Only a Car

I realize, you know, that it's just a car. A metal shell with an engine and wheels. A fuel-sucking, carbon dioxide emitting car. Then why did I feel a sense of loss and sadness as I watched the car, incapacitated, being attached to the tow truck?

When I was a little girl, if I fell off of a counter top, I would worry about the floor and if I hurt it when I landed. I would worry about the cookies I was about to bite into, wondering if I was causing them pain. I would further worry about doors being slammed, barbies being sad when I cut off their hair, cats left out in the cold or hungrily mewing at the back door, dogs in the dog runs and unplugged Canadian cars.

It's not like it kept me up at night, these adolescent worries (although the Canadian car worry came later when I learned that they actually had plugs). And I cannot explain to you why I thought these things, I just did.

When I sold the Yota (my beloved Toyota Paseo, 1993, 200,000 miles) I felt lost. "If These Cars Could Talk" would be the name of the show. Break-ups, arguments with loved ones, angry and loving telephone calls, memories of Canada and Southern Utah, little white dog hairs left on the seats reminding me of my sweet puppers Yeti (best dog ever)! It seemed as if I was closing a book that I absolutely did not want to end.

Now this Jeep, my dad's Jeep that had a little breakdown on 4th South last night, it's not my car to romanticize. But we did drive (mom, dad, and I) to South Dakota to see my sister and her husband. It is the site of the notorious "Signing Monkeys" saga. It still smells, albeit vaguely, of the vitamin plant where my dad used to work.

We used to have a A VW Rabbit Convertible, a 1981, and we don't know how many miles it had on it because the odometer was broken, but my dad and I estimate well over 200,000. Pops said he was driving it one day, he parked it, and when he returned, it just didn't start. Never started again. It was as if the car gave up the ghost, saying, "You know what, I'm done now. I'm going to go to the great parking lot in the sky." And maybe that's what the Jeep said last night. "You know what, I'm 15 years old and have 293,ooo miles. I'm tired. And now I'm going to join the Rabbit. Peace, out."

No need to cry, Erin. It is, after all, only a car.

The "L" word

I'm thinking about something, turning it over in my hands, mulling. It's the "L" word. That's right, the dreaded "love" word. What exactly does it mean? Other than the dictionary meaning, but the word itself. I love my parents, my friends, my phone, my decaf quad, my books. But why is this word so easily applied to everything, like a post-it note? Is this word supposed to be sacred? And is it?

I also wonder about the word "love" as it applies to male/female, male/male, female/female relationships. Why do we choose to love someone? And it is a choice, I firmly believe that. Has the word become a weapon, a tool of manipulation? "Hey honey, I love you, let's move in so we can split the rent." You see what I mean? Or "I love you so much baby but I can't go to that thing that means so much to you because I'm busy/tired/can't be bothered, etc." Is that love?

My mother tells me, especially in matters of religion (I suppose this need to define the "l" word could be certainly be considered esoteric) that I don't need to think so much about it, that I shoudn't try to figure out why, that I just need to believe it. That's what my geometry teacher said. And I failed geometry.

A Place to Keep Warm

There is a homeless person I am fascinated with. It is neither man nor woman, but a meticulous blend of the two. I shall call this person Terry (a nice, dual sex name). Terry wears baggy grey sweatpants with a pair of platform flip flops in a festive, hawaiian print. Terry also sports an appropriately asexual windbreaker that cinches at the waist and a pair of grandmotherly earrings. Terry's long, brownish-grey hair is is swept up French Twist style and held in place by one pink and one blue hair clip. Appropos. Terry always wears headphones attached to an old school Walkman, and the headpiece rests on the back of his (for I am almost certain Terry is a male) neck. Terry's hands are mannish and marked on the knuckles with with crisp, black hairs. They are fastidiously polished a choral pink, which perfectly matches the lipstick that strays ever so slightly outside the lines.

I see Terry all the time. Terry sits on 57th Street between 6th and 7th on two large, zippered and clean suitcases. I see him on my way to work.

Terry doesn't know this, but I like him. I would like to sit next to Terry on 57th Street and find out why he is sitting on two suitcase, an empty Starbucks cup silently soliciting in his hand.

Terry has many good qualities: Unfailingly polite, a warm smile, attention to detail and a personal, quite stylish flair. Yet, Terry, I am surmising, has no place to live.

What is the difference between me and Terry? How many dominoes have to fall before you or I are dragging our heavy suitcases into a Starbucks, keeping warm and dry on a rainy, miserable day?

I just glanced at Terry and he was gazing out the window, looking positively girlish, chin in hand, pen clasped between two well-painted yet dirty fingers.

Yes, I like Terry. I hope one day to have the courage to ask, "is this seat taken?", and then ask, "how are things?"

Severing the Complicated

I had to sever a relationship today. A long-standing, very complicated relationship. I wish I could say that it was easy, because it wasn't. Even after all the roiling, murky water under the bridge, as I made my decision I felt the thin fingers slipping between my skull and brain and squeezing tightly. It almost takes your breath away. Then to hear your heart pounding as you consciously breathe makes you question even further whether you made the right decision or not.

Nothing is forever. Our relationships, our homes, our clothing, it is all ephemeral. As for this relationship, I have said "no more. I cannot do this any more." My only hope, since there is always hope to be found, is that I will be able to reclaim the power I surrendered, that I can once again speak with a voice unguarded.

Cape May

Michelle just turned 30, and for her birthday celebration she wanted to go to Cape May and do some skydiving on the way! We had 11 people altogether, and 5 people had agreed to jump. But I am telling you, I saw that plane and was very grateful that I had said, "no, thank you." It looked like a toy airplane put together with crazy glue and duct tape. Unfortunately for the jumpers, it was pouring rain and they were unable to go. So, after our little stop off at the airport, we all headed down to Cape May, this cute little beach town in southern New Jersey.

Cape May is about 2 1/2 hours from Manhattan, and by the time we did our skydiving detour, we weren't able to spend much time seeing the town before our dinner reservation at this adorable hotel called The Virginia. We were able to spend a little bit of time on a fairly cold day on the rocks by the water, then we did a little bit of quick shopping, but of course, it being the off-season, most of the shops were closed. I think the town would be really fun in the summer when it's nice and warm!

Pics!

The top is, of course, a picture of the beach. That is the Atlantic Ocean, people, and it is nice and cold. The next pic is of the birthday girl, me and Erin B. The following pic is of all the girls Michelle loves: Erin B., me, Leah, Michelle, Rachel, and Rachel.

We had a really great time and it was really nice to get out of the city, if even for a day!

She is happy fish!

I was very proud to be watching my best girl, Looks, make not only her Broadway lead debut, but any lead debut in The Little Mermaid on Wednesday. Might as well do it on Broadway, right?! Her parents came up from Virginia with some other family as well, and there was a lovely gathering afterward with her friends and family.

Looks, if you read this, you were/are positively radiant. She made me a little teary-eyed.

Pics!

So, the first pic is of me, of course, Rachel (she's in book club with me), Upstairs Rachel (she lives above Looks and I call her that to keep her straight from the aforementioned Rachel. She is a dresser on Mermaid), Kay and Cecily (they are in the show). The white blonde is Erin B., another book clubber and also a ballroom dancer, Michelle's husband Victor, and the girl herself!

The other pic is of me, Erin B., and Michelle's Mom, who had to be the proudest mom in NYC on Wednesday! Encore, I say, encore!

Baby showers, NYC style

My good friends Ashlee and Jeremy are having a baby. Little Lincoln is coming in about six weeks. Now I have been to a few baby showers but this one was off the hook! First, it was at a friend of Ashlee's at his apartment in Chelsea (kind of a high-priced, fashiony area). I don't know how many rooms this place had, but let's just say there were more than 40 people there and we all fit! They had great food (fresh fruit, scones, a plate of cold cuts --you know, the fancy name I can't remember, cheese and crackers). The hostesses ran this like a military outfit: Totally organized and on it!

They did something really clever: They bought TONS of white cotton onesies in many sizes and brought in a whole bunch of Sharpies. Then they just turned us loose and let us decorate all the onesies! There were so many great, creative little baby outfits that are really appropriate for not only the baby but also the parents. I thought it was a really cool idea.

There was so much loot there I could hardly believe it: Baby Bjorns, two car seats, tons of clothing, millions of little tubs, bottles, lotion, diapers. I guess they have already been given the "Cadillac" of strollers to the tune of $1000 and another jogger stroller that apprently folds up Jetson-style. They have also already received a six month supply of diapers! They are totally set, I think, and little Lincoln will be coming into this world in style (although, how could he be any other way, with a Broadway daddy and a Rockette mommy)?

My only question for the day was "Where in the hell are they going to put all this stuff?" They have a great little one bedroom midtown, but I am telling you, these gifts would fill most of their aparment! I can only wish them the best!