I had my cry, thank you very much.
And the Cleveland Browns beat the Superbowl Champs New Orleans Saints, which had me crying all the harder. Tears of joy, remember.
It is a lovely morning. And it's the time of year when every lovely morning is a cause for celebration. Because every lovely morning could be the last lovely morning until Spring makes its way through the gloom. Yesterday was a lovely day, and I embraced it in the best way I could have imagined: I picked up my girlfriend and we went driving
IN MY NEW CAMARO!!!
I think that bears repeating. We went driving
IN MY SHINY NEW CANDY-APPLE RED W/WHITE RACING STRIPE 2010 CAMARO SS!!
What?
For those of you who have known me over the years, you know that I am not into cars. I rarely notice them, let alone desire them. My vehicles have always come to me used, and I always accepted them gratefully. My vehicles have been a means for me getting from point A to point B (and often, those points are 3000 miles from each other). My vehicles have come to me in a physical condition that kept me from fearing a scratch or a dent; their histories were worn on their bodies, and a few more dings and nicks only added to their intrigue. I will say that the condition of my vehicles has improved over time. The '88 aqua-green Oldsmobile, lovingly named Grandpa in honor of the grandfather who handed it down to me, was a beautiful beast to drive. However, it had been rarely maintenanced over the years, and within a year of it's coming to me, Alex was using duct tape to keep the engine in place. When Grandpa came to his final resting place on the side of a neighborhood road, we purchased a Dodge Neon which had operated as a rental vehicle in its previous life. Neo was shiny and clean and felt like a big step up in reliability. But it was a drag to drive, and it turns out that rental cars don't receive the best care from either the renters or the rental companies. 6 years and numerous cross-country trips later, Neo was sold to Alex's partners in Vegas as an extra set of wheels to be used when there were no better options, and we bought my parent's '98 Buick Regal. Oh, this car was a beauty! Shiny black, V-6, power everything. My mother had cared for her car for 90,000 miles, and it ran like a dream. I remember the first cross-country drive in Buford: it felt so unusual not to be worried about breaking down in the middle of nowhere; it was fantastic to have air conditioning that could be used without overheating the engine; it was wondrous to drive through the Rockies without leaning forward for fear that the car might not make it to the top of this stretch of mountain road. Ah Buford, how I've loved ya! But here we are, 4+ years and 80,000 miles later. And now, you constantly display warning lights to me: Service Vehicle Soon, Service Engine Soon, Traction Off, Low Traction, Anti-Lock Brake warning, Change Oil Soon. So many lights! Buford, my love, what am I to do? I've replaced alternators and 3 power windows and multiple tires and wheel bearings and tire rods and sensors. Thousands of dollars have gone into you in the past 2 years, and you've always gotten me where I need to go (though, lately, it has more frequently required white-knuckle driving on my part, as your brakes refuse to fully engage and your RPMs barely make it to 1500 on some stretches of highway). Buford, you're the nicest car I've ever owned! And your engine runs great, you're a comfortable ride, and even with only one speaker working you still have a better sound system than Neo (though, to be fair, Alex put a crazy sound system into the Neon, which was promptly stolen when we moved to Queens, and we never bothered replacing it because, well, we lived in Queens. 1 month, the Neon was broken into 3 times. For real.) I do love you, Buford, and if I could look into the future and know that you'd be with me for another 40,000 miles, I would take you straight into the shop and fix whatever else needs fixin' and we would ride off into the sunset (when the sun decides to shine). But I have no crystal ball. I have only flashing warning lights and a failing anti-lock brake system and a snapping serpentine belt, all of which leads to a huge sense of relief when I am able to pull you into your parking spot and release my grip on your wheel. I just don't think I can keep up like this any longer.
Plus, there's this Camaro, see.
I'm sure you're wondering how this Camaro has made it's way into my life. My husband has a funny little job which has some funny little perks and some funny little opportunities. Understand, he and I would NEVER think to buy a new Camaro. We are far too reasonable in this stage of our adulthoods. We'd been having The Talk about the need for a new vehicle, as the writing was on the dashboard, so to speak, that Buford wasn't gonna be taking us much further without a major overhaul. And we'd actually been considering doing just that: take the Buick into the shop and have them replace every single bit of him that needed replacing. Yes, it would cost thousands of dollars to do so. But for a car we've loved driving, it seemed like it might be worth it. It would be cheaper than buying the cheapest new car, and we'd be getting a lot more car this way. Really, it's hard to go from a V6 to a V4. We did it with the Neon, and it sucked. We were also considering buying a higher-end used car, something reliable without a lot of mileage. It would cost a good chunk of change, but it might give us the best value. Value. Everything comes down to value when one lives with a pro-gambler. Alex speaks in terms of Expected Value, or EV, constantly. Whether he's talking sports wagering or hiring movers or buying cars. What's the EV, he asks. What is the best value available to us in buying a vehicle?
Turns out, it's a shiny red Camaro. What??
Long story short, this car was won by his group in a Vegas contest (pick all the football winners, win a new Camaro!) Since the car is owned by his group, Alex is part-owner. And so, after balancing the pros and cons and looking at dollars spent now versus dollars spent later, it was decided that buying the car from the group provides the best value.
The truth? The 16-year-old Jersey boy in Alex found the car of his dreams and had to have it. The truth? Every guy that Alex works with discovered his inner 16-year-old. They each took a few days to drive it, to feel the power to the V8, 500-something horsepower engine. They each fell in love with it. But Alex was the only one who was actually in need of a new car. And so, we have a Camaro.
I will admit, I was not thrilled with the car. When I first saw it, I thought it looked stupid. It looked like the kind of car that the boys I used to hang with at the Jersey gas stations would go totally nuts over. And I'm done with those kinds of boys. Except, it turns out, that's Alex. And, it turns out, I'm a 16-year old Jersey girl who wants to take a drive in a fast car with a pumping sound system. It took only half a block for me to squeal in pleasure and say, "Oh, I LOVE this car!" It was all I could do to drive within the speed limit. I took it from 0--35mph in half a second, then had to force my foot off of the pedal and coast along the neighborhood roads. Oh, this car is SEXY!! I want to drive it. A lot. In fact, that's what I'm going to do today. I'm gonna go pick up my friend from the train station, and we're gonna hit the highway and listen to classic rock at full blast with the windows rolled down. My inner 16-year-old is totally in love with a bitchin' Camaro. I'm so freakin' Jersey.
The only thing missing is a name. We haven't found the name for this beast. It's definitely male, because it's a total muscle car. But it's too sexy to be named Tank or Beast. It needs a name that speaks to Jersey, but Bruce doesn't feel right, and we ain't calling it Bon Jovi. I don't know. Guess I'll just have to keep driving until he lets me know who he really is. Vroom vroom!!!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Tears of joy
I am exhausted. I have been for over a week now. Physically, mentally, spiritually wiped out. I can barely keep my eyes open. Well, okay, I just woke up, and while I plan to crawl back into bed as soon as I'm done writing this, I am awake enough to sit down and write for a bit. Because while it's true that I am exhausted, I also feel a need to communicate, to shout out from the mountaintops how wonderful is this thing called Life. On this gloomy, grey and drizzly day, I can't help but see how much beauty there is in this world of ours. I feel a little punch-drunk. I feel a little gaga. I am one the verge of tears and laughter all at once. I am overwhelmed with emotion, and I want to share it with humanity. Somehow. Some way.
I have been wanting, for over a week now, to ball myself up in a fetal position, and just cry, cry, cry. I want to cry out of sadness. I want to cry out of relief. I want to cry out of joy and surprise and love, so much love. But I haven't had the time to cry, I haven't had the space. Last weekend, I had to hold myself in to allow another's tears to pour freely. And this week, I had to keep it together so as to be a good hostess. And yesterday, well hell, I spent the day at a birthday party, which wasn't mine, and so I had no right to just cry if I wanted to. And truthfully, as the days have gone by this week, the need to cry has been less and less. My feelings of joy and pure relief have surpassed my feelings of sadness and guilt. But I realized yesterday, as I was talking to Zoe on a drive on one of the islands, that my need to cry has shifted. I realized that I want to cry because I am feeling so much love, so much love, and I am surprised by my capacity for love, I am surprised by its power over me. I want to cry because I am responsible for creating something beautiful, something divine, and I never thought I could be the cause of such beauty. I want to cry because I am so very proud of my family and their ability to surprise me. Who woulda thunk...
Last weekend, I broke my mother's heart. I believe I actually shattered it, into a million pieces. For a time, I felt like the absolute worst person in the world. I mean that. I felt guilty and selfish and undeserving of her love. For a time. And then, I watched as my mother picked up the pieces and put them back together into a heart that had almost doubled in size. And I knew that I had given her a gift greater than any I'd given before.
Last weekend, I feared for a moment that my father might come to hate me. For a time. Instead, my father threw his arms around me and told me that he was proud of me. That I had done a good, good thing, and that this goodness should be shouted from the mountaintops. My father surprised me in the most wonderful way, by showing me that his love always has room to push aside fear or doubt or long-held assumptions in order to make way for joy.
Last weekend, I was able to share with the people I love most, the people I need most, a most wonderful secret. I didn't know, until the weight of this secret was lifted, how heavy it had been to carry. I didn't know just how much I needed them to accept this secret as a gift and not as a burden. I didn't know just how badly I needed their approval. But I did, oh yes, I did. And not only did I receive their approval, I received their joy.
And I am so happy. Yet, all the same, I want to cry. I have had a lump of sobs churning in my chest all week long. Each time I talk about last weekend, each time I think of my mother's tears and her glowing smile, each time I think of my father wanting to pop open a bottle of champagne, I want to cry. But mostly, what I am realizing, is that I am feeling, for the first time, the true impact of the choices I have made. Now that this secret is out, now that I am no longer battling my desire to protect my parents from my choices with my desire to scream out how proud I am of these choices, I am now able to feel just what I am feeling, without layering it with my concerns for what others might feel. And I am feeling...overwhelmed. Overjoyed. Over-the-moon. And it's a lot to take. I am on a journey that I could not prepare for. Decisions made years ago have taken shape in a way that surprises me. All of the things I have logically understood have now been side-swiped by all of the emotions that defy logic, defy understanding. I am not a person who fears emotions. Quite the contrary, I thrive on emotions! I welcome them in and look for ways to magnify them! But these emotions of the past week, well, these are a whole new breed. And I am reveling in them, yes, but I feel like I'm at their mercy. Hence, I am exhausted. Beautifully, wonderfully exhausted.
And for the first time this week, I can cry. I have no guests to entertain, no birthday girl to celebrate, and all day long, I have no place to be. This lump in my throat can finally be let loose, and I can curl up in a ball and cry myself silly and become a slave to my emotions and not censor them in any way. To some, this must sound like punishment. For me, this is a gift. A wonderful gift to myself. I embrace this opportunity. And I can hold it back no longer. I want to let go of all logic and all thoughts of what's proper for a grown woman to express. I want to be entirely selfish and do nothing but feel the vastness of my emotional reserves. I can tell you, it will be awesome.
See you on the other side.
I have been wanting, for over a week now, to ball myself up in a fetal position, and just cry, cry, cry. I want to cry out of sadness. I want to cry out of relief. I want to cry out of joy and surprise and love, so much love. But I haven't had the time to cry, I haven't had the space. Last weekend, I had to hold myself in to allow another's tears to pour freely. And this week, I had to keep it together so as to be a good hostess. And yesterday, well hell, I spent the day at a birthday party, which wasn't mine, and so I had no right to just cry if I wanted to. And truthfully, as the days have gone by this week, the need to cry has been less and less. My feelings of joy and pure relief have surpassed my feelings of sadness and guilt. But I realized yesterday, as I was talking to Zoe on a drive on one of the islands, that my need to cry has shifted. I realized that I want to cry because I am feeling so much love, so much love, and I am surprised by my capacity for love, I am surprised by its power over me. I want to cry because I am responsible for creating something beautiful, something divine, and I never thought I could be the cause of such beauty. I want to cry because I am so very proud of my family and their ability to surprise me. Who woulda thunk...
Last weekend, I broke my mother's heart. I believe I actually shattered it, into a million pieces. For a time, I felt like the absolute worst person in the world. I mean that. I felt guilty and selfish and undeserving of her love. For a time. And then, I watched as my mother picked up the pieces and put them back together into a heart that had almost doubled in size. And I knew that I had given her a gift greater than any I'd given before.
Last weekend, I feared for a moment that my father might come to hate me. For a time. Instead, my father threw his arms around me and told me that he was proud of me. That I had done a good, good thing, and that this goodness should be shouted from the mountaintops. My father surprised me in the most wonderful way, by showing me that his love always has room to push aside fear or doubt or long-held assumptions in order to make way for joy.
Last weekend, I was able to share with the people I love most, the people I need most, a most wonderful secret. I didn't know, until the weight of this secret was lifted, how heavy it had been to carry. I didn't know just how much I needed them to accept this secret as a gift and not as a burden. I didn't know just how badly I needed their approval. But I did, oh yes, I did. And not only did I receive their approval, I received their joy.
And I am so happy. Yet, all the same, I want to cry. I have had a lump of sobs churning in my chest all week long. Each time I talk about last weekend, each time I think of my mother's tears and her glowing smile, each time I think of my father wanting to pop open a bottle of champagne, I want to cry. But mostly, what I am realizing, is that I am feeling, for the first time, the true impact of the choices I have made. Now that this secret is out, now that I am no longer battling my desire to protect my parents from my choices with my desire to scream out how proud I am of these choices, I am now able to feel just what I am feeling, without layering it with my concerns for what others might feel. And I am feeling...overwhelmed. Overjoyed. Over-the-moon. And it's a lot to take. I am on a journey that I could not prepare for. Decisions made years ago have taken shape in a way that surprises me. All of the things I have logically understood have now been side-swiped by all of the emotions that defy logic, defy understanding. I am not a person who fears emotions. Quite the contrary, I thrive on emotions! I welcome them in and look for ways to magnify them! But these emotions of the past week, well, these are a whole new breed. And I am reveling in them, yes, but I feel like I'm at their mercy. Hence, I am exhausted. Beautifully, wonderfully exhausted.
And for the first time this week, I can cry. I have no guests to entertain, no birthday girl to celebrate, and all day long, I have no place to be. This lump in my throat can finally be let loose, and I can curl up in a ball and cry myself silly and become a slave to my emotions and not censor them in any way. To some, this must sound like punishment. For me, this is a gift. A wonderful gift to myself. I embrace this opportunity. And I can hold it back no longer. I want to let go of all logic and all thoughts of what's proper for a grown woman to express. I want to be entirely selfish and do nothing but feel the vastness of my emotional reserves. I can tell you, it will be awesome.
See you on the other side.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Loving my neighborhood
October already, eh? Time does fly.
Seattle weather has been treating me well the past 2 weeks. Plenty of sunshine and blue skies. Perfect walking weather. Alex and I have been taking walks to explore our new neighborhood, and it's kinda awesome. From our place, it's 4 blocks downhill (west) to the waterfront. This stretch of waterfront is mostly based on tourism: restaurants, shops, hotels, the aquarium, ferries to the islands. However, if we turn and walk just 2 blocks north, we find ourselves in the Olympic Sculpture Park, an outdoor exhibit which is part of the Seattle Art Museum. There are winding paths through flora a-plenty, and scattered throughout are pieces of art, some of which are almost hidden, some of which are huge and vibrant, and some which just make me giggle (the washing machine and old tv set would be garbage if they were found in some other park). The park begins 2 blocks east (uphill) from the water, so walking through, the backdrop is Puget Sound and the islands and the Olympic Mountains in the distance. Stunning, truly stunning. When it can be seen, that is. Because on many days, the fog sits so low that the water is barely visible, and the islands and mountains are hidden. But on a clear day, wow. The sculpture park winds it's way down to the water, where it meets up with Myrtle Edwards Park, a stretch of waterfront about a mile long, with walking and bike paths and big rocks to sit upon and watch the ferries going across to Bainbridge Island. The park is probably my favorite thing about this neighborhood. Which is saying a lot, because there are so many things I like here. Just a few blocks north is Seattle Center, where Alex's Space Needle lives, but it's also home to lots of theatres that I want to work in. Just beyond that is lower Queen Anne, with restaurants and shops, and when I'm looking to sweat a little, I keep walking north up to the top of Queen Anne, which is a hell of a hill, but the top provides amazing views of the city and everything surrounding it (plus there's a Trader Joe's up there, which always makes me happy). Walking south brings me to Pike Place Market, which is far too crowded to be enjoyed in the afternoons, but mornings allow for a calm stroll to peruse the local produce and baked goods and of course the flying fish. Best of all are the flowers. Incredible flowers, rows and rows of them. I went yesterday to buy a bouquet for closing night of Angela & David's show (Angela is my best friend, whom I met when we did a show together here in 1998, and David is her husband, whom she met when they did a show together in 2001). The bouquet I got them was beautiful, all autumn colors, and huge. And it cost me $5. FIVE DOLLARS!! I would have easily spent $50 in New York, probably more. But a quick walk to the market gets me so much for so little. Alex and I have made the market walk part of our routine, as it involves a whole lotta stair climbing. From the waterfront, there is a set of stairs that goes directly into the market. I haven't counted the steps, but I guesstimate that the climb is about 5-6 stories. Getting to the top, a little out of breath, we enter into another world, with street performers and fish throwers and the original Starbucks (which is surrounded by coffee shops, and somehow, all of them are busy). But when we want to enjoy the wonders of the natural world, we just turn north rather than south, and there we have it. It's a perfect mix of city and nature. My favorite thing about living on West 110th Street was that mix: I was a block from the subway and restaurants and shopping, but I was also only blocks from both Central Park and Riverside Park, which meant I could escape to nature in only a matter of minutes. Of course, Seattle is a city that is nestled into nature, whereas New York kind of allowed nature to remain in some places. Entirely different cities, but regardless, I have come to appreciate living in a part of a city that gives me a place to distract myself from the city itself. From this apartment, I am looking straight at skyline, which is awesome. But to be able to walk 5 minutes and sit looking at mountains, well, that's perfection.
I'm starting to feel a little more present in my Seattle life. I'm starting to find a rhythm to my days, and I'm starting to feel confident that in the coming months, I will be busy doing things that are meaningful to me. I had my first audition last week (which was one of the nicest audition experiences I've had---I didn't feel like a number, nor did I feel like the auditors were wishing their day was over already), and I've had a couple of meetings with friends here in the theatre community who want to help me get onstage. I feel like it's really up to me here, that if I work hard and take some risks, I'll be rewarded for it in a tangible way. Which I never felt in New York, not after being there and auditioning for months and months and sending out monthly mailings to dozens of agencies. New York felt somewhat hopeless to me, which is why I left. I didn't want to give up. I don't know what will happen for me in Seattle, but I do know that I feel hopeful. For the first time in, well, years. And hope feels good, you know? It feels kinda youthful and fun. Which I need, as the grey hairs are multiplying like bunnies on my head. I need to battle them with my inner child or something. Though there are about 50 salons in this neighborhood, so in case I decide to do away with the grey via some means other than tweezers, there's yet another reason to love where I live.
Seattle weather has been treating me well the past 2 weeks. Plenty of sunshine and blue skies. Perfect walking weather. Alex and I have been taking walks to explore our new neighborhood, and it's kinda awesome. From our place, it's 4 blocks downhill (west) to the waterfront. This stretch of waterfront is mostly based on tourism: restaurants, shops, hotels, the aquarium, ferries to the islands. However, if we turn and walk just 2 blocks north, we find ourselves in the Olympic Sculpture Park, an outdoor exhibit which is part of the Seattle Art Museum. There are winding paths through flora a-plenty, and scattered throughout are pieces of art, some of which are almost hidden, some of which are huge and vibrant, and some which just make me giggle (the washing machine and old tv set would be garbage if they were found in some other park). The park begins 2 blocks east (uphill) from the water, so walking through, the backdrop is Puget Sound and the islands and the Olympic Mountains in the distance. Stunning, truly stunning. When it can be seen, that is. Because on many days, the fog sits so low that the water is barely visible, and the islands and mountains are hidden. But on a clear day, wow. The sculpture park winds it's way down to the water, where it meets up with Myrtle Edwards Park, a stretch of waterfront about a mile long, with walking and bike paths and big rocks to sit upon and watch the ferries going across to Bainbridge Island. The park is probably my favorite thing about this neighborhood. Which is saying a lot, because there are so many things I like here. Just a few blocks north is Seattle Center, where Alex's Space Needle lives, but it's also home to lots of theatres that I want to work in. Just beyond that is lower Queen Anne, with restaurants and shops, and when I'm looking to sweat a little, I keep walking north up to the top of Queen Anne, which is a hell of a hill, but the top provides amazing views of the city and everything surrounding it (plus there's a Trader Joe's up there, which always makes me happy). Walking south brings me to Pike Place Market, which is far too crowded to be enjoyed in the afternoons, but mornings allow for a calm stroll to peruse the local produce and baked goods and of course the flying fish. Best of all are the flowers. Incredible flowers, rows and rows of them. I went yesterday to buy a bouquet for closing night of Angela & David's show (Angela is my best friend, whom I met when we did a show together here in 1998, and David is her husband, whom she met when they did a show together in 2001). The bouquet I got them was beautiful, all autumn colors, and huge. And it cost me $5. FIVE DOLLARS!! I would have easily spent $50 in New York, probably more. But a quick walk to the market gets me so much for so little. Alex and I have made the market walk part of our routine, as it involves a whole lotta stair climbing. From the waterfront, there is a set of stairs that goes directly into the market. I haven't counted the steps, but I guesstimate that the climb is about 5-6 stories. Getting to the top, a little out of breath, we enter into another world, with street performers and fish throwers and the original Starbucks (which is surrounded by coffee shops, and somehow, all of them are busy). But when we want to enjoy the wonders of the natural world, we just turn north rather than south, and there we have it. It's a perfect mix of city and nature. My favorite thing about living on West 110th Street was that mix: I was a block from the subway and restaurants and shopping, but I was also only blocks from both Central Park and Riverside Park, which meant I could escape to nature in only a matter of minutes. Of course, Seattle is a city that is nestled into nature, whereas New York kind of allowed nature to remain in some places. Entirely different cities, but regardless, I have come to appreciate living in a part of a city that gives me a place to distract myself from the city itself. From this apartment, I am looking straight at skyline, which is awesome. But to be able to walk 5 minutes and sit looking at mountains, well, that's perfection.
I'm starting to feel a little more present in my Seattle life. I'm starting to find a rhythm to my days, and I'm starting to feel confident that in the coming months, I will be busy doing things that are meaningful to me. I had my first audition last week (which was one of the nicest audition experiences I've had---I didn't feel like a number, nor did I feel like the auditors were wishing their day was over already), and I've had a couple of meetings with friends here in the theatre community who want to help me get onstage. I feel like it's really up to me here, that if I work hard and take some risks, I'll be rewarded for it in a tangible way. Which I never felt in New York, not after being there and auditioning for months and months and sending out monthly mailings to dozens of agencies. New York felt somewhat hopeless to me, which is why I left. I didn't want to give up. I don't know what will happen for me in Seattle, but I do know that I feel hopeful. For the first time in, well, years. And hope feels good, you know? It feels kinda youthful and fun. Which I need, as the grey hairs are multiplying like bunnies on my head. I need to battle them with my inner child or something. Though there are about 50 salons in this neighborhood, so in case I decide to do away with the grey via some means other than tweezers, there's yet another reason to love where I live.
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