Goodbye Ned

People have been asking what's going on with me. I haven't updated the blog much and it's been mostly about politics in the last couple of months. In a way, I feel like I'm not doing anything newsworthy and on the other hand, who could think about anything else? There's been so much happening in the world – and so much that seems to be changing – that I can't keep up and also keep finding that everything I want to say is already being said. I commented to a friend a couple of months ago that the level of debate and discussion in this country has finally been ratcheted up. Everyone has been talking about the bailouts, the election, gay rights, the war and so many other important things. But there have been important changes happening in my life too. For one thing, I just turned 37 and I attend my 20th high school reunion next week so I'm thinking a lot about where I am in life. My mom was younger than me when she lost her mother to cancer and I am so grateful for this opportunity to spend this time with her. Time she never got with her mother. She's loving it too.

Yesterday, we had a sad day. One of our cats, Ned, had to be put down. He was almost 19 years old. My mom has already put down two 18 year old cats and has another one about to turn 17. She's lived in this house a long time and many neighborhood cats and kittens have found her to be adopted, she has never once chosen a cat herself. Ned was named after the band Ned's Atomic Dustbin in 1990 by my brother, and our cousins who visited from England that summer dubbed him "Little Chaps." He grew to be a big cat and was never the smartest one but he defended the yard for almost 20 years from intruders. In his last days, though, he couldn't hear other cats and didn't have the energy to chase them away. He was always a big teddy bear and loved affection; You could hold him, squeeze him and carry him around and he would purr and drool until you put him down.

His best friend was Jake, a fragile and beautiful cat a couple of years younger and much smaller, whom Ned protected fiercely. They slept together and washed each other, their gray fluffy bodies blending into one. Over the last few months, though, Ned began to waste away. His 20 lb. body went down to about 4 and his big head and feet looked funny on his smaller frame. He was skin and bones and even though we fed him well and treated his over-active thyroid, he continued to look more frail and become disoriented. He howled every night though we never knew why. Was it to try to hear himself speak? Was it a cry for help? Or maybe it was for his beloved Cricket, a gorgeous black and white cat that lived next door. He was madly in love with Cricket and used to follow her around and howl for her in the evenings until she disappeared one summer night a few years ago – perhaps taken away by marauding coyotes.

On the night before his last, Ned curled up with Jake for the first time in months and they washed each other. Ned spent the entire night sleeping in front of the fire he always loved, something he hadn't done in probably a year. He usually spent his days and night on the roof, we figured so he could see everything and no one could sneak up on him. But something did sneak up on him, a raccoon or maybe a coyote tore half of Ned's back foot off. Maybe he was trying to defend his Jake or maybe he just didn't hear his attacker, but my mom found him in a state of shock lying by the pool in the early morning. We took him to the vet and decided to euthanize him. Ned was a stubborn cat and would never have permitted himself to be kept indoors or get help taking a pee. He wouldn't have put up with bandages or opened his mouth for antibiotics, so there wasn't any point. And if it didn't heal, they'd have to amputate. He was already so weak and so fragile, it didn't seem right to risk him being eaten alive on another day or night or deprive him of his roof and his garden.

When the doctor gave him the shot, my mother and I were both holding and stroking Ned and even though she said it might take 15 seconds, he was gone in two. He was ready to go she said and we barely registered a change in him even though his heart had stopped. We took him home and buried him in the garden he loved so much and was his home for nearly two decades. My mom worked from home for the rest of the day and we both cried throughout the afternoon. We talked about what a long life Ned had, and what a great life all of her cats have had. Her yard is so full of trees and gardens that every cat on the block wants to live here. Since Ned's decline, we had about four neighbor cats who spent their days in the yard, something he never would have permitted before. We talked about what to plant over his grave and that we were glad we brought him home, where he belongs. I still am so sad today. I didn't expect to be so upset but I miss him, even in his distressed state, and it's hard to be responsible for taking a life away. Yet, we both feel it was the right thing and we think Ned did too. Dear Ned, rest in peace, you will be missed. (Photo is from July this year.)

Back to mother nature

I know you're dying to know what will become of my garden! I haven't even had a chance to post about its progress and it's been seven weeks since I planted it. I started out with a lasagna garden but ended up hacking back the bamboo and making the garden bigger. I dug into the earth and pulled out pounds of debris - broken glass, rusted nails, old saw blades! I amended the soil with compost and manure and planted even more plants. I love digging out there, it's so relaxing.


San Francisco is chilly so my plants don't get enough consistent warmth and sun to really produce the way the seed packages promised. My mom's garden in So Cal, by comparison, runs wild and they can barely keep up. I will enjoy giving it some love and eating the fruits of my labor but will also miss my little city garden.


I returned a derelict patch of dirt filled with debris back to mother earth and there's an enormous amount of satisfaction in watching the cycle of life happening in the garden. I found this photo of what a dreary scene it was when I moved in.


I just hope that someone who loves vegetables moves in here and takes over. I won't have been here long enough to reap the full harvest of this garden:


I've been eating lettuce, arugula, fresh herbs, cilantro and radishes from it for weeks and there just might be summer squash before I hit the road.


A butterfly has been visiting me for the last week, flying around me as I water and pull weeds. It's the first time I've ever seen a beautiful creature back there and I believe it's because the garden is a happy place now. I did that.

A place in the world

Something happened today. I’m not sure what it was but today I felt like I finally engaged in the rest of my life. The last couple of weeks I’ve had this odd sensation of time passing but not really knowing what day it is, what month or even, sometimes, what year. I’ve been feeling dislodged from life, just not sure where I am, where I’m going and often, where I’ve been. Living in Seattle seems like a distant memory, the person I was is someone I wouldn’t recognize on the street. Los Angeles feels very far away, much farther than it actually is and I’ve never felt more distant from the people I love.

I miss being able to jump in the car and drive to my mom’s house. The same-old-same-old of her quiet suburban backyard, sitting with her drinking tea and talking about nothing, these things make my heart ache. I don’t call my friends as much, I think because I know I can’t make plans to meet them for dinner or drinks or lunch or shopping or yoga or a movie or a walk. I don’t want to be reminded of how far away they are. This is my third major move as an adult, my third time starting over with home, work, friends. I understand now why some people never do it. It’s one of those “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” type things, which is not to say that I’m not deeply aware that in the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing.

My co-worker’s dad has prostate cancer. He’s youngish and being treated so he’ll probably be alright but it’s been hard on her to see her dad weakened, to see a proud and able man diminished by age and disease. Another co-worker just lost his mom. My boss' uncle tried to kill himself with pills. Life is cruel and eventually we all meet that fate so I thank my lucky stars that my life is so interesting, dynamic and fruitful.

Today I went for a run. I don’t like to run especially but I find myself wanting to do it when I feel alive, when I have energy that needs to be spent, and when I want to clear my head. I now feel able to do that instead of lingering in a hazy fog hoping sleep will wipe it away. That’s how I’ve been for the last couple of weeks. Tired, foggy, and while happy for the most part, confused. Today I didn’t feel that way. Maybe it’s because we were putting our presentation at work together, the “here’s what we need to do our project” presentation to the big boss. If we get it, I still have a job, and maybe even more of the job I want. If we don’t get it (the millions of dollars), I’m not sure what happens. I stay here, find a job in the city, I don’t know.

I miss acting, ironically, I miss making movies, but I don’t miss Hollywood. This weekend I fly to the east coast to see one of my dearest girlfriends get married. She used to live here and it makes me sad that we missed each other, here, but nothing could make me happier than seeing her marry someone she loves. Maybe that’s part of what happened today. I realized that moving changes things – where I shop, what I do on the weekends, how I exercise, how I get to work – but the important things, it doesn’t change. My important people, my passions and interests, my sense of self and feeling of place in the world, these things I take with me. These things live inside me.

Parents say the darndest things

I noticed, lately, that I tell people stories about my parents. I quote them in a funny anecdote the way other people do their children. I'll be doing it and then suddenly become very self-conscious and wonder, is this normal? Do other people do this? I don't think they do. Which brings me to my next question, why am I?

It's possible that I have tired of talking about myself, and am looking for something, I don't know, more removed to talk about. Everyone has parents so it could be that I'm seeking to strike a common chord. Again, much the way people with children do. Many of the people I know, in fact most, still don't have children and yet I don't notice them telling stories about their parents.

There's the obvious reason that they live close to me and I see them often. Another possible explanation is that until the last few years, I haven't been as emotionally connected to my parents as I am now. In fact, I might be going through some reverse process by which I become more attached to my parents as I get older, where other people become less. I also feel that I'm just getting to know them.

When we're kids, our parents intentionally keep certain things from us that reveal that they are human, they make mistakes and they were once children too. As they get older, my folks offer up these delicious little tidbits of their life. Just today, I was having lunch with my mom. She saw a girl and said "she's wearing bloomers." I looked and sure enough, she was. I don't think I've ever seen a person wearing bloomers in real life before - I mean, not in a costume. Then she said that she was wearing bloomers when she met my dad. Black bloomers with white polka dots and a baby doll type top.

"My hair was cut short", she said, "like yours." And then she told me a piece of the "how I met your father story" that I'd never heard before. It was really nice. Sometimes telling the stories are a way of sharing my own opinion, but from someone else's mouth. You see, I hear myself in them, and it amazes me that we are so similar.

My mom was talking about a new HBO show, I think that one about sex. She said "What's the fascination with bodies anyway? We all have one." I just about fell off my chair laughing and I'm not even sure it's that funny. It's that the thought seems so unique to me that hearing it from her mouth reminds me that we are related. That I made from her the way Eve is supposed to be made from Adam.

I spent quite a few years of my life not liking my parents very much, so it's an absolute treat to get to know them at this point in my life. While out to dinner with my dad, he was asking about my recent (and second) conversion to vegetarianism. "Is it for your health or because you want to save the animals?" he asked. I replied that it was for the animals and he laughed before he could stop himself. But I understood, I knew what it meant.

He was thinking that it can't possibly make a difference if I stop eating animals when he's going to have a bowl of sea creatures for dinner. But he's a smart man, and he knows I'm a smart woman so he gives it another think. I tell him that I have certain beliefs and things that are important to me and that at some point in a discussion about these things, someone will inevitably ask if I am vegetarian and I will have to be able to say "yes." He listened then said "In Peru, people throw trash out the car window." He told them that it was bad, that they shouldn't do it and they asked "why?" They looked at him with quizzical faces. That's what people do. He said that even though he couldn't change their mind, he thought it was important to be an example. He made the connection between my example, showing people that we can change, bringing awareness with my choices, and his own experience. I was really quite proud of him.

I think in a way, I'm kind of falling in love with my parents the way people do with their children. For me, I've found that it's a way of accepting myself. I am, after all, like them in so many ways. For me to love their quirks is to come to love mine.

A letter to my mother

I'm at my mom's house this weekend, we're doing Mother's Day a week later because she doesn't like crowds. She doesn't always listen to me when I urge her to do things so I've decided to write her a letter on my blog.

Dear mom,

You know how upset it makes you when the neighbors cut down big beautiful trees? When they pave over their yards to make more driveway for their giant cars, 4-wheelers, boats and RVs? You've watched people buy a house, destroy the giant tree that blocks the view of their cars, only to move out a couple of years later. Even if the new owners plant a tree, it will be 30-50 years before it matures.

Even though you have about fifty trees in your yard, it doesn't ease the pain of seeing fully mature trees ruthlessly chopped down or badly mauled by "tree trimmers." Well a friend of mine in Portland came home one day to find an 85-year old tree in her neighbor's yard, a tree she had a relationship with after years of living next to it, gone. Gone! The lady next door said she just didn't feel like taking care of it anymore.

"What gives you the right", my friend asked, "to cut down an 85-year old tree?!" Trees cool the surrounding area by up to 10 degrees, provide oxygen and a home to birds, and clean the air. Everyone's air.

I've always encouraged you to do something about this issue that angers you, write a letter to the paper or something, but I've come up with a plan that's much better. See, my friend in Portland got mad but then she organized a tree planting for Earth Day. Thirty-seven neighbors agreed to buy and plan trees. The day of the planting, even more neighbors came out, wanting to help so she's doing it again in the fall.

Here's my plan for you. The next time you have one of your tea parties with the ladies in the neighborhood, propose the idea of forming a committee to restore and save the trees in your burg. Among your friends are a City Attorney who could help you petition the city for tax credits for people who have mature trees on their property. You've got a Realtor in your group who could educate her clients on the benefits of having trees on their property and refer them to proper tree-trimmers who know how to take care of them. By the time you retire, you will have lived in this place for 30 years. You are someone who loves trees and plants, the kind of person that people listen to, and you could make a difference!

Get your sixty-eight year old Czech friend who's passionate and fired up to figure out how to form a non-profit and get funds for it. Have another friend come up with things you can do with the money you raise to advance the cause. Your retired Scottish friend can do research on the trend of disappearing mature trees in the suburbs. Ask your daughter who works in marketing to create a website and promotional materials.

THEN, when you run into celebrities at the supermarket (as you do), you can ask them to help! You could set up a booth at fairs, street markets and local celebrations, to educate the public on the value of trees and how to properly take care of them. Your celebrities could help attract attention to your cause.

You don't have to do it alone but you have to do something. Every time I come to your house, I notice that there are fewer and fewer trees in the neighborhood I grew up in. You're not the only one it bothers but you might be the only one who can put a stop to it. I support you fully.

Love,
Your daughter

Meet me on the farm

Last weekend, I visited my mom and she couldn't stop talking about the farm. She was so excited, she said, she could barely eat or sleep! The farm is undoubtedly theirs, I don't think that's the issue, it's that she's only four years away from retirement and this is truly a dream come true.

She's fantasizing about decorating the rooms in the cottage and building another house, all I'm thinking about is how my life just got a thousand times better. "The farm" (yet to be named) has just made us one of those fabulously cool families that has a place to convene, a plot of LAND!


We'll plant orchards and in the fall we'll have apple picking parties. We'll grow unusually large pumpkins and sit on benches made of hay, carving them. The kids can ride the miniature burros and we'll do apple bobbing. In the evening, we'll hang lanterns from the trees and drink the fresh apple-cider we made the day before, spiked of course. We'll have a local band come play and party late into the evening.

Christmas at the farm will be like no other. We'll decorate the giant pine trees on the property, dress up the miniature burros like reindeer and attach a sleigh to them. On Christmas morning the kids will wake up to their Opa dressed as Santa Claus bringing them presents. We'll make a puzzle in front of a roaring fire and listen to the surf pound the shores in the winter storms while carols play on the stereo.

When spring comes, we'll celebrate with a cocktail party on the lawn and play croquet like Alice in Wonderland except we won't invite the Red Queen. The orchard will be blossoming, the flowers blooming and the birds singing. We'll eat dinner at long tables with beautiful tablecloths and vases stuffed with colorful blooms.

We'll spend most of the summer on the beach or walking down to the local coffee shop. Maybe we'll make homemade ice cream like they do in the magazines! Tourists will come by the farm for organic produce, eggs and maybe some yarn we'll have made the winter before with the sheep's wool, hand spun and dyed (organic of course). The days will be long and we'll be barbecuing and playing games on the lawn until the sun melts into the ocean.

It may be four years before they retire, but the parties should begin tout de suite! N'est-ce pas?

Giving away the farm

Realtors have long known the power of words. Their descriptions of properties can spin a decrepit shack into the cottage of the Seven Dwarfs with just a few words. Savvy buyers are able to translate in real-time when they hear these descriptors:
"warm" means dark wood-paneled walls, "cozy" means less than 900 square feet, "quaint" means it's the tacky house on the corner the neighbors complain about, and "mid-century" means built in the 1960's and might still have the original avocado-colored tile, shag carpeting and gold-veined mirrored tiles.

So jaded have customers become that they often think the worst when hearing these words. Even universally appealing descriptions like "sunny" or "verdant" can conjure negative images. A "sunny" house could be completely exposed because the previous owners chopped down the majestic oak tree that used to shade it. It's surrounded by dry weeds and yellowed grass and the sun beats down on it 24-hours a day. You'll have to keep the blinds closed in the afternoon to avoid slow-roasting. A "verdant" property could make you think you're living in the tropics. Miss a week in the backyard hacking back the plants with a machete, and the green will engulf your house.

So it was a surprise when my mother conjured an image from a realtor's description only to find the property much different. While looking for land on the Oregon coast on which to build their retirement home, my mom and her husband met a local realtor that they hit it off with. She mentioned a "farm" that they had to look at. At over $100k more than what they had been looking at, my mom was not interested. "You'll LOVE the farm!" the Realtor insisted. A week later, she had worn my mother down and she consented to look at it.

Instead of boring flat land with a broken-down barn and bales of hay, she found five acres of green rolling hills dotted with trees on a bluff overlooking the prettiest part of the Oregon coastline. In a small artist's community only ten miles from the hippest beach town in Oregon, the property values have continued to climb here to 18% per year despite the rest of the country's real estate slump.

Noticing an attractive and fairly new-looking house, my mother thought, "too bad there's a neighbor RIGHT HERE." "Oh no," the Realtor corrected, "that house comes with the property! It was built in 1915 and has been completely redone by the professional woodworker who's selling the property." A sweet little two-bedroom cottage with a full-sized attic and ocean views from every room.

Luckily for them, other people wrinkled their noses at the "farm" and had not looked at it. They were the first to put in an offer. Turns out it is classified as a farm because it is home to several miniature burros and some sheep. My mom said the burros are the size of a dog, fluffy and very friendly. I can't wait to meet them. Look how cute!

Horrific horrifying horror

I was at the video store with my dad, looking for a film to rent. Every third film, it seemed, was a horror flick. And I don't have to tell you that most of them are about pretty young women being victimized. I picked up one called Rest Stop and made the mistake of reading the back. It's, as I guessed, about a woman tortured by a sicko after stopping at a rest stop...something about a box of tools and a saw (!)

I guess what makes it so SCARY and, I shudder to say, APPEALING, is that it actually happens and women are really afraid of that. Hmmm, I wonder how often it happens. Or are women disproportionately afraid because of movies like this? Why is a woman's fear so appealing?

A few minutes later, my dad picks up the movie The Virgins of Juarez. "This is a good movie," he says, "YOU should see this." I figure that he's making reference to the fact that I'm a feminist, something he hasn't always been too supportive of. He explains that it's a true story of women (young, I imagine, since they're VIRGINS) who are abducted in Juarez, Mexico, raped repeatedly and then KILLED. Disposable sex toys?! I feel myself getting physical ill in the video store as he goes on. "Minnie Driver plays a reporter who goes down there to get the story and this girl," he says, pointing to someone on the cover, "was buried alive but manages to escape."

I'm so horrified, I don't even know what to say. Why should I see this movie? God, how sick. How awful! My brain is spinning. Who are these people? WHO abducts little girls and rapes and kills them? WHO?! Normal men just walking around decide to do this? How can a society have such a low value on the life of a woman? How can a society care so little about women living in fear?

My mom had mentioned an article in the paper that morning (it was a weekend with the parents) about a 15 year old girl who met a guy online. She agreed to meet him somewhere and was kidnapped. He and HIS FATHER kept her in their apartment for a week and raped her. FOR A WEEK! She managed to escape, apparently, and they got caught.

That night, I had a nightmare about a serial killer, a duffel bag full of warm bloody body parts in Ziploc bags, and a series of films the killer had made while killing each victim. This was a nightmare because I was in charge of solving these crimes and had to watch the movies. I couldn't sleep for two nights afterwards.

So, the other day I was at the beach, on the walking path. Every time I heard someone behind me I jumped a little, startled. I notice that other women do it too, when they're approached. I saw a couple of guys laughing at a woman who was startled by them. Does a man even know what it's like to feel like a potential victim walking around? Sure, sure, it's a state of mind. BULLSHIT. With so much real violence against women, why do we need fictional violence?

Let me ask a question. Why is it that fictional terror is entertainment while the real terror is a challenging think piece? For example, Blood Diamond featured little boys getting body parts hacked off. COOL! Last King of Scotland is about a dictator who was a mass murderer...way better than Zodiac. That guy wasn't even REALLY a serial killer. Or what about The Virgins of Juarez? I mean, isn't that right up horror alley? Can someone explain this to me?

I've become a LaLa evangelist

LaLa was in Beta long before I got on. In fact, I was invited by a couple of friends months before I tried it. I didn't feel like looking at something new. I get invited to try stuff all the time. Join this! Do this! Be my friend! It's tiring and much of the time, nauseating. I can't even keep up with email and phone calls. So the idea behind LaLa is this: Trade your CDs with other people, the more you send, the more you receive and it costs $1.75 each.

One day I was at my mom's house and she said something about how she had so many CDs she had to start putting them in boxes so she didn't even know what she had anymore and she was pretty sure she didn't like many of them. She also kept a list of music that she wanted to buy and for months I had been telling her to make a wishlist on Amazon so I could buy them for her. All of a sudden it clicks. I'll trade them on LaLa for CDs that she wants! I joined in October and in four months I've traded 156 CDs and almost completely overturned my CD collection. My mom gets a stack of new music every time I visit and she's thrilled. I've become a LaLa evangelist.