Martini Rescue Squad

A Loving Thank You

This Memorial Day Week entry is dedicated in love and thanks to all of the men and women who have served our country in the armed forces.  My great-grandfather expressed it beautifully in his poem below.  Poppie was 18 when he and his two best friends, Carey Evans and Walter Hopkins, joined the World War I effort.

They were determined to join the US Navy and appealed to their high school to give them graduation credit if they enlisted immediately.  They packed their things, kissed their sweethearts and moved to Philadelphia to await their orders.

In Philadelphia, it did not seem those orders were going to come through anytime soon.  However they heard a peer exclaim the United States Army Ambulance Corps (USAAC) had a recruiting station nearby and wanted soldiers to begin training right away for service in France.  The US Navy agreed to discharge Poppie, Carey and Walter if they joined the USAAC.

Those three young men trained diligently in the US, but it would not have been possible to adequately prepare them for the things they endured as soldiers and ambulance drivers in the 35^th French Division.  Poppie and Walter returned home to the US after the war, but Carey was killed at Ribecourt.  This is Poppie’s poem to Carey.

TO MY FRIEND

Somewhere in France a boy is there,

And he is still a boy to me.

Ten years it is since he marched away,

A soldier lad was he.

Most all the others have returned;

They’re older now, and men,

But this chap’s still a boy to me

And I’m his boyhood friend.

We sailed away together,

So young, with spirits high;

We shared each joy and hardship,

We left to do or die.

We fought through many battles,

Most always side by side;

They got him up in Flanders,

He smiled and then he died.

His name was Carey Evans,

And he’s still a boy to me;

He’s smiling up in heaven,

And a smile I long to see.

 ~~~

 

Road Trip, Part II of II

My brother Pat is one of my best friends.  For seven years, we worked together.  For the final couple of those years, we had carpooled to work on most days.  We saw each other a fair amount.

For the two-and-a-half years since then, he had to be in Colorado for a work project, which is great for him, but I had missed him terribly.  And consistently bugged him by asking when he planned to move home.

For this last year, his answer has been “Paige, I don’t want to talk about that now,” which was a rational choice.  Whenever the date he had given me, I would have gotten excited and looked forward to it – He was right about that.

However a few weeks ago, he told me he would be back “soon.”  Specifically, the first or second week in May.

Repeatedly I offered, work schedule permitting, to fly to Denver and drive home with him so he would have companionship.  Someone to help keep him awake, etc.

“I know, Paigey,” he would say.  “You’ve told me hundreds of times that you will come with me.  I’m OK, but thank you.”

Fine.

John...Danny...at least a few friends had offered to come with him as well and he had declined.

Great.

Until that Sunday morning.

“Holy cow!”

By 9:40 a.m., i.e. 17 minutes after he had awoken me with his call, I had booked my one-way ticket to Denver.

“Now what?” Ohhh...a lot. I shoved my wheely office chair away from my desk, gathered my comfie

st bathrobe’s ample, soft fabric, postured myself to tackle the day...and decided to make my bed.

This would buy me 30 extra seconds to deconstruct my to-do list and prioritize it.

Good move.

Dogs...dog sitter! Pack...Grr. Extra/emergency cash...Eh. Sunglasses and mobile phone charger – yes. Laptop?

Thank Heaven for one very good friend, Liza, who agreed to dog-sit, and for a couple of others who let me off the hook for some loose plans that day. By the time I had made the arrangements, I had, oh, 20 minutes to shower and pack.

Again....Grr. I’ve never liked packing.

“Packing should be simple,” Pat said. And simpler yet in Man Logic.

“All you need is the clothes you have on, a toothbrush and some pajamas. You can wear the same outfit again tomorrow,” Pat explained.

Right.

Per Woman Logic, I added a change of clothes, a few more toiletries, e.g. toothpaste, a small cosmetics bag and my laptop, but kept with that simple theme.

I zipped my small overnight bag just as Liza arrived at my place to charitably pick me up for brunch. She shook her head in amusement as I called for the taxi to the airport en route to the café two miles down the street.

We had a remarkably good brunch and just enough time to catch-up before Liza had to leave for her plans and the cab could intercept me at the café. It was now 11:20 a.m. One hour to take-off.

The taxi was 10, 15, 20 minutes late, but I still made it to LAX with 40 minutes and, hey! Look who got to board the flying cattle car in the first group.

Huh. Not bad.

I hunkered down in the bulkhead seat and picked up a fantastic conversation with Bradley, the flight attendant and my new best friend.

Who isn’t your new best friend on days you make it to the airport on time - having packed in five minutes and arranged for your world to continue functioning in your absence from your mobile phone during a 10-mile ride in the taxi?

I cannot remember exactly what we discussed, but Bradley and I tossed our heads back in hearty laughter as we cinched our safety belts around our waists and taxied down the runway at 12:20 p.m.

“Seriously? We pulled this off in two hours and 57 minutes?” I smiled.

“We,” meaning Liza, my dogs, the airline’s website, the nonexistent traffic, the taxi cab driver, the shortish queue at the magnetometer, the stars’ alignment....everyone and everything. It was a team effort.

“Not bad.”

The flight was smooth and the cab to Pat’s apartment complex was easy.

I had not been to Denver since Pat and I were there with our Dad Pat, Sr. when I was seven. My recall from that trip is monodimensional, like a postcard you find in a drawer 20-some years later; I remember the colors and a few freeze frames, but nothing else.

We would not be there long enough to on this trip to reunite with that city on this trip, but as the cab navigated along, I could see why Pat would love it. The sky was colorless, but the mountains, the buildings and the city’s speed seemed innocuous, relaxed and welcoming. The whole place just knows it’s pretty darn cool.

Pat lived in a very neat neighborhood where almost everyone seemed to be aged 20-40 years, they are good-looking, they are all going places in life and everyone has a pet.

This absolutely seemed to be a tiny Utopia that is filled with only really fun, beautiful, healthy people – from everywhere in the country.

“This is perfect for Pat,” I thought.

Forget the personal records set that day, all of which were nearly a blur by that point. Hearing your loved one come through the door from the elevator bay to the lobby is when you know “This is why I am here. Never forget that.”

He forgave me for an overly emotional greeting hug and focused his tone.

“Paige, I have been packing the car all day. You can fit your bag, but we literally cannot fit another pair of socks in my car,” he said, smirking, but completely serious.

And he was correct.

In this giant, aged SUV with a menacing crack straight across the entire windshield, we did not have any extra room. It was jammed.

We did not have visibility through the rear view mirror and could only see out of the front side windows. My feet shared the front passenger foot space with Pat’s backpack and my overnight bag.

Patrick’s dog had the best deal; Pat had stacked his boxes and solid personal effects so that Jackson had a spacious, enforced borough right next to the door in the back seat. Easy exit, easy entrance and plenty of space to lie down. Nothing could have fallen on him or usurped his space from any direction. Lucky dog.

At 7:30 p.m., we hit the road, the three of us. We drove through slushy rain and the dark. We enjoyed the most delicious McChalupaWhopper you can find anywhere along on the I-70.

We drove and drove until stopping at 3 a.m. in Richfield, Utah. A town that seemed to consist of five hotels and two gas stations.

On Monday, we re-embarked at around 8:30 or 9 a.m. Mountain Time and continued our drive.

As we drove home, we caught up – with background music provided by his iPod. A good mix. He showed me the pictures from his various adventures.

We drove through red rock deserts and through stratified formations, carved by millions of years of history vastly more important than ours.

Through long, flat expanses that required a vast imagination to sustain your interest – and a subtle fascination and gratitude for things those boring spots have seen that we will never understand.

We drove. And drove. Through the balance of Utah, into Arizona, across Nevada and California. We drove southwest until we ran out of land.

We could write a compelling travel guide for many Arby’s, Starbucks and filling stations between Denver and Las Vegas. The closest we got to Sin City was the Del Taco a few blocks off the strip, which is just charming this time of year.

All laughter aside, it was time for our brother/sister picture. When we started our journey, I told him we needed to remember to take one somewhere along the way. We needed one to commemorate our first road trip for just us, as adults.

More than anything, we needed to celebrate his homecoming. We had almost forgotten it until we stopped at the filling station, in Baker, Calif. This hamlet is where you find the world’s largest thermometer and it is about 40 miles south of Las Vegas. It is 40 miles closer to home.

“There,” Pat said. “Over by the thermometer.”

I agreed. As he snapped the picture with his camera phone, I think we both knew “This is why we are here. Never forget that.”

Mission nearly accomplished. In 22 hours, we had made it through sleet and desert, we had sampled the finest eateries and filling stations in five states and we had mobilized through varied terrain over nearly 1000 miles without the cracked windshield caving in.

Between the three of us, we had successfully spotted our one fearless driver in a car with 10-percent visibility for any necessary lane changes. And we had remembered to take our picture.

As we connected to the I-10 in Los Angeles, in a spot you would normally scorn for its smog, traffic and heat, the city took on a new sweetness. The skyscrapers seemed small and the city seemed kind. The world was right. Pat is home.

At every point between there and Pat’s hip apartment in Denver, I wanted to tell him how much I love him. How much I have missed him. How precious he is to me. How good it is to have him home.

The last couple of weeks, much has returned to “normal,” as if he had not been away even a week. But so much has changed.

He now lives a couple of miles away, not half a mile. He now works for a different company – or I do – not down the hall. And he has gained so much by being away, as have all of us who stayed in Los Angeles, from the things we have experienced these last two-and-a-half years.

These are things we know. Kind of.

But sometimes, all it takes is 2.95 hours to book your flight, pack and leave everything in order.

Sometimes all it takes is 22 hours to drive across five states with at least a dozen stops for various reasons.

Sometimes all it takes is coming home, however briefly we were gone, to realize how much love we have for this life and the people we miss, who love and miss us. To know this is why we are here.  To never forget that. 

 

 

 

Road Trip, Part I of II

How many times have you discovered how badly you needed to get away for a minute once you are en route back to your point of origin?

No matter how happy, productive, fulfilling your life may be, it takes going away to put your daily reality into perspective.  I have found that the more spontaneous the getaway, i.e. the less time I have to plan and prepare, the more rewarding the return.  From a perspective perspective anyway.

The less time we have to wrap our mind around where we are going, what we will do there and our to-do list after the getaway, the more impactful is the return.

And the last-minuteness to our departure and the stark contrast between our reality and where we went, however briefly, in the interim makes our vision that much clearer.

That clarity is immaculate.  It is a pure, smudge and pre-conceived notion-free opening through which to view our day-to-day in stark contrast to the rest of the way our world could be.

Either it affirms us or it doesn’t.  But it is a beautiful opportunity to see how much love we have for the life and the people we miss – and how much they love us.

“Hello?,” I asked as I answered my mobile phone at 9:23 a.m. on Sunday two weeks ago.

“Hey, what are you doing right now?,” my brother, Pat, asked.

“I’m lying in bed with my puppies, sleeping in,” I answered. I.e. I’m at home, in Los Angeles.

“Wanna drive home with me?”  I.e. from Denver, where he has lived for two-and-a-half years, to Los Angeles.  I.e. approximately 1,035 miles from the bed in LA where I was so cozily nestled?

“Sure.  When?,” I asked.

“Today.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?  Today?  What time do you want to leave?”

“I want to head out of here by around 5 or 5:30.  Go check online.  Spirit or Southwest have flights that leave for here every hour,” he stated.

“OK, when will we be back?”

“Tomorrow.  I have to be home in Los Angeles for some meetings first thing on Tuesday.”

“And I have some dinner plans for tomorrow,” I added.

“We should be home in plenty of time,” Pat assured.

(To be continued next week...)

Metaphorical Moments

Every now and then we find ourselves in the middle of a moment that we realize, as it unfolds, is the perfect metaphor for life as we understand it – compared to the life some friends in our peer group understand.

If we can slow down in those moments, we can honestly relish in real time those friendships.  We can laugh at how we still speak the same language from our common experiences in our past.  And at how we now live according to completely different patterns, but our lives are so completely natural to each of us.

If we absorb that moment while it lasts, really breathe in the whole thing, we might find a beautiful affirmation that things are exactly as they should be.  This Saturday night offered one of those.

Around 9:00 on Saturday night, I stopped by the grocery store to pick-up some take-out dinner from the hot prepared foods section.  There, I ran into Stan.  Stan is a man’s man – fit, strong, popular, intelligent, driven, successful...and a new dad.  Perhaps eight or nine months ago.

The following is our conversation at that hot food bar:

ME

Hi, Cutie!  How are you? How is the baby?

STAN

Oh, he’s great thanks.

ME

Oh, my God – Stan, you will appreciate this.  Today I was at a baby shower at a friend’s house – and this is a house where we had some of the best parties in high school and college.  I was sitting next to my pregnant friend Erin as the new mom opened her gifts.  I said, “Babies rock” and she said, “Yeah, babies rule.”

STAN

Laughed

ME

I said, “Yeah, they’re pretty hardcore.”

STAN

That’s really funny.

ME

Oh, and when she got a big cup holder and all of these accessories for the stroller, we joked that she had pimped her ride.

 Both us laughed

ME

We were using the same terminology and same tone as we used maybe 16 or 17 years ago, in high school, but this time, we were talking about each other’s babies!  So crazy. 

STAN

I know!  My brain is totally in Baby World these days.  We were at a baby shower earlier today with all of these guys who have babies now and all we could talk about was baby stuff.  Seriously.

ME

Aw, that’s great.  What are you all up to?  Did you already put him in bed?

STAN

Yeah, we put the little one down and I am here picking up some food.  What are you up to tonight?

ME

Nothing really.  After the baby shower, I went down to the Southbay for a Housewarming/Cinco party.  I hadn’t really planned anything, just thought I’d see if anything popped up for dinner.  See where the night took me.

STAN

Sure.

ME

Anyway, on my way back up to the neighborhood, I decided to come here, get some hot dinner and go home to eat and watch Saturday Night Live with my puppies.

STAN

Oho-K, so I’m not missing too much back on the other side. (I.e. the single-in-the-city side).

ME       

Haha, nope.  Not tonight.

A few minutes later at the cash register, speaking with my friend Rick…

ME

Rick, you will enjoy this – I just ran into my friend Stan, who is a new dad and we were both at baby showers today...we were talking about how you can so pimp your ride, meaning your baby stroller.

RICK

I know, there are so many things you can do to make those high-tech these days.  I was walking down the street the other day and heard a boom box coming from the baby stroller!  Like it was hooked up to Sirius or something.

ME

Oh my God, that’s hysterical!

RICK

Next, we’re going to need to put those strollers on hydraulics so the strollers can rock the babies to sleep as we walk them.

STAN

(Approaching from a few feet away)

...Yup.  For Baby #2, that’s going to happen.

If he wants to, I know Stan can make sure it does.

If you could have hit rewind for 16 years from that moment - back to the days when we first became friends - and showed us those brief few minutes at the market, we probably would have laughed then as well.  Both because we are still talking about pimped rides and things that rock and rule, and for the blessing of forward motion.

For the moments we can appreciate how our paths continue to intertwine so naturally, despite their different features.  Metaphorically and literally.

 

As a side note, this is Martini Week #104.  Happy Birthday to us, Martini Rescue Squad.  Thank you for two solid years with you thus far. 

We’re nearly halfway through Spring 2012.  The time for renewal and rebirth.  The days are getting longer and warmer, which means we can do much, much more with each of them.  We can pack them so full, they spill over into the night.

Or we can give them the reins and let the elements each day dictate how we spend our passive awareness; we take it easy and let each minute count for something distinct.

On the former, we risk overdoing things.  Exhausting our bodies.

On the latter, we risk over-thinking things.  Exhausting our minds.

Those are two completely different experiences, both of which are possible every day during this part in the year.  That is pretty incredible.  And pretty amusing.

I am going to take a wild guess that most of us are more prone to exhaust our bodies; we are most likely driven women who expect ourselves to work the majority of the day, while still having time for our families, our friends, our community obligations, an attempt at a fitness routine and...Eh, maybe some reflection.

But what do you do when you have a day when there is nothing you can or should do?   When the most appropriate thing to do is wait.

You woke up early and exercised.  You replied to all e-mail that required a response.  You have completed all of your household projects that required your attention.  You do not need any groceries, you do not really have any errands to run or any calls to return.  You got your mani/pedi a couple of days ago and it still looks fine.

You have even indulged yourself in a full hour in your favorite café to read.  And sipped very, very slowly.

You have done absolutely everything you can and there is nothing left to do...

Uh-oh.

“Mayday, mayday!”

Really, all that makes any sense to do is wait.  What?  For that news about the job, the confirmation that you got the new apartment, the details for your date...For anything that is secretly consuming your thoughts, etc...And, ahem, how do you wait?

Weigh your waiting options.

Do you stare at the wall, praying for a thought that will consume you enough to hold your gaze?

That works great until you realize you have been holding your breath as long as your gaze.  And the sketchy “screenplay writer” sitting next to you attributes your resultant swooning to himself, bien sur.

Do you tap your fingers, thus annoying everyone around you?  And ruining your mani?

Ooh, or do you call everyone you have not yet called, and then recall all of the friends whose calls you returned this morning – you know, just to make sure they got the message and don’t have any questions?

They will probably be more annoyed than appreciative of your thoroughness.

Do you order a coffee refill?  Which will make you both jumpier in more impatient.  Not a good plan.

Do you strike up the conversation with the interesting and kind Boho-chic woman who is quietly reading her tattered poetry paperback?

That could work well for both of you until you realize she is actually the homeless, mentally ill woman the café staff gives a free cup of coffee every afternoon.

Don’t laugh.  It’s happened.

There are so many, many options for how you can use your time when, really, you don’t have anything pressing/inspiring/obvious to do.

Or you do, but you’d really rather wait.  And think about your waiting.

May Day

We’re nearly halfway through Spring 2012.  The time for renewal and rebirth.  The days are getting longer and warmer, which means we can do much, much more with each of them.  We can pack them so full, they spill over into the night.

Or we can give them the reins and let the elements each day dictate how we spend our passive awareness; we take it easy and let each minute count for something distinct.

On the former, we risk overdoing things.  Exhausting our bodies.

On the latter, we risk over-thinking things.  Exhausting our minds.

Those are two completely different experiences, both of which are possible every day during this part in the year.  That is pretty incredible.  And pretty amusing.

I am going to take a wild guess that most of us are more prone to exhaust our bodies; we are most likely driven women who expect ourselves to work the majority of the day, while still having time for our families, our friends, our community obligations, an attempt at a fitness routine and...Eh, maybe some reflection.

But what do you do when you have a day when there is nothing you can or should do?   When the most appropriate thing to do is wait.

You woke up early and exercised.  You replied to all e-mail that required a response.  You have completed all of your household projects that required your attention.  You do not need any groceries, you do not really have any errands to run or any calls to return.  You got your mani/pedi a couple of days ago and it still looks fine.

You have even indulged yourself in a full hour in your favorite café to read.  And sipped very, very slowly.

You have done absolutely everything you can and there is nothing left to do...

Uh-oh.

“Mayday, mayday!”

Really, all that makes any sense to do is wait.  What?  For that news about the job, the confirmation that you got the new apartment, the details for your date...For anything that is secretly consuming your thoughts, etc...And, ahem, how do you wait?

Weigh your waiting options.

Do you stare at the wall, praying for a thought that will consume you enough to hold your gaze?

That works great until you realize you have been holding your breath as long as your gaze.  And the sketchy “screenplay writer” sitting next to you attributes your resultant swooning to himself, bien sur.

Do you tap your fingers, thus annoying everyone around you?  And ruining your mani?

Ooh, or do you call everyone you have not yet called, and then recall all of the friends whose calls you returned this morning – you know, just to make sure they got the message and don’t have any questions?

They will probably be more annoyed than appreciative of your thoroughness.

Do you order a coffee refill?  Which will make you both jumpier in more impatient.  Not a good plan.

Do you strike up the conversation with the interesting and kind Boho-chic woman who is quietly reading her tattered poetry paperback?

That could work well for both of you until you realize she is actually the homeless, mentally ill woman the café staff gives a free cup of coffee every afternoon.

Don’t laugh.  It’s happened.

There are so many, many options for how you can use your time when, really, you don’t have anything pressing/inspiring/obvious to do.

Or you do, but you’d really rather wait.  And think about your waiting.