Thirty-faux

The story goes like this: My dad drove my mom through a blizzard on treacherous mountain roads of the Adirondacks so that she could give birth to me at 4:30 a.m. There were complications and the doctor had to save my mom. Or as my dad has always put it, “They had to throw you in the corner and save her.”

My parents never made the story sound too scary or life-altering, but maybe after all these years they think nothing of it. One thing is for sure, it was life-altering.

They have always spared me the finer details of the story of my birth. However, now that I am an adult (I guess), I think about this story and it makes me realize that I made quite the dramatic debut on this planet. It is not lost on me that I have been dramatic many times since then.

Thinking about the story of my birth gets me to present to the fact that my parents are so courageous and inspiring.

To be clear, I had already gotten that memo long ago. My dad was an Army paratrooper, a motorcycle police officer and he used to hunt to put food on the table. My mom was a teacher of many levels and that needs no explanation - children can be challenging (to put it mildly). She spent most of her years as a high school Spanish teacher. My brother and I were in her class (again, see: challenging). We were very different students - I called her “Mom” in school, I think my brother refused to speak. She’s also deeply kind and creative. They are both hilarious, sarcastic, inventive and intelligent.

They made sure my brother and I never missed out on anything. We went to karate classes, which they had to drive us an hour each way to get to. We always had new clothes, food, computers, video games, sports equipment, toys, books, dirt bikes, ATVs, a plethora of Harley-Davidson T-shirts and the comfiest home in the woods that I still miss to this day.

I will absolutely never forget the time when I was 5 years old and our dog Jake had just gone to the Happy Hunting Ground and there was mention of getting a new dog. “We never had a puppy before,” I said.

Then, in my memory what seems like mere days later… we were in some remote part of Chazy, N.Y., getting a puppy. We named him Rufus and he became my best friend.

That is the epitome of my parents. They made absolute magic happen. They still do, every day.

(Full disclosure: I am now tearing up in a coffee shop.)

In college, my brother and I went through a series of unfortunate car-related losses. Probably within a year or less we went through six vehicles. Who kept making new cars appear? Dad.

Who kept us all from totally losing our shit? Mom.

I have a million more:

I wanted to learn to drive standard shift: Dad brought home a Jeep to teach me on.

I wanted to be a My Little Pony for Halloween: Mom sewed up a costume.

I wanted to play soccer and run track: They drove me all around our town and the next.

I wanted to travel: They let me go.

I wanted to be strong and independent: They taught me how.

I wanted to go to college: They made it happen.

I wanted to be an English major: They told me to go for it.

I wanted to take pictures: They keep telling me to take more.

They took us on vacations, they played games with us. I got my head stuck in a chair once and Dad fixed that too.

Long story short-ish: Not for one moment have they ever made me think that I couldn’t be whatever I wanted to be. Along the way, they provided all of the experiences and luxuries they could.

My mom and dad poured all of their knowledge into me and never made me believe that I had to follow the crowd. They never told me to get married or have children. Dad’s preference was for me to join a convent. They taught me to create my life, my way.

They taught me to stand up for what’s right to anyone and everyone. They taught me to be brave and creative. They taught me to provide for myself but also how to care about others.

They are absolutely the most progressive parents I know.

The incredible depth of love and compassion they exhibit is astounding. They have never, ever given up. Even when the deck seemed to be woefully stacked against them, they never gave up on each other or their lives and they have never given up on me and my brother. (Look, I have many times been a huge pain in the ass. You think that was easy to deal with?)

I see that in myself every day. It’s a tenacity to love that I now realize is the truest love I will ever know.

Mom and Dad: I want you to know how grateful I am that you brought me into this world. I want you to know how much I love you and admire you.

Dad, every time I make sauce and meatballs, I think of being a little girl in the early morning watching you make the recipe. You might not know this but I have always thought you were the coolest guy I know -- I still do. And for as long as I can remember I have wanted to be like you and dress like you. I love leather jackets and motorcycle boots because of you. You set an extremely high standard that no man will ever match and I am completely fine with that. You will always be my hero.

Mom, I don’t know how you do it. You have an endless supply of love and I don’t know where you get it from. I have always wanted to be just like you too. Speaking Spanish and creating beautiful things out of thin air. That photo of you in the dress that you made is on my fridge. I know that glint in your eye, because I have the same one. Your spirit is unmatched and I know no one with a bigger heart than yours. You’re right there next to Dad at the top of my hero list.

I think I have always been 50% of each of you, but I feel it more now that I am in my 30s. I am fierce, loving, quick with a joke, determined to succeed, unafraid to fail, unrelentingly honest. That is both of you.

I suppose if I were to boil this all down: “Thank you” will never be enough gratitude for the life that you have given me. It is impossible to repay you, but I hope to high Heaven that I have made you proud. I love you.

This is dedicated to my parents and to all parents. You’re all amazing.

Life on a wire

I wish there was a way to make everyone see that life is meant to be lived on a high wire. You may think, “Oh no, that’s not for me. Down here on the ground where it is comfortable is best.”

I contest that you have not given yourself the chance to try it. The chance to feel that you’re flying. There is a thrill that comes with the balancing act. Showing yourself that you can move with how the wire sways when the wind picks up. Showing yourself that there is nothing else that you need beside the strength of your own body, of your own heart.

It is absolutely terrifying. But, oh, how you learn to count on yourself. How beautifully you learn to hold your head up against the odds.

Of course you fall. You fall and you fall and you fall. That is where the learning comes from. That is where you build your courage. That is where you realize that even falling cannot stop you from the joy of what you love.

It is how you realize that the FALL is nothing. The fall can be overcome. The fall can be undone.

What cannot be undone is never making the attempt at all. Living your entire life on the ground is a slow march toward death.

Have you ever looked up and seen those fearless people up there? Have you ever let your denial, your tricks of the mind, your lies fall away and let yourself acknowledge that you are unsatisfied with this life on the ground? That life on the ground is absolutely killing you?

The people on the high wires are no different than you are. They simply made the choice to climb the ladder and to really try it.

I think there is a misconception about trying. Trying is not *thinking* about doing something. Trying is not *talking* about doing something.

Trying is DOING something. Doing it despite your fear, your doubts, your negative thoughts, what other people think, despite that it seems illogical, despite that it may be weird.

Taking action in the direction of what you really want in life. Picking your feet up one after the other and climbing the ladder. Stepping out onto the wire despite however much you are trembling. Taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. Then walking out there knowing that you are the only thing stopping you from living a life that sets your soul on fire.

You are guaranteed to fall but you are also guaranteed to fly. Both the falling and the flying are what I call living.

Oh, Paris!

Bonjour! C’est moi! The most latent writer in the land. In July, (yes, you read that correctly… JULY) I said that I would be back with my impressions of Paris. Here I am ready to make good on that promise. Look, I never said how long it would take me to return… just that I would (eventually).

My loves, the last we spoke I was about to take the train out of Avignon into Paris. I was excited for this spell of train travel to be with my companions Dan and Jane. I truly enjoy traveling alone, but there is nothing quite like the fun of exchanging glances and dissolving into laughter from unspoken jokes.

When we arrived in Paris, the train station was overwhelming because there were so many people and part of me is still a tiny bashful child and my initial reaction was to shrink back. However, I had my very well-traveled companions with me and I absorbed all of the knowledge that I could for my future adventures.

We took the metro to Gare du Nord in Montmartre where we would be in staying in the cutest Parisian apartment. Our apartment was on the top floor above a yarn shop and next to the Sacré-Cœur, which we had a beautiful view of from our bathroom window.

Montmartre

There are a couple of things to know about this beautiful neighborhood in the 18th arrondissement of Paris. First, in my mind it is famous for being a large part of the French film Amélie. Second, it is where many artists of the late 19th Century and early 20th Century came to chill and work, but mostly chill. You may know them: Amedeo Modigliani, Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Edgar Degas, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Suzanne Valadon, Piet Mondrian, Pablo Picasso, Camille Pissarro, and Vincent van Gogh.

Jane definitely schooled me on the artist knowledge. Jane is an amazing artist in her own right, you can see more of her work on her website and on Instagram. She’s also a fabulous person and friend.

We didn’t have much time that first evening in Paris, but we got to work straight away on my list of cliché American things to see. Hopping on the metro we zipped over to the Arc de Triomphe, then to the Eiffel Tower and we hoofed it around a bit until we settled on a delightfully touristy restaurant for dinner.

Side note: When I travel, I like to experience as many slices of life as possible. For the most part I am not a touristy person. However, as a student I read about these places in history class and in literature and I can’t stand the idea of not glimpsing them at least once. Even if it means being there with the unwashed masses of tourists who are wearing running shoes and buying tchotchkes. I’m not trying to be offensive or a snob (I may be both those things), but that is not usually my travel style.

The next day, Dan and Jane humored me with my Cliche Tourist Hit Parade as we set out for Père Lachaise Cemetery. Yes, to see Jim Morrison’s faux grave. I know his grave was moved years ago due to excessive visitors with a penchant for vandalism, but the social anthropologist in me HAD to see this relic. We saw it and it was great (?) I suppose you could say. I wouldn’t have skipped seeing it, but the true fun came along a little later.

As luck would have it, we came upon delightful French graveyard ghost who was more than willing to show everyone around. I knew that he was working for tips as he ushered people off to Oscar Wilde’s resting place. But I couldn’t resist following him around as he shouted at me with the exuberance of all the ghosts of that beautiful graveyard.

We attempted to see Notre Dame but it was an absolute mob scene as it was the day before Easter. There was mass being held in the courtyard and a line to get into the church about a million miles long.

No matter, we still stopped into Shakespeare’s books, ate some crepes, saw all the judges on strike during their lunch hour and wandered through the flower market before heading back to explore Montmartre.

We had coffee at the cafe that Amélie worked at and Dan and I got the stink eye for sampling too many free chocolates in the chocolate shop. I mean, we purchased a substantial amount of chocolate, didn’t that entitle us to as many samples as we pleased? Apparently not, because the shopkeeper put them away until we left the store.

We had a little quiet dinner in our perfect Parisian apartment and I got ready to leave in the morning.

Dan and Jane walked me to the metro station bright and early and I set about making my way back home to San Diego!

Mon Dieu! Finally, I have finished writing about France. At least I got it all done before a year had passed me by.

In Père Lachaise Cemetery with the friendliest ghost. Photo by Jane Mitchell.

France Partie Deux

When we last spoke, I left you in Bories, where the townspeople used rocks for pillows, rocks for windows and rocks for fashion. Basically, the place where Fred Flintstone took his family on vacation.

Several castles, catapults and churches later we stopped in Auvers where Vincent Van Gogh painted that cafe with the yellow awning and where they still bullfight. They had some superb street art dedicated to Vincent and the bulls. I ordered what must have been my 15th cafe au lait at this point and I tried to pet a young cat… but to no avail this time.

Cafe Van Gogh. Photo by Ranger Holly.

We also went to Renouard which was an extremely cute and quaint village. It looked like a Hollywood movie set of France. I enjoyed it immensely.

Then it was on to Château de Grignan. You know, your run-of-the-mill housing. Now, the history of this château is sort of scandalous, like all châteaus, I might imagine. There was the last count of Grignan who had three wives and the first two died mysteriously one after the other. It sound shady, but their house was beautiful. (Please note, I am not known for my historical accuracy.)

I found a secret passageway in the ballroom that was used to pass food from the kitchen. Me being me, I grabbed the knob and almost broke this 400 year old door, but ah c'est la vie! I put it back after laughing hysterically and no one was the wiser. As far as I know.

This is where I almost caused an international incident. Photo by Ranger Holly.

The next day we took the train to PARIS! Before we left Avignon we went to the farmers market which was way better than any silly American farmers market. They had everything you could imagine in one place: giant wheels of cheese, bolts of fabric, kitchenware, fresh meat, local wine. All of it, everything you could ever need.

When we meet I again...I will tell you about Paris.

Chicago Love

I was so lucky to return to Chicago in April! Less than a year after my last visit, this one was even more magical than the last one.

First, this trip was much longer and so I had far more time to enjoy and explore. I was there for the ACES Editing Conference and I met a pair of extremely fun copy editors (not unlike myself).

There is just something that I love so much about Chicago. The energy is really fresh and exciting. The downtown area is full of great restaurants and my favorite spot is the Art Institute.

I stayed at the Palmer House again since that is where the conference was held. Even given the options in the area, I think I would have chosen to stay at Palmer again because it is quirky and historic and I am enamored with the art deco style on the inside.

The elevators at the Palmer House. So gorgeous. Photo by Ranger Holly.

The first night, I got to my room around 9 p.m. and I gobbled up dinner in the lobby. I knew from my last visit that the food was solid and it was convenient, that’s all I could ask for. Also, I like hanging out in the lobby of old-timey hotels because it is a very Holden Caulfield vibe.  

The conference started bright and early and was intense on the grammar, but I’m honestly not going to focus on the conference at all. It was good. The lecture about the history of Webster’s dictionary was completely amazing and the best session of the conference. That’s all you need to know. Visit the website if you want to go next year in Providence, RI.

That night was the classic first night mixer in a very red (and maybe Gothic-style) ballroom. In the effort to avoid the advances of a man twice my age, I scanned the room for a group to join and I quickly spotted a couple of ladies who looked as though they could provide shelter.

Luckily for me, they were an amazing duo from New York: Kara and Emma. We quickly fell in sync with similar senses of humor and an affinity for social satire. (For a split second I thought I made that term up, but I 100% did not.) I love when I immediately click with people and that is what happened with these lovely people and we were off to the races.

We went out to meet one of Emma’s coworkers for tacos, authentic pizza and a stop into a Wayne’s World pop-up bar at Bucktown Pub.

The next night my fun-loving friends and I went out a concert in an apartment. Which I admit in concept is a tad sketch, but it worked out great. It was just a concert put together by a couple of entrepreneurial young lads. They had a sink full of ice and $2 beers (what a deal!) and the bands had to be done by 11 p.m. because you know - neighbors.

The band I was there to see was The Happy Fits. They are a three-piece band from New Jersey and they are as adorable as they are talented. They just released their debut album "Concentrate." Put them on your radar immediately, they will be on tour this fall. They were amazing and I didn’t mind blowing out my eardrums for 25 minutes because they were that good. Live music makes me so incredibly happy and live music in Chicago is even better.

Saturday was our last day all together and Emma had to head to the airport around 2 p.m. It was a sad parting of the hearts! Kara and I soldiered on and went to a piano bar called the Tack Room that evening. It was a carriage house that had been turned into a hipster watering hole. A bit off the beaten path but it was a recommendation from the Southwest Airlines city guide and it was a quality rec. The music was great and so were the food and drinks and I loved getting to bond more with my sweet new friend.

Sunday morning I was on my own, so I went to Goddess and the Baker and strolled around Millennium Park. I also went to Lush to get a new skincare regimen and because there is just something about Lush that says vacation to me. I don’t know what it is. I always remember going to my first Lush with my friends in Washington, D.C. and since then Lush equals vacation pampering.

That was that for my second Chicago trip. I didn’t think I would come away loving Chicago even more, but I did and big time.