"Life without music ...."

Sitting in between my Dad and Gerry Garcias heavier set twin at the Hollywood Bowl tonight was like being in a time machine. As the first notes of "Black Cow" cruised out over the crowd I was ten years old standing in the hallway in my pajamas, toes stuck to the cold metal threshold between the carpet and the linoleum of the kitchen. Holding my breath so no one would see me, hoping maybe I could catch a glimpse of "grown up time". My mom was having a rare drink..black velvet and 7up in a smoked brown 80's style glass and my dad had THE goblet. It was really just his beer glass but it was amber colored and looked like it belonged to a Knight of the Round Table. They're listening to msuic and talking about life, politics, everything. It wasn't unusual for me to wake up in what I thought was the middle of the night to the sounds of good music and laughter coming from the kitchen. Tonight I looked over and saw my parents smiling like the 30 year olds they were that night in my memory. In my family music is the glue, the equalizer. Even when we were spitting mad at each other, a song could get us talking again or explain how we felt, say sorry or I love you. Walter Becker quoted Nietzsche tonight and I'll quote them both and say "Life without music would be a mistake". 

That one special Sunday

I had huge expectations about Mother's Day for years. My vision for my first one involved flowers, a laser cut wooden "mothers are....." picture frame from Mervyns and a declaration of appreciation from my then husband. What I got was a card in Spanish and a cracked poly-resin picture frame from the Dollar store. From then on it was a crapshoot. Some years he got me nothing since I wasn't his mother. Others he packed the kids up (including one in a stroller) and trekked down to Tiffanys to get me a necklace. 

Why was it such a big deal to me I wonder? Looking back I see I wanted HIM to appreciate the job I was doing. Being a good mom was and is a big deal to me. Well gues what? I am a good mom. Not perfect, but good. Whether he ever said it or not. My own mom - who's damn near perfect, tells me all the time. My girlfriends support and appreciate me. All the wonderful moms in my family tell me. Most importantly my children show me. They appreciate me. They love me. They trust me. They come to me. That's what matters. So many women and a few men have shown me what it means to be a good parent. It doesn't have anything to do with cards or flowers although those are nice. Whatever or whoever you celebrate tomorrow remember...you ARE good enough, right where you are. 

The Broken Clock

I have terrible timing. Seriously. I am either too early or too late and it has been this way for as long as I can remember. Back in elementary school I jumped on the whole “rainbows and unicorns” bandwagon a little too late. I held on to the unicorn trend a little too long resulting in earning myself a nerdy reputation. In middle school I was a little ahead of the times. Having read a book called

“The Official Preppy Handbook” the summer between 5^th and 6^th grade (7 years AFTER it was published – bad timing again) I came back to school reinvented as a hardcore “preppy”. This was about a year before anyone else heard of the term so you could say that my argyle knee socks and Bermuda shorts in a marvelous pink & green combination weren't so popular. I liked the Cure before guys who wore lipstick and eyeliner were cool. I got tired of Nirvana before the rest of the world declared them the Kings of music. Regardless of the trend I was either ahead of the curve or behind the eight ball.

As I got older my terrible timing started to affect my love life, if you could call it that at the age of 14. My first real boyfriend was a senior when I was a freshman. Of course I fell madly in love with him and of course he promptly graduated and went off to college. In between freshman year and junior year I developed a knack for declaring my “like” for a guy immediately prior to him becoming the new hot man on campus (and therefore having no time for me). Then in my junior year the pinnacle of bad timing was reached when a guy that I was friends with (but secretly ADORED) decided to seek my advice about a girl he wanted to ask out. I assumed it was me he was referring to and that he was just trying to be clever but no. 23 years later we reconnected and my timing is still off, or more accurately this time, my geography.

I met my former husband earlier than I should have. Had I known he was younger than me by a few years I probably wouldn't have spoken to him. By the time I learned how old he really was it was too late, I was already head over heels. I used to wonder if he had been older when we met if we would have made it. Who knows?

What I do know is here I am almost 5 years post divorce and my timing hasn't improved any. I finally met a guy who knocked my socks off and met all my non-shallow expectations and guess what? Yep. Bad timing strikes again. He’s not ready for me. I could go all girly-stupid and say “he’s just scared of his feelings, he really likes me” but the bottom line is, it’s just bad timing and I can’t even be mad about it. In fact, I still think he’s the bee’s knees. 

I can’t say if this timing issue will ever improve with me. Picture in your head one of those circular revolving doors like the ones you see in hotels back East. I am always walking in the door, pushing the handle forward while the “person, opportunity, dream” is twirling away in the opposite direction, leaving through the little pie shaped section at the front of the building. That’s my life. Rationally I know all things happen in the right and perfect time, in God’s time. My type B side is ok with all that. My type A side is calling bullshit.

Shakespeare said “Better three hours too soon than a minute too late”. Shakespeare understands...but the bottom  line is that when it comes to me the clock is broken.  

February 21

This time a year ago I was at work thinking about what I was going to make for dinner and wondering how my son would do at his volleyball tryouts that evening. A few hours later I would get a phone call from my Dad that would change the way my world looked forever. Most of us have experienced a death of a loved one by the time we reach our forties. I had lost all 4 of my grandparents and a few friends already by the time I arrived at February 21st 2014. Nothing had prepared me for the way I would feel that day. Nothing prepared me for what I would have to tell my kids. Nothing prepared me for the scream that came out of me, making me sound a lot more like a wild animal than a human. That being said, I am pretty comfortable with Death. Maybe it's my Irish ancestry that makes me feel this way but ever since I was little Death and I have kind of been friends in a weird way. I understand him and his necessary part in the grand scheme but Loss is different thing. Loss is a big, cavernous hole of blackness that you can't fill in with anything. You can't move it or close it off, you just have to figure out some way to work around it. Prayer helps. Time helps, but nothing erases it.
It's that sense of loss that has been the hardest to feel and to watch others I love grapple with this past year. I must say I am proud, yet again, of the people I come from. We fell down on our knees but we got back up. We got angry but we let it go. We were hurting but we kept on working, pushing, living. We did it because he would have wanted us to. I know everyone says that but it's true. The loss becomes a part of your reality and you just keep living. It really is that simple. When I think back to those long hours in the hospital waiting,,,and waiting and 30 plus of us taking up space in the hallway. Eating too many vending machine meals and crying on each others shoulders. I remember seeing my sweet Aunt, his lovely wife sitting on the chair with her hands folded in her lap, still with that smile on her face. I might miss him, but he is the love of her life. I can only hope someday to be loved like that, to love in return like she loves him still. I remember over 40 members of his union coming to pay respects and see if my Aunt and cousins needed anything and they meant anything. Guys he hadn't worked with in years, high school buddies from all over the country, friends of his sons, brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, so many people just wanting to help. I experienced more outpouring of love, support and prayer in that time period than anyone could ever dream to have. I walk around every day with the knowledge of how loved I am, how loved he is and I am grateful. I remember the nursing staff commenting that they had never seen a family like ours. I bet they never will again. He was the golden boy, the baby of a large, rambunctious family and every time I look at my brother and his kids, at my kids, at my cousins kids...I see a piece of his smile in them. We might have lost one our of own but we didn't lose us.
In his legendary words.....We are the Manning's - Enjoy us. Rest in Peace Uncle Tim.

F words

Funeral is the F word for the day. Maybe its because I'm Irish and our culture has a certain comfort with death. Maybe it's because I was raised to be respectful. Or maybe it's because I've been on the other side. I attend funerals. I don't enjoy them, who really does? I don't think anyone wakes up in the morning and says "gee I'd really like to go to funeral today". When the occasion arises you suit up and show up. That's it. As I get older my friends parents are starting to leave this Earth and today we are on our way to a funeral for my brothers high school best friends mom. A woman who has been in our lives to some degree or another for over 20 years. I respect her and I love her son. That's why I'm going today. It's respect. It's support. It's just what you do. I have no patience for someone who says "I don't like funerals, I just don't know how to act". Most people don't. Who really knows how to respond to a loved ones death. You don't until you're in it. I know on those days in my life it gave me comfort to see the faces of friends and family. Put your big boy/girl panties on, sack up and support the people you say you care about. If not, don't be surprised when no one is there for you. It's an epidemic of selfishness and I've had it up to my eyeballs. That's all from my soapbox today. Godspeed Susan.

Anti -Black Friday

I spent Black Friday in the waiting room of a Ford dealership in Duarte and with the exception of my lunch I spent not a single dollar. Didn't step foot in a single store. I often feel out of sync with my culture because I don't follow what "they" say I should do. In my relationships, my work, my  decision not to shop, lots of things. Friday was no exception. I felt rebellious all day, whether it was opposing "their" expectations or mine. I was working, NOT shopping. I had a real conversation with a friend, not text but voices. I read bound, slick paged magazines, 7 to be exact (rather than a digital version) and I walked to lunch in an unfamiliar town at a nearby Mongolian BBQ joint whose address I had not previously googled. I ate my lunch alone. Walking through town I left my phone in my pocket and paid attention to my surroundings. The lemon and lime trees with branches so heavy with fruit that they were cracking under the weight. The bus stop where the grizzled looking old man didn't ask for money, he just said "good afternoon young lady" and literally tipped his ratty fedora to me. The restaurant managers daughter who sat near me and looked surprised when I absentmindedly sang along to SpongeBob on the TV. When I got back to the waiting room I set aside my usual grumpy response to folks who invade my personal space or talk loudly on their phones in public. Instead, I sat quietly and listened to the beautiful accent the woman was speaking in. I offered the man sitting too close my magazine. I was calm. Maybe it was the nice walk in the sunshine I had just had. Maybe it was leftover Thanksgiving gratitude. Or maybe it was just "Opposite Day". Whatever the reason I had a peaceful, enjoyable anti Black Friday. I hope I get to do it again next year.

What are words for......

I am a writer and my words can be a shield or a weapon. I try to only tell my story and share only my own experiences and opinions. Inevitably other people are a part of that, but I always change the names to protect the innocent, and the guilty for that matter. It is my hope that my experiences can help someone, or make someone laugh. Maybe you'll read this blog and share it with someone else because you think it will help them or make them laugh. Or maybe you are a malicious fool who twists what you read here and uses my words to cause controversy and drama. If that is what you get from my blog then that says more about your character than it does mine. Because this is a public forum I realize that my words are open to interpretation. This is why I choose them carefully. My words and the things I wrote will live on long after I am gone. They are a representation of me and I strive to make them a good one. You as a reader do not have to agree with my words. You do not have to share my words but I would hope that if you do, you would do so with the same integrity used when they were written.