Day #30: Shavian Wisdom

Today's topic:  "Do you agree with George Bernard Shaw that youth is wasted on children?"

Well, when I first saw this question, I was kind of annoyed, because I would have bet something important that the saying is actually "Youth is wasted on the young," which I think is very different than saying it's wasted on children.  Children are not the ones living the life which Shaw considers wasted.

But then I started Googling, and found the alternate version "Youth is a wonderful thing.  What a crime to waste it on children."  Which really doesn't have the same insouciant roll off the tongue, if you ask me.  Nor the same meaning.

Then, further searching revealed that no one is sure when or where he said this--it doesn't seem to be in any of his plays.  The final muddying of the waters made me giggle, which was someone arguing that it wasn't Shaw at all--it was Oscar Wilde (and it does sound rather Wildean, I think.)

So, I will be discontinuing my quest to scoff at the composer of this topic, and reverting to a more traditional response in the actual spirit of the thing.

I think I can begin by returning to my Googling, where someone had posted "I know this saying, but what does it actually mean?" and someone retorted "You must be young."

Which is really the point, I suppose.  That when you're young, you're clueless about why youth is so amazing.  You spend a lot of time wishing you were older, or just kind of reacting to your circumstances and rolling through the days, doing a lot of sleeping, eating and playing and precious little thinking.

On the other hand, this is precisely why this time is such a gift.  It's a time unfettered by the weight of mortality, the heavy hands of regret, guilt, and doubt.  People spend a lot of time telling you to "apply yourself" but you figure there's time to do that tomorrow--today you're going to watch TV, argue about gymnastics vs. ice skating, eat Froot-Loops out of the box, kiss someone inappropriate, and lay on the grass watching a bug.

I'm constantly reflecting NOW on the gift of hair that doesn't change color by the end of the month, staying up all night but then not sounding like a yeti the next day (or looking like one, either), eating chili-cheeseburgers at 4 a.m. and then sleeping like a baby until noon, knowing that all the leading lady parts in the play are open to me, (sigh) getting chatted up by strange men in public places.

Some of the other stuff is too painful to joke about, and almost even to write about:  a time when I didn't know my body didn't make children, a time when I thought I would soon become a famous movie reviewer, a time when I assumed I'd move around the country and the world every few years or so, as it suited me.

But I don't need to be too maudlin about it, because everyone will go through what I have.  It's the one unavoidable experience.  Getting older and realizing that youth wasn't as everlasting as it seemed when I was in the middle of it--working a thankless job in advertising (but the next one I'll have more responsibility and lots more money!) smarting from an unexpected break-up (but the next relationship will be transcendant and lasting!) living in a railroad apartment where you heard gunshots (but it was romantic and historic and only temporary!) drinking and dancing with friends after work most weeknights (because we need to vent and you can sleep when you're dead!) and never really thinking about what exactly would come next because it's a hot night in Boston and the Charles ripples in the moonlight and soaring strings rise up from the glowing Half Shell and grass tickles your bare feet and the people you're with are definitely going to be there always because this is the real thing, the essence, the soul, the center of life.

Being able to access those moments again are why Shaw (or Wilde, or whomever) said what he did, and why it makes everyone ruefully smile.  Unless they are young.  In which case, let them revel in this time when they have no idea what it means because they will, oh.  They will.

Day #29: Lazy and Crazy

It hasn't been that long since I wrote the last post, but it's been sort of a weird day and soon David and I are going to see The Queen of Versailles and maybe eat some Afghan food.  We haven't had a date night in ages because he's been away a lot and I've been in rehearsals.  Of course, we just had lunch, so maybe a big meal in an hour isn't going to happen.

The reason we had lunch at 3:00 is because Jarrah was having a fit.  She does that sometimes.  This time it was because we'd asked her to turn off the computer where she was playing some Wizard game, so she could get ready to go out.  And the "going out" was purely a treat for her--we were headed to one of those indoor arcade/restaurants--not Chuck E. Cheese but another one--at her request.  So when she freaked out, we had no choice but to cancel the field trip.  I've been trying to stick to consequences that I threaten, because I realized that for years I rarely have, and she knows it.  No matter how much she cries, she ends up really getting the message and it's gotten a bit easier to to sway her behavior with a mention of consequences than it used to be.

But then, there was at least an hour of crying and recriminations, so we were all pretty light-headed by the time we got to El Zarape.  And then it was so good.

Next, we went to Party City in search of some dog ears for her Snoopy performance this week, and did indeed find some, though they are brown and that's not right.  David is all keen on dyeing them, because he's an engineer to the core that way--why buy something when you can take a really, really long time to make or fix something else?  And we also had a treasure hunt in Ross Dress for Less for anything white for her to wear--the only shirts were for school uniforms (which bothered her mightily for some reason--we got one anyway) and the only white bottom in the place turned out to be a pair of boys basketball shorts which might look really cute because there's a black band around both legs--very Snoopy-esque.

It will be nice to have a quiet night before the madness starts this week.  Because this company rehearses in one location and only moves into the actual theater the week of the show, the first couple nights of tech are more or less harrowing (and time-consuming) and the director sometimes looks like s/he needs a big ol' drink as we flail around, entering and exiting wrong, stepping out of the light, tripping over things.  I have faith it will come together, though.  It's just I'll be really, really tired by the time it does.

On the other hand, I get to recuperate in Maui, so I really can't complain.

Day #28: Grad Night Tired

That's a weird title, referring to the time after ninth grade graduation that my class spent the night at Disneyland.  That's how it works--they sort of lock you in until 5:00 a.m.  Wearing a dress and heels.  Sounds like torture now, but we were pretty stoked then.  I remember that Tommy TuTone, they of the one (admittedly pretty rad) hit "Jenny, Jenny (867-5309)" played for us, and that my boyfriend, Isaac, gave me a gold necklace with little wings on it for our one-month anniversary.  One-month anniversary:  freakin' adorable.

The next day they bussed us back home and then we had about an hour before the bus picked us up for school.  Why did we have school the next day?  I don't know, but while we were sitting around at my friend Terri's house after breakfast, I started studying the faux-Persian carpet and next thing I knew there were some loud noises and I opened my eyes and there was a kind of blue fuzz where my vision used to be.  I jerked my head and realized I had fallen face down into the carpet pattern while I was looking at it and was now covered in drool and the bus was here.

So, that kind of tired.  I fell asleep on the couch for a few minutes this evening even though I could clearly see David was having to do all the dinner prep himself.  I just couldn't pick my head up.

I think this was partially due to a three-hour run-through early this morning followed by a two-hour dance rehearsal this afternoon, all of which had been preceded by four hours of sleep following a party I threw for the Pippin cast last night.  Whew!  That's too much math for this state of mind (and body.)

The party ended up being fairly relaxed and a nice size--about two-thirds of the cast came, plus our director.  We had burgers, a sundae bar and lots of other fixin's that people contributed.  Teresa brought her guitar and she and Nick played for us.  We sang a little and spoke of watching the Olympics but it never happened.  I stayed up talking about life with Austin, Cody and Teresa, and most of the time I didn't feel much, much older than them.

I do think the atmosphere was livelier, closer, more optimistic this morning.  And it was definitely our best run-through so far, or maybe I just felt that way because I remembered 90 percent of my notes and 75 percent of my dances.  I'm shooting for an even 100/100 on opening night.  Monday we start tech in the theater, so this was our last day in Santee.  Always makes me feel a little sad.


Afterwards, a bunch of the cast had lunch together at a fairly repugnant chain restaurant, and then I spirited 17-year-old old dancer and castmate, Ariel, back to my house (Jarrah was on a swim date, and David at the movies) for Pippin Dance Boot Camp.  I'm not sure who worked harder--me because I insisted on doing everything over and over and over to really drill it into my head, or her because, well, I insisted on her doing everything over and over and over, too.  Either way, I know we both had a sense of satisfaction when we were done, and I feel like I really put in the work and it will pay off come show time.


Now to put in that time for my harmonies.  Wait, not now.  Now, time to sleep.  

Day #27: Kid Questions

Today's topic:  "What's the best question a kid has ever asked you?"

Oh, this one is easy.  And the way I know it's easy is that I tell this story all the time, so it obviously made quite an impression.

When I was 25, I met a guy through my sister--she worked with him and I spent a day volunteering at her work.  He called the next day to ask me out and our relationship was sort of fast-tracked because I was leaving soon for a summer teaching job in Utah.  He was only five years older than me, but he was divorced from a youthful military marriage and had a son, age 5.

On our third date, he said it was his regular afternoon with his son and that I was going to meet him.  I felt pretty anxious about this, for lots of reasons.  It seemed awfully big and soon to be meeting someone's kid (and these kinds of boundary issues did end up being a problem.)  Also, as I've discussed in previous posts, I was pretty skeeved out by kids and had no idea how to act or what to say around them.

Daniel quashed my anxieties pretty quickly.  After they picked me up, I rode in the back of the car with this little tow-headed cutie who smiled sweetly but didn't say much.  What won me over is he reached out and gently petted my arm as we drove, stroking me with two fingers the way children are taught to pet rabbits.  I was pretty charmed by this and stopped being nervous.

And then when we arrived at the beach, he automatically reached for my hand before we crossed the street.  Now that I'm a mother, I know that little kids whose parents have put a monstrous fear of cars in their heads do this automatically to any adult-type person within arm's reach, but at the time, it seemed a  gesture of trust and I fell for it immediately.

We trudged through the sand down to the water, and I followed Dan when he started climbing the rocks.  My new boyfriend was standing below us in the waves, and for a few minutes, Dan and I were alone, our conversation drowned out by the surf.

He was a child who knew his mind.  He spoke clearly and unhesitatingly on all occasions, and almost always, I was amazed at his maturity and insight.  But I didn't know any of that then; I'd just met him 30 minutes before.

He climbed onto a rock across from me as I held his hand and said:  "So you're a teenager?"

"No, I'm not a teenager." I said.  And then, inexplicably, "I'm a fully-grown adult."

"Is that as big as you get?"

I laughed so loudly that Dan's dad came dashing up the rocks to see what happened.  Dan was still watching me with his big, round eyes under a fringe of almost-white hair, waiting for an answer.

Now I know that kids ask stuff like this all the time, and they do so because they'd genuinely like some information to add to the stash they've begun squirreling away.  I still love it, but that day, I was completely amazed by it.  Dan cut through all the formality, the expectations, the ordinariness of a getting-to-know-you conversation, right to the stuff he most wanted to know.

I fell in love with him right then and there.  Driving home from the beach later, my new boyfriend asked "So what did you think of Dan?"

"So far I like him more than I like you," I said.  And he laughed with delight, as a father should.  The fact that it was true and stayed true is probably why we went out as long as we did.

Day #26: Hungry

Today's topic:  "What did you swear you would never do as an adult that you still never do to this day?"

I should preface my response by saying "Not much.  Hardly anything.  Nope, mostly I'm just a big, fat hypocrite now."  My stance on television, kids' meals, saying "Because I'm the mother, that's why" and practically everything else has been leveled under the bulldozer of actual parenthood. 

But there's still one thing that haunts me and I try not to forget it.  And that's that you don't have control over your own appetite as a kid.  No, someone is always saying "You'll spoil your dinner" or "You've already had enough" or "But we're eating a real meal in two hours."  And I'm still traumatized by that.

You see, I am what nutritionists typically call "a grazer."  And what may also be called "hypoglycemic."  (I actually don't know that part for sure, but I will tell you I have a full personality change when my blood sugar gets too low--I can't think, speak or behave rationally until I get some real food.) And I think maybe I have some control issues about food as an adult because a lot of childhood is defined by the "three squares a day" model and "no snacking between meals" ethic.

Having skipped breakfast (too early, too lazy) and eaten ice cream and Diet Coke for lunch, I was chew-an-arm-off hungry after school throughout junior high and high school.  But I had to sneak snacks when my mother was out doing errands with the other kids.  I didn't even want sweets--I remember standing at the fridge shoving cheese and fruit and hot slices of my mother's homemade bread in my mouth so I didn't get caught. 

But the worst days were when I had swimming.  Now, I know that two hours of swimming laps can burn like 1,000 calories and it was no mystery why my legs were shaking when I got out of the pool.  But it was still two hours until dinner, two hours I often spent weeping in my room instead of doing my homework because I felt so weak. 

I'm not trying to vilify my mother.  She was making the choices she thought best, not trying to torture me.  But my memories of that gnawing hunger are still so visceral, I can't bring myself to deny Jarrah her snacks unless we really, truly are eating dinner in five minutes. 

I guess I also ascribe to the hilarious Seinfeld bit on "the appetite." 

I gotta tell you. I am really enjoying being an adult. You can do whatever you want. For example, If I want a cookie, I can have a cookie. I can have 3 cookie or four cookies or 11 cookies. Sometimes, I intentionally ruin my appetite and then I call my mother to tell her that I did. "Hello mom, I just ruined my appetite with cookies." Because as an adult we understand that if we ruin our appetite, there is another on the way. There is no danger of running out of appetites.

This makes a lot of sense to me.  There's no danger at all.  If my kid is hungry, I say let her eat.  Why should she have angst about it?  Why does it have to be an opportunity for neurotic doubt and introspection?  She feels like she wants food; she should eat food.  Now, I do have to police what KIND or she would eat nothing but candy from morning to night.  But otherwise, I say food is fuel and since she only has two speeds--turbo and asleep--she probably needs a lot of it.

I want to let her know that I trust her to know her own body.  That I don't get to say what it needs and doesn't need, when, where and what.  Let her grow up knowing she's beautiful and that food is beautiful, too.  I never want her to have a second of doubt about either of those things.  

And while I'm at it, I'm still trying to fix the hungry kid in myself, too.  There are times I actually speak soothingly to myself when I'm really hungry and in a situation where I can't get food for a long time.  I will say, Sssshhh, it's alright.  You're alright.  You are not going to be hungry forever and as soon as we have an opportunity to find food, you can have some.  No one's trying to deprive you.  Just chill.   

I have to remind myself that I'm in control now.  And when I do, it actually does help. 

Day 25: Stuff That Keeps Me From Napping

Today's topic I sort of covered yesterday, about stuff I do now that I wished adults wouldn't do when I was a kid.

I'm feeling really wiped out today.  I've been rehearsing a lot at night, and then being totally wired until 1:00 in the morning.  I think I'm kind of worried that we're not ready for this show, or maybe just that I'm not ready.  I am still messing up the dances, but now I am also messing up the songs.  About the only thing I can count on is my acting, so I'm really going all out in that area.

I've also been spending long hours reading plays.  Have I mentioned this?  I'm going to direct a short play for a festival and the trade-off is I have to read 300 of them to vet 24 for the program.  I'm trying to be really careful because from the five I'm ultimately allowed to choose, one will end up being the one I'm assigned.  I don't want to end up directing something I don't care about.  Therefore, I've already visited the theater five (!) times, with a sixth coming up tomorrow.  It's all very low-tech--we just sit there with a pencil and a plastic tub filled with plays stapled together.  I've gotten a bit better at just reading the first page and knowing whether it will work for me.  Here are some of my rules:

1.  No anthropomorphism.  If it says "Charles Darwin is having lunch with a jellyfish," I'm moving on.

2.  No world-weary military vets.

3.  No meetings between God and the Devil.  No angels, either.

4.  No preliminary stage directions longer than two sentences.  And no outlandish staging, such as "throughout the scene, mackerel are falling from the sky."

5.  No plays featuring teenagers or octogenarians (just because they're going to be hard for me to cast.)

6.  Meta is ALWAYS in.  The second the play mentions directors, actors, auditions, or references the play currently occurring, I'm all in.

I am also researching a trip to Maui--I think that's what they call "white girl problems."  But I am so neurotic I have to research and cross-reference every hotel, every neighborhood, ever itinerary, before I commit to anything.  Whereas David looked at my copious literature and notes and remarked, "I think I would like any of these with the beach and the trees and stuff."  Bless his blissed-out little heart.

I've also been "auditioning" for a job I don't think I'm going to get, but I'm giving it the old college try.  Only the job is not about acting, and in college I wasn't expected to lie through my teeth.  A pal of mine from Birdie is a producer for a local station and is looking for a promo writer.  I asked if I could apply and he said you have to know how to write.  I said, haughtily, "I have a Ph.D. in Literature!" and he responded just as haughtily, "Not THAT kind of writing!"  I love that.  Anyway, he said I could have a three-day trial--watch the news, then write a 1-3 sentence promo that would make people want to watch that story.  The first thing I learned is that the news is really hard up for things to talk about.  Most of the 30 minutes is weather and sports.  The rest is strangely amplified reports of things like the economy and local real estate.  Which is maybe why they need the promos.

Anyway, I thought my first attempts were completely awesome if maybe a bit exaggerated, but he had the chutzpah to call them boring!  He sent back "revised" versions and I had to restrain myself from writing back, "Oh, so you just want them to be outright LIES?"  Which I meant in a gently amused way--it seems sort of strident in writing.  Which is maybe why I didn't write it.  So last night I tried again (let me tell you how fun it is to watch the news and write stuff about it at 11:00 p.m. after you've been dancing for three hours) and didn't hold back on the hyperbole this time and today he said they were good!  I was so proud!  But he still offered the job to someone else who has, like, EXPERIENCE.  Whatever.  Harumph.  He was really sweet, though, and said if that guy doesn't take the job, he is going to try to promo me to the higher-ups in such a way that they'll consider me, lack of experience notwithstanding.

Day 24: Adults Are Cray-Cray

Today's topic:  "Talk about how you felt about adults back when you were a kid."

Good one.  Well, on the one hand, I thought they were idiots.  Because when confronted with one they all repeated some version of "Wow!  You're getting so big!"  This seemed moronic to me.  How would they know if I was getting so big?  I didn't even know who the freak they were.  Now the joke's on me because I literally have to squeeze my lips shut to avoid blurting that exact same line every time I'm re-introduced to somebody's kid I haven't seen in a while.  So, repetitive adults of my youth:  I absolve you.

On the other hand (and I find this rather sad now) I thought they were omnipotent.  I figured you weren't "allowed" to get to adulthood without learning absolutely everything about everything.  I remember feeling very secure in this belief.  And it double-went for politicians and teachers and anyone with any sort of obvious power.  I figured they had to be the smartest, wisest, most all-knowing and all-seeing people on the planet.  Sigh.  It was a tough fall from that one, since it wasn't direct.  No, instead, I rolled slowly and awkwardly down a semi-steep incline for years, bashing my head against rocks occasionally, but didn't really hit bottom until recently.  I think having a kid in public school is what finally yanked the remaining tendrils of wool from my eyes.  And that, Readers, is all I'm going to say about that.

What else did I think about adults?  Oh, they liked weird things.  I remember going to a play in New York with some relatives and we had dinner at Sardi's first.  They all got really drunk and ridiculous, and I couldn't for the life of me understand why anyone wanted to drink that foul-smelling brown liquid and then yell a lot of pointlessness for hours.  They also ate weird stuff, like salmon (I still think that) and enjoyed weird games (like bridge.)

I also will never forget showing my 16-year-old babysitter my parents' copy of The Joy of You-Know-What (I really don't want people Googling that) and her explaining that people did this to make babies.  That seemed such a Draconian trade-off, I was practically speechless.  I got my verbal faculties back a few seconds later, however, when she said the words that are etched on my brain:  "And some people just do it for fun."  To which I shouted back: "ONLY DISGUSTING PEOPLE!!!"

What else did I think of adults?  They had boring conversations.  Had unpredictable reactions to stuff I found hilarious.  Stayed up ridiculously late.  Had a weird fixation on ironing and emptying dishwashers--two activities I couldn't see the point of.  They enjoyed "errands," to the exclusion of practically everything else.  They read a lot.  Enjoyed hiking to a pathological degree.  Didn't see why Dolly Madison Zingers were the perfect food.  Were maddeningly dense about why I was currently crying.

More than anything else, they enjoyed screaming at each other, especially when I was trying to fall asleep.  It seemed compulsory that when you became an adult, you had to get married, and when you got married, you had to call each other names.  I wanted no part of that, so I just figured I'd find a way out of getting married.  I made good on that vow for a long time, but eventually, I gave in.

Day #23: Kid Problems

Today's topic is:  "What is the hardest part about being a kid?"

Some people might say "School!" but, clearly, I didn't imbibe that message and voluntarily stayed in school for 30 years.  They might say "Eating your vegetables!" but my mom is a good cook and I didn't mind them.  Perhaps "Sharing with your siblings" but, honestly, it wasn't an issue.  I had my own room, and later, my own car.  I didn't suffer for my own stuff.

I think the hardest part for me is the same as it for Jarrah.  (So why do I forget to be compassionate about it now?)  And that's the lack of CONTROL.  You want to do things now or later or your own way, and someone is there to tell you it's not gonna happen.  It's too dangerous, too late, too expensive, too wasteful, too messy, too close to dinner...whatever.  IT'S NOT UP TO YOU.  When I used to think about being a grown-up, I imagined a magical world where I got to do whatever I wanted.  Readers, that wasn't too far from the truth.

Jarrah gets the most frustrated when we interrupt her playing or movies or snacks with commands about stuff she definitely doesn't want to do, like get ready for school, go to bed, pick up her toys.  Sometimes she flies into an insta-tantrum at these times.  I can be surprised at these sudden transformations, but I also remember that the same sorts of transitions--which at the time seemed arbitrary--used to enrage me, too.

Some of my strongest memories of childhood were being suspended in the amber of someone else's needs, schedules, desires, and feeling like my head was going to explode with the frustration of it.  All those hours spent sitting on curbs alone because my mother was dealing with some other kid and couldn't pick me up right away, those hundreds of trips to Gelson's with my new license (where I became known to every single checker) for what seemed like a teaspoon of flour when I wanted to be out with friends, the stupefyingly long grocery trips when she stocked up for a week of meals for six people and I resorted to stealing candy and hiding it in my underwear just to pass the time.

I remember the countless day trips with my dad that were interrupted by his sudden conviction that we should sweep the garage first, the times I sat at the kitchen table after everyone had left because I wouldn't finish my milk, the many occasions I thought I might die from grief when my friends were all at Knotts Berry Farm without me because I was grounded for something or other.  I distinctly remember losing a boy whom I worshipped, Mark, at 15 because I didn't drive and couldn't get a ride to the Friday night post-temple events where he was becoming distracted by another girl, Tracy.  For a while, he kept calling me, and he just talked and talked of her in raptures.  I remember being absolutely certain that if I could just get myself physically into his field of vision on those nights, Tracy would be invisible.  But alas, I was at home, wheel-less, and he was falling for Tracy unimpeded.

Sigh.  I could really go on forever.  But, in a certain way, these kinds of memories are what makes adulthood all the sweeter.  You can't really do what you want--I can't fly to Greece today, or become a ballerina tomorrow--but I can decide what I want to do this afternoon and drive myself there, and call anyone I want to see, and if I don't feel like spending eons in the grocery store, there's always take-out.

Day #22: Picnick

This afternoon David, Jarrah and I attended the 2nd Annual Pickwick Picnick, which is a summer beach event for people who have been in Pickwick shows.  Although I sometimes feel like a shy outsider, I guess it's sort of official that after three shows, I'm sort of a Pickwick person myself.  They are a really cool bunch of people, many of them teachers, who like theater and kids, which kinda sorta fits my lifestyle to a T.

The Picknick was at Mission Bay, and we were late and missed the three-legged races and whatnot.  Partly, that was because Jarrah was having one of her unpremeditated fits.  During this one, she informed us she would NOT wear her bathing suit; she would NOT even BRING her bathing suit, and no one could make her go in the water.  When David said we were bringing the bathing suit anyway, the fit intensified, but he mildly stood his ground, reminding her that we've met her, and that's why we were bringing it anyway.  Guess how long it took her to decide to put her suit on when we arrived?  In her words, "one second."

Jarrah became fast friends with the daughter of Pippin's choreographer, and her day was pretty much non-stop fun, beginning with a swim in the mysteriously stinky bay, some frolicking in the sand with sand toys, some BBQ-ing of s'mores, a whole bunch of Doritos, and the commandeering of a lifeguard stand after dark.  Really, could a summer day get any better?

I was pleased as punch.  I had a comfy chair with a drink holder cradling a frosty one (that would be root beer), lots of lovely conversation, a perfect s'more, and more conversation.  The day was warm, but a marine layer blew in to cool us down.

As it grew dark and it seemed like things were winding down, I got a wild hare for an impromptu shopping trip for hot dogs and fixin's, and Jessica, Ariel and I had a fun time filling the cart at Keil's.  We were the conquering heroes when we returned with matchlight coals and three different types of dogs, quickly yummed up by the dinner-time crowd.

Situating my chair at the edge of the grass, I was in a great spot to watch the lights twinkling across the bay and the ring of blazing fire pits around us (somehow, our fire didn't quite blaze; it was more of a coy, smoldering coquette.)  Biting into the Nathan's dog I had carefully seared over the glowing coals and then drowned in ketchup and relish, I had to admit that the basic, historic elements of summer never disappoint:  fire against the ocean, sand between the toes, charred dinner on a stick, people to laugh with.

Day #21: Pride

It's late.  Post is due in less than an hour.  And I've been on the move for the past 14.  In that time, we drove and then shuttled to downtown Hillcrest with a pack from the Pippin cast (aka "Pipsters") and roamed both sides of the parade route for over two hours handing out promo business cards.  Our Pippin himself, already 6' 3", wore 5-inch stiletto pumps for this activity, which got us exactly the kind of attention you want at the Pride Parade.  It was quickly apparent that only Pippin and myself were up for selling ourselves to people in gold shorts and duct tape over their boobs, and we developed a pitch that included lines like "Fun, fierce, fabulous, Fosse and lots of other 'F' words!" and "We've got magic to do...some of it on stripper poles!" and "You know you love jazz hands!"  This approach actually worked, and we did manage to distribute nearly 1,000 cards during that time though I got a little hoarse and sweated like the lead singer in a rhumba band.

Afterward, we jumped straight in the car and drove to Encinitas, where we fetched Jarrah from her sleepover at Joy's, and then continued to the OC, where my brother's family is visiting from the Bay Area and my sister's from LA.  Only, for some reason the traffic was at Thanksgiving threat levels, and it took forever.  We even missed the beach trip attended by the entire extended family, but truthfully, we'd had enough sun for the day.  They returned to find us by the pool--and Jarrah in it--and soon she was joined by Thomas, Stella and Lilah, who was totally grooving on swimming with the big kids and grinned through her chattering teeth (that pool's not heated.)

My folks headed out to a fancy party, but the rest of us had dinner at Sharkey's, a Mexican place David and I like that soon became a favorite of the entire crew.  After that, we had some hang-out time and some of my Mom's lemon cake before Lilah's parents had to take her home and the rest of us undertook a very dark walk to the park to play zombies.

By the time we were ready to leave, Jarrah was curled up on the floor waiting to be carried to the car, and I started nodding off during the drive, determined to stay awake to listen to a fascinating "This American Life" account of an expat living in a remote Manchurian village.  And I did.

Home.  Looking forward to sleep after a jam-packed day.