Clicking My Heels

i'm sitting at my old desk in my old office, typing at my old computer. it feels, in this moment like the last six months never happened. like nothing has changed. like i live in boston, not san fran. like i work at jbbbs, not pineapple nation. like i work-out at the gym, not by walking through the tenderloin. strange...no? it's like the end of a long running sitcom, where the lead character realizes it was all only a dream.

the last couple of days in boston have been everything that has been missing from my life. filled with the best of friends, really cold air and the right amount of sushi. CURLY and HIGHLIGHTS picked us up in westport where we had a final snack of homemade popovers and tea (my father, who has been baking for the last 12 years, since we moved east, seems to be trying to set a world record - how much TO DIE FOR cuisine one individual can create). i would have stayed in the over-packed car forever - long after the 2.5 hour drive was over. our first boston meal was at fuck-you sushi...yum - the spicy tuna and sweet potato rolls had never tasted so good. yesterday was spent with the LOUDEST RED HEAD and then a hysterical dinner cooked mostly by me in CURLY's kitchen - ABN hates it when i use the word PERFECTION but really i don't know what else to say.

this morning my REPLACEMENT (who i'm obsessed with) picked me up and i anxiously walked into jbbbs. it's not that i didn't want to visit - in fact, i did so badly i couldn't wait until my scheduled time on friday. i'm just so aware of how right it feels to be here with the jewish and the social work and the HARV...i feel overwhelmed by how much i miss it. and at the same time, talking to HARV, seeing his stress and anxiety, not just about work but life too, i think i'm in a good place right now - styling people. and writing. i'm thinking of cutting my hours, and writing more.

i had a drink with CASTLE ROOMMATE. she is such a good friend and we have so much shared history. wherever she goes she turns heads with her beauty, her poise and her sharp sense of humor. when i listen to her talk i only hope that she's happy.

the only hard part about this trip is what a mess BESTIE's life is right now. we knew before we arrived but i think we understand more since we have gotten here. it's all consuming for us and for him. i want to grab him and shake him. i want him to understand how worried his friends are, how worried his mother is. but he can't seem to hear us. i'm scared for him. and i'm frustrated.

Full to the Brim

i've been in westport for exactly 7 days, which is longer than i have been in westport since i was in high school and even then, 7 days was a stretch. it's been cold on the east coast and cold here in my parents house, where just as my toes are starting to thaw-out my dad shuts off the heat, but we've been keeping warm by eating - constantly. remember that weight i had been loosing? - lost cause. from home made bagels to chopped liver to baked brie and TDF scones, it has been an endless stream of food, food and more food. i could and should say no and turn away, but it all tastes so good! grandma's chocolate cake, WEDDING CAKE and homemade marshmallows?!! i need to get the hell out of here.

tomorrow we head to boston to spend few days with BESTIE, CURLY, the LOUDEST COUPLE and CASTLE ROOMMATE just to name a few. of course i'm beyond excited to reconnect and spend time with people that mean so much to me, but i'm also nervous about how good it will feel because i know it will make it difficult to leave at the end of the week. i know about this kind of stuff.

when you move across the country in the middle of high school - you face this kind of challenge - the difference between then and now is that before i was miserable and now i'm not. then i was on my own and now i have ABN. then my friends forgot about me and now, probably because we are all more mature, we have continued to be part of each other's lives. (does it sound like i'm still dealing with my abandonment issues by my friends from high school? i am). but there are similarities too. i've tried to warn ABN that it might be tough, but being the oblivious guy that he is, he just walks around with a giant smile on his face - eager to see his friends, while i have the furrowed brow (this is fairly typical).

we're happy in SF and it's really beginning to feel like home...i'm worried this might lead to backtracking.

in the meantime...tomorrow CURLY is picking us up and i'm way too excited to even think about sleeping. so instead - i think i'll watch the second half of Sister Act 2
...the perfect distraction.

Fruitcaking

On Thanksgiving morning I’d wake up to the sounds of nuts being chopped in the cuisine-art. Walnuts and almonds that had been toasted the night before. By breakfast time dozens of eggs were being cracked and before lunch I was mixing the butter, brown sugar and molasses – fruitcake was in full production.

We’re a family of traditions (hotdogs and chili for THE CHARACTER’s birthday, tony romas during the Oscars) and our greatest was that each year, from before I was born until my parents were empty-nesters, we’d make 48 dozen miniature fruitcake and deliver them to our nearest and dearest family and friends. Nearest and dearest is a broad term used to describe both the people we saw on a regular basis (half of my Hebrew school carpool) as well as those we maintained a relationship with exactly once a year, when THE CHARACTER and I sat quietly on their couch as my dad would play catch up on a lifetimes worth of happenings. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

I think it all started with a recipe my dad found in a newspaper while he was in law school. Needing something to do with his free time (post finals vacation?) he decided to make the fruitcake in cupcake form and share them with neighbors and friends. Although each year more and more people professed their dislike of fruitcake (ich), each year his group of friends grew so did his endeavor until before he knew what was happening he needed a bowl the size of a small child to contain the batter.

Growing up in Los Angeles, we would spend one weekend a month in Palm Springs and on our drive back in early November, still smelling of chlorine from our last early morning swim, we’d stop at Hadleys to pick up the necessary supplies (as well as a date shake because really, who can stop at Hadleys and not have a date shake?). In addition to the walnuts and almonds we also purchased bulk bags of dates, figs, currants, and red AND green candied cherries. On a separate excursion I’d go with my dad to the party supply store to find the proper packaging for our yet-to-be-baked holiday treats – each year trying to find a more suitable option. The number of mini-fruitcake that each family received on a given year fluctuated between 6-8, depending on how many people were on my dad’s list – and the state of the economy – thus, our packaging needed to be flexible too.

As the fruitcake came out of the oven they were transferred from baking tins first to the dining room table. Once that was covered, we moved on to the hutch and then all eight chairs, occupying any and every clean surface. We’d divide them into groups, place them in their packaging and wrap them with saran – completing the package, for those that we were shipping across the country, by sticking on a perfectly placed red, green, gold or white bow. This responsibility often fell to me and I took my job extremely seriously. I’d alternate colors so that one didn’t stand out more than the others. Some years I’d place each bow in the upper right hand corner of the packages, some years in the dead center – but once I made a decision of bow placement for the first package of the year, all other packages had to follow suit. As for the fruitcake that were not being shipped, the packages that were to be delivered – they remained bow-less for the time being.

In addition to fruitcake, a holiday picture was included in the package. Some years, as my mom was putting together scrapbooks, she would come across a shot of me and THE CHARACTER and would have copies made and that was that - a good year. Other times, when she was behind on scrapbooks we'd be forced to dress up and head into the woods (otherwise known as our elementary school play ground) to take roll after roll. And when all else failed we'd get dressed, again, and pose with the actual fruitcake. It was quite the process and part of the annual experience.

Then on Christmas Eve (yes, these JEWS delivered FRUITCAKE on CHRISTMAS EVE) we’d load the fruitcake into my dad’s little red convertible. Given that we averaged 27 in-person delivers a year, and the car was a two-seater, and there were three of us in the car – this proved to be quite the challenge. I’m not sure how my mom got out of fruitcake delivery but she never took part – her responsibilities ended once THE CHARACTER and I were dressed in coordinating (not matching) outfits and she waved goodbye.

My dad would spend the night before delivery updating his list – making sure that the route made sense. No matter what changes we made from year to year (this friend in, in that friend out – there was one rule to fruitcake – no thank you note two years in a row?, you were off the list, no exceptions) we always started off the day at the TWINS house (at various points in my life I refused to get out of the car) and ended at the home of the TALLEST MAN IN THE WORLD. Lunch was always after we stopped by Nani and Eddie’s and ranged from McDonalds to Dennys to KooKooRoo.

Because we always delivered on Christmas Eve, and because friends came to expect us, most would be home and prepared for a visit with brownies or a birthday gift for THE CHARACTER (the one year delivery was delayed was because of his arrival but no worries, my dad and I were out and about the day after Christmas – we were like the postman…no sleet, no snow, no rain could keep us from making sure the people received their treats!). I would sit in the front seat and THE CHARACTER would sit in the back. His job was to pull out the next box of fruitcake and hand it to me, along with a bow. I’d sort through the pile holiday cards and the bow and the card to the package of fruitcake.

Every year we'd arrive at NATE and ROSALIE's and although ROSALIE would be sure that the year before we had delivered on Christmas, she was still prepared with a plate of cookies for us to take home. One year as we were finishing up our last few stops of the day, from the backseat THE CHARACTER asked, "what happened to that short lady?" and my dad and i turned to each other - JANETTE!! we totally forgot JANETTE, and immediately reversed our direction. we'd admire JANE's christmas tree and drive across town to hit both sides of divorced couples. we'd replace fruitcakes when dogs got to it before their owners and we'd remind you that fruitcake lasts forever and makes great earthquake food. we visited new babies and spent time with really old people. and before JESSIE got sick, she was home alone and showed us her brand new driver's license.

Even when we moved across the country, for the first few years at least, we’d still make our annual deliveries. Sure it included the extra step of first shipping all the cakes to the west coast and then flying in. But our friends had come to expect us and we were not going to let them down.

We’d finish up and arrive home by 7, where my mom and all four grandparents would be waiting with hot dogs and chili. I’d roll my eyes and state that this was my last year delivering – period. But then somehow by the next year I’d be roped into the whole process again. Mixing the butter and brown sugar, attaching bows, matching outfits.

A Complete Gucci

the first year that the five of us lived in GUCCI HOUSE was pretty near perfect and for me, completely unexpected. it was the beginning of my second half of college - all of my friends had graduated and i was simply thankful to be taken in by 4 kind souls, two of whom i sorta knew from some classes but apart from that, i was moving in with four strangers. within the first few days i was laughing harder than i had ever laughed before - and then we laughed some more.

we were an odd group, the 5 of us - 4 jews and an indian. to this day i continue to believe we could have easily been our own sitcom. our differences may have been greater than the things we shared (loud voices, large chests) but we seemed to thrive on the fact that we were somehow making it work.

we decorated our house with saris and learned how to keep a kosher kitchen.

we descended on family homes

we planned party after party after party for birthdays and holidays and random friday nights

we played LOADED QUESTIONS

we held hands as we watched the buildings fall

we wiped each other's eyes when we cried over boys, boys and more boys

we argued over politics

and we began to struggle over our differences

in the middle of our second year living together, the makeup of GUCCI HOUSE changed, and so did our friendships, across the board. looking back now, i can see that DIDDY's moving out was the right thing to do not only for relationships outside the house but for the remaining friendships in the house as well - but at the time it broke my heart. as the girl who started as the outsider, the GUCCI GIRLS had quickly become my lifeline and i felt great fear and anxiety over the dramatic change.

i've stayed in touch with each of the girls to a different degree - the RED HEAD holding the chuppah at my wedding, the INDIAN instructing all our wedding guests about proper jewish wedding etiquette (while that may seem unexpected to you, for me, i expected nothing less). but i've missed having DIDDY in my life on a more regular basis. we've both lived our own lives - getting married having babies...well she's had a baby....and while we email on and off, i wouldn't have called her a close friend since that year and a half that we spent together on our grey sectional couch.

but yesterday we met for coffee in the city - and while there was clearly a lifetime to catch up on, it also felt like no time had passed. as i was walking back to grand central station, after the time we spent together, i found myself sort of laughing - i can't believe i just told her such intimate details about my life - i barely know her anymore!

and then i sort of got it - a close friendship is the only friendship we've ever shared with each other. and it felt really good to have her back in my life.

Home is Where the HEAT Is

never a dull moment in westport - weird. i arrived yesterday afternoon after an uneventful trip in. i felt like i was flying steerage - i guess it's been a while since i flew on a big plane, you know, cross-country style without a stop. and while i am lucky enough to indulge in some of life's luxuries (orange juice, high thread count sheets), flying first class is not one of them - i know my place. still i was surprised as i walked back, back, still further back to row 34 (oy) passing by first the class that now includes beds (!) then business class which i believe has been greatly upgraded to include chairs that face one another and little privacy shields, then through executive coach which i believe is what i used to know as standard coach, where i should be sitting. and then to my seat, which was basically in the bathroom. luckily i was distracted for most of the flight by trying to not forget the coat i had thrown in the overhead compartment. it went a lot like this - crazy red head murmuring to herself over and over again : "don't forget the coat, don't forget the coat." i didn't forget the coat - but did get half way up the aisle before i remembered.

my parents met me at the airport which made me feel like the favorite child. when we arrived home we lit chanukah candles and ate taco salad - worth the trip.

at about 4am i woke up to a god awful smell - maybe oil? turned out i wasn't the only one because when i headed downstairs i saw the light on and heard my mom searching for the source of the smell. we called the heater people who promised that they were on their way - four hours later. after being convinced we were all going to die i couldn't fall back asleep. and you know, the house stunk to boot. eventually when they did show up it turned out something had exploded down in the basement, or at least that's how i understand it. oh and did i mention the house was freezing? i don't really understand why people would choose to live in this climate - really.

then later in the day, when i tried to nap, the smoke detector went off.

but we had a nice lunch and ran errands and took multiple trips to the local PINEAPPLE NATION. tomorrow i'm headed into the city to see friends and visit the bra man. and THE CHARACTER arrives.

i'm just hoping we all wake up in the morning.

I Judge No one More Than I Judge Myself

It’s been pretty clear to me for a while that I think less of myself for working in retail. And I have no idea why. I don’t know why I am so critical of myself. I don’t know where these feelings of not being good enough come from.

Growing up the message was – be whatever you want to be – there are no clearly defined rules (Thinking about this now, it is nearly impossible for me to picture my dad actually saying either of the above statements, but regardless of what he said – his actions spoke volumes). That being said – I was surrounded by doctors and lawyers and community workers. Maybe a teacher here or an artist there – although even typing those words I think I’m being fairly generous because I can’t think of a single example of either. I think that my parents were serious in not placing limitations on my future – but when your surroundings are greatly skewed in one direction, there has to be some influence.

It became clear fairly early on that a doctor or a lawyer I was not – which is why, even in my darkest moments in 2003, when NANI inquired about why I was not considering law school, after all, that didn’t mean I had to actually be a lawyer – I couldn’t help but laugh. I’m simply not wired to be a doctor: science, math and bodily fluids hold equally low points on my list. And when faced in a confrontational situation I usually cry rather than argue so being a lawyer was nixed as well. I knew what I was good at – I liked helping people; giving a voice to those who didn’t always have one (something I have learned I can define loosely) and after all, my family had a history of this type of work as well.

Give us a committee and we’ll sit on it. Need someone to chair an event – just say our name. If there’s an issue that we feel passionately about, especially in the Jewish community – we’ll fight for it…well, maybe not fight, at least not me, but I’ll organize a benefit concert around it – and sell tshirts!

When I found out I could get paid for this kind of work I thought I had everything figured out. And it seemed like grad school could go either way which only made me more sure of my direction – after all, I wasn't jumping to get back into that situation. So I did it all – I planned social justice programs for over-privileged kids on the upper west side, I led awkward events for awkward singles in their 20s and 30s (another post for another time), I managed a 24-hour suicide prevention hotline, I counseled school districts on how to deal with tragedy, I recruited volunteers to work with kids in need and I led workshop after workshop after workshop on all of the above. And I was totally successful at every opportunity. And I loved my coworkers. And I learned from my experiences.

But sometimes

I would feel bored.

Or like I didn’t have enough support.

Or that I didn’t feel satisfied.

Or that this wasn’t what I really wanted to do.

Or that I didn’t know what I really wanted to do.

So when ABN and I decided we were going to move across the country I saw this as my ultimate opportunity to figure everything out. I would take the time to find the perfect job – but then a week in - I was bored and instead of temping, somehow got hired at a job in retail and now feel more confused than ever before.

Because I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. Now in addition to working in the Jewish community and supporting kids in crisis – it turns out I’m also really good at selling clothes, and helping people look their best – well, at least a bit better because really, a personal shopper can only do so much – now if I was a full-on stylist like Rachel Zoe…well that would be bananas.

I don’t want to stop doing what I’m doing now just because I worry what people will think; because I’m embarrassed. See in my own life I’m still surrounded by lawyers and doctors and community workers and well, rabbis and I work at freaking PINEAPPLE NATION!?!!? I want so badly to be okay with that because while sometimes I feel bored. Or like I don’t have enough support. Or that I’m not satisfied. Or that this isn’t what I really want to do. Or that I don’t know what I really want to do. I’m also feeling the good parts:

I am totally successful at every opportunity.

And I love (okay, can tell outstanding stories about) my coworkers.

And I am learning from my experiences.

The message is – I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. But I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a real plan. The plan for today is to be content with today. To make the most of this insane-out-of-no-where opportunity.

And to perhaps write a book about it….

The 90's Keep Coming Back - in the Form of Stress, and Curls

i've been having stress dreams which must mean i'm, stressed. it started as is expected - not going to classes in high school only to show up and find out that we in fact had a final exam scheduled. i guess i'm just going to have these dreams forever. although i'm taking exams in high school, i'm always my current age so with each passing year, the fact that i'm still dealing with not showing up for a high school exam, becomes that much more stressful.

somehow my dream then transitioned into the reception at our wedding. interestingly enough, leading up to our wedding i didn't have a single stress dream so why i am suddenly stressing about something that went so perfectly...weird. anyway, it's the reception and no one is dancing and i am freaking out. it was really important to me that everyone danced their asses off at the wedding and well, when, in my dream, no one was dancing, let's just say i want nuts. i woke up a pile of sweat and sheets and trying to figure out what was pretend and what all of this meant.

and then last night - camp. why don't i ever dream about the good parts? i mean there were like twelve years worth of good stuff. but when the stress comes up i guess so do the stressful periods in my life. i hate reliving these moments through my dreams. it feels so real and it makes for many restless nights. i probably should have just started packing for my trip three days ago like usual but i rationalized that if i packed for three days and was stressed the entire time, i may as well wait until the last minute and just be super stressed in a rush at the end. i guess that plan didn't work. and now, when i get home from work at 10 tonight, well i can't imagine that going well.

as a side note, did anyone catch without a trace this week? ben savage - that's a blast from the past.