Day 140 - On Books, The Big and Small

1. The Big

The bookstore is a magical place. For me, a trip to the bookstore is probably like a spa day is to a rich dame. I get there, and it's all *sigh*. Sanctuary. Everything can be fixed here.

I can learn to cook, knit, meditate, and travel right here. Everything I need to know is a book away. I'm reminded of how many things there are to love in this world. How many words I need to read. How many countries to see. How many heart-aches and transformations, the world weeps. I'm surrounded by memory and possibility. Left-over pictures and paragraphs. Remnants of thought, experience. It's days like today, where I have nothing to avoid (DMV or dishes), that I get the most done.

I'm relaxing into life here in San Diego. It's home. I haven't felt like this since Fargo, circa childhood and early adolescence. I have a wandering spirit. A rogue will. I like to strive for the next best thing. The here and now has no hold on me.

I can hear your words now. You'll tell me that that's no way to live. And I know that. That's why I want to say it out loud. Call it like I see it. Don't we all wait for tomorrow? But that's enough of that. I tell my inner nomad. Relax.

I wish I could live moments inside other people. Live their moments for them. Perhaps that's why I love books so much. In fantastical chapters, I'm in South Africa as a dying man; in Pennsylvania as a lonely seamstress; I'm in India, the son of a zookeeper. I'm the world's consciousness. I'm in my living room.

Isn't that why we're here? In cyberspace? To pity and love one another? To read that never-ending reality T.V. show?

2. The Small

I noticed "The Nook" being advertised at Barnes and Noble today. The Nook is the new device where we can all read our fave novels on the small screen. You can buy books like apps. You can read "Crime and Punishment" on your laptop.

And I totally get it. I think in a way it's good because I believe in conservation. And if I have/use a brain, I realize that to make books you have to make paper. You have to shave it from trees, chew it up, and release it into pages. I know that the spines on my bookshelves come from the spines of the forest.

But I think we can also all agree that it's just not the same. Just as we've lost the art of the CD cover, we'll lose the art of the held book. While I don't miss CD jackets so much, I would absolutely miss the colored words on my mantel ledge.

I need the smell of them. I need to turn the page. Not push the button. I need the tangible journey. I need to see the pages I've past to see how far I've come. I need them to pile up. I need to see how far I have yet to go. Electronically, you lose all that. You're just swimming around in book space. You're on a page, but you can't see physically where the end is. There's something to that.

I also secretly believe that people who love those electronic book devices, possibly don't really love books at all. I don't have any basis for this assumption. But there it is.

So I'm thinking we should compromise before we go all e-booking all over the place. How about more books from recycled stuff? Or maybe we could just stop making magazines into pages? I can read mags on the screen, no problem.

But novels need real paper. They need to be quiet, run without batteries. They need to remain unattached to the real world. Like little paper sanctuaries. Mini-revolutionaries protecting us from the buzz and the whirl.

Day 133 - Moms, Anniversaries, and DMVs

1. Moms

Sometimes, I miss my mom so much that it hurts. Such is the case today.

But I'm also very very grateful. I just spent five blissful days with her, whooping it up here in sunny San Diego.

My mom is one of my best friends. I feel blessed that I mean that.

Like tourists, we traversed this town. From art fair to botanical garden. From the open green hills to the loud downtown.

At the risk of sounding like I work for the San Diego tourism department, I must say, I'm so in love with this city.

Per usual, we also tackled a home project. Couldn't resist spray-painting my old wicker furniture. We opened the garage and surrounded the chair, the end table, the chest of drawers. From ratty tan to chocolate brown, we transformed my bedroom stuff, all nice and new. Brick orange cushion for completion.

My mom has the ability to unwind me. Sometimes I get so tight. So serious. She just can grab the end of that string, and skip off into the sunshine. When it's all said and done, I'm new again. Unraveled. Disheveled. Smiling. Remembering to let go...

Of course I also have the habit of taking it too far. Ravished for the younger and freer me, I probably maybe perhaps smoked a few cigs while she visited. I probably maybe perhaps drank coffee, soda, and rum. And better yet, I think I probably maybe perhaps needed all that.

Let's face it. Stress management has never been one of my strong suits. Too-shay.

I miss you mom. I wish we lived in the same city.

2. Anniversaries

I'm going to brag here. I just can't help it.

Dave and I celebrated our six-month wedding anniversary over the weekend. With my mom in town and his mom and step dad also stopping in for the weekend, the morning of our anniversary, we quickly shared some lovely sentiments and a heart-felt spoken "Happy Anniversary" to each other before crawling out of bed. He went off to sail with his family. Mom and I, off to the gardens. (That all sounded so bourgeoisie) I didn't think anything of it, I figured we'd celebrate after our guests departed.

Later that evening, he came smiling up the stairs with a fist full of pink and white balloons, one of which, in red lettering said "Happy Anniversary." His other hand? A bouquet of lilies. His mother and step dad followed close behind him, with a smooth rectangle of tiramisu cake. What a guy. What a guy.

I love getting love in all the girly, cliche ways that hipper girls might renounce. Flowers are pretty. Balloons are awesome. And cake is divine. I have a theory that girls who claim to not like these things are actually insecure. They think YOU don't like these things. So they claim the same.

Or they saw a movie somewhere where the quirky protagonist girl said something witty to her potential mate like, "Why would you buy me flowers? It's a waste of money for something that just wilts and dies all over my kitchen table."

Which was really just the screenwriter's lazy way of using character development. The underlying message of the dialogue was meant to communicate this: This girl is so different and unique than all the other girls this guy has ever met. And the guy is supposed to know he's met someone real special and that perhaps his whole life might be changed from here on out.

So some poor girl out in the audience thinks to herself, hmmm...maybe if I don't like flowers than I'll be unique and special and someone will love me just like this guy loves Amanda Peet.

But sadly, the results are simply this: These girls miss out on one of the oldest and simplest forms of male to female courtship. Here's a flower. It means I love you. I'm not much of a talker. But I got you this pretty thing. Because I want to give you things. Because you're pretty. And I like you. And I want to continue touching your boobs.

We're so smitten with this display of affection that we let them. As well we should.

In a more advanced form of male to female courtship, Dave handed me two tickets to the dance tour of "So You Think You Can Dance" in downtown San Diego in November. Row Five. Center Stage.

WHAT??!!! (Can you hear me jumping up and down and screaming at the top of my lungs like Mary Murphy?!) This male to female show of affection says: I love you so much that I went out and did for you (for us) what might make you love me till we die.

Add to that, that my mom witnessed our anniversary exchange. Which means, Dave earns mad brownie points. Which means, I'm all the more ecstatic. Because I'm petty and I love it when things look good. Kidding. Kind of. Let's face it, everybody wants their parents to adore their chosen life partner. Life isn't as fun without that key element.

Anyway, "Happy Anniversary" to the the love of my life. For the seven years before our wedding day and to the 70 years after--my love continues to thicken and grow in my heart. It digs deeper; it gets more complicated; it gets more light than ever.

3. DMVs

Went to the DMV today to finally get my California driver's license.

At the first counter, the guy said, "I like your name. Darcy. That's nice."

Me (smiling): Thanks.

DMV employee: Have you ever seen the TV series "Pride and Prejudice"?

Me (replying in my head): You mean, 'Have I read the classic piece of epic romantic literature written by none other than Jane Austen?'

Me (actually said): The character Mr. Darcy?

DMV employee: Yes, that's it! Mr. Darcy. That's who I thought of when I heard your name. Very English sounding. I love it.

At the second counter, the woman said, "You and I share the same middle name."

Me (smiling): Oh, your middle name is "Jo"?! Are you from the Midwest?

2nd DMV employee: My parents are.

Me: Well that explains it.

We share a laugh.

By the end of our time together, she had complimented my ability to take a good thumb print and also said "Pretty picture!" after snapping my new driver's license shot.

O.k. so my trip to the DMV was lovely. What the hell? Did I just walk into some kind of DMV twilight zone? Where the most upbeat and supportive employees uplifted residents all day long? Next time I go they'll be distributing champagne and cookies at the buffet table. Knock on wood.

While the customer service was friendly, I have to say California government lags lags lags. First off, my written driver's test was actually written. What? Written. Like pencil and test sheet. And when I was done, I watched my fave employee with the middle name Jo grade it by hand. By hand. What kind of backwards shit is that? Don't they know that most states have these electronic things, they're called computers, that not only save paper but also increase efficiency?

And to boot, they said, "Your license will arrive in the mail in a few weeks." What? Um, in Arizona and Minnesota AND in po-dunk North Dakota (circa early nineties), you get, hold your breath, the darn thing printed off right there. Weird. Why is CA so behind?

To further this point, the other day I got pulled over by a stoic motorcyle cop. Why? Um, I was also interested to find out. Apparently it was for talking on my cellphone while driving. Without a hands-free device. Apparently that's a law they enforce here. I thought they were kidding. And when he handed me the ticket, he said I could call a number and pay, but I would have to "wait a month or so, so that they can get the ticket in the system." Hmm... it's no wonder Cali has budget problems.

Which brings me to my last point. Which is quite far down here, so I'm hoping some of you have dropped off before getting here, so you'll miss one of my few Republican-like confessions.

Now, most of you know that I'm a Democrat through and through. I tend to agree with and therefore vote blue, the majority of the time. But I have to say, one negative thing, I've noticed since living in this dark blue state (the first one in my life, Arizona and North Dakota are blood red), is that (begin redneck twang here and kick dirt with cowboy boots), "There sures are lots of laws here. Lots of big bureacracy, red tape. I don't know if I like the gubernent' deciding all my bizness." Sometimes a point is a point.

Day 132 - Things To Be Said

There are a lot of things to be said HERE. Which I'm not going to SAY.

And that makes it SEEM all the more Important Than What it IS.

The Truth Is that I'm not really trying to Say ANYTHING Here,

that isn't easily said aloud to ALMOST Everyone I Know.

Which might Make this Seem

Water-Downed. But might just BE as Real

as it gets

With Me.

Day 128 - 15 Minutes of Unedited Thought

Dave is constantly trying to find the best salsa. Like one exists somewhere out there, and he just needs to find it. This habit of his lends itself a special place in our fridge. The bottom shelf of our fridge door is where less lovely salsas, not passing his litmus test, go to die. There they sit, 1/4-eaten, until months later, I, nose-upturned, throw them out.

I don't think he'll ever stop his journey. I think he forgets when he finds a salsa he likes, because he simply goes on, picking and choosing new ones. He swears though, that he does in fact remember, and to prove it, he starts naming off particular salsas in his life that have moved him. He even knows which particular stores carry which particular salsas. I stand corrected.

My mother is touching down in San Diego in about three hours. She probably in the airport now, browsing the news store, picking out a new book. I am hoping she has a window seat so that when she comes into the city she can see how beautiful it is. Like the plane is her first chaffeur in this misty city. If she could just get an overview, I know she'd fall in love, I wouldn't have to worry so much about her first impression. I'd be confident that she'd be smitten.

I went out to eat with my friend (that's right, you heard me, I have a friend, a real live friend) Amanda last night. She's such a lovely girl; I'm feeling so good about my little circle of people so far. One of the cool things about her, is not only does she wear yellow peacoats with purple ballet slippers, when she eats, she can pick out specific tastes in her mouth. Case in point, she dipped her flatbread in a mysery sauce and said, "Hmmm...there's definitely curry in there."

Now, although I have a highly developed taste of what sucks big time and what's like really really good, I admire my more culinary advanced friends. I love to cook. Like a ton. But I think I could learn a thing or two from my new friend. How do I know this? She is also experimenting with jarring peppers. What?! Awesome.

I gotta clean my house now.

P.S. I love grapes. All colors.

P.S.S. I also love my cats. I had a dream that I lost my youngest one last night. I was balling. Devasted. I've hugged him three times today.

Day 125 - Ode to Fall

I can feel your chilly arms descend on this landscape. You hug the hills, and they blush brick red and orange. Your cool breath snuggles in the earth, becomes the dark brown bones of the trees. The night is a thick descent.

You've so confidently replaced Summer. You belong here, and you've got no use for long good-byes. In one day, you release her into the atmosphere. There's no trace of her long blond hair, light and shining.

O, but you're so dark and delicious. You like all things insular. Introspective. You're complicated and moody. Despite your coolness, I've always loved you...

When you're near, I become more like you. I fold into myself.

It's here where I find your warm body. Your best part.

You are cozy personified. Your comfort is the color yellow, like the inside of the house where the fire shadows slowdance on the walls. I wrap myself in layers of cable-knit, wool, and tweed.

You make me love blankets and couches, herbal teas and soup. I've never loved steamy mugs of chocolate and milk so much, 'cept when you're around. Even the cats relax for you.

O, to breathe you. You smell like dropped leaves, a crisp earthen ash. How I've missed you...

On Sunday, my lover and I went to see you. There you were, in the park. You were on the ground and in the trees and all around. You're so subtle here, but I see you. You're the silent ducks in the lake, the chilled mountains--you're the clipped air.

You gave us such brilliant dreams. We dreamt our children running against your muted sun. We saw them tumble in and out of the house we'll buy for them--hats and scarfs forgotten. Over the colored hills we fumble after them, my warm palm pressed to his warm palm.

Day 123 - I'm a Quitter

I faced it a long time ago. I quit things. Lots of things. I don't try hard enough to get there. I want the easy way. If it's not easy, I take the easiest way out of there.

I want rainbows and bunnies. I want a glass of good wine and a pretty sunset. Give me my boo and a good laugh. That might just be about it. I want my world like a Janis Joplin song. Summertime and the livin' is easy.

I don't 'power through.' And I certainly don't 'rise to the challenge.' I think sometimes it looks as if I do though. Because I certainly finish things. College, for example. I certainly honor my commitments to others. People might even say I've been successful. For example, I held a well-paying job in my field of study for years.

But the truth is, I've never attempted much outside of my comfort zone. The reason for this is, drum roll please...pure fear.

I tend to shy away from anything that might poke holes in my tender perception of myself as Completely Awesome. Therefore when the going gets rough, I jump ship. Better to quit than to fail. Especially at the things I really love.

And I've quit plenty things I've loved. For example, in tenth grade I got a B in art. For fear of lowering my grade point average, I didn't enroll in art classes for the remainder of high school. Even though it was my fave. My absolute fave.

My third semester in college, I quit political science as a major because "I cared too much."

I also like to quit at the first sign of my own mediocrity. I don't like to be kind-of good at something. I like to be The Best. If I can't be The Best, then I don't want none of it. No matter how much I may care for it, I prefer quitting. Cold turkey.

You can see the inherent problems with this mentality.

Now since college, as I've gained life consciousness, I've worked hard against this bad habit. I have done things I loved and followed them through to their inherent ends. Even if I wasn't The Best, I've done things that simply made my heart sing. I've certainly made progress...

But I'm three decades deep now. And I'm wondering if, before I gained consciousness of my quick perchance to quit things, did I fuck up the rest anyway? So now all my attempts at follow-through are just quaint self-help busywork, feeble attempts to awaken the promise of the yesteryears? There's been no gallery showings. No Oscar-winning screenplays. No rescuing villages from starvation in Third World countries.

Intellectually, I know, I can probably strive for all of these things. (And the lesser things in the same vein). But how? How do I get there? From Here?

Day 122 - Rough Draft

I've started this post three times now. I want to get this right.

Sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own life.

I don't want these words to shake you.

Maybe better. Maybe a better way. Is to say.

I'm blind. Er, I feel blind.

Reaching out into the nothing unknown.

Steady now...

I want something that will calm me down.

I want living. With No-Thought.

That's it. That's it! That's it?

I am indecisive. Like a search engine.

None of these thoughts are actions.

I don't trust action.

Yet I draw. Another map.

I go. And then I get there. And then I think.

No. No. No.

When does the trying stop?

When does my mind stop trying to get somewhere?

I want living. With No-Thought.

Day 121 - The Happiest Place on Earth

Awww....the irony ;-)


No but for reals, giant teacups DO make me happy...

Day 118 - Sick Day

When I woke up this morning, I couldn't believe how dang tired I was. I could barely push myself out of bed. On day nine of no caffeine, I couldn't help but think 'wtf? still tired? if this is life without coffee then I quit quitting.'

Instead I booked an appointment with Dr. Google. As I searched 'exhaustion' and 'adrenal fatigue,' my tiredness morphed into a headache that felt like a punch in my left eye. I started to wonder if the continual caffeine intake had only been masking a complete health failure. Was caffeine propping me up like rag doll? Sure to fall over without support...

But by noon my neck felt swollen. My throat filled with raw sand. Wait a second.

Sneezing sets in. Watery eyes. Shit.

I'm sick as a dawg.

I was kind of relieved. I was thinking my no caffeine experiment was yielding arg-worthy results. On the other hand, I'm sick. Arg.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In other sickly news...

I hate the little pieces of pink chicken in Campbell's chicken noodle soup. Why can't they just make noodle soup in chicken broth? Why add the little shredded morsels of loose meat? I pick them all out, one by one.

It grosses me out to think of how long they've been dead and floating around in my salty broth. Years perhaps? So I could be eating four-year-old dead chicken? I know they've been on my shelf for atleast four months. Disgusting.

When I'm sick, I miss my mother immensely. My mom was the best mom EVER when I was sick. For some reason, as a teenager, I was sick a lot. Much more than my brother or sister. It was always a problem with my throat and it always knocked me on my ass. At least three days. Can't talk. Can't walk. Can barely swallow or lift my head.

My mom was like an angel, swooping down with a look of love and concern. She'd dote on me all day. Antibiotics. Soup. Crackers. Tea. And a few lucky times, a touch of hot brandy mixed with tea. She said it soothed my throat and also put me sleep. It did. Both of those things.

I loved how whenever I woke, she was there, with medicine or soup. I didn't have to think about anything, I just fell in and out of sleep. The days would go by and she'd be my blurry consistent. Nursing me back. Until one day, I'd crave something solid and I'd watch reruns all day.

Don't get me wrong, Dave is good. He stocks the cupboard with Nyquil and saltines. And he says, "I'm sorry you're sick, babe." If I ask him, he'll stir me a pot of soup. Butter my crackers.

But still, moms are just better than boys. They just have the perfect mix of love, concern, and get-better-know-how. They give you what you need before you ask.

I remember one time when my mom was sick she said, "Who takes care of mom when she's sick?" As busy teenagers, it surely wasn't us.

It seems that by the time your heart grows big enough to love your mom the way she loved you, it's too late. You're gone. All growed up. Too far away to reciprocate the kind of day-to-day love she bestowed on you.

As I get older, I understand this sad catch-22 more and more. I suffer alone on the couch. I feebly ask Dave for water, hoping not to bother him. Everything maternal in me gives; never takes. As we get older and the estrogen thubs through our blood, the only override of this instinct is mom.

I guess what I'm really saying is...

I want my mommy :-(

Day 117 - Random Gratitudes

To counteract the other day's rant...let's take a trip down gratitude lane....

1. I am grateful for great medical insurance and care. Today, my new "women's care" doc actually stopped to listen to me speak. Her responses? "You've done your research!" and "Isn't that interesting?" I love her.
2. I am grateful for chamomile tea. The eight-day-uncaffeinated me looks forward to this hot herbal treat.
3. I am grateful for yesterday. Dave and I spent our day hand-in-hand at Disneyland. While mostly it was color and shape and sound overload, we enjoyed the awe-struck stroll. I love just being with him. Anywhere.
4. I am grateful for all the fanciful creations at Disneyland. I like to think about the care and thought beyond the attractions and exhibits. How someone meticulously carved the face of each pirate in 'The Pirates of the Caribbean.' How someone sewed all the seasonal costumes for Mickey and Minnie. How someone strung up all the Halloween lights and webs on Main Street. I'm grateful for the street sweeper, the cashier, and the candy scooper.
5. I am grateful for mini-road trips with Dave and nice hotels in Anaheim.
6. I am grateful my cats, Trick Daddy and Diego, kinda sorta get along now.
7. I am grateful that my mom and brother got little Nova for the weekend! I am also grateful that my sis and her husband got a weekend with no baby. How was it guys???

What are YOU grateful for???

Day 114 - Retail Woes

Place: A Retail Store in Anywhere, CA
Time: All day long

Anonymous Sales Associate gets treated like dogshit. Because, really, that's what retail sales associates are. Dogshit. And if you have a shitty life, you should go into any store anywhere and ask ridiculous questions that you could easily answer yourself. All day long.

If you sense any amount of impatience on the sales associate's part, you should then feel free to be a complete and utter asshole. Because you can. Complain as soon as possible. Ask to speak to their supervisor. Fill out a comment card. Tell them how you'd like them to act. Tell them what you want and why you deserve it. Let them know that you're entitled.

Act like sales associates are the enemy. Start your own mini-war in every store you go into. Emotional violence is key. Shoot your nebulous anger at your faceless targets. It's their fault. React. Be uncontrollable. Inconsolable.

You should always talk to the sales associate in a demeaning way. Assume all of them are stupid. Say, "Listen dear" to the young girls behind the counter. Scare them with your power. They aren't human anyway.

In fact, you should fling shit at them. Because that's what you want to do anyway. They can't really say anything back to you. The endless corporate chain trained them to bend over backwards or else. And you know that. That's why you do it. They're scared witless to lose their jobs. Threaten them with that anytime you can. You're the king, remember?

You're not crazy. You're right. And you're out to prove it. You know exactly how people should act in your presence. Mostly, you want service NOW. You have things to do. You have a life.

The only thing you know is your base emotions. And goddamnit you just don't have time for this waiting patiently in a long line to ring up your purchases. Why are they doing this to you? If they would only do what you think they should do, this wouldn't be happening to you. You're mad. Mad as hell.

You should tap your foot and stare at them. Spit on them if you're close enough.

It's your world. Yup. Just yours.

At the end of the day, the person you're yelling at is in the mirror. Face it. What you're so busy trying to control is beyond your control. All your frustrations and angers and hates go right back into you. Or at least, that's what some people are hoping...This thought alone makes Anonymous Sales Associate feel good. The fact that if there is a hell, you might be going there. That brings much comfort to the Anonymous Sales Associate.

Better yet, Anonymous Sales Associate hopes that one day you might walk out of your own personal hell and stop spreading it like a disease and hopes one day you can stop being such a fucking prick. That's what he/she hopes for you. Because Anonymous Sales Associate doesn't want to hate you like you hate them. But you're making it hard. Really really really hard.

Stop it. Just. Stop. It.