One Year Later

Tracy: "Why do people have to die?"

Nate: "To make life important. None of us know how long we've got. Which is why we have to make each day matter."

~Six Feet Under (TV series, HBO)

Ya gotta have friends. And I'm so grateful for mine, who recognized the significance of this past week and remembered today's one-year anniversary with thoughtful cards and gestures.

My family and friends - they're the ones who make each day matter.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Actually, it was a cool and misty eve, but whatever. I was curled up on the sofa, sipping a chocolate martini and nursing a broken heart. My DirectTV receiver/DVR had gone the way of the Big Sleep, taking with it two years worth of recorded movies. This unexpected turn of events put me behind the eight-ball with nothing to watch.

I was, indeed, a dame in distress.
What to do, what do to? Fraught with despair, I took a gander at a book loaned to me by this good egg I know, a fella whose literary recommendations I think I can trust. Or can I? I'm a sucker for them cats with the innocent mugs; they're always the first to lead me astray.

Not that I'm an easy mark, mind you. But on this particular night I was a desperate sister with nothing to watch and nothing to read; except that is, for some fluff of a book that's been lying 'round my joint collecting dust like a drunk collects giggle juice. A faded little paperback titled, "Eat Pray Love." Ya probably never heard of it.
Instead, I pick up my pal's recommendation; a worn out dingus titled, "Farewell, My Lovely" by Raymond Chandler. I wrap my mitts around the book and start reading.
Before I know it, my pretty little mug is buried deep within the pages, like some poor palooka in a wooden kimono. I find myself lost in the shady underground world of the 1940s, cavorting with coppers, gum-shoes, grifters and goons. Drifting through smoke-filled saloons replete with stoolies, snitches, and the occasional stiff.

And any thoughts about my dead DVR are soon given the bum's rush. That heap of junk can swim with the fishes for all I care, because this tomato's found somethin' better to do on this dark and stormy night.
Or cool and misty eve. Whatever.

Amen, Sister

"I want someone who will be monogamous and nice to his mother. And I want someone who likes musicals, but knows to just shut his mouth when I'm watching Lost.

And I want someone who thinks being really into cars is lame, and strip clubs are gross.

I want someone who will actually empty the dishwasher instead of just taking out forks - like I do. I want someone with clean hands and beefy forearms, like a damned Disney prince.

And I want him to genuinely like me. Even when I'm old.
And that's what I want."

~Liz Lemon, 30 Rock

Another Typical Day at the Office

And how was your day?

The Mystery of the Old Suitcase

During this painstaking 11-month process of cleaning out Mom's home, I've unearthed hidden treasures boxed away in every single closet.

From childhood Halloween costumes, my beloved Raggedy Andy doll and Barbie's Dreamhouse to family photo albums and a bottle of Mercury stored alongside my stack of old Mad magazines from 1970, each excavation has been a revelation. I even found a list dated 1978 spelling out what I hoped I might get for Christmas that year.

Did I really want the 45 rpm of "Macho Man" by the Village People?

But the one discovery that tugged at my heart was the suitcase stuffed with my Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mystery books. Such a labor of love, those dusty, faded books.

That's because as an eight-year old, my allowance each week was just 25 cents. Not bad when you remember that in those days, a candy bar was a dime and comic books were 15 cents. In pre-Wii days, isn't that really all a kid needed to survive week to week?

Ah, but Nancy Drew and Hardy Boy books were $1.25. That meant five arduous weeks of saving my meager 25 cents to purchase a coveted book; not to mention forsaking any other weekly treats, like a new Richie Rich comic book or a refill for my Batman Pez dispenser.

But the sacrifice was well worth it because on that fifth week, I would be giddy with excitement as I accompanied Mom on her weekly trip to Gemco. And while she shopped for groceries, I would plant myself in front of the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boy section and belabor which book to buy.

Such a decision. Did I want "The Secret of the Old Clock" or "The House on the Cliff?" Was I due for a Nancy Drew or was it time for a Hardy Boy? Back and forth, back and forth. An hour later, Mom would swing by to collect me, her shopping cart overflowing with grocery bags.

"Hurry," she'd urge, "before the ice-cream melts!"

MOM! Jeeeez.

And only under the duress of such pressure would I finally make my agonizing decision...plus, I needed her to pay the tax. I'd return home with my treasure, finish the book in one day, and then begin the process all over again.

A labor of love, indeed. And 40 years later, a suitcase of memories.

It's About Time

Venti schmenti.

Finally, a coffee cup size I can live with.

I'll Pencil It In

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor.

Catch the trade winds in your sails.

Explore. Dream. Discover."

~Mark Twain