Hello In There

I was walking down 42nd street one day, I wasn't workin'42nd street I was walkin 42nd street.
And this amazing thing happened to me. It was July it was about 89 degrees. It was hot, hot for New York
You know and I was walking east and this humungous person was coming west.
And she had this big blue house dress on peppered all over with little white daisies.
She was almost bald but sitting on top of her head, forehead you know, on her forehead was this fried egg.
Which I thought was really unusual. Because in New York City the ladies with the fried eggs on their heads
don't generally come out until September or October you know.

Here was this lady, this demented lady with a little fried egg on her head in the middle of July.

God what a sight and ever since I saw that lady not one day goes by that I don't think of
her and I say to myself "Oh God, don't let me wake up tomorrow and want to put a fried egg on
my head. Oh God.

"Then I say real fast I say " Oh God, If by chance I should wind up with a fried
egg on my head", cause sometimes you can't help those things you know, you can't.

I say to myself "don't let anybody notice."

And then I say real fast after that "if they do notice that I'm carrying something that's not quite right and they want to talk about it, let 'em talk about it but don't let 'em talk so I can hear. I don't want to hear it."

Cause the truth about fried eggs, you can call it a fried egg, you can call it anything you like, but everybody
gets one, some people wear 'em on the outside, some people they wear 'em on the inside."

Bette Midler

I have this theory- if there is something you need to know- something maybe you were...avoiding. Like something you need to do, but are... putting off DOING. The universe lets you hear it. Repeatedly. From the most disparate places. Like a friend will call out of the blue after being out of touch for years. And then a bag lady will say it. And then- it's in the Wall Street Journal and before you see in written by a skywriting plane you say "OK! OK already! I got it."

Whatever it is. You can't avoid the truth when it wants hearing.

Last night's post was really close to- well- a bit of truth. Real truth. And I just put it out there. And struggled all night long. Take it off- I thought- no one needs to hear that- it's not FUNNY. Or newsworthy. It's just a little internal battle and it can stay inside.. or could it.

This morning K's phone number was on the caller ID. I called back- "just checking up" he said. "I'm FINE, great wonderful. " I said. "I know you're ok." he replied. I just wanted to TELL you that you were OK." OK...

VLH called just to gloat a little about his perch on a palm shaded veranda, and to say ... well, not everything should be so public- but in his words-it was all good.

And then I ran into an old friend from the big enormous paper store. She ran out from under a building overhang and grabbed me as I walked by bear-hugging me and almost knocking me over. "Keep writing, Mel" she said. "Thank you for saying the stuff I didn't, and wanted to."

And I picked up a book. On becoming human. It stresses that for the world to be a better place. It begins with being vulnerable and openly imperfect. If I say I am scared, or flawed.,,, it's a bit easier for YOU to say so as well. Allows the world to love you when you need it. And loving you helps them, too. And allows you to see yourself as not alone- which you were- when you were being so brave and strong and faking your ASS off. And afterwards- it wasn't so much a fake. Loved people are stronger.

And all the way home I thought about K. And my bear hugging friend. And the book I picked up out of a pile at the Salvation Army for a quarter. And how in one naked moment I said "ouch" out loud and got a band-aid and a boo-boo kiss.

So there is something to be said for this mad-crazy fried egg wearing life. And that something is "thanks".

:) X

Where faith lies

"faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see" Hebrews 11

Interesting conundrum, faith. "Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to"- that is what Maureen O'Hara tells a 6 year old Natalie Wood in the "Miracle on 34th Street". Her very intelligent response is "That doesn't make sense Mommy". And there we have it- even at 6 a New Yorker can see if the sign doesn't say "Walk"... we ain't walking- common sense overrides our belief in our faith in our feets. We may run- but we're not walking.

In "Rent" one man living with AIDS said- I'm a New Yorker- fear's my life." But then goes on to say "I try to open up to what I don't know, because reason says I should have died three years ago... "

Moments like that- when there is nothing else- when you have exhausted all reasonable and horrible expectations. I think for many people- that is when we grab onto faith. And at least if the worst happens- we can face it with less fear.

Lately I have been struggling with things going well. I feel almost as if I have lived my life with a bomb shelter in the basement- all ready should the worst come I could hide encased in cement. But truly, even being in a safe place- encased in cement is no way to live your life. It's cold. It only comes in gray. Quelle drab. Very not me.

I have spoken of my fears before- snakes, motorcycles, excel spreadsheets and bonus checks- we all have our own mishegoss- that is the Yiddish word for... nonsense. I'm just brave, or foolish enough to own up to mine. And lately the question of faith is in what is going well. What if it's GONE? And had you ever asked me I would say I was the Charlie Brownest of optimists tearing up to the football EVERY time. But I think it may be that my faith has been not so much that the ball would be there but that I would survive the fall and the disappointment. I'm a New Yorker- fear is my life. There is no basis for dealing with all this good...

I told a dear friend the other night-" I don't know what I want." He laughed- "It sounds like you ABSOLUTELY know what you want- and you're getting it" and smirked at me. I reminded him that having an MSW isn't the same as having a license to be a smart-ass.

And being a scrappy survivor means folks ADMIRE you. When things are going well all you can DO is fake humility (no... the extra income is no big deal) Or minimize (It wasn't a HUGE bunch of flowers- just kinda...big) Or put it down (Yes the next trip is Hawaii but I have to WORK you know) This goes over like a lead balloon- especially if you are buying a sundress in February and the girl behind the counter asks WHY you are buying a sundress- this answer gets you tax charged on your purchase- even if there is no tax on clothing in New Jersey. I take this on the chin- this person is helping just a teensy bit to restore my faith in the status quo- things SHOULD be going badly. Shouldn't they? Oh wait- I just checked the receipt- she charged me for sunglasses- not tax. Oy.

So if faith is knowing what you want- or at least being sure of what you hope- shouldn't I hope for the best? Truth is I already have it. And when I get a bit shaky- I know who I can ask. Yov asks how good can you take it- I dunno. But it'd be a hell of a leap of faith to strain myself a little to find out. I guess for me faith comes a minute at a time- if the last year in any indication- the minutes are pretty good. I grateful for the minutes.... for me, it's where faith lies.

Looks like Four of a Kind

"Four of a Kind" Cassius Marcellus Coolidge

I recently read a list in a magazine out of LA about how artists can sell their work-specifically painters. I CANNOT resist a list.The list read as follows:

Tips for artists who want to sell

* Generally speaking paintings with light colors sell more quickly than paintings with dark colors .

* Subjects that sell well-: Madonna and Child, Landscapes, flower paintings, still lifes (free of morbid props...dead birds, etc.)nudes, marine pictures, abstracts and surrealism.

* Subject matter is important. It has been said that paintings with cows and hens in them collect dust...while the same paintings with bulls and roosters sell.

This list made me completely dispeptic. Hiccup-py actually. Bright colors? Yet Van Gogh only sold works to his family in his lifetime- no one else would touch em. Dark Paintings- you mean like anything by Rembrandt or perhaps...ooo the second most recognizable painting (arguably) in the world; the Mona Lisa?

I once dated- very briefly, a man named Richard- he had an awful last name that sounded very much like a dead wet fish being slapped on a countertop- that, in my mind made a long-term relationship unthinkable. No, really. His issue (aside from his surname) he could not tell good art from bad. And he was ironically in a position to advise large corporations on how to invest money in art as a tax shelter. He described this...disability and likened it to being color-blind. It all just looked like paint (or ink, or whatever) applied to a flat surface. He wanted me to teach him- give him the Cliff Notes actually- as to how he could immediately identify good art from bad. I goggled. I asked him- You mean- you want me to give you...examples of good and bad art? Like- Dogs Playing Poker-bad- American Gothic-good?

Dogs playing Poker? he said. Yes- you know, 4 dogs playing-- He stopped me- he said YEAH I know- I LOVE that painting- it makes me laugh. And the dogs look really, real. I have one in my HOUSE.

Oh. Oops.

Years later there is a lesson in all this. To my mind what makes a piece of art successful-is liking it. Remembering it and on whatever level- laughter, tears or being moved to your wallet. Well- that's what art IS. Or should aspire to be. A vision of life slightly better than it is. And without criticism the job market for critics (and experts) is pretty bleak. So if what moves you is four of a kind- that's still a pretty good hand. Ultimately- the expert opinion just becomes a lot of cock and bull.

:) X

I See Bones....

We took a meander around the "Bodies" exhibition, me VLH and the younger Loquatious-es. We were fascinated.. and awed... and grossed out and in my head, Allan Sherman sang- to the tune of "C'est Si Bon":

"I See Bones
The doctor was looking at the X-ray
And I asked him, "What do you see?"
And he kept on looking at the X-ray
As he said in French to me:
"I see bones.
I see gizzards and bones,
And a few kidney stones
Among the lovely bones.
I see hips
And fourteen paper clips,
Three asparagus tips
Among the lovely bones.
I see things in your peritoneum
That belong in the British Museum.


I see your spine,

And your spine looks divine.
It's exactly like mine.
Now doesn't that seem strange.
And in case you use pay telephones
There's two dollars in change,
Among your lovely bones.
Oh hello there, Nurse.
Come over here and look at this X-ray.
It's really remarkable.
Look at this.
Isn't the lumbar vertebrae supposed to be connected to the clavicle?
Well I know, but with Scotch tape?
Hey, look what's in there.
Look at that, it's a stamp.
It's a 1922 McKinley ultramarine blue with imperfect perforations.
I've gotta get that out and put in my collection.
Look in there, there's printing.
What does it say in there?
"U.S. Certified Grade A."


Look at this, fascinating.
See those little round things.
Know what those are?
Those are M & M's.
Those people are right.
They don't melt!
Among the lovely bones"

And in the end we figured out

a. People look a lot like a rack of lamb when their skin is removed.
b. I will KEEP my skin, thanks
c. It freaks you out a little when folks just stand there with their skins off....



d. And that since it takes a great deal more planning than any of us could do to make anything this complicated that works- that God exists.

Then we went for ribs..

:) X

Her last letter

I got a letter from a dead woman today. Two weeks ago I learned that a woman that I'd worked with for ten years at the big famous paper store died- very unexpectedly- at 49 years of age.

The news of her death came to me when I was in Scottsdale. We were not close- but we worked next to each other. I knew the names of her sons, remembered when she met the man who became her second husband- heard every Monday in excruciating detail what she had cooked for her family over the weekend. We talked about going to lunch one day. Or taking a yoga class. It never happened. So often I think the universe plants us next to someone who seems to grow independently of you and yet- you share space and cannot help but be affected by that time. Rilke said that we change a room merely by passing through it. How much more can we be affected by sharing a room for ten years. I try and wrap my mind around it but- my brain gives a little squeal of inadequacy to the task and I start compiling a grocery list or answering e-mails.

And today I got an e-mail. This woman had written her family holiday letter. The holiday for her was the Chinese new year and it was your basic family catch-up on all the news, graduations, passings, weddings and the rest. A big year for her as her teen-aged sons had graduated high school and started college, her boyfriend of ten years became her husband and with the passing of older relatives she had become the family matriarch. In her letter she said "I don't know if I can wait until February 7th for this year to end" I shivered as I read that. Is there a voice that whispers in your ear-"better tie up those loose ends". I don't know- my rational mind says not- but there is so much the rational mind ignores in order to get to grocery lists and e-mail. Too frightening by half to acknowledge how much is invisible to the rational mind and how little control we actually have.

Photos, there were- of her wedding, her garden and her honeymoon in China. Her recognition of the simple joys and blessings in her life. And the pride in her sons. The love for her husband, her family. In talking with her day to day I know that there were challenges in loving ALL of them all the time, but love them she did and her words echoed that. Things she missed, things she looked forward to. Now that the time of raising children was passing, that love was found and firm and she had a safe and loving home- she looked outward to the planet and worried aloud as to its fate, outlined ways in which she was trying to help.

It was all little things. Nothing huge- no mention of a Nobel Prize or a cure for cancer or a new job with a blockbuster salary, no offer from Antonio Banderas to run off and be her love slave. She had it. She saw it. And as she wrote, she appreciated it. Her letter ended with an exhortation to celebrate the Lunar Chinese New Year, February 7th.

I try hard to appreciate all the big changes that this year has brought me. And right through our own New Year I still struggled with all the comings and goings in my life. Tonight I was reminded, several times and on the most profound level that all the little blessings make a life for which to be extremely grateful. That insomnia brought on by a strange bed is ok if offset by the opportunity to watch a sunrise on a new horizon. That traffic can be bearable because for the first time in my life I'M driving- and God bless everyone else on the road. That missing someone- is really a testament to finally, finally finding someone worth missing- who misses you right back. That seeing old loves as they truly are doesn't mean you were foolish then- just a bit wiser now, and loving them still, just as they are. And when I went to the vending machine at work tonight- working another late night and pressing the button for pretzels and having the machine deliver a bag of M&M's as a little gift on the side.

My friend reminded me tonight as I spoke of something pressing on my heart; "Remember Zama." she said. And I do. Because even though she is no longer in the room. She effects me still. Only now I am aware. And I can thank her. And that is no little thing. Happy New Year Z.

Be My Valentine

"The heart isn't heart-shaped, that's one of our problems."

Julian Barnes

I'm late. Not for Valentine's Day of course- with eight days to go I have oodles of time to write this- but I can't. Maybe it's my all-too-many years in retail where Valentine season begins on January 2nd- never too early to instill fear in the heart of every male who thinks he might have missed it. But I have SUCH a backlog of things I want to write- about how I fell for the antique cars at Barrett Jackson or that Las Vegas was more than tits- not a whole LOT more, and maybe they were the highlight of my trip but there are still a few thoughts kicking around I'd like expressed. And then there is getting ready for Hawaii though I cannot imagine writing about it- just the research has led me to the extremely STRONG opinion the Hawaiians rely much too heavily on vowels and I can't spell a damned thing. Programming the Garmin down there is going to be a hoot, I feel it coming.

But the heart is on my mind. And Valentine cards, as I have not made mine yet. I try to make mine. And if I don't- I don't sent store bought ones- I just sulk. I am hoping in all the busy-ness to at least pull out the red paper and glitter and remind a couple of my closest friends I love them. I made a bunch last year and didn't send one 'til July- I was mad at the person- that didn't mean I didn't love them. And love is one of those things that keeps.

A few Valentine facts

Every year around 1 billion Valentine cards are sent. After Christmas it’s a single largest seasonal card-sending occasion.

Teachers receive the most Valentine's Day cards, followed by children, mothers, wives, and then, sweethearts. Children between ages 6 to 10 exchange more than 650 million Valentine's cards with teachers, classmates, and family members.

The second fact... teachers get more Valentines than anyone. This, along with summers off may be the reason folks BECOME teachers- it certainly can't be the pay. And children are the largest group of card givers-and most of them don't even have their own money! Anatomy says that a child's heart is actually much larger than an adult's- 1/130th of their body weight as opposed to 1/300th in an adult. And the heart is the first organ to develop in the embryo. This isn't really a surprise. Remember the box in the front of the classroom for Valentine's day? You gave a Valentine to EVERYONE, but didn't sign the one you gave to the person you truly wanted for your Valentine. I didn't anyway. Joey Tormey if you are reading this- Valentine circa 1972- that was me. Forgive the peanut butter kiss marks- my mom always hid the lipstick.

"Let's start at the beginning. Love Makes you happy? No. Love makes the person you love happy? No. Love makes everything all right? Indeed no. I used to believe all this of course. Who hasn't? (Who doesn't still, somewhere below decks in the psyche)? It's in all our books, our films; its the sunset of a thousand stories. What would love be for if it didn't solve everything? Surely we can deduce from the very strength of our aspiration that love, once achieved, eases the daily ache, works some effortless analgesia?"

Julian Barnes

Saint Valentine was a felon imprisoned under Claudius the 2nd for secretly marrying young men and women when the emperor forbade it. His letters to his niece were signed "your Valentine". He died for love. I wonder how he would feel about a 70% divorce rate. I don't think he would change much. He'd want them to at least try- to take that leap for love- even if two people are only that brave for one moment, it is a moment is worth celebrating.

Two Valentine's Days stand out for me. When I was oh so young my then special person MADE me a Valentine, each year for the seven we'd been together. I do not know if it was that we had no money- or that we'd both gone to art school- I choose to think it was because that made it special. And real. He proposed one Valentine morning by taping a white ring box to the top of my Kermit the Frog alarm clock so I couldn't slap the snooze button, as was my daily custom. I remember looking only at the box and then turning to look at him lying still on his pillow-his eyes wide open and a bit scared- "will you?" he asked. I hadn't even opened the box. I can't remember what I said but it must've been something like "yes" because we married that June.

The Valentine's Day I was six is still clear- I got the first heart shaped box of chocolates of my own. It was red foil and held eight pieces of Whitman's chocolates in tightly pleated little brown waxed paper cups. The cover of the box read "Be My Valentine" in gold letters and it was from my dad. I'd like to say that I treasured it and would not touch it but the truth is... I kept the box for years- I doubt the chocolates lasted an hour. I am certain I didn't share. And just as certain that year that I had the best Valentine, my dad, and that he loved me.

I would like to say that we lived happily ever after- but I think I knew there was a change when my Valentine came from a store one year. Or say that I get chocolates from my dad, but he hasn't been around for quite some time. In both cases- I wouldn't change the past- or have missed those moments, especially if I knew the future. Some memories are precious and perfect just as they are.

"And so it is with love. We must believe in it or we are lost. We may not obtain it and find it renders us unhappy; we must still believe in it. If we don't then we merely surrender to the history of the world and to someone else's truth." Julian Barnes

So I'm getting out the red paper, and the deckle scissors, some glitter and rhinestones and whatever inspiration the back-to- school aisle at the Duane Reade offers up. I have my work cut out for me.

"What will survive of us is love." Philip Larkin