Almost: A Dream

I almost forgot your smile. The way that one little crinkle in the corner gives away the fact that your whole face is about to burst into sunshine. 

I almost forgot the way your heartbeat softly tickles my ear, comforting and steady.

I almost forgot how your left eyebrow arches, dark and satyric, when you're being a smartass, or a goofball, or naughty.

I almost forgot the sound of your laugh, rumbling in your chest and erupting into the world with joyousness.

I almost forgot the sleepy warmness of your hug in the pre-dawn soft light.

I almost forgot the simultaneous strength and softness of your hands. The silly tickles and the silent grace they provide.

I almost forgot the shelter of your arms, protecting, possessing.

I almost fogot your kiss.  Warm to hot, fierce and soft, soul to soul.

I almost forgot.  I almost gave up hope.

Almost.

The Honor and Burden of Story-Telling

Throughout the ages, story-telling has had a place of enormous importance in the development of society and the chronicling of life.  Stories were told to remember deeds or people, as cautions against the world, to keep alive a conquered culture, and merely as a way to pass the time.  Those who could orally tell a good tale have been revered.  Once writing came along, scribes and literacy were at first kept for the upper class; but literate or not, the stories were told.  Sometimes they were told orally, sometimes they were told in quilts, sometimes in pictures, sometimes in song.  But always, stories are told.  As a species, it is what we do.

One of my favorite movie lines is at the beginning of "Braveheart"--'History is written by the victors'.  If you think about that, it oozes of stories untold or unremembered, aches with the adage that there are two sides to every tale.  Respectfully, I submit there are more than two sides to every tale and that often the untold tales are the more interesting.   I hope to tell the stories that have remained silent, about those nearly forgotten, to bring light into the dark corners of the past and breathe life into the ghosts that linger there.

To me, the best stories combine fact and lore.  A skillful weaving of truth and possibility into a delectable morsel of food for thought--this, to me, is the hallmark of a great story.  The ability to transport the reader or listener to another time or place imparting both knowledge and imagination is indeed a true gift.  I hope that I have enough of that gift to share.

As I work to establish myself as a writer, I am mindful of the responsibility before me.  I owe it to the writers before me to carry on their legacy with skill, grace and passion.   And I owe it to everyone to be a wordsmith worthy of those about whom I write, fictional or real.  I hope to be up to the task.  And I am counting on you, my friends, to keep me honest. 

Remembering Jim Jack

I logged onto Facebook to see what was up in the world and there it was--the smiling face of Jim Jack with the words "RIP JJ--we will miss you" in my newsfeed.  I felt like I had been suckerpunched.  I quickly ran a search and discovered that he had been killed in an avalanche up at Stevens Pass.  And the tears began.

I graduated from high school with Jim.  Lakes High School, class of '84.  My maiden name is Jackson, so we were always next to each other in the yearbook.  I was, to put it bluntly, not popular and Jim was.  Some from high school may see this and wonder why in the world I would cry at the loss of Jim Jack--I wasn't best buds with him or even in the same Social Status. But he didn't care about all that superficial stuff--unusual for a high school aged guy, but true.  Jim didn't judge people (ironic that he grew up to be a judge--he would appreciate that), he just took people as they were, smiled, laughed and went on with life.  We had English together one semester, and we were in a drama club and a couple of plays together--in fact, one shining memory of him is as the silent but hilarious King Sextimus in "Once Upon A Mattress."  His antics on and off stage kept us all laughing until we cried.  Or snorted.   A story that I tell often involved Jim--sophomore year we were picking up our report cards, and the teacher that had the "J"s was often drunk.  I didn't realize it at the time--naive thing that I was, but it was true and as an adult I can see it clearly.  Anyways...she handed Jim Jack my report card in error.  That report card was the one and ONLY time in high school that I had straight As.  I will never forget Jim's shocked face when he saw the 4.0 and then the sheepish grin when he realized it was my report card.  That became 'our joke'--he teased me about straight As the rest of high school. And then, at our ten year reunion, he came up and gave me a big hug and said "Laura Jackson, how the heck are you?  What are you up to?"  At the time, I was working at CIA, and I told him so.  He paused, took a swig of his beer, nodded and grinned and said "That's because you got straight As."  He then proceeded to tell me about being a 'professional ski bum' and firefighter.  He was so happy and content--it all seemed to be a perfect fit for him.

With the advent of Facebook, like so many others, I have been able to keep in touch with scattered friends from long ago.  I don't accept every friend request--I have to actually know you.  And remember you fondly.  Despite having only seen him at reunions since high school, I happily accepted Jim's friend request.  It has been fascinating to me to have this window into his world, so vastly different from mine--his posts almost in another language to a non-skier "fresh pow today" meaning little to this suburban mom.  It was clear, however, that he loved his life and was filled with joy.  It seems wildly appropriate to me that his job was in the outdoors--no walls could contain that spirit and that larger than life personality. 

 Reunions will not be the same without him.  He will be remembered and toasted at all of them in the future, I can guarantee that.  I think of him now in Heaven, which for him will be sunny skies, clean crisp air, a killer run with "fresh pow" with a cold beer, warm fire and good friends at the end.  Cheers to you Jim--we will all miss your face.

The Privilege of Giving

Gift giving is important to me--not just at Christmas time, but all the time.  I love seeing something that I know will make a friend or family member smile.  It makes me feel happy to think I can make someone else happy and it makes me feel good that I know somebody so well I can do something meaningful for them.  I believe that is how gifts should be--not obligatory, not perfunctory.  I get sad when I'm out and overhear people complaining about buying gifts for 'everyone and their brother' or 'having' to spend the money.  Seriously?  Don't do it.  To me, the ability to pay attention enough to somebody's life to purchase them a gift is in itself a gift.  The privileged gift of friendship. 

Last year, I couldn't even afford to get everyone in my family a gift.  I was so upset...I cried and cried.  It was really hard for me, even though, of course, family members didn't really care.  But it is a way for me to express how much I care and I couldn't do it.  I did other things, but I still really love having a 'thing' to wrap up and put under the tree...something wanted, something they'd never spend their own money on, a secret wish, help with a dream...that's a gift to me.  A gift card can be a gift, if it is to a place rarely afforded or for a specific thing very much desired.  My kids love getting book store gift cards because the trip to the store, the selection of the books, is at least as much fun as the actual book itself.  But there's thought there--the knowledge that a book is a treasure and the the trip will be a treasure too. 

This year my financial situation is better and I feel better.  There won't be stacks and stacks of gifts, but the ones I have I know will be loved and that is the whole point.  Remember the privilege of giving a gift--savor the selection, think fondly of the person you are gifting and enjoy the process.  Merry Christmas everyone!

Quad Shot Espresso--To Go

Tis the holiday season, which means the Social Calendar is busy.  Sometimes double-booked.  Tomorrow, I have my office Christmas party AND a very dear friend's poker party.  I shall be attending both, since I can go to the office party, be sedate and attempt a certain level of appropriateness and then head off to play poker and be, well, me.  So the tradition with the poker parties is everybody brings food and there is usually a theme.  Tomorrow night there will be Italian food and I am bringing Chocolate-Espresso Swirl Cheesecake. 

I had to stop off at the grocery store to pick up a couple of items (including, although I didn't know it, vanilla...sigh) and I decided to swing into me local coffee shop and pick up some espresso for the espresso swirl portion of cheesecake-palooza. 

You know you're in Seattle when:  it's after 8 on a Friday night and the coffee shop is packed.  The barista was older--by older I mean 'older than 16' and was clearly thoroughly enjoying herself.  I waited in line and when I reached the front she asked me what I wanted. "I'm not really sure." I replied.  This got her attention.  I mean, most people know down to the temperature of the beverage EXACTLY what they want.  She kind of raised an eyebrow at me--there was a line after all--so I began to explain.

"I'm cooking with it.  I need it to be super strong and flavorful."

"Cooking....ahhhhhh....hmmm, well let's see."  She thought about it for a minute and then said "You know, you could try our Via product...my sister made brownies and added it as a powder and they were fan-tastic."
"Really?" I said, suddenly distracted from cheesecake with the thought of espresso brownies.  The next three people in line were suddenly Very Intrigued  and the fourth person back said "Did you say chocolate-espresso cheesecake??" 

This is how I roll:  I talk to people, I engage in conversation....we had the entire shop discussing espressos and the pros and cons of cooking with liquid versus the powder (the recipe calls for liquid) and whether or not the chocolate was sweet (no, it's unsweetened).  We all also talked about brownies, adding said powder to cake recipes, chili, and a mole sauce.  I shared the cheesecake recipe off the top of my head with a couple of people recording this into their phones.  Much good cheer and happiness occurred, and I got out of there with a quad shot of espresso (technically all the coffee of a quad shot, but the added water of a double...) at no charge.  A fair trade for a good recipe, I was told.

Now the chocolate-espresso swirl cheesecake is in the oven.  Mmmmmmmmmmmm!  Can't wait for poker :)

You and Me and Never We: A series of complicated almost interactions

She had known him for sixteen years.  And although everything about him was perfect for her, their timing had never been right...or even close to right.  So she enjoyed him for what he was, and continued hoping that all of his characteristics would arrive in the form of someone she could be with.

She had been Quite Young when they first met.  She was newly married and already pregnant and working full time in a field dominated by men.  She was, however, an expert in her field, and it was in this capacity that she met him.  She waddled into a meeting prepared to make a presentation to a roomful of guys who would be taking on a huge project overseas.  She was not at all prepared for the effect he had on her.  She could not drop the gaze of his deep blue eyes, and she found it odd that she was noticing her heart rate.  She found it vaguely disconcerting that she should be having risque thoughts about a man other than her husband, even though he was already disappointing in many ways.  She tried to concentrate on the business at hand.  It was not uncommon for smarty comments to be exchanged and this was no exception.  It was sort of a rite of passage...a test to see if she was 'one of the guys' or if she would puddle into female offense.  She rose to the challenge and earned the laughter--and attention--of the room.  He smiled at her quick wit, and listened to her presentation, asking insightful questions.  They worked together closely over the next couple of months, and she could tell he was taken aback that he had strong feelings for her, despite her marital status.  She kept telling herself that it was just the nature of the project that had her thinking of this handsome, single man so many hours of the day and night.  The project launched, and he was off.  She continued on with her life, but continued to think of him fondly and every so slightly inappropriately.

Eight years later, they were assigned to another project together at work.  This time he was in the leading role, and she was support, having scaled back her hours significantly as a working mother.  Her marriage was now in its final stages, although she had not yet accepted that in her heart.  She walked into a meeting and there he was.  Her heart raced as it had all those years previously.  She was thrilled at the ease that they slipped into a close working relationship.  He was as smart as ever and had that same wit she remembered.  They could seamlessly switch from serious, in-depth work strategy sessions to reviewing the latest rock album that they both enjoyed.  But while her personal life was crumbling, his was perking up.  He had a serious relationship, although he rarely discussed 'the girlfriend' with her.  Once, she met 'the girlfriend' and had a difficult time handling the jealousy.  How ridiculous was that?  Jealous....and he wasn't even hers to begin with!  The easy camaraderie...the give and take...this THIS is what she had thought a marriage would be like.  How could she have this with a colleague??  But life intervened again, and she left the project due to family considerations.  And he ultimately took another project elsewhere too.

And now 7 years after that, he had reappeared.  Only this time, she was divorced and he was married.  Happily too, from all outward appearances.  And yet again, she immediately slipped into a very familiar and close working relationship.  She could tell that both of them felt the tension, and they both knew that if they gave in, it would be the end of everything.  So she kept her feelings to herself, worked with him, day in and day out, hearing tales of his Perfect Family Life and wishing that she could find his clone....to keep for herself. 

For all these years, he had been The One that she had measured all other men against.  He had everything she wanted and needed--he was intelligent, funny in a twisted way, had an edge revealed only to his nearest and dearest, handsome and deliciously male.  And still, unavailable to her.

Being Fat in America

Five years ago, in an early step to reclaim my life, I had weight-loss surgery.  It was, hands down, one of the best decisions I ever made.  Losing weight brought sharply into focus how much I was beating myself up and letting others belittle me just based on my physical size.  Never mind that at a size 24 I exercised 2 hours a day six days a week and was actually in better condition than most skinny people.  Never mind that my blood pressure and blood sugar was not only normal, but on the low side of normal.  Never mind that I had energy to spare and never got sick because I was actually quite 'healthy'.  In fact, 'skinny me' needs to get on an exercise schedule and stick to it in order to feel better, have better energy and combat the blues.  None of that matters when all anyone can see is a fat person.

Americans are obsessed with size.  Not health--size.  If we were obsessed with health, super-skinny bordering on anorexic stars wouldn't be idolized.  If you are fat, people assume you are lazy.  And stupid.  And somehow lesser than anyone else.  They feel free to make comments to you about what you purchase at the grocery store, or how you look in clothes.  Or to say things like "you have such a pretty face, too bad you're overweight."  No matter how mentally strong you are, constantly hearing this takes a huge psychic toll.  I very much took on board that somehow I deserved to be treated as a lesser human being because I was overweight.  I accepted less from my employers, my marriage, and worst of all, myself.  Why people find it necessary to belittle others is beyond me; and in our culture it is very much acceptable to put down, mock and otherwise degrade those who are overweight.  Why this small-minded attitude is allowed to persist I simply do not understand.

Being thin, though, is not a panacea.  It has just stripped away the 'fat excuse' from everything that was not right in my life.  It exposed my marriage for the fraud that it was--a painful thing, but a good thing for all of us involved.  It gave me a confidence boost to take the steps needed to start down a trail on my own--this trail is scary and I am not convinced I can do it, but at this point I have no choice (failure is not an option) and I do sincerely believe I am a better person, friend, and mother for stepping outside my safety zone, breaking the socially acceptable box I was firmly ensconsed in.  Looking back though, I am astonished at how easy it was to let me size be the excuse for inaction.  Doctors see an obese person and don't look for any underlying causes to health issues--the assumption is that losing weight will fix it all.  Guess what?  I'm still suffering from depression.  And my knees are still painful if the weather is changing or I sit still too long (like at work).  But now, I can get health care providers to listen, because the assumption is not that if I just lost weight the problem would be resolved. 

I challenge all of you to look past someone's size.  To catch yourself making the negative stereotypical assumptions about somebody because of their weight.  Are there lazy fat people?  Heck yeah!!  But not every fat person is lazy...give a person a chance to prove their worth--or prove their lack of worth--outside of what size pants they put on.  And, I encourage everyone, regardless of size, to focus on health.  Eat well and heartily of nutrient rich foods, exercise daily to keep disease at bay and blood flowing well through your muscles.  Be content in who you are, believe in yourself, really listen to your body and soul and take the steps that you need to take to be the best person you can be.  If we all did that, can you imagine how beautiful this world could become?