The Gift

Los Angeles, California

I collect words. They're my favorite thing. One of my other favorite things is paper. But the best words I collect are not placed on paper. They are put onto a page entitled Writing in my Notes on my iPhone. When I read something that speaks to me with a degree of gravitas, I add it to the collection. When I think of something that I can put into words which feel profound to me, it goes there as well. I experiment a lot with words: words constructed together as posts here on this blog; words written fast and randomly in my journal; words formulated as prayers. I find sentences magical. There is the alchemy of someone stringing words together to form sentences that can really speak to, really emotionally move, mankind.

If you watch certain news networks, there can be, unfortunately, a barrage of disturbing words thrown at you. I listen to NPR which becomes the background to many of my days. But I also listen to music, and I pay attention to lyrics. I am also attentive to dialog in films. My favorite films are those which were originally plays because the dialog is usually stellarly tight, having been toned and honed throughout the play's creation and production.

I once borrowed a book from a friend and found several pages had their corners dog-eared. Upon returning it, I inquired as to the significance of those pages. She replied that she did that when there was something on that page that was particularly valuable, and that she might want to go back to review what was written. I have my own means of dog-earing in screenshots of quotes, my aforementioned Notes collection, as well as clippings from newspapers and The New Yorker (yes, I still read, joyfully read, in print).

Joel was helping me organize my office this past weekend. Ok, organize is probably too strong of a word. Remember the old saying about getting your sh*t together? Well, I'm not setting the bar that high. In that room, my goal is to just eventually get it all scraped into one pile. I frankly think that Marie Kondo would throw up her hands and switch careers if she saw my office. But I digress... In the process of sorting through some paperwork (meanwhile, Joel was sorting through a collection of hotel laundry bags which I insisted I could not throw out as each was a memory of a trip, many with Sandra. See what I mean?). Anyway, one of the things I found in this pile of paper was a Christmas tag. You know, the ones that we write on and attach to the ribbon of a wrapped gift? I remember purchasing these particular tags (one of, oh, about 10,000 which I have collected, and please don't utter a word about this) at Crate and Barrel, back in the day when Crate and Barrel stores were located in malls, and didn't sell much furniture. On the side where you would write the To: and From:, I had written this in red ink:

Bronte, Treat each day as a new recipe to be tried or a faithful one to be improved upon.

I don't recall writing this, but suspect it was something I did for myself one recent Christmas. I have long given myself a birthday present. Something I would not buy myself on any of the other 364 days of the year. The first was an exorbitantly expensive (at that time) pair of Frye boots when I was in college. I've also bought myself a Mason Pearson hairbrush, which is something every woman should own. Over the past few years, I have also given myself Christmas presents, usually cookbooks, following in the tradition of both my mom and myself collecting them. Although, in Christmas 2015, I bought myself a 75-inch Samsung television so I could watch my favorite Christmas movies. It was a step towards addressing a holiday with intense memories combined with loss and loneliness. Did it work? Mas o menos, as watching some of the films was just too painful.

But back to the gift tag. I think this was on the gift I gave myself last year. It was most likely attached to the cookbook which I bought and wrapped for myself, waiting until Christmas day to unwrap. I would have curled up in front of the fire, wrapped in an afghan (blanket, not hound), and then read the book from cover to cover. I don't just choose cookbooks for the recipes, but for the writing as well. I don't often cook from Nigella Lawson's cookbooks, but I buy them all for the delight of her writing. Other favorites: Amanda Hesser's Cooking for Mr. Latte; A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg; My Kitchen Year by Ruth Reichl (which may very well have been the one that was attached to that tag). Although not cookbooks, my hands-down, very favorite food writer will always be Calvin Trillin. His collection of articles, Feeding a Yen, is a book I often carry with me when heading out to appointments. I can open it to any article and read with delight.

But, let's loop back to that gift tag. I have often remarked (and I am sure have written here, probably more than once) that if you get one good recipe from a cookbook, it was worth the price of purchase. And that is not a bad way to approach each day. Sometimes when you make a recipe, you find it's almost there. Maybe it needed something more -- more sabor, Joel would say, but he usually just means more salt or chilies. I often find that soups need some spiking, a bit of lemon juice, or a dash of sherry vinegar, or even some Louisiana hot sauce. Something that brings the flavor up. And our days can use that seasoning as well. Many people have written or remarked that each day is a blank page or blank canvas, but I think not. For me, the day spreads before you like a recipe. It offers ingredients which are the friends or family you see, or the strangers you encounter. There is the method, which is how you put your day together with the things that you need to do. It will require industry, which is the work required to get things done, and the workout you do each day to keep your head and body straight. Patience, required while marinating, roasting or baking, can come in time set aside for meditating or resting. That spiking or sabor to bring up the flavor comes in many forms, but for me, dancing salsa provides it in a spicy hit. I also appreciate the marination part, in the idea of time out each day, whether in the form of a nap, meditation, or bath. And the celebration of the day's end by a designated cocktail hour or even tea ceremony. Finally, bread broken at the last meal of the day can provide the reward of completing the day's efforts and savoring the results of the day's endeavors. At bedtime, you might want to copy out your recipe, including the changes or tweaking that occurred. For me, that is by keeping a journal, which I know not everyone does, but is essential for me in sorting out all of the thoughts I have swimming around in my head. 

Some recipes simply don't work out. Some are disasters. But maybe that's the time to come back to the faithful ones. The ones that make up your repertoire as a cook. With these, you can prepare as you always do, or tweak a bit. Each day has the same potential to not work out or to be a disaster. But even in that, we have learned something, if we look for something to learn. And that is perhaps the gift I was trying to give myself with that Christmas tag. A thought in the gift of words that mean something to me.  A gift from me to me. And now, a gift from me to you.

Thank you for reading my blog. And, go DODGERS... please, PLEASE GO DODGERS...

Caryn

Los Angeles, California

My cousin, Caryn, will miss my birthday this year. After over three years fighting a glioblastoma brain tumor, she passed away earlier this month.

Caryn was my little cousin. Her sister, Lauren, was two years older than me; Caryn was six-months younger. While we hadn't seen each other much over the last decades, she and Lauren, and their parents, were a very important part of my growing up. I have so very many memories of Caryn, especially during our teenaged years. We spent seven weeks together in an apartment in Waikiki while our moms were attending summer session at the University of Hawaii. She was my first roommate, after we moved into an apartment together when we were eighteen. Before that, we spent time in Santa Cruz together, then drove with a few of my friends (one had been a roommate, also in Waikiki, for most of the summer after I graduated from high school) back to Reno, where my cousin was in her last semester of high school. Several months later, two of my friends/Waikiki roommates were killed in a car accident when their VW bug went off the road during high winds in Pacheco Pass, including Larry, who was our driver from Santa Cruz to Reno. Caryn came down to LA for the funerals. Larry's funeral was on Monday. Ray's was on Tuesday. Wednesday was my 18th birthday.

Our life as 18-year old roommates didn't pan out as planned. Caryn eventually returned to Reno, and I eventually returned to college. But, while we only saw each other occasionally (at her sister, Lauren's, memorial service just months before my dad passed away suddenly. And why do these things always have to come in clumps?), we were always in contact with long phone conversations over the decades. After her diagnosis and surgery, we began to talk a lot more. This had become difficult for Caryn over this past year, as she struggled with word retrieval. And, I know that we hear this all the time, but she really did fight a valient battle against the disease. Her strength was exemplary: Never complaining; never dwelling on it, and even addressing it with dark humor, which I appreciated.

At the Sukkot celebration that I wrote about in the post Ten Days That Didn't Shake the World, someone at the table said: No one gets out of here alive. I always think that this is attributable to Jim Morrison, but, frankly, I'm not doing any origin research on this. In response to that comment, Steven, who is my friend Lisa's husband, replied that it was true. Something is going to get us.

Just a month before Sandra was diagnosed with lung cancer, we were sitting (as we often did) at the Bora Bora Bar at the Kona Village Resort. We had met there. Not just at the Kona Village, but actually at the Bora Bora Bar. That was about ten or twelve years earlier. This time, in 2010, Sandra remarked that at her age she was starting to wonder what was going to get her. She was telling me that they had been attending a lot of funerals. They were in their 70s, and, that happens. Sandra was joking about wondering what was going to take her out, but, I know that she was also serious. She had a wicked sense of humor and could often be darkly funny. But, I understand that you do start to think about your own demise as you see mortality closing in around you. I've had a lot of death in my life over the past few years. And now I have friends struggling with serious illnesses. I'm pretty healthy, unless you consider my recurring, situational anxiety and depression. My mom, who lived to the age of 94, once remarked that we were healthy as horses. We're just nuts! She also had fought anxiety and depression throughout her life, and my dad had experienced anxiety as well, while in the service during World War II (I was genetically doomed). I also have a sibling who caught the brass ring in the nuts department: OCD; hypochondriasis, in addition to being a certifiable control freak. But enough about family...

...Except for Caryn. She had a distinctive voice, which I can still hear, as did Sandra. It's interesting that we hear their voices so clearly in our heads after they are gone. I still hear my mom and my dad. I hear Tom and Sandra. And I hear Doug.

I recently acquired the BlueRay disc of one of my favorite films: Truly, Madly, Deeply. In it, the main character, who is a translator, hears her late lover's voice speaking to her in Spanish. But he didn't speak Spanish, until... In TMD, there is an afterlife where you can take language courses. Or, you can choose to come back to your lover's apartment, bring some friends with you, and watch some classic videos. It's a funny, touching, and heartfelt expression of what we are capable of when our pain, or our other's pain, becomes unbearable. And pain of loss often feels that way. I do fear that the more loss you experience, the more you become used to it. And that's not good.

Joel came over last night, and we listened to music that I had enjoyed with my cousin. It was a rock and roll extravaganza of Spirit, and Quicksilver Messenger Service with a lot of Buffalo Springfield and Jefferson Airplane. Through the music, and with Joel, I allowed myself to feel the pain and the loss of Caryn, while celebrating what we had shared in our lives. She was a unique and independent woman. She was my closest family. She was another woman in my life who I felt unconditionally loved the people in her life, including me. Which is is a skill. A talent. And a God-given gift.

I will miss her, too, forever.

Ten Days That Didn't Shake the World

Los Angeles, California

It started in late September when my friend, Lisa, invited me to be her guest at a wine tasting fundraiser for our mutual friend's dance company, Donna Sternberg and Dancers. Donna taught at Jane Fonda's workout, and after its closing, I had followed her to another studio, which is where I met Lisa. We were both taking a step aerobics class. Lisa is a petite thing, but she always stacked two steps. I aspired to the two-step workout, but spent most of my time moving steps on and off as I, Goldilocks-style, was wanting a step-and-a-half system (which was not going to happen). It was great to see Donna again, after almost two decades since I had moved on to pilates with the lovely Cathy, my friend and Chinese-medicine practitioner/pilates trainer, and to salsa dance for cardio.

The wine-tasting, auction, and two-course dinner was fun, held in a home in my absolute hands-down favorite place in Los Angeles -- Rustic Canyon. It was a lovely first of Fall afternoon and evening. Again, good to see Donna again, as well as spend an evening as Lisa's date.

I didn't get to be Lisa's date at dinner at her home the following week, when she and her husband, Steven, hosted a Sukkot celebration outside on their patio. Steven explained the significance of the holiday and celebration which was interesting. October is my favorite month, so any celebration of harvest is going to be a good one. The dinner was amazing, the wine was The Prisoner, and I went home in a happy harvest haze.

On Sunday the Dodgers closed their season in San Francisco by sweeping the Giants. As this was happening, I made a momentous decision. After not having attended any games at Dodger Stadium in the 2018 season (though there were a couple of away games), I bit the bullet and got tickets for the MLB National League Western Division Tiebreaker game against the Colorado Rockies. I had, early in the season, told Lynnette that I was bailing on the Dodgers and becoming a Rockies fan. Of course she never bought that. And now, here were Joel and I, on a Monday at Dodger Stadium, clearly cheering the Dodgers to a Division win.

What was it like being back at Dodger Stadium a year later? Not bad. Still WAY too loud. Remarkably shabby. It's a shame, and hopefully the tide will turn (as in so many other areas of present life), and some attention will be given to giving the Dodgers a decent place to play, as well as the fans a more comfortable place to watch them. For now, it really is an ugly mess. I'm not much for tearing down old structures, but when something is so clearly shabby and junky (the Queen Mary also comes to mind), maybe it's time to rethink the preservationist movement. But, at any rate, Joel and I had great fun together at the game, as we always do. Joel came late to baseball, but he increasingly enjoys the game and even more so when the Dodgers are winning. What he is not big on is fighting the traffic back out of the stadium. Another good reason to use Lyft.

So, that was my ten days that didn't shake the world. And that's a good thing. As time goes by, I appreciate my undershaken days ever more. So, my time with old friends, Joel, and the Dodgers was well-spent and relished.

As for the next ten days, it's yin and yang: the first of Joel's wrist surgeries; Lynnette's visit including Ticket to Ride, my current favorite board game, then my first MLB Post-season Dinner Party + Watch, with the rest of the month speeding up as I commence construction here at Casa Healy. While I don't enjoy construction and repairs, having done it before, like most things in life I am getting better at it. The key is in trying to have a good relationship with your workers. Coffee and donuts definitely help!

Thank you for reading my blog and GO DODGERS..!