Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub

Thanksgiving used to be the holiday that I spent in my pajamas watching the parade, putting up the Christmas tree with my dad and eventually eating turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole and pumpkin pie. It was an ok holiday that was really just a stepping stone on the way to Christmas. Although there was one year where the snow was piling up outside and Teen and I spent the waning daylight hours rolling around in the white stuff making a little snowlady we inexplicably named Gertrude. That Thanksgiving was awesome, because a snowlady named Gertrude clearly rocks.

Now that I'm sort of an adult I appreciate Thanksgiving as a day to do nothing but cook, eat and relax with friends and family. This year it was just me and Teen, a lot of Christmas carols, some ridiculously awesome dance moves, Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving, mounds of food and bottles of wine.


It was a great Thanksgiving spent with one of the people I am most thankful for: my best Teen.

I'm also thankful that mom gave us for Christmas last year those special ingredients to prepare some of her holiday recipes that are seemingly unavailable in the LA area: soup mixture for Spinach Dip and butterscotch pudding for her caramel rolls. You gotta love Minnesota cooking.

I'm thankful that when these Gingered Cranberries came out tasting more like ginger than cranberry, there were other delicious side dishes to indulge in. (Because really, it tasted like I would imagine jamming a hunk of ginger root into your mouth would taste. Not the best.)

Am I thankful that Teen will jump around and dance with me to Mariah Carey belting out "All I Want for Christmas is You"? Hell yes, I am! And I'm oh so happy that when I snapped this photo of her during the middle of our performance, something wonky was going on with her right arm making it appear to be extra long and stick thin, with a giant ham-like hand dangling off the end.

It's been a pretty good year and I'm just so very thankful. So, it may be 5 days late, but Happy Thanksgiving! We had one for the books...hope you did too.

"Somebody's got a case of the Mondays"

Ugh. It was just one of those days today. One of those days where I was just irritated and on edge all damn day. Aside from oversleeping by a half-hour, something is suddenly wrong with my coffeemaker. It still made my steaming cup of caffeinated-vanilla-eye-opening-loveliness, but it also suddenly made a big mess...water everywhere...and I was already late...and I'd just spent 5 hours this weekend giving the apartment a deep clean and now there was water coming out of my coffeemaker and spreading across the butcher's block that it all sits on...and it was just. so. aaaaaaah!

So, I made a hasty attempt to absorb and pat said mess semi-dry before grabbing my bag, running out the door and down to the parking garage - all the while aware that I was being watched by a man sitting in his car, which naturally creeped the crap out of me. In my car I reached for my phone to make one of my morning phone calls home to Minnesota...but wait...where was my damn phone? Shit. Keys yanked out of the ignition, I ran back up 2 flights of stairs and started a manic search for phone. Realizing that it must be buried in my work bag after all, I tear back down the stairs feeling as though I should now wave to Staring Dude In Car while he witnesses my second mad-dash to get my morning started. Instead, I proceeded to curse like a sailor when I finally started the car and the clock told me the horrid truth of how tardy I was.

Why I drive to work as though I'm Pacman being chased by that marshmallow-looking ghost is something I wonder 5 days a week. I rush like hell to get there, only to wish I was anywhere else. And today was a day I wish I'd never walked into.

I even had parking garage annoyances today! First, when walking to the stairs from my car, I attempted to take a shortcut through two other cars, only to realize too late that I'd misjudged the space as my wide hips swiped the side of both cars clean. Awesome. Second, when I went to retrieve my yogurt for lunch it was nowhere to be found, which meant it fell out of my bag during the great race to work and was now on the floor of my car somewhere. Wanting to avoid the smell of warm dairy product hours later, I marched all the way back up to level 3 just so Stacy could stand behind me and witness my ass in the air as I dug around looking under the seats for the little scamp that had tried to escape its destiny in my tummy. Again, ass in the air that had only hours before been cleaning other cars, well, that's just friggen fantastic, isn't it?

And really, why does the Sr. Vice President of North American Marketing have to take breaks from his horrendous board meeting by constantly surprising me at my desk? Take a break in your own office, buddy! And stop touching all the papers on my desk! When I present you with projects, that's when you touch, but not now...not when I'm unprepared. Shooo!

Four of these little visits later, I was ready to run screaming from the building. At 5:30 I was ready to pack it up for the night, knowing full well I'd be there late the rest of the nights this week, but my better judgment didn't win and I stayed when the design firm promised the latest round of Current Monster Project by 6:00. By the time the Xerox printer had refused to print all of it at 6:30 and I'd flipped through the electronic files enough to realize that design firm seemed to have returned it in a sorrier state than it was a few days ago...well, I had 2 instincts to choose from. 1) Call the now-closed design firm and leave a message that was a combination of exhaustion/frustration/and demands not to be charged for the rubbish I'd just received, or 2) take the bits that had actually printed, shove it all into my bag, take it home to do what I could with it...but for now, just shut down my computer and get the crap out of there. I chose option #2.

The little black cloud stayed over my head the whole drive home. It was just as I'd shifted the car into park and was about to turn it off that I finally listened to one of the lyrics coming from Dido, "Take time to catch your breath and choose your moment."

I did as I was told; I took a deep breath for the first time today. The day was over, I was home and the rest of the night was all mine. This was not a moment to ruin with stress or agitation. I usually try to remember to pick my battles carefully and it was suddenly clear that continuing to be irritated was just a way of fighting myself and a surefire way to ruin the rest of my night.

In under 5 minutes dinner was heating, a glass of red had been poured and I was on the couch in my pajamas and slippers watching Lee Pace (one of my newest TV crushes) struggle with murder mysteries and impossible love on Pushing Daisies. Good things do come to those who wait - or at least to those who make it through a day of wanting to claw your way out of your own life.

I even made time to sit at my computer and indulge in putting words and sentences together to tell the uninteresting story of my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

One of my happy places made happier with a favorite photo of Teen, Laura & Me

Now, it's time for a bit of sleep before getting to do it all over tomorrow. Again, ugh. If I was a little more optimistic I'd be comforting myself with some load about how tomorrow is another day...start fresh...blagh blagh blagh....but that's just not me. At least not tonight. Eh, nobody's perfect.

Like riding a bike

When I was younger I loved to ride my pink Schwinn. Sometimes I would take off on rides around the neighborhood by myself with only my speedometer to keep me company by tracking the miles I'd pedaled through. Other times, I'd be riding a long distance (really a couple of miles) with my sister to the corner store for candy or to a friend's house. I loved it. It was freedom and mobility and the rush of wind on my face and being outdoors...it was exhilarating.

As an adult, I can only think of two times where I've been on a bike. One was while Teen was working on the television show Studio 60 and late one Friday night during a visit I "borrowed" one of the bikes that was used by production people and set off for the mostly empty streets of the Warner Brothers lot. Not only was it my first time on a bike since...I couldn't remember when...there was something magical about riding in the black of a late Friday night through the fake suburban boulevards of the Gilmore Girls set with Burbank's mountain glowing in the moonlight as a background. Again, exhilarating.

Time number two was this past September at Pete's Labor Day party in Manhattan Beach. After a few hours of chowing on burgers, drinking some frightfully delicious Brazilian cocktail as fast as they could be served, losing a few rounds of ping pong to a seven-year-old and eventually getting into the bikini/sun dress combo, it was time to go out into the sunshine of a late summer day. Teen and I borrowed the bikes of Pete and a roommate, told the others we'd be back in a bit, and off we went down the boardwalk, headed for the street fair in Hermosa Beach. Sparkling ocean and sand to the right, best friend in the world in front of me and a warm September breeze cooling me off more and more with each rotation of my out-of-practice legs. It was one of those days where you hear yourself say, "Oh...This is why I live in California."

Both times it occurred to me that the old saying had been proved true. "It's like riding a bike," was exactly, well, like riding a bike. I didn't forget. I may have wobbled some, but I didn't fall. And it only took about a block for the smile to spread the full breadth of my face.

The past two weekends have been wonderful for very different reasons, but at the end of each Sunday I've found myself thinking, "Huh. I didn't forget. It was kinda like riding a bike..."

Last year at this time, there was a group of friends that had quickly bonded and held onto each other for all of the smiles and laughter and hugs that those friendships resulted in. There were a few people whom the group centered around and there were those who were more like drifters because of some kind of connection. Teen was the core, I was a drifter and Mark was a permanent result.

As a drifter, it's easy to feel out of place at first...easy to be uncomfortable...easy to wish you'd stayed at home with a bottle of wine and a chick flick instead of trying to meet new people. But if Mark was there, then I was going to be fine. I'd always have someone to talk to, because he is ridiculously easy to talk to. (Well, at least those first few times. After that, they were probably all hard-pressed to shut me up.) And while he's great for the standard LA "industry" talk, he'll also indulge me in conversations about books, politics, relationships, family, work, creative passion...life...all of it...the full menu. I'd guess that not just in our group, but every group of friends he has, Mark is a core person.

Last December, when he moved back East, everyone took it hard. Eleven months passed in which things changed a little, as they inevitably would, people changed...and then...he came back for a weekend. And I discovered that friendship with him is like riding a bike - I didn't forget how.

He still makes me and Teen laugh until we're dabbing tears out of the corners of our eyes, still does heart-to-heart sessions and is still remarkably easy to talk to.

Teen, Mark, Lemon Tree, Yours Truly

Laughter...for real

Sometimes it occurs to me that Mark sees me like maybe no one else does. Most people think I'm a softy with a side of sarcasm; Mark once told me that I tend towards quality over quantity and that when I cut, I cut to the marrow. He seems to think that I'm full of hard edges and biting cynicism, whereas I prefer to think I truly fall somewhere between the sap and the bitch, but that I'm just so damn good at portraying both, most people peg me for one or the other. He's in the minority and I'm intrigued by that, amongst other fabulous qualities of his.

Just a few days ago, however, I was neither of my alter-personas, but instead was back to my sixth grade self.

You see, Teen and I went rollerblading for the first time in 14 years. At a hut near the base of the Santa Monica pier we were handed pairs of rollerblades and nothing else. No protective gear, no instructions on how to strap these contraptions on, no helpful tips, no reminder that the brake is on the back of the right skate...nothing. Eventually memory kicked in as far as getting the cankle-makers on, but then I stood up and Teen had the joy of watching me flail about and attempt to take down an entire row of parked bikes, only to be stopped by her grabbing the first one of them and telling me to relax, let go and not to touch anymore bikes for balance. When did little sisters become the wise ones?

Clearly, this is the beginning. Teen is hugging immovable objects with the Santa Monica Pier in the background

The first few minutes were a little rough. It's hard to enjoy the gorgeous sunny scenery when your eyes are clouded over by images of yourself splattered on the sidewalk, or a repeat of that bike crash from the fifth grade that left you with a funny elbow scar. But then we got onto a smoother bike path and our bodies adjusted to this new way of moving...and before we knew it, we were zooming on ahead, me constantly turning around to smile at Teen and shout "Sister!" with sheer happiness. Or, when we were able to skate side-by-side, coming up with memories of childhood long forgotten.

We weren't skilled by any means...our arms still displayed a bit of a flail and I could occasionally be heard exclaiming, "Ohhh Booooy!" while lurching backwards, forwards and whichever way the bump in the path indicated. Somehow though, we got all the way down to the Venice Beach pier after gawking with wonder at all of the colorful characters filling the Venice markets on the way. Is this Venice? Wait, how did we get down here?! Oh my gosh, we're amazing! I can't believe we just rollerbladed all the way to Venice Beach! Oh...crap...we have to turn around and go back...

Here she comes, folks!

Trying to take a picture Teen rolled right on through my shot...and then we almost fell over laughing

As we turned to head back north, the conversation turned to how much fun we were having, how gorgeous the day was, and that experiences like this - blue ocean, sailboats, palm trees, yellow sun and warm November breezes - were why we lived in LA, despite it's many pitfalls. Oh, and we were also discussing how unbelievably sweaty I was, while also being very excited over the fact that we were actually really enjoying an aerobic activity. A few minutes after discussing how we wanted to buy our own rollerblades and make this route a part of our weekend routine, we were whining about the fact that we couldn't feel our feet, our knees hurt and every muscle below our belly buttons seemed to have joined the strike. Whatever proper blading form we had gained was now lost to muscle fatigue that had us clomping along like rusty robots on wheels.

Still, when we finally rolled triumphantly back into the rental hut, only these things mattered:

1) Neither of us fell!

2) We were both sweaty and happy about it

3) We'd had a total blast

4) We went six miles round trip! On ROLLERBLADES! We are athletic superstars! (No wonder our muscles were screaming and freezing up!)

Turns out that rollerblading with your sister is kind of like riding a bike...with your sister. We didn't forget - we had as much fun rollerblading as adults as we did rollerblading or bike riding as children. In fact, we may have had more fun, because I don't recall as a child continuing to talk about our latest bike ride days later and the fact that we had to do it again as soon as possible. I suppose that has something to do with the difference between childhood and adulthood. As an adult, you have to hold onto the moments and the people that make you that joyful. You have to make a conscience effort to be happy and enjoy life - the full menu of life.

The fundamentals are like riding a bike. Once you've learned how to be a friend or rollerblade, you've got that skill set buried somewhere in muscle memory (even heart memory), waiting to be shaken awake whenever you decide it is time to do so. It's taking it all one step further, turning the people you know and the experiences you have into your own form of bliss, that takes the effort. If you're very lucky, it takes minimal effort.

Lately, I've been very, very lucky. I hope it lasts a little longer, because I haven't always been so fortunate, which only makes me feel all the more blessed in my current state of happiness.

I wish all of you the same, plus a pinch more.

Europe...The Friends

Oh my, it has been a long week. Work has snowballed into 11 hour days, no lunches, spreading work out on the kitchen table while I wait for leftovers to heat up for dinner and soothing my frustration with glasses of red wine. Eventually, I fall asleep after midnight, sitting up, trying my hardest to stay awake for another chapter of Harry Potter (and I'm not ashamed to say that I love Harry Potter).

I had a fantastic, yet exhausting, weekend to break-up the monotony of being a corporate slave...but that weekend deserves proper mention that I am currently too tired to attempt. For now, I find that all my hazy eyes want to rest on are pictures of my favorite friends from my time in Europe. Ahh...still dreaming of Europe...

In my list of great meals, this lunch in Passau will be in the top 5...

Norm and his harem...(L to R: Elaine, Norm, Diane, Mom, yours truly)

All together now... One of the many dinners where bottles of wine and our laughter made us the 6 noisiest diners

Norman and I making each other laugh, as per usual. Say, "ha! ha!" Bamberg!

Something to the left is captivating me and Elaine

Smile! Al, Diane and Norm

The group meets up again in the town square of Rothenberg

With our other favorite new friend, Valentin

And, with my #1 girl, Mom

So tonight, I guess I raise my glass of vino and toast those friends out there who have been a wonderful surprise this past year. To Norm and Diane in Los Angeles, Al and Elaine in Detroit, and my mother, who I'm sure is missing me constantly dragging her around on foot while trying to read German signs, I dedicate my exhausted evening of sappiness to you, my dear travel companions.

One day, you find yourself at LAX dreading the many hours between you and Prague, wondering how your mother and you are going to survive each other for 3 weeks...when suddenly, those 3 weeks are gone, you're back at LAX and you've hugged friends goodbye who you now can't imagine life without. And no 26 year old goes to Europe expecting to hang out with 5 people all over the age of 60, much less to love every second of it.

It's like I said to Teen this weekend, "Life is funny." You just never know what you're going to get if you go with the flow.

What flow am I meant to be going with today? Hmm...

Europe...The Food

I adore pictures of food. The colors. The memory of laughter shared over that particular meal. The mindset that what you are about to indulge in looks so fantastic, you want to capture it in a photograph.

I wanted to take pictures of everything during my few weeks in Europe. Sometimes I forgot, just diving right in. Luckily, sometimes I remembered.

Vibrant fruits in Passau, Germany

Beers sipped on a sunny afternoon in Amsterdam

A latte with sugar cubes in Vienna

An unexpected pineapple in Nuremberg

Sitting on the sidewalk with chocolate and hazelnut gelato

Yum.

Have you hugged a tree today?

I don't know when exactly it happened, but somewhere along the line, I became what my father likes to call, "A Tree Hugger."

I'm that girl who scolds if you leave the water running while brushing your teeth, insists on recycling, reuses paper shreddings as package stuffing, buys organic everything whenever possible, dreams of a hybrid car, wants to know why her parents don't save water by putting a brick in the back of their old toilets and has books around the house advising which foods are most contaminated by chemicals and how best to avoid buying fish that are farm-raised and fed a diet of other fish bits (ew). And that's just a sampling of my "This World Is Going To Hell & By The Time I Have Children They'll Have To Deal With The Toxic Wasteland We Left Them" mentality that has been the voice of my conscience for years now.

In waves I start to read more and more about certain subjects, resulting in outrage that urges me to share factoids on whichever subject I've just become a self-appointed expert. Unfortunately for my immediate family members, I usually dump it all on them.

I am aware of how annoying friends or acquaintances are who constantly yap at you about their beliefs and/or opinions, while you really just wanted to go out for a beer or make a Target run. So I try to swallow my opinions in order to avoid being that person. For the most part. However, my family is required to love me no matter what, so they are often the sacrificial lamb to my rants of injustice, wrongdoing and rectifying solutions. Especially my parents, because as parents, they're obliged to at least pretend to be listening, whereas with sisters...well, they sometimes just let their eyes glaze over moments before turning around and walking away.

There are enough sites out there and stories on the news giving helpful tips on how to lighten the footprint you leave behind, so I won't do that here. At least, not today. I will say though, that if you want your dad to crack you up with comments like, "Oh look, Sara! A tree! Do you wanna go hug it?", or "Hey Tree Hugger, I had to dig the elm out of the front yard. Did you want me to bring you the stump so you can cuddle with it at night?" - well, then it's time to start demanding organic milk, low energy light bulbs, recycled paper towels and the reusing of Christmas wrapping paper.

And as an end note, yes, I sense the irony to be found in my sometimes-environmentalist ways converging with life in LA, a city infamously covered with a layer of smog resembling the color of fire-roasted marshmallows. Gah!

(Image sent by Dad & titled, "Where's Sara?")

The change of seasons, states of heart & mindset

There's something about fall. Even in LA, where the seasons just feel like varying degrees of summer, there are indicators subtly pointing to the fact that, yes, fall is in the air. Scarves are suddenly available for purchase, football is once again on tv, some leaves drop from their trees knowing that the warm weather is only trying to to blind them to what nature has intended, the days insist on getting shorter and the nights get down right chilly.

So, even though the only football I've seen this season was viewed over margaritas during a Sunday afternoon happy hour in Santa Monica with Christine (also known as Sister, Sissy, Teen & favorite person in the world)...I had purchased a scarf that day (same one as Teen, of course), it was in October, and the sun was about to set all too soon. It may not have been raking leaves or picking my own apples, but it was about as seasonal as I was going to get.

Yes, fall is here. And, in most cases, fall is about to turn to winter, which only becomes a reality for me when I return to Minnesota for Christmas and that first gust of icy wind slaps me across the face in the airport parking lot.

Whatever it is about the fall season, it always makes me reflective. It is always my most introverted time of year. I'll drive home without the radio on - just me and my neurotic thoughts coasting along in the golden glow of late afternoon. I'll happily burrow into a sweater, jeans and my beloved flip flops and sit on a Starbucks patio sipping a soy chai for hours on a Sunday afternoon - just me, my book, my journal and the breeze rustling through the palm trees.

What I still haven't figured out is this: is all this reflecting what makes me miss those select friends with hearts of gold, or do I miss them most at this time of year because they are so far away from me, and with all this introvertedness I've made myself a little lonely? Probably a bit of both, but whatever it is about fall, I find myself aching for the company of certain people.

Today, it hit me so hard I was practically in tears. I needed a big dose of Randell in my life. I was inexplicably sad and all I wanted was to turn back time 5 years and walk out of my room and upstairs to find Randell drinking a latte she'd made herself and watching TV in the living room we shared with our 4 other roommates. I spent more than half of my time in Boulder living with her and there is something about this girl that is just so...good. She has the mystical ability to be the nicest person in the world without also being a pushover. I don't know many people like that, do you?

So, after weeks of being "in a mood" I woke up today and desperately wanted something to change. And deep down my heart cried out for the friend I hadn't talked to in months. Randell's smiling friendship is like a blanket to wrap your soul in on a fall afternoon - cozy and safe, soothing and comforting - a good place to stay for a long time.

I got my soy chai, positioned the chair so the 4:00 sun would warm my face, dug my phone out of my bag, called my old roommate and felt my body breathe deep and relax at the sound of her excited, "Hey, Sar! I was just thinking about you today!"

Magic.

I don't know how she does it. (I also don't know how she teaches high school math, but that's another kind of mystery.) I don't know why I react to fall the way I do. And why it sometimes feels good to be melancholy, well, I don't know that either. I do know that I plan to keep Randell forever. We met at 18 and I hope that at 88 we're still running to the grocery store to buy a 4th of July sheet cake that we will bring home and eat on the living room floor with no plates, just 2 forks.

For the love of Randell

"No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth." - Robert Southy

Mood-enhancing footwear

For many, there is The Little Black Dress. That one magical item that you slip on to automatically transform yourself. With the right swathing of dark fabric you are no longer a girl with a few self-doubts hard at work to strong-arm the much wiser inner voice reminding you of all you truly are: smart, witty, kind, strong, generous...beautiful both inside and out. It is often said that in The Little Black Dress, the neurosis fade away so that the truth can shine through.

I do have a black dress, though I wouldn't refer to it as "little." And last week when I masked it's semi-plunging neckline with a white tank, and punched up the color with my magenta pink ballet flats and a multi-strand turquoise necklace, I looked in the mirror and had to grin at the outfit I'd created for the day. Simple, yet fun, it may not have made me feel like a supermodel, but it did convey that I at least put in a little more than minimal effort for the office that day. So, maybe my black dress isn't a member of the Drool-Worthy Clothing Society, but that's okay, because I have something else, too. I have The Boots.

After an extensive search for the perfect height, color, softness, round toe and lack of heel, I have recently indebted myself to quite possibly the most glorious footwear of my 26 years (which is saying a lot, as I am an avid shoe shopper). The Boots, ah, The Boots!

The color of chocolate and butter soft, they were quite possibly intended for Goldilocks - not too tight, not too loose, not too high, nor too dowdy.

They. Are. Perfect.

Case in point: the past few weeks at work have been insanely hectic. There are major projects with major design work and scheduling to deal with - and they're all due at the same time, of course. But if that weren't bad enough, one must attempt to manuveur around the corporate politics and executive egos which are best treated like active landmines...step ever-so-slightly in the wrong direction and they will blow! It's enough that I'm working straight from the moment my butt hits the chair in the morning until I stumble out into the darkness of night way more than the standard 8 hours later. But today - though I huffed and puffed in exasperation, day-dreamed of a hundred different ways to torture my boss and listened to Stacy punch the letters on her keyboard so violently I wouldn't have been surprised to find myself driving her to the hospital for a hand cast at the lovely hour of 7:00 pm when "the attack" began - I wasn't bothered as usual.

Well, I shouldn't get carried away here. I was still bothered, just not to the extent that I usually am. I mean, they're not magic boots, afterall!

What the boots did do is make me smile every time I looked down and gave me the attitude of, "You know what? This isn't the real world - this is a less-humorous episode of The Office. Oh, and my outfit today is adorable and my jewelry is fun and I'm more than whatever you think I am. So, what else do you want to throw at me or say about me? Cuz it's all just going to roll right off my fantastic boots and down into the gutter."

Wait... oh my goodness...maybe the are magic!

So, the fashion magazines may be convinced that every woman needs that figure-flattering black dress and that perfect shade of rouge lipstick to wear like a red badge of courage, but I say this: Ladies, don't give up the search. Try them all on, because out there somewhere is a concoction of loveliness waiting to wrap itself around your ankles and convince you that serotonin indeed may not come from the brain, but from your very happy boot-clad feet.

Oh, and gentlemen, I'm sure the boots of the world don't discriminate by gender. Go ahead, get yours!

I wish you a million happy steps, skips, hops and jaunts away from the bits of life that want to drag you down!

Much like Where's Waldo...just try to find the boots amongst the mess!