Happy Birthday Keith!

Today is my dear friend Keith's birthday. This is him in 1984. Today he is 39 and even cuter.

Happy Birthday, dude. I wish I could take you out for a pint today. You deserve all the good things in life.

Well played, San Francisco

"When you tell people you are a hedonist, people just think you are some kind of pervert, but really, it is primarily about placing a priority on your own enjoyment." -Ted Thomaidis, while sitting on a bar stool next to me at Bourbon and Branch.

I couldn't have said it any better myself, Ted. Brilliant insight, as usual. And brilliant, I might say INSPIRED cocktails. That Elderflower is a revelation. The cucumber gimlet was fucking rad, too. What was the third one? The Aviation? I remember it was good but things were fuzzy by then.

Dinner at Fish&Farm was great, and I loved that raw oyster with the granita, yum. The chilled corn soup amuse buche was so intense it made my palate leap with longing. I had the duo of lamb and Ted had the fish & chips. I had to know any place Ted would take me would cook their pommes frittes in duck fat. That sazarac almost put me out cold, but it was outstanding. The rye was surprisingly good. It turns out that I do like whiskey, it is bourbon I'm not crazy about. Great company, and I don't know when I have laughed so hard for so long. My sides ached. I love that we drank enough to be at the "I love you, man!" stage. It leant itself to some earnest mutual appreciation.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Before all that drinking, there was more drinking with John at lunch. We went to Cafe Metropol and I had some Grey Goose L'orange cosmopolitans (2) and a nice cappuccino with lunch. We talked about everything and nothing, and generally enjoyed each other's company. Then we went into Teuscher Chocolates and got some gianduja truffles (my absolute favorite of all time) and champagne truffles. These we took with us to the bar at the St. Francis and ate them with some champagne. Decadence is its own reward, plain and simple.

After treating myself to a breakfast crepe at Honey Honey, I had a nice, easy drive home today. I'm only a little head-achey and tired, but I daresay I am blissed out. Hedonism like that makes me happy. I did all the fun things I like to do that break no laws or marital agreements. It was, in essence, a whole day and evening of pleasures at table. As you may know, that is pure heaven for me. Sharing a well-crafted meal and clinking glasses with a good friend whom I trust and adore (this applies to both John and Ted) is my number one recipe for a perfect time. I am so fucking fortunate to have both of them in my life. It makes me feel pretty special to have such amazing friends. They are my wealth. I am truly blessed.

I am spiritually realigned. I can face anything now. I have been emotionally petted and stroked, expertly fed, socially lubricated and ego-lifted. I could probably dead lift a car right now. I feel strong and funny and sweet and loving and beautiful (!) and capable.

Now I am finally ready for school to start. I am fortified.

Reality: Overrated?

I like fiction more than real life most of the time.

I like getting so into fiction that I can just live there. I like reading it, and I love writing it. Now, that isn't to say that I like LYING, because I think that there are some incredibly true things in fiction. Things are condensed to their essence and, to a degree, simpler.

Maybe fiction is the wrong word. Imagination may be a better expression of the concept I am kicking around, here. I have been thinking about my erstwhile romances and other relationships of old lately with fresh perspective. Some of the people I dismissed out of hand seem more interesting now, whereas people I was over the moon for leave me scratching my head. Why did I cry so hard when that guy cut me loose? Why didn't I take that one seriously or realize that they actually really liked me? It is odd. Makes me feel a little lame.

Of course, I married Tony, who I both did and didn't take seriously in turns over the years. I suppose that makes sense. I always wanted to take him seriously but for some reason I resisted doing so for a long time. In retrospect that was probably a good thing because it forced us to develop a strong friendship that was based on actually liking each other's company.

Although I suppose I earned my "Fickle Fairy" nickname. I was a bit flighty, and ran from committment much of the time. Incidentally, the guy that nicknamed me that broke up with me before I even realized we were dating. I was like "Wait? What do you mean it is over? We were dating? I thought we were just hanging out."

Clearly, my perception of what is going on around me is skewed. I already know that I just don't seem to react to the world in the same way that others do. I have to chalk that up to my imagination running away with me, rather than a lack of observation skills. I fill in the blanks with whatever embroidered bit of poetry suits me. Thus my relationships with people take on a mythic quality, based on who they are as people and the ideals and qualities I attach to them, usually to their benefit.

I wonder if that is hard for people to live up to. If I make an epic hero out of you in my mind, how easy is it to let me down? If I paint you a villain, how do I ever forgive your actual transgressions?

In literature that seems to work out okay, but in real life it is a bit messier. Maybe it is good for the egos of my friends that I hold them in such high esteem. I seem to forget that they are people, though. They are larger than life to me. I love them, though, whether that is based in reality or not. The love is real.

In my mind, most people are like characters. If a person is of particular significance to me, they inhabit an almost physical space inside me. I lovingly flesh them out in my imagination. If it is someone new, I am insatiably curious about them, adding each new thing I learn about them to my mental picture.

I try to be accurate, but I have been known to either soft-focus people or be utterly wrong about them. I have to say it is pretty jarring to have the real person turn out crueler, or weaker, or less brave than I expect they will be. I want to think the best of people, and hope they see the good in the way I see them.

The opposite is also true. The villains of my life are equally built up, resting on the foundations of what are basically just flawed or twisted people. But I guess it is easier to see them as their acts of wrongdoing than to have empathy for what made them the way they are. I can slay a dragon, but real, nuanced people are another matter. I might have to forgive them to a degree, and sometimes I am reluctant to do that.

So, if you are in my life and I apparently like you, then you shine radiantly to me. You have a halo-like glow that sets you above mere mortals. You matter more. You get to reside in my artisic and imaginative heart. I hope you like it there. I try to make it just a little better than the real world.

One Syllable is all Ye Get

In a lot of ways I always thought I was more like my grandmother than other members of the family, but lately I have noticed some of my grandfather's mannerisms creeping into my personality. Or at least I am being made aware of the ways in which I am similar to him.

Gramps was very emotionally reserved. He never said "I love you" to anyone that I saw. But the love was there, for sure. The above photo is the two of us when I was around 2-3 years old. He taught me to appreciate nature from an early age. He loved trees, especially, and seemed genuinely delighted whenever I brought him an acorn. We planted quite a few that later became beautiful oaks that now tower over that little brick house.

I never doubted that he loved me, even though he never said it, not even when he was dying. He did little things for me all the time that let me know he was thinking of me. He brought me British toffees and hand knit wool sweaters. On my last visit when he was still up and around, I had gone across town to see my father, and when I got back to the house he had already gone to bed, but he had left me a little note in the kitchen. It said "Have a good night", and sitting on top of the paper was the biggest, most perfectly shaped and succulent nectarine I had ever seen in my life. I just knew in that moment that he had taken time to select the very best one, looking each over to see which had no bruises and just the right blush. I felt a flush of love for him, and nectarine in hand, went to his room, not to wake him but just to look at him. He was snoring peacefully. I padded back to the kitchen in bare feet and bit into the fruit. Standing over the sink was a good idea, as the juice ran down my chin onto my hand and down to my elbow. Perfect. He didn't need to say the words, I could taste it.

He was kinda funny though about people's names. No matter how long your name was, it had to have a "for short". One syllable was all you got. I was obviously "Stace". In fact, so many people call me "Stace" that I don't even notice. You were lucky if you had a one syllable name to begin with, although almost none of us did. He shortened names that didn't easily shorten. Eileen was "Leen". I do that to people all the time, shortening their name to one syllable, said with affection.

I have started to do things like that, or maybe I always did and just now notice it. I do tell people that I love them, and that is a big difference. But I find that for me, saying it seems so inadequate. The words "I love you" seem to not be able to hold how I feel. I need to do things, too.

I wonder if people get it when I take a picture of a goose paddling lazily in the river and send it to them, or bake them cookies, or grasp them in an extra long hug or call just to say hello. They seem like such small things, but I don't do that for everyone, just the people I care deeply about.

I am a very poor judge of whether my love sinks under the skin of other people. Maybe I am not so adept at feeling it when they love me back, either, since I seem to need reassurance of it often. The juice of it really needs to run down my chin for me to get it, I guess.

Always missing someone

It is no coincidence that my ultimate vision of heaven is a long, sumptuously set dinner table with all of my loved ones sitting around it. Everyone eats, drinks wine, talks, sings, and generally frolics in an unending banquet of lovely conversation and amusements. Paradise.

Because that will totally never happen in real life.

I have moved around, my friends and family have scattered to to point where we are literally spread all over the world. Not even a school reunion would get everyone in one place. I had one very bitter person tell me, upon leaving my acquaintance, that she thought there was some flaw in my character that made my friends move as far from me as possible. That was totally mean of her to say, and I know I am not the center of the universe so that isn't even possible.

I'm actually really proud of the varied journeys of my far flung friends and family. They are people going places. I get around a little myself. But unless I come into enormous wealth, I can't get to New Zealand, China, Alliance, New York, Boston, Seattle, Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, San Jose, and Boulder this year. I have people I love in all those places, and those are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head.

Everywhere I go, I always miss someone. I just want to pull the strings and gather everyone a little closer today. I'm really blessed with a lot of love in my life, it just seems as far away as it really is today. Then again, I don't even spend enough time with my friends and family that are actually in town. Go figure.

Need more of this

Photo Caption: Kari's wedding (her new hubby John in the background)

Laughter and tears of joy. I need WAY more of this in my life right now. I'll take the laugh lines and everything.

Don't have much to say about it, but it is a great photo and reminds me of how overcome with emotion I was at Kari and John's happiness. Seriously, I'm weeping in almost all of the photos. But so happy.

Of course, being on the beach on the north shore of Oahu didn't hurt either for calming my psyche. Something about the softness of the perfumed air there that unravels the knots in my noggin. Even making the wedding cake in such humid conditions didn't dampen my fun, although schlepping the cake down the road about gave me fits. Once the cake was set up on the table and I could relax, it was all good.

Good memories of that weekend. Lots of love and lots of tequila with cinnamon dredged orange slices. For a cynical old crab-apple, I really do love weddings. Maybe, like my mother, I really am a romantic at heart.

Why I love my friends so much

Doesn't this picture say it all? That's Will and I, circa 1988 or so at a party in Santa Cruz. It wasn't a a date or anything, we were and are still just good friends, albeit with heavy flirting. He was spinning my chair until I got SO dizzy. We were cracking up. I don't even have my eyes open, but this is one of my favorite photos of myself. Good, good times.

I think I am going to sort through my old photos and do a series here of either old friend photos, or just pics of me laughing my head off. I have quite a few.

So, obviously I have been on an emotional roller coaster the last few weeks. I was feeling very isolated and sad and not so lovable. In the last week or two, my peeps have been coming out of the woodwork to show me some love, so here's my open letter of thanks. I fucking love every one of you guys. Big time.

Will: We will start with him since I'm using his pic today. Will's a total dude. He's a great combination of smartass and sweetie. He e-mailed me a few days ago, just shooting the shit with me. He always makes me laugh. He reminded me that my loopy antics and affectionate nature are part of my charm. And he's a new parent, so his non-sleeping time is at a premium.

Colin: The other bookend to Will, Colin saw my gloomy blog posts and sent me a hilarious note full of funny links, videos, and even a photoshopped picture of himself in drag, with the admonition to "Smile, darnit!" He's good at making me smile.

Kari: Kari's the goods. She reminded me that I have always needed a little drawing out, but that I am really only a "wannabe hermit", and my social nature generally wins the day. She makes me feel good when she admires all the nutty artistic things I do. Being praised for my creativity always makes me smile. She knows all about being a Type A alpha girl, and how being a "moody bitch", while funny, isn't exactly good for harmony at home. Happy=Better, right?

Audrey: Audrey talked me off the ledge gently but firmly when I was hitting the nadir of my self-loathing this week. She pointed out that I was beating myself up over how I "should" feel and how I "should" act, and if I didn't remove that word from my vocabulary that instant, she was gonna let me have it. Without her love and concern I doubt I would have made it this week. She pretty much took a hold of me and told me, in a very loving way, to get a fucking grip and stop obsessing over stuff I can't change. Oh, and to lighten up and try to have a litte more fun, especially with the Mister in my house. She loves me and she says so.

Tony: Yes, Tony is my friend as well as my spouse. Most people know that we were actually friends for years before I woke up and decided I wanted a nice man to marry. Luckily, he was stalking me at the time. Hee hee. He told me that if I am having insomnia and even he's deep asleep, he wants me to wake him up so I won't feel so lonely. I don't know why that had not occured to me. I never give him enough credit. He's a peach. He also did a lot of daddy time last weekend with Little A so that I could go out and take an improv workshop and go to the gym.

Chris: She gets appropriately outraged on my behalf when I tell her all the loopy things that go on with Little A's legal woes. That and even though she is totally busy with a schedule that puts mine to shame, she makes time to swap funny parenting stories with me. She's going to be my dance teacher as soon as that place sets up her dang classes!

Keith: Just came back into my life by total random chance (I generally don't believe in coincidence at all) after 25 years apart and has been a total doll to me. He reminded me that I always was a bit of a klutz, but that it has always been sorta cute what a spaz I am. The word that always comes up when I think of him is "lovely". He's a lovely person.

Kathleen: She understands. She gets it. She will get a cocktail with me next week if I have to drag her by the hair. She knows about balancing art with the "day job" and how it sucks that we have to do that. She knows that even when I am flailing about, I will still offer my shoulder for her to lean on. In fact, it snaps me out of it a little to be of use to someone else. Plus, she likes it when I make cake.

Kelley: My brother from another mother. Kel's got the stuff. I want every good thing in the universe for him. He puts up with my antics and also helps me understand some of what goes on with Little A, since that is his field of expertise. I almost never pick his brain on the child psychology thing with him as much as tease him mercilessly about why he is single when he is so damn sexy. He's a cutie, but so much more than that he is brilliant and possessed of a dry wit. We talk about Freud and Jung and have good natured discussions about writing.

Ted: God, I have a lot of dude friends, don't I? Ted is so supportive of me cussing a blue streak. I don't know anyone else who would cheer me on when I am being so repulsively crass. He's a good friend to me and especially to Tony. He's promised to take Tony out and ladle Black Bush into him until he is nice and pliable again. I'm gonna make sure those two get some golf course time soon. Then after we'll work together on whatever dinner strikes our fancy. When Ted and I cook together there is a sure chance that something awsome will come out of it. Ted roasts the brined chickens in my personal version of heaven.

John P: We always have good talks. He gets the whole adoption thing. I love his smarty-pants humor and the fact that he just gets me without a lot of seeming effort. We simply must end up in the same city very soon for drinks and dinner.

Song from my Mixtape # 3

I FOUND A PICTURE OF YOU, OH OH OH OH

WHAT HIJACKED MY WORLD THAT NIGHT

TO A PLACE IN THE PAST WE'VE BEEN CAST OUT OF? OH OH OH OH

NOW WE'RE BACK IN THE FIGHT

WE'RE BACK ON THE TRAIN OH,

BACK ON THE CHAIN GANG

A CIRCUMSTANCE BEYOND OUR CONTROL, OH OH OH OH

THE PHONE, THE TV AND THE NEWS OF THE WORLD

GOT IN THE HOUSE LIKE A PIGEON FROM HELL, OH OH OH OH

THREW SAND IN OUR EYES AND DESCENDED LIKE FLIES

PUT US BACK ON THE TRAIN OH,

BACK ON THE CHAIN GANG

THE POWERS THAT BE

THAT FORCE US TO LIVE LIKE WE DO

BRING ME TO MY KNEES

WHEN I SEE WHAT THEY'VE DONE TO YOU

BUT I'LL DIE AS I STAND HERE TODAY

KNOWING THAT DEEP IN MY HEART

THEY'LL FALL TO RUIN ONE DAY FOR MAKING US PART

I FOUND A PICTURE OF YOU, OH OH OH OH

THOSE WERE THE HAPPIEST DAYS OF MY LIFE

LIKE A BREAK IN THE BATTLE WAS YOUR PART, OH OH OH OH

IN THE WRETCHED LIFE OF A LONELY HEART

NOW WE'RE BACK ON THE TRAIN OH, BACK ON THE CHAIN GANG

Some true things about my brother

My brother Ryan is going to have another birthday next week. My brother Ryan is gregarious, funny, charming and (perhaps except for the cab-door ears) pretty good looking. It is also an incontrovertible fact that my brother Ryan is, sadly, dead.

I love my brother. I'm living in a world that is just wrong, wrong, wrong without him. He was ferocious in a way that I could understand. He was an angry dude with the muscle to back up that short temper. It got him in a lot of trouble. But he was blood. He was bone marrow. He was strong in ways that made his weakness all the more tragic.

He could hold a grudge because he was so sensitive inside. And a lot of people let him down. People who should have done better by him. People like me. Oh, sure, the parental units have their crosses to bear. The Navy could have taken better care of the thing they were shaping as a weapon. His friends could have tried to talk to him about his drinking problem.

But I might be the worst of all, because he has been gone a while now and I just can't forgive him for leaving me. I'm selfish. I want him. I want him to talk me into getting a tattoo. I want him to sit me down on the back porch and pour me a shot of bourbon and give me endless shit until I swallow it, feeling it burn all the way down while he laughs at my watery eyes. I want him to meet his niece and lift her up in the air until she giggles so hard she almost pukes. I want him to track down that asshole that date raped me and the criminal that did that horrible thing to our sister and make them suffer pain. I want him to show me that practiced Billy Idol-style sneer until he breaks into that big, raucous laugh. I want him to be ten again, when he would really still allow me to wrap my arms around him and pepper his face with kisses.

I want to hear him say he still loves me, because I really need that right now. He's seen the worst of me and loved me in the face of all of my fury and mental collapse. When my father unceremoniously dumped my ass out, he found ways to come and see me, even though he was only eight. He was the only one that could get me to come out when I was so broken inside I would just hide behind furniture and scream if anyone tried to come close. He would crawl under the desk with me and curl his body against mine until I stopped shaking and agreed to go buy him an ice cream cone. He paid sometimes. He always had more money than me.

And he does say he loves me, but he's a ghost. Or I'm making it up because I want to hear his voice so badly that I will allow myself any amount of self-delusion to have him close to me. There isn't anything funny he can say or do to lighten me up anymore. I'm too serious without him. Too self indulgent, too vain, and too fucking sad.

I miss him. I miss him like I pulled my heart out of my chest and left it in the desert wind to dry out rather than have to feel the throbbing pain of his absence every time it would beat.

I promised him I would love him always, no matter what. I always keep my promises. I'm still kicking his ass next time I see him, but after I'm done blacking his eye, the chocolate double scoop is on me.

The Trouble With Stacie

If the last year or two have had a theme, it would certainly be "tying up loose ends". Having a presence of any kind on the web means, for me, running into old friends acquaintances in unexpected ways and at random times.

It is super-pleasant to catch up with people, especially if they harbor fond memories of me. That is a nice ego-stroke, for sure. The only downside of these remembrances of things past is the constant reminder that I was a late bloomer to the effective communication game. Gawd, I was awful. The temptation to beat myself up for something I did at 15 is pretty compelling. Tongue firmly in cheek, I have to at least make fun of myself here:

I have to pinch the bridge of my nose a little when I think about, for instance, the awkward and terrified attitude I carried with me to my very first date. That poor boy was so nice to me, and I didn't even let him hold my hand. Let's just say I was a less than gracious companion. My mother was so worried about me going on a date that she remonstrated me to be protective of my body (and presumably, my virtue), and she gave me more money than was strictly in the budget so that if things went horribly awry I could not only take a taxi home, but reimburse my hapless date for his trouble. I guess my mom was trying to make a point to me that I didn't have to make out with a boy because he bought me a movie ticket and some Junior Mints. Way to overkill, mom. I took a perfectly gentlemanly teenage boy and made absolutely certain that he wouldn't hazard to attempt to ask me out again. Brilliant.

*Waves at Keith*

I'm totally going the total public apology route on this one. Mea Culpa. You deserved the kind of friendly warmth that I wouldn't be able to muster on a date until I was at least 22. You were just way ahead of your time.

I'm ok, you're imaginary

In a funny way, I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of Little A's first imaginary friend. I want to have that in common with her. When I was a little girl, my mother tells me that I was often deep in conversation with mine, but that she now cannot remember what his name was. I don't even know if she knew he was male, but that is my sense of it.

The most imaginative play A engages in is when she gets into conversations on her play cell phone. They sound like very businesslike exchanges. When will she invite that person over to play? I'll even make the tea cookies.

Put it in the "what if" machine

Image: http://xkcd.com/17/

Sometimes I wonder "what if?" about things in my life. Who doesn't? I can either drive myself crazy with it, or I can list some to amuse you, my silent, never commenting readership.

1. What if I never left Ohio? Oh my. What if I went to Mount Union College and stayed in Alliance? Eeek. I would not be recognizable as me, that's for sure. I would have a greener garden, a barrel-chested sports fan for a husband, probably. I would have clung to that spiral perm hairstyle longer. I would still be the wierdest girl on the block. I would probably be living in my grandparents' old house and going over to my dad's for pasta on Thursday nights and listening to his ranting.

2. What if I had married someone else? I wouldn't have Tony and that just wouldn't do. He's the only man in the known universe who could stand to live with me long-term. I might have had biological children, but then I wouldn't have Little A. Can't have that. Sometimes I look at my exes and wonder if I could have made it work with any of them. But I married the guy my dog liked. Heidi was a smart dog.

3. What if I went to the looney bin? I'd still be drooling in my Jello, I bet. This one scares me. I can't imagine ever recovering from something like that. Luckily, when my father thought it would be a good idea to institutionalize his rebellious teen daughter, the doctor disagreed with him. It feels like just luck that kept me out of the hospital. Probably that I wasn't really crazy had something to do with it. That last point is the subject of some debate, but I'll just go with how that turned out, thanks.

Things on my mind

I left my heart in San Francisco, that's for sure. It is my true spiritual home in all its overpriced, messy glory. I yearn for it in every cell of my body sometimes. In its quirky embrace, a weirdo like me can just blend in or perhaps approach normal.

When we lived there, life was simple. We were broke, of course. We would be even more broke if we lived there now. The Bay Area at large is so crazy expensive. I totally get that we had to go to Washington to live in order to have our goofy lab mix in our lives. We need to be in Reno in order to build our family to include little A, who I already can't imagine my life without. But what I wouldn't give to live there again, for lots of reasons.

I'm so homesick for it today. I want some decent bread and some foggy air and all the little things. I miss the cable car bells and the good dim sum and the funky bookstores. I miss the cultural diversity and the chances of running across an accidental parade. I miss the museums and the shopping and the chance to walk for a little while and get where I'm going.

My finances almost assure at the moment that I can't live there again for a long, long time.

But just because I can't see and caress my lover doesn't mean the longing goes away. I wonder where I will end up next, and what I will add to my life there?

Saucy Minx Remembers

To protect the naughty, I will not say which of my occasional early lovers called me a saucy minx. I will never forget it, though. (blows kisses)

This is a photo of the lighthouse in Santa Cruz. When I was a youngster in San Jose (read:18-23 or so), I used to spend a lot of my weekends trekking in my car over the hill to see my friends that attended U.C. Santa Cruz. I was the ill-funded DeAnza student and could only dream of living dorm life, so I had to get my vicarious college thrills by driving to see them.

I had the good fortune to know a bunch of people down there, following the lame, drama-filled breakup with my then-boyfriend. I just kept going down there to hang out. There was a whole house full of guys and a couple of gals that were pretty much always up for a party of some kind. I'm not even sure I was particularly invited, but they never minded or were much surprised to find me and my gal Audrey crashing on the couch, in some phase of hangover management.

I don't mind divulging that I found a sort of love there. Not in the pulpy romantic sense, but I made a few friends, and one (I hope) lifelong boon companion. He was really tall compared to me, and had beautiful eyes and a rich, smart-ass voice. I adored hanging out and talking to him, and he always made me laugh with the kind of wit you only find in super-smart people. He indulged my occasional drunk (or sober) forays into his room at odd hours for a spoon. Often I would find myself invading his sleep, although he never complained when I slipped a half or less than half clothed body under the covers next to his. I was mad for him as much as could be expected for such a casual arrangement. My lame-ass attempts to get him to date me never damaged our friendship.

I sometimes miss those carefree days. We were all young and good-looking. We had time to do recreational drugs. We had a liquor store around the block. We had nothing to do but while away the hours. I did some of my best making out in that place, and like in some alternate universe, it didn't get weird. It wasn't some hippie free love thing or anything, but it was comfortable.

When I work out my arrangements for my afterlife, I think I will be 23 again for a while. And I'll kiss that boy while I'm at it.

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