Some Things My Husband Taught Me

The great thing about a spouse, or a best friend, is they bring things, ideas, philosophies and ways of being into your life that you never ever could have adopted on your own. And then they become part of you--but you always know they gave you those lessons as a gift.

So here are three from my husband. They are part of why I love him.

1) Always tip street musicians. Good or bad. Talented or Suckass. They are putting music out into the world and sharing that beauty. Give them a dollar. Or five. Buy their CD. Tell them you love what they do.

2) If you think someone is cool, or smart, or great, or inspiring, or can teach you something, or you just want them in your life, take them to lunch and pick up the tab. You will never forget it, and neither will they.

3) When some great opportunity drops into your life--do not hesitate--leap and jump in. Perhaps the timing is not right. Perhaps it is scary. Perhaps it costs money you feel like you do not have. Perhaps it is not the plan, the dream you had--even if it is really cool. But do not walk away, and do not take it for granted. Those opportunities that truly change your life only happen once in a blue moon--maybe only a few times in your life. When they come, there is no negotiating--you are in or you are out. You have to jump, jump in, and seize the day. Later you will wonder how you ever thought of NOT doing it. Stay open--or you will miss these moments--and you will never even know what passed you by.

What about you? Did anyone you love ever teach you some great lesson that changed how you live?

Sick Sick Sick

My boys are sick--fevered and vomiting and coughing, and watching waaaaay too much television.

I am up at night mopping fevered brows and taking boys to throw up in the toilet, or giving more advil to keep fevers down. Then I rise and go to work, and pray that my head-ache is something else--not coming illness.

All weekend we were still and quiet. I read stories, and cuddled and coddled and nurtured. We ate soup and went to bed early and barely moved at all.

And it felt like the sweetest, most luxurious time, to lie in bed with my boys, to sip tea, to read chapter after chapter of a good book without falling asleep or having to rush off.

Sickness, yes, but sweetness, too.

The Season of Yin

We are a culture of yang--that is what I learned in my one Chinese medicine class before I dropped out. We are about constant action, with no rest, no respite. We do not believe in that--and when we lag we feel bad, or we medicate, or we drink more caffeine (my preferred route).

If we are still, not moving, not thinking, we feel compelled to justify, to explain, to make excuses. Because for us, being still is not valued.

Yoga studios get that. That is why you pay $20 for that final five minutes when you lie on your back in shivasana in total stillness. Some yoga studios do not even have shivasana, because they say that some practitioners cannot stand the stillness at the end of the class.

I feel guilty. I am the daughter of a Navy man who prowled the house and thought anything not active was a crime. I am mostly active, but I desperately need my stillness, my alone time. At 45 I have finally accepted something. January 6 to March 1 is my Yin time. I sleep more and get chubby. I still exercise and move--because as much as I would like to hibernate like a bear--alas, I cannot.

But I will rest, stay home. I will indulge my desire to be still, to read, to think. I believe, deeply believe, that all great things follow both periods of activity,and periods of rest. Because in the periods of rest seeds take route, things start to happen, ideas grow, and travel. Like winter, those periods feel like everything is dormant, but actually, beneath the surface, the most important things in the world are happening.

That is what I am trying to believe is happening right now.

In my season of yin.

How about you?

Marriage Is Hard

I wanted to be a mother. Being a mother feels natural to me. I wanted to be a wife. And I want to be married. I really do. But being married is hard. Or being married being well, loving my husband well, is hard. For me.

Send me a prayer. Or a good wish.

Please.

Target Missoni!

Back in September, when the Target Missoni madness gripped all fashion conscious females in America, I missed the boat. I didn't even hear about the Missoni collection the day it launched until 9 a.m. when there were already news stories that the entire collection was already sold out.

I was devastated. I never would have gotten up at 5:00 a.m. to wait by the computer and log on like a feverish Sixties femme fatale, but still.

That night, tho, I logged on to see what I had missed. I was so sad. I had missed a lot! But it all felt like an historic moment--a moment I was part of. So I sought out every item (clothing, not housewares) that was still there, and bought two things. They don't even look Missoni, but they look cool. A pea green sweater with fuschia striped trim (for real!) and a miraculously chevron pleated black skirt that looks unbelievably elegant--if not Missoni.

Months went by. Target told me first it would be a month or two, then they told me I could give up if I wanted. But I stood by--like I had invested in the stock market, or wine futures. One day, I knew, the items would come. And I would be happy.

Well, they came. And I love them. I am wearing my pea-green sweater now, and I wore my pleated black skirt to work this week. It was a hard week, but just knowing that I could get up and wear my gorgeous Missoni products made life better. Am I superficial?

J told me I looked like a Sixties co-ed in my sweater. And I look like an elegant Roman housewife in my pleats.

Is there anything better than a cheap bargain version of a beautiful thing?

Good gracious me, I do not think so.

Old PIctures

In the Japanese tradition, on New Year's Day we dove into our house and tried to deeply declutter. Only two closets and two rooms in we had about eight trash bags of stuff to go, and were sneezing from old dust. LIberating. Freeing. Today the purge will continue.

BUT, in the midst of the purge I came across an old roll of film. (film. remember film?) J snuck off and developed it this week and it was like a time capsule from four years ago. It was a series of photos from Xmas of 2008--we estimate. There are clues, but we cannot be certain.

There are our boys, in their footie pajamas. Theo, already himself in hair, personality, expression. But Benji, so different. And I remembered again, how odd Benji was. He emerged into the world so clingy, so needy, so uncertain. Even Theo picked up on it--there he is with that Benji expression, mouth open, staring slightly dumfounded into the camera, as if to say. "Why am I here? Why do these people drag me to these strange places? Make me wear these strange hats? Who are they and what do they want?"

He used to not meet Jonathan's eyes. He did not talk until he was nearly three. He was unbelievably clingy--always leaning, needing, wanting, even in his sleep.

It was if he were born with a cloud over him, some shadow from a past life. It was as if he had a horrible past life, and he could not believe he had to return and do this all again. Life. He was born weary. Not wanting to be here. But then around three or four the cloud dispersed. He became himself. He started to talk. To be mischeivous. That lost, mouth-open why-am-I-here expression disappeared.

He is here now. Ready to be here. Still snuggly, but not in need of warmth on his cheek from the mama every second. He is in this life and believes life can be good. The shadow of his past life--or whatever that was--is gone.

I Twitter: Tweet Tweet

I signed up. I tweeted three times. I have one follower: my devoted husband, who indoctrinated me, brought me along on his journey, and got me excited. We are the last in America to tweet and the technology was surprising, thought-provoking. I leaned over his shoulder here and there, taking it it, editing his tweets, offering recommendations. In a day he had 30 followers, in a month close to 200 (am I hallucinating?) A lot are porn stars, with names like waxmyvagg. I don't know if I will get them. He said the porn star ratio stays pretty steady--more followers also means more porn star followers.

It is reductive. Yes. It distills you to your very essence. If you love all the messy details of life you are in BIG trouble. And yet, you do get to the nub of people. Boring when you are only promoting. Unless you are promoting how funny you are--that is funny. Some are brilliant, delightful, like a daily vitamin. They just leave you happy, like a bite of chocolate. It's fleeting, but a pick me up. Mine is not personal. Mine is to promote VoxHollywood. Twitter seems best for that: a one note advertisement on a single message. Stay on point. The perfect sound bite. You edit it yourself.

I am still an oval on a square--later I will put up a logo. Still, I am excited. It is a small, real step towards the paper. I KNOW I can do 160 characters three times a week about Hollywood. I can establish my voice, experiment (just me, my husband and my porn star followers--if I am lucky...).

Sad posts are supposedly funny people who are not funny. Or supposedly cool people who are not cool. You want to avert your eyes. You feel embarassed for them. It is worse than facebook.

You know it leaves some people isolated in a narcissistic universe where it is just them, alone, living for thousands, but really, no one cares, at all. It allows them to keep up the illusion. Should tools like that be allowed? Is that healthy?

But some people have voice in 160 characters. They really do. They provoke. They recommend. They delight. They make you think. They make you grateful. They make you laugh.

Even I do not know what will come out of me. Will I hate my twitter personality? Will she bore me with her observations? Or sicken me with her earnestness? Will she revel in the brevity, since she never gets to do that? Will her tweets be like poetry? A running commentary? Filled with self-importance (GOD! I hope not!)

I am not a natural tweeter, but I am up for this. I am diving into the future, and this is just one more funky body of water. Shallow water.