I wish I had a clever title for this post!

I just got an email from an old friend of mine. She's been nominated for a position in President Obama's administration.

What's amazing about this news is my reaction (hey it's my blog, I can have it be all about me!)

I've known K since high school. She & I were in the same tennis P.E. class. She was good. I was good. We tied when we played each other.

We really hit it off. I went with her when she checked out the college she ended up attending. She got interested in religion and joined my church.

We really love each other and are always there for each other. Oddly enough we can go for long times not writing or seeing each other. Yet we always have our friendship in common, even if not a whole lot else.

I love being a child of the 60's. She thinks our generation was selfish and self-serving.

I've been married since college and have kids. She's single with no kids.

I have had a slap-dash career, never sticking to anything for long and making no name for myself whatsoever! (can you put smiley faces in blogs? if so, one would go here!)

She has had a fabulous career: breaking barriers, heading non-profit organizations & academic departments.

And all I could think when I read her email was, how cool! I don't know anyone who's more deserving. I have other friends who have achieved wonderful things in their lives, who get to do neat things or travel to places I would love to see. But I often have an ambiguous feeling -- on the one hand, how nice for them, on the other, envy.

So I was delighted with myself -- amazed, really to realize that, looking back, I have never felt ambiguous about K's opportunities and accomplishments. There just hasn't been envy or jealousy, ever. Nothing but wow, another fun thing she gets to do; another opportunity to do something worthwhile and important.

I love having this friend who sees & brings out the best in me.

Seasonal Memories

I just got the sweetest email from a man I went to college with. His sister passed away, and learning of it, I sent him a note of condolence and to let him know I was thinking of him. I have not been in contact with him since college, so it took a bit of internet searching to find him. But I was successful and he responded.

The sweet part was both that he was appreciative of my comments and that he remembered me. I wasn't sure he would. It's been decades. It makes me smile to know that someone I thought of so fondly has returned the sentiment.

For my first two years in college I hung out in the theatre department. It was a magical place. The women were beautiful, the men were beautiful (it was the late 60's after all) and everyone was enormously talented. I loved it but I couldn't see myself making a career of it, so I hightailed it over to the anthropology department and happily studied culture and primates and early man. I have never regretted returning to an academic field. But thinking about my old friend brought back all sorts of memories. I was delighted to remember the names of the productions I worked on (I did Tech -- set painting, stage crew, costumes), the parties I attended, the romantic intrigues of my fellow students, and now that I think of it, the faculty as well.

Freshman year, around this time -- October/November -- it seemed I and everyone around me was feeling out of sorts, itchy, like something was off, but we couldn't put a finger on it. I was sitting on the stairs in the theatre building, probably looking out of sorts, when the beautiful woman who loved & was loved by the subject of this post wandered by. She took one look at me, sat down, and declared it was "the season of the witch." Brilliant! I knew exactly what she meant. It was that time of the year when things are just weird.

All day I have been listening to 60's music, dancing to Laura Nyro & Van Morrison, and thinking how it's kind of that time of year. As I was writing this post I found Donovan's Season of the Witch and listened. The lyrics don't really say anything but the music reminds me of old friends never forgotten. It's ok if things get weird. I'm still smiling!

How Can Pink be Red?

I was wandering over in the pretty pink arty section of the blogosphere and was really surprised to find a woman commenting on how glorious Red is, as in politics.

I do forget that people who like the same things as I do (art, collage, lace, pink), do not actually think like I do. Honestly I was dumbfounded. I'm trying to figure out if this means I never visit her blog again or say hi to her at art events. It actually changes how I view her! Hmm will this post change how you view me? I'm hoping the three people who read this blog are left-leaning.

I always say I'm not interested in politics. But I'm pretty sure that is not true. I care about this country. I care about kindness and generosity; smart politicians and helping people who are not as fortunate as I. I care about organizations like the ACLU who are accused of left leaning but still defend right-wing groups if their rights have been impinged.

I did hear an interesting comment on NPR last week. A man called in and said since it would probably happen anyway, some good could come out of the republicans gaining power. They will have to do something and not just sit back and blame the democrats, as they have these past 2 years. Who knows, it may energize the left. Look what happened to Newt Gingrich.

And does anyone wonder why the republicans want to be considered RED? Don't they know red is communist, that Joe McCarthy's followers stressed "better dead than red?" Where is their sense of history? Their erudition? Oh wait, I forgot for a moment who I was ranting about!

addendum: I re-read this post and realize it might seem a bit naive. It wasn't really that someone had a different point of view than I have, it's just I've never seen anyone over in that part of the blogosphere talking politics. Here I would expect it, but there? Get out your best Gomer Pyle voice and say, "Surprize, Surprize."

My Big Bold Bodacious Birthday Bash

hey, I like alliteration!

Next January is a decade birthday for me. I don't want to be that number, but I'm really ok with who I am, how I feel, where I am in my life. All that is ok. The number just bothers me. I said that to a customer service person at one of my credit cards and he said, "Hey, 30's not bad." He's right. 30 wasn't bad. In fact, most years have been good for me. A few in the last decade I would gladly have slept through or not experienced what I did, but hey, in life ya get good with bad and hope joy out weighs the troubles.

But this whole birthday thing has been on my mind since this summer. I talked with a friend from high school, born the same year, and her response was, "It took you a long time to get there, why not take a long time to celebrate?" A new concept. One I have taken to heart!

The day of my birth is this magical day for me. My 19th birthday -- I was in college -- was amazing (obviously since i can still remember the entire day). I took a final in my Theatre Design Class; walked into town to my favorite boutique and bought a wondrous pair of pants; watched a drama class production of This Property is Condemned, staged on the railroad tracks; received a dozen yellow roses from my Nana; and topped it all off with a party given by my friends in the theatre department. Magical.

It was the first birthday I was living away from my family and the first time I really did exactly what I wanted -- well, maybe not the final exam, but I loved that class so it was alright.

Since then I have always given myself permission to enjoy the day and do things just for me. I like having a January birthday. When my kids were little I would take a week in January to go walkabout. I've gone antiquing all over Southern California. I went to Cape Cod one year when I wanted snow and cold and an excuse to do nothing but sit inside and have a fire in the fireplace.

So to make next year about the adventures and the experiences and not about the number, I am going to celebrate all year. I can't afford to travel the whole year, but I plan to do something special each season. I have trips planned for January & July -- Winter and Summer, and some ideas for Spring and Autumn. I like the way this is being set up, I am looking forward to the year and not dreading it! I'm also going to document my year. Take more photos, keep a creative journal, blog about it all.

Moving On

It seems that I am writing the same things about my kids as I did last year. They still are not sure they want to leave home, still not sure they don't want to chuck it all to live in their bedrooms, watch cartoons and ask me if I mind very much making them dinner.

A month ago my daughter left for Berkeley, California. Yesterday my son left for Austin, Texas. He's off on a new adventure and he's not sure . . . He has a friend who works in an office job and on the side buys rental real estate. His friend has already purchased 4 quadraplexes.

He thinks this is what he would like to do -- get a day job, establish a good work and credit history, buy rental property. He also has Americorps tuition-credit, so he's wondering about grad school.

My first response to real estate in Texas was, "Can't you do this in California?" His just gave me "the look." You know the one that says mom as a two or three syllable word? Days passed. He finally explained that Texas has two advantages (three, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition): his friend is there doing this very thing; his friend's dad is there and has owned rental property for over 30 years; California real estate is more expensive. Good points. I can move back to Calif even if my kids don't live there!

He is driving to Texas. He got his first cell phone and we added him to our family plan so he would have a way to get job phone calls. He calls each night to tell me where he is -- Virginia the first night. Arkansas tonight. And each call ends with, "Mom, I don't know if this is what I should be doing."

I don't know either. But I know it really is time for him to leave home. There are no good job prospects here. Real Estate is pretty expensive. There's a certain inertia that happens to the kids who stay here and all but one of his closest friends have left.

I'll miss him. He's been my tv buddy this summer. We've been watching summer shows -- Warehouse 13, Eureka, Burn Notice, etc. So while his dad is off playing or teaching music, my boy and I sit on the couch & watch tv together. I can talk, but only at the commercials. He'll explain what I have missed if I am attempting to watch tv and be on the computer simultaneously.

When I woke up this morning I was the only one home. My husband left for work at 0-dark-100. My son left yesterday. The house felt different. There was a different energy.

It kind of feels like we're all moving on -- finding that next thing which calls to us. I spent the whole day making art. It'll be interesting to see how we all weather this year and what lessons we learn.

How Did You Get My Number?

What I hate most about telemarketing calls is that for me to get off the phone, I have to be rude. I really hate being rude. Today I got 2 calls from the same guy.

It was an offer to help us with our credit card debt. I really wasn't interested, but when I stated that, the soft-spoken Indian man on the phone said I didn't have to make a decision right then. Ok, so I allowed him to speak . . . and speak . . . and speak . . . and make assumptions about how easy or difficult it was to make our payments each month. And lied about our indebtedness. He was polite and so earnest. It seemed rude to hang up on him.

But I didn't want to tell him anything about us. I knew I was never going to use the services of a company that calls me out of the blue. I may be in debt, but I'm not a dummy!

I was then transferred over to someone else, who I also did not want to talk with. These guys have already taken up too much of my time. So when the second guy came on and sounded like a bad American used car salesman, I didn't let him say more than 2 sentences when I said, "I am not interested. I didn't want to be rude to the other guy. However, I am going to be rude to you. Goodbye." And I hung up.

The phone rang a moment later. It was the Indian man asking what was I doing? I told him I was not interested. He argued. I told him I had not wanted to be rude to him. He kept arguing. I screeched, "I am not interested." And then I hung up a second time.

I feel so much better getting that off my chest.

Now what is the number to remove our phone from the telemarketer's lists?

Friends & Lovers

I've known Amy since my library school days. We met at work and it was instant friendship. I know her family and became friends with some of her friends. I thought you had to be under the age of 12 to make a new best friend. She introduced me to Cape Cod and is godmother to my kids. I went to her 50th birthday blow-out weekend and she would have gone to mine if I had had one! We've actually gotten closer recently. She was the one I turned to when I was sure my daughter, then aged 19, would never speak to me again. She said my daughter would like me again and she was right!

She's living near me for the summer and has only been around for a week, but it has been so eye opening. Since she's going to be around for the summer and likes vintage goods, she offered to help with with my antique shop. She came over yesterday and I gave her the job of pricing. I really don't like to price. She plopped herself down in the linens and made up prices. It was great. It was so nice to feel I have someone who I can talk to about the shop, who will help me and who is on the same wave length.

This morning as I was in the shower I had a major epiphany about crucial relationships in my life. I don't know about you, but the shower is my most productive place to think! I was thinking about how nice it was to have Amy to share the shop with. For years I have tried to get my husband to be my partner in the business. It doesn't bore him completely. He has ideas, he will give me his opinion about displays and will move the furniture around if I ask him. But, sadly, it never feels like he's completely engaged. And I've known for a while that without a partner or a deadline, I just don't get many projects done.

What I realized is that there are people who think like me and there are people I have much in common with. And I don't have to demand both from one individual. Amy and I think alike. My husband and I do not. Amy's sense of style, her sensibility is similar to mine. We can work together and we have, both as librarians and cleaning out her parent's homes. We could easily start a business staging houses, or being bridal consultants, or selling antiques. We just think alike.

My husband and I do not think alike. When I met him, he was the first person I was family-close to who didn't criticize me. He listened to all my stories and was interested. So all these years I've believed we think alike. We don't. I even don't care why, which is strange cuz I always care why! But in this instance it doesn't matter why, cuz just knowing we don't think a like makes so much of my married life make sense!

What we have is a life in common. And I don't mean our married life. We have our childhood in common, even tho we didn't meet til college. We are the same age and grew up in similar neighborhoods in the greater Los Angeles basin. We experienced the '60's. We listened to the same AM radio stations. We know the same songs from high school. We remember the Sunset Strip "riots," and know it was the basis for Buffalo Springfield's For What It's Worth. We both went to The Troubador, even if we didn't see the same groups.

We also have a life in common after we met. I knew within three days of meeting him at summer camp that I would spend the rest of my life with him. We have that summer camp and all those friends in common. We have the same religious and spiritual beliefs. He knows my family, I know his. We have kids together.

Things have been difficult between us for the past six or seven years. Not consistently difficult, in fact inconsistently so, which probably makes it all the worse. Things will be going along smoothly and then I'll get hurt and threaten to leave. He wouldn't seem to understand. And I couldn't figure out why my thinking isn't perfectly clear and understandable to him. He understands the feelings, but my thinking was foreign to him. Well, if after all these years of me not really understanding how he thinks, I'm pretty sure he doesn't know how I think either. I don't know if this will make a difference to our lives, this understanding that we have lots in common, but not the way we think. I don't even know if I will tell him of this "ah ha." It helps me, but will it help him? He might think it's cool and then again he might just not get it!

Luckily we will always have Paris? No, forget Paris . . . we will always have our roots in common.