patriot act

I can't watch "I Love Lucy" anymore. It reminds me too much of her. The same strong will, the sheer determination. Nothing stood between Lucy and her crazy scheme. They were so much alike.

Like the time with the cookies. It was Christmastime 1990 and thanks to a Bush in the White House, we were building up to a war- Desert Shield, it was called at that time. Mom was seeing TV reports of all the troops away from home for the holiday and she wanted to do something nice for them. Somewhere she stumbled across a cookie recipe that was approved by the Marine Corps. It contained no processed sugar, instead it used fruit juice for sweetener. She baked a trial batch and declared it "not bad". She decided that instead of holiday cookies for the family, she would forego that this year and bake cookies for the troops instead.

I admit I encouraged her, I thought it was a cute little project that would give her something fun to do. I guessed she would make ten dozen, maybe twenty at the outset. It would give her something to talk about to the card club.

The cookies seemed to take a long time to bake. Every day it seemed she was mixing dough, or had a batch in the oven. Mother always thought big, I began to wonder exactly how many cookies she planned to bake. But it was her gig, I didn't interfere.

Finally the cookies were ready to ship. At that point I asked her point blank how many she had made. "Eleven Hundred" she said somewhat sheepishly. ""Eleven Hundred Cookies?" I asked. ""No" came her reply. "Eleven Hundred Dozen".

Eleven Hundred Dozen. Eleven Hundred DOZEN. She baked Thirteen Thousand Two Hundred cookies to send to the desert to feed to troops that she would never meet. She spent more than a month on the project. The Marines had to send four trucks to pick them all up. She received a Commendation from the Marine Corps Commander.

I told this story at the time to a client who chuckled and said, "Your Mother is quite a patriot". Yes, she was. And she was quite a Mom.

metamorphosis

According to my psychologist friend Will, the most stressful things you are likely to face in a year include a breakup, a job change, a move, and a death of a loved one.

Based on those parameters, I'm 4 for 4 last year.

Part One- Endings Planned and Spontaneous

One year ago, December 19, I quit a job that was slowly consuming my soul. I have no doubt that I made the right decision although it created economic hardship. Oh, and it was the week before Christmas. Happy Holidays.

One year ago, December 29, I broke off communication with the "straight boyfriend". He admitted, while we were at dinner following the funeral of a mutual friend, that there was now a third member of our party. I do not do well with threes.

One year ago, December 30, I went to the Blondie concert at the Key Club. This was my Christmas present from the now-ex straight boy. I elected to go anyway. Seated at the table behind me was the fabulous Dita Von Teese. who had the prior day filed for divorce from Marilyn Manson. She wore it well. We had a certain kinship that night.

Part Two- Carbon Footprint

I actually did two job changes in 2007. I took a temporary job in January as preparation for a real job that finally started in August. That part has gone well and been a lot of fun. However, it meant that I commuted from my cool mid century modern ranch house to Santa Monica for almost a year. Forty four miles round trip, in traffic that varied from tortoiselike to impassible. For the fall quarter, I was averaging ninety minutes in the morning.

No more.

I sublet a charming one bedroom in a fifties building that looks like a seaside resort, complete with floating staircases, tropical landscaping, and kidney shaped pool. My commute is now six minutes. A happy solution, but one which required careful planning. This precise little plan was of course, shattered when I got the call that Mother had passed away. An emergency trip to Michigan put everything back two weeks, and slid me into an emotional chasm. But it's therapy to keep busy, and I have had no shortage of busy.

Part Three- Big White Truck

I had been toying with the idea of a move for a few months, but I was daunted by the logistics of moving. I knew that it was impossible to move a three bedroom fully furnished house and three cars to the West Side. There just isn't that kind of room. Well, not for under a Mil. The wildfires in California this fall got me thinking. Those people, when faced with having to grab what it most important before evacuation, grabbed the family photos and the cat.

I got the idea to do more or less the same. I took the essentials- family photos and keepsakes, the coolest furniture, and the books, and left the rest. I knew I was on the right track when the moving bill was half of what it had been three years ago.

Part Four- Estate Sale

I like old things. Often better than new. I've lived in 50's furnished houses for over a decade, since a thrift store purchase of three kitchen wall sconces got me thinking about how to do a whole apartment. As a result, I have spent a lot of Saturdays at estate sales over the years. One particular seller, Cynthia, and I have always hit it off, and I make a point to visit her sales whenever possible. So I called her out of the blue and asked if it made sense to do a sale of the rest. She liked the idea and we booked a date.

She spent three days setting up the sale. The entire house was full of card tables covered with my last twenty years of accumulation. Cool bar glassware, wacky serving dishes, a passion for vintage radios and cameras, a set of color matched luggage for every classic car I've owned. Die cast cars. LP's. 8-Tracks even. Clothes. Clothes. Clothes.

And in a day, we sold it off.

Cynthia said there were 100 people in line at 9am for the sale to open. I've heard from a couple of acquaintances who were there and bought things, just checking in to make sure I wasn't dead.

Part Five- New Year's Day

I'm not dead. On this New Year's Day, I am living in a cool apartment in Santa Monica. A Westsider. I'm sure I'll develop attitude over that. My commute to work is 1.6 miles. Even driving the thirsty Disco, it will take three days to use a gallon of gas. My house isn't crowded, I have enough of me in it to feel like home, but it isn't overburdened. I can breathe here. I'm looking forward to the new year.

I wish you all much love and happiness in 2008.

jolly holiday

It is sixty eight degrees in on the pier. The sun streams brightly across a blue cloudless sky. The ocean rocks gently against the sand. Palm trees are rustling in the wind and sea gulls are buzzing them as they fly along.

There is a distinct Christmas feel in the air. It does not need snow and cold weather to make its appearance. Santa can wear sunglasses and drive a '55 Buick convertible.

Merry Christmas to all of you from a sunny day in Santa Monica.

merry christmas milly

I first heard of the Del Rubio Triplets in the late 80's. Identical triplets in go-go boots and miniskirts well into their sixties performing both Sinatra standards and the Devo songbook. Their enthusiasm more than made up for any lapse in actual talent.

Sadly, both Eadie and Elena have passed on and Milly is pressing on alone. Recently I have learned that she has been having heath challenges herself and may be facing her last Christmas season. Her friend Michael has started a campaign asking fans to send a Christmas card to Milly so she doesn't feel forgotten. Please send the cards to him, and please don't refer to her health or the passing of her sisters.

Send a Christmas card to:
----------------------------------
MS. MILLY DEL RUBIO
VIA: MICHAEL A.
2275 WEST 25TH, #30
SAN PEDRO, CA
90732-4909

And to get you in the Holiday mood, check out this video of the fabulous Del Rubio Triplets at their peak, performing Winter Wonderland on Pee Wee's Christmas Special, circa 1989. Ho Ho Ho.

lily girl

The slender volume of dark maroon leatherette was on the stand next to her bed. The cover said "Senior Memories 1952" in silver debossed lettering. Inside were many casual photographs of her- playing sports, clowning with her best friend , skating in an exhibition.

Her senior portrait showed off a modest smile. She wore her brunette hair not unlike Audrey Hepburn's. A single strand of pearls accented her sweater. Her intense blue eyes stared out into a world full of promise. Each graduate's picture bore a caption, hers was "A lily girl, not meant for this world's pain". It would prove more prophetic than anyone could have imagined at the time.

She endured more than her share of this world's pain. Her years of skating as a teenager, compounded by pregnancies, caused severe back problems in her young adulthood and a premature onset of arthritis. Medical science responded in imperfect ways, including the introduction of pain medications whose presence caused dependency. Her mobility diminished with each passing year but her spirit did not.

There were emotional pains as well. Two miscarriages, including one which would have provided a badly wanted daughter. A failed marriage later in life, the loss of her own mother to whom she was extremely close. And yet her will to live was undeterred.

We spoke briefly on Friday. I had gotten in too late on Thanksgiving to call from California. When I reached her, she seemed sleepy. I told her to rest, and that I would call her later. "I love you, Mom", I said as I hung up the phone.

We found her on her sofa with her hands peacefully clasped, as if she had laid down for a nap and simply did not awaken. Five days short of her seventy fourth birthday, her pain finally ceased.

I've returned to Michigan in the winter for the first time in fifteen years. I always come in the summertime. She's commented before how I've been back for Dad's birthday but not hers. The irony was not lost on me as I boarded the plane on December first- she finally got me to come back on her birthday.

She is laid out in pink, because she loved pink. She was a girly kind of girl at heart. She'll be wearing her Macewen sash, honoring her Scottish heritage. My brother has arranged for a piper to play for her. Following services on Monday, she will be laid to rest alongside her mother. Both my darling girls will be together.

Rest well, lily girl. There will never be another like you.

Killing Tennessee Williams

My friend David moved to Los Angeles from Manhattan. He and his partner, JD (really Jeff but too confusing for all of us) left the east coast behind, while still bringing as much of it with him as possible. Two moving vans and a car carrier departed the snow belt for his new California digs.

And what was his west coast domicile? An enormous faux Tudor mansion in the heart of Westlake Village. It looked as if it has been dismantled brick by brick from an older section of Greenwich and painstakingly reassembled amidst the palms. "A courageous house", was my observation. "One that exudes self confidence".

The theme continued on the interior. An enormous curved stairway, which seemed to anticipate the stylish descent of Dolly Levi at any moment. Enough carved oak trim to keep all of the woodcarvers of the Black Forest busy for months, were they not already steadily employed making veneer trim for Mercedes Benz. And just to the left of the entry, a very grand dining room.

Beautifully furnished, suede ceiling, table for twelve, and as Edwardian as the rest of the interior. Exquisite hand made lace tablecloth and fine linen napkins. Twin German silver candelabras which, even while lit, were tempting to look beneath for the silversmith's mark. An impressive setting indeed for an east-meets-west dinner party, one which would prove memorable for other reasons besides the decor.

David's parents, Doctor Raymond and Doctor Wilma, were visiting. He had been a fashionable Park Avenue opthomologist, now retired. She was a PHD psychologist who had made her mark in the world of pharma. They were accompanied by his aunt and uncle, an East Coast University professor and her husband. Upon receiving the invitation, I wondered if I should enroll for a quick Master's degree to be prepared. Instead, I studied E! online. Let the games begin...

It was a very witty and lively conversation at dinner. David's aunt Lillian told a story of how she got released from Jury duty on the excuse that she was just back from Africa and had to testify before Congress that week regarding the famine she had seen. And this was the truth. After the NPR topics has been thoroughly reviewed, the conversation steered a bit more toward the west and celebrity talk began to surface. I told my favorite Elaine Stritch joke (of course, everybody has an Elaine Stritch joke, and I'll publish it later. I'm certain you are all breathless with anticipation) and we all had various snippets to interject- JD manages a fashionable hotel and had a couple of amusing sightings to share regarding a former pop princess recently shorn of hair, but I am sworn to secrecy on her true identity. Other names got tossed about- Martinis with Barbara Mc Nair, Gwen Stefani at church, Linda Ramone in a black Cadillac convertible wearing a chartreuse maraboo. Chartreuse- it's not just a color, it's a lifestyle.

"You know", Dr. Raymond began. "Rex Harrison was a patient of mine. We became good friends". Our celebrity gossip was becoming bi-coastal. "And Tennessee Williams. I was very fond of him" he said. "I feel very badly that I killed him". At this moment, twelve people were nearly as silent as a jury about to sentence someone to the chair. Dr. Raymond explained how Tennessee Williams came to see him for a matter that could have been easily corrected with minor surgery. Tennessee was nervous about the idea of eye surgery, so Dr. Raymond gave him some eye drops as a temporary measure. Shortly after that, when the great playwright was in an inebriated state (which we were all rapidly approaching ourselves) Tennessee unscrewed the stopper from the bottle, held it between his teeth, inhaled and choked to death on it. Hence the good Doctor's claim of culpability. He broke into a hearty smile. A bottle of twenty year port got opened. The rest became a bit of a happy blur, but I found myself repeating in the car on the way home, "I feel very badly that I killed him".

I Love LA

Okay, it's twenty four years old already, but it's one of the quintessential Los Angeles videos. It's upbeat and still somewhat ambivalent at the same time. I love the energy of Los Angeles, but it's not an easy place to live.

"Look at those mountains, look at those trees. Look at that bum, he's down on his knees". Los Angeles is a microcosm of America. It's a city of opposites, and it represents a society full of contradictions. Is that what Randy meant? Or was he noting that we somehow got along?

Still, it's the only place I think of as home. Must be the palm trees.

Randy Newman- I Love L.A
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