Xmas Part-ay

25 years is a long time to run a business. He did it.  He founded it, he took it through IPO, and now he is going global.   Very impressive.  And he thanks us, he thanks the peeps. Very nice. A class act, this our boss.

The dance floor is heaving.  French interns everywhere.  Sexy boys.  Professional dancers try to keep the party going but they are fluff. We rock.  I am propositioned by a woman half my age. I fall off my shoes for the first time in 23 years.  A french intern saves me.  I dance more unabashed.  I'd like to bed him; note to self; His name is the same as famous restaurant. 

I'm alone again.  This time not just alone here on the dance floor, I'm alone when I come home.  Its ok.  Next year I will be with a man who can dance. Really dance.  I deserve it. I made the pros sweat, I made them wonder, I made them look like aerobics teachers.  I aint doin' routines.  This aint a gig for me. 

I can dance.  And when I dance, it looks like fun.

 

Snowman

The midwest storm blew through and the white stuff is everywhere.  This morning the triangle park is graced with a snowman complete with carrot nose and twig arms. 

I wonder who built it and am surprised to find out - the young family two doors down from me.  He is a recovering drug addict/dealer who hasn't married the mother of his children yet.  She was 16 when the big one was born three years ago. His brother is 18 months old.

But they built the snowman. And he is  perfect in his imperfection.  I  want to give him a hat.

There is hope.

Snow storm

Walked a mile into Chelsea to eat Basque cheese, truffle cheese, and drink three different wines with the wild entrepeneur D, accompanied by a Fabulous friend.  She puts up with fits of adventurous trekking, not only in remarkable weather, but remarkably in adventurous weather.

The boy locked himself out, shoveled the walks and wrote LOG in script in the snow.

The Dog leapt like a deer, the lights shine so bright surrounded by the white and the sparkle and the quiet.

I realize my voice has been muted. Time to write.

I like vistors in my aloneness, lovers, friends, supporting cast but the essence needs be alone. The quiet of a city after a storm. The muted tones of chaos at rest for a moment, the waiting white. Potential.

Alone I can be visited, consoled, pinged, approached, consulted, seduced, invited.

 Potential is precious. 

LHR to MIA

Traffic is abysmal.  Solid lanes of cars crawling towards London impede progress through the roundabouts towards Heathrow, the overcast day is mild, the cab's radio is too loud, my friend isn't answering the phone, my Blackberry has no new mail, I'd hate to miss my flight.

The news is hammering away at Gordon Brown, improper contributons to the labour party from a billionaire. My driver cleverly rips through traffic where he can as Madonna croons and wails; Slow, fast, slow.  We get to Terminal 4 - I'm out.

Bloody Hell! Terminal Fahking THREE for Miami?!?

The polite, calm BA lady tells me to take the lift, if you hurry you're alright, then the free train 4 minutes to the next terminal....
Security checks delay the train, queuing for lifts, queuing for train, running to the terminal, checked in! Whew!

 Queuing for security of course, laptop out, liquids out, 'you want my shoes off?' No.  Pass through, beep beep beep, get felt up head to toe by big firm security lady.  Into the hall, another layer of security, shoes off now and through the new machine!  Bloody hell!

Two items I must buy: then through another random security check without the groping.  Line up with the other passengers to find out the wheels are being changed on the aircraft. One hour delay.

Blackberries out, we all tap away, queue up, stall, wait, and finally, finally, finally I stow my stuff and sit down. 

For the first time ever, and I have flown hundreds of times, I slept through take off.

8 hours later, Miami, what a mess! Big bilingual airport where no one seems to speak either English or Spanish properly.  Immigration doesn't even have posts and ropes to guide the crowd to the officers; people jostle and line up and cut in line and generally make more mayhem than needs be there.

I usually go to BOS or JFK but this time I'm headed to Florida to spend time with my recently widowed octagenerian mother. Tiny, loving, sad and lost we find ourselves sharing our burdens in a strange pair of mirrored lives. She is tinier and more loving and sadder.  But she has had more practice.

I'm home.


 

London

Arrived Saturday night, blew through immigration on the IRIS line (spooky eye scan/reading technology that eliminates need for passport control). Mine was the first bag off the plane (it helps being the last one on). Text messaged my cousins who were right there waiting at arrivals; I made it from airplane to auto in under 20 minutes and that included a stop for a tinkle in the very clean Heathrow lavatory, Terminal 4.

Cousins, Chateau de Grave claret, home cooked meal and a lovely guest bed I know and love.

I dreamt of a train ride and a lover kissing me while another man touched my hand.

Sunday filled with Christmas craft fairs and lunch and walks around town.

 Dark now the rain splatters the taxi window. Alone through the dark I travel the short distance to the hotel near work, where I put out my armor, my costume, my uniform. Tomorrow I become something else, a cautious diplomat, a calculating mover, a smiling shaker. 

And the next day? I have a date the next day, a date with a temptation, a date with a dare, a date with a friend and a stranger.

Rain and dark welcome me here and here I feel welcomed.

T day Menu in Massachusetts

Deep Fried Turkey
Parma wrapped roast Turkey
Dr. Pepper glazed ham
Vegan stuffing
Traditioanl stuffing
Celery root leeks and grapes, roasted/baked in dill and grape jelly
Sweet potato marshmallow pie
Cajun string beans
Honey glazed carrots
Mashed potatoes with horshradish butter
Cranberry almond chutney
A variety of cheeses that out did themselves in texture, flavor and super smelliness
Super choco layered brownies
Olive oil lemon cake
Scottish apple pie
Pumpkin creme brulee
Good coffee and lots of "to go" boxes!

No! I was not the cook, but the guest!

I am thankful for my friends, and for my family, odd though it may be. I am thankful for my job, I am thankful for my work, I am thankful for the special folks who make me happy in secret ways and those that can make me happy in open ways. I am thankful to strangers who take the time to say nice things.  I am thankful that life is too short to squander and that I have learned this half way through. I am thankful.
~E

Cork it!

Visiting an ailing friend, a friend on the mend from cancer, we discussed the healing nature of conversation, courage and cabbage. Really, I am wrapping her in cabbage every night for a week, to discourage lymphedema. She is an earthy, heal-y person, works as a body massage, body rebalancing expert when she isn't layed up with life threatening diseases.

"How is your body feeling through all this?" she asks-

"well my chronic back pain and headaches aren't around anymore. but my arm goes numb at night, wakes me up, and that weird nerve around my ear is painful too. "

She diagnoses cervical vertabrae un - aligned - I ask, " Is that something you fix?"

My chemo brained, disorganized and flaky friend gives me the most emphatic "YES!" I have ever heard. "Oh yes I can, I can FIX that! ... But until I am healthy enough to work on you try this."

She takes out a bag of corks. "Find one that you can put in your mouth (you are supposed to be able to put your first three fingers in your mouth.) " Not surprisingly I can not find a cork small enough to fit length-wise. Tight jaw.

No corks are small enough for me but a Champagne cork when put between my teeth from the fat end, holds the jaw open just so. She recommends that I leave it by my bedside and while I make my bed in the morning I use the cork as a stretcher. Just enough time at just the right time to open and stretch the muscles.

I love this. Do two things at once, and even throw in a bonus third; a prayer to the universe-- to make sure that if what comes out of my mouth is not contributing to the good, let this image of my filled and corked mouth fly into my head. Cork it.