Good to the Last Drop, Happy Bday to Me!

More on life and insights to come...I'm squeezing every minute of my birthday to the very last drop. It is almost over. Happy to report that I am typing on a NEW, superfast laptop computer that dearest Bubba bought me.
Had laughter, a big home-cooked meal (with family by my side), well-wishes from everyone who couldn't join me in my festivities today...and a nice, hard morning run to prove this body is still young.
It was a great day and I'm going to enjoy the last few minutes of my day!

Liberating My Arts

I am so disillusioned with my current routine but the unrelenting workload suppresses my inner voice. I plug away at my pile of projects...oblivious to all else. Today, my neighbor, the ivy-league girl and I found a few minutes to happily distract each other with a little banter in between our sighs of frustration. She talked about her brother starting his own recycling business and how she came up with a company name and jingle for him. She is quite the fascinating Stanford alum. She shrieked with delight at the reminder of the Bay to Breakers race this weekend, she’s such an athlete. Then out of the blue, she suggested we leave our routine to migrate over to China to help out with the earthquake search and rescue effort. She’s never been to the continent and is eager to visit. I reasoned that now isn't such a favorable time, though I'm certain she was being facetious, maybe.
Today, I also learned of another worker who is making his exit in a few weeks. I am beginning to see how so many of us in my generation (at least those of us disciplined in the field of liberal arts) are struggling to find our happy medium. We end up merely working a job instead of liberating our arts.
So of late, this quote (by Anaïs Nin) came back to me and started bouncing around in my head:
"And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

Yesterday, I had to run a few errands for my father during my lunch break. One was to pick up a prescription for him at the doctor's office. Since I've never met the practitioner, it was not very expedient showing up on my lunch hour. I was forced to wait in line and finally after repeating my family name several times to a mystified expression, the doctor suddenly recalled. The doctor apologized and asked what type of work he had delayed me from returning to. Instead of explaining, I simply replied, "I'm a writer."
To my surprise, the doctor flashed a respectful smile and reacted with deep admiration. He proudly shook my hand and proceeded to vivaciously list and praise a number of his favorite authors and books.
To witness my effect on this distinguished professional of such caliber forced me to realize how powerful my craft can actually be if I took the time to completely liberate it and blossom.

Happy Mother’s Day...to me ?

Bubba is in Vegas for the weekend. He started his drive there last Thursday night to go meet with some of his former Army students, one recently returned from a tour in Iraq. Bubba also wanted to catch a gun show happening there.
I spent my Saturday blissfully perusing used books and bought a few titles with a French theme: Into A Paris Quartier and Paris to the Moon. I conversed with an older woman who was also browsing titles. As book lovers we agreed on the sensibility of buying second-hand. She shared with me that our taste and ideas will alter with time and she finds that a genre of books she once preferred will no longer be her favorite. Her affinity to books was also linked to her desire to be a 'writer,' but now feels she is beyond realizing her dream. It saddened me to see her current attitude towards her original goal and secretly I was afraid that I could relate.
I think about the energy I expend working at menial jobs when I could be traveling, collecting stories and writing them. Sometimes, I try to force myself outside the box and to see things in the absolute. What if I had a terminal illness? What would I try to accomplish then? Would I still believe in limitations?
--I decided to sleep in Sunday morning and then do some spring-cleaning the rest of the day. I love the smell of pine sol! I slept and slept and awoke to my ringing phone. It was Bubba’s little girl, Kat, (well, she’s not so little, she’ll be 15 soon) calling to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day! My heart puffed up in my chest and everything about me beamed for this is the first call ever, since being with her father for almost 5 years. What a precious moment! What a precious, thoughtful, charming girl.
I woke up and made a few calls, too. I am lucky to have the support, love and guidance of more than one mother. Besides my biological mother, I have the privilege to call a few other women, mom. I made a call to Bubba's mom. I will always admire her remarkable and superhuman strength in raising four children alone after being widowed at what would be my age now!
I also made a call to a woman I have been calling 'ma' for the last 15 years. Though, sometimes my contact is a bit sporadic with her, she has been a pillar of steadfast support to me. She sends me birthday cards and holiday cards regularly. In another lifetime--in my younger days, just starting out in college--I dated her son. I can still remember that first date when he drove me to Stinson Beach. On our way back to the city that evening, I enjoyed my first plate of escargots with him at a little bistro we found driving through the redwoods. We made plans for the future...but not even a year into our couplehood, he passed away, losing his battle with asthma.
His family graciously welcomed me into their family, offering me housing, plenty of love and whatever memorabilia I wanted of his.
Confronted with the raw reality of mortality at that age really challenged me to see the brevity of life. A few weeks after his death, I packed a bag and flew to Paris for the very first time, alone. (His parents worried about me and offered to send me to stay with their extended family in Germany instead, but even then, I remained a Francophile.)
I grieved hard for six months, but his parents showed me how to cope. They kept a smile on their faces and did what needed to be done. With them, I came to embrace the phrase, "Life is for the living." A few years ago, we lost the dad, whom I've called pa, to cancer. Ma and a younger brother remains in this beautiful family...and with extreme pleasure and privilege, I still have this woman to call ma.

The Analyst & The Poet

So, lately I have been setting myself up to find a new best friend...and what happens?! I run into my former best friend while out on my evening jog. I suppose it sounds rude to label her as such...but somehow we've drifted apart. We haven't been in contact at all since the end of last year.
What with my whirlwind cross country trips and travels, we simply lost touch. I must admit that in the decade long that we've been friends, she has always made the effort to socialize. She would show up at my door almost every evening with a bottle of wine so we can drink and unwind after a day of work. I came to expect her regular unannounced visits and even set out an extra plate at the dinner table nightly. Even when I was not in the best of moods, her analytical, scientific mind had a way of leaving an upbeat impression on me.
Actually, we don't have much in common. She likes the finer things in life and is more of a consumerist than I am. But we get along as we are only a year apart, we are almost the same build and I credit her for turning me into a fitness buff (it wasn't the Army, but her encouraging me to go on runs and hikes constantly). She always told me that she liked me for my naiveté and my ability to see the good in everyone.
We shared a lot in our decade long friendship. I even introduced her to her boyfriend. He was a West Point guy that I served with in the Army.
They hit it off staying together for nearly five years, until his higher education and banking career beckoned him away to the other side of the country. With her career in biotechnology, she was committed to this side of the coast.
And today, I learned of their separation. Our haphazard and sudden meeting felt awkward and melancholy. Neither one of us had good, hearty news. She was happy to hear about my new job though, matching up with my skills. She had always envied me for living abroad and harnessing another language.
Since she just came back from a lengthy vacation abroad, neither one of us bothered with pretenses to explain away our lack of contact.
Out of curiosity and genuine interest, she asked what was in store for me in the near future. Nothing...was my frank reply. This confession felt somewhat brutal to me. I foresee keeping my routine until at least the end of the year. Hopefully by then I'll ride that wave of optimism and that phase of motivation and begin to finish creating my website...and of course get to traveling again.
Besides her job, she admitted that she signed up with a dating company to meet her prospective match.
I came away from her tonight once again feeling that analytical effect. Suddenly, seeing her priority in finding a mate prompted me to appreciate that fact that I have Bubba in my life and I should learn to take it less for granted.
The formula to life therefore is summed up by these poignant words that I came across today:
The grand essentials of happiness are: something to do, something to love, and something to hope for.
It seems my friend and I are both on a similar journey, a quest...and I suppose that's why we've been best friends all along.

Bloggin' on the Back Burner

I hit the 90-day mark at work, but somehow, still find myself wrestling with a love-hate relationship. I am definitely getting better at what I have to do but a sense of unfulfillment lingers. There’s too much to do, not enough time nor help and too much finger pointing, no matter how subtle.
I lament my break with my creative process—I haven’t blogged in a few weeks. I am guilty of being lazy and devoting my weekends to continuous play.
With time running out in San Francisco for Bubba’s student, the Army nurse, we helped her check off her list of 'must-do's' on her final two weekends before shipping out on the next leg of her military journey.
We visited the entertaining Mystery Spot in Santa Cruz—and agreed it was worth the $5 admission...until I came across this article. Still, what a rapture the surrounding redwoods are. We roamed around the Santa Cruz beach boardwalk, her first time after four-years in the bay area.
We explored the pathways by San Francisco's ocean beach and discovered a neighborhood park that I've never sought out on my own. In the last century, it was the locale of an incredible Victorian garden and mansion. The edge of Sutro Heights Park yields a birds' eye view of the Pacific coastline. It was here that Bubba's student received her marriage proposal, her now-husband had drawn, "Will you marry me?," into the sand of ocean beach below. Their contact is now limited as he is secluded in two-months of Army Ranger school training. She expressed how much she misses him. This weekend we took her to her first gun-show. Bubba gave her some lessons on handguns and suggested that a Lady-Smith would be the most effective piece to own as a first-timer.
In between our exploration and my work schedule, we gorged ourselves on tapioca drinks, Baskin Robbin's cappuccino blasts and home-cooked meals.
Then...she left yesterday. For the first time in a long time, I felt this lump in my throat as I bade farewell to this ambitious, genuine, mature, radiant girl. I was on the verge of tears.
She wrote me a card and I wrote her one. In my heap of words to her, I inserted a carefully selected quote at the end:
"We never realize the power of a single human being until one comes along and conquers our heart."
She texted me today saying my words moved her and that she can’t wait for my book....