A toast

On Thursday night we went Jive and Wail to celebrate the birthday of a few friends. There were more than 20 of us from the office, but we were way outnumbered by the fireman, which yes, I know could be the beginning of some Penthouse-esque letter, but believe me, this night was not about that...much. We went to Jive and Wail, a super fun piano bar, in Maplewood. I didn’t realize, but on the way there you had to drive through streets lined with fireman from all over the country, paying their respect to a fallen friend – even if they’d never met him they had a common bond, a common mission, a common dedication to help. I was crying by the time I got down the street, you couldn’t help be overwhelmed by the outpouring of support for this family and the families that all know it could have just as easily been them.

Unbeknownst to us Jive and Wail was hosting an unusual Backstoppers fund raiser (sex toys – hey – money raised is money raised) and was the site of many a drunken fireman by the end of the night...deservingly so. It was a very surreal evening. You’d go from Heather on stage shaking it to Baby Got Back (hilarious) to suddenly hearing bagpipes cut the noise in the room to silence as everyone raised their glass in reverence. A bagpipe is not just an instrument it’s like this link to the past – it’s not just playing notes, it’s releasing this ethereal wail, this haunting timeless sound that cuts right through you filling the room with a cold chill of remembrance.

The songs would end and the toasts and the stories would begin again...long into the night. Firemen from all over the city, policeman from NYC, dress blues from everywhere. All there for a fallen friend who they may never have gotten the chance to meet.


I read this article at STL today about those fireman...

By Christine Byers
ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
07/27/2008

From the moment Maplewood firefighter Ryan Hummert died, firefighters were there.

At first, it was his Maplewood crew, who, along with 22-year-old Hummert, had thought they were responding Monday to a routine car fire. Instead, they found themselves in the middle of a gunman's killing field.

Before it was over, two police officers were shot, Hummert was killed and several other bullets barely missed their intended targets.

Minutes that seemed like hours passed until police could safely remove Hummert's body. Then firefighters were there to carry him to an ambulance.

Clayton firefighter Brian Zinanni knew it was time to begin a firefighter's tradition.

"We need somebody to stay with Ryan," Zinanni told a visibly shaken crowd of firefighters.

Rock Hill Fire Chief Kevin Halloran and Clayton firefighter Ted Destatte volunteered and boarded an ambulance for a somber ride to the hospital.

"We wanted him to go in a fire department ambulance because it was the start of us taking care of him," Halloran said.

When Hummert was pronounced dead at the hospital, firefighters were there.

When the medical examiner autopsied the body, firefighters were there.


Halloran and Destatte delivered Hummert to the funeral home, where other firefighters relieved them.

Nearly 12 hours had passed since Halloran had boarded the ambulance to escort a firefighter he barely knew through the post-mortem motions.

"I said I would do it not knowing fully what the day was going to entail," Halloran said. "It was one of the biggest honors I've had in my career."

Many felt the same way. Within hours of Hummert's death, firefighters from across the country had called Zinanni to volunteer to stay with Hummert's body at the funeral home.

"It's a process of healing for firefighters as well as considered an honor to sit with a fallen comrade," said Zinanni, team coordinator for the Missouri Fire Service Funeral Team. "And it's a comfort to the family to know he was never alone."

When funeral directors placed Hummert's casket at the front of the funeral parlor, firefighters were there.

Two firefighters stayed with the casket for two-hour shifts. Often, the group grew to six as some stayed past their allotted time, or others just showed up. Some came in T-shirts and jeans. Others wore their dress blues.

They passed much of the time as they would at their respective firehouses, waiting for the next call. Talking shop. Sharing laughs. And sitting together.

It was their way of bringing the firehouse Hummert loved so much to him for his final moments among them.

Every once in a while, the group quieted. Their eyes turned to the casket.

"So he was only 22?" asked Grovespring, Mo., firefighter Brandon Miller during a shift that lasted until midnight Wednesday.

Maryland Heights firefighters nodded.

"Wow, that's scary," Miller said. "I'm only 20."

Maryland Heights firefighters got a kick out of Miller and his fellow Grovespring firefighter Robert McClanahan. Their stories about life in a rural volunteer district south of Lebanon, Mo., kept the mood light. They discussed donating equipment to the volunteer department.

"Do you think we could come by for a tour of your station?" Miller asked. "I've never been in a paid fire department before."

"Sure," replied firefighter Larry Tennison.

Soon, Maryland Heights Capt. Bill Matzker's eyes drifted once more to Hummert's casket.

"So who was this Knobbe guy anyway?" he asked of the alleged gunman, Mark Knobbe.

The group shared what they knew: Knobbe was estranged from his family. He had worked for the Art Museum. He set his home on fire and shot himself in the head.

"Just senseless," Matzker said.

About seven more shifts passed before the informal casket vigil gave way to a formal honor guard. Firefighters in full dress blues stood at both ends of the casket for 10-minute shifts during the seven-hour visitation.

Halloran took his post at 2 p.m. Wednesday at the foot of the casket. Brentwood firefighter Tim Hammer stood at the head.

Hummert's tearful mother, father and sister were the first to visit. Firefighters were there.

They stood rigid until the next pair relieved them. But once in the hallway, their tears flowed.

The rotations continued until 10 p.m., even through a 40-minute procession of more than 600 firefighters, saluting the casket two by two.

Once the formal honor guard retired for the night, the informal watch resumed. Funeral directors dimmed the lights and told the firefighters where to find the restrooms and coffee.

When Hummert's family arrived the next morning for the closing of the casket, firefighters were there.

Members of Hummert's Rockwood Summit High School football team carried the casket to the door. From there, firefighters bore their brother to a pumper and then to Immaculate Conception Church.

Maplewood firefighters sat in the front rows to the right of the casket. The family sat to the left.

Firefighters delivered many of the nine eulogies.

Two nearby churches opened for the overflow. Firefighters from as far as New York, Nebraska, Tennessee, Kentucky and Indiana quickly filled more than 800 chairs and stood in the aisles.

About 135 firetrucks escorted the casket to the cemetery.

The family waited at the grave site as more than 1,000 firefighters marched behind the pumper carrying Hummert's casket. It's a tradition called "the Sea of Blue."

An honor guard stood at attention while Maplewood firefighters delivered the casket to its final destination.

More than a dozen firefighters on bagpipes played "Amazing Grace." And firefighters on bugles played taps.

The Hummerts returned to a limousine, in awe of the firefighters' role in their son's final journey.

"We could have taken months and never planned anything as beautiful as this," said Andy Hummert, Ryan Hummert's father.

The limo pulled out, and the firetrucks lined up to exit. Cemetery workers prepared to lower the casket.

They pushed a mound of earth over Hummert's grave.

And a firefighter was there.

I’m hooked

Yesterday was 1 million degrees in St. Louis and I had a bad allergy headache which kept me on the couch most of the day. I did rally and go to the gym, get my nails done and pick up dinner, but that was about it. So everyone keeps talking about Mad Men...if I don’t watch something right away I get sick of hearing about it and just don’t watch it on principle. Like when I was in high school and worked at the video store...it was called Charlie Brown Video – for real – oh wait – it was called Cinema Video but my boss’s name was Charlie Brown – for real. Anyway that year Ghost came out and I was soooooooo sick of hearing about it that I probably didn’t watch it until years later. With Mad Men I was just tired of hearing about it, even though the ad men of Madison Avenue should have been right up my alley. When I was in LA on our TV shoot this spring everyone was all gaga about some party the stars of Mad Men were attending that this guy could have gotten us in to....which just added to my annoyance level. If I only knew!

I had a teacher at Mizzou named Henry Haggar who had a dent in the top of his old bald head – not from playing football at Yale when they wore those ridiculous worthless leather “helmets” he loved to show at dinner parties, but from when he was on Madison Avenue working on the Corvair account. Hit a pole and flipped the car. Now that’s research. He was from the era of the 3 martini lunches and the dark suit. He worked on baseball, apple pie and Chevrolet and many other campaigns that probably were stuck in your head and your parents’ heads when you were growing up. He was old school. He taught the copywriting and campaign classes. If he didn’t like your work he crumpled it up and stomped on it....literally. He’d say you throw away 3 good ideas before you get to a great idea. Love that. Little did I know that in the real world you barely have time to formulate one complete passable idea before the deadline has come and gone...more less 3...but I always keep that mantra in the back of my mind.

Anyway, so I watched an entire season of Mad Men. That’s 13 episode! And it didn’t even stress me out like sometimes it does...apparently this is how I operate – I catch up on entire seasons in a day or two...Weeds, the Tudors...That damn Charter on demand...just 6 more....just 5 more. It’s only 1 a.m...why not the last one? I just have to know what happens...it’s not even that the story lines are that dramatic, it’s just that the people are so cool you just want to see what they’re up to next. And it’s on AMC so it’s not like it’s pseudo porn where you’re just waiting for the king to strip down again like the Tudors, but this is incredibly sexy. It’s like the old movies where they don’t kiss until the very end. The strong leading man soys...I’m going to kiss you...now...on the lips...and then plants one on her as she melts into him. That’s sexy. And the men all wear suits, all the time, which you know how I feel about that...yaza.

One client on the show is lucky strike cigarettes, which my dad smoked for an eternity....Lucky Strikes means fine tobacco....or cancer. Even in the 1960s they knew it would kill you, but everyone is smoking, I mean everyone – I’m waiting for the family dog to light up! In the office, in bed, next to the pregnant woman...oh wait, she’s smoking too.

Go watch it – season 2 starts late July.



Family – you can’t give them back

I think I mentioned I’m planning the first annual first cousin’s reunion (that’s a lot of firsts). Every time I talk to my mom (who finally sounds back to her normal self thankfully) she brings it up. How come I’m one of 4 people who don’t live in Washington, yet I’m planning this? I sent a save the date email today because she said everyone was getting antsy....fine. But my favorite so far is that my cousin apparently said she cannot understand why when you rent a bus to take you to the winery you have to pay the bus driver to sit there. Seriously? I had to explain this is how they make money – and on top of what you pay them to sit there and pen their next great novel or whatever they do, you also have to give them a big tip because somebody is probably going to hurl at some point. My bday bus driver’s name was Bob – which we think is just the name he gives everyone – like when you call ATT customer service in India. Trisha says – what does she think...you pay him to drive you over, he drinks all day and then brings us back? Good point. So, we haven’t even had our first planning meeting – which I was really looking forward to because we’re having it a new wine bar/tapas place in Webster called Robust, which I want to check out – and these people are on my last familial nerve. I’ve already weeded out the instigators, which my oldest sister is one of, but Trisha nailed it when she said they’re just the cheap ones and she’s right. Dear God please don’t let my family ever find this blog. It’s fine to be frugal – but for the love, we’ve never ever done this before. Pipe down and get in the flipping family spirit already!


Forest Park inferno

Today there is a 103 heat index. I went to Kaldi’s to write a TV script for work which was a lot of fun, but then was tired of sitting around so went to the Art Museum. You could have rolled one of those gianormous earth balls down art hill – not a soul...no kite flyer, no picnicker, no reader, no layer-outer. Nothing. I love to just wander through the museum until I find something new. And I always have to visit the impressionists, George Caleb Bingham (because it reminds me of growing up in a little river town – and his self portrait is dashing), Buddha (the one in KC is better) and the mummies...usually Max Beckman too, but I got really lost and never found him. There was a portrait I believe Cezane did of his sister – he must really not have liked her. He did it all with a palette knife...yikes. She looked incredibly spooky immortalized in those rough slash-like motions. I did stumble upon a photography exhibit of the south during segregation – amazing and captivating shots. You saw all of this sorrow, poverty, starvation and strife and then you turned the corner and there was a portrait of Ingrid Bergman I think it was –strikingly glamorous and beautiful - very talented photographer. I saw a little boy getting his picture taken posing like he was holding an ancient two-handed knife in this big glass case, which made me laugh out loud. I wandered into the silver dishes and knick knacky things which I had never paid to much attention to before. Last year I met the guy who was the curator of the big silver installation the museum had so it caught my interest. He didn’t have a cell phone...a computer...and he said his TV barely worked. I thought of him and then remembered how much I wanted the iPhone. My stupid phone keeps dropping calls and I think it’s just the Apple gods taunting me. ATT may have France and Japan covered but if they could work on Clayton and Washington, that would rock.

Of all the diverse art forms housed in the museum, the style most prominently on display today was the waifish girl. I realized the porcelain skin waifish girl must always be holding her boyfriend’s hand because if they were to get caught up in even the sudden breeze from the air conditioning unit she would surely blow away. I thought at first I was imagining it, but truly almost every room had one. Boney little shoulders everywhere...they made the mummies look chunky. Maybe it was a cross promotion with the contemporary art museum’s exhibit called Feed Me.


I've had coffee :)

FORE

Last week I had my second golf lesson with a group of friends out in St. Charles...west nile alley as it probably should be called. I was supposed to go 2 weeks ago and I just honestly couldn’t take any more instruction that day. Even the thought of hitting something with a club was not appealing.

I hadn’t swung a club in over a year. Turn, slide, swing, pivot. This was the mantra I carried with me from years of random lessons – that – and pretend you have something balanced on your head so you don’t move it. This week we used the 7 iron. I was in the most uncomfortable and foreign position after some instruction, but I was doing ok. But it’s when you don’t feel it...that’s when you get the shot off. When you don’t know what you did or how you knees were bent or how it happened...it just comes together and it happens. After a while I might be an ok golfer, I’m not a good golfer, but I am consistent – I hit every club almost the same distance – I know logically this makes no sense, but I told Rachel who was standing by me – that’s what you’ll see for the next 6 weeks, no matter what club we use.

I’m taking with a really fun group. We all are slightly ADD and in it for the socializing, good times aspect of it, not exactly cut throat competitors. We talk a lot and take frequent water breaks. Rachel mentioned it felt like we were on a TV show, which it sort of did....it would be called something like Golfing and Gabbing or we could have a musical version – Swinging and Singing.

We discuss the important topics like reality TV, hair products and dating....what did you expect...higher math? It’s always fun to catch up. And it’s so interesting to listen to other people talk about relationships. One girl met a guy on a business trip a few weeks ago and now he’s thinking about moving to St. Louis. It’s nice to hear things like that really happen. I would use the line good things happen to good people, but I think that would just be insulting myself. I’m more experienced in we are dating in STL he gets a job in LA, he wants me to visit, he realizes he needs to focus on his life there, so we stop talking, then he resurfaces...he wants me to visit again, I think this means things have changed, so does he until he realizes after I’ve flown 1800 miles that he’s still not ready, but does think our visit was a lot of fun...blah blah until I have to just pull the breaks on the emotional rollercoaster and get the hell off that ride. It’s hard to just stop talking to someone like that, the one that you wanted to tell everything to. I usually suck at it. I let them loiter around in my life just enough so I’m can’t entirely move on...healthy...the ghosts of boyfriends’ past...sounds like a Lifetime movie. Incidentally he’s moving back to my time zone and we’ve been talking again, but inquiring about what color tennis skirt I’m wearing today does not constitute a pending romantic relationship...fool me twice...whatever that phrase is...I’m very cautious. Cautiously optimistic. Actually I don’t know if I really am cautiously optimistic, but I think that’s a line from a stock report I read once and it stuck in my head. Or my new favorite scenario is...we know each other for a few years in STL and really like each other but are both too idiotic to do anything about, wait until he lives in Antarctica and visits STL for a few weeks to go on a couple incredible dates and he leaves to travel the world again. I’m really smart.

The traditional post-golf agenda is going for drinks, obviously this applies to lessons too. There was a bit of a set up planned with my friend and a guy friend of another. When they said who the guy was – I was like oh I’ve met him before. The short of it is one of my friends in golf class and I worked together and dated for like 5 minutes many years ago and he ended up marrying a girl I knew in college who turns out to be a friend of mine now. Did you get all that? This is old news to everyone I think – especially him and me. But apparently last week when I wasn’t at lessons it became a major revelation, which is funny because I just forget I didn’t know these people at the time and thought they think it’s as normal as we do. He’s actually a lot more fun as someone else’s problem...uh husband...just kidding. He’s a really nice guy and his wife is perfect for him...really great couple.

I recently had to rescind my tirade on dating guys from work. I apologized to Gary because a few months ago the night of world’s worst karaoke I was lecturing him...again and again...and again...about dating people from work – shouldn’t do it, bad idea, learn from my mistakes. So I said...I would like to apologize for yelling at you and tell you that I was wrong. I told him to go for it and date whoever he wanted. To which everyone was like...who do you want to date at work – to which I was like – yuck, nobody. It was just that perhaps I see now that I might have missed out on something if I hadn’t been so hung up on my no work rules and been a bit braver.

So the fix up guy can only stay for a minute, but says he’ll be back next week. It’s brought up that my friend will have to go through the ritual of looking cute next week too, as if she couldn’t look cute in her khaki skirt and golf shirt...adorable. The cuteness question is posed to me as I’m standing there in my cardinal’s hat, camo shorts and a white tank top – it’s the shoes – come on now we all know it’s the cute golf shoes. So I say, I think I’ll wear a bra, I guess I didn’t realize how close the instructor was actually going to get. The winery girls would be disappointed in me again because I just used my little short cut trick...long story. I realize we’re close now that we’ve all discussed my uterus, but a girl has to have some secrets.

I want to stay in a hotel.

Preferably one where I can wear someone else’s robe. Not some sketchy left-behind robe, the kind that is hung crisply in the closet, beckoning you to take off your tired old travel clothes and immerse yourself in its coziness. Apparently I want to write travel reviews for high end hotels I cannot afford to stay in.

I am extremely restless and destinationless. I have always had my standby vacation. LA area to see Brynn. I do love her to pieces, but so does that man she’s engaged to and it’s so not relaxing for me to watch him prove his love to her every day I’m there with spontaneous flower deliveries and nauseating sweet nothings. I love that she is loved. I just can’t hear about it on my vacations anymore. It was particularly annoying when I would spend part of those trips in LA and come down to Ventura obviously upset and have to hear all their pearls of relationship wisdom. Blek. Please pass the wine. I get it. He’s out there....you never know where or when it will happen. Double blek.

I want to busy myself by drinking something with an umbrella on the beach and losing myself in a can’t put down book. I want to explore those quaint local stores that house untold treasures if you can get past all the shiny tourist trap crap. I want to hear the story of the history of wherever I am and find it so fascinating that I immediately am inspired to write about it.

In reality, I’m busying myself with golf lessons tonight. Tomorrow is the botanical gardens to see Kim Massie. Thursday is tennis lessons. And then it’s the weekend again. I do so well with busying myself during the week that it gives me an excuse to just have a lazy weekend. Key word is lazy. And it’s not a physical lazy. I get out and do a lot of things, but nothing I would call particularly meaningful or explorative. (is explorative a word? Guess so, my BFF spell check didn’t call me out)

Last year I traveled a lot – Toronto, multiple trips to LA, Hawaii, Dominican Republic...so fun! And I feel like I’m surrounded by world travelers, Floridian travelers, Mexican travelers and even 3rd world travelers that I wish would quit their job and just stay put in their own war torn country.

I need a vacation. December is far too long to wait to travel. And the planned Chicago Cubs long weekend next month is not going to cut it as far as true disconnection from reality is concerned, but it will be so fun! I fear I shall merely get in the car and aimless start driving soon. They will find me sitting in some clearing picnicking with a bottle of wine, reading my book and flying kites when the winds pick up.

Size matters

And with some things...the smaller the better. I have had a several year love affair with my iPod...classic they now call it – it’s the big one that holds photos – which I never quite understood – it’s like the modern wallet photo album for parents I guess. In my case, it’s all music. I hate that they call it iPod Classic - makes it sound archaic and dinosauric. Today I had the extreme pleasure of purchasing its tiny itty bity, adorable, darling sister....iPod Nano. It’s soooo cute! And holds 1000 songs or like 2 movies I think. I bought it because when I would go running the classic isn’t heavy, but the armband aggravates me. I was expecting the nano to be small – but it’s sooooo small.

I bought the Nike armband and came home, found some new songs on iTunes (I’m still looking for recommendations if anyone knows any peppy/motivating running songs), loaded my play list and then tried to put the armband on. It’s seriously idiotic. There is nothing to hold onto while you tighten it. I pulled it up online to maybe see if I was the idiot, but the general consensus was that it got 2 stars only because the review program doesn’t allow you to give less than that – which does put some things into perspective. So back to the apple store for an armband that got good reviews...and it’s pink!

So I went outside and it’s freaking hot. According to weather.com, it’s not. But according to my parking lot it is. It feels like it was cooler when I played tennis this morning. So I waited for the sun to go down. I ordered a cool California ocean breeze via text message, but apparently my friend lives in the valley where it is 100 degrees. Of course my response had several “likes” and “totally-s” in it.

After its first nano night out I’ve decided it’s tiny and it’s perfect....but what 1000 songs will it get??

You’re going to love it in an instant

Wednesday I waited for the cable guy who was coming between 8-10 a.m. Right. So before I jump on my 10 a.m. conference call I check on it. They call my home phone during my call saying – they never should have scheduled your visit then - they all have a company-wide meeting every Wednesday. So I call back and am really hacked off. The man says...you sound very frustrated because you’re not letting me do what I can to help you. omg. I hate charter more every day. Damn you weeds and other TV programs I love! He’s counting the days it’s been out of service – I say 3 weeks...he says 10 days. I say 3 weeks, he says oh 17 days – about 2 ½ weeks. I finally say...I’m going to go because you’re already telling me I have to call back and go through this whole thing again once it is fixed. Ugh. Serious ugh. The repairman shows up and he’s all coy – I’m sure he got the call that I was on fire. He’s lingering at the door all coolly apologizing and I try to remain calm and say – you’re going to have to get in here and fix this so I can finally go to work. He says – where’s the cable box? I don’t know – the other repairman always leaves, goes somewhere and then it’s fixed...maybe downstairs. The guy wanders around the building for a few minutes and then that’s it – turns it back on – about 3 minutes of work for 4 hours of waiting...plus he was talking about how the last woman’s job was so complicated and that’s why he was running late blah blah...they seriously need to get their stories straight.

Thursday after my tennis class I went to a going away party for my good friend Amy who is leaving to go down the street – this is how I say it so I won’t miss her. I’m wearing a ballcap, tennis shirt and little tennis skirt. Were you playing tennis? No, wore this to work today. It’s just a natural question – you play tennis? Nope. It’s like...twins? No – well you really look alike. But it made me laugh every time. The next day someone said – well maybe you were just dressing like a Frontenac woman, who apparently sport tennis skirts as a fashion statement. It was really fun to see everyone. I’m pretty sure I’ve never said the word uterus so many times in one day. Dave W forwarded that story on to his guy friends so they could have the insight into the world of the female doctor visit and Julie found a great new doctor. We decided Dave would be my publicist. I was telling him something and I said – did I tell you this before – he said – no I read it in your blog. Yikes. Another friend was explaining some program I could use to enhance it and track it and......I finally said – you’re IT, I’m marketing....you lost me like 8 to 10 sentences ago, but he swears it’s all easy. Also that night I was introduced to this beer margarita combo that was quite delicious.

Today I got a massage and sat in the steam room – soo relaxing. I was all by myself so it was like I was in my own private little spa and I had very few thoughts of being trapped inside ala every other Charlie’s Angels’ episode. I loved it! The massage was great. It was really hard for me to turn my head off. I usually try to focus on the actual massage but since the shiatsu in LA where I wanted to scream out in pain and was pretty sure I may suffer some weird tick or temporary paralysis because of the amount of pressure, I was trying to just focus holistically on it feeling good. Burke Williams LA maniacal shiatsu guy - Top 1 massage. I realize I prefer a male masseuse. I know I made a big stand on female doctors, and you would think the same logic sort of applies, but this is a different beast. It’s actually more distracting to have a female masseuse. Guess it feels more naughty and mysterious, ok well not so mysterious, but naughty non the less. Top 2 massage was the guy in NYC -- it just feels better when it’s a guy - guy touch girl = all good. He was adorable. We had this whole awkward parting where finally he says – you have amazing skin – and turns to go. Random. The rest of that spa experience went to hell in a hand basket as I’m sure I’ve discussed before. So today, the guy was really good – almost like one of those thai massages where it’s a little bit of yoga stretching too. I realize that all these men are ranking in my top 3 massages merely due to their natural advantages – bigger hands, stronger touch and no mystery.

I went to Washington to see my mom who is recovering well from gallbladder surgery. She calls and puts me on the hunt for the Dark Chocolate Carnation Instant Breakfast my father has every morning that they stopped selling in Washington since the schnucks caught on fire – I’m sure there was no correlation, but she mentioned it. I loved that stuff when I was little! But when I had my wisdom teeth out several years ago I asked my mom to buy it and it was god awful. Yuck. After several minutes on the cellphone comparing exact wording on the box with my dad, I lose a fingernail in the process trying to get to the top shelf, but I find 4 boxes for him. Success! I need to just find it online and have it shipped to him in cases.

I pick up my godson’s bday gift at sports authority...and even delivered it! Only 1 day late – this is like unprecedented for me – I’m world’s worst godmother to this kid. But you can’t keep tabs on him – he plays every sport – like yesterday he was in a golf...maybe baseball...tournament all day and then a tennis tournament in the evening! Last year I just stopped by at some random time of year and gave him an envelope full of cash to make up for all the birthdays and Christmases I’d missed. He won the bad godmother lottery that day and was a little taken aback and so was his mom. His mom is my best friend since kindergarten. We don’t really talk anymore. I was her maid of honor – twice. Her new husband is just a different set of problems from her old husband. Most of which I can’t relate too. I really want to – I do. And I really want to shake her a lot of times too. I did solve the mystery of the high school boyfriend resurfacing – apparently it was like a game of telephone through the small town - I saw Matt – he’s getting divorced – he said if I see Staci to tell him he says hi....and so on and so on.

I got to my parents, sat down and declared – I LOVE my life. My mom was on the couch which always freaks me out – we have assigned seating – the couch is mine, the recliner is hers. So I knew she was in pain. She has been bonding with vicadin and is mad at her doctors who said everything would be fine in a few days, when really everyone else who has had this type of surgery – including me – told her it would be at least 2 weeks. They were watching a western – shocking I know. It was 4 hours long. Seriously. But it ended up being really good! I had to leave a couple hours into it to go get dinner and I was bummed I missed part of it. In the end there was an intense gunfight...bam! bam! Bam! and all the good guys were standing (well, minus one) and all the bad guys were on the ground...as it should be. There were lots of beautiful horses too. And I got to use the phrase road hard and put away wet to describe a woman in the movie – because there were horse in the movie – and because I was in Washington – which we know is the only place I am allowed to use that phrase. Did you know that Robert Duval is considered the last great cowboy? It’s true. And he uses the same horse in all his westerns – it lives in Nebraska. Fun facts from AMC and my father which I hope are more accurate than his mr. roger’s navy seal rumors.

I ran into town to pick up sandwiches at a local place called Dairy Delight. It used to be the Dairy Queen when I was little and my grandparents lived up the street. Those hot summer nights were so fun walking down to get ice cream and it melting down your arm before you got back home. Somewhere along the line it turned into Delight and the DQ opened out on the highway. The food is good, the place is super clean, but I walked inside and the smell of diner made me want to cry – I knew I was going to smell like that! I really truly hate that. The salad was ready so I took it and went outside to wait on the picnic table where the girl said she would bring it to me. I looked all nervous, she probably thought I was going to go smoke or shoot up or something. I went out and called Trisha. She answered and all I said was....I smell like diner! Then I had to put it on my car and was wigged out about absorbing it into the leather seats. Maybe I can get hypnotized for this kind of phobia.

My mom says – are you staying the night? I don’t have the heart to tell her after last week sleeping in that bed two nights it felt like someone had kicked me in the small of the back. I am playing tennis early tomorrow, so that seemed like a logical enough reason I thought, but not to a women that gets up at 7 a.m. every day. I said my goodbyes and headed home before I fell into the trap of that couch which she eventually surrendered to me so she could move around a bit.

It’s like there is a little oasis of charm around my parents’ house. Like when I got back from dinner and they said look under the bird feeder and I immediately said – is the turkey up here?! I seriously was so excited to see this mama turkey and her babies that I saw last week way down by the riding arena. She finally worked up enough trust to come all the way up to the house with the babies. I do enjoy the visits, but if I had to live in that town I would poke my eye out with a stick.

Can she feel your uterus?

Ok but only because you called me skinny like 3 times. My doctor used to work at some nondescript office on Ballas where all the doctor offices are. But she decided to be the head of the women’s medical area at the Center for Advanced Medicine at Wash U, so now I get to go through the gyrations of parking in the hospital which is akin to finding a spot at the Galleria during Christmas. When I had meetings at Children’s Hospital I used to pretend all the kids were just getting check ups and none of them were really sick. Once you park you find the elevator bank jammed with people. So I took the stairs from the 3rd floor where I came from to the 4th floor, but needed to get to the 5th. No stairs. Really. You have to go on the elevator. Stairs just stop. And these are the people I’m trusting with my life?

My doctor switched the type of pill I’m on – not that it’s getting any use at its intended job, but it helps with my headaches anyway. Trisha said last year before she met Jeff that she was going to go off the pill. I was outraged – it was like accepting defeat that you were never going to have sex again! And strangely enough today I found out my friend was counting “safe days.” She asked what I thought and I said that was fine if it was 1950 and you were Catholic. We have a family of 5 kids, all products of the rhythm method as my parents’ generation called it.

My doctor and I discussed different options and she kept naming the ones she was not going to put me on and they were all the ones I recognized from TV. I thought maybe they should put their media budget into research and development because she saw real flaws with them and I’m only going to listen to my doctor when it comes down to it. I was all expecting to switch to the one those cool girls discuss in a bar and then you find out their friend isn’t just a kook, she’s a doctor. I go to Walgreens to pick up my new pills and they don’t come in a cute little lilac fabric carrying case like my old ones. Boo. The case is this lame blue square made out the same material as my trapper keeper folders from the 5th grade.

In the winter I amuse myself by wearing fun socks to the doctor – if that’s all I’m wearing with that sheet they better be making a statement. Today I had on black peep-toe heels, no socks. I couldn’t bear the thought on standing on that floor barefoot. Yuck! So I kept them on – and I thought they made quite a statement. I asked her if logistically I needed to take them off during the exam, nope. I like her.

She is always preceded by a doctor-to-be who asks all kinds of questions like am I taking vitamins, calcium blah blah. If it’s a guy I let him stay for the questions only then he has to leave, but if it’s a girl they can stay for the whole thing. I go to a female doctor for a reason...all the same parts. So today some chipper girl named Courtney who had fabulous Katy L-esque hair did the Q&A. And I gave the ok for her to stick around for the exam. There were some issues with the light and finally my doctor is like...uh – I’ve been her doctor for years I think I can find my way around and moved Courtney out of the way. She was right – exam was over in seconds. She was finishing up and said...Can Courtney feel your uterus? I really like it when we have healthy skinny patients that she can examine.... You had me at skinny. Ok lady, I’m not going anywhere, I’d be happy to help advance the medical career of the lovely locked one. Works for me.



Last week when Laurie and I were at brunch we saw a woman from my gym with her husband and kids at Kopperman’s. Adorable family – one boy, one girl, one handsome husband, one beautiful wife – all tall and athletic. This morning when I saw her at class she said her daughter was very intrigued with us and kept discussing us the rest of the day. Where were her kids? So she was just having breakfast with her friend? Where were their kids? Why couldn’t she just go to breakfast with her girlfriends? She would like that. Why doesn’t her mom do that? It was really cute and made me smile and be even more thankful for my great girlfriends. I hope that girl remembers that when she’s older and appreciates them too.

I think I got a rash on my arm at Wal Mart

I picked up Trisha from the airport Friday about 9 a.m. after I’d already had a traumatic morning of going for a run while I was starving which makes me completely irrational and cranky and having to head to the bread company in the loop to get water to wash down the grass clippings I inhaled somewhere along my route that were making me cough.

I drop her off, get cleaned up and Laurie and I go to Kopperman’s for brunch after countless weeks of not seeing each other. It was soo good to see her face. We have a standing Monday night phone date to watch the Bachlorette, which has been interrupted by my recent lack of cable. It’s been broken going on 3 weeks and I’m enjoying the quiet so much I keep forgetting to schedule the repairman. Like today, here it is a beautiful Sunday afternoon and I’ve gone grocery shopping, made salmon for dinner and am getting some much needed writing in instead of getting sucked in to catching up on this season of Weeds. (although I am curious to what’s happening)

As many times as Trisha and I take the trip to Washington we never stop laughing at the same things. One of our favorites is the seductive looking sleepy time bear on the billboards for the Diamond Inn....he gets a lot of mileage as we pass images of him with this arms outstretched beckoning on the weary (female) traveler. We also always discuss the Elf Tuck Ins the Ramada promoted during the holidays and wonder if they brought them back for the 4th of July in some patriotic form. And a lot of times we sing random songs, usually from the radio or iPod. This time it was the song about how God told Noah to build an arc – taught to us in the 2nd grade by Ms. Bozo. Build it out of birchy bark barky...children of the Lord. Sorry if you know it because know it’s stuck in your head. Trisha brought it up because birch was an answer to a recent NY Times crossword puzzle...on second thought she remembered it was gopher wood, but the association was made just the same. Then she kept singing children of the corn instead of children on the Lord and she made herself laugh every time. How boring it must be to not have a sister.

We get to town and she needs to go to Wal-Mart to look for some kind of tape to hem her pants. We walk in – my first time in the new store they built a couple of years ago – and my first comment was – wow, now more hoosiers per square foot. It was like we were suddenly in Arkansas – which I shouldn’t say since I’m sure those people are very nice. But it was really really filled with sketchy people. Not going to kill you sketchy people like the one on Hanley, but are your parents related sketchy people. When we were leaving I said – did you get the feeling everyone was looking at us like they knew us – and she agreed. I kept thinking I was supposed to recognize someone if they looked remotely normal and they may have been thinking the same. Mom later said maybe they thought you were twins – which she thinks is funny because she says the only time she thinks we look alike it when we’re in bed and have the covers pulled up around us.

We get in the car and get out the antibacterial wipes, I look down and say – I think I got a rash on my arm! So we get to our parents I walk in and announce I have a rash on my arm from Wal Mart. I love when I can illicit the – how did I raise such high maintenance child look – from my mother. The next day my aunt and uncle from Texas came in and totally unsolicited start talking about the scary people in Wal-Mart. Not that I should find this surprising, but it was really twilight zone ish...where have all the real towns people gone?

It’s so peaceful being out there. The house all opened up, the breeze coming in the windows while you sleep. I spotted a turkey and her new babies way down in the old riding arena, who apparently likes to stop by and visit my parents. They were so pleased to see the babies, they were afraid something had gotten to the eggs. I told my mom it was so relaxing, like being at a bed and breakfast. I said – I just took my nap during the ballgame...bed...and now I’m going to eat dinner...breakfast. I really was looking forward to being out there for the weekend. Great place to recharge. I seriously need a vacation.

My parents haven’t killed each other with the remote control as I speculated since they now have cable, but they have unfortunately discovered – I’m not even making this up – some sort of farm bureau channel. And also the hallmark channel – which is cheesy like lifetime but with more westerns. We watched Seraphim Falls Friday night which was the dumbest movie I have even seen in my life – Pierce Brosnan – who normally would be easy on the eyes and I could watch him for 2 ½ hours plays a man being hunted by some other guys in the old west. You don’t know why until near the very end, and then you’re pretty sure you want the guys to catch him. In the end they find each other and then go their separate ways. Nobody forgives in the old west! So dumb!

Saturday morning I woke up and it was really bright outside and I knew I had slept late. No one woke me up. I finally start moving around and I hear Trisha say – oh sure, I knew she’d wake up as soon as the work was done. My dad agrees and they get all mock grumbly and my mom says....well you two knew where she was this whole time if you needed her help you should’ve gone to get her. It was so cute to hear my mom defend me – nobody bitches about her baby! It was almost 10 a.m. and it felt so good to sleep in, couldn’t remember the last time I got to do that.

I guess later in the day Trisha got all mouthy and kept telling me to do stuff. Sadly, it actually didn’t even phase me. My mom said – you better watch the way you talk to her...one day you’re really going to get into a fight! She’s actually right. We can both only take so much of each other – and God help us if one of us hasn’t eaten. But we bounce back quickly. We’ve had two big fights recently one about Monsanto and the other about work. Neither worth losing sleep. I usually diffuse them by talking a lot and trying to confuse her and make her think I’d been agreeing with her the whole time. It’s just easier.

There was plenty of work to do...I had to get the snowman that sings about being snow miser up from the basement. My mom was raving about this new tree she found that she’s sure I’ll love and want to use next year. She kept emphasizing...it already has the lights on it....like we’re in an infomercial. I walk downstairs with Trisha and stop – I say – oh hell no I’m not using that tree next year! It’s tiny and this fluorescent aluminum green color. It’s fine for today, but no way.

Perhaps I should explain. Many years ago it was my father’s turn to have Christmas. He and his siblings all take turns. On his given year it kept icing and snowing so he had to keep rescheduling. Finally he says screw it, we’ll do it in July. His sibling should know not to doubt my father, but I’m sure they were a bit surprised to find the invitation that year – to our Christmas party on July 4th weekend. My mom completely decorates, she even wore her gingerbread apron all day. Most of the siblings keep up the tradition with Christmas decorations, but I think my mom enjoys it the most. The house was fully 4th of july when we got there Friday – Saturday it became Christmas – and Sunday morning it was back to normal before breakfast. Even baby Jesus was in the manger under the tree...in the driveway. The wise guys get all confused by the fireworks and usually don’t make it.

Where is your person?

As if this isn’t always somewhere buried in the back of the single girl’s mind, this apparently is a big question for H2 when she drinks. She has found her lobster and doesn’t understand what’s the hold up with the rest of us. Not in that annoying oh marriage is fabulous everyone must do it way, but in the what the fuck is the hold up you’re fabulous sort of way.

She’s the best kind of drinker. When she is completely sober she is extremely sweet, but when she’s been drinking it’s amplified to the most self-esteem boosting proportions. You’re perfect! Where is your person? I mean, you’re beautiful. Where is your fucking person?! You’re brilliant! Where is he?? She is surrounded by her obviously beautiful, brilliant and perfect single friends and she just doesn’t get it. It’s ok. Neither do we, we’ve just stopped asking.

This past weekend we were all in Chicago for Di’s wedding, which was one of the most sincere and genuine 3 minutes of ceremony I’ve ever been a part of. Literally, about 3 minutes and a lot of that was spent laughing as she would say things like “where’s my ring?” and he appeared to be glaring at his restless nephew named Rocco who was sporting the most adorable tie that was neither clip- on nor real, along with his Bermuda-esque shorts. Kids have come a long way. Doesn’t hurt that is father is British and was totally styling in this funky white suit none of you American men should even think about trying. Someone at the rehearsal dinner said there is a fine line between British and gay...a very fine dotted line. And this outfit was a testament to that fact.

When we were up in the bride’s room getting dressed everyone appeared to be very calm. We were instructed to keep girlish screams to a minimum. Trisha had broken open a bottle of wine. I continued to document everything snapping a zillion pictures, which I had started doing basically as soon as my plane landed. “Mesas...get together....Mesa/Cannons get together....Alfermanns....and then I’d snap one of Trisha and I from arm’s length. Arranging flowers, having lunch after flowers, the rehearsal dinner, pre-wedding....

A few times during the day she would announce....I’m getting married. As if saying it aloud to make sure she wasn’t going to break some sort of spell and it would disappear. I did almost make her pass out as I showed her the reader board in the hotel lobby that said Mesa/Cannon wedding. But never for one minute did I doubt that he has turned out to be her person.

I’m not sure if it was the first sight of herself in her gorgeous white gown or the first time we let her take a breath from our ooohing and ahhhing....she suddenly looked a bit not necessarily nervous, maybe just a bit overwhelmed, and as the unofficial maid of honor, this my cue to say something profound and calming. So I say.....you’re going to walk down there and he’s going to say...D. I...(which he always spells Di instead of just saying it)....and everything is going to be fine. I meant this as a comfort because to me that’s their thing – D.I. It’s cute and it’s only theirs. But instead we had to immediately try to find her a paper bag because I thought she was going to hyperventilate and tears were welling up! And then we all start crying and we’re bordering on the verge of being a big mess of Chanel mascara. But the phone call comes and down we go to the 2nd floor. It was the strangest thing to leave one of your favoritest people in the bathroom with a photographer you just met so you could go get a chair for the ceremony.

D. I. this is there thing. He called up to the room earlier in the day and I answered and he said D.I. ? and I said, no S.A. He’s her person. Just because. Not because it was easy. And not because through the first few years we all just wanted to punch him most of the time because he was being a jerky stubborn boy. But he was her person. That makes it simple in the end.

I’m not sure I believe in the one person for each person theory anymore. I might, but I’m not sure. It’s really scary if it is true. But if it is true, then aren’t you just supposed to believe? Fuck, I’m now some rambling idiot on the subject. I’m afraid if I admit I think there is only one someone you’re meant to be with... I’m really going to lose my mind. It’s not that I’ve been watching too many episodes of Big Love, and no I haven’t totally lost sight of the fairy tale ending, I think I just learned to appreciate things, appreciate people more and be open to possibilities.

Over the course of my romantic life I have been in relationships with several people – a few who potentially could have qualified as “my person,” but obviously were not for various reasons. But to H2’s point – where is he now? It was really funny watching her get all fired up. I guess I’m kind of over being fired up, and now am just being.

It’s been a very enlightening and yet very confusing couple of weeks. My birthday brought a new year filled with possibilities, a day filled with friends and also the arrival of someone from far away who I would prefer to be very close to. These couple weeks have made me realize we waste so much time being scared of someone or something when we should just take a chance. Say something you know you can’t take back. Sometimes it’s not clear cut and it’s more than a plane ride away, but just because it isn’t easy, doesn’t mean it isn’t right or isn’t worth exploring.

I want to be apart of a relationship where you live in the moment and you realize it could be the start of something amazing...and you just let it happen...keeping the forward momentum going – you take a risk. It’s not something that has the breaks put on and is put into the closet for a rainy day of potentially better circumstances, because that day usually never comes.