Monday, May 31, 2010

People and Things to Remember

1. My Dad. So many connections with him as I'm planning my wedding. For one, it's at the home of the love of his life, Holly. My "bonus" mother -- they never actually married. I met Holly on my 13th birthday, and I was alternately adoring and jealous and plain old mean. And I'm glad we've transcended everything to be what we are today. Bonus.

2. To draw the line. To not feel like I have to be a superstar in everyone's life all the time, and to say no. Or say nothing. Stop overextending.

3. There is infinite wisdom in iTunes' Shuffle feature. I don't know where the soul is on that little piece of code, but dang it if Shuffle doesn't always know what you need to hear.

4. I have been having trouble remembering what day of the week it is. Regularly. So I'll say, "see you tomorrow" when I mean in three days, because I'm thinking it's a different day. Not sure how to remedy that or what to say about that.

5. I don't have to win every round.

6. I'm lucky. I'm lucky. I'm lucky.

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Monday, May 17, 2010

Voices



In 1983, I was at Chimacum High School in the farthest boondocks of Washington State. I was 15. Alternately a good kid and a raging lunatic. I was woefully unpopular and growing out an unfortunate asymmetrical haircut. I was learning to drive and listening to the Stones and The Who and Duran Duran and I even lip-synched Irene Cara's "Why Me?" at a talent show.

The man I will soon marry was 22, in a band, managed by Barry Manilow. They dressed him in white leather and razor-cut clothes and a bandanna. He had a small son. He was a rock star in California. Had we met then, I'm sure he would have been nicely dismissive. I would have been too young. He is good. So good and so kind. And I was such a dork.

I took the scenic route to where I am now. There is no way I would have predicted that it would take a good 27 more years until I got married. No less, to a man with three children and one grandchild (still taking suggestions on what to be called as Evan's grandmother. My grandmother preferred "Grace" or "Gracie").

I do believe that time knows its own way and travels in the path it is supposed to. But I do wish, the tiniest bit, I could have been the girl with the fake ID and too much eye makeup in the audience who could have scored a makeout session with Steve after the gig.
 
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Wednesday, May 12, 2010

I'm a Winner!

I will say I have a teensy, weensy competitive streak in me. Maybe it's from staying up late playing backgammon with my Dad on his cracked leather couch in his office, drinking cappuccino he brewed in one of the first home-espresso machines ever available (he loved being first in the gadget realm). So of course when my neighbor, a blogging cookbook author from the Marathi region in India, put up a quiz with the prize a signed copy of her book, I jumped at this. I had refused a free copy from her husband and daughter weeks ago with the intent to buy it -- my tiny way of supporting creative friends. But the chance to win one? Sign me up!
 
I love how she made a tiny blessing in her post: "Vanessa has written about food and travel and I hope the new cookbook will inspire her to explore Marathi food. We are looking forward to many feasts with her & Steve in the future, and we also wish them a lifetime of happiness at their new Shared Table."
 
Our world is expanding from right across the driveway.
 
Here's Kamudi's post ...
 
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Sunday, May 2, 2010

Cinco de Mayo


My neighbor found this puppy on the highway. Not around it, or on an exit ramp or something, but ON THE INTERSTATE 5 freeway. She is a dog angel, and because he is the last on a long list of rescues, she can't keep him. Right before she was going to let him go to the pound, we stepped in.

There's just something about those big brown eyes and huge floppy ears. He wore a red collar with a bell but no tag. Well fed, happy and loving ... he must be somebody's dog, we thought.

So we hit up Fido Finder and Craigslist. No response. The vet's office says he isn't microchipped. And why would he have a collar on with a bell but no tag? I'm becoming more convinced he was dumped on the side of the road.

All yesterday afternoon, we kept assuring each other that we wouldn't keep him. Even though his puppy antics kept us laughing for hours. He delights the neighborhood children and stared down a big pit bull in Petco. He needs house training. He has fleas. He has no name, except the temporary one we've given him to tide us all over until he finds his family -- Cinco.

We're working pretty hard to find him a new home, and getting him all spruced up. Today was a new collar and leash and a dose of Front Line. Tomorrow it's the vet for neutering and shots.

We want him to have the best possible start on his new little life. Somewhere else he can curl up like a baby on a lap and give tiny kisses. Somewhere else he can be happy and tangle himself up in a blanket. Somewhere he can sleep soundly with the oddest little puppy smile on his face. Because it would be crazy to take on a dog with a wedding and impeding adoption of a child and a move.

Right?



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Saturday, May 1, 2010

Instant Karma

I've been in LA five years and forget sometimes that you can have anything you want, pretty much simultaneously at the instant you want it. Money, food, French food, Thai food, Ukranian food, obscure vitamins and health products, shark fin, a maid, guns, cars, pets ... the list goes on. And hair.

Of course hair. This is the place where nobody bats and eye at a good boob job or a newly streamlined nose (and tsk tsks at badly done ones).  At my hairdresser, I timidly explained that I might want extensions for my wedding. She told me the place to go -- about 10 minutes away -- and I walked into the Hair Shop (which is truly that) and in five minutes and $125 later, had my own lush coiffure in a bag.

It'll need a little adjusting to match my color. Growing up always with long, curly hair, in the 45 minutes that I have been wearing them, I feel more like myself with the extensions than without them.

And to think I have been pounding Omega 3s for months in hopes to grow, grow, grow my hair long for my August wedding.

In LA, you can buy anything. Which is scary and comforting at the same time.






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