The Not Full Circle

I wonder where she is today. I miss them very much.

***

This is the post that I've avoided writing for months. Mostly because I've so wanted to have a different ending to this story of K and the kids. But in fact, this story only ends with a mystery and that is very saddening and dissatisfying to me.

I am not one for uncertainty, as most people aren't. I expect explanations and causes and reasons and facts. I expect to get the answers I'm looking for.

But in order to feel like there's not a shadow hanging over me anymore, I'll post this non-end, non-story and hope that after I finish, I'll have picked up some sort of lesson learned.

Shit, now I'm crying as I type this. I didn't want to cry but I can't help that now.

***

Many of you were so kind and generous to support K and her family when I first met them on a cold sidewalk in April. I can't even begin to backtrack this story but most of you who will read this already know the journey of this little family. I think it's because of you that I've been holding out on wrapping things up, mostly because I know that you as well as I wanted to end this story in the manner that we had envisioned.

It's not like there's a bad ending to this story. It's just that there's no ending, no satisfaction I can give you. My goal had been to help them get set up in their new home, which they may very well be living in by now. I had many of you onboard to donate household items and things for the kids. All I needed was the address to send these things to.

At the end of July, early August, right after my grandmother passed away, things were coming to a definite direction with K and the kids. They were days away from moving into their new home. Just about at that time, I lost contact with them. K's second cell phone was broken and supposedly it was getting repaired. I had no more money to give them, but we tried to keep in touch. She gave me an address where they would be moving so I could set up the wishlists for people to send items to. But the address was incomplete, or wrong.

Long story short, I could not get back in touch with her to confirm the address. I had made K promise not to leave town without saying goodbye and she had given me her word that I would see them again. But I never did. I've looked for them downtown so many times and in not seeing them in places I would have expected to, I can only hope that for whatever reason I do not know where they are, that they are warm and safe and healthy.

I did not think that K's birthday would go by without me seeing her and giving her a present. She turned 29 this past October. Her daughter's birthday is two days after mine. And now here it is, Christmas Eve, and my heart just breaks. Not because I can't be with them, but because it makes me sad to think that I won't know how those kids are, what will happen to them. They're beautiful, good kids, trust me. Those of you who met them know this.

***

I haven't written this post because I just couldn't bring myself to do it. For the longest time, I blamed myself for failing in some way. Which is ridiculous but it still didn't keep me from feeling like a total loser. If you know me, you know I don't like to do anything half-assed and I don't like to fail. And all this felt like was a total FAIL.

And I still get emails from people who want updates, which is totally normal and expected. It's not normal for someone to disappear from your life like that, poof! without some reason why. I can't explain it myself and the last thing I've wanted to do is cause others to doubt K and the fact that she truly needed us, and that we truly helped her. Because we did and that is something I DO know.

I've had different reactions from people, some who are angry at her on my behalf ("after all you've done for her?!") and the expository questions ("do you think she went back to her abusive husband?", "do you think she was lying to you?") and after a while, that stuff just made me extra crazy too. Honestly, I kept waiting for the phone to ring. And I didn't want to feed anyone else's imagination when I didn't have the facts.

In my heart of hearts, I know K is a good mother. She had to be to take her children away from such a dire and dangerous situation. I am trying to be okay with the idea that this is really where the story ends, as far as I am involved. It's hard. It's not what I wanted.

***

At the end of the day, what I hope most for them is that they are happy and well and taken care of. I know I played a tiny part in their lives to that goal. Along the way I made new and wonderful friends that I still cherish.

Perhaps someday that phone will ring and I'll know more. K has my number. Perhaps, but I won't wait on it anymore. It's time to move on and let the story be what it is: unfinished. I never thought a story without an ending could be a good one but I'm going to hope that this one is.

***

ps. To all of you good hearts out there who are reading this and understand, thank you. I do feel better for writing this all down now.

pss. I have to thank Lisa at HAMO for inspiring me this morning to sit down and write this post. Like me, she is just a regular person who wanted to make a difference, and in her way, she is doing amazing things to help mothers and children in need.

Desert Hearts

Princess Chubness and her pal, Wolfie

***

It's the day I leave Las Vegas, and now I wish I was just arriving. The perfect, identical suburbs, the wide open barren places and the crazy confabulation of "entertainment" in this town leave me feeling lonely.

But nestled in amongst all of this are pure and sweet hearts. You see two of them here.

It may be nice to be an Auntie (Mame or otherwise), because you avoid the crying, the diapers, the sleep deprivation. However, you miss the giggles, the hugs, the clutching, furtive steps to try to walk, the joy in seeing other people love you for just being you.

Today is my birthday and I'll be spending part of it in an airport by myself, headed home to the city I love. But I'll be leaving a part of my heart behind in this desert, because a tiny girl has stolen it with her chubby hands and won't give it back.

what would have happened.

I found this photo today. I wish I could call her and tell her I'm going to be in the newspaper on Thursday. She would have loved to have a clipping to show her friends.

***

I am supposed to be in the newspaper on Thursday. October 1, in the San Francisco Chronicle. (When I say I, I mean me and the i live here:SF project.)

I say supposed to just because, well, you know how things are. I guess the Chron could still change their minds and not run the story but I should be more confident about it and say Yes, I'm going to be in the paper on Thursday. You should pick up a copy. And get an extra for a friend.

I'm still going to be excited about the whole newspaper story in a little while, but that sharp sticking poke of loss from finding Little Helen in my photo software is taking a few minutes to shake off. Keeping busy does wonders in the intentional forgetting and moving on department but it still does catch up with you.

I can picture her sitting in that blue recliner, next to her metal TV tray with a collection of PARADE magazines and clipped coupons and cough drops, with her collection of small, perfectly sharpened ends of pencils (she liked to save the tiniest bits of pencils and rubberband them in bunches), and this newly printed newspaper article about her first granddaughter, who has a photography project that got into the San Francisco newspaper. Can you believe it? Little Julie Michelle! In the newspapers!

She would call me and tell me how proud of me she was.

I know she would.

...

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death. ~ Anaïs Nin

People often say that this or that person has not yet found himself. But the self is not something one finds, it is something one creates. ~ Thomas Szasz



The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

***

At first blush, I can't seem to put my finger on what I want to say here. Again, I rely on pictures and other people's words.

Well, that's probably not correct.

I can say it, but I won't.

The end of one thing, the beginning of another

summer's last rose

***

It is a grey, windy day. I walked over to Golden Gate Park which is positively overrun by people going to see the Tutankhamen exhibit at the de Young museum. The cars clog every sidewalk curb and jam themselves like puzzle pieces in the small intersections.

I went to the park to see what I could find. Actually, I needed to find something for a project (for lack of a better word) and then I saw this little rose, just hiding next to a curb.

I gave this blossom a story: that it was either waiting to be discovered or waiting to crumble.

Next week, K and the kids are moving to their new home. I can't even tell you how much drama there has been this week in their little lives, all of it through circumstance, and it seems like an unfair punctuation mark to a story that has been so sad, even though the move is going to happen. I just wish their last days here had been easier or that I could have done more.

And then it dawned on me that I won't be seeing these faces again like I have been, every week, for months. It feels like yet another loss, not so sad because I know that they are moving on to bigger and better things and the way they're living now is so unsustainable and difficult, but it's still a loss all the same.

I will miss them. But unlike this little rose that no one else will notice, I hope that K and the kids know that they are noticed, and just as beautiful.

saying goodbye in our way.

My three girls together: my sister, Little Curly Girl, and Little Helen.

***

I never thought I'd laugh as often as I cried. But I did laugh. We all did.

We laughed a lot. We told stories. We still burst into tears at different times, depending on the person, but it wasn't all crying all the time.

When my mom and I went to the funeral home to iron out the details for the service, we couldn't help abhorring the depressing Muzak playing throughout the dim blandness. We resolved to bring our own tunes, music that Little Helen liked. We brought Harry James, Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw.

Before the service, Little Curly Girl wanted to dance. So I picked her up and put her on my hip, and we danced to Glenn Miller's "In the Mood."

LCG giggled as we danced and whispered in my ear: "Dip me." She likes to be dipped.

"Which way, front or back?" I asked. We dipped both ways.

Little Curly Girl went up to the coffin a few times, sometimes with her mom and once with me. She said to me, "I want to see her inside." I told her we can't do that but that Grammy's resting in there. LCG looks at me all serious and says, "I'm pretty sad that Grammy died." Nods her head. "I'm pretty sad," she repeats solemnly.

I said, "I understand. I'm pretty sad, too."

***

During the service, the rabbi had all of us go around the room and say who we were and perhaps share a story or memory about Little Helen. I really did not think I could do it. I was one of the last people to have their turn, and everyone kept saying, "Well, I met Helen through..." to start their story.

When it was my turn to speak, still not sure what I would say, it came to me... I said, "I met Helen through my mom." And got a room full of laughter. So then I could tell my story, too.

***

I didn't realize how long it's been since I really could remember my grandma in her good and sweet humor, her chubbiness, her funny way and how I used to tease her. When someone's sick for a long time, you can only focus on what is immediately in front of you and it's hard to keep it happy. I was so glad to recover the lady that I loved so well, through our shared stories, through our shared laughter last week.

A friend said to me, funerals are for the living. I didn't really understand what he meant until now, but it's true. That togetherness is what makes the loss and sadness bearable. It doesn't make it go away but it makes you realize that you will go on, and that others care.

***

One of my favorite songs is Kitty Kallen singing "It's Been a Long, Long Time." It just about killed me when I heard it played at the service, but when I got home today, I realized I wanted to play it here in this post. I found some old photos of Little Helen, ones that I had forgotten I had, photos of when she was young and voluptuous and lovely and newly married, and perhaps she danced to or sang this song.

Of course I cried my eyes out just putting these photos to music, but it also felt so right and sweet that I'm glad I did. And it is such a perfect song.

incubator

Today we had a little death in the house.

***

It was probably a big death to the being who was personally involved, and I know that I tend to use the word little far too much as a descriptor.

And now I feel guilty because I'm the one that saw the streak of gray fur out of the corner of my eye, the wiggle of the inanimate paper grocery bag on the floor as though a tiny gust of wind came from behind the stove and shook the bag, surprising me. Had there been a chair handy, I would have jumped on it and shrieked, like in the cartoons.

I thought at first I had one of those optical migraines, where artifacts not real put themselves into our reality, and we believe in them even though they are entirely manufactured in our nervous systems.

How could a mouse run so fast? I thought I had imagined it. But still I got the heebie-jeebies, so The Boy did what he does best, being The Boy of the House. He bought several types of traps (the best kinds), loaded them with tiny bits of peanut butter (per the instructions) and then placed the traps on the floor, out of my line of sight.

So all this time I thought I had imagined that smooth gray swoosh, until this morning when I saw the tail.

gray. adjective. variant, also grey: 5. having an intermediate and often vaguely defined position, condition, or character

***

I got all queasy looking at that little tail. Feeling terribly guilty and wishing I hadn't said anything to The Boy. I told him he had to come and get the trap, that it was his job as The Boy to deal with such things, and he said he would get it, in a bit.

And then he said jokingly, Tell me you're not really that much of a girl! Meaning that I had gotten all wussy on him, to which I freely admitted at that point, Yes, I am a girl. You have to throw this trap away!

***

When The Boy came to take the trap, all of a sudden I realized that I could look at the mouse (or at least the tail, and then later, its hindquarters) under the mental disguise of taking a photo of it.

In that instance, the mouse became an object. Life or the lack thereof no longer mattered. It's just a mouse.

And that thought made me feel brave, but it also made me sad – in a different way.

The old chestnut remains: the camera reveals, yet it also shields. How can one be engaged and remote at the same time?

How do we decide what we wish to see?

How do we decide how we want to see?

doppler effect

–Noun. Physics. Change in the apparent frequency of a wave as observer and source move toward or away from each other.

***

If there is an invisible part of you (your other heart, not the physical one composed of bits of matter: bosons and leptons and strange quarks), that unscientific yet very real heart still may be broken in a thousand little pieces but held together somehow (like a shattered windshield) as you rush towards what is now inevitable, can the compression of the movement before you hold those pieces together? Is that how you are able to put on your brave face?


And then, only upon receding from the situation, as the distance grows between you and what you bear witness to, that the little shards start to fall and the broken structure fails? And then you can cry behind your large dark sunglasses?

Can any wave be subject to the doppler effect? Even a wave of emotion?

As much as I love the physics of the universe (with my base, miniscule grasp of the science), there is no theorem to cope with grief, regret, loss.

***

Approaching and receding from a personal event horizon.

I took photos from my seat on the train, coming and going from the visit to Little Helen. I brought a book but could not concentrate on it, although it's a book I'm enjoying very much: Jane Jacobs' The Death and Life of Great American Cities. And after obsessively checking my email on my iPhone, I had run the battery down to almost nothing, putting an end to that activity.

So all I could do was take photos out the windows.

Trains take us around the underbellies and backsides of things, to places that we normally cannot see and have no access to.


Having the camera on continuous shooting mode, hearing the click click click click in rapid procession, ticking off the world going by in bite-sized pieces, that made things feel more manageable. Just hearing the sound of the shutter was good.

You probably cannot tell from this photo, but the plane is Air France. I felt a pang of solidarity and goodwill seeing that takeoff from my train's seat, thinking Good for you, you got back on the horse, Air France. Safe travels and go go go!

Go Greyhound and leave the driving to us!

Where the wrecks go

{The Boy: Do you want to talk about it?}
{Me: No. (cries)}

Can you read the sign? I didn't realize what it said until just now.
There is Help.
1.800.Suicide
So people don't jump in front of moving trains.

So those are things you see while riding the train.

***

Yesterday Little Helen turned 91.
June 24, 1918 is her birthday.

The hospice nurse came. And these lovely people from the assisted living center brought a piece of birthday cake she cannot eat but we put it in the freezer anyway in the hope that she can have a taste sometime in future. They sang. I am convinced that people from the Philippines are the nicest people in the world. My mom and I looked around the room, the defensive thing you do with your eyes so that you don't cry in front of others when you're supposed to be looking happy.

Little Helen is home now, for a little while.
I guess, in truth, all of us are home, for a little while.

I write these things down because I don't know how to say them out loud. And then when I do, I feel like I understand an infinitesimally tiny amount more than I did a moment ago. Only it's never enough. And then the understanding is gone again, so fleeting, just like the tracery of a quark's trails.

dnr

on Haight Street

The days where you take one step forward, and then two steps back... this is one of those times.

Little Helen, my grandma, is back in ICU today as of 3:30am. She finally finally got out of the hospital just days ago (again), and was doing much better (again), and was looking forward to getting back home in time to meet Baby Princess Chubness for the first time ever, and hopefully going to LCG's birthday celebration. My little curly girl niece will be three years old next week.

And my poor Bunny. I won't even go into it but this is the first time the conversation contained the letters DNR. Do Not Resuscitate.

dnr dnr dnr

My brain is so tired. I'm still a little bit sick so it makes me even more tired. Some days you just want to sit in a corner and stare at the wall.

I wasn't sure what else I wanted to say about this development, because there's really nothing one can say, or do, about the situation. Little Helen will either get a tiny bit better and maybe she'll get out of the hospital, which is becoming more difficult with each return visit, or she'll get worse and then that will be it. DNR.

But I found this poem. And in keeping with the post I wrote on Sunday, I think it is a continuation on a theme.

The Dash Poem

by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end

He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

a sea change

sea change
n.

1. A change caused by the sea: "Of his bones are coral made:/Those are pearls that were his eyes:/Nothing of him that doth fade,/But doth suffer a sea change" (Shakespeare).
2. A marked transformation: "The script suffered considerable sea changes, particularly in structure" (Harold Pinter).

***

1.	a striking change, as in appearance, often for the better.

2.	any major transformation or alteration.

***

at the Palace of Fine Arts
lingering memories from the 1915 Panama-Pacific International Exposition

Last night I went to sleep much too late. It must have been an exceptionally foggy night because the fog horn moans were much longer and deeper than I remember them sounding. Even being so many blocks away from the ocean, it made me wonder and appreciate 1. how loud those horns must be to the people that live closer to them, and 2. how many maritime disasters were averted over the years by the sounds of these horns, hidden in the fog but providing a necessary warning to those who might stray into harm's way.

***

When I was a little girl, I had a Viewmaster-- you know, that plastic gadget that you insert a reel of slides in and look through the eyeholes. My favorite reel was the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, and aside from the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, my favorite Wonder was the Lighthouse at Alexandria.

With its height, its fire and reflective mirrors, that lighthouse not only marked an incredible achievement in engineering but also provided an invaluable alert to avoid danger and destruction and loss of life.

***

Fog horns and lighthouses. Keeping strange travelers safe from harm.

***

I just have to tell you that things are better today with K and the kids. I know you were worried and so was I, and despite the fact that I won't say more about the past few days, you should know now that the sun is shining and we are back on track.

Last night, as I laid in bed and listened to the fog horns, I thought about the phrase a sea change and pondered what exactly it meant. Truly, meeting K and the kids has provided the basis for an alchemical change in me, how I see the world around me, what my opinions are about people and their nature, how I see this city from a different vantage point and perhaps how cities in general function or do not.

All of these things are good. I think some of you were worried that in my efforts to help K, that I am not taking care of myself or am putting her welfare above my own. Yes, and no. As a hedonist and selfish person, I'll never fully be able to not consider my own happiness. However, my happiness is surely linked to others and I don't find that to be a bad state of affairs. What you might read here, whether it is frustration, sadness, anger, hope or love, is true and real.

I would rather write something abrasive and honest because I have experienced it, then not to write it at all. Those who can take it and understand will stick with me, and those who can't won't, and that's fine too.

But those lighthouses and fog horns are real. We all need to see them and listen to them. For this one little family living on the edges of a world that doesn't see them, there are many many others who also need help. I think we need to start small.

I think we can all be fog horns and lighthouses in ourselves. Even if it is to guide one other person, we can do that.

xoxo

ps.: The PayPal button will be up again shortly. Use it if you can.

My Mental Hairball Is Gone

For the time being, at least.

Whatever was clogging up my mental workings appears to have been coughed up and now I'm feeling much better, thank you.

Thank you for the many many kind and loving wishes, emails and comments. I'm sure that your special brand of patience and goodwill was a large part of my swift recovery.

***

It's a really funny paradox to feel angst over losing a job you didn't really like and you knew you should be leaving anyway. I guess my inner Control Freak, who would have much rather been the one to say See ya, wouldn't want to be ya! was disgruntled at not being given that opportunity, thus creating the mental hairball of fuzzy, dark depression. As a friend used to say to me, "here's another f*cking opportunity for growth and development."

But it's a new (rainy) day and I feel fine.

***

While I was in my funk, wearing stale sweats and eating plain rice, I kept revisiting my photos and my faces for i live here: SF and it was really the only thing that made me feel good. I realized that in this project, even though I consider it still quite new, I've been meeting articulate, passionate people who have taught me things I didn't know.

In meeting them, I've wandered parts of the city I hadn't been to before, favorite places of the people in the photos, places they wanted to share and have be part of their photographs. They told me about their lives, why they live here and what they care about. A lot of information for a first date, but all interesting and positive things.

For the most part, these people are total strangers to me before we meet. I have no idea what they look like. And then after a few minutes, they're showing me their favorite parts of San Francisco, and we're talking and sharing our thoughts and interests. And then at the end of the shoot, when I've edited their photos, when they are so excited about how their photos turned out and are so very very happy, I feel like a million bucks.

I just can't get over how cool and rewarding the whole experience is, and how much I love it and look forward to these meetings. For those of you who haven't yet met Cari or Megan, I hope you will stop by and see what they've written. And there's more in the pipeline, so that's really something I look forward to, and I hope you do too.

***

In this last week, I was really worried that I had run out of things to write about here at tangobaby. Even reading other blogs and leaving comments seemed like an effort, and that scared me because I love blogging, all aspects of it, and it made me sad to think that all of a sudden, that particular well of pleasure had dried up without warning.

But the thoughts are trickling back, and I know that the more I write, the more they'll start flooding back, and so relief is in sight there, too.

***

My mom has always been my biggest and best supporter, fan and understanding soul. A few weeks ago, even before all of this falderall with work, she sent me a check and told me to buy something for myself: batteries for the camera, a lipstick, whatever. It's from her little savings account, so that makes me feel guilty as heck even though I know it makes her happy to send me the money.

But I feel like at my age, I should be sending her money. So I hadn't cashed the check, thinking that I would save it to spend on her when she comes to visit me next time, or for a rainy day. The rainy day happened to be in my head though, and while I was sitting there, looking at my photos, I wanted desperately to do something with them that would make them look even prettier.

After a day of being tethered to my chair, I made this site below and I'm very proud of it. I used the money my mom gave me to buy the template and the domain name, and even if it's a total vanity project, I feel like I've really accomplished something and it cleared the dark clouds in my mind. I had no idea what I was doing when I started and by the end of it all, I was routing DNS thingys and hosts and things I still don't understand but it works.

See what you think (click on the logo to take you there). And thank you, mommy, because you were my first believer.

lost.

Well, I wish I could say that the first day of real unemployment was just like The Staycation but better... but I can't.

Things are not so hot here at Casa Tangobaby and even though you guys would all probably make me feel better if I went and visited you all, I just don't have the whatever it is right now to do that.

So play amongst yourselves and please do visit i live here: SF and tell all of your friends about it and follow it so you can get updates and all of that good and happy stuff because it's wonderful right now and I'm not wonderful right now.

But I totally love you guys and I'll see you soon.

14,325 days ago, 4 days ago, today

14,325 days ago (39 years ago), a young man came back to the United States after his tour of duty, serving his country in Vietnam. He came through San Francisco on his way home. I don't know this man or know the details of the story, but I do understand that he was treated poorly, with disrespect and hate. It was wrong. It was undeserved.

14,325 days ago (39 years ago), I was learning to walk without the metal braces I'd had on my legs since I was a baby. No longer would people openly stare at me and ask my mother if I was a cripple, breaking her heart. I lived just outside of Washington DC when this young soldier came home to the United States, via San Francisco.

14,325 days ago is 20,628,000 minutes is 39 years.

At that time, one person became whole and one became hurt.

One stopped being stared at and discriminated against and one started to be, and neither one was to blame.

Luckily, I am the one who does not remember what that was like.

***

4 days ago this man wrote a comment on my post about my new San Francisco project, and it was an angry but sincere comment, so I published it even though sometimes I feel that when people say they read my blog, they really don't, based on the comments I get. They assume they know everything about you because you write a blog, or they know all about you based on where you live or what the color of your skin is or how much money you make.

Sometimes, including 4 days ago, people write to leave a comment so that they can be HEARD from the rooftops, my rooftops, even though those rooftops are small and not many people are listening because they're all too busy thinking about something else.

In truth, I'd rather have comments that stay on topic to the post, because then I feel like someone actually took the time to read what I took the time to write. But I'd also rather publish a comment that had some feeling in it, rather than the millisecond comment "nice blog."

***

Today, I would like to thank that man who, 14,325 days ago, served our country proudly and with his heart and sweat and tears, and also say I'm sorry that he was treated shabbily and without honor, by a nation of which some people in some places were arrogant, ignorant and insensitive. I can't apologize for those particular people, or even for San Francisco, where this hurt occurred, because I wasn't one of the ones who participated in such behaviour, and I didn't even live here.

14,325 days ago, I was learning to walk and be a little girl.

***

14,325 days down Memory Lane is a long time. I know we all wander down Memory Lane, and lots of what we remember during our travels back there end up on our blogs and sometimes those memories end up making us smile, or may end up hurting us in painful ways we thought we had forgotten.

Or else we never left Memory Lane at all, and to me that is very sad and quite a waste of a life.

I would like to think that in 14,325 days, 20,628,000 minutes, or 39 years, people or places would shift and change and that my impression of them at some time in the past would be subject to improvement.

I would also like to think that for the next 14,325 days that this man has before him, if he is to be so lucky, and all of the days that possibly lie before all of us, that we spend more time looking forward than we do looking back, if it does not serve to make our lives more joyous.

We may not have 14,325 days ahead. We may only have a few.

***

First photo taken in the Haight, where all of the sidewalks have something to say.

Second photo taken in the sweet and haunting pet cemetery in the Presidio, where beloved pets sleep forever under the freeway overpass.

If I could hold you for one hour more.

You've got to watch out for Red Shoes. Not only is she one of the most gorgeous people I've ever taken a photo of, but she knows her way around scaffolds and electricity and wires and has a toolbox way bigger than yours.

When Red Shoes asks you if you want to see one of the plays she's been working on (as a lighting designer extraordinaire, and you DO want to see her shows), she forgets to tell you to bring Kleenex or a hankie.

So far, because of Red Shoes, I have spent hours with the murdered and fallen souls at the siege of Troy, the first woman to die in the electric chair, and now a dysfunctional family who made me laugh until one of the family dies from AIDS. I'm glad I was wearing a cotton scarf around my neck, because it's the only thing I had to wipe my eyes with for the last 15 minutes of Falsettos. (Just so you know, I've enjoyed every minute of what I've seen.)

I came to this play for the rumors of the disco ball and the gefilte fish and ended up sitting with a room full of people, many older male couples, who were all blinking away tears.

No simple answers.
But what would I do
If you had not been
My friend.
My friend.
My friend.

***

Seeing this play tonight really resonated because of someone I met on New Year's Day.

In Golden Gate Park, one of the most lovely places you can walk around is the National AIDS Memorial Grove. A lot of people don't even know it's there, but it's a gentle and serene place where the spirit is soft and comforting. There is a dell of redwood trees, and well tended paths that are always quiet and peaceful.

When you enter the grove, you see this. They are the names of people who have passed away from AIDS, or those who generously try to find a cure so many years later. The names cover much more of the ground than you see here. This is all I could fit in my field of view.

On New Year's Day, I wanted to walk there.
As I headed into the grove, instead of just the empty sanctuary, I saw this gentleman and his Christmas tree. He was carefully taking the ornaments off of the tree and placing them in a plastic bucket. It was quite cold outside and he had a lot of ornaments to take off of the tree, so I asked him if he needed any help. He looked surprised and happy, so together we spent at least an hour undecorating the tree and talking.

Turns out that he's one of the people who first helped to reclaim a swampy mess full of homeless encampments in the park and turn it into the wooded, beautiful sanctuary it is today, a place that gives solace to many, even those whose lives have never been touched by loss.

As we packed up the ornaments, he showed me a faded red ribbon, with the name "Stephen" written on it in black marker. Look, he says, this was my partner. We were together for eight years before he died. He told me how they met (car breakdown on the side of the road) and about the holidays they shared, with extended family and his partner's children from a previous marriage, all grown up now. He put on a happy face and we changed the subject.

Tonight, when I saw this play, I could not help think of this kindly man and his Christmases past, and the Stephen whose red ribbon still makes one person very happy to remember him. Find someone you love right now and give them a hug if you can. I'm going to. He's asleep but I'm going to hug him and try not to wake him up.

xoxo

***

ps.: There is a documentary being made about the National AIDS Grove. You can learn more about the film and watch the trailer here.

All or Nothing/Starting Small

Words of wisdom: As you advance in age, falling asleep on the sofa is not a good thing for your back.

It is either very early in the morning or very late at night as I write this. If I was dancing tango, it would be very late at night. As things stand now, it's just very early in the morning.

A year ago today I wrote this post.

I still have that dress, that perfume, that bracelet and those shoes. I still can conjure up the feelings I had that evening just by reading my words again and listening to the music in the clip. The tango is still in me; it's like riding a bike or having sex. Even if you don't do it for a while, at your core you still know how to. For the scant remaining tango dancers that might still read my blog once in a while, you know exactly what I mean. For you new readers that came later and have never danced tango, you can use your imagination about that feeling and you'd probably be right.

I often think about why I haven't danced in months. I could say it is my personal finances that prevent it, or I could paint sweeping generalizations about the drama of participating in tango society or I could point fingers at specific people disguised in anonymity. Part of the reason is that tango, for some, requires a kind of immersion that is not copacetic with "real" life. To experience tango, for some, it's an all-or-nothing scene. Compromise is hard.

And I tend to be an all-or-nothing person.

Some people come to tango and it's like enjoying an apertif: they drink their cocktail, enjoy it, and then move on to dinner. And then there's the other people: they start with one drink and then stay until the bar closes. For them, tango cannot be practiced in moderation.

I think about going back to dance, but in the limited way I could manage, that would put me in the perceived lower echelon of random occasional dancer and that doesn't seem to be worth the effort. The retirement home of Tango.

So now I'm in this space where not dancing is like coming out of a bad romance: I don't want that guy in my life anymore, but I still think about him. Perhaps if I was younger, I would have made the sacrifice.

***

Speaking of being younger, last night I went to see something that was pretty awesome. In the inspiring, look what kids are doing today kind of way.

About five blocks away from my house is a circus school. I kid you not. The whole works: acrobatics, juggling, contortion, aerial silk and ropes. Of course they have adult classes, but I wonder how many adults could stick with such an education, even if they had comprehensive health coverage.

But those bendy and talented kids--they put on quite a show for us, a crowd of friends, family and a few random neighbors like me. It was a cross between an Andy Hardy movie (hey kids, let's put on a show in the barn!) and a seedling class of Cirque de Soleil future talent.

As much as I was enthused by the young performers and how capable they are (and slightly cringing at times in a protective reflex that someone was going to get hurt), I mostly felt so glad that these kids had the opportunity to discover something they loved from a very young age, practice it so they were advanced and talented enough to perform, and still have many years ahead to make their talents deepen. The little Julie inside me was more than slightly jealous of them having that chance. The older Julie knows not having found that creative niche as a kid has driven me to explore many kinds of outlets, tango included, but that creates the bedrock of my personal dilettantism, too.

Sometimes I feel like I'm too old to be good at anything at the deepest level. And the other part of me thinks I just haven't found that thing yet. And a tiny voice says that all of these thoughts surface in the wee hours because I should be sleeping right now.

But you'll be relieved to know for my own personal safety that I did not sign up for circus school.

Yet. They have an open house where you can try the flying trapeze and more on December 20. Hmmm.

Image: Tight-Rope Walker by Jean-Louis Forain, 1885.

The Child Inside

"The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been." ~ Madeleine L'Engle

"Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul." ~ Samuel Ullman

***

Sunday was a very long day. I took the train down, and my parents drove me to the rest home where my grandmother is. I tried to remember the nice things you told me from my last post, but it was difficult.

I think what scares me most about the idea of getting old is that I'll lose my mind someday. When we arrived, my grandma was in a panic that she had had a bad dream and someone had come into her room at night and stolen a shirt from her closet, a sweatshirt with kittens on it. She was fairly beside herself and it was almost impossible to understand what she was saying. But my grandma kept going on and on about it, making herself so upset and putting herself on the brink of tears. I finally had to say to her, Grandma, you have lots of clothes at home. We can bring you another shirt. Please. Stop making yourself so upset about it. This isn't helping you at all.

And with that, she stopped entirely. Even the teary eyes dried. My mother opened her closet to see that actually a shirt was missing, and she spoke with the nurse to make sure that no one comes in to do the laundry, that my mother will take care of it instead.

The thing is, this is how my grandma's always been but now it seems so much harder to watch because she is so frail and sick. It takes a little nothing to upset her and she'll dwell on that thing forever. I felt terrible that we had all come to see her, with dim sum from the lunch we just had, and presents to share--and none of that made a difference at all.

***

Later, after she'd calmed down, she showed me that she's started writing down her life's story. My mother has been asking her to do this for years, and she's finally begun. On eight pages of yellow lined paper, her handwriting so shaky now compared to the perfect penmanship I remember from birthday cards not so long ago, I read the first two lines to myself. "Read it aloud," Grandma says. But I don't want to. It's sad enough already. I see Little Helen writing these words: "I was born in Brownsville, Brooklyn in June of 1918. My parents were so young and beautiful when they had me. I miss them terribly."

Right then it struck me so hard, that at 90 years old a person can still miss her parents as if she were a 6-year old orphan. What I think she misses most is the idea of them, because from what I know of her childhood, it was not a happy one in any way. But somewhere in her mind there is a happy and sunny idyll, where these beautiful parents still live, and wait for her.

***

Outside my grandma's door was another resident who was sitting quietly in her wheelchair, silently wrapping and unwrapping the stuffed animal she had on her lap in a little blanket. She looked in at us often, to see if we were looking at her with her toy. My mom said this lady is often asking passersby if anyone has seen her cat. Whatever kitty she is looking for is lost to time and place, but in her mind is still very much alive, and very much needing a home.

***

My mother asked me to come back to Grandma's house. To look at some of her things now, maybe take a few, just in case, preparing for that time in the future. I walked through her home, now so quiet, looking at her collectibles and saying, I don't know. I guess when the time comes, if I want something, I'll tell you. My mom kept saying sadly, Look at all of her little things.

My mother said it would make her happy if I found a few things to take with me, that I would like to have to remember Grandma by, even now before the end. I took some lovely hats, vintage hats from the 40s, covered with tiny flowers made by an aunt who was a milliner. They fit me and I'll wear them. I took a pair of perfect white gloves, like the kind that ladies wore every day. And a couple of old slips and an old bottle of Estee Lauder's Youth Dew, because that is what I remember Grandma smelling like. I took some photos. And my mother gave me a beautiful ring, with a lovely diamond that was my Bubbie's, my grandma's mother--the beautiful mother from the yellow lined paper.

I wore the ring home on the train, watched the diamond sparkle in the last rays of the sun before it got dark outside and nothing could be seen of the world at all. I would have rather had my grandma be happy, just once, for me to see, than to have all of the diamonds in the world.

***

ps. I have had several imaginary grandmothers. My favorite one is Madeline L'Engle, which is also why I was so happy to find this quote to use for this post. I almost had an opportunity to meet Ms. L'Engle once, but poor health had caused her to cancel an event where she was to give a talk and sign books. I was to have her sign my first copy of A Wrinkle in Time, first read voraciously in the fifth grade and then regularly and often ever since, and which is probably the book I would take to a desert island with me if I could only have one. Sadly, I never got that book signed (the cover had fallen off years ago anyway), but I was so close.

From the book: "You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you."

Things I Would Tell My Grandmother

Little Helen is not doing well. I think above all else, she suffers most from a wound to her invisible heart. And that casts such a shadow on all other things, as it has colored everything in her life from birth to this moment. Now that her time is coming to an end, it seems so very sad. My mother is her mother's bridge to the world, and she is struggling to make things right for a person who is fundamentally unhappy.

I wish it were different for both of them. Today, The Boy asked me, if I had a magic wand, what would be the one thing I would change or fix. If I could, I would travel back in time to Little Helen, and try to tell her things, or show her things, that would have caused her to lead a different life, so that when she leaves this one, it is colored with hope, and not despair.

Isn't that what we all want?

To leave our mark on this world and know that we had some tiny, positive effect?
What else can we take comfort in?

***

I took these photos over the weekend in the Mission. As I thought about images and words I would share with Little Helen, my grandmother, I realized how little it takes for me, as I get older, to find enjoyment. I was surprised to see that in myself. It might only take a book that gives me something new to think about, or a walk where I might catch a glimpse of just one beautiful thing, or a new friend to meet for lunch and share a conversation about what she's doing and what I'm doing. I actively try to find those things all the time. I don't always succeed. But I always try.

***

It's too late to go back, to turn back the clock for Little Helen.
I am sad for her lost moments, her lost years.

"Never forget that you are one of a kind. Never forget that if there weren't any need for you in all your uniqueness to be on this earth, you wouldn't be here in the first place. And never forget, no matter how overwhelming life's challenges and problems seem to be, that one person can make a difference in the world. In fact, it is always because of one person that all the changes that matter in the world come about. So be that one person." ~ Buckminster Fuller

Stenciled art found on a sidewalk on Valencia Street. I love the windblown leaf that graces one of the Fridas. A flourish of nature. It is a tiny beautiful moment that will vanish with the next gust of wind. I might have been the only one to ever witness this fleeting adornment, the leaf. I am glad I was there to capture it.

When I see the face of this woman stenciled on the sidewalk, although I cannot help reflecting on her broken body, I think about how incredibly strong her spirit was.

"Often people attempt to live their lives backwards; they try to have more things, or more money, in order to do more of what they want, so they will be happier. The way it actually works is the reverse. You must first be who you really are, then do what you need to do, in order to have what you want." ~ Margaret Young

Doll parts and trinkets at a garage sale. My grandmother spent years collecting little things: dolls, plates, bric-a-brac. Now in her nursing home, her room is bare. There is no room for personal possessions. What were those little things trying to protect her from, give to her? To someone else they are just things to be passed on, sold or discarded. In the end, these things can't bring you joy, can they? Would you hold onto them above all else?

"I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy as long as I can paint." ~ Frida Kahlo

Mural on The Women's Building, Lapidge Street. To have something, a passion, a talent, an interest. Something entirely for yourself, that has nothing to do with children or husbands or friends. Something that gives you hope and purpose. Only you can find out what that thing is. You may have to try many different routes before you discover what it is that excites you, that makes you burn bright. But find that thing!

"What a wonderful life I've had! I only wish I'd realized it sooner." ~ Colette

Are you happy with where you are, who you are, what you've done so far? Yes, no, maybe so? If not, there's always room to fix it, move forward, move on, right? But you have to ask those questions first. Only you can make those changes for yourself. Only you.

"Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for." ~ Joseph Addison

***

I wish I had that magic wand. Somehow in writing this down, I almost feel that I do. Perhaps that magic wand is for me, to realize what I've just written here. I'll try to keep taking my own advice.

Stand by Me (and I'll Stand by You)

This day made heroes and memories that will live in the minds of compassionate people around the world.

Let's use the power of these memories to be our own heroes. To look out for each other.
Not to be afraid.

To shine a light.

***

We must all hang together or most assuredly we shall hang separately. ~ Benjamin Franklin

Let It Be

I sang that song at least twenty times in the car this weekend, on the way to see my grandpa in the hospital and back home again.

It was such a funny feeling to leave San Francisco, as I so rarely even drive anymore, and even more rarely leave the city limits. I just don't.

I felt like I was leaving Brigadoon. For a long time, San Francisco has been more than just a place to live, it's been my everything--the source of my living and my pleasures. I have not wanted to leave it except for my travel daydreams.

So being in the car, with real warm sun shining on me through the sunroof, both windows down, lots of empty highway around me (I was on 280, not 101), that was an odd sensation.

I liked catching the sight of my hair in the rear-view mirror, being whipped around by the wind. I sang Blondie's Greatest Hits, and a little bit from Revolver. But I had all this pent-up-ness inside of me. Part of me felt like it was going to explode and the other part was full of dreading. The closer I got to my destination, the more I could feel it building up.

And then I played Let It Be for the first time and burst out crying. It was instantaneous. I like that song a lot, but for some reason it never hit me until that moment what a song could mean. How a song could comfort you--like a person, almost.

It's probably not a really great idea to cry in the car while you're going down the freeway at speed, but if you're going to cry anyway and there's no stopping you, you might as well listen to this song.





When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be. Yeah
There will be an answer, let it be.

And when the night is cloudy,
There is still a light that shines on me,
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be