Hair Raising Idea

Sometimes your heart just says, "no." I thought writing my Christmas memories would be a fun task and a nice archive later to return to, but it simply hurts too much. Revisiting them is just upsetting so I am abandoning this blog assignment to replace it with my usual rambles. 

First up: CANCER!

Wit on Broadway

Cynthia Nixon is bringing Vivian Bearing to the Great White Way. I couldn't be more thrilled. I didn't see Judith Light do it downtown, but I did see Emma Thompson in the HBO version. I'm still recovering. The cancer aside what put me into action to blog was this picture of a bald Ms. Nixon. (click link above) What is it about a bald woman that is so jarring? I don't feel the same way about bald men. Capt. Picard rocks it as does Michael Jordon, I don't think twice. Am I just conditioned to think a woman is "naked" without her hair. As if it's taboo or wrong to be caught without your locks? Or it immediately triggers "sickness" and that face of "are you ok?" I don't know, but I don't like it. Bald should be beautiful for both sexes. My sister shaved her head a number of years ago because she was just fed up with it. The up keep, the way men treated her because of it. She worked a jaunty scarf to the horror of everyone around her.....(by the way this was pre-Britney Spears meltdown). She looked great and it was an amazing and liberating experiment for her. I've always said I would do it at 50, but I am thinking of moving that date up a decade or so....to baldly go where women fear to go!

Christmas Memory #2

There's a picture of me somewhere under the tree in pink footie pj's. When I say "under" the tree I mean as if I was a mechanic checking it for oil. I would spend hours looking up through the limbs at the lights and ornaments. It was a parallel imaginary universe where sugar plum fairies danced in my head and sometimes before my eyes. I swear they moved but maybe I had too much "adult" egg nog by mistake.

Creating fanciful story lines for the inanimate treasures we collected over the years and wishing deep down that I could join them amongst the needles. Or maybe I was just really into "The Littles" at that time, but they lived in the walls of the house and not in a tree....I digress.

Christmas is about escaping into the warmth of childhood. Getting as close as I could to the tree made the magic of it spring into my tiny little brain. Clearly it took root and has grown into my memory. Kind of like that conifer tree that grew in that guy's lung on Grey's Anatomy only less gross & deadly.

Christmas Memory #1

I decided to try and recall a Christmas memory for everyday of December up until the 25th. A peeping advent calendar of the holiday through the morass that is my grey matter. They will be in no particular order, just what springs forth from my cerebral clouds.

We had a live tree every year until we moved to Florida. The family would bundle up and jump in the car and head off towards the nearest forest. Dad would brandish his hack saw after Mom picked the perfect sized spruce and we'd cut it from the earth, load it on the roof and trundle home. Sometimes if the wind is right in Central Park on a blustery winter day I can smell the freshness of the pine & recall the snap of sap on my fingers.

Later on after we moved to Florida we bought a plastic tree from Sears. It never felt the same as when we hunted down our own Tannenbaum.  

Wie treu sind deine Blätter!

Your Great Reward

I'm not saying this gets you a free pass into the promised land, however over the weekend I had a premonition that might help out if the judgement scales are tipping towards damnation.

The lord is really into you doing self less things for other people right? Therefore it makes sense that if you help your friends move, there is a special VIP room in heaven waiting for you. No one likes to move and fewer people are willing to help others move. Therefore showing up early on a Saturday morning to chip in and get the job done must mean that a divine bounty is awaiting you at some point. I have helped many a friend schlep their crap to and fro. So I think my karma is set for the champagne room in Valhalla. 

If you find paradise is slipping from your grasp and you need to hedge your bets pick up a box or watch a truck for a friend and I'll make sure you get your share of the all you can eat sushi that JC cuts fresh daily!!

Amen.  

Attention Superman!

On 101st Street & West End there is a telephone booth. I know it's a hike for a quick change but I think it's the last one in Manhattan. Good luck & god speed Man of Steel!

Date Me?

Really I've decided to go down this road again. I posted a profile on match.com, I thought why not take a peek? I mean my best friend is now married and pregnant by a guy she met on this website so why not? It might work for the gays too. I am already deep in regret 24hours into the experiment. Ugh I hate people, no really, they are awful creatures I should know I am one.

Basically because it all inevitably breaks down into the ones we want don't want us and the ones that want us we would sooner die than date. It's a vicious circle my now ex-therapist and I danced the fox trot to for hours at a time. I believe the old Groucho Marx quote can be applied to this idea, "I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member." 

Does it HAVE to be in our nature to want to be with someone? Frankly I am coming to the realization that I am more than enough. I don't need to be "completed" by someone else. So Jerry Maguire and Jane Austin can go f*ck themselves. I'm not catching my death standing in the rain waiting for some ass hat named Willoughby to finally get a grip and love me. Kate Winslet doesn't require approval from some dickey wearing twit to take care of her and neither do I. 

So a pox on you internet dating sites!! Daggers & weebotkins to you all! I'm off to kick up my heels unhindered by the weight of another’s' baggage! I've got me own!

Two Cars

We took two cars the day we returned to the hospital to find out what exactly was happening to my mother. I can't remember why now? I do remember driving by myself in my grey Pontiac Sunbird. I absentmindedly put in the Les Misérables Broadway Cast album figuring a little "turn table" distraction would take my mind off the stress weighing down on me. Only, when "One Day More" started playing I instantly realized my error in music selection. Suddenly I was hearing the lyrics as applied to my life not the French revolution. 

 

Tomorrow is the judgment day.

Tomorrow we'll discover

What our God in heaven has in store.

One more dawn.

One more day.

One day more!

Needless to say I burst into tears and almost wrecked my car. I just can’t believe THIS is what "God" had in store for me and my family. Really? This was the plan, complete obliteration from reality, earmarking them only as ghosts that wander in my dreams who occasionally slip into my shuffle playlist where I wormhole back to them for 3 minutes & 30secs? Really this is what all those years of love, growing pains & understanding become in the end. Some music video that only I can see. 

Dear Apple, iPod's are really time machines, I wish my brief, fleeting trips could be to happier places. You might want to work on an App for that so I don't accidentally wind up keening in a bathroom stall at work.

As I was thinking about what to write today in celebration of my mother’s 72^nd birthday I went through some of my other blogs honoring the day. I realized I said everything perfectly in 2007, but it bears repeating with a few updates…

My Golden Girl  

My mother would have been 72 today.

She would have just been hitting her prime as a sassy senior with all the strut and promise of a woman who’s lived a life full of family, laughter and love.

Both of us were born on the 13th something that might seem to be unlucky to most, but not to us. We always thought of it as a reminder that we were special. Nobody lifts an eyebrow if you were born on the 3rd, 18th or 23rd. But tell them you were born on the 13th and you always get a hair-raising reaction.

If I try to sum my mother up into one thing it would be impossible. She was so many things to so many different people. She made an impact wherever she went and with whomever she came in contact. The “IT” Factor can totally be applied to her, people were drawn to her, they respected and admired who she was and not just because she threw one hell of a party. She was the party.

I can remember as a little girl watching the parties my parents threw, my sister and I would sneak down the hall in our footy pj’s to peer around the corner into the grand room. Dad would be at the piano playing some swing tune that made everyone dance like no one was watching. Mom would be whirling around making sure everyone had what they needed, the laughter and the smiling faces of friends and neighbors are still as clear today in my mind as they were then. Or if my parents went out on the town, again my sister and I would be spellbound while watching Mom put on her make-up and her fancy dress. Shalimar and Old Spice bring me right back to those moments.

She loved chocolate turtles. Old movies and popcorn made on the stove. She loved to dance and even won a swing contest or two with my father. Dancing with her in the kitchen between unending rounds of holiday baking used to make us laugh so hard my sister and I’d fall to the floor.
Her most treasured possessions, other than her family, were the pictures she took. She used to tell me if the house ever caught fire to grab the albums and run. She was meticulous in printing on the back when, where and who was in each shot. I guess she thought she would be spending hours poring over the past and reliving those Kodak moments. Now they serve as the only way back for me to remember the family that seems all too distant.

My sense of humor is a mix of my mother’s and father’s both of them "cards" in their own right, but in very different ways. Dad was silly and goofy, slap sticky with a smidge of Stooges, and mother was the best of what dry; witty, smart, perfectly timed English humor is at its finest. She loved to read, and when I say read I mean everything, she consumed books like I eat potato chips. As a young woman she wanted to go to college and be a chemist, but didn't so her brothers could go because they would have to support families someday. Truly a waste since they never finished.
 
We planned to write children’s books together after I graduated from college and even finished one that I used in a creative writing class. Unfortunately she got sick the summer before my senior year and that dream got shelved. We all traveled that last year together, after I graduated, doing and seeing as much as we could. Packing in all the life as a family before we knew it would all disappear.

I try to think about what life would be like if she was still here. How different I might be or if I would have made other choices due to her influence? Where and who would I be if things hadn’t gone so terribly wrong? She was my best friend; the one person I know loved me just for me. Even with all my flaws and insecurities she never made me feel like I didn’t matter. Her pet names for me were, Missy or Princess, to unlikely words to describe the Brandy of today.

Being from the south nobody really went by their given names. My father went by Doc, my mother was Rea or Aunt Rea, my sister until puberty was Scooter, and I forever and always will be Brandy. None of which appear on our birth certificates. My parents even had nicknames for each other, Pooh Bear and Boo Boo Bear…which naturally just became Pooh and Boo. I think that’s why people without nicknames worry me. It’s almost like nobody cared about them enough to make them their own, to put a stamp of affection on your relationship is to me the highest form of flattery.

November 13th, 1939 (The year both Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz premiered) my mother Mariea Gladys LaCone (m. Rowell) pushed her way into the world. I miss her every day, and on this day especially, so I try and do something we would have done together. Today is Sunday so I’m thinking Kayla and I will walk in the park. Go to our favorite hill, sit in the sun, have a good cry and maybe even say a little prayer. I’ll try to work in a favorite movie of ours or perhaps a show. She’s the one that introduced me to the theatre and supported my every endeavor in my pursuit of finding my light. My only regret is that she never got to see me perform.

Well, that’s not true, she saw me entertain at the dinner table, and when we were out with friends, but that’s not the same as standing alone on stage at Carolines in front of a packed house. She probably would have been so nervous for me that she wouldn’t have been able to watch. Wringing her hands until that first wave of laughter burst forth; yeah I would have liked her to have seen me shake my jelly.

She would be so proud of all the fears I’ve conquered, but frankly there are many more and while I know she’s watching out for me, I wish she was here. I wish I could remember her voice. I wish she could meet all the wonderful people I have in my life who are my family now. 

She was the greatest birthday present I ever got and I’d trade anything to hear her call me Missy just one more time, I love you Mom, Happy Birthday!

What's in a name?

As the lights came up for intermission on, We Live Here, a stout woman in full if not projecting voice exclaimed, "That was awful! What happened to Amy Irving, she used to be such a great actress?" The audience house right all giggled & winced but agreed whole heartedly. Frankly it’s NOT Amy Irving’s fault the blame lies with the playwright. It starts with the words and ends with the words and if the words are limp bastardizations of Chekov on a bad day then there is nothing you can really do as an actor to save the play.

Zoe Kazan tries feverishly to write a relationship play about a family we all just want to see burn at its own hand because it’s a bad Xerox copy of every other dysfunctional, privileged, over educated tribe with a secret. Only the secret is cheap and thin and would be better suited for an episode of Gossip Girl for it wouldn’t tarnish the Tony’s that reside in the lobby of MTC with its dirty little hands.

In all honesty I am not a fan of Zoe Kazan, so anything I write here might be construed as bias on the basis of that pure and true fact. Why? Because she has traded her career on the value of her name, Kazan, a value which was earned by her Grandfather Eli Zazan. Described by the New York Times as "one of the most honored and influential directors in Broadway and Hollywood history". That fact is undisputed and I am a huge fan of his work, his personal life and choices well that’s another matter entirely. Yet, those decisions and choices to name names isn’t the focus of what I am trying to say about the nepotism that runs rampant and free within the walls of the theatre community. I have friends who struggle with their anonymity as if it were a cancer attacking their immense talent and creativity. Just because they aren’t related to someone who knows someone their work may never see the light of day or get the chance to be explored and produced simply because no one will open a door or take a chance.

Conversely the name Zazan brings with it a golden key to roles on Broadway, to which people who went to Yale with her said of The Seagull, “she’s just doing what she did at school, stomping around & pouting.” Not to mention every time I tune into my favorite television shows there she is mocking me with her narrow choices and bobble head. Ok that was mean of me. Everyone should be able to do what they love, but this is where I draw the line, as a writer and someone who struggles’ everyday to be heard the fact that this play was produced to the gills enrages my soul.

The set was amazing, literally a place you would want to live in, and frankly could live in…the cast was peppered with some really talented people who at the curtain call in reception of what can generously be said was a “golf clap” could not hide their almost apologetic faces. “We know, we’re sorry, we’re doing the best that we can, please don’t throw anything at us,” subtitled dimly in their far away expressions.

The women of the play, to me, were just various over the top versions of Zoe herself. Dinah the youngest stomping around in a chunky heel repeating Mom, Dad, Mommy, Daddy over and over looking for approval & worried about the “stranger” she’s bringing to her sisters wedding; then Althea & Andromeda the Gemini twins to Zoe’s personality; Allie the misunderstood bride to be who thinks she’s dark and sexually complicated vs. Andy the genius musician of the family that loses herself in some unexplained pain that causes her suicide that Allie of course discovers. Finally Maggie the mother, who is just plain all over the place trying to keep it together with list making control issues who’s complete collapse at the end of the play is just wasted because none of us give a shit about these people. I’d have to share a bottle of wine with Robin Swicord to confirm this maternal similarity and wonder if she too is a yelling banshee of sorts.

Exhaustingly mediocre melodrama at best, I am now filled with hope, that Hamartia is truly only for people like the Zazan’s and that us regular folk simply live our lives with our disastrous consequences, but don’t describe it with a fancy name we learned at university, we just refer to it as “same shit different day”.

Shiny Happy People Rule!

Last Wednesday night I went out to Bklyn to play trivia with Richard, Ned & my new BFF's the Liz's. We kicked ass and beat the reigning champs Taint Misbehavin 74-56!! We were awarded raspberry chapstick, a $25 bar tab & two tickets to any up coming music event! Then after the Liz's went home in triumph the boys and I hopped into the Bell House's photo booth and took these snaps!!

We are silly aren't we? The three of us give those Hear No, See No, Speak No Evil monkeys a run for their money!!
OOOOO AAAAHHHH OOOOO!!!

Napping is Easier than Trying....

I am inherently lazy. Over the past week or so I've had four or five people exclaim, "Why aren't you famous yet?" Good question. It's a myriad of reasons starting with the aforementioned proclivity to laze. I have NO ambition; I don't like competition, I'm afraid of the word "no", and believe that if invited to the "party" someone would surely say, "Who invited her?"

The only thing I am truly proud of is our little podcast that Marc and I seem to crank out with some regularity. So enjoy. This maybe as famous as I get……The Best of it Podcast - Starring Marc Teshic & Brandy Rowell

Conversations: Remembered

Laura Beth Wells: Do you have 3D glasses?

Me: Yes.

Laura Beth Wells: I knew you'd have 3D glasses.

Me: Yes, but they're at work.

Laura Beth Well: Of course they are.

Correction!

To previous post, Irene made a mess everywhere else but New York City. We were very lucky and I for one am very grateful. I spent a lot of years living in Fla. and hurricanes David took our porch roof off, Andrew made a mess of South Florida, & Hugo well we got days off from school because of his tantrums. So my heart & prayers are with everyone still recovering.

Stay strong & patient this too shall pass.

I'll huff & I'll puff....

& I'll blow pretty hard in the outter boroughs, but really just some trees, power outages & flooding to be cleaned up in my wake. -Irene

While I am glad the 5 boroughs were ready for Irene I wish government could strike a happy medium between doing nothing during the blizzard and closing the city down for 3 days. Hurricanes aren't easy to predict, courses & intensity change etc...but really you would have thought it was going to rain fire balls and brimstone Sunday morning. 

I am surely thankful that we were spared "Katrina" like ramifications but the 24hour non-stop coverage to keep telling us, "storms a brewing" was a little much. What happened to, "we interrupt this broadcast with an important news brief,"? Not to mention, that still in it's long history the Emergency Broadcast System has yet to turn on that annoying alarm to alert us of impending doom. They didn't even get to use it on 9/11 sooooo when do you use it?

As we all get back to normal, I hope you and yours were spared....as for me, Kayla & the treehouse Sunday morning 3 fire trucks pulled up to our door & we were overrun by NYC's bravest. Someone left a toaster oven on after popping their tarts. Irene left us unscathed, but the "stoners" on the third floor are trying to burn us alive. Sue & Chuck back to you.

Something delightfully wicked for the weekend...

Let's just get good and dirty this weekend shall we. I stumbled upon this naughty nugget while reading Alan Cumming's blog....he participated in a charity event called Broadway Backwards where men sing songs normally sung by women and vice versa. Leave it to the divine Mr. Cumming to take aim at politicos and the closeted through a bit of Kander and Ebb!! 

Genießen Sie meine Kinder!!!

 

Don't Tell Mama - Alan Cumming

Yoü and I vs. Brändy Rowëll

In the space where Monster Dogs, Alexander McQueen & Guillermo del Toro meet lies the Narnia where Lady Gaga wanders…I’m sure there is an ice bridge somewhere from mine to hers…..now where did I leave the key to my wardrobe.

Yoü and I - Lady Gaga Video

ps-I had the umlauts first...just saying.

Lipton Takes The Plunge

Since the 10th Anniversary season of Inside the Actors Studio I have noticed a change. Cosmetically a change of venue from the old New School's Tishman Auditorium in Greenwich Village to Michael Schimmel Center for the Arts at Pace University's New York City campus, but more importantly a change in content. 

I am not saying that the professionals Mr. Lipton has on his program are not viable "teachers" in the craft. Ok….well yes I am saying that....you can't say that in Season #1 with Paul Newman, Sidney Lumet, Shelley Winters &  Arthur Miller (to name a few) is the same caliber of professional as Sean Combs, Bradley Cooper & Jennifer Aniston? Bradley being the first "student" to be on the show was clearly a jump to boost matriculation. Sure they have all achieved success on a certain level but what I am trying to say is, "Mr. Lipton you couldn't find a theatre professional to interview?"

Mr. Lipton before Bravo became the trash can of reality wives & beauticians you used to book theatre actors, directors, writers etc....what happened? Or have you sold your soul to the incorporated arts as well? I make my case simply by quoting the man himself. During his interview with Jennifer Aniston, she would not cop to the "nudity" in her upcoming movie to which Mr. Lipton said, "Come on I'm trying to sell the film." 

I thought Inside the Actors Studio was about sharing not selling. Sharing what it is to give your life to an art form through thick and thin, for scale or scab because without it you aren't totally you. Shame on you Mr. Lipton for turning your platform into just another media outlet trying to "sell" us tickets to movies that are riddled with crap snacks & poop cakes.  

You should start thinking of what you are going to say when you meet God at the pearly gates. I heard she's a huge fan of Pinter, Ionesco & Brecht. I'm sure she is NOT amused.

Two weeks down.....a lifetime to go!!

Two weeks ago today my best friend got married & as they announced the wedding party at the reception my entrance music was the theme song from True Blood. Did I also mention it was the groom’s suggestion? Hahaha they know me so well….Happy Two Week Anniversary Kittens! lol!

Please Welcome the Maid of Honor....

Pillow Talk Solves Crimes....duh!

On my “staycation” this week, home recovering from my epic maid of honor duties at the wedding of all weddings, (Kate & Wills can suck it) I was catching up on my DVR que of Rizzoli & Isles. Any producer or writer on that show that says they aren't purposely playing the lesbian card is a liar & a rogue. Jane flat out asks Maura if she wants to sleep with her and while Maura says, "no" the pregnant pause is long enough to steer the Titanic through.

Not the mention their mud bath fight, Jane's possessive verbal & physical response to Maura flirting with an auto mechanic and this promo tid bit Rizzoli & Isles so close & yet so far...lol.....Trust me I'm NOT complaining, just keep the innuendo & subtext coming, everyone knows catching bad guys is easiest when lying in bed with your "BFF". lol...ahhhh womance it's what's for television.

SPORTS

Following sports on the regular is not something I do for fun. I like watching the occasional football game, tennis match or if it's the right year the Olympics. 

I did however get caught up in the recent Woman's World Cup Soccer match Japan vs. USA. Watching them play was exhilarating and totally stressed  me out. My nerves are jangled just living life in New York City everyday and if you then put them through a penalty shot shoot out well forget it, just send me to the home so I can drool into a cup.

It was a great match and if the USA was going to lose I'm glad it was to Japan because those poor people needed some good news. Something to hang on to as they rebuild & hopefully don't have babies with four arms & two heads, but if they do they would make really good goalies.

The US team in my opinion are rockstars, working together, passing that ball with magic feet I couldn't believe it. Frankly I blame the polls I swear I saw them move and deflect 6 of the 12 shots the girls took in the first half. lol. I also would like to tell Hope Solo, that A) you're name is awesome and as someone who went as Han Solo for 3 Halloweens in a row I can say I am truly jealous. haha. B) your thigh muscles haunt my dreams and C) if your not doing anything do you want to go to the Marine Corp Ball with me?

Ooooo wait, I guess I need to be in the Marines for that huh? Well it seemed to be working for everyone else who asked!

GO USA!! See you at the Olympics!!

March as in Jo!

Every little girl reads Little Women. Every little girl however does not LIVE Little Women. Well except for me that is, you would think that my favorite version would be the one staring Kathryn Hepburn. Nope, mine is the 1949 MGM Classic starring June Allyson, Elizabeth Taylor, Janet Leigh and Margaret O'Brien. I can remember watching it one rainy afternoon with my Mother. Thinking sweet lord those dresses are enormous and thanking my lucky stars they weren't in fashion anymore.

I wouldn't have tea parties with my dolls and stuffed animals but instead pretended I was the new girl on the MGM lot going to the canteen to have lunch with the aforementioned ladies. I was a giant gay man even then, chattering about scripts, costumes, who had the smartest wigs and what a scoundrel Errol Flynn was after he had one too many.  

June Allyson or Jo March was who I wanted to be. Even though Elizabeth Taylor did have the silliest lines and wore a clothes pin on her nose when she slept. I identified with Jo the independent writer who wasn't trapped by the hoop skirt she wore but only by the times in which she lived. She stages plays for Marmee & the neighbors and throws herself into the most awkward situations escaping them with scraped knees and aplomb to rival the Prince of Wales. I have nothing but love for these little women, it's Jane Austen I want to draw & quarter.

Little Women - Trailer 1949

Best song ever...

This song, to me, is perfection. The lyrics speak on so many different levels & the way Brandi growls out the lyrics make my soul shudder. Sara Ramirez does a great diva cover of it too, but Brandi (even though she spells her name wrong, to each their own...lol) takes me on a journey through my past, present & future. It also doesn't hurt that the video is set in the theatre, which to me is the only place I see & feel the presences of God. 

So when it all gets to be just to much I hit the reset button with this tune and remember that time passes, marks you, heals you and then in the end stops to set you free. All you can do is surround yourself with those you love to spend the ticks & the tocks with...now if I could just get the stories down on paper I'd be set.

The Story...by Brandi Carlile

Demonic Inspiration

After feasting on the amazing, "Let Me In," and dozing through the third Twilight movie it occurred to me that Owen & Abbey's love make Bella & Edward look like they aren't even trying. So if you're checking your vampiric scoreboards kids it's Swedes 1 - Mormons 0.

As I sallied forth late last night after a double down birthday bash of Tiki drinks & bowling I was suddenly inspired to write a vampire tale. Here are the first few lines:

Maybe I had one too many hurricanes, but I could swear I saw a vampire leaning against the giant door of the Immaculate Conception Church. Or was he just out and about for a little ding dong dash? Either way my eye turned away for just a second as the sound of vomit spewing from Allison's usually picture perfect mouth hit the pavement. Trudie grabbed her hair and I looked back only to find he was gone.....or did he go inside?

To be continued....

Pretty, pretty please...

You see a lot of crazy things in this city of what lately seems like 13million and not the rumored 8. Last night I had a wonderful dinner out with my boss and her boyfriend. Upon returning to my treehouse, I hopped up the one step to my landing, brandished my keys and then looked right as if to check my rear view mirror and saw these:

As I was greeting Kayla who was full of love and doing her happy mommy's home dance; when this suddenly popped into my mind and immediately became my Facebook Status: "There are please don't leave me lilies in my lobby. Too bad they're not for me." 

The girl that lives in the apartment I've seen a handful of times. An attractive, young Asian girl, I say girl because she looks all of about 23, but is probably older. I've deduced that she is an attorney and I have seen a rather muscular & dashing boy with her on occasion. 

Clearly he's in trouble.

Top Ten Saddest Things

This is probably number 8 in the top ten list of boo-hoos.

A dear friend is doing some fundraising for a environmental program at the school where she teaches, if you are so inclined check it out. GREEN APPLE KIDS. The Green Apple Kids will change the world, or at least keep us from completely destroying it. 

In my faux Jew fashion I doubled down on the magic number 18 and gave them $36 for worms, trowels or whatever green thumb things they might need. When I noticed that I could include either an In honor of or In memory of notation on the gift. Now this made me very excited because I am usually acknowledging such requests in my Jewbical so to put the shoe on the other foot made me squeal with glee.

It immediately came to me what I should write. In memory of my Mother who loved her worms before they were cool. Mom in her truest form was a southern lady who loved to grow things. Digging in the yard for hours in her wide brimmed hat with gloves and a water bottle happy as a clam to be elbow deep in mulch and manure. 

This is one thing I DID NOT inherit. Even at an early age I loved being surrounded by nature, but under no circumstances did I want nature to be on me. There's a great picture of me somewhere in a diaper and cowboy boots wailing with my hands in the air because they were dirty. Even then I preferred to be poolside with a snack shack at the ready.

As I was imputing the IMO, I could attach it to an e-card. Ooooo fun I picked out a beautiful picture and typed in the text, but then I realized there was no one to send it to. The only people that would have cared aren't here anymore. I thought about changing it, but I didn't I just sent it to myself.

What I know more than anything is that it's not the tangible acknowledgement of someone knowing you are thinking about them, but that you think and act as if they are still with you. It's what they would want, to be alive in me in every small thing I do or say. So mother, here's to your worms, I hope you have a sunny patch somewhere to make beautiful things grow. 

Save me some tomatoes!!

xoxox-Princess