Shining with Every Movement

The rehearsal dinner had the haphazard quality of an event organized in the tropics, where both cell phones and responsibilities have spotty service. A three-walled restaurant with insufficient waiters hosted us and dinner took almost three hours to serve and sort and share the English-language menus.

In the midst of the ordering and waiting, an after-dinner dance party was deemed necessary, as only these sorts of things can be. It was hasty and half-hearted in the planning stages, but once implemented went on as most dance parties do. Nineteen friends, found in different stages of drunk and sweaty and committed, dancing in a large pagoda in the backyard of a rental house to “Seven Nation Army”.  I most feel comfortable as DJ in those situations. I can’t live outside my head when dancing is involved; I need a task.

The dance party wound down at 12:30. Everything was sticky; the temperature was still a humid 90 degrees. A moonless sky served to accentuate the overwhelming stars.

 Someone suggested we go to the beach. A narrow path cut from the rental house through the jungle and out onto a wide and white private beach. I was one of the last to arrive, and the beach was littered with piles of my friends’ clothing, as if they had disappeared out of their outfits as soon as they touched the sand. Skinny-dipping sounds emanated from the ocean—laughter, chatter, splashing and reckless abandon—but as I stepped closer I realized I could see from where the sounds came. The ocean was teeming with bioluminescent phytoplankton. My friends shone with every movement.

Not our beach, but very similar to what I saw. 

I was hesitant to join them. I was feeling much older on this trip, and thought that maybe I’d passed the age of group skinny dipping. But my friends were glowing in the sea and I was jealous. I wanted to shine. I stripped down and ran in.

It was as if I were swimming in sparklers. Every movement lit up my whole body, each kick left a trail of light. I couldn’t stop laughing. The bride floated by me, doing the backstroke through the teeming sea, her face glowing from the moment, her eyes reflecting the endless galaxy above and below.

It was much too much.
And I’m grateful.

(I was in Costa Rica in September/October 2011; I'm just getting around to writing about it)

Bigger Standing Alone

Friday made me turn 30.
It snuck up on me while I slept.
Don’t quite know how I feel about the new decade. What I thought I’d be doing when I turned 30 is vastly different than the expectations of even 3 years ago. I thought I’d be married or at least thinking about it. 30 sounds bigger when it stands alone.
And so it was that I rented a 12-passenger van and filled it to the brim with some of the women who have loved me so well over this rocky and rough past year. Noticeably absent were Leslie (family vacation) and Katherine M, who is about to have a baby at any moment and was thus excused. I was grateful to have the group that we had: Tammy, Katherine B, Amy, Betsy, Emily, Robin & Tara. I asked my friend Wes to be our driver and he jumped for joy. What a great sport he was to handle a van that was not only full of women, but full of women who were celebrating a birthday with wine & cheese and loud, sing-a-long tunes.
Every woman came with their game faces on and the night did not disappoint. We were loud, we were laughing, we were talking over each other and we were supportive. Women who may not have known each other prior become friends. It was a community experience, which is my favorite part of any holiday. I don’t really like things to be about me (at least holidays) and it felt like it was a memorable experience for all involved.

The day had been threatening rain but the storms skirted around us, creating a halo. Above us was only stars. I felt bigger.

The Following, The Progress

This past weekend my roommate and I had our annual Swanky Christmas party (I wrote about it once). 2010 was my fourth year hosting one (Jane’s sixth) and putting it together has become a familiar process—decorations, lights, furniture movements, purchases and requisite cleaning—so the stress level has decreased dramatically, even as the cost has risen. We had time to reflect a little bit on the purpose of the event. Part of the fun of the party is dressing to the nines and having some of our dearest friends over to get ready together. I rarely dress to impress; it requires way too much time and energy and I don’t care enough about my appearance to do it except in rare instances. But once a year the Swanky party comes around and all is on the table. I love to see the dresses and tuxes that come through the door, as if my friends and I were all bringing our bests together; the Voltron of beauty. Often I feel for first-time attendees who, in the day and age of dress casual, don’t quite get the true concept of elegance attached to the party. They stand out and not in a good way. This year, I went for a dramatic look. I wore the shortest dress I’ve ever worn (or probably ever will wear), dramatic makeup, upswept hair and big eyelashes. In a way, I transformed and I felt abnormally good about it. I didn’t do it for anyone (there wasn’t anyone at the party I particularly wanted to impress or attract) but rather because I could. The experience of transformation was my favorite part; to feel progress as if I got prettier with each step. At the end I felt like I shined, a feeling I haven’t had all year.

(Told you it was short! Blue lips due to a ring pop)

I don’t get to feel progress much.

My essay that got me into Syracuse was about slugs; how when watched closely they seem to make no progress, but how, when left be, the distance they cover is remarkable. This was a year of slugs.

I’m finalizing my annual best and worst list and marveling at the changes that occurred. I’ve lost friendships and habits but gained even more in a way so slight I didn’t feel them occur. In January I hoped that sweetness would follow the darkness that colored much of the year. In December death has not yet let me be. But sweetness has, for the most part, followed.

Commodious

I haven’t done a post about a weekend in a while, and this past one was one that deserves to be recorded for posterity.

It started with a dive-in movie on Friday night at Dan and Haydin’s. A dive-in movie is much like a drive-in movie, in that it involves a movie projected outside on a screen, but that is the extent of the similarities. A dive-in movie is set up around a swimming pool. The event was to start at 7 but due to disorganization, shirking of responsibilities and general technical difficulties, it didn’t actually start until closer to 10:30. Ugh. Annoying. But “The Big Lebowski” is a favorite and it was fun to sit around a pool and watch it on a big screen. It started to drizzle half-way through and I took that as my cue to leave. Ena’s birthday party was early on Saturday and I wanted to get some sleep.

Ena loves cowboys, trains, horses and being naked. She’s two, so all of those things are quite splendid. I dressed up as cowgirl, partially for the fun of it and partially because I thought she’d like it. When I saw Nathan at the Dive-in on Friday night I told him my plan and he announced he’d dress up as well, so Saturday morning it was just the two of us in costumes (we were also some of the only ones who didn’t have small children with them). Ena and her friends were in their birthday suits for most of the party and it was a beautiful day for a birthday party. I love that little girl so much it hurts.

Saturday evening there was discussion of a roller skating adventure that got nixed at the last minute, so Betsy and I headed downtown to go to the last Shindig on the Green of the year. I forget how amazing those things are. We ended up in the entrance of City Hall, listening to a bluegrass band; one man was so old he had a wheelchair/walker combo and would stand up to smile and sing along. I loved him immediately.

Sunday I met up with Betsy and Emily downtown for the Kovacs and the Polar Bear show (see above) that kicked off the Lexington Avenue Arts and Fun Festival, the hands-down best people watching event in a city full of people-watching opportunities. The day was bright (and HOT), and someone had plastered mustaches all over the festival area. Everywhere. Parking meters, shop windows, newspaper boxes; once one was spotted the sheer volume of them appeared. I found out from one friend that it was part of “Mustacheville” a quirky sort of prank on a city that loves pranks. Emily, Betsy and I found mustaches to our liking and stuck them to our faces. We wore them the rest of the afternoon. No one looked at us strangely.

Labor day was chores around the house, until around 330 when I got a text from my old friend Ammons. “Sunny afternoon cocktails?” it read. I responded, “I could be convinced.” He replied, “I don’t know what else to say: Sunny. Afternoon. Cocktails.” So I went and sat outside with Ammons, catching up and drinking the amazing cocktails that Sazarac makes (before the ache of the bill arrives!). We then wandered up to Packs Square to catch part of the free show by the Asheville Symphony. The sky was the blue that only comes in early fall, the sun was just enough set to leave a crisp in the air and I was warm with company, sound, place and spirit.

In ten days I’ll attend Tegan and Sara, live jamming bluegrass, the Symphony and Erin McKeown. I love this town.

"The Compass Rests"

My friend Kari wrote a lovely blog post about those who act as compasses in our life, an entry based on our conversations about the illness and loss of Natalie (here). I am so thankful to have had such a compass through the hurricane of my youth.

Thanks, lovely friend, for the thoughts and words. I'm learning grief isn't a bullet, rather it is buckshot. There isn't one big hole, there are thousands of them. I feel like I find a new fragment almost every moment.

"Love and friendship carry with them great pain sometimes but it is such a comfort to know that the Lord is with us in the midst of our suffering." --Natalie in a email to me, 2007.

Own Tales to Tell

I've had the same email address since 1998, and have saved a file of the email correspondence I shared with Natalie over these 12 years. I started going through them today.

This is an email Natalie sent me in January, 2001. We had gone out for her birthday the night before, and I had sent her an email essentially telling her I was lying about who I was: I was pretending to be the same person I was in high school when I was home but in college I wasn’t like that at all. I was afraid to tell her, because I thought she’d reject me, or tell me I’d let her down, or judge me. Instead, this is the email I got.

Sarah,

As I said earlier, your friendship is a privilege and I am so grateful that you trusted me enough to send that e-mail. You were right, it didn't shock me...I've sensed a lot of what you said but it doesn't change how I feel about you. There are some advantages to "old age", one being that I REALLY know that we are people in process and sometimes the process ain't pretty. I have my own tales to tell--truly. And I trust you enough to share them with you sometime. From where I stand today I am at peace with the knowledge that nothing I've done has shocked God or made Him stop loving or forgiving me, ever. As for you, what matters to me is that you know I love you and will always be here for you. Much of what you are thinking, feeling, living is SO normal for folks your age--Christian or not. Believe me, I was part of the Christian college environment but I think our stories would parallel one another.

You and I have so much in common despite our places in time...I lived for many years trying to reconcile my emotional needs with how I wanted but was unable to live consistently. I don't wish the pain and isolation I experienced on anyone yet God has redeemed those years as only He can. That is just one of my stories.

We deceive ourselves in thinking that we are closer to God than we really are...it is He who stays close to us. You are His child and always will be--with or without your anger, questions and self-doubt.

I treasure your friendship Sarah...I don't know why I've been so blessed but I will never take this gift for granted. Anyone who crosses paths with you is privileged. It is such a joy for me to be part of your life, your adventures, your heartaches...whatever.

I really hope that picture we took at the restaurant turns out well...last night will remain amidst my very special memories.

I'll talk to you soon,
love always,
Nat

Long Have I Known A Glory In It All

Camping brings gusto to life.
I feel most at home in the woods, setting a camp, tending fire. To do lists fade to become the essentials, of food, of water, of warmth and light, of shelter and company. Abstraction abates. This weekend was time away, a few days spent an hour and 2200’ vertically from home.
I organized the trip, not because it was near my birthday (though it was), but because it seemed a good weekend to get away. I’m not big on self-promoting birthdays. I’m ok either having them be small or having others think of something. I believe it is a time for others to love on you should they want to, not a time for you to demand attention from them.
And so it was we found ourselves at the top of Max Patch on Saturday evening. The sky was mottled with hiccups of summer storms that divinely passed us by. Max Patch is a place where it seems as if the divine breathes; where earth and sky are more intimate with each other. The grass was tall and damp and we spent the afternoon barefoot. I feel that being barefoot like that allows some magic from the earth to seep up through me, some ancient affirmation to creep in and whisper.
Ian and Tammy had graciously brought an obscenely large bottle of champagne for a mountain top toast. I love giving toasts; I love public speaking so this should be no surprise. But I was bested.
My dear friends, who love me for reasons I don’t quite understand, gave toasts to me.
They told me they loved me, they affirmed me in ways I so needed but couldn’t express. I am still humbled and shocked by it. I know I am a liked person, but I often forget to realize that those I love also love me. It was the best gift I could have been given, that elusive present of light, life, love, community, sky, joy, grace, breath, food, touch and future, found in the damp grass atop a mountain.
Thank you thank you thank you, dear friends.

[My birthday was amazing—thank you for all the calls and notes and emails!!! And thanks to my dear roommate Katie for the volume 1 soundtrack to Glee and to my dad for my new fly rod and reel. Something very funny about re-spooling a fly reel while listening to the soundtrack to a sugary show about a high school glee club. Then I went out to Thirsty Monk for drinks with Katherine, Robin, Caroline, Tara and Margarita. What gracious and audacious and impressive ladies.]

Biological Casio

Saturday morning I woke up too early because two very small hands were squeezing my cheeks together and the face attached to those hands was uncomfortably close to mine.

“HIIIII AH-RAH. HIIII! AWWWWWIGHT! YAY BEACH!” was shouted at full volume into my slack face, which translated from 20-month old speak is the best sort of good morning expression. Ena, my quasi-goddaughter (and for the sake of this blog will be called as much) was sitting on my chest, her big green eyes staring at my bleary, sleep filled ones, and she was absolutely thrilled that I was still around in the morning. She kept touching me to make sure I was real. Usually I'm at the house to say goodnight to her but I'm gone when she gets up, but since I'd traveled to the beach with her and her parents, unlike at home we were going to be in the same house for a few days. Ena seemed to think this was the best idea. EVER. I say hello; she climbs down and goes screaming into the next room, on to bigger and better projects that don’t involve waking up a notorious non-morning person. Her morning speed is one I rarely get around to nearing in a day.

Ena's parents are my amazing friends Katherine and Andy (written about here and here and here).

I'm not a kid person; I don't usually like them, don't have a biological clock causing me to desire them...ok maybe I have a biological pocket watch; ever so slight and inconsistently functional. A biological digital calculator watch. A cheap biological Casio or Swatch. Nothing large or accurate to be sure. Ena breaks my baby rules. I pick her up; I hold her hand, wipe her face, run with her and feed her (cardinal sins in my baby book. Usually I'll just poke them and pat their heads). She has opened rooms in my heart full of draped furniture, covered with the dust of neglect and time. I am blessed to see her often.

This weekend at the beach with Ena, coupled with the Mother's Day holiday, caused me to think about loving children. It makes no sense.

Why do we love these little selfish parasites that require attention, fawning, food, care, cleaning and coaxing into the most basic exercises of sleeping and eating? They are extremely irrational, poor communicators with a mean streak and a penchant for destruction. But we love them. We would die for them. One laugh from that girl and I'm up for whatever she has next. I melt like an idiot.

Brennan Manning, he of 'Ragamuffin Gospel' fame, writes,
“Children are our model because they can have no claim on heaven. If they are close to God, it is because they are incompetent, not because they are innocent. If they receive anything it can only be as a gift.”

I do not love Ena because she is innocent; I love her because she is Ena.

I think that might just be what we, in any belief system, should strive for. We are not worth anything because of our abilities or our inabilities, our gifts or our struggles; we are worth much because we are first loved much. I am loved because I am a key component in something much bigger than me. I am loved because I fulfill a promise. I am loved because I am furthering my species. In this culture and society I am trained to do, to measure my success in tangibles.

My list of tangibles I made at 22 is woefully unfulfilled.

Today I am struggling mightily with this.

I want my reasons to be loved to read like a resume. I want love to be bullet points, I want clearly defined boundaries and rules.

It doesn't. It isn't.

And yet.

Circle Round

Last weekend I had a group of 20-some friends from far and wide join me in a brewery tour around Asheville. It was bright and 75 degrees and, since 5 breweries are within walking distance, it was a casual adventure in matching green shirts.
This photo, taken by the incomparable Jane, reminds me that I am surrounded by love.
Such a joy, these people!

More Thoughts on the Barn

The time at the Big Blue Barn blessed on many levels.

It reminded me how much I love my friends; how they let me be my nerdy self and just accept it; that they too are nerdy and highly intelligent but still can sing all the words to Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” and will willingly spend at least an hour racing along a hardwood floor in socks, seeing who can slide the farthest.

It was carte blanche to temporarily be the Lost Boys from Neverland. We ate what we wanted, didn’t go anywhere, invented games and adventures and knowingly threw ourselves down steep icy hills toward fences and cows. We slept where we fell when we grew too tired to move.

Most of the time, I want to feel more grown up. I want my own place; I want to nest and shop for the week and make dinner for someone I love. I want to be part of a pair (2010 is the year of finally admitting this).

But during that snowstorm I got to live in a little microcosm of community as part of a posse—I wasn’t a single entity on my own—I was standing with loves. It was fleeting but so sweet to me and will be a time I recall fondly for years to come.

(photos stolen from Jenna, who, unlike me, has actually uploaded her photos)

Speak Through the Snow

I’m from Virginia and I learned from an early age that snow was God’s sign you stay home.

No exceptions.

If there is snow, God gave you a bonus Sabbath or two—take the time off, read a book, sled, nap; it’s a gimmie day. Don’t drive, don’t move too quickly; don’t attempt anything that could be construed as chores.

In New York, snow isn’t a sign of anything but a season. God didn’t speak through snow. Life doesn’t slow down, schools don’t close; offices stay open and work keeps happening. My years up there taught me how to drive in snow but made me lose some of my love of the fluffy white stuff. The common things lose their wonder.

This winter has changed and brought a bit of that love back; this past weekend helped.

The snow started on Friday afternoon. There were threats of 8 to 12 inches and the whole area was buzzing with anticipation. Grocery stores were selling out of eggs, milk, bread and beer; liquor stores did business like it was the holidays. I left work at 3, jettisoned home to quickly pack and begin the trek to the Big Blue Barn, a converted barn that is now a beautiful apartment housing three brave friends.

It took me one hour to go 8 miles.

8.
Miles.
GAH.

I was joined at the barn by the usual suspects of Doug, Justin and Tara (who brought her 3-month old puppy, Rooney) and with barn residents Jenna, Betsy and Emily (and a few other characters who popped in and out) and we settled in for our own version of a winter wonderland in a landscape covered in 12” of snow.

We cooked huge meals of spaghetti, pizza and lasagna. We had bacon and eggs and cinnamon rolls and knockoff captain crunch; we ate way too many cookies and chips and dips and we drank leisurely.

We watched movies. Lots of movies. And TV.

We played games like Scattergories and Farkle. We made unreasonable consequences for losing.

We went sledding. A lot. We injured ourselves in the process. We laughed so hard we snorted. We chased the puppy through the house and through the snow and gushed over him when he’d pass out from exhaustion.

Saturday night was the full moon and when it would pop out from behind the clouds the sledding track would be lit as if a spotlight had been shone upon it.

As if God was enjoying the snow right along with us.

A Weekend of Mirrors

The year is winding down. How has time sped up with age? Years go by like breaths; I cannot comprehend this passage of time so flippantly.
Friday we were to get our first snowfall of the season, and as usual all of Asheville was electric with excitement and fear. Why does even the suggestion of snow turn adults into dancing kids? I woke Friday to a slight snow cover with much more falling. Neither roommate was home so I had the place to myself and snuggled in for a winter’s quiet.

Around 2:30 Justin and Doug came to the house to get snowed in with me; what great friends. We watched movies, made drinks, ate lots of snacks and watched the snow fall. A snowman was successfully undertaken and just as we came inside, a large tree came down in our neighbor’s yard, blocking the road and taking out the power lines. There went our heat, our lights and our movie-marathon agenda. Justin, Doug and I spent the rest of the night playing Trivial Pursuit by candlelight. It was as fun/more fun than it sounds.

The rest of the weekend was filled with sledding, hot toddies, “My Cousin Vinny” and the rare opportunity to use my snowshoes in Asheville. Since my house had no heat, Saturday night was spent playing the infamous karaoke PS3 game at Nathan’s before finally passing out on the couch at 4am with Justin. Sunday found a slow-food solstice party with friends in West Asheville in a home full of kids, dogs, friends and really ridiculously good food/beer.

Sunday night my little sister and I had a text conversation about accountability that I loved. I believe with my whole body that it is imperative that we (as people) live in community; that is, we surround ourselves with people who love us well enough to tell us the truth and that we love and respect enough to listen. I have been innumerably and inexplicably blessed in this regard and I wanted her to know how important it is. Growing up neither of my parents had social circles to speak of and I wonder how much of that imposed solitude impacted them negatively. It is something about them that I haven’t thought about before. If we aren’t loved in community, I fear we tend toward emotional and societal entropy. I know I do. I can talk myself into and out of anything; if I don’t have mirrors then the only person checking me is me, and often I am not wise or good to myself. But those people who love me wisely and well are, in their own way, the voice of God, steadfastly affirming while lovingly desiring the very best, even when it isn’t what I want to hear. And during this holiday season, it is them that I am most blessed to love.

Singing in the Storm

"Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It's like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can't stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship."
— Anne Lamott

I wanted to say thanks to all those who have said to me that they understand what I meant in that last post. There have been several of you, and your willingness to sing in that boat with me has meant much.

Depth Charge

My friend Erin was in town this past weekend.
I have thoughts but every time I write them they sound trite and useless. I don't want to read them and it's my blog. Not a good sign. It was about asking deep questions; those people in life who will do so and those that won't. I used to be drowning in deep questions; now I rarely hear them.
Even from myself.

Plug of the Day

My friend Leah has a fabulous blog of fabulous stories, ones that I am pretty sure most of you will absolutely adore. I couldn't give a stronger recommendation. This post is a hands-down favorite involving grape picking, semi-nudity and Mennonites.
For your entertainment I present Confessions of a Homecoming Queen.

Just Like the Waves

Two weeks ago I went to the beach.

Margarita mentioned it, as did Goodboy Norman Featherstone, who, for a pug, is quite observant. Not that Margarita isn’t observant but she is, after all, a human. With a college degree. She should be able to formulate sentences.

Nathan’s family owns the most impressive beach house I’ve ever stayed in and they were gracious enough to share it with us for the extended weekend. I didn’t grow up going to the beach (I only remember going twice my whole childhood: 1987 to Virginia Beach and 1992 to Duck, NC) and haven’t quite grasped the appeal of it before this trip. My impression of the beach was this: airbrushed t-shirts, fat people in small swimwear, overpriced crappy beer, jelly fish, sunburn, lethargy and sand invasions. Not impressive.*

But this trip was relaxing, peaceful, delicious food, microbrews, bocce/root ball games, great conversation, love, dogs, naps and the general feeling of a contented sigh. I shucked oysters with Ian and Nathan, stunk up Wii baseball with Margarita, read on the deck outside my bedroom while the morning tide let out and played fetch with a few very dirty and happy dogs. Waking up to waves is like waking up to love: the sound like safe arms, the salt like warm breath. The first thought one of peace and safety, comfort and hope.

I could get used to that.

*I’d like to give a shout out to the North Myrtle Beach trip of May/June 2006 that was the initial impression breaker. That trip was HILARIOUS.

Dunno

This was Summer, 2004 and it was Dave and Shelby's wedding. Dave is in the red vest, Elena is being the tiny goof between Dave and I and on the end is our boss, the reason we all know each other: Anna B. Later on we tried to roll and run on the hay bails behind us. It was a good wedding.
The scary thing to me is out of everyone in this photo, I am the only one who hasn't had cancer since it was taken. Anna found out that fall she had precancerous growths; she was 33. This past fall Dave came down with a softball-sized tumor in the middle of his chest. He did six months of chemo and just had surgery last week. He's weak but he's fighting. He just turned 30.
Yesterday afternoon Elena called me saying she had news. She's been with the same great guy for close to three years now so I was expecting the usual, "I'm engaged!" call I've fielded dozens of times. Instead the call revolved around cortisol levels and the hypothalamus and thalamus and the words "tumor" and "pituitary" together. Elena is 26.
It isn't like I know a whole bunch of people from AL; 30 at the most. And then three come down with tumors? At such young ages? I don't understand it, and I'm scared. It is early, she still has a lot of tests before she knows the extent of the tumor and whether to be scared, but I can't help it. She's one of my closest friends.
How does that happen?

Damn You, Tonya!

This is Dave.
Dave has been a friend of mine for almost 8 years. We met at the camp I worked for in Virginia where we all lived in tents and crazy things happened regularly. Dave came as a companion to my friend Shelby (now his wife) and he brought along an exuberance that is unmatched, a zest for fun that is both light and deep. We have had many adventures in these years (one of my favorite involves a situation attempting to explore a new cave). He is a dear, dear friend. Like a big brother only with less fights. When three of us came down with giardia, Dave was the one who volunteered to drive the deathly ill people 30 minutes to the hospital in a 1989 maroon Caravan. He and I have run many programs together, having so much fun in the process our kids would tell us to calm down. Our interpretive dance to Peter Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill” is still one of the funniest moments of performance I’ve ever been apart of. He is another in a long line of people who blew into my life and have taken root. I am blessed by these roots.

Dave has cancer.

I got an email from him a few weeks ago, detailing the discovery of Tonya the Tumor, a softball size germ cell tumor that is sitting in this chest, overlapping his lungs and close to his heart. Of all the cancers to get at 29 it is one of the most treatable and he is in chemotherapy, with hopes that he’ll be done with it before summer starts. He called me this past weekend to see if I had any questions about his cancer, to make sure I wasn’t worrying too much and to see how I was doing. We talked for about 30 minutes and I got to ask the questions I wanted to ask, let him know how much I loved his friendship, and make him laugh as much as I could. As long as I’ve known Dave he has had the gift of good attitude. No matter the situation, no matter the resources at hand, no matter how glum it looks, Dave has a good attitude that is full of realism and yet abounding joy.

I can’t believe I get to have people like him in my life.

Not because he is sick, but because he is Dave.

(this is Dave with his twin brother, Dan. Dave is the one in the sombrero. Both are equally awesome.)
Dave's CaringBridge Site.

Fancy Free

It seems like every time I speak to my mother some new revelation pops up. Last week I was catching her up on trips, etc when she asked me quizzically and in all sincerity, "What exactly do you DO with your time?"
I realized that my mom doesn't really know anyone my age who isn't/wasn't married and/or has children.
At my age she had three children.
Me? I have Cranium tear-away calendar.
Just a somewhat hilarious revelation.
How does she relate to me? I worry about money and where I should go get dinner and what I'm doing with my life just like most people but that marriage/children thing is quite the chasm.
I told her, "Well, I go out to dinner a lot, hang out with friends a lot, go on spontaneous adventures fairly often, sleep in as late as I want on my weekends, I'm terrible at cooking full meals for one person, I read, I waste time online, I'm not good at getting back to my leftovers...that's about it."
And she told me I was footloose and fancy-free.
Trust me, nothing fancy I own was free. That shit expensive.


Photo of the week: Mike and Natalie and Mike's new smartcar. He's been drooling over one for almost two years and finally got off the waiting list and got his own! He's about 6'2" and says it's roomy. Natalie is my dear mentor and friend and all good things. This photo made my day.

Jeff in IT

So while Hatch and I were in Paris we kept a keen eye on the possibility of a new friend. Ever watchful, the first morning in Paris we were on the jam-packed Metro on our way to the Arc de Triomphe (btw what is up with every hour of the day in Paris having totally packed Metros? Do these people work? Why do the cars look no different between "rush hour" and "hey shouldn't you be at work hour"?) when we spotted him. We were crammed like little le sardines in a tin Metro can when this guy got into our car and was standing in front of us, alone but for a copy of Rick Steves' Paris 2008. The North American version.
We said to ourselves, "NEW FRIEND!"
He also debarked at the Arc (as it is the terminus of the line, he really had nowhere else to go) and we sort of stalked him while we went about being tourists. We made up stories about him while we walked in the tunnel to the Arc. I decided his name was Jeff. And he worked in IT. Hatch decided his name was Michael and he was traveling the world to find himself. We both decided he was rather friendly and that we'd all get along quite swimmingly.
I admit, most of the time at the Arc de Triomphe I was completely distracted. I was interested in the Napeleon and the generals carved in stone, but the real story was WHERE WAS JEFF? We'd see him and then he'd be gone. He was like our own French Carmen Sandiego.
ANYWAY. We saw our chance at the Arc. Jeff was taking a photo of it and we meekly approached and asked in French if he spoke English (even if you know you have to pretend) and if he'd take a photo of us together. All a ruse to start a convo. Which we did. We spent the rest of the day, and part of the next day with our new friend.
Whose name happened to be Derek.
Who didn't work in IT, but is an epidemiologist specializing in TB.
From Canada.
My bad, Jeff.