Movies of Myself

Pod Weekend

Guess who I have with me this weekend? Yes, it is the Pod and she will be here for four whole days, yay!

When I heard that The Sounds, Paramore and No Doubt were touring together this summer, I knew immediately that it would be the perfect sisters bonding event and so I planned for Audrey to come spend a few days with me. Now the time is here and I am mega stoked. We're going to the beach, to a museum or two and we'll be eating at a fabulous new pizza joint and hopefully also trying some good foie gras.This will also be the Pod's first concert and I hope it will be memorable.

It looks to be quite the kick ass sisters weekend :)

Turtle Jerk

Okay, I'm just gonna come right out and say it. One of my turtles is an asshole.

It's Miles. The smaller, smarter, braver one. The one who snaps to attention every time I walk by, taps on the glass to call hello to me and then follows me around as best as he can in his watery confines. If I so much as glance at the turtle tank he's there, clamoring to get my attention.

Take all that pure turtley emotion, spin it around 180 degrees and you'll understand how Miles feels about his tankmate, Nina. I wouldn't say that he loathes her. But there is mad disrespect, that's for certain. He will straight up swim almost through her, dashing her up against the tank walls, all like "oh, dude, I totally didn't see you there even though you are twice my size and we share a freakishly small amount of space. Somehow you're always in my way, what a drag." He also targets her with random face bashes. Oh dear.

Worst of all, though, is the food situation. Now, let me tell you -- Nina lives to eat. She's a much happier and more adventurous diner than Miles. She even likes raw cabbage for heaven's sake. So, of course, Miles has to stalk her at each and every mealtime, squawking and batting at her until she forlornly gives up whatever she's chewing on. At which point he promptly mad dogs her and swims away from the abandoned food. That's how much of a wanker he is. He doesn't even want to eat the stuff himself. He just can't stand for her to have it. No organic Fuji apple chunks for you, Nina! Oh, they're your favorite? Mass suckage.

It's really very sad to witness Nina floundering around until Miles gets tired of his shenanigans and she can eat in peace. What a monster I've raised!

I reach out through the border fence, come down, come talk to me.

Woke up early today and talked to my dad on the phone. He was moving things around in the family room, getting ready to set up his big new flatscreen tv. Happy father's day, indeed. Then I went on a short run around the neighborhood, up around a hummingbird garden and I saw a family walking along, picnic basket and pie box in hand.

I thought a lot about my grandpa, who always encouraged the silly and whimsical making of mud pies along with actual meat pies and fruit pies, and who liked nothing more than the slow savoring of any of the aforementioned kinds. He was also the first to insist when you were due to eat humble pie and it didn't bother him to concede if he needed a slice himself.

He was, perhaps, the most graciously accepting person I've ever known. The least likely to be undone by his frustrations, the most likely to swim along with them and incorporate them into his quiet school of thought. I was thinking, too, that these would be good things for me to learn more about.

And I was listening to this, a song that Peter Gabriel wrote for his daughter (one of my very favorite songs ever, actually) and wishing I could talk to my grandpa just one more time:

Come Talk To Me - Peter Gabriel

We Went to the Zoo

Last weekend we went to the zoo for Mother's Day. The zoo is always a big mix of fun and heartbreak. We used to have annual passes and went all the time, but we hadn't visited in about 6 or 7 years at least. It was hot, the sun burned like a bastard and we had cherry Icees. Mom had more energy than Audrey + me X 900. Had a blast, took lots of photos:

Oh hi, prairie dogs. You guys are greedy and belligerent. And you are also the funniest animal at the zoo, by far.

This family was very cool and stately.

These two gibbons were so sweet. They were utterly inseparable and stuck this close to each other the whole time we watched them; getting food together, swinging around side by side, peeing together. Yep. But seriously, you see what I mean by heartbreaking, no?

Meerkats are the bomb. G's up.

Each syllable of mine makes spring arrive.

Spring is my favorite season. I love it so much, in fact, that I am already growing fretful over its end, even though summer is over two months away.

There is just so much to love about springtime. The blend of soft, sunny days and soft, rainy days. Being able to turn first to the dresses and skirts section of my closet when I get ready in the morning. Easter candy. Taking time to review all the things you'd promised yourself at the New Year and renewing or changing your plans in response. More flowers everywhere than anyone knows what to do with (and still it isn't enough.) Warmth. Whimsy. Hope.

But this year what makes me appreciate the spring more than ever are the teeny turtles, Nina and Miles. They have very distinct personalities, these guys. We spent a very awkward first winter together. Miles, the smaller of the two, hibernated for four months underneath a bridge. Every week I would drag him out to make sure he was still alive and, trust me, this did not endear yours truly to him at all. It's just that I hadn't seen him eat ever, not even once, in the time I'd owned them. Nina was a basket case throughout the cold months, freaking out constantly. Every little noise or movement sent her flailing about in a corner like something possessed. Even after months had passed, each time I walked by the tank she would duck anxiously into her shell.

The spring has wrought a great change upon them. They're both awake and playing all through the day and most of the evening. They're hungry, greedy little things. Miles, who is smart as a whip, has learned to swim towards the sight and sound of my finger tapping against the side of the tank. He'll follow it from side to side, wherever I call him. Nina is much less paranoid and seems to take especial joy in flattening Mile's head with her front legs. They are so much fun right now.

Turtle Island - Beach House

She gave me these feathered breaths.

About a year after I moved to the Bay Area from Southern California my mom suddenly started calling me a lot, like four or five times a week. She works the graveyard shift, so the only time we were both free to talk besides weekend afternoons was when she took breaks or ate dinner at work. Neither of us had that much to say to each other and it always felt suspiciously like she was checking up on me even though I was way past the point of checking-upableness.

Eventually though, the calls slowed down to about twice a week and, for the past six months, she's only been calling about once a week, if that. Whenever she does we have ourselves a chat fest, catching up on anything and everything that's been going on, talking for a couple of hours. I tell her about the cards I'm making and the new fun places I've discovered. She catches me up on family news and talks about her ballroom dance class.

She didn't call this weekend and, when I really wanted to talk to her on Sunday, I remembered she'd gone in for some sort of work project. It suddenly dawned on me that my mom is a pretty fun friend. Don't tell her I said that, though. And don't tell her I miss talking to her a lot. She'd only gloat and say, "yeah, you miss talking to me" and my sister and I would have to roll our eyes for, like, eight years. Momo's got a day off on Wednesday. I can't wait to see what she's been up to.

Oh! My Mama - Alela Diane

BLACK iCE

The Pod was very good to me this Christmas. Besides providing me with the magnificence known as Animal Crossing: City Folk, an incomparable timesuck which has so far allowed me to break numerous New Year's resolutions, often simultaneously, she also painstakingly wrapped a three-pack of Little Tree car air fresheners for me. In BLACK iCE scent, which I have been lusting after intensely for nigh on two years.

p: Open one now. I want to smell it.
b: Are you kidding? They look hideous and I do not want to unleash that kind of horror upon the world. I'm never opening this package.
p: Oh, come on. I bet they smell gangster.

Diversity of Bills

Yes, I am related to these people. I think the fact that they spontaneously ridiculed an ancient fossil creature, and that I was overjoyed to take this photo of them doing it, says a lot about my family.

So. The L.A. Natural History Museum. Good times. I used to take Audrey here a lot when she was 6 and 7. Of course, she has no recollection of those trips, which truly puzzles me because how could anyone forget the Hall of Birds? Honestly, a room full of hundreds of angry, taxidermied dudes all strung up in "I'm about to peck the hell out of your face" poses, their beady little dead eyes watching your every move? That shit gets branded onto your brain for life.

Still, we enjoyed perusing the bird education bureaus: drawers of flight pattern diagrams, examples of nest types, different bird feathers and WHAT THE EFF, THIS:

Why?? Why would you have a drawer of decapitated bird heads? SO. Damned. Freaky. When we opened this drawer I let out a shriek of complete horror, my sister pointed and stared in open-mouthed shock and our cousins ran in confused circles of terror all through the hall. Our reaction sent a curious mother and her two year old son running right up to the drawer, which I immediately felt guilty about. Wait til they get a load of this, I thought. That kid is gonna scream til his lungs give out.

But nope, nothing. They looked at the drawer for all of one completely unperturbed, one might even say bored, minute before walking off again, the disappointment clear on their faces. The boy continued to eat his McDonald's Snack Wrap the whole time, totally like, "Yeah, yeah. Severed bird heads. Ain't no thing." What???? Did they not see that gross ass pelican face? Did he not gaze into the scraped up eye of the toucan? I wanted to McDonald's Snack Wrap them. See how they like that.

Then I got to thinking that maybe they actually couldn't see the heads. Like maybe there was something in my family's blood that allowed us, and only us, to witness this atrocity. Extra severed bird head chromosome pair. Or perhaps this was the ghost tray of decapitated birds heads of Christmas past. Whatever the case, I will McDonald's Snack Wrap each and every one of them with a terrible vengeance. Just saying.

Happy Three

My sweet little goddaughter Kristen had her third birthday party last Sunday. Her princess tea was a gorgeous, smashing success! Auntie Marianne is in town and helped out a ton and Auntie Joanne also came up from Orange County and cooked up a damn storm. The decorations and the food were SO impressive. I remember for my sixth birthday I had a Strawberry Shortcake birthday cake and I thought I was hot shit. Well, Kristen had a tower of handmade mini-cupcakes, games, a piñata, a pile of balloons and dress-up costumes. This party was a little girl's dream come true. Check this magic out:

Besides the buffet of kid-friendly food they prepared (including organic mac and cheese and peanut butter sandwiches cut into crown shapes which I could not stop cooing over) there was also an amazing spread for the adults, with things like stuffed mushrooms and prosciutto-wrapped melon balls. Dude! What three year old has prosciutto melon and florentine quichelets at their birthday? Kristen is such a baller.

And I can't believe she's three! Where has the time gone?? At one point she and I ended up sitting alone at a table together, during the very middle of the party. Just like me, she likes a lot of quiet time and doesn't enjoy being the center of attention. It's why we get along so well and it was a lovely little moment to share with her. What a nice day. Everyone had such a great time and she couldn't deserve it more. <3

I See Your Eyes Are Open

This week's Mini Mix was made with my sister in mind. The Pod graduates from junior high school today, much to my bewilderment. The time has flown past.

My sister is basically the greatest person ever. Audrey is one of the funniest people I know, and the best part is that about 99% of her humor is unintentional. She's certainly not verbose, but what she does say is golden. She's chock full of dry non-sequiters. Example: today we were looking at her Class of 2008 commemorative t-shirt, which had all of the 8^th graders names written on the back. “Who names their kid 'Amos' nowadays?” I hooted. “True,” she agreed. “People call him 'Anus' sometimes.”

Always- Erasure  This was my sister's favorite song when she was one year old, and yes, at that age she was picky about what we listened to or talked about in the car. The Pod is pretty laid back now, but until about the age of three she was a terror. She once bit our mother on the hand at a Costco because Mom wouldn't buy her a book with sound effects.

Here Comes The Sun - The Beatles  My sister went through a Beatles phase around Kindergarten, becoming especially enamored of 1962-1966. This was also the year she was hospitalized for a week due to an unpleasant bout of pneumonia. After a few days of confinement she was cranky as hell and started to boss us all around. My mom had promised to buy her a toy kitchen set after she was better and on the drive home from the hospital, Audrey queries into the silence “Is this the way home? I hope it's not, because this looks like the way home but I hope we're on our way to Target to buy me my kitchen.”

My Humps - Black Eyed Peas  To be fair, this was not ever the Pod's favorite song. I don't even think she liked it much. This song illustrates the stupidity of me trying to be a cool by buying the latest popular cd for my 11 year old sister, but figuring out soon after that it contained a song with the lyrics “whatcha gonna do with all that ass, all that ass inside them jeans?” Luckily, Audrey was pretty unfazed by the whole thing. I think this was the point where she realized I was a huge dweebus.

Do You Realize?? - The Flaming Lips  A big favorite of us both. This song was at its popularity peak as I was getting ready to move to Santa Clara and we listened to this album a lot before I left. “I'm going to miss you,” I was trying to explain to her. “I know,” she replied, “but you've gotta do what you've gotta do.” She was the only one in my family who understood.

Swab the decks.

Okay, so there's this thing called Pirate's Dinner Adventure in Buena Park, right by Knott's Berry Farm. Apparently it's like Medieval Times, but with pirates. In fact, I think it's also right by Medieval Times. John & Kerry and the Pod have been to this thing. They have dined with pirates. They have drunk grog while witnessing the magnificent swashbuckling spectacle.

When I go down to my parent's house now, I stay in the guest room. This room, with it's huge, sturdy built-in bookshelves was my childhood bedroom, so I feel very comforted there. The last time i was down there, for my sister's birthday, I made myself at home. I spread my toiletries around and threw some of my t-shirts on a nightstand

In the interest of helping me save time (and because, like the rest of my family, she's such a neat freak that she'd slap you across the face if you didn't stack your shoes away all neat and tidy in their designated place right away when you got home) my mom packed my shirts away for me in my bag the night before I left. I went back into the room and found everything already organized for me.

And the best part? She slso packed the things which were already on the nightstand before I came home; one of those things being a purple souvenir skull & crossbones flag that had "Pirates Dinner" emblazoned on it with that jaggedy "treasure map" font. I'm just imagining my mom folding my Death Cab shirts, wondering why I couldn't travel anywhere without bringing a pirates dinner theater flag with me. Hee!

Lucky 13

13 years ago today my sister was born.

After that, our lives were never the same.

They were about a million times more awesome. Happy 13.

Not-Cooking Mama

The Pod and I were talking about what to get our mom for Mother's Day this weekend. I had two less than spectacular ideas: something from Edible Arrangements (I think they're nifty, but I can just imagine how  furious my mother would be to think about spending $80 on some cantaloupe spears) or a digital picture frame with uploading service. I seriously contemplated this last gift but in the end thought it to be a little narcissistic (hi mom, check out all the fun shiz I'm doing without you.) Finally, the Pod messages me the other day to let me know that our mother wants "a pot".

The next morning it occurred to me that I had no idea what kind of pot she desired:

a: Does your mom like to plant flowers.
b: No, she hasn't grown anything ever in her life.
a: Oh! Maybe a cooking pot?
b: The only thing my mom's cooked in the past ten years is chicken congee and her own goose. She's not a real, "homey" kind of mom. She likes to watch t.v. Hee! Maybe she means marijuana pot!
a: Yeah. Does she like to get high while she's watching t.v.?

Feliz Navidad, Amigos

Why my sister rules:

She comes up to me yesterday asking, "Guess what I found?" It's one of those little talking Taco Bell chihuahas. It's a Christmas version (it's wearing a Santa hat.) and apparently it got packed away with our hoiday decorations the past couple of years. And it still talks. She keeps squeezing the voice mechanism in its stomach right in my ear. "Get that thing away from my face!" I cry.

The next time I'm walking through the living room I see what she's done with it: put it under our Christmas tree, right next to all the presents. Tiny Taco Bell dog sitting under our tree.

I Will Begin Again

My family decided to accompany me up to Santa Clara for a few days. That means that for the first time in, what, the past 10 years (?) I'm spending New Years Eve with my family (I'm not counting the time I had to go home from Disneyland super early because I was the most sick with bronchitis that I've ever been in my life, re: coughing up blood and delirious with fever.)

Unfortunately this means watching New Years Eve t.v. shows that feature Regis Philbin singing horrific songs with his wife and probably an appearance from one American Idol or another. As they were scanning the crowd they showed numerous people wearing special New Years glasses. "Beckie, why didn't you buy us 2006 glasses???" my sister demanded to know. "Whatever," was my reply. "Seriously. I don't feel very good about not having 2006 glasses," she insisted.

So now she's busy crafting something using some paper and scissors that I handed her. It's a cool, clear night and I am taking a break from painting. I am surprised, perplexed and hugely relieved to realize that I am looking forward to the next year. Let's make it a good one.

Roast Beast

Turkey Leg. Turkey leg!
Originally uploaded by sevenworlds16.

This year we decided early on that we weren't gonna do a huge Thanksgiving like we usually do. I wouldn't be home in time to cook it and we felt bad because Grandpa wouldn't be there.

But the closer we got to the actual day, the more we realized that Thanksgiving was going to come even if we felt ambivalent about celebrating. As my Aunt Jennifer said, "it's not like we're going to hide away and starve ourselves that night. If we're eating dinner it might as well be a Thanksgiving meal. And Grandpa always loved huge meals. We can eat it in memory of him."

Ironically, though, we went from not having anything to eat to having more food than we've ever had at Thanksgiving before. I bought a big family meal from Honeybaked and had it shipped to my parent's house. I also made creamed corn and we had salads and soup and cheesecake. Someone gave my Aunt Natalie  a fully cooked and stuffed turkey. And, strangely enough, we had a giant whole grilled fish (long story).

Thanksgiving is probably my favorite holiday, and I'm so happy we had a big family gathering, after all. We set a place for Grandpa at his usual spot at the head of the table, and we all had a good time. I think we really needed it this year.

Baby's All Grown Up

Looks like Toad
Originally uploaded by sevenworlds16.

I just wanted to mention that my little sister, who was born when I was almost through with high school, went to her first dance this past weekend. The Pod, at a junior high dance. She had a great time. The time has just flown, I thought. It was a bittersweet feeling.

Fortunately, we went to Downtown Disney a couple of days later and she got super excited about jelly beans and a foam rubber sword from the Lego Store. The more things change the more they stay the same.

P.S. - If I had known that it contained a song with a reference to "lovely lady lumps", I would never have bought my sister the Black Eyed Peas cd.

Is it right that we laughed at fights that our family members had? Nope, but Grandpa and I did it.

You know, a lot of people have been asking me if I'm okay the last few days. And I guess I am. But am I really? It's hard to be sure.

I discussed the situation with my sister and we came to the same conclusion: it's so hard to feel sad where my grandfather is concerned because he just wasn't a sad person. He didn't linger on negative things, which is a rarity in my family. He was able to let go, tried to find the silver lining, and looked ahead.

And God, did he have a great sense of humor. He always had a witty remark and he found such delight in the absurd; he could perfectly toe the line between edgy and inappropriate, but he never crossed it. That was one of the strongest bonds we had--trying to find humor in any situation. My family would shake their heads when I cracked a joke after something bad happened, and they'd say that I had the same desert-dry humor as Grandpa.

I'm keeping a couple of things in mind, of course: the situation hasn't hit me completely yet, and this sadness has manifested itself in a surprising way. I thought I'd be wracked with bouts of sharp and unbearable misery. But it's not like that. It's a slow, simmering sadness. A big empty feeling that is always with you and which, I realize now, will slowly feel less and less vast, but which will never really close up.

But I'm okay with how things are right now, still grateful that he passed away in peace and also grateful that I can think of him and instantly call up any of a thousand sweet, funny and happy memories.

Two and a half years ago we found out my grandfather had liver cancer. They told us that at the stage my grandfather was at, the best they could hope for him was two more years; about 5% of patients make it that far. He went through a successful round of chemotherapy, but his family doctor and his gastroenterologist both warned us all that the cancer would return.

And they were right. He went through another chemotherapy session. It took him a good month of bed rest to recover, but recover he did. That was about a year and a half ago. Afterwards he improved rapidly and looked so much healthier and stronger, almost as good as he did before the cancer struck at all. How could it possibly come back, we thought. He looked great and felt good, too.

But in the back of our minds we were always haunted by the thought that he was living on borrowed time. He had lived half a year longer than was predicted, how much longer did we have? He continued to go for his regular screenings but we tried not to think of his sickness and of all of his peers who died from liver cancer, all in pain and agony. There was still so much going on in his life: one of the most successful moon cake seasons our family had seen, and right at the ten year anniversary of the bakery, too. And there was his wedding anniversary coming up--51 years for him and my grandma. So much going on, all in one weekend.

Monday he went for a screening. Tuesday night he wasn't well. Wednesday dawned and he was admitted to the emergency room. His heart rate was dropping, he got a shot of morphine, he was intubated. We all started to gather there together at the hospital. His organs started to fail and he needed blood transfusions. Ironically we got the results from his Monday screening: his cancer had metastasized. Thursday we finally realized that there would be no remedy, no relief, no more cheating death. No time. His blood pressure continued to fall, and we signed a DNR. There we were all together (though I cannot say that anyone was whole in their mind or hearts). He didn't look ill even then, just asleep. But the doctor told us regretfully, he would not make it through the night. He wouldn't have that weekend.

And that's how it happened at the end. Fast. So fast. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone. He never woke, just slid into rest, always at peace. We all were assured, he did not suffer.

And I saw what had happened. We always thought at the end that he would dwindle for months, in and out of the hospital, slowly getting worse and worse until it was over. But instead those months were given to him in wellness, so he could be the best and happiest he had been in a long time, despite the fact that the cancer was already growing and spreading. And it was so right that way. My grandfather was not one to dwell, to hold a grudge, to judge or to linger in sadness; it would not have been right if he had to waste away in pain.

So he died as he had lived, blessed and surrounded by love. And we all agree that we could not have ever hoped or prayed for a more peaceful passing for such a good man. And that is some comfort. And we try to hold on to that. But how we miss him.

But now that they're gone I can watch my News Radio dvds!

Things I learned from my family's visit this past Memorial Weekend:

• My family cannot consume as much food as I remembered. Taking them to Korea House for dinner one night and then to Zachary's for lunch the next day might not have been the best timing.
• But that could be because they adore my Secret Recipe Trail Mix and continued to consume it by the shovelful the entire time they were here.
• A whole family goes through toilet paper and kleenex really fast.
• My sister is as funny as ever. At a streetside souvenir stand she pointed to a rack of personalized street signs and said, "Look: Awesome Avenue." "That's awesome!" I replied. "Yeah. It's awesome avenue."
• Three kids with three iPod minis is a lot of work. Parents who know you can get chinese songs on Limewire doesn't help.
• A family who is obsessed with mp3's, their acquisition and the magical things you can do with them does not make designing invitations very plausible.
• A lot of attention makes Mizu very tired and he gets up later than usual. Yay for lots of attention!
• Man, do the kids love their video games.
• My family rocks.

An iPod for the Pod.

When I was turning 11 I think I asked for a new chinese jumprope, some Hello Kitty junk and maybe, hoping against hope, a new pair of L.A. Gears. I did not dare to ask for a $200 electronic music player, like my sister has.

Of course, expensive gadgets are nothing to kids nowadays. They're never pleased or shocked at how great technology is. They just get annoyed that every convenience imaginable isn't already at their beck and call. I'm still amazed that there's such a thing as the radio. I'm certainly not telling people that they should pre-load my birthday gift with music files before they give it to me. Ahem.

Update: While I was bizrating the best place to buy the iPod mini I came across a website that designs wooden cases for iPods and laptops. Very cool in a Swedish modern type of way.

Ever After

Fairy tales are a hobby of mine. I've loved them as long as I can remember and I devoured every one I could find as soon as I could read on my own. Over the years I've studied the Grimm brother's works, Hans Christian Andersen, Andrew Lang's colored fairy books and on and on. I've enjoyed numerous retellings of my favorite stories, including both of Robin McKinley's versions of Beauty and the Beast and this hobby has also led me to fascinating readings in mythology and cultural and sociological studies.

I'm not discriminating about what I read before bedtime, as long as it's something. Usually whatever I read does not influence my sleeping thoughts; not even the books about Ted Bundy or Jack the Ripper. But the fairy tales do. I've had all sorts of strange and sad and outlandish dreams lately, which really makes me think about how fairy tales stretch and stray from our understanding of the real world, and also how close fairy tales strike to the heart of our fears.

One of the most common fears, recurring again and again is the desolation of being alone in the world without your mother. Think about it: Cinderella, Snow White, Hansel and Gretel, Rapunzel; these stories and many more shows how hard life can be when you don't have your mother to help you.

That's why, even though I wouldn't mind magic and fancy gowns, dancing and a guaranteed happy ending, I'm glad my life is not a fairy tale. I miss my mom, but I know she is there for me. I think that today is even more important for children than it is for mother's. It reminds us of what we have. In that spirit, Happy Mother's Day, everyone.

Jamie Lost and Found

I didn't want to blog about this as it was going down, but now that things are successfully resolved I think it's finally time to share the Mystery of the Missing Jamie.

That's right. Jamie took a bit of vacation of his own the same week that my mom and the Pod went to Japan for Spring Break (more on that later.)

My father calls me for the third day in a row on a Wednesday, which in and of itself is mystifying. He's hemming and hawing and I can tell that he wants to say something to me. Twenty minutes into the rambling conversation he finally spills the beans: Jamie has been missing since Sunday. Dad took him over to play with my Uncle Wayne's dog Bailey and Jamie ran off during the day. Of course, my father feels like a weight has been lifted once the news is out, and starts going on and on about what a shame it is and how he'd looked for him but it just didn't seem like he was going to reappear, etc.

I am listening to him in complete silence and utter shock. When he finally stops yapping I manage to sob out, "But what are we going to do?"

"Are you crying?" my father asks. What?!?! Of COURSE I'm crying. Hitler would be crying. Jeffrey Dahmer would be in tears. This moment is not only awful because of the Lost Jamie but it also clearly delineates to me that my father and I might as well be living in separate solar systems. "See, that's why I didn't want to tell you," he continues. "I thought you might be upset."

To make a long conversation short, Dad and I decide that I will design a Lost Jamie poster and e-mail it to him. He'll post them around the neighborhood and await the results. I spend the rest of the evening severely upset, thinking thoughts like, "If only I hadn't moved away from home. This never would've happened." I don't think anyone else in my family can understand how attached I am to this dog. I spent the first couple months of his life taking him outside every hour. Even through the night. I toted him around everywhere in Banshee's Burberry carrier and got him the Coach collar and leash for X-mas. He had a bed that was suede on the outside and sherpa on the inside, like an Ugg boot. I made sure he had different bones and toys every week so he wouldnt' get bored and eventually ended up going to the farmer's market to get him fresh, organic dog treats every week. He followed me everywhere and made me follow him around, too.

But I was confident that the posters would elicit some response, and I was right. Uncle Wayne's neighbor called and said she had found a dog, but it didn't look that much like the one from the poster. "Oh yeah," I said. "He's had his fur trimmed since the picture was taken." I didnt' know that he looked freakishly alien, or I would've mentioned that on the poster. (See picture above.)

"Well, what collar was your dog wearing?" she asked. "He has three," I told her. "A red vinyl Coach one, a black one with paw prints and one that says Cal Bear." "Wrong," she tells me, "this dog wasn't wearing a collar." What the? She had asked me a trick question?

"How old is your dog?," she continues. "He's almost two," I reply. I've had him for a year and a half and he was three or four months old when I got him." "Wrong again," she says. "I've taken this dog to the vet and the doctor assured me this dog cannot be a year old." Oookay.

She then proceeds to tell me all these asinine reasons why the dog cannot be my Jamie. Things like, the dog doesn't really answer to Jamie, but does answer to the name she's called him all week. She does NOT understand. Jamie hearts people. He answers to the happy sound of her voice. She also says that it can't be my dog because I feed Jamie dry food and this dog likes canned food. This is the final straw. I didn't say Jamie wouldn't eat canned food. I want to tell her that there is no dog on earth that wouldn't fucking prefer canned food. That's like saying that the dog is unique because he likes steak more than beef jerky. Bitch, please. I'm not convinced this is Jamie, but I am convinced that this lady is not giving him up if it really is him.

But I kid. Dad goes to their house and it's totally the Jamester. He is exuberantly overjoyed to see my father. My entire family thinks it's highly amusing that he just decided to cross the street, take up with a new family, and continue to be very spoiled for a week. His finders have taken very good care of him. Of course, this is because they planned on keeping him, but in the end, I can't complain. Major props to them.

All I know is that I've never been more relieved.

p.s. He is wearing his collar again now, and at all times. Right, Audrey?

I could not escape a plea from the heart, you know what it means to me.

I'm SO happy and relieved to report that my Momo went to the cardiologist and she's totally fine and had a second, normal EKG. Woo hoo! To celebrate I embroidered a picture of some flowers for her!

Not. My dad's friend brought it back for us from Vietnam. But it was still hand done. And she still likes it. And did I mention that she's totally fine??? Clean bill of health, biotch!

But if they wanted to help me buy some new furniture, that would be nice.

There's something really weird going on with my family. Since I've been back from the East Coast they've acted very strangely and erratically, and I think he slow conflict between us has suddenly come to a very bizarre head. They've confronted me about my plans and my future, and my thoughts and feelings. They've declared their love and support and regret at how things have turned out between us. They've been frustrated and sent into despair over my health and they've questioned my stability. They're unhappy about my move but also encouraging at the same time. They're suspicious, they're irritating. They've just realized how very little they know about me and how very distant I regard us as being. They've said that all they want now is for me to be happy but the change is so sudden and said in an attitude of such confused desperation that I don't know how to react.

It's just plain weird. My dad is really trying to get through to me. My grandma is all tears and drama. My mother and I just look at each other and we can't think of a word to say to each other. So much is happening! I've got a bunch of projects, I've done a ton of traveling. I'm editing some writing I am SO excited about. I'm trying to catch up with everybody. I'm planning a party. I'm planning my impending move! I'm finally up and ready to get going again, I think, and the reaction my family is having makes me realize that they are months behind in their mindset about my recovery and it grieves me that we are hardly connecting at all. I thought things were getting better. Well, they are. A pitiable, dolefuly, teensy bit better.

I think I will have a good relationship with my family some day. I know it's possible, and I know that someday we will all be in a place where that is going to happen. We just have to get to that place, because we're certainly far from it now. I've got a lot of work to do, both with them and to myself but I want to have that in the future. I want to be able to talk to them without bitterness, fear, shame and acrimony. I want us to know each other, because we have NEVER had that.

But I honestly think that for me to get to that place I will have to get away from them for a little bit. We'll all grow in that time. We need the space between us in order to get closer. It took a long time for me to realize that.

Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone

When I arrived back in town on Wednesday no one was home yet. My mom had a dental appointment that she dragged my sister to and when they finally got back I received some lukewarm hellos and the comment that Theo looked like he'd been through hellfire and a shitstorm (okay, maybe those were my words.) Later my sister comes into my room, chats with me for a few minutes about all the stuff I need to do for her and then proceeds to plop down on my bed and read the latest issue of US Magazine ("Brad & Jennifer--what really happened").

Beckie: This family sucks. [Looong silence.] Fine! Whatever.

Pod: Sorry, did you say something?

Beckie: Yeah, I said this family totally sucks. I'm gone for a week, you guys hustle me back, and when I arrive no one even bothers to ask me how my trip was.

Pod: How was your trip?

Beckie: It's too late now! But let me ask you, how was your week? Did you cry every day without me?

Pod: It was a good week. I didn't cry. But Jamie did. Every day.

Beckie (aghast): Really?? My poor little Beast!

Pod: Actually, I don't know if he really missed you. He cried because Mom wouldn't let him ride in the car on the way to school in the mornings.

Hm, thanks. But you can't fool me. I know my baby missed me. Cause he told me so:

   

Home Sweet Lexapro Storage Unit

My mom calls me on Sunday night and asks, "So what time can I expect you back tomorrow?"

Hesitantly I correct her. "Actually, I was thinking of staying another night. And then one night with Jangers down in L.A. So Wednesday. You can expect me Wednesday during the day. Can you handle things there without me?" (I'm SO only half joking while saying this to my mother who has asked me in the past just exactly how does one prepare Kraft Easy Mac.)

She answers, to my surprise: "No, we're gonna die without you. But speaking of dying I do need you to get back here by next Saturday. Your great uncle once removed passed away and we're all going to the funeral so you have to pick the kids up from Chinese school."

"Oh no!" I exclaim. "That's so sad. I don't really get who that is though."

"Fifth Great Aunt's husband," she explains. "The one who makes the good curry. I dont' think you ever met him."

Ugh, yeah. "I thought he was already dead."

"Yes," she agrees. "He didn't get around much. So just get back by then. By the way, are you really doing okay? I notice you didn't bring your medication on your trip."

"What??? You've been keeping tabs on my meds supplies?" I protest. "Chill out. I put some in a travel pill case to bring." Pause. "Who are you? Who am I?"

"Ha, ha," scoffs Mom. "See you Wednesday. Not too late. Or I'm coming after you."

It Falls Mainly on the Plain

Because of the recent floodwatch my household has been waging a weeklong private war over the Tran Family Umbrella Reserve.

My father, who leaves first, hardly ever takes one, even if it means he will be soaked to the bone just on the way to the car. This runs in the same vein as how, as a hypoglycemic, he always insists that he "isn't the least bit hungry. Or about to pass out."

My mother and the Pod have taken to brawling over the Jack Skellington umbrella which was so thoroughly abused when I first bought it from Hot Topic. Turns out it's extremely light, sturdy and just the right size. So who's laughing now?

Well, still not me because I never get to use it. I have my pick of this tiny Hello Kitty parasol, a small black fold-up whose only purpose ever in life has been to flip humiliatingly upside down the very millisecond its bearer steps out into an uncovered area, and, drum roll please....a F.O.B. umbrella.

Yes, a terrible army green F.O.B.ber umbrella that Mom brought back from Hong Kong which has utterly meaningless French, German and English phrases emblazoned over its entire surface. There are entire paragraphs that hold no significance for me because I cannot read them, though I believe they might be coupons or news clippings. I know that one line in English promises that I can eat at a trendy new restaurant and receive 35% off.

Another part of the umbrella is dedicated to art. It says "Miro, Dubuffet, Matisse, Picasso, Leagne". Now, "who is Leagne?", you ask? Well, I wish I could tell you, but I can't because Leagne is a name they made up solely for umbrella purposes. And this Leagne is so de moda that his name, and that of the furtive Deumieaux, are printed numerous times in large bold print on the fabric. Strangely, there is also mention of contemporary American still-life painter William Bailey. If only he knew that he had been immortalized on a Chinese umbrella! F.O.B.brella also gets major props for having boxes that say "sheperds, camels and donkeys, not the 2-piece orchestra and additional Christmas Carols. And that's just at Radio Lincoln Center!" and other boxes that simply say "Mean".

Which is what I called my Mom when she made me take this thing to school. No wait, I said "You're a terrible mother."

Of course, I am now wholly determined to save this family treasure to pass along to my own baffled and tortured children. Of course.

On the twelfth day of Christmas

Tran Family Holiday Traditions Juggernaut:

Lights!: About three weeks ago Dad comes into the kitchen while I'm helping Pod with some math homework. "I bought Christmas lights," he declares. "Woo-hoo!!!!," cries the Pod. Dad continues, "And I'm taking the day off work tomorrow to put them up." After he leaves the room she turns to me with a look of awe on her face and says : "I've created a Christmas monster!"

Watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer: I have reached the point where I know about half the lines and can do most of the voices; I am especially good at imitating the elves and Rudolph when he has the fake nose. I'm also still very touched by the misfit toys. This is, hands down, the best Christmas cartoon ever despite the misogynistic attitudes that reflect a bygone era. When all the little deer were trying out for the "Sleigh Team" my sister asked, "What about the does?" I explained that only male deer could try out. "That's stupid!" she decided. "If I were a doe I'd stand up and demand to try out!" Awww, I'm so proud of her imagined, feminist, cartoon deer rebellion.

Baking Christmas Cookies: Dozens of them, because I have yet to convince Pod that Santa Claus actually loves a hot Boba and a box of Godiva. So instead we've got stacks of cookies: Walnut Chip, Caramel and Chocolate, Peanut Butter Cup and Those Ones with the M & M's.  Every other year I've driven myself up the wall baking really complicated things from scratch, like paper thin Florentines. This year: fire up the oven at eight, sit back with a glass of Liberty School and offer a long, hot, wet kiss to the inventor of Break and Bake. With extra tongue, cause it's Christmas.

Tran Family Holiday Tradition #36

--Watching the Charlie Brown Christmas Special.

Check!

You would think no. But you'd be wrong.

Does this really look like the face of a dog who, when he spies another dog, would bark and leap and whine and struggle and dig and yelp and growl and circle around frantically until we're one big tangled disaster of leash, milkbone, mulch, iPod headphones and humiliation? As if I'm trying to stick flaming darts of unhappiness into his every orifice instead of just preventing him from taking down two milk white, purer than fresh snow, I can't believe they're actually wearing matching red bows and Christmas collars and don't have a hair out of place, West Highland Terriers???

I've Created a Monster.

And monster, thy name is Mom.

Several months after Susan introduced me to the world of knitting my mother has decided that, she too wants to partake of the vagaries of forming practical items from a roll of string. Having been well versed in crochet when she was a youngster and also having grown up in the presence of my grandmother (a superbly capable knitting beast herself) Momo's knitting career has taken off like a bottle rocket.

While she was on a weeks vacation after her cataracts surgery she knitted four scarves. Five, if you count her first practice scarf. This is completely absurd. She can now finish a scarf in a full day. Complete with tassels.

Just like all I want to do is watch CSI and eat this heavenly pecan pie I found at Whole Foods Market, all Momo ever wants to do is knit. The woman is in a stitching frenzy. Our household inventory went from my two pairs of knitting needles and six balls of yarn to seven pairs of needles, several crochet hooks, a pom-pom maker (whose tedious operation I have been charged with) and a terrifying mountain of yarn in a muppet-esque variety of textures and colors. Of course, you'd never know the last bit because since my mom knits a scarf a day the yarn just flies out of the house.

She loves to shop for supplies and talk about different ways to decorate our projects. She's slowly but surely trying to recall all of her crochet skills. We like to experiment with different wool and needle combinations. And we're planning a scarf for every member of our family. Gulp.

I am completely exasperated. And I am so, so happy to have found a hobby we can share.

Long Life Noodle House

So Momo reminded me that we should go eat noodles on my birthday, because noodles are a symbol of longevity and it is a tradition in my family to consume them on your birthday. I was happy to comply.

We went to this great new Japanese noodle place on Valley Blvd. in San Gabriel. I believed it was called Ajisen and I quite enjoyed it. Ajisen is a chain in Asia but this is one of only two branches in the U.S., and the first on the West Coast. It was small but packed and had great fusion decor. The portions were generous and it was quite fun. I had the "Tendrous Beef Ramen" (I think that's what it was called) with Corn Salad on the side, Pod had the Eel Fried Rice and Momo had some sort of BBQ Pork Ramen with corn and a side of Fried Tofu.

We sat at the counter which I usually don't like, but this time it was cool because the counter seats look into the glassed-off kitchen. I am looking forward to going back to try their curry and see if it can compare to Hurry Curry.

I raise my glass of Calpico Water to family birthday lunches, long life and ramen that comes with a hard boiled egg. Kanpai!

Boo

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Trick or Treat

Audrey's decided: she's going to be a pirate again for Halloween.

I've narrowed Jamie's Halloween costume options down to:

*pinecone

*Brett Favre

*the lion who is King of the Island of Misfit Toys in that claymation Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer movie

*a Volkswagen Touraeg

Like the Deserts Miss the Rain

I had a bit of a strange weekend in that I stayed home for most of it, and tried to stay in as much as possible. For the past year or so I've been in this prolonged reeling stage, just careening from place to place, finding lots of fun times but hardly ever finding a resting place.

Now it's come to the point where I'm just tired. Coupled with my recent medical issues I'm just a bit burned out on the whole social front. It's funny, people get so tired of living behind a mask and a facade. I don't feel like I belabour myself in such a way and I've actually come to a point when I'm tired of being myself. I feel like I just need a little break. Of course, I've felt like I needed a little break for what amounts to quite a long break when you add it all up, but that's another story.

I know that isolating myself isn't going to be healthy for an extended period of time and I don't mean to, but this weekend was actually very nice. The fact that my family handled me with kid gloves, and without their usual devil's pitchfork of scepticism, criticism and scrutiny, was quite helpful.

I've been in an intense reading mood lately, too, which is wonderful. I can't wait to finish my book club activities for our current novel and start our next project. Reading in bed when it's raining outside is probably one of my top five favorite things in the world. And the rain this weekend did quite a bit to placate me, as well, and I'm looking forward to a torrential downpour tomorrow.

But almost more than anything baseball turned out to be quite a comfort to me this weekend. The game which mirrors life more than any other and the game I've turned instinctively to since childhood is just as interesting, fun, moving and thought-provoking to me as it ever has been, and it makes me glad. Go, Red Sox! I'm looking forward to a huge game tomorrow.

I'm starting to look forward, even just a little, and that's what counts. I look forward to a morning when I wake up and can't wait to fill my day with as much as I can again, with as much of myself as I can. I miss that feeling, just like I miss being more carefree and lighthearted than I currently am. But I think, all things considered, that is not a bad thing to miss.

Laughter, the Best Medicine

Three Pod Anecdotes (in no apparent Order)

After I jumped from channel 2 to channel 11 on our family room t.v.:

Pod: Woah, how'd you do that??

Beckie: Um, I pressed the 'Jump' button.

Pod: Really?! I have a button on the t.v. in my room that says 'Prev Chan" and I've been looking for it forever on this remote. Every time I want to switch channels I'm like "What do I do? Where is it???" I'm crazy.

While eating quesadillas:

Pod: (holding the quesadilla triangle to her mouth in a jaunty manner) Look, I'm just like Charlie in 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory', except with a quesadilla.

While watching t.v. in my room an hour after eating some scrumptious Trader Joe's apricot stilton cheese:

Beckie: All I want to do is eat that cheese.

Pod: (swiveling around with a snap from the computer) What?? God, that's so gross! You make me want to barf! Stop talking about that cheese! We already ate the cheese. You're sick!

Bloodsuckers

So the news just surfaced that about a month ago a 57 year old man from Fullerton was the first Californian to die from the West Nile Virus.

This in itself is very sad, but the absurdly amusing thing about it is that it's one of the things that my father has decided to latch onto and concern himself about. Once every few months he'll pick a random topic and devote himself (with about 75% enthusiasm mustered) to it.

Like you should have seen our personal belongings when american flag stickers were popular. He painstakingly put them all along this one brick wall that lines our house. They would pop up on cookie tins and household appliances (yes, dad, the dirt devil is feeling rather patriotic). And of course, our cars were the first to be branded. Oh, the irony of a Toyota rear window plastered with Radiohead stickers and then a "Made in America" decal.

I really don't think this West Nile furor will last, though. I told him to be careful with our dog and mosquito bites and he just said, "Oh, the fur will protect him. Can't bite through fur." Sure.