GOD.

I'm not sure I believe in God anymore.
I grew up believing. Even before I was sent to Catholic school by my stepmother. I believed strongly. As far as I was concerned, there was a big, strong,JUST man up there in the clouds somewhere that would one day save me from my miserable childhood - if I only prayed hard enough - believed with all of my heart.

And then I was sent to Catholic school, and it was all laid out for me. Explained. Specifically. The nuns had a bad reputation that first year. They still rapped kids knuckles with a ruler, and kids were sent to the principle's office for spankings with a big paddle. Scare tactics were the order of the day - my first year - then, things changed.

By my second year of Catholic school at St. Austin's (in Austin , TX), the hippy-Catholics had taken over the school. Mass sounded like a PBS show, with long haired guys and their wives singing and strumming guitar, the student body changed colors - all of a sudden, I was going to school with black and hispanic kids. And that was the year (the wonderful year) that Sister Annette taught the fifth grade as home room teacher.

I will never forget the first day of fifth grade. Sister Annette came into the rowdy class room. All of the kids were just chatting away, being very loud and bad. She came in a couple of minutes after the bell. She was a thin, almost fragile looking woman who chose to wear the old fashioned uniform of black and white, with a black and white head covering. She may have been 45, or 50 even. To a kid - she just seemed kind of older. Not OLD, but older.

Sister Annette stood there, her hands folded, looking at the entire classroom serenely. It took at least a couple of minutes for the kids to even realize she was there. Slowly, they started to quiet down. Sister Annette said nothing. She just looked at us all intensely, and then, when she had our attention, she stood on her head.

Sister Annette stood on her head like a Buddhist. Very calmly, very gracefully. EXCEPT that her underwear was showing! Well....Nun underwear, anyway! The whole classroom took a collective gasp of breath in shock. Nuns did NOT stand on their heads and show their underwear! They just DIDN'T!

We all sat there with our mouths open. A couple of kids started to giggle, but then stopped. It seemed like Sister Annette held that pose for a long time. A long, uncomfortable time.
Then she bent back over to her normal standing self (her body looked like Olive Oil), her skirt going right back down to her ankles where it was supposed to be, and continued to look at all of us intensely. Unlike other teachers, who seemed to see us as one big blob of a problem, she appeared to looking at each, single one of us. Looking into our eyes, taking in each kid's set of bad habits - the squirmers, the fidgeters, the shy ones, the trouble makers. When her eyes landed on me, I felt positively naked.

"Have you ever seen a nun stand on her head before?" she asked us seriously. We all just sat quietly, shook our heads,'no'.
"Does anyone have any idea why I did that?" she then asked the dumbfounded class. Again - none of us did, and were too confused to speak.
"Our very first lesson of this year is, 'stereo-types.'", she went on. "You all think of nuns as a certain type, probably clump them all together and think that we are all the same. Well I have news for you. Underneath these black dresses we are PEOPLE. With legs and everything. And we are all different. So don't think that this class will be like any class you've ever been in before, because it won't."

Sister Annette gained our love and respect that very first 5 minutes of school, and we were her loyal and loving disciples from that moment on. She taught us many life lessons that way. One day, she came into class and told us to pass out different colored helium balloons to everyone. Then, without explanation, she left the classroom for 5 minutes. We were full of boisterous energy by the time she came back in. Even in fifth grade, balloons were fun. The classroom looked like a party.
When sister Annette came back in, she walked around the room and popped all of the yellow balloons. The kids whose balloons were popped looked kind of shocked. Why theirs? Were they in trouble?
Sister Annette explained that the balloon demonstration was about prejudice. That she had made up her mind to pop all of the yellow ones before she even knew who had them.It worked. We got it.

I was so in love with Sister Annette, that I signed up to go with her 2 times a week to old people's houses, that couldn't get out, didn't have enough money for decent food. We went around and brought them meals. Sister Annette prayed with them, and I told them about my day or my week. I loved it. It made me feel really good. And somehow it seemed to tie in with the idea of God.

Sister Annette allowed me to write,produce, direct and star in my first play that year. It was a huge success (by elementary school standards), and that bug (for the theatre) was solidly lodged in my heart - never to leave it again. But GOD, on the other hand, started seeming like a sham very shortly into my next year. Sister Annette left us at the end of fifth grade. She went on to another school somewhere that needed her more than we did. I will always be grateful for what she taught me, and what she allowed me to explore on my own.

In sixth grade, we had to take a pretty intense religion class. Go through the Bible bit by bit, etc.
Soon enough, our teacher (a priest)explained to us that ONLY Catholics could get into heaven. My hand shot straight up immediately.
"What about Jewish people?" I asked.
"They will go to hell." the priest said, matter of factly.
"That doesn't seem right." I said."What about Methodists?" (my grandmother was a Methodist)
"If they have heard about the true faith, and have rejected it, they will not abide in Heaven with our Father." he explained.
Someone else raised their hand and asked about babies who haven't been baptized.
"They will go to limbo." the priest explained.

I squirmed in my seat for the rest of the lesson, which turned into the whole explanation of limbo and Hell and Heaven.If what he was saying was true, my whole damn family on my Father's side was going straight to hell! This was NOT possible.My grandmother and her friends were some of the sweetest, best people I knew. And they went to church every Sunday - sung their hearts out. Plus, my family knew plenty of Jewish families - they all seemed REALLY nice! I simply could NOT believe that all of those people were going to hell, OR that all of the babies that weren't baptized Catholic were damned to fly around in limbo for eternity. None of it made any sense to me. Nor did most of the bible. What kind of God would ask a man to kill his own son to prove that he loved GOD!!!??? A monster! That's what I thought.

The more I read the bible, the more I decided that I didn't want anything to do with any God that had anything to do with that book. The more history I learned, the more I came to think of religion (most of it)as a force that caused war, or was an excuse for it, or was an excuse for hating people who didn't look or think like you. AND it was all crazy. A virgin having a baby!? What's THAT about???

Before I even got to Interlochen, I realized that religion was not for me. My brother said that it was important to belong to a religion or a church, even if you didn't agree with some of the things they preached. He talked about changing things "from the inside". But I just felt like I would be a hypocrite to say I was part of ANY religion that hated gay people or other religions. Period.

Over the years, and with much thought put into the matter, I have come to believe in some kind of God. Not a man with a white beard. Not a MAN at all. My God is a mix of science and faith. A mixture of the miracle of all that we DO know now, and all that we don't. It's a little bit like "the force" in Star Wars. Even in this enlightened time, there is still so much unknown. the more that we know - the more we know we DON'T know. And why should we? Mere mortals?

As cloudy and muddled as my faith is, I still go to bed every night saying, "Thank you God. Thank you for my beautiful children. Thank you for every moment you give me with them."

And, as cloudy and muddled as my faith is, I still imagine a kind of heaven. I have to. I imagine Marieke there. In her own tailor-made heaven. In my imagination, she is surrounded by all of the lost or broken animals that need her love. It's a bit like the 'Isle of misfit toys' from the old Rudolph Christmas special. Only it's a perfect,sunny day. And for some reason, I see her as a giant girl. A great, big version of Marieke. Laying in the grass, the sun warming her long,blonde hair, her big eyes sparkling with joy as she cuddles with puppies and bunnies and cats and birds and - you name it.
Like some kind of bizarre fairy tale, she can part the grass beneath her (as if it was cloud material) and look down on her family here on earth. Blow kisses to her mother. Check in on us all.
And once in awhile, maybe, Tom might be able to visit her. Stepping out of his heaven into hers. And maybe even Paul.

If you believe science, nothing ever goes AWAY. It only changes. So I believe that their energy is SOMEWHERE. SOMEHOW.

Just because I can't understand it, or imagine it, doesn't mean it isn't so.

Max's First Taste of Fame.

I am just back from Vegas. Where I took my 12 year old son - let's face it - out of desperation. Let you who have never done anything out of desperation be the first to judge. It was his spring break, I had promised travel and adventure - and at the eleventh hour, all I could afford was Vegas, baby. It was kind of like when I got Max a limo for his 13th birthday - it would never be that cool again to have a limo with all of your friends piled in,enough snacks and soft drinks to put a professional wrestler into a coma, unlimited rides at the Santa Monica Pier, and midnight skateboarding at a private ramp in Venice. I hung out with the driver all night, cracking jokes, sharing stories with a big black man that I had just met. We had a good time. The boys had a good time. At 13 - a limo is memorable. By 15 (in LA), it's passe. So that was my thought about Vegas.

For a 12 (going on 13) year old boy - Vegas is world class glamour! Big lights, big games, big shows,big pool - the whole nine yards. By the time he's 14, this kid will look at Vegas the way I do, I suspect. Tragic. Old people in track suits from frozen places smoking indoors and throwing their money away on a dream. But when you're 12!!!! The Flamingo is pure fun! Big pool with REAL flamingos, a water slide, lots of kids to play with - pizza by the pool! And my super cool friend hooked us up with tickets to the Blue Man Group! Oh yea. Mom looks like a rock star. August totally loved the show - completely got all of the jokes and subtleties, and left talking about it - making great points. My BFF, Mark, went with and took the kid on his first ever REAL roller-coaster - thank you very much!

If you could have seen Mark and I walking through the various casinos and hotels, explaining them to August, you would have laughed REAL HARD. Mark is looking at all the cute boys, commenting under his breath to me - I'm laughing at him, we're all laughing at each other - basically - a LOT of laughing. And as we were explaining all that we could to the little brain that is August Blue, the subject of Cirque du Soleil came up.

"That sounds so cool, Mom. Why haven't you ever taken me to that?" the brain asked me.
"I have! I'm sure of it! Maybe you were too young to remember, though..." I answered.
And that conversation made me remember the very moment Max discovered the feeling of fame.

When Max was 4 or 5, I took him to see Cirque du Soleil with a few friends. Eric Voetberg, and his brother, Patrick, were there for sure. But our seats were such that we were slightly split up.As I remember it, there were 2 seats in the front row (center) and another 2 or 3 right in back of those in the fourth row. Max was never a very shy little boy, so when given the choice, he opted to sit next to Eric in the front row, Patrick and I sat behind them in the fourth.
This was only the second time I had been to Cirque du Soleil - the first time being with Peter in NYC - and I thought it was absolute magic! I was over THE MOON to take Max at his age. I remember distinctly the overwhelming feeling of anticipation and excitement about the whole event. My heart felt like it was going to burst right out of my body I was so happy and excited about taking Max to this. And I do believe I have the Voetberg brothers to thank for it. I believe THEY scored these great seats, and the whole event was that much more sated with happiness because of their presence. Max loved them both. Theses guys were the best.

The show started. I felt like I was 6. I tore my eyes from the stage to Max's face again and again. When he laughed, I laughed. When he held his breath, I held mine. If there was a scary moment, Max grabbed Eric's arm and felt safe. So I felt safe.
I tried to watch Max's face as the little Asian girls twisted their bodies into crab-like sea creatures. Some of them were no older than he was. I watched his face as a man stacked chairs upon chairs upon tables upon tea trays...until the stack was 25 feet high - all the while he was climbing these teetering things to music with comedic glances down to the audience - AMAZING! If he had fallen, he would have fallen right on top of Max and Eric!

And then the clown came out again. The clown that did not speak. International comedy. Some things cross all boundaries of language. And the clown chose Max.
He tried to coax him onto the stage.
Max shook his head "no!"
The clown did not give up.
Max shook his head "no!" again. He didn't want to go up there. He was NOT ready to be on stage. Not yet.
But the clown did not take no for an answer, and pretty soon, Max was being pulled up on stage (fighting it all the way)by the clown - and something TERRIBLE happened.

As Max was pulled UP, his pants were pulled DOWN. And before anyone knew it, or could do anything about it, Max was full on mooning the entire audience.

HUGE laughter ensued - GREAT applause! The clown felt like a success - for a moment.
Then, Max started to cry. For real. And the clown could not appease him. It was terrible.
I wanted to jump on stage and punch that clown in the nose. Kind of.
The audience was with Max - entirely! A great big "Awwwww!!!!" came from them in sympathy - but that just made him feel worse.
So, the clown handed Max over to Eric, made gestures of "I'm sorry", Max shook his little blonde head at the clown - very angry - and after the entire audience booed the clown on Max's behalf, the show went on.

Max curled himself up in Eric's arms for the rest of the first act, trying to disappear. Eric shot a look back to me in reassurance. What a guy! What a great guy.
Even so, as soon as intermission came, I rushed to Max to hug him tight and make sure he was ok.
"I hate that stupid clown, Mom!" he told me right away.
"I know. I know - but you were great! You handled it really well!"
"Everyone saw my butt!" he wailed.
"Oh, honey! Not everyone! Anyway...it's a cute butt."
Max buried his face in my sweater. "I want to go!" he said into it.
"You don't want some ice cream?" I pleaded.
"I want to go home!" he wailed into my sweater.

I looked at Eric and Patrick, shaking my head. Good grief. My pure joy and excitement about sharing this with my kid had turned into a nightmare. They were both very understanding.

I walked Max out towards the entrance of the tent, thinking we might be heading home.
But then, something interesting happened. Before we got even 5 feet down the aisle, people started stopping us. Complimenting Max.
"Oh my gosh! You were so great!" they said.
"You were the best part of the show so far!"
"That clown was a bully! You did GREAT!"
"You were so brave!"
A couple of people even asked if they could take a photo with him. We were assaulted!

And I saw Max's face turn from humiliated to happy.
Before we even got to the concessions, Max had been made to feel like a superstar.

"Wow. People really liked you!" I said to Max. "Do you still want to go home?"
Max looked at me with this really brave face and said, "No. I think I'll stick it out. Can I still have ice cream?"

Of course he could still have ice cream. The kid had his pants pulled down in front of hundreds of people and come out a rock star. I wished I could hand him a trophy there and then.

Ice cream indeed.
Ice cream INDEED.

Tweak's wicked little game....

Another night that I was with Tweak in NYC, I went to see HIM play (amazing keyboard player)in his band and afterwards we went to see Joey's brother play in the Village with a whole group of people.It was already a fun night. Matt was there, and all of the other people in that band were really nice to me and fun to be around.

As we walked in the door, the place was just starting to get crowded. And almost immediately - as soon as there was a little space between Tweak and I, some incredibly forward guy started to make a play for me.
"I'm with someone.." I said loudly over the noise of the place.
"Oh yea? I don't see nobody you're with!" the guy challenged me.
"He's around here somewhere!" I laughed.
I found Tweak as quickly as I could and went right up to him. I remembered how this worked. New York was NOT like LA. Men are much more aggressive in NYC. If you don't make your statement of claiming or being claimed right off the bat - all bets are off, and everyone's fair game. I went right up to Tweak and stood real close to him.
"Will you please kiss me right now...right on the lips?" I asked him sweetly.
"Why?" he said.
I just looked at him.
"I know why. You don't want that guy to hit on you."
"Well...that's right. I don't. I don't want anyone to hit on me. Except you. And it would be nice to have a kiss anyway."
Tweak smiled his wicked smile. Then he shook his head.
"Nope. I don't think I will." he said.
"Why NOT? You don't want to kiss me?"
"I know what you're doing....What if I want to flirt with some girls? Maybe I don't want everyone here to assume that I'm taken..."
(Wow.)
"Oh. THAT'S the way you want to play tonight, is it?" I asked, bristling up into war mode immediately. I am one of the LEAST competitive people I have ever known - but I KNEW how to play this game. A little TOO well. I had played it before when I didn't even know what I was doing. And (let's face it), THIS GAME was slanted in favor of the ladies. ESPECIALLY in NYC. I was a little pissed - but mostly amused.
"Yea. I think I want to be a bachelor tonight."
"Fine by me. See ya later."

I walked away from Tweak.
"Let the games begin.." I thought as I looked around the place, then decided to go to the ladies room to find my balance. As much as I could hardly admit it (even to myself) - this hurt a little. I didn't think he was my BOYFRIEND. But I guess I thought he was my boyfriend for that week. Had I been acting too clingy? Or needy? I didn't think so. It almost felt like he was trying to establish a pecking order with me.HE was the rock star at the moment, and I was...what? A mom? I had no idea, really. But, despite how this may read on paper (or screen) - and in spite of how it felt even then - something else was stronger. For all of Tweak's weird head games with me, I FELT like he was a good guy.I even felt like I could trust him.So - I played his little game. If nothing else, it would be an interesting experiment.

The night started shaping up quickly. Joey's brother was REALLY good. He played piano and sang with a small band backing him up. Reminded me of Billy Joel. His name was Gavin De Graw. And by the end of his set, I had a GORGEOUS Argentinian man speaking Spanish to me, buying me drinks and kissing my arm over by the bar.
I looked across the room and spotted Tweak.He was chatting up a couple of lasses in their early twenties who could hardly look more bored or dismissive. I shot him a winning smile. He grinned back a little sheepishly. It didn't take too long after that (and thank goodness - MY guy was starting to promise all KINDS of things in the hopes of...something) for Tweak to wander over to me and admit defeat.

"How are you doing?" he asked, shaking his head at the ridiculous spectacle my latin lover was making of himself.
"Well....as you can see." I replied.
"Yea, yea. Ok. Uncle. You win."
"Well, it was YOUR game."
Tweak nodded in admission.
"Excuse me for a moment. " I said to my gorgeous plaything. Then I turned to Tweak, sans arm sucker. "Will you kiss me NOW?" I asked him plainly.
"Well, I don't want to get in the way of anything...more exciting."
"Don't be an idiot. I didn't WANT to get hit on by anyone else. Remember?"
He nodded. I guess he remembered.
"And was that good for you? " I continued ( I had to rub it in a LITTLE) "Did you get what you wanted tonight? Lots of attention from some young hotties?"
Tweak looked right into my eyes. He seemed to be laughing at himself. "Not really."
As I squared my shoulders and looked up at him, I could feel the Argentinian pawing at my backside in a drunken manner.
"Will you FINALLY FUCKING KISS me, then?" I demanded.
"My pleasure", Tweak laughed.

Then he took me in his arms and kissed me.
As sweet as the taste of winning was, Tweak's kiss was even sweeter.

Tweak's Taboo in NYC.

If you've been reading this blog - you may remember Tweak. My first and only attempt at a one night stand. Which ended up being a fun 7 or 8 month long-distance romance. Tweak was touring, so I got to fly around and meet up with him at glamorous hotels. Then I went to NYC for a visit. That's when he got this nick name.

He introduced me to South Park. And there was a character called Tweak in that season that reminded me of John.He had fly away, crazy, yellow blonde hair and twitched a lot. Just like John. MY Tweak was a little twitchy like that because he had blood sugar issues. We'd walk around NYC ALL DAY - with periodic stops when Tweak would get really nuts and look like he was going to faint.
"I need some food NOW." he'd say to me intensely - his great big eyes boring into my face. "Fruit, ANYTHING."

I had a great time with him on that visit.He introduced me to Patty Griffin, we smoked tons of MJ, and ate at darling cafes all over the city. In the evenings we'd go around the Village to visit all of his musician friends at their various gigs. He seemed to know every single one of them. Then we'd go back to his place and meet his house-mate's date for that evening. Always a new one. I have never personally witnessed - first hand - such a player. The RANGE of women he brought back was impressive, too. Not one type - but ALL types. Every color, age, and size of the fairer sex seemed to be willing to come home with Joey and have wild, crazy loud sex with him. The only common denominator (that week at least) seemed to be their slightly lower IQs.

One night we were climbing into bed after a long, jazz filled evening. Tweak decided to mess with me.
"Wow. Joey's girl tonight seemed REALLY young...right?" I asked him in a whisper.
"Oh - don't be jealous." he replied.
"Jealous!?" I asked, confused. He BETTER not think I was attracted to his room mate - because I was NOT.
"Jealous because you're old and fat." Tweak said with a huge grin on his face.
"Did you REALLY just say that?" I asked incredulously as he turned out the lights.
"What?" he asked innocently.
I was so pissed. That's about the worst thing you can say to a woman. No matter how NOT old or NOT fat I had been feeling 2 seconds before he said it - it wracked me with insecurity. I happened to be experiencing a very THIN section of my life right then, and was getting slimmer every day I spent walking around the entire city for 8 hours at a time with him. Geez! I WISH I was that 'old and fat' NOW!

I snuggled up to his back and whispered right into his ear, "Well you are certainly NOT going to get laid tonight unless you apologize for that horrible remark."
He paused for a moment. Then said, "I'm sorry."
I snuggled a little closer to him.
"I'm sorry that you're old and fat." he continued and then burst into muffled giggles.
I smacked him.
"You are HORRIBLE! That is possibly the WORST thing any man has EVER said to me!" I turned away from him and scootched to the edge of the bed where we wouldn't even be touching.
"Awww... it's a joke! It was a joke! A pretty good one, too." he laughed, seemingly pleased with himself and the havoc he'd just wrecked in my girl-brain.
"I'm not sure I will ever forgive you." I said, trying to sound haughty and disdainful.

Tweak had no idea how much that hurt me that night. I know he didn't.He didn't know where I was in my life, or what I'd just been through. Not yet.