3 Haiku for a spring day

Quiet now

pounding feet

pushing through twinge of pain

Elegant mess

rising, fall

feeling strong even now

Quiet now

pounding feet

feeling strong even now

I went to see Fiddler on the Roof Friday night. First of all, despite Harvey Fierstein's occasional lapses into campy Edna Turnblad, I was enthralled with every aspect of the show, especially its incredible lasting power.

When I was ten, my grandparents took me to a small dinner theater in Los Angeles to see Fiddler. I was in love. I had seen theater before, many times, and I always thought I'd like to do that, but when I saw Fiddler that time, I knew that I would do what those people were doing one day. Little did I know it would be less than six years later.

Long story short, I was thinking a lot about ten year old me while I watched the show on Friday night. Ten year old me was more moody (I know, can you even imagine?), bookish, and shy than I am now. Ten year old me didn't have the courage to meet new people or put in a name at a restaurant maître d'. But she was thoughtful and kind, and had endearing quirks.

For instance, she used to think long and hard about what she would be like when she "grew up". Sometimes, she wondered what being a teenager would feel like and sometimes, she imagined herself so old as to be in college. She wondered if she'd be pretty, have friends, be smart... Would she have a boyfriend (Eh...)? Would she still like horses (No...)? Would she be a good person (Let's hope so...)? There were so many things that 10 year old me was hoping for in.... me.

And as I stood outside the Paramount Theater, I wondered if 10 year old me, who saw this very show nearly 11 years ago, would approve of who I've become. I imagined a scenario where we would meet, and she would walk around me, sizing me up. And even in this silly, impossible imaginary situation, I was nervous about whether she'd like me.

I want to be the person that I imagined/hoped/dreamed I would be when I was ten.

Save a little

Today, as I stood in my favorite bookstore, Third Place Books, staring at Molly Ringwall's book: Getting the Pretty Back, I realized that relationships may have gotten a whole lot more complicated with the onslaught of "simplifying" gadgets, websites and tools.

Think about it:

Family:

I didn't think twice about accepting my parents' friend requests on Facebook. I just hit "Accept" and called it a day. However, I've seen article after article and heard conversation after conversation about how difficult a decision it was to "befriend" relatives on social networking sites! Frankly, it really shouldn't be that big of a decision. If what you're posting on your social networking site isn't kosher enough for your parents (Jewish or not), it's probably not going to be impressing any future or current employers either. And that, my friends, is something you should be concerned with.

But it's not just Facebook or Twitter, it's texting, cell phones and Skype too! I love to Skype. But when I'm in my living room, eating a bowl of cereal at 1:00 in the afternoon and talking to my grandparents who live across the country, I will inevitably give away more information about myself than I would like. Perhaps I will absentmindedly pick my nose or chew with my mouth open. I mean, come on, all I wanted was to say hello in such a way that my grandmother could read my lips and not have to keep asking me what I said. It seems that all this connecting is getting a little bit personal.

Friends:

And speaking of personal, when was the last time you logged onto Facebook and saw something that you could have, frankly, done without ever seeing? Two minutes ago? Three? Maybe you're really cutting back on logging on and it was an hour ago? Because every time I get on that stupid, addicting website, I see something that I wish I hadn't. Whether it's a particularly angry status update or an unflattering photo, people seem unable to keep things mysterious. Plus, when you have 1,586 "friends" and most of them consist of people that you met at either a) band camp b) what's-his-name's birthday party or c) the Mary Kay event your great aunt hosted last weekend- you end up knowing way too much about way too many people that you have way too little right to know anything about.

All this exposure and "friendship" has gotten to the point where people are offended too easily. I did a show with someone a few years ago and we became Facebook friends. Well, after two years of never speaking online or for that matter, in reality, I deleted him during one of my monthly "friend purges". Yes, it may sound mean to delete people off of your Facebook roster, but I feel liberated when I decide against hearing about what so and so's cat had for breakfast this morning. ANYWAYS, you guessed it: about two years later, I start running into this particular person on a somewhat regular basis and soon enough, he realizes that we are no longer "friends" online. And what does he freakishly remember? Well, he remembers that at one point, we were. So then, he does what every child of the 20th century immediately would do: he gets offended. Because all of a sudden, us not being Facebook friends means that I don't like him or that I hate him or God forbid, that I don't care about every little thing that is going on in his life.

I re-friended him. All is well with the world.

Friendships are sacred to me. I wish Facebook connections were titled: Acquaintances. Then, if you decided to take a relationship to the next level, you could, I don't know, upgrade to "Friends". It would be special. You could really set people in their places. And the next time you do run into that lady you met one time at that one girl's baby shower, you can proudly concur that you are Facebook acquaintances but never have to tell the little white lie about being friends.

And finally....

Romantic Relationships (Entanglements?)

Here's where Molly Ringwall gets involved. She has an entire chapter in her book dedicated to the whole relationship issue that is specifically aimed towards the modern channels of communication, namely email. She and her husband (of I believe 9 years) began a relationship via email. I say, more power to ya. Especially because, as she points out, email can be the modern day form of Jane Austen type romances; little letters with ridiculously fast delivery and wonderfully accurate penmanship. She created a chart that outlines how long it takes a man to email you and what each time frame says about that man and his level of interest in you. And while I think this is a load of youknowwhat, I will admit that it got me thinking. If woman of the 20th century and onward read so deliberately into the amount of time it takes a man to text, call, email or Facebook us, what was the waiting period for say, letters? telegraph? morse code? smoke signal? cave painting? Did the women of the Wild West sit around and complain to their friends about the slow speed of their man's reply? The friend might say something akin to the modern day, 'Well, his Internet's probably down,' like, 'I'll bet one of the horses on that Pony Express had to be re-shod."

Now, all this communication has made some really interesting positive effect on the world. People are talking more, whether in type, text or actual speech. They want to look at your vacation pictures. We keep in contact with friends from high school, grade school, and I'll bet, somewhere out there, the nursery. And that's wonderful, great, FANTASTIC! I mean, there's a reason I'm still on Facebook!

My point is simply that we give ourselves away too easily. I know, I know, I'm blogging and I have the gall to say, 'Don't tell too much about yourself!' But let me tell you, there's an enormous amount of my life that I will not, CANNOT share publicly. And that's the part that I share with the people that I call my family and my real friends and, if the relationship is worth something, with a man. I want to keep a little bit sacred, holy, private.

Top Ten quotes from my Seattle Trip 2010

#1. Grandpa: "Landon, do you want to pray?"

Jared: "He only prays on holidays."

#2. Grandma: "Do you want the fuzzy water?"

#3. Jessica: "So the girls chase you and then what do they do?"

Jared: "(kissy noise)"

Jessica: "Oh!"

Landon: "And they put makeup on him."

#4. Jared: "Hey! Are you still going to get married?"

#5. Jessica: "Oh, look! That little boy has a walkie talkie!"

Jared: "Oh, I have lots of those at home. Like eleven."

Grandma: "His numbers are a little off."

#6. Jared: "My blood pressure is really good. (everyone stares at him) Well, it would be if they took it. Like 90."

Grandma: "His numbers are a little off."

#7. Landon: "The sleepover is going to be SO COOL. You know why? Because I'm bringing my WEBKINZ!"

#8. Grandma: "Maybe now he can get some peace on earth."

#9. Grandma (to grandpa): "I"m going to kill you in public!"

#10. Grandpa: "Maybe we can rent Snow White and the Seven Warvs."

"Will you watch me?"

I have the privilege of claiming quite a few young children as family. One, my sister, has passed the age of cute comments through ignorance and passed into the age of cute comments through intelligence. What an amazing change for us all!

But luckily, I still get the joy of hearing the twittering little voices of my cousins Landon and Jared as well as my cousin Kristen's children, Julian and Jaden. Four little boys, four different perspectives on the world.

Jaden, 2, recently showed me something he was holding. I said, "Is that a gameboy?" and he said, "Sí!" I took this as proof that Dora the Explorer has some worth as a children's show.

Julian, 4, and always the helper, showed me where the vacuum was the other day and kindly pointed out how it worked and then looked at me pointedly and said, "And this is the tord. You have to plug it in." Thank you dear.

But yesterday, I got to spend some time with Landon and Jared who are 7 and unfortunately live in Washington (aka, too far away). One thing stuck out: "Will you watch me?" What is it about the child's heart and mind that desires someone to watch them? I watched Jared flip, twist, turn, jump, wiggle and squirm up trees, on mats, while dancing and while simply standing on his own two feet!

Landon, on the other hand, wanted me to simply watch him play computer games. He dragged me to his room and showed me how to turn on his computer and then he sat down at the keyboard. He looked at me and said, "You see this button?" (he pointed to the 'ctrl' key). I nodded and he said, "You can push that when I tell you to." So, as he played Oklahoma Cuke (a really adorable Veggietales game) I was given the great opportunity to occasionally help rope the bad guys (who are, incidentally peas and monkeys) upon a quick nod or "PUSH IT" from my little Landon.

That feeling, wanting someone to simply watch you do something you're proud of, never goes away. We learn to control it because we're so afraid of being considered arrogant. But I don't think it's arrogant to share our gifts and talents, whether they are as great as writing, singing, playing a sport or as small as simply being a rockin' Oklahoma Cuke gamer, climbing a tree, or planting a garden.

We are just as special, unique and in need of assurance as we were when we were children. So, let's encourage each other and love one another for the unique gifts we possess. So, I will watch you, will you watch me?

Love is a dress that you made
long to hide your knees
love to say this to your face,
"I'll love you only"
for your days and excitement,
what will you keep for to wear?
someday drawing you different,
may I be weaved in your hair?

Love and some verses you hear
say what you can't say
love to say this in your ear,
"I'll love you that way"
from your changing contentments,
what will you choose for to share?
someday drawing you different,
may I be weaved in your hair?

-Love and Some Verses, Iron and Wine

I woke up this morning in the mood to listen to every romantic song ever written. Go figure. But this one takes the cake for me.

Love.

Caught in a storm

As if it wasn't already hard enough to get my lazy butt out of the house to exercise, nature has apparently decided to put up its own roadblocks. Late Sunday afternoons are the perfect time to sleep, eat, read, catch up on missed television but I decided to take a walk. I got about a half mile out when I looked up at the sky and thought, 'Huh, looks like it's going to rain.' Precisely seven seconds later it began to do just that.

I'll admit it, I'm stubborn. Once I make up my mind about something, there's very little that can stop me. Today, I had a certain point I was going to walk to and goshdarnit I was NOT stopping until I got there. I did, in fact, make it to the point for which I was aiming, but upon turning around to return home, I realized pretty quickly that I had three options: 1) jump on the back of a passing car and hope they don't mind the hop-on 2) run for home and hope that it would let up and 3) take shelter under a tree until the storm let up. It may not surprise you that I immediately ruled out the second option, and the first one was out of the picture because there was not a vehicle in sight that looked to be going slow enough for me to attempt a hijacking. So, I tucked my MP3 player into my sports bra, ran across the street and began plodding into the shallow forest lining the road.

Approximately ten steps in, I thought, 'Dear Lord, please don't let that be poison ivy.' Luckily, if it was, only my ankles were exposed. I finally found a tree upon which I could lean, and I listened as Billy Joel sang "Only a Woman to Me" to me while I watched the rain collect on the leaves of the surrounding trees and then gracefully fall in large drops to the ground. I watched as the sky, which minutes before had been blue with spots of white, turn to a deep, translucent gray that seemed to permeate everything, coloring the day melancholy. The air seemed to thicken with the overwhelming sense of thoughtfulness that the rain brought and I breathed in as slowly and deeply as I could, hoping to remember this moment forever.

Eventually I made a run for it when the rain seemed to let up. When I wound back up at home, I was soaked through but my spirits were high. For me, everything looked beautiful because I was seeing through a lens framed by dark eyelashes dripping with raindrops and the world seemed indescribably... pure. It's not, and I will inevitably forget the way I feel right now, but for the moment, I cherish the rain.

Today, I keeping thinking about all the little things that make me smile... coffee, an empty sink, the way the light shines in my kitchen window... But I had to share one thing that has never ceased to make me laugh out loud.

When my brother was about 12, he learned to play Tom Petty's Free Fallin' on guitar and commenced to play it non-stop for over three months. It was, frankly, horrific. I could not get the stupid thing out of my head and I ultimately decided to hate Tom Petty altogether. However, nearly seven years has past, and I have finally regained the ability to listen to Free Fallin' without triggering my gag reflex.

Lyrics have always been equally important to me as melody is, and in this song, they really make the song special.

She's a good girl, loves her mama
Loves Jesus and America too
She's a good girl, crazy 'bout Elvis
Loves horses and her boyfriend too

It's a long day livin' in Reseda
There's a freeway runnin' through the yard
And I'm a bad boy, 'cause I don't even miss her
I'm a bad boy for breakin' her heart

And I'm free, I'm free fallin'

All the vampires walkin' through the valley
Move west down Ventura Blvd
And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows
All the good girls are home with broken hearts

And I'm free, I'm free fallin'

I wanna glide down over Mulholland
I wanna write her name in the sky
I wanna free fall out into nothin'
Gonna leave this world for awhile

And I'm free, I'm free fallin'.

I usually get all the way to the last verse, singing along, not remembering what's coming and then: "I wanna glide down, over Mulholland, I wanna-" comes and I suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Why, you might ask... Well, when my brother first started playing this silly song, I always thought the words were "I wanna RIDE her name in the sky" not "write her name in the sky" and all I could (and all I can) picture was (and is) Tom Petty with a cowboy hat and a lasso, riding a name in the sky.

This is probably one of the stupidest things to get all giggly about, but whenever I hear this song, I think of it and always smile. And on days like today, I can not get enough of those stupid little things!