My Coronation
It was Friday the 13th – this past summer – when Dr. Field first mentioned that I needed to have some work done.
“Maybe a crown,” he said, poking. My mind jumped to Lady Jane . . . .
That’s me in the chair. I’m raising my left hand slightly as if to say, “Gee, thanks, fellas. Are you sure my insurance covers the fur trim here?”
Read the rest of this entry »
“Mommy’s waiting for you in the light!”
Andy surprised me this year for Halloween. He strategically arranged our Netflix queue to dole out a steady stream of carefully chosen spooky movies throughout the entire month of October. This man loves me.
After three years of co-habitation, he’s gotten used to the fact that one of my Halloween rituals is pacing up and down the Horror aisle at Blockbuster (yes, I’m still guilty for patronizing The Man) searching, more often than not in vain, for a film that has a sufficient balance of intelligence, artistic expertise and benign fright. No torture-porn allowed. That craze escapes me. Read the rest of this entry »
I’m Completely Smitten!
Check out this site! Fantastic! You may notice that most items are “Sold, thanks”. Buh, but, but . . . . I NEED the bunny with the skull & cross bones sweater. I need Florrie the fox wearing blue Mary Janes. I NEED those Zero Calorie ADORABLE cupcakes!
And what’s more? She blogs. (sigh!) This knitter, Julie, blogs with an utterly artful style & scrumptious poise. Martha Stewart on her best day had nothing on Julie. Let’s add “little cotton rabbits” to my list of things I’m so very grateful for.
Where’s the rest of the list? In my head right now . . . soon to make an appearance at a blog near you.
I go by myself
The fires in So. Cal. this week reminded me of this . . .
I was probably in some kind of mild shock for a day or two after I heard that Cheyenne’s house burned down. It didn’t burn down to the ground like you see on Lifetime TV, but it was deemed unlivable.
Smoke and soot damage is an intense thing. I never would have believed just how bad it can be until that time my little orange acrylic Buddha candleholder—the one I splurged on from Fred Segal—caught on fire during a party a few years ago. Such a tiny deity set ablaze offering flames up the kitchen wall. We put it out as soon as we realized what on earth was setting off the alarms. And yet I found specs of soot for months. In wine glasses in closed cabinets on the other side of the room. Even in the linen closet on the other side of the apartment. Soot doesn’t just rise and fall, it glides and maneuvers, sneaking in to forgotten corners and stays until you do something about it.
Cheyenne and her family got out okay. Safely. The first few times we talked, I had the presence of mind not to ask about our scrapbook. I waited until she offered the information. And she did. The scrapbook survived too. Thank God.
We’d been keeping that scrapbook since we met, six years prior, at Big Brothers/Big Sisters. Read the rest of this entry »
Another birthday
Lily turned eleven years old yesterday.
Yes, I’m one of those people who anthropomorphizes the hell out of her four legged living companion.
Such is life.
And it’s a good life.
Insha’Allah
Andy and I went to see H last Saturday for our typically overdue haircuts. When I made the appointment, I remembered that this fall was Ramadan, but wasn’t quite sure if it had ended or not. Over the years, I’ve had a couple of my visits to H fall during Ramadan. On those occasions, I’ve felt a bit of remorse having a full stomach while she’s worked on my hair in the middle of a fast. We’re not talking a Beverly Hills detox, where you get all the Fiji water & fresh lemon juice you can carry in your Rachel Zoe Medusa bag. We’re talking hardcore deprivation with a side order of prayer. I get thirsty just thinking about it.
Let me back up – After nearly a decade of semi-regular contact, H feels like more than my hairdresser these days. In a urban sprawl of nearly 10 million people, having changed jobs every few years, seeing someone as regularly as I see H makes her more like a therapist or minister or possibly even a friend, than a stylist. And she’s a damn good stylist. It’s gotten to the point that I literally sit down and say, “[H], make me current, do whatever you think is best.”
H: I think maybe we should go shorter; I like shorter on you.
R: I trust you completely.
H: Maybe a little bit layered at the end?
R: Sure. I trust you completely.
H: And some slight bangs?
R: Whatever you think. I trust you completely.
It’s not just about me and my hair. Over the years, I’ve learned that H immigrated to Los Angeles after she and her husband and baby survived the war in their home country. Read the rest of this entry »
Beautiful
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Having s-l-o-w-ly learned to appreciate the beauty of Los Angeles, seeing this photo of Tehran from today’s L.A. Times brings out my “Wows”. Two of my favorite things together – city & mountains.
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A couple weeks ago I posted a photo borrowed from the unapolgetic mexican’s thought-provoking piece about the beauty of Iran. So if cityscapes are not your thing, I encourage you to check out the photos at his site.
I’m from poetry chains & writing prompts
Inspired by my new 30Voices friend, who’s got a great blog of her own, I learned about the “Where I’m From” writing prompt, as shown at Fragments From Floyd. If you follow that link, you’ll learn that the whole thing started with George Ella Lyon, an Appalachian author and poet with a long list of children’s books to her credit, who wrote the original “Where I’m From” poem. Who knew?
I couldn’t resist trying it out. I’ve added the formula at the end of this post (hint, hint) so you’ll give it a go as well. Yes, you!
Here’s Where Ruth’s From
I am from pancake syrup, from Baby Alive and evenings watching “The Waltons”.
I am from the house in the suburbs, warm, palatial the first time I stepped inside.
I am from the dandelions, the birch trees, the bushes with bag worms.
I am from popcorn on Sunday nights and crying during sports movies, from Richard and Molly and Ken.
I am from the joy of winning games, the love of books and the habit of making friends with waitresses.
From Pretty is as Pretty does and I love you even when I’m mad at you.
I am from productions of “Celebrate Life”, and “The Truth Shall Set You Free” sang behind the locks of the county prison.
I’m from a U.S. military base on a Philippine island and several towns in Michigan, chocolate peanut butter fudge and ham loaf.
From the coin Robert Vernon Harris returned to the shopkeeper, the football injury that prevented a scholarship and the memories of a well-played trombone.
I am from the hatbox on the top shelf, the wicker suitcase under the desk and the front bedroom in the little house under the tall pines in Maryland.
Here’s the formula: Read the rest of this entry »
They call us sisters
Today I came home from work to receive one of my birthday presents . . . my sponsorship packet from Women for Women International.
I learned that my new sister is from the Democratic Republic of Congo. She is 28 years old. I wrote to her immediately, telling her that I am so happy to finally learn her name and see a picture of her face. I sent her a photo of myself . . . a goofy one w/ a big grin & my black framed glasses. Now there will be a photo of me floating around D.R. Congo. Surreal. I can’t wait to send stickers to her children–that’s one of the few things we are allowed to send.
Here’s a video from the WFW website. Please be forewarned that it’s fairly disturbing. I guess I’m posting it as a tangible reminder to myself that people (women . . . . sisters) are in danger. I wonder if my new sister lives in a village like this one?
Friday thoughts
I want to hang a laminated piece of paper with a Sharpie-on-a-rope in our shower. All my best ideas come to me while I’m soaping up. What is it? Being naked? The warmth? The Zen Chanting CD I’ve been playing in the background lately? (Although from underneath the water, it sounds like the monks are exhaling “Arrrrrr-maaahhh-nniiiii come pay moooorrrrre”.) Most likely it’s the large quantities of black coffee I drink for hours before I finally motivate to get ready for work. Read the rest of this entry »
SAY IT ISN’T SO!!!
I woke up to a text from L today:
“Did you know is Tia Juana closing on Nov 4th?!! I’m so sad 
“
I felt it in my ribcage: the onset of grief.
Guess where I’ll be eating today? And Wednesday, and the Sunday after that . . .
And thanks, L. It feels good be known.
Healing from the I.T. department
Yesterday morning, as I was compulsively blog-hopping, telling myself I really needed to be in the shower & on the way to work, I happened upon Nadine’s humorous account of finding herself similarly addicted. She captures it so well: Nadine writes,
“My skirting boards are getting grubbier and grubbier as I sit at my computer considering what to include in my bio at Thirty Voices. The bathroom is getting mouldier as I type up new entries in A Trillion Kisses. My new electric piano gathers dust as I consult the Urban Dictionary to look up the meaning of “skeevy”. I can’t even be bothered to shift the clusters of Greg’s alcohol flagons that have made their way back into the house because I’m too busy checking for comments.”
I thought, OMG, this woman knows me! Whatever skirting boards are (she’s in Australia) if I had them, mine would be getting grubbier and grubbier, too! Read the rest of this entry »
Is this really impolite?
Until I was nine years old, and dying for a pair of designer blue jeans, specifically, Jordache jeans, I had no idea of my parents’ financial limitations. We couldn’t even find designer jeans in the stores where we normally shopped. We had to go to the special department store in the special shopping mall. Without making any promises, Mom agreed to take me there to consider the purchase.
So we went to Garfinkels. With the shiny floors and chandeliers, it felt like a modern day castle. I spoke more quietly than usual, but I couldn’t tell you why. Read the rest of this entry »
peace protestor in Iran
This morning Andy linked me to a fantastic blog called “the unapologetic mexican”. It was there that I encountered the photo above of a peace protestor in Iran. Isn’t she beauitful?
Cutest cats ever (well, except for our other cats)
A while ago, one of my fellow contributors at Thirty Voices, Sage, posted on her personal blog that she had adopted a new kitty. Come to find out, little Verra (who was nameless at the time) has the same gorgeous and rare coloring as MY cat, Lily. Sage suggested that I make a post with Lily’s picture . . . and so here it is.
No, I don’t carry her around in that bag!
How Long?
This was originally posted at Thirty Voices in response to the “Posting Challenge” – What would you banish to Room 101?
A while ago, I wrote an incredibly angry essay about the janjaweed and the U.S. government’s failure to vote that Sudan be brought before the International Criminal Court. The piece came from a moment of palpable rage.
I don’t think I can reprint it here because it displays an indulgence in what my mother calls “lazy language.” Neither of my parents ever utter more than, “Damn” or “Hells Bells,” and those expletives are deployed rarely –in times of sudden irritation– like in 1976 when Mom discovered that the “Putt-putt-Pinto” wouldn’t start and she may be late for work, or in 1981 when Dad burned his arm on the pancake griddle. See, when I said “rarely,” I meant just that. Years pass between my parents’ use of even the most mild cuss words. Their example taught me that speech matters.
Even if the readers and women of 30 Voices don’t mind some occasional profanity, it just so happens that Read the rest of this entry »
Birthdays and Gifts from Ghosts
Had my grandmother lived another 14 months longer than she actually did, and had that amazingly pedestrian Midwestern chain of eateries, “Bill Knapp’s” survived, she might very well be having her birthday dinner there at this precise moment. The “Happy Birthday” song would play over the loud speaker as the chocolate cake was served, and she’d receive her 95% discount . . . one percent off for every year of her life.
Happy Birthday, Grandma.
It would not have been Grandma’s style to haunt us. Nor would she have had any interest in performing an occasional apparitional visit. She was just way too, well, solid, for that. But I do believe it was either she or Grandpa (dead since 1987) who came back and invisibly and deliberately offered a special gift to me. There’s simply no other explanation for what happened. Read the rest of this entry »
First time
Okay . . . this is a first for me. I’m typing directly into the “Post” window at wordpress.com instead of onto a Word doc. Sort of an artificial sense of danger since there’s nothing to stop me from copying & pasting & spell-checking & endlessly revising even after pressing “Publish” – but I’m uneasy nonetheless . . . here we go . . . I’m blogging. Look, Ma, No hands.
Why? Why am I blogging? It feels utterly narcissistic. There must be a point other than to dwell in my own minutia. Maybe I’m succumbing to peer pressure. All the cool kids are doing it.
One thing I’ve discovered Read the rest of this entry »
