4 am..

...can't sleep. I've been really sick and I need to. Been tossing and turning for hours. Maybe some 'Sleepy Time' tea will do the trick.
 It's hot here now. Still and muggy. My Mom used to joke and say "It's the Vietgong". She's not far off.
I need to work at 10 am tomorrow, and I'm in the tortured vice-grip of my worried brain.

WHY did I ever think I wanted to fall in love again? WHY??????? You'd think I'd be done with that by now. Hurt enough, stomped on enough, taken advantage of enough, lied to enough.
But hope keeps rearing it's bastard little head inside of me. "Maybe this time it will be different, the romantic six year old inside of me whispers to the guarded, older me. She's SIX! WHY does she always WIN!!???

I have started to care about someone enough to feel vulnerable.
All he had to do tonight was to text me that he has a board meeting tomorrow evening from six to eight pm (my one sure night off of work) to send me into the depths of insecurity, suspicion, and (I'm not proud of it) revenge-filled plotting. Oh yes. That's all it took. And now, here I am - wide awake at 4 am confessing the depths of my paranoia to anyone who cares to read about it.

BOARD MEETING at SIX pm??? BOARD MEETING at SIX PM!!!???? Really!? DINNER meeting, maybe. Ex girlfriend that looks like a St. Pauli's girl flying into town, maybe. But, BOARD MEETING!!!???? Who has a BOARD MEETING at 6pm? 6 - 8 pm, to be precise. Prime dinner hours. I mean MAYBE if we were in Manhattan. But not here. The kitchens are all closed by10pm here.

I've been tossing around in this close, hot space thinking about how tomorrow will play out. I probably won't hear from him at all. But, IF, by some miracle he texts me and wants to see me after his "board meeting", I shall simply text back and say that I have scheduled a board meeting for 9 pm. If he can have one at 6, I don't see why 9 is any more ridiculous - at least the members of MY board will have already dined!

I do realize how silly I am being. But I can't help it. I've been trying to talk myself off the ledge for several hours now to no avail. The truth is....I've been really sick for the last few days. And I had to go into work sick last night and tonight. And the only thing dragging me through it was the anticipation of seeing this man again. Seeing what baby step forward we might take. Ot what we might learn about one another next. It's been really, really fun. And exciting. And I'm getting a little bit wrapped up in the idea of him. Or us.

And that makes me vulnerable.

The Club. Downstairs players.

The Players:

SAM. An aging princess. Wears the remnants of a once beautiful face like a well worn jewel. Moves gracefully. Dark blonde hair, Nordic features, demure voice. Smiles easily and sees everything. Being trained as Bar manager. She might have secrets. In fact, her secrets are wilder than anyone there could imagine.

DAVID. Bar tender ala 'Cocktail'. Handsome, late twenties, cocky, rough around the edges. Houston transplant. Gay men gravitate to him like kids do to candy. He's got a chip on his shoulder - he's better than this place, this job, and he's ready to leave. His secret passion is playing guitar in a metal band.

LEE. She is in her 30's, with dark dramatic eyebrows, dark hair and a sexy, smoky voice. She's just called off her wedding - and the members are upset for her. She's going to the big bachelorette weekend in Vegas anyway. She makes the best of things. She is a floating server who has been there long enough to know everyone's name and what they drink.

KAREN. Karen is around 50, overweight, a smoker and a slob. She calls everyone "hun", and has a curly, dark bob with grey roots. She acts like she's so subserviant, but says evil things when a person's back is turned. She's got a mean streak a mile long, especially hates any new hostesses and ESPECIALLY hates the pretty ones. She drives a fancy, new car which is always washed, but turns up to work herself in dirty clothes with no make up and dandruff falling on her black shirt.

CHEF. We'll just call him Chef for now. Who knows where he's come from or what his story is. 50's, mostly bald, medium sized man with a wry sense of humor. Very attentive to the members.

JORGE. BIG man. Sous chef with a BIG, DEEP voice to go with his size and position. He smiles a lot. Seems easy going and happy to be there. His voice could sell anything. He runs the kitchen with Chef coming and going. Chef is the quiet, little boss - Jorge is the ever present, 6 ft 4in man that makes it all work. And no matter what task he's involved in (cutting meat, making sauce, directing a prep cook), he always is ready to look up and dish out a smile that's like a giant kid's smile.

ALLEN. Allen is a pro. A happy, flambouyantly gay pro. He makes a lot of money and is loved by all the members. He looks like a tall imp. An imp with a red crew cut. His eyes are always twinkling with mischief. This one is an expert at entertaining himself and delighted at the ease of a job which involves making people happy by the delivery of his unique wit and talents.

my battery is going out - so that's all for now.

Costa Rica

I'm seriously thinking of running away to Costa Rica with my little sister.

Not joking.

The Princess has to Work Hard.

Oh good golly!
I am just back from a grueling night of work. My back hurts, my feet hurt. I have been listening to people at the Country Club talk about their golf games. Or whether they should summer in Maine or Paris.

A little part of me wanted to chime in, "I've summered in Maine AND Paris!"

Oh, It's so amusing. So amusing what a princess I've been able to pull off being for SUCH a long section of my life. I mean, I've worked hard...sometimes. And being a Mom is often considered hard work, BUT.....come ON! I've been a damn princess. I just ate at that same Country Club a week ago as someone's guest. It's ALL so very funny!

I took a good look at the woman who was still "making arrangements" for summering in Paris. I shook my head (just INSIDE OF my own head) and thought, "I wouldn't trade places with her for all the summers in Paris, all the tea in China, or all the money in the world!" I imagined what HER summer in Paris would be like. Uh uh. No sir. Not fun. (I'd been listening to her prattle on about her own wealth for over an hour - to people she KNEW, no less).

Then, I remembered MY summer in Paris.
Only last summer I had MY summer in Paris. Oh my GOODNESS! What adventures, what FUN I had! Chasing after the fireman's ball and ending up in a lesbian bar in the Marais, fireworks, romance, conversations with strangers, croissant making class, picnics, kisses, the old man on the bridge - it was all so....so exciting. So unexpected. With Blue, and Sophie and unexpected friends.

And if I were to tell you about my summer in Maine...well...I  would have to take many blogs for that. Maine was SO, SO enchanted. The frame of a slow food documentary - but really all about Lake and Hilary (yes - some of you know her - Hilary Aptowitz) and their beautiful, gorgeous worlds. Full of organic gardeners and chefs, and musicians, and bread artisans and vegan geniuses, and young people making and living in te-pees and tents, and soft summer rains, and idealistic love and fantasies of a better (almost perfect) world. A garden full of vegetables, an orchard full of fruit, another of flowers, and an outdoor wood fired oven that my children and I got to help make (if only for a moment).

That summer (not so very long ago) there was swimmimg in the freezing ocean, there were lobsters (of COURSE!) - but not at a stuffy restaurant or club with boring, pinned together looking women that have nothing to talk about except their money - these lobsters were procured fom the fisherman himself at 5 am. - a lovely bread artisan's father! These lobsters were lovingly made into a sushi-making party where all generations of adults and children rolled rice and seaweed and fish together into delicious concoctions while laughing and singing and dancing. These lobsters were ooohed and aaaahhhed at in admiration by many Californians. These lobsters were thanked profusely for giving their lives for our pleasure and nourishment. These lobster shells were not thrown away, but made into a delicious lobster bisque.

That summer in Maine, there was excellent bluegrass music and excellent blues music played at every turn. That summer there were Bob Marley covers played and sung in the barn. There were kisses and there was insiration. There was poetry. There was sunshine. There were perfect stars and glowing fireflies. Lake's kingdom was as amazing as any Tolkien world. It was impossible not to feel alive and lucky and  full of love that summer. It was hard not to think that the rest of the world was crazy. All the people that were in malls or minimalls or chain"restaurants" or anywhere at all that was not so connected to our beautiful Earth.

That summer there was sailing.
That summer there was blackberry pie. We picked the blackberries.
That summer there was bicycle riding. On a bicycle built for two.
That summer Hilary sang 'Summertime'.
That summer Mieke and Luka came up and joined us. He sang and played a song in the barn. Oma read a poem.
That summer we went sea weed gathering with the master hugger. He hugged you and you felt as if warm honey was being poured all over your insides - you instantly felt like a happy child!
That summer I saw a porcupine by the moonlight as I was walking down a country lane.

That summer was the kind of magic that money can not buy.

I've been a spoiled princess. People used to ask me what I did for work. I said, "I'm an actress."
Then they said, "Oh, you mean you're a waitress?"
I would laugh a little and reply, "I was a waitress once when I was 18. I wasn't very good at it."

That's my truth. I've been very lucky for a very long time. Maybe my luck's run out. Or maybe it's just time for me to remember how great I've had it most of my life. So that - if and when it ever happens again - I'll appreciate everything THAT MUCH MORE.

Deja Vu

As she listened to the music, it felt like she was not ONLY listening with her ears and her brain. The combination of this music and her emotions drugged her inside and out. She could not take her eyes off of the love of her life, and yet she felt she couldn't see him clearly. Tears were in the way for one thing. Hot tears. And lots of them. She tried to keep her body as frozen as possible so no one would notice her deranged, helpless state - but even as her body stiffened, she felt transported to another place and time.
Without closing her eyes, her psyche was inondated with visceral memories from many, many years past.

        *********************************************************************

He played, and she was on the beach of a lake. It was foggy. She was waiting for him. jumping out of her skin with anticipation. She didn't know if he would come. The fog parted like a curtain, and he made his entrance into her world for real. He was tall and thin, with the softest, sweetest eyes ever given to a man. Searching eyes. He looked around a little, then laughed very slightly.

"Is it you?" he said.
"Yes." she said, feeling like her insides were about to explode. With happiness and nervousness and seventeen year old hormones.
"You wrote the notes?" He asked.
"Yes. It was me."
He looked a little bit baffled. Moved closer to her. Shook his head, laughing nervously again.
"Wow. I never would have guessed it was you."
"Why not? Who else would it be?"
"I don't know.." he smiled down at her shyly, "..just not you."

They were quiet for a moment, listening to the lapping water. The sound of the water was so calmimg, and the fog felt like peace - but they were in another place. Transported by a much stronger energy.
"Are you disappointed?" she asked, trying to see his face in the dark fog.
"No." he said. "Not at all. Are you kidding?"

He was so close to her now. His body was like a magnet. She pulled him to her by his shirt, stood on her toes and kissed him. He kissed her back. His lips were warm and perfect, his breath was like sex and home all at once. And although it was a soft, gentle kiss - it instantly left her wanting more and everything.
It was a perfect first kiss.

He leaned over her. Whispered, "I can't believe you were my secret admirer."
"Why not?" she asked, trying to be flirtatious and not just throw her arms around him and hold on for dear life.
"I don't know..." he whispered, close to her face. He kissed her again. His lips sent hot waves of longing all through her body. "I just can't"

She took him to her dorm room that night. They kissed and talked for hours. She wanted to rip all of his clothes off and do everything with him. But she didn't.
His hair was so soft. It was like silk.
Sitting in that concert hall, she could remember exactly how it felt and smelled. How his shirt felt on her cheek. How his skin felt under her hand. She remembered exactly how it felt to finally have him in her arms, and how from the very first few moments she knew that she never wanted him to leave.

The Matisse has finally arrived!

I have spent the day....WAITING.

Finally, D and Mom came back to the house to have a little chat and catch up on the details of my life.
D was in a merry mood, having lunched with my sister at one of his favorite French bistros, Epicerie. He brought back a macaroon for us, which was quite delicious - even to my exacting standards.

They spoke of friends, and recalled a ghastly seafood casserole they'd both been invited to dine upon in the recent past. "The SMELL!", D exclaimed, "The SMELL of that thing - the whole house just STUNK!"
The two of them bent over in laughter at the memory of the horrid meal.

Then, D was trying to explain to me that I looked a bit too much like Rebecca De Mornay in 'The Hand that Rocked the Cradle' to realistically think I'd ever get a position as a nanny. I thanked him.
(I never get tired of being comapred to her!)
"Why do you keep glancing at the door?" D asked me.
"She's waiting for UPS." Mom said. "For her painting."
"It's not a painting. It's a litho." I asserted. "An original litho. I've been waiting here all day."

And I had been.
Just like Scarlett O'Hara, I am reduced to selling off my treasures for neccecities. It's not the first time, either. I had to sell a beautiful ring a long time ago in London so that I could buy diapers. I don't mind. Lots of things are more important than owning a Matisse right now.

"I told her she should wear her glasses when she interviews to be a nanny..." my Mother went back to.
"Well, can we open it up and see it when it arrives?" D asked.
"I've tried that, Mom. Doesn't seem to help." I looked at D, thinking. "Well, I guess so. I have to open it to have it appraised anyway.."
Just then my Mother gave a little gasp. I looked out the window and saw the man in brown shorts. I let out a squeal right at about the same time the dogs across the way started barking at the poor man like crazy. "It's HERE!" I practically shouted, jumping up and running to the door. I flung it open to see the man gaurding himself against a ferocios Chihuahua with my box. The bigger dog was barking loudly at him, but keeping a civilized distance. As soon as the man was able to turn around and hand me the big package, D was at my side exclaiming "Oh your Picasso has arrived!"
"It's a Matisse, D."
And as soon as the door was closed D confided "I didn't think he would know who Matisse WAS!"
"Oh, so you were showing off for the UPS guy?"
"Well.."

The three of us wielded box cutters and sissors and got the thing out, styrofoam peanuts flying everywhere. D set it on the couch with a flourish and we all stood back and looked at the delicate face of a Matisse girl framed in gold. A few simple strokes were all he needed to create a face with personality and movement and expression. I had chosen this very simple face because it reminded me of the Matisse drawings and cut outs that seemed to most inspire my mother in her paintings. My mother loves Matisse so much that I took her to New York one time specifically to see a huge Matisse exhibit that had come to The Museum of Modern Art from Paris. We stood in line with people from all over the world to see his work. And we met  Woody Allen on that trip, after seeing his jazz band play. It was one of the best trips of my life. That's probably why I bought the litho in the first place.

We all looked the thing over for a moment before D said (in his most lordly voice) "The Matisse has FINALLY arrived!"

Making Rain and Crayon Art

Well, this may indeed be a stalling tactic.

For one very important reason, I feel compelled to write a story that is very hard for me...and I'm gearing up, but not quite ready.

So, instead, I'll tell you about today.
Today, I spent with my little sister, Liat. We had breakfast, talked, then went for mani-pedis. Then we went to the Bead Shop and spent a ridiculous amount of time looking at and sifting through all kinds of beads and sparkly things. There were bins of "bead soup". That's what the shop was calling big bowls of mixed up beads for a lesser price. These bowls of sparkling, shiny beads made me feel just like a kid. I wanted to dive my hands into the bowls and lift them up full of sparkling beads and gem-like things. I wanted to don a pirate hat and Puss in Boot's boots and steal all the treasure, write a play and perform it on the high seas! Something about that place made me feel happy and free. The idea that I could spend a few dollars and come out with everything I needed to make beautiful jewelry was empowering.

Then, I came back to my Mom's house and made curry and salad. The smell of exotic spices began to fill the small house. As the curry simmered away, making me think of far away places and adventures yet to come, I took my drink outside to the balcony for some fresh air. It was getting warm and muggy in the house.

I sat outside looking at the sky. Thinking. Smiling.
The sky was pregnant with dark clouds, like so many days before it - promising rain, but not delivering. Or delivering just a stingy, muggy, drizzle. Texas has been in a six year drought, the lake is FORTY FEET low. We needed RAIN.
I held my drink up to the sky and challenged it.
"I want RAIN!" I demanded. "Nothing less than a STORM!!! I want it to rain down like crazy - like diamonds or cash in a Snoop Dog music video!!! I want it to POUR!!!"

My mother came out with a bowl of rice and curry to join me.
"This is GOOD!" she said. "Delicious! And it's so nice out here..."

The wind had JUST started to kick up and a cool breeze cooled our foreheads. It was delicious. I smiled all the way through my body and let it sweep over and into me - saffron, the breeze, and the light drizzle that had just started. Then, just as my mother shifted and got comfortable, making some "Mmmm..." sounds, the rain started for real.
"Oh! " she said, "It's really raining! We'd better get inside!"

As we hustled inside, lightning cracked in the near distance and thunder rumbled. Mom's dog, Dorothy, tried to hide under the bed. "It's happening.." I thought. "THIS is more like it."
Then, before my mother had time to get in the car and pick my sister up from the coffee shop down the street, the sky let LOOSE. It was raining sideways buckets and cracking lightning, roaring thunder. We had to drive Liat to an appointment in flash flood conditions. My brother texted "DON'T LEAVE THE HOUSE. Massive FLOODING!"
I texted back, "TOO LATE!"

Later tonight, when we were all safely home and relatively dry, my Mom brought out a special crayon.
"Look what I found at school today." she said. (she's a preschool teacher) "It's a PRANG!"
Apparently Prang crayons are a brand of crayons long gone that are superior in pigment and over-all quality.
"Let me see that thing.." I said. (I had never heard of these crayons)
I started drawing on some paper right away.
"You know, it IS better." I said. "Smoother. And a GREAT color!"
Then, my Mom got all excited and started bringing out more crayons and paper. "Try this!" she said with excitement.

So I did.

The thing is, is that I can make all kinds of things. It's easy for me. I can make some pretty good crayon art, or costumes, or scenery - I can direct a play, I can sing, I can make a damn good curry (Thai, Indian, Balinese - you name it!).....I can throw a party on the smallest or largest scale with my hands tied behind my back and blindfolded. Once upon a time, I won awards - cash money even - for my poetry (although I fear that skill is lost)....I can make a child feel safe, shake a perfect martini or make a wedding cake.

 I MAY even be able to make it rain.

But REALLY... how do I put these skill sets on a resume?
Let me know ifyou have any ideas.