt, anxiety or fear try to call me, they keep getting a busy signal - and soon they'll forget my number.  ~Edith Armstrong

If The Phone Doesn't Ring, It's Me. 
~Song title by Jimmy Buffet

I love my iPhone for so many reasons, but the fact that it's a telephone is my least favorite feature. When I tell people I have phone anxiety, I mean it sincerely. It's incomprehensible for most people though, and they just don't believe it. The photo above is a "screen shot" of my iPhone as of 3:21 pm today.

See that number in the red bubble at the edge of the Phone icon in the bottom row? That means I have twenty-five voicemail messages (also known as the point of critical mass) that I have yet to listen to. I had a degree of anxiety back when that number was just three, and I really considered listening to them, or at least viewing the list to see who might have called. I managed to overcome that fleeting thought easily, and did neither.

Soon, the number was eleven. Then eighteen, then twenty-one and now here we are at twenty-five. There's now zero chance I will review the list, even though I'm waiting for a call to tell me my glasses are ready at Costco, the touch-up painters want to put me on the schedule, and I don't know what else could be lurking there. Heaven forbid, maybe someone just wants to say hi. My strategy will be to call Costco, the painters and check my email for someone who says, "I tried to call, but..."

I downloaded a hypnosis tape for phone anxiety a few years ago (there are several to choose from, apparently I'm not alone). That night, I went to bed with the headphones on and listened to it ONE TIME as I fell asleep. The next morning my phone rang, and it was a telephone number I didn't recognize (of course I have Caller ID). In my imaginary rule book, that's listed under "Calls Which Should Never Be Answered Under Any Circumstances."

Guess what? I picked up!!! I don't remember who it was (probably because I was startled by the fact that I heard my own voice saying "Hello?"). I do remember that it was a telemarketer. I never listened to that tape again. Apparently phone anxiety is "curable."

I'm just not interested in being so openly available (in real time anyway) to complete strangers and solicitors, even at the expense of missing a call from loved ones (who all know enough to text or email me anyway).

Notice now, if you will, the Mail icon at the far right in that same row, which shows zero unread emails. I read and process them all...even though I often don't reply to them either. But, the information has been delivered, my eyes have scanned their contents and hopefully my brain processed and stored the data somewhere.

On a similar note, I've never activated the ability to leave "comments" on this blog and I've received a few emails from nice people wishing that they could post a comment after reading something here. So, no pressure, but it is now an option to leave a comment.

Talk to you soon.

P.S. Just got off the phone with Costco....my glasses are ready. "We left a message two days ago," he said.

Weekend Away

I drove to Murphys in the California foothills this weekend (a total of 1,000 miles after all was said and done). Met up with my dear friend Stacey to see a Jason Mraz concert at the Ironstone Winery. Her friend Don (who was absolutely great and an easy traveler) joined us.  We enjoyed a pre-show dinner on the Ironstone property prior to the show. It was a beautiful setting and an excellent performance.

We had pretty good seats! I loved being outdoors.

We stayed in a darling cottage in a woodsy setting on a creek:

Took a short walk and saw this:

Had a delicious meal right across the street from our cottage at a tapas restaurant called 498:

Went wine tasting at Twisted Oak winery and another semi-underground wine-tasting room that included this mildly disturbing scene:

Played Scrabble:

Felt completely unplugged and rejuvenated. Put our feet in an icy babbling creek lined with wild raspberry bushes:

Left Murphys Saturday morning. On the way to Monterey we saw a scary car fire on Pacheco Pass, which ignited the surroundings. Firefighters were working hard to keep it contained.

Stayed at Stacey's cute new house and provided computer tech services for WiFi access!

Observed the most precious community gathering in Pacific Grove. A weekly dance class and subsequent "open floor" for all ages and skills. This was the scene through giant barn doors:

Hopped in the car Sunday morning and drove home, happy music blasting the whole way. Exterior temperature over the Grapevine - 104 degrees. Inside the car - 67 degrees. Took around 7 hours.

Missed my doggie, but received some unique photos via email from my daughter of Olive Monroe:

And Pepper Hayworth:

Exhausted, but played my bass for a few minutes...I missed that thing too...the notes seem lower, richer and more beautiful than I remember...I think I'm in love...

Called everyone to say I got home safe.....and Goodnight.

22 Things A Woman Must Know

When we discovered that my husband Scott likely has Aspergers' Syndrome, I went to Amazon to see what resources were available to learn more. I bought several books dealing specifically with relationships and read them all, from the overly clinical scientific descriptions to the emotionally-based children's books. Eight books later, I was convinced that we could actually put a name to Scott's quirky behaviors and unique perspective on life and relationships. That in itself has been tremendously helpful.

Once Amazon knows what your interests are (based on your purchases), they suggest new items on the same or similar topics. I got an email recently suggesting this book and logged in to read the reviews. One woman wrote a review with a phrase in it that so described my experience with Scott that I was moved to respond, both to her and to the other people making comments on her review.

The phrase that grabbed me was inside of this sentence: "Most of these women will end up with major depression and one or more autoimmune diseases from never having their own light reflected back at them as time goes on living with someone who is almost completely unreciprocal but who is supposed to be your life partner."

The words "never having their own light reflected back at them" articulated so well a feeling that I haven't been able to put into words. It was validating for me and defined one of my experiences in our relationship. Though Scott expresses his love for me in unique ways, which are meaningful and appreciated, the nature of Aspergers' doesn't really allow for a contented connection as advertised and experienced in "normal" couple's lives when you love someone deeply. Aspies never attain that level of peaceful comfort within themselves, let alone learn how to share, enjoy or appreciate that kind of connection as part of a couple.

I've told Scott before that he gets to see himself through my eyes, but I have to see myself through his, and that he gets the better deal. I project my ideal image of who he can be and what he means to me onto him as though he's already attained it perfectly. His view of me requires only his logical brain and observation of stark reality. His perception doesn't come with frills or emotionally tinged filters that allow me to believe he sees me any differently than anyone else would. My flaws stick out. I don't get to feel funnier, thinner, younger or more attractive than I really am (or am not) just because he "loves" me. Even my own coping mechanisms that make me feel "special" are challenged when his blunt honesty defines me so succinctly.

With Scott, no one gets a better deal. I'm lumped into the general category of all other humanity, with no special concessions for sharing a life with him and knowing what life's like behind closed doors. I'm a flawed mortal with characteristics (tolerance and self-entertaining self-sufficiency are the most important ones) he finds appealing enough to want to be around more than most, but that's it. So, I miss out on the relationship "games" people play that reinforce their "specialness" to each other.

So, of course I bought the book, which winds up being written by a woman with Aspergers' (If I remember correctly, one in four Aspies are women). The book is very sympathetically written, and includes a section called "His Words" after each chapter, which is the Aspie's perspective on the topic discussed.

This book should certainly not be the only resource for an NT (which stands for Neuro Typical, the term used for the non-Asperger partner). It's a very validating checklist, however, as an introduction to Aspergers. If you're wondering if your mate has it, I'd get it.

Even Scott gave the book validity. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and could tell Scott had picked up the book on the bed that I was reading. I think it was the maniacal outburst that tipped me off. I can tell by his laughter he is now reading some passages. "What's funny?", I call out from the bathroom.

"I'm childlike?", he asks incredulously, "I'm effeminate?" "Oh my God, I say the same things these men say in this book!", he says.

Welcome to my world.

I don't feel quite as susceptible to the depression and autoimmune diseases mentioned in the review. My response to the review explains why.

It turns out 2009 is a banner year for illuminating Aspergers' Syndrome. Two movies were released recently.

This one, Mary and Max, by my favorite clay animation filmmaker, Adam Elliott.

There's a scene in the trailer where Max is opening his mail. His startle reflex is triggered by the telephone ringing, causing the letter in his hands to fly across the room, make a perfect landing in the toaster and subsequently get incinerated. That sequence is the perfect metaphor for (or literal demonstration of) how Scott experiences daily life. Meanwhile, I'm beside him opening and reading the mail without incident.

And this one, Adam. (Scott has actually spoken the dialog in this trailer, years before the movie was released.)

New Webcam Self-Portrait

I think it speaks for itself:

One Woman's Bass is Another Man's Banjo

I've been meaning to make time to recapture my "creative self" for a while now. Friends and family all agree that I got off track somewhere and haven't been the same person since the days when making art was included in my daily activities (a lifestyle for me, really).

I take full responsibility for shoving the pursuit of creative outlets so far down on my list of priorities. If you don't pay close attention (I didn't), the pesky real world has a way of moving life's checklist around without your permission. Complacency and resignation strengthen its position and years can go by.

Meeting Scott and sharing a life together these past few years has also kept me too busy to pay much attention to letting my right-brain run loose again. Besides all of the "projects" he's invited into our lives (and then there was recreating life after our house burned down), I've been commuting back and forth from the mainland to the island for the last five years. It would be impractical to enjoy my previous artistic pursuit (I claimed I was a sculptural cartoonist), which required dedicated space, plasticine clay, mold-making goo, running water, 100 lb sacks of plaster, production molds, paints, brushes, dental grinders and other dental tools.

My "Previous Life" Fridge Magnet Business

In the hopes of finding a simpler creative outlet, I tried my hand at painting dogs (okay, one cat and two and a half dogs) a few years ago, thinking that it would be less of a production logistically, but then again you still need a place for blank canvas, space for your easel, paint, brushes, etc. Though I enjoyed the process, for some reason it didn't grab hold of me like I thought it might. It could be that the resulting work seemed to reflect the disturbing efforts of a self-taught artist who's got a lousy teacher.

For example:

My Very First Painting:

One hour Earl Scheib Dog Portrait of Olive

(limited by 60 minutes and three available colors)

Painting #2: My sister's cat "Elso"

Painting #3: Anne's "Shotsey"

(you'll notice I beefed up the selection of available colors)

Unfinished Painting #4: Lambert's "Jake"

Hmmm, okay. Not really an inspired or prolific painter. Fast forward to now. Reconnecting with a friend who's an excellent guitarist got me thinking that I might be able to learn an instrument. Plus, I have fond memories of playing standing bass in junior high (sixth grade) orchestra. I enjoyed the simplicity of its four beefy strings and those lovely, low resonating notes. I loved playing a bass duet called "Camel Walk" with Larry Giannecchini (gotta love Google), a boy who was taller than I was (that was rare). I even walked the giant thing home from school with a special wheeled attachment (the bass, not Larry) occasionally to practice with it over the weekend.

A standing bass makes a formidable statement. Once I hit puberty and all of its associated social self-consciousness, the allure of the instrument diminished somewhat. Further, I suffered retroactive angst to imagine that I happily walked it home in full view of my peers. (I've since developed a more carefree approach to what others may think.)

A bass guitar is a conveniently smaller version of a standing bass. You only need to go to YouTube to see how many people play their bass guitars at home in their jammies in the privacy of a tiny bedroom, to realize that the logistics seem favorable. Also, often the bass guitar's contribution to a musical piece is a percussive "lather, rinse, repeat" affair that supports the other musicians working on melodies. I'm thinking that I could probably play a simple tune with my son-in-law (who has excellent guitar skills) fairly quickly.

I started out by downloading bass lessons I found on the Internet for $49. Then I downloaded a virtual guitar app to my iPhone so I could work out the fingering before I ever purchased an instrument. This actually worked out well. If you have five minutes and your phone on you, you've got all you need to educate yourself about the fretboard and chords, even placing your fingers on a smaller version of the frets and playing notes that sound remarkably accurate. You even get good feedback when your fingers aren't in the right spot on the frets. I found that I really enjoyed it!

After three weeks with the virtual "pocket" guitar (someone else's YouTube example here), I realized that my strumming hand was getting no experience whatsoever and I wasn't sure my brain would know how to connect the two once I had a real instrument in my hands. On July 12th, I took the next step and bought a beginner's bass guitar package online at Amazon. It was a Silvertone (I've been told that's the brand of instrument originally sold through Sears) setup, complete with amp, guitar strap, DVD lessons, electronic tuner, gig bag and amp cord. All of that for $199 and free shipping. It arrived two days later!

Oh. Em. Gee. I love this thing!!!

The bass and I have been best friends ever since its arrival. I'm slowly working through the lessons, can play a few tunes and have already had hilarious "jam sessions" (pay no attention to the lung that was expelled as I laughed so hard) with my son-in-law while we work out songs together.

I don't watch TV anymore. I spend every spare moment in the evening with the bass in my lap trying to figure out how to make it sound the way I imagine it could and should. I've extended my waking hours into 1 a.m. territory without even realizing it. I listen to music that I love and watch YouTube videos for guidance on how to play bass lines that I like.

I'm not any good yet, but it's so good for me on so many levels that obsessive passion moved in right away and is firmly in place. It fills a creative need so completely that I can't understand why it took me so long to consider a portable musical instrument as a convenient escape. Plus, once you have the instrument, it's pretty much all you need. No more supplies. Just you, your instrument and of course, your jammies.

Scott's surprise is evident when he calls me in the evening and can hear the sounds of string resonance as I move the bass around on my lap while we chat. I think he's a little confused by the fascination I have for the thing.

I recently emailed him a sound file of my progress and he seemed to enjoy it. I found out yesterday though, that he has some preconceived notions about bass-playing women. When I asked if he's told any of our island friends that I'm learning to play the bass guitar, he said, "Well, I'm a little embarrassed. I've always thought bass-playing women seem trashy..."

Scott mentioned the Robert Palmer music video "Addicted to Love", which seems to be the responsible culprit.

I think it's interesting to hear what makes Scott feel embarrassed, when his Aspergers' has provided us (okay, me) many embarrassing moments that have escaped him completely. My new activity is a change that's outside of his control. I'm sure he finds that uncomfortable since any change to his world or routine is always initially stressful.

As a woman on the cusp of a senior discount, wearing reading glasses (2.0!), I'm fairly certain no one's going to put me in the "trashy wannabe rocker" category (especially when the first song I learned to play was Jack Johnson's Banana Pancakes...my version is here). It's almost flattering that Scott imagines I have "trashy potential" at this stage of my life.

I respond to his comment without judgement or hurt feelings. "Oh," I say, simply assuming that he's kept my new hobby to himself...

Then he adds, "...yeah, so I tell them you're learning to play the banjo."

Oh yes, much better...less trash, more hay...

My Film Debut:

(I will not be insulted if you don't stick around for the whole thing...I'd just like to document my progress)

Wally & the Beaver

Excerpt of an email I sent, in response to the use of the word "jeepers" in an email I received:

...Jeepers reminds me...that's what our mother called our private parts, as in, "don't get soap in your..." (You couldn't know that, or could you?) Then, I have a friend who always thought his private part was called a "pubicarious" because his mom said, "don't forget to wash your pubic areas," and he heard it as one word. I hope that's not too off-color. Golly gee..it's an innocent story about childhood...Needless to say, I was always confused about the 50s song "Jeepers, Creepers, Where'd You Get Those Peepers"... 

Smiling due to "Mild Formula"

After I sent that email I realized that most parents in the 1950s probably didn't have to reference anyone's jeeper or pubicarious until the kids were old enough to bathe themselves. Assigning a name to such things seems like an opportunity to set things straight, but since those were the days when Desi and Lucy slept in twin beds, I guess parents did the best they could while maintaining their childrens' naive innocence.


These days, modern advertising robs kids of their innocence as it reminds them they will someday have limp weiners, itchy vaginas, arthritis, allergies and depression. The "good news" is that there are drugs to correct all of that, but they'll give you a host of other side effects and an expensive dependency. Enjoy your childhood, kids.


All I knew was that Mom was right. Don't get soap in your jeeper, at least not harsh 1950s soap. It was painful...

Of Course You Do

Mother's Day has me thinking about the tricks of the trade invented by moms to make life easier, especially when children are small. I admit to being pretty self-entertaining before I had a child, but when I got this brand-new little person who was my captive audience, it was the most amazing thing imaginable, and I took advantage of it. I had way more fun with it (and her) than most, I think. I subjected my little girl to whatever antics I thought would captivate her attention, make her laugh or stretch her imagination. I performed a lot of one act plays, monologues, comedy skits, silly songs, strange faces and stranger sounds. Plus I mimicked many of her own behaviors to perfection just to keep us both entertained.

I'd stand at the stove preparing her breakfast. There she'd sit in her highchair while I sang a song I'd made up, entitled "Makin' Eggies for Ma Baby." It became a classic, and also involved slapping my bare feet on the kitchen floor (as the accompanying percussion) in time with my tune. Note: My daughter (now 26) just called. I told her I'm writing about this and she said, "You mean when you'd smack your platypus toes on the floor?" (I always love how kids "keep it real.") So, apparently it was memorable (but now I'm hoping it didn't do any permanent damage). Anyway, she'd listen, watch my every move, glance at my feet, watch the eggs flip in the pan and beam a big smile of approval. She was a truly appreciative audience.

Life was a musical comedy for us even back then, and she got used to me making up songs and lyrics that pertained to the situation at hand. Other favorite titles included, "Hello Baby Doggy," "Even When You Hate Me, I Love You," "The Going to School Song," "Got the Kids and the Dog and My Wife and my Truck - Kyuck, Kyuck, Kyuck." (That one her father, a painting contractor, made up. We sung it proudly like we meant it...because we did.) My daughter continues this tradition to this day in her own life, and has a list of hits as well, including "I'm So Sleepy, On my Pillow."

We even made up songs about her school studies, because while she could remember lyrics so easily, memorizing textbook quiz answers was practically impossible, or at least very stressful for her. Music came easy from the day she was born. Ask about our Science Class hit, "In-gestion, Di-gestion, Respir-ation, Ex-cretion" sometime for a real treat, but you probably won't want to see the visual aid/performance art that goes along with it. (She aced the test.)

Music was only one tool I used to make life more fun. Another tool in my kit included a saying I've used since my daughter was small. Four simple words, "Of course you do." Some of my friens have adopted the saying, because they've heard me say it to my daughter (or their kids) over the years. I've used it on them here and there too. When they use it on me, I'm not sure whether they're mocking me or actually see the value in it.

I started using it on my daughter when she was three years old or so, because that's the age that kids start seeing things in stores, pointing them out and loudly letting you know they W-A-A-A-N-T I-T, whatever "it" is. As a budgeted young mother, I couldn't really afford to buy everything that caught a three-year-old's eye, so I tried to figure out a way of saying no without diminishing her spirit, while simultaneously validating her good taste in "stuff."

Household shopping trips for a young family exposes you to lots of other mothers shopping with their kids. There's plenty of opportunity to watch as they totally destroy the hope in their child's eyes, discount their child's appreciation for wonderful things and let their child know that their opinions hold no weight, sometimes with an accompanying smack! You see a lot of disappointed and crying children in the store over things they w-a-a-a-a-n-t.

Sometimes you even see kids disintegrate into a mass of flailing arms and legs, screams and tantrums. Mothers are left to figure out how to deal with that for themselves. I guess it's the stress of the budget, or exhaustion, or other unknown circumstances, but I always thought I'd try something different when my daughter started whining for things.

My approach went something like this:

Her: Mom, look at this! I want it...can I have it Mommy, can I have it? I need it to live! That is an actual quote, she would actually say, "I need it to live" about things. Even so, I didn't discount that comment. I was fairly certain she'd still get to live if we left without the object, but I still acknowledged how strongly she felt about the "thing."

Me: Of course you do! Oh my goodness, look how great that is! I'd mention the color, the style, and whatever else was appropriate for the item du jour. I'd tell her that I could certainly see how wonderful it is and why she might want it. I'd tell her I loved it too, especially if I meant it. "Who wouldn't want something as fabulous as that?" I'd ask.

And we'd stand there together, unified in our total adoration of the object at hand, imagining the many uses and the enjoyment that would come from having such a thing. The groundwork was laid that let her know that her opinion was valued.

Of course, the harder part came next. The reality of the actual acquisition of the item. Depending on the price and circumstances, there were options, but often none of them meant taking the item home that same day. There was planning to do, also known as financial finagling.

We'd add the item to her wish list and maybe drop off or change the priority for something else to make room for this new thing. I would tell her the truth, that we couldn't afford it today, but I never let her think anything was impossible, because it wasn't. If she kept her focus and desire for something, we would find a way to get it. With little children, focus fades quickly and they're on to something new, so issues often resolved themselves by default.

We'd stand there, unified once again, this time by the reality of our finances and our mutual disappointment that immediate gratification was going to take longer than advertised. At least now we had a plan.

As a young woman, my daughter is a master at figuring out how to get the things she truly wants. She's an excellent negotiator, too. When she got married, she navigated all the contracts with the wedding vendors, and to this day I don't think that wedding photographer knew what hit him.

It started with a desire to validate a child's wants, but it turns out that those four words seem to help for other things too, not just for the material objects that catch one's eye. I've used those words for friends wanting to make changes in their lives, move to another place, take a fabulous vacation or make a relationship change. We could all use some "nurturing" and validation when sharing life's dreams or transitions.

When someone important to me spontaneously shares their life's wants or dreams, even though logic or circumstances finds them implausible or difficult (maybe even impossible) to attain, I offer at least a moment of validation. To do so says that you listened and did your best to understand (just like a loving mother would). That you want for them what they want for themselves...even if they're just thinking out loud.

So one day, if your dear frien says, "Sometimes I feel like chucking it all, loading my dog into my truck and driving away." Don't be alarmed. It's not the same as saying that they're going to do it. It doesn't mean it's going to happen. It just indicates a desire to "unplug" from current reality and step for a moment into a newly imagined one, which, in the doing, can be a vacation in itself. So merely listen, lean in and imagine their successful escape in that moment. If you love them, simply say, "Of course you do."

Keeping My Lettuce Crisp

I think everyone should wait tables in a nice restaurant at some point. It uses, challenges and/or sharpens so many skills. Your motor skills (and your forearms), your charm, your tolerance, your teamwork, your ability to schmooze the cook or bartender and get your orders out right and on time. How to appease a disgruntled customer who's been waiting too long already. (I was the "cleaner". They sent me in to make challenging situations right and avert diner disatisfaction.) You learn the importance of good procedures and cleanliness. It also gives you empathy for what the job entails and a point of reference and true appreciation for who does it well.

I loved waiting tables in my youth. It was a great job for many reasons. You could go to work broke with an empty gas tank, get off work a few hours later with a pocket full of cash and swing by the gas station on the way home to fill up. Tower Records was open until midnight, so you could also go get a new vinyl LP or cassette of your favorite tunes (that's correct, no CDs...definitely no iPods) before they closed. Plus your employer fed you, customers flirted with you, and your boss and coworkers became your friends.

You could also practice your witty banter, which usually resulted in great tips. I treated every table like they came in especially to see my comedy act. In those days, I'd rather work on my birthday than take the day off, I enjoyed it so much. I recently ran into a batch of handwritten "love" notes on napkins that I'd saved from appreciative diners who left them behind at my tables.

In my early 20s, I "graduated" from waiting tables to bartending. My first bartending experience was in a restaurant overlooking a small lake right around the corner (and across the water) from my home. It was a lake that I sailed and windsurfed on. I even swam home from work a few times on full-moon nights after my shift ended at 2am. I'd plan ahead and wear a leotard under my uniform. Bars were smoke-filled places back then, and it felt so good to leave the ashy particulates behind in the cool water of the lake. I quietly worked my way home on warm summer nights, swimming a bit, then floating on my back looking up at the night sky, eventually coming out refreshed on the other side.

I worked mostly night shifts during those "Disco" days (complete with the disco ball light show, a nightly balloon drop and fog machine), but I had a few lunch shifts, too. Normally a night owl, it was a nice change getting to work at 10am to set up the bar. I'd head straight into the walk-in refrigerator to spend time filling up several boxes with the fresh citrus, celery and other garnishes you'd need at the ready when concocting cocktails. A prep cook who'd breezed in and out of there four or five times to my one long visit teased me once, asking what could possibly be taking me so long. My knee jerk response was, "I like to keep my lettuce crisp." He never forgot it. It got such a great reaction from him that it stuck with me too.

There was something about cutting the cold, fresh produce in a clean, quiet bar before the restaurant opened. Everyone else was in the kitchen or setting up the dining room. I was alone in the bar, listening to music and quartering the limes, making lemon twists, slicing the pineapple, cutting celery for bloody marys...when it was all set up it was so pretty and fresh and my hands smelled great. I had to prep for the entire night shift too, so there were trays and trays of beauty just waiting for their turn in the rotation.

After I got married, I switched to working day shifts only. My father-in-law would tap on the window outside and peer in. He was a painting contractor, so he'd get his crew (including my husband) all set and then take time out for a visit. I'd unlock the door, he'd sit at the bar overlooking the lake with a cup of coffee and we'd have some quality time together while I got everything ready. He'd stay until the doors opened for business at 11am. I loved my father-in-law. He held my hand the first time we ever met, walked me down the street to meet a neighbor, and it felt like I'd always known him. I think I stayed with my husband longer than I should have because I was waiting for him to become more like his father.

Prior history with walk-in refrigerators held the promise of romance for me, too. As a 19-year-old waitress, I used to duck into the walk-in with my waiter boyfriend so we could enjoy a private moment. We'd kiss and share bites of the crème brûlée that he'd hidden behind the two-gallon jars of salad dressing, which made the parting kiss even sweeter. Then we'd go back out on the floor to take care of our tables. Remember that, the next time you're dining out and your waitress seems extra happy. We loved our work more than anyone knew.

So, I have really fond memories of being a young restaurant employee, which included the experience of the chilly walk-in's generous bounty and endless opportunities for its alternative use. I'm drawn to cool, breezy spots like that.

It's still important to me to "keep my lettuce crisp", but after all these years, it's often subliminal. The air conditioner in the car is always on low, even if the windows are open. At home, I keep the doors open 24/7, even in the dead of winter (commonly known as the "flow-through teabag" effect). Even when the fog rolls in the front door and out the back, I may adjust how far open they are, but the doors are never fully closed. I think that explains my extensive hoodie collection and luxuriously soft, warm bedding. When friens come over, they wear layers. Even though I'm happy to turn on the heat, they know about and indulge my desire for crisp lettuce and join me, crisping their own in the process.

For me, it's not just about avoiding wilted lettuce. In the end, I think it's about a desire to stay fresh as long as possible. I guess I'm hoping that life in the crisper just might extend my expiration date...

P.S. Keeping with the chilly theme, I remembered that I actually submitted an idea concerning a practical use for "chilled brains" to HalfBakery.com (a fun site to test hair-brained, I'm sorry, half-baked ideas) in 2000. I just checked, and surprisingly you can still see it at the site here. Someone actually supported the notion scientifically, and another comment popped up just this month! Crazee!

My Inner Circle - The Innerest

You are part of my inner circle, or you wouldn't be able to see this blog. But if you are someone who wonders where I am now and again, you may also wonder who really might know. I have disdain for the worry I cause people. The list of people who are consistently let in to my world (regardless of the mayhem that is underway) follows:

1. Jillian
2. Scott

My daughter's calls are answered without hesitation if I have my phone nearby, it has enough juice, it's on and if I can tell it's her. My husband enjoys the same experience. He and I are opposites in the phone arena. He still has the knee-jerk telephone etiquette of the 50s, where you break your toe getting out of the shower to answer the miraculous new convenience called the phone. I love that about him. He doesn't have Caller ID, and doesn't want it.

As high on the list as they are, they will also tell you that I am often unavailable to them too, since I sometimes turn off the ringer, forget to take my phone when I walk the dog, or leave it in the car when I'm on the mainland.

There they are...the innerest. The only way these two people can make a "circle" is if they hold hands and step back with bowed arms. Highly unlikely, since one is on the mainland and one is on the island, but they still qualify as the innerest.

From there, the hierarchy is very subjective depending on the caller's "maintenance" level, my history with the person, current projects and current preoccupation. Regardless of all of those things, if my anxiety level escalates the second I hear it ring, I will ignore it completely, and audibly blurt out "Ohhh no." I won't even care to see what the caller ID says or if a message was left. Peace and calm, so easily restored.

Since you are among the truly loved, you are actually more likely to lack convenient access than less familiar people in my life who actually require my input for one reason or another. I know you, and trust that we'll still know and love each other regardless of infrequent contact. I feel this way because you've already apparently accepted me as I am, and forgiven me again and again. (~thank you~)

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Okay, six months of living has stirred up a lot of frenetic activity and whatnots...where to begin?

The Good:

1. Olive's toe cancer is "gone". No more treatments or doctor's appointments.
2. I got my first passport ever! A trip to the Galapagos that Karin and I fantasized about last year is happening in a month!
3. Bev is doing great, as usual. She's making daily sandwiches for the contractor and crew who are doing some remodeling for us on the hill in Laguna.
4. I optomistically started a corporation to accomodate a new business idea, a mainland shopping service for islanders called Best of Overtown. I can hardly wait to actually run this business.
5. After almost forty years, Sheryl quit smoking in June.
6. My nephew, Sam, who has been on the "list" for a kidney for eight years, received a kidney transplant yesterday! He looks great, according to Jillian, who flew up last night to see him.
7. Bev got a new deck, Scott's house got a new kitchen and deck.
8. We're remodeling the Descanso duplex (on the island).
9. Construction, er...destruction has begun on the big house on the island. Construction to follow shortly.
10. Scott is learning to use Mass Transit! He took the bus from L.A. to Orange County, with a few mishaps, but eventual success.
11. The fire on the island destroyed very little of the city of Avalon.
12. Our faith in hard work and honesty was validated by the successful operation of the island store we were trying to help/save, by two locals who had no experience running a store. They were amazing and resilient and successful.
    

The Bad:

1. Like an idiot, in May, I optimistically tried to launch a business without any real quality time to do so.
2. Sheryl had a heart attack in June.
3. Sheryl has gallbladder issues as well.
4. Johnny left for Iraq again this week. He is expected to stay for 13 months this time, but we're hoping for an earlier return.
5. Scott's mother had a stroke, was hospitalized for two weeks, but is recovering nicely, though shaken by the "mortality factor".
6. As of the last few weeks, the stock market is very volatile and unpredictable...very stressful for Scott. But that item should really be put under The Good too, because it works both ways.
7. The reality of disrespectful, bigoted, selfish and dishonest types revealed itself while trying to do something good... Scott's mantra, "Err on the side of kindness" was very difficult to maintain at times. Six months of another hard lesson learned.

The Ugly:

1. In August, a long-time family friend was "abducted" by "friends of his", consuming months of time and energy with court matters. His trust protected him, but it took our personal money in legal fees, hassle with court dates, as well as a lot of emotional damage just to protect him.

Testing, testing...is this thing on?

It's January 18th, 2008. The last six months have had me tucking in my "turtle head" and waiting for things to blow over, calm down, resolve themselves, etc. I've received so many emails, voice messages and the like from familiar and familial cherished forms of life who actually know how to thrive and stay socially connected regardless of what life dishes out. What they all have in common (besides excellent coping skills) is the concern for my whereabouts and whatabouts.

Though I've always had phone anxiety, it's now spilled over into my email...which used to be a bit more reliable way of reaching me.

So, I want you...the lovely, caring person who gives me plenty of leeway to ignore, insult, concern and abuse you and your generous spirit, to know that I love you.

The words written here are meant to slough off some of the cranial overflow I experience in snowballing proportions at times...which causes me to exhibit reclusive behavior. For me, it feels peaceful, calm. I listen to good music and work on various accounting projects. I work on winding up situations that have consumed my time and energy. I daydream about reclaiming my creative self. For you, it feels like I've dropped off of the face of the earth.

Though I seem to be suffering stress (a little more than usual), I'm avoiding a mental breakdown largely in part because I "check out". I don't answer my phone when it rings, or listen to the resulting voice mail messages. If I miss a day of reading my emails, it quickly dooms them to the bottom of the unending stream of incoming messages and out of my field of view (which remarkably resembles being deleted). While I continue to work on developing the art of saying no in person, I've already mastered the art of saying no before I hear the question. My method has this all happen seamlessly. I wouldn't call it passive/aggressive behavior, I'd call it passive/passive behavior...I mean no harm and am merely protecting my calm.

This behavior really shouldn't be inflicted on those who just want to catch up with their friend and aren't calling with an "action item", and I realize that. It's unfair and inconsiderate. The problem with "catching up" is where to begin in my lengthy list and whether I want to hear myself repeat the details of my frenetic life out loud. I prefer to protect others from the quirky activities that have somehow been normalized in my world. I could attempt deception and say "Oh, same 'ol same 'ol", but I have no poker face/voice and would quickly get coerced into launching into my real-life implausible circumstances that make for an interesting tale. The truth is, my favorite conversation would be about you, your life, your family, your passion...it's been a long time since I've enjoyed you with abandon.

Oddly, during these hermity times I don't consciously feel depressed, bored, lonely or isolated. I feel peaceful, calm. The only emotion that worries me is my apathy regarding the worry I'm causing some people, even though apathy is quite useful when "checking out". Apathy facilitates the "guilt-free" factor that took years to perfect.

I am so grateful for you...make no mistake. I am so grateful for so many things. The quality friens and loving family who choose to stay in my life even after my behavior has inconvenienced and/or worried them gives me an unbelievably lucky feeling...and because I sometimes catch a fleeting glimpse of an email with your name in the "From" column before it cascades rapidly out of view, or see your number on my Caller ID, I know you check in once in a while. Seeing that, it registers that you are out there and okay. I like to believe that you are safe and happy...and I'm working on being available enough to find out for sure...xo