Tears (of a Clown)

The Winter Olympics are in full swing, which means it's weepy season around here.  I'm always reduced to tears during the Olympics, mostly tears of joy. I love watching people accomplish their goals and being the best they can be.

I was on the phone with my mom the other night as an ice skating event was airing. She screamed every time someone fumbled or fell, and even though I made fun of her, last night I did the same thing: I screamed so loud when the German couple fell that my cat bolted out of the room.

But mostly I'm wiping away happy tears.

Last night I had the pleasure of seeing the documentary 20 Feet From Stardom at the college where I teach. Afterwards, Claudia Lennear, one of the backup singers that was featured (The Stones "Brown Sugar" was written for her!) came and spoke, sharing stories and memories. God love the student who asked her to sing...

I was weepy during the movie, too. So much talent, so many amazing voices, so much heartbreak.

Hmm, maybe I just have PMS?

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IMPERFECT

Zzzzzzzzzzz's (Or Lack of Them)

Lately, I have been feeling totally out of whack. 

I can't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep. These past few nights have been like a bad dream, a dream without even sleeping. I fall asleep with ease but the next thing I know I'm awake, even manic, and unable to coax myself back to sleep. I took half a sleeping pill the other night, hoping to get back on track, but it didn't work. The next night I took a whole one and it didn't work, either.  Last night, pill-free AND with a migraine, I didn't sleep, either. Surprise, surprise.

In speaking with a friend this morning I told her of my Zzzz's woes.

"Are you stressed about anything?" she asked.
"No," I said. "Only that school is starting next week and I'm about 24 hours away from finishing my novel that I've been working on for almost five years."

Oh yeah...

THAT.

I know this manic phase is connected to the completion of this novel - one that has been with me for over 15 years, when I first pitched it as a television show to a certain company. At the time, we just couldn't break the story, but 15 years later and now a novel, I have found it, bonded with the characters, created twists and turns that hurt my brain to figure out, and have struggled through every, single word. 

But now...

Now I'm in that phase that I think all writers strive for - what I call the Sliding-Down-the-Hill phase. The novel is its own beast now with legs and arms and a body and heart, and together we are sprinting toward the finish line. It is thrilling, and it is exhausting.

And perhaps once I type those final words and send it out into the world...maybe then the keepers of sleep will pay me a visit, will sprinkle me with their magic dust. Until then, I will toss and turn and stare at my ceiling, pester my cat, chew my nails, fluff my pillows and wonder what the hell I was thinking taking on this novel idea, this wordy commitment of the imagination.

PS - Happy New Year.

PPS - How do you combat insomnia?

Mobiles and Stabiles and Books, Oh My

The other night, I had the pleasure of seeing the Calder exhibit at LACMA with a friend. It is a beautifully curated show. We enjoyed reading about his process and seeing the final products - the mobiles dancing in the air and the stabiles proudly standing their ground. At first glance, the mobiles look like simplistic childlike designs, but upon closer inspection the artistry really stands out. Geometric, colorful shapes are attached with delicate wire structures, allowing for balance and movement. The pieces are thoughtful, vibrant and even funny

Mobile

Stabile

The exhibit made me think of my own writing, or rather, writing in general. There is an illusion of simplicity and ease when reading a page-turner, when really the author most likely struggled with the same sense of balance, only with words instead of shapes.

I teach a class called "In Their Own Words: Artists Speak About Living a Creative Life" and in that class we talk a lot about process - the part of art that isn't really shown in museums, isn't necessarily talked about. To me, the process is the art - the art of discipline, of showing up every day to navigate some mysterious inner-compass, the art of failing, or missing your target, your vision not in line with what's coming out on the page or the canvas.

Book

As I aim to complete the upteenth draft of my novel, years in the making, scenes written and then scrapped, characters born and then killed off, plot points determined and then eradicated, I'm counting on that ineffable feeling to let me know when it's 'done'. The final product - the mobile, the stabile, the book - well, that's just icing on the cake.

Chips: A Cautionary Tale

When you go to celebrate your friend's birthday at Red O, make sure you don't nibble on chips before the main meal comes, because if you do, you might inadvertently and unknowingly puncture the soft tissue between your two front teeth known as the papilla and 48 hours after the incident you might wonder, hmmm, did I burn my mouth on something? And then you will uncomfortably live with the pain for the next few days and wonder when it will heal. Then one night you will feel a heartbeat in your mouth and you will search for the dental mirror you bought yourself on a whim years ago at the 99 cent store and you will adjust your mouth in front of the mirror and gasp in horror at the deep red rash that has formed behind the two front teeth and spread to the roof of your mouth, dark and sinister. You will leave a controlled message on the voicemail of your dentist even though you are feeling frantic, because between the appearance of the rash and the phone call, you have checked the internet and everything on the internet leads to death. The dentist will squeeze you in the next day and you will sit in his waiting room as other emergency patients take up his time and you will think I'm going to die from a tortilla chip? And finally it will be your turn and he will stick his professional mirror into your mouth and stay silent as his headlamp burns your eyes and he will eventually sit back and speak about the periodontist that he wants you to see downstairs, and while phone calls are made you picture yourself in surgery, your mouth formed into a weak smile as friends and family ponder the incident. You meet the periodontist who agrees to see you even though she has surgery on another patient in a few minutes and she pokes around in your mouth and insists you take an Xray even though you haven't let your dentist take an X-ray in years because of that book you read by the neurosurgeon who said he absolutely believes in the connection between dental X-rays and brain tumors, but you allow her to take it because she starts spewing information that you already read on the internet the night before about infections and bones and now you're really scared, not just mildly irritated about how your day has gone awry. You hold your breath when she takes the picture as if that's going to stave off your brain tumor, and soon she shows you an image of your teeth, your gums, and the small infection that has already begun, distinguishable by the darker color in the gum area, and she gives you some pain ointment to swab on the area and suggests Vicodin because she says she knows what kind of pain you're in, but you stupidly refuse for no good reason, and then she hands you an antibiotic mouth rinse, and together you try to deduce how this all happened in the first place and she asks if you eat Capt'n Crunch cereal because she's seen this before in kids and you say no but you do eat a lot of Kind bars, nuts and seeds all smashed together to make a long rectangle, and you talk about other things you've been eating lately to which she oohs and ahhhs at your healthy diet and she asks if you've eaten popcorn lately and you think back to the other day when you saw FROZEN 3-D with your nephews but you didn't order popcorn, nor did you pillage theirs and then she asks about tortilla chips and you start to shake your head no but suddenly remember the other night at Red O, celebrating your friend's birthday and you ate them by the handful, dipping them into tantalizing salsas and shoveling them into your mouth, one after the other after the other and you say yes, yes, yes, and you both do the math and it fits - the chips, 48 hours later the pain and she puts you on a soft diet and tells you to take it easy, relax your jaw, try not to talk and the swelling should subside in the next few days and the pain will mellow and you will be back to normal over the weekend. On the insurance paper she writes "Chip injury" and you're sure the insurance adjuster is going to laugh and deny charges, but for now you are just so happy you are not dying from a bone infection or a brain tumor and you drive to the market, bypass the chip aisle and head straight to yogurt and ice cream, hungry for the cold to numb the crazy chip pain.

Thanks

There is so much to be thankful for and I love the idea of practicing gratitude every day. Of course this can be challenging on off days, or grumpy days, but all the more reason to flex your gratitude muscle. 

The other day I was in a very difficult yoga class - let's start with the fact that I am at least 20 years older than most of the other people, but on top of that, we were attempting a pose I'd never even heard of called "Fallen Angel" - an insane arm balance with legs shooting up in the air and face tilted toward the ground. I was struggling, frustrated, annoyed, but then all of a sudden "A Tribe Called Quest"- my fav hip-hop band - came over the speakers and I was so grateful for the burst of good music that it boosted my confidence, catapulted my energy level and made me believe that this pose was possible. It wasn't, of course, but that doesn't mean it's not in my future.

not me, but maybe me one day?

Here of some pics from last night's Thanksgiving. So grateful for family, friends and right now my sister's pumpkin bread - dessert last night, breakfast this morning.

What's on your gratitude list?