My friend Navjit just launched her fabulous new website, and her new company Tenderlogic and she is offering a challenge which also happens to be a contest. If you know me well, you know how I love a contest. But that isn't why I'm entering. I'm entering because one of her questions spoke to me. And it didn't speak to me in a friendly sort of way. In fact, it haunted me.
The question is this: What habit or behavior is blocking you from your higher self?
Initially, I thought I'd answer the easy question: Do you think you're funny? Well, of course I'm funny. I'm sure if I decided to put the time and energy into answering that question I could have come up with something hilarious. Heck, I could have even written a new knock-knock joke, the likes that no one has ever heard before and know that my dear friend Navjit would be roaring with laughter. While I do enjoy making people laugh, (and who wouldn't want to make Navjit laugh?), that would have been the easy answer and honestly, the thought of answering that question didn't make me feel funny at all. Had I decided to answer that question, it probably would have had some ego attached to it.
So, instead, I'm choosing to answer the difficult question. The one I don't want to look at. It surrounds an issue that gnaws at me on a regular basis, weekly in fact. I enjoy writing down goals each week, more specifically the things I've accomplished after I accomplish them. Each Sunday starts a new week. I'm a doer. But not in the area I'm having trouble with. That area is exercise.
If I could only just get my butt to the gym!
I have a membership at a swank club and each week I imagine that I'll go there, take a yoga class, go for a swim, maybe even take a zumba class.
But I don't go. I have gone to the Saturday yoga class before, but it's been months and it's been even longer since I've gone during the week after work. I've thought about canceling my membership, but I don't want to. I don't want to give up on myself. The thing is, I know that if I just show up that the exercise part will take care of itself. It will happen because I'm there. That I know. However, getting myself to the gym is the tricky thing. And because I live in the Pacific Northwest where it rains 10 months out of the year, a gym membership is a great thing to have because of the weather.
If I could just get there once a week I'd be ahead of the game. Three times a week and I'd be ecstatic. Five, and....oh!!! Stop! Let's not put the cart before the horse. See, I can easily work myself up about my fantasy workouts and get excited just by thinking about them. While I'm sure if a trainer showed up at my house every day and forced me to exercise I wouldn't like it. In fact, I'd probably resent it. I want the freedom to choose when and how to work out. I just need help getting there. Getting to the gym that is, and just getting started. It's not like I don't exercise at all. I do. Sunday mornings I walk with friends along the Burke-Gilman trail, no matter what the weather, and then take a yoga class. On Saturdays sometimes I'll hike. What I want to do, is not let my gym membership go to waste.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
The Seattle Freeze
Seattle, you're not as progressive as you think you are.
Oh, you compost and you recycle...
But what about the gay men who come here and hide out in marriages to women? Hey, Mister, you're much more transparent that you think you are. I see you.
With the Subaru being the state car, you're much more conformist than Portland and not that creative.
While it's admirable that most of your citizens are card carrying library members, and walk around with a book in hand, would it kill them to open their mouths and speak to a stranger? Just because?
The chill infuses everything and everyone.
Oh, and I've heard different excuses: the constant rain, that the city was founded by Swedes. Boring, boring.
Unfortunately the Seattle Freeze is real and people think it's okay to act that way. Even if they were friendly at first they eventually succumb and conform. It's not okay.
What makes a city is its people.
Smiling and looking someone in the eye doesn't happen here.
And that's what it's about, for me anyway. Connection. The older I get the more I want to be a part of something.
Perhaps I need a smaller town in order to feel a sense of community.
Seattle chose me for various reasons and I obliged.
Perhaps, the next time, I'll choose differently with what's important in mind.
Oh, you compost and you recycle...
But what about the gay men who come here and hide out in marriages to women? Hey, Mister, you're much more transparent that you think you are. I see you.
With the Subaru being the state car, you're much more conformist than Portland and not that creative.
While it's admirable that most of your citizens are card carrying library members, and walk around with a book in hand, would it kill them to open their mouths and speak to a stranger? Just because?
The chill infuses everything and everyone.
Oh, and I've heard different excuses: the constant rain, that the city was founded by Swedes. Boring, boring.
Unfortunately the Seattle Freeze is real and people think it's okay to act that way. Even if they were friendly at first they eventually succumb and conform. It's not okay.
What makes a city is its people.
Smiling and looking someone in the eye doesn't happen here.
And that's what it's about, for me anyway. Connection. The older I get the more I want to be a part of something.
Perhaps I need a smaller town in order to feel a sense of community.
Seattle chose me for various reasons and I obliged.
Perhaps, the next time, I'll choose differently with what's important in mind.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Hey, I'm Not Gay
When I turned thirty, I cut my hair short and never looked back. While I wore it in varying stages of long for my entire life (with it almost to my butt as a young child), I was so relieved when I found out that short hair looked good on me, since I'm lazy in the mornings and it's so easy to care for.
As you may know, I've lived in several other places before landing in Seattle and in every other place I've lived, my sexual preference has never before been questioned to the degree that it has here in Seattle. While I know I'm not a Pretty Young Thing, I've never lived anywhere that when it comes to dating where I cannot get arrested.
Even in LA, the land of the superficial, I could probably do better than I'm faring here in Seattle. Although, it is possible that I may be deluding myself and looking at L.A. through rose-colored glasses. But believe me when I tell you - it's been very disheartening here in Seattle, a city that seems to be obsessed with hair. The men here have way too much of it in my book and that's just on their heads. Facial hair is also terribly out of control in this city and most men look like Grizzly Adams. It's definitely not coiffed facial hair.
Seattle is a city where you will also see women with hair that does not match their age. I am of the mind that as you age, your hair should get shorter and thus more tasteful. Not in Seattle!!
Here you see lots of women with long hair, and about half of them should cut it. Long stringy hair on an older woman is anything but flattering. "Look in the mirror!" I want to scream. But no one would listen if I did; I'd be preaching to the choir. Plus, I'm living in the land of Gortex, where sadly I've started fantasizing about purchasing completely water-proof hiking boots rather than the glam, suede high-heel boots I've been swooning over at Marshall's. The entire city could be on What Not To Wear.
Someone seriously needs to slap me. But, unfortunately, when it rains 7 months out of the year practicality takes over. As a last-ditch effort, I'm trying to save myself from becoming a fashion nightmare.
But, back to Seattle being a sucky place to date. In addition to stopping myself from thinking about Gortex, I've finally figured out part of my dating problem: my very short hairstyle.
In the year that I've lived in Seattle, only women have been knocking down my door.
My housemate recently confirmed my fears and she told me that she too, when she wore her hair very short, was completely ignored by the male species.
Fabulous.
We all know that men like long hair. Yawn. It just so happens that for several reasons, as well as the fact that my hair is super fine, that wearing it short seems to be the best solution. However, I can be proactive and have decided to grow it out to a short bob and see what happens. I'm approaching it as a scientific experiment. We'll see if any of the men in Seattle notice.
As you may know, I've lived in several other places before landing in Seattle and in every other place I've lived, my sexual preference has never before been questioned to the degree that it has here in Seattle. While I know I'm not a Pretty Young Thing, I've never lived anywhere that when it comes to dating where I cannot get arrested.
Even in LA, the land of the superficial, I could probably do better than I'm faring here in Seattle. Although, it is possible that I may be deluding myself and looking at L.A. through rose-colored glasses. But believe me when I tell you - it's been very disheartening here in Seattle, a city that seems to be obsessed with hair. The men here have way too much of it in my book and that's just on their heads. Facial hair is also terribly out of control in this city and most men look like Grizzly Adams. It's definitely not coiffed facial hair.
Seattle is a city where you will also see women with hair that does not match their age. I am of the mind that as you age, your hair should get shorter and thus more tasteful. Not in Seattle!!
Here you see lots of women with long hair, and about half of them should cut it. Long stringy hair on an older woman is anything but flattering. "Look in the mirror!" I want to scream. But no one would listen if I did; I'd be preaching to the choir. Plus, I'm living in the land of Gortex, where sadly I've started fantasizing about purchasing completely water-proof hiking boots rather than the glam, suede high-heel boots I've been swooning over at Marshall's. The entire city could be on What Not To Wear.
Someone seriously needs to slap me. But, unfortunately, when it rains 7 months out of the year practicality takes over. As a last-ditch effort, I'm trying to save myself from becoming a fashion nightmare.
But, back to Seattle being a sucky place to date. In addition to stopping myself from thinking about Gortex, I've finally figured out part of my dating problem: my very short hairstyle.
In the year that I've lived in Seattle, only women have been knocking down my door.
My housemate recently confirmed my fears and she told me that she too, when she wore her hair very short, was completely ignored by the male species.
Fabulous.
We all know that men like long hair. Yawn. It just so happens that for several reasons, as well as the fact that my hair is super fine, that wearing it short seems to be the best solution. However, I can be proactive and have decided to grow it out to a short bob and see what happens. I'm approaching it as a scientific experiment. We'll see if any of the men in Seattle notice.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Thanks, Canada
After making it through my first year in Seattle at the beginning of August, I have to admit: I wasn't loving Seattle. It's not a very friendly city and I was starting to fantasize about living in other places.
Over the past several days, something has shifted. Not just one thing happened, but a combination of things that helped change my perspective.
On Friday I was excited because I had an audition for a national commercial. While I didn't get a callback or the job, it got my creative juices pumping and made me realize that the Seattle acting market is the perfect size for me given my experience.
Then on Saturday, I visited Vancouver, British Columbia for the day and I'm pretty sure that's what caused the paradigm shift.
What a freaking cool city! And, it's only 2 1/2 hours away. Yay!!
Having a city like Vancouver so close by has given me a new lease on life. I cannot wait to go back.
On Sunday, I auditioned for a play lab for a staged reading and while I don't know if I'll get cast or not - it felt so good to be acting. They were casting for 4 different plays and I got to read for all of them and the response was good. Really good. While I haven't heard back yet, and it's driving me batty, it was a good reminder that it's about the process - as actors we don't have much control on the outcome. We just have to keep plugging away and fighting the good fight.
I've also started writing a one-woman show with my much esteemed acting coach and she's just as excited about my project as I am and I believe her enthusiasm is authentic. She really feels I'm developing something worthwhile and it's nice to not only get the validation, but to be working with someone like her. She's a master at what she does and I feel I've found the perfect person to work with.
Being an artist isn't easy. Most people don't get us and there is no guarantee we'll get the reward.
Thank goodness, I've been inspired to keep going. My eye is back on the prize.
Over the past several days, something has shifted. Not just one thing happened, but a combination of things that helped change my perspective.
On Friday I was excited because I had an audition for a national commercial. While I didn't get a callback or the job, it got my creative juices pumping and made me realize that the Seattle acting market is the perfect size for me given my experience.
Then on Saturday, I visited Vancouver, British Columbia for the day and I'm pretty sure that's what caused the paradigm shift.
What a freaking cool city! And, it's only 2 1/2 hours away. Yay!!
Having a city like Vancouver so close by has given me a new lease on life. I cannot wait to go back.
On Sunday, I auditioned for a play lab for a staged reading and while I don't know if I'll get cast or not - it felt so good to be acting. They were casting for 4 different plays and I got to read for all of them and the response was good. Really good. While I haven't heard back yet, and it's driving me batty, it was a good reminder that it's about the process - as actors we don't have much control on the outcome. We just have to keep plugging away and fighting the good fight.
I've also started writing a one-woman show with my much esteemed acting coach and she's just as excited about my project as I am and I believe her enthusiasm is authentic. She really feels I'm developing something worthwhile and it's nice to not only get the validation, but to be working with someone like her. She's a master at what she does and I feel I've found the perfect person to work with.
Being an artist isn't easy. Most people don't get us and there is no guarantee we'll get the reward.
Thank goodness, I've been inspired to keep going. My eye is back on the prize.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Dating In The Time Of Cholera
I once had a college professor who was a complete moron. I know you might find this hard to believe, especially at a school as prestigious as UCLA, but I assure you: the man was an idiot. During the quarter that I took his Sociology course, the only wise thing that he would mumble on occasion was, "We have to laugh, so we don't cry." This comment seemed to allude to his Mexican heritage in some way and it was implied that he felt he'd gotten the ethnic short end of the stick.
Who knew, this many years later (and it's been many years) that I would take this phrase to heart - particularly in matters of the heart.
While I didn't expect to find myself middle aged and single - guess what? Here I am.
Fantastic.
Actually, no - not really.
When I lived in Los Angeles (where I lived for 18 years), dating was challenging. While I have friends who have succeeded in finding admirable mates, I tend to think of the dating mores in LA and get hives. It's not uncommon to be talking to someone of the opposite sex, say, at a party and for them to be looking past you: to see who better they can converse with.
It's frickin' depressing.
From there I moved to Las Vegas - a place I never intended to live, that in fact chose me. I went along for the ride kicking & screaming, but, once settling in I made the best of the situation and found dating in Sin City to be, well, surprisingly easy.
Even though my banker at Wells Fargo warned me when I first got to town to beware of men on the down-low and men who pay for sex (unfortunately I would later meet one of each variety), I found that any man who caught my eye would then ask me out. It was like...well...magic! I'd never experienced such amazing dating juju in my life.
Life in Seattle would beckon to me and I would follow, and after a few excellent dating years in Las Vegas I would find....in Seattle...
I can't get arrested.
Excuse me? What the...???
Okay, I know I'm over forty, but I look reasonably good. It's not like I'm an old hag or anything. I still think I'm sort of a....catch.
When I first arrived a year ago I tried online dating and met some truly vile men and decided it was time to move on and have faith that a man could appear in another fashion.
I recently got set up on a blind date as some of you know and....nothing. Apparently we weren't on the same page. I seemed to think we had a good time after spending 4 1/2 hours together. To me it seemed like a sign of success. Apparently, I was wrong.
I'm not stupid, and I've read "He's Just Not That Into You." And my friend Seven was kind enough to reiterate that "he's not into you." Thanks, Seven. I needed the reminder.
When I was in LA in April for a friend's baby shower I got together with a former flame and the sparks seemed to fly. He thought it would be a good idea to get together at a time in the near future and take me away on a romantic getaway. When I got home and my hormones had calmed down, I realized that it probably wasn't the smartest idea. My friend and I had attempted to date about 10 years ago and when I took the trip down memory lane, I realized that my agreeing to the tentative romantic getaway was most probably a serious lapse in judgment as Mark (as much as I love him) was hardly a smart romantic prospect.
We spoke again about 3 weeks ago and Mark (who is very sweet) asked me if we were going to take our trip. I kind of hemmed and hawed and well...kind of agreed.
And then today, I'm on Facebook and just happen to notice that he's changed his relationship status to...in a relationship!
You'd think that I'd be happy. Relieved, in fact, and feel that he's done me a favor and that now I can slip out of our tentative commitment.
Hell no!
The very least the motherfucker could have done was told me he'd met someone! We've only been friends for twenty years.
Oh, I was pissed. And, I called him a motherfucker in the email I sent. Followed by: "I'm happy for you and I hope it works out."
What has happened to chivalry? I'm afraid it might be a rhetorical question.
Most likely, it's dead.
Who knew, this many years later (and it's been many years) that I would take this phrase to heart - particularly in matters of the heart.
While I didn't expect to find myself middle aged and single - guess what? Here I am.
Fantastic.
Actually, no - not really.
When I lived in Los Angeles (where I lived for 18 years), dating was challenging. While I have friends who have succeeded in finding admirable mates, I tend to think of the dating mores in LA and get hives. It's not uncommon to be talking to someone of the opposite sex, say, at a party and for them to be looking past you: to see who better they can converse with.
It's frickin' depressing.
From there I moved to Las Vegas - a place I never intended to live, that in fact chose me. I went along for the ride kicking & screaming, but, once settling in I made the best of the situation and found dating in Sin City to be, well, surprisingly easy.
Even though my banker at Wells Fargo warned me when I first got to town to beware of men on the down-low and men who pay for sex (unfortunately I would later meet one of each variety), I found that any man who caught my eye would then ask me out. It was like...well...magic! I'd never experienced such amazing dating juju in my life.
Life in Seattle would beckon to me and I would follow, and after a few excellent dating years in Las Vegas I would find....in Seattle...
I can't get arrested.
Excuse me? What the...???
Okay, I know I'm over forty, but I look reasonably good. It's not like I'm an old hag or anything. I still think I'm sort of a....catch.
When I first arrived a year ago I tried online dating and met some truly vile men and decided it was time to move on and have faith that a man could appear in another fashion.
I recently got set up on a blind date as some of you know and....nothing. Apparently we weren't on the same page. I seemed to think we had a good time after spending 4 1/2 hours together. To me it seemed like a sign of success. Apparently, I was wrong.
I'm not stupid, and I've read "He's Just Not That Into You." And my friend Seven was kind enough to reiterate that "he's not into you." Thanks, Seven. I needed the reminder.
When I was in LA in April for a friend's baby shower I got together with a former flame and the sparks seemed to fly. He thought it would be a good idea to get together at a time in the near future and take me away on a romantic getaway. When I got home and my hormones had calmed down, I realized that it probably wasn't the smartest idea. My friend and I had attempted to date about 10 years ago and when I took the trip down memory lane, I realized that my agreeing to the tentative romantic getaway was most probably a serious lapse in judgment as Mark (as much as I love him) was hardly a smart romantic prospect.
We spoke again about 3 weeks ago and Mark (who is very sweet) asked me if we were going to take our trip. I kind of hemmed and hawed and well...kind of agreed.
And then today, I'm on Facebook and just happen to notice that he's changed his relationship status to...in a relationship!
You'd think that I'd be happy. Relieved, in fact, and feel that he's done me a favor and that now I can slip out of our tentative commitment.
Hell no!
The very least the motherfucker could have done was told me he'd met someone! We've only been friends for twenty years.
Oh, I was pissed. And, I called him a motherfucker in the email I sent. Followed by: "I'm happy for you and I hope it works out."
What has happened to chivalry? I'm afraid it might be a rhetorical question.
Most likely, it's dead.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Today I'm A Salad
When I first found out there was a Korean spa in the Seattle area, my heart skipped a beat. I was ecstatic. It had been years since I'd frequented such a place and when I made my first visit a few months back, it was everything I'd hoped for and more.
I must say, spending the Fourth of July getting completely pampered was just what the doctor ordered.
Now, if you've never been to a Korean spa before, and aren't European - know that it isn't for everyone. What I mean by that, is that even though you're given a robe, you'll be spending a lot of time au naturel. It's not a tony spa environment where everyone is robed and shuffled in and out of their spa treatments. At this type of spa, you are laid down on a table buck naked before you are scrubbed or moisturized by a Korean woman in a black utilitarian bra and underwear.
After a morning of soaking in the various tubs, sitting in the steam room and sauna and getting a couple of treatments, I ate lunch in the restaurant and then hopped from room to room. The spa boasts room of different temperatures - varying degrees of hot - that all promise different healing properties and are supposed to regulate different bodily processes. All good, of course.
From the way they advertise it, if you spend enough time in each room before you leave, you're guaranteed not only extra vitality and energy, but also years added onto your life - just as long as you don't get hit by a bus when you leave.
After baking in one room that warns against staying in it longer for more than five minutes, I went into the cool room to "chill" and stared at a poster of a penguin family. After all the heat I could take in the rooms, I showered - as told to do by the woman who would be in charge of my moisturizing treatment - and then sat in the dry sauna. I could only stand it for a few minutes before I had to get out. It had been a long day of a lot of heat. I did pop back in (I can obey orders) for a few more minutes before Eve came and got me.
I was then ready for my moisturizing treatment. And as it turned out, I had no idea what I was in for.
For fifty minutes, Eve's intent was to moisturize the heck out of me. And that she did.
She slathered me in separate coats (and poured hot water on me in between) of olive oil, milk and honey. After the honey was applied, she then packed my face with iced cucumber and left me to marinate.
For a really long time. At least 10 minutes, maybe longer. It felt like an eternity. And after a while, I was ready to be rid of the honey and cucumber on my body. Seriously, I had turned into a salad.
When you're lying there, wrapped up like coleslaw, you lose sense of time. It wasn't like I could see the clock - because each eye was covered by a slice of cucumber. What is supposed to be super relaxing, after a while becomes a tad annoying.
Finally Eve returned and hosed me off and sent me on my merry way. She told me not to go near water the rest of the day. I could drink it, but it couldn't touch my body. I was now as soft as a baby's hiney, so I didn't care.
On the drive home, though, I noticed there was quite a slick streak of honey on my left forearm. What do do? I promised to stay away from water. However, I think given the gargantuan ants that I've seen walking around my kitchen and bedroom lately (that I think stowed away in the peonies from the market), that it's safe to apply a damp paper towel to my left forearm. Eve doesn't need to know.
I must say, spending the Fourth of July getting completely pampered was just what the doctor ordered.
Now, if you've never been to a Korean spa before, and aren't European - know that it isn't for everyone. What I mean by that, is that even though you're given a robe, you'll be spending a lot of time au naturel. It's not a tony spa environment where everyone is robed and shuffled in and out of their spa treatments. At this type of spa, you are laid down on a table buck naked before you are scrubbed or moisturized by a Korean woman in a black utilitarian bra and underwear.
After a morning of soaking in the various tubs, sitting in the steam room and sauna and getting a couple of treatments, I ate lunch in the restaurant and then hopped from room to room. The spa boasts room of different temperatures - varying degrees of hot - that all promise different healing properties and are supposed to regulate different bodily processes. All good, of course.
From the way they advertise it, if you spend enough time in each room before you leave, you're guaranteed not only extra vitality and energy, but also years added onto your life - just as long as you don't get hit by a bus when you leave.
After baking in one room that warns against staying in it longer for more than five minutes, I went into the cool room to "chill" and stared at a poster of a penguin family. After all the heat I could take in the rooms, I showered - as told to do by the woman who would be in charge of my moisturizing treatment - and then sat in the dry sauna. I could only stand it for a few minutes before I had to get out. It had been a long day of a lot of heat. I did pop back in (I can obey orders) for a few more minutes before Eve came and got me.
I was then ready for my moisturizing treatment. And as it turned out, I had no idea what I was in for.
For fifty minutes, Eve's intent was to moisturize the heck out of me. And that she did.
She slathered me in separate coats (and poured hot water on me in between) of olive oil, milk and honey. After the honey was applied, she then packed my face with iced cucumber and left me to marinate.
For a really long time. At least 10 minutes, maybe longer. It felt like an eternity. And after a while, I was ready to be rid of the honey and cucumber on my body. Seriously, I had turned into a salad.
When you're lying there, wrapped up like coleslaw, you lose sense of time. It wasn't like I could see the clock - because each eye was covered by a slice of cucumber. What is supposed to be super relaxing, after a while becomes a tad annoying.
Finally Eve returned and hosed me off and sent me on my merry way. She told me not to go near water the rest of the day. I could drink it, but it couldn't touch my body. I was now as soft as a baby's hiney, so I didn't care.
On the drive home, though, I noticed there was quite a slick streak of honey on my left forearm. What do do? I promised to stay away from water. However, I think given the gargantuan ants that I've seen walking around my kitchen and bedroom lately (that I think stowed away in the peonies from the market), that it's safe to apply a damp paper towel to my left forearm. Eve doesn't need to know.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Connections
Usually when I sit down to blog, I have a plan. Something I want to write about, some topic, whatever it may be. Today I don't really have a theme or a topic. I just feel like writing.
Last night I had a dream. While not a recurring dream in and of itself; I've had many variations of this dream over the years. The dream was set on Dayton Road in Redding, Connecticut where I grew up. In the dream, I was looking for the house I grew up in. I was having a difficult time locating the house (I wasn't really walking in the dream, but kind of drifting which of course you can do when you're dreaming) because there were lots of additional houses that weren't usually there.
I was able to locate our next door neighbor's house, it looked the same. But even with their house being recognizable, I still couldn't find our house.
Finally I found it. I've had variations on this dream, where I was in my old house, even though other people now lived there and for several years it seemed like the dream was recurring. It turns out, my mother also had similar dreams.
Sometimes I wonder why I've dreamed about this house in particular, when I have lived in other places and dwellings? Probably, because, this house signifies "home." The place where I lived from the age of 8 to 16.
After to moving to California from Connecticut in 1988, it would take many years for me to return to the east coast. It wasn't until my late Great Aunt Estelle threw herself a 90th birthday celebration that I would return. It was a good 9 or so years later that my parents and I would find ourselves in front of our old house. It looked pretty much the same as it had always looked, although the new owners had painted it white.
Our next door neighbor's house, however, looked remarkably different. Joe Burke and his wife Sharon had lived next door to us for the 8 years we were in our house, with Sharon's two children - Terri and Brian. The outside of their home was always attractive, with some nice landscaping and flowers. All these years later, it was obvious to us that the Burke-Garlock family was long gone. It looked like Sanford & Son had moved in. It was quite ghetto.
Because the appearance of their former home was so scandalous, it was all my parents and I could talk about the rest of the trip and we wondered what had become of our former neighbors. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about Brian Garlock - the son of the family. While I didn't know Brian well, after Terri got married at 18 and ran off to California, Brian replaced his sister as our babysitter. For some reason, the memory I have etched in my mind is of Brian eating Doritos. He would put the entire chip in his mouth and chomp down. It used to make me laugh. I was unable to shake the thought of Brian and found myself thinking about him non-stop.
When I got back to Los Angeles, I was in between jobs and was asked by a friend to fill in for her at Disney while she took a trip to Maui. I was at her desk for a week and on the second day, an email came along with information about t-shirts for the remake of "The Parent Trap" - the movie that Disney was promoting at the time. In the email, it mentioned the name of the person from the marketing company who was supplying the t-shirts. Her name was Terri Garlock.
I called the phone number in the email and an older woman answered the phone. She was Terri's secretary. I told her that what I was about to say might sound strange, but I was wondering if I might know Terri. I gave her my information and 5 minutes later she called back. She was excited and relayed her conversation with Terri. It turned out, that indeed Terri was my former next-door neighbor from Connecticut. The woman told me that when she'd told Terri that I had called, that Terri was so surprised that she nearly ran off the road. I also found out, that Terri was on her way to the Disney Studios and would be there in 20 minutes.
I was like a little kid. I made sure that I was in the right spot to greet Terri when she arrived. We laughed, we hugged each other and we caught up. Terri was pregnant and told me that her first marriage hadn't worked out. She was happily married to husband #2 and I told her to never go by her old house, if she were to find herself in Connecticut, but rather remember the house the way it used to look. She thanked me and told me that her Stepdad, Joe, had told her the same thing. Then, she proceeded to tell me some really sad news.
Her brother, Brian, had been killed in an Amtrak wreck when he was 21. Her mother ran away and no one had heard from her since.
Terri then asked how my parents were doing, and revealed that she married a Jewish man and credited my Dad in making a good impression and actually influencing her choice in a spouse. Way to go, Dad.
It's funny how life turns out. We never know what will happen. Right now a lot of my friends are having babies. It seems like I'm the only person in my group of friends and family without a kid. Maybe it's got me thinking about life, and death. Or maybe it's because my parents (like everyone else's) are growing older and I find myself wondering how long I'll have them around for.
When my Great Aunt Estelle came down with dementia at the age of 94 it was devastating. However, I suppose her situation wasn't as bad compared to some others who are afflicted, even though it was terrible for us. She was as sharp as a tack until she was 94 and died at 96, not knowing who any of us were. Today, I heard from a friend who I've known since I was 5 - who is dealing with her Dad, who has Alzheimer's, and is in a home. She's having a hard time.
Do I have a point here? Not really. Just the thought that we are so connected, whether we realize it or not.
Last night I had a dream. While not a recurring dream in and of itself; I've had many variations of this dream over the years. The dream was set on Dayton Road in Redding, Connecticut where I grew up. In the dream, I was looking for the house I grew up in. I was having a difficult time locating the house (I wasn't really walking in the dream, but kind of drifting which of course you can do when you're dreaming) because there were lots of additional houses that weren't usually there.
I was able to locate our next door neighbor's house, it looked the same. But even with their house being recognizable, I still couldn't find our house.
Finally I found it. I've had variations on this dream, where I was in my old house, even though other people now lived there and for several years it seemed like the dream was recurring. It turns out, my mother also had similar dreams.
Sometimes I wonder why I've dreamed about this house in particular, when I have lived in other places and dwellings? Probably, because, this house signifies "home." The place where I lived from the age of 8 to 16.
After to moving to California from Connecticut in 1988, it would take many years for me to return to the east coast. It wasn't until my late Great Aunt Estelle threw herself a 90th birthday celebration that I would return. It was a good 9 or so years later that my parents and I would find ourselves in front of our old house. It looked pretty much the same as it had always looked, although the new owners had painted it white.
Our next door neighbor's house, however, looked remarkably different. Joe Burke and his wife Sharon had lived next door to us for the 8 years we were in our house, with Sharon's two children - Terri and Brian. The outside of their home was always attractive, with some nice landscaping and flowers. All these years later, it was obvious to us that the Burke-Garlock family was long gone. It looked like Sanford & Son had moved in. It was quite ghetto.
Because the appearance of their former home was so scandalous, it was all my parents and I could talk about the rest of the trip and we wondered what had become of our former neighbors. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about Brian Garlock - the son of the family. While I didn't know Brian well, after Terri got married at 18 and ran off to California, Brian replaced his sister as our babysitter. For some reason, the memory I have etched in my mind is of Brian eating Doritos. He would put the entire chip in his mouth and chomp down. It used to make me laugh. I was unable to shake the thought of Brian and found myself thinking about him non-stop.
When I got back to Los Angeles, I was in between jobs and was asked by a friend to fill in for her at Disney while she took a trip to Maui. I was at her desk for a week and on the second day, an email came along with information about t-shirts for the remake of "The Parent Trap" - the movie that Disney was promoting at the time. In the email, it mentioned the name of the person from the marketing company who was supplying the t-shirts. Her name was Terri Garlock.
I called the phone number in the email and an older woman answered the phone. She was Terri's secretary. I told her that what I was about to say might sound strange, but I was wondering if I might know Terri. I gave her my information and 5 minutes later she called back. She was excited and relayed her conversation with Terri. It turned out, that indeed Terri was my former next-door neighbor from Connecticut. The woman told me that when she'd told Terri that I had called, that Terri was so surprised that she nearly ran off the road. I also found out, that Terri was on her way to the Disney Studios and would be there in 20 minutes.
I was like a little kid. I made sure that I was in the right spot to greet Terri when she arrived. We laughed, we hugged each other and we caught up. Terri was pregnant and told me that her first marriage hadn't worked out. She was happily married to husband #2 and I told her to never go by her old house, if she were to find herself in Connecticut, but rather remember the house the way it used to look. She thanked me and told me that her Stepdad, Joe, had told her the same thing. Then, she proceeded to tell me some really sad news.
Her brother, Brian, had been killed in an Amtrak wreck when he was 21. Her mother ran away and no one had heard from her since.
Terri then asked how my parents were doing, and revealed that she married a Jewish man and credited my Dad in making a good impression and actually influencing her choice in a spouse. Way to go, Dad.
It's funny how life turns out. We never know what will happen. Right now a lot of my friends are having babies. It seems like I'm the only person in my group of friends and family without a kid. Maybe it's got me thinking about life, and death. Or maybe it's because my parents (like everyone else's) are growing older and I find myself wondering how long I'll have them around for.
When my Great Aunt Estelle came down with dementia at the age of 94 it was devastating. However, I suppose her situation wasn't as bad compared to some others who are afflicted, even though it was terrible for us. She was as sharp as a tack until she was 94 and died at 96, not knowing who any of us were. Today, I heard from a friend who I've known since I was 5 - who is dealing with her Dad, who has Alzheimer's, and is in a home. She's having a hard time.
Do I have a point here? Not really. Just the thought that we are so connected, whether we realize it or not.
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