A peek inside Jo's head

I can't help but become reflective this time of year. There is so much build up to the holidays and then in a mere few days Christmas simply passes. And now it is 35 degrees outside in Arizona and a cold wind blows across the moonlit desert and I am inside, new slippers on, trying to stay warm; thinking ahead to 2009.

If 2009 is anything like 2008, I have faith good things will happen. Although, I am a bit weary: 2009 has quite the challenge to beat this past year.

I am reflective on friendships. You can't stay in touch with everyone and in the year and a half I have been in Los Angeles I have discovered that it holds true for everyone, even myself, whom I've always prided "stays in touch with everyone." I came home for a week and a half this year, thinking what vast amounts of time that provided me, and no, in a few days I am gone. I didn't get to read all the books I wanted to read (see last post). I didn't see everyone I wanted to see. I had visions of creating another painting or charcoal drawing...nah. Running every day. Yeah, right. But I did see my best girlfriends, and I suppose that counts for something.

I thought about it, last night, as these girlfriends and I sat squished around a booth at one of the divest of dive bars in Scottsdale, a biker bar type of joint where thongs and the occasional bra hung from the ceiling. Anyway, that's where we ended up and I thought about how--although it's incredibly rare that the four of us are ever in the same room any longer--that I have had such unique experiences with these girls since moving. I have gotten to know my Chicago friend and her fiance in whole new ways, as I've come to see them a few different times and we've had the most grossly inappropriate late night conversations. Let's just put it this way...we share everything! (And I wouldn't have it any other way). My friend Lisa and I trekked to Croatia and she's come to Los Angeles three times now. We have so many memories and her loyalty shines through. Tiffany, who I thought was lost, has suddenly re-emerged from the ashes. She'll be road-tripping it back with me to Los Angeles in a few days and I'm reminded again, all over, why she was one of my first friends in Arizona.

My point is this: We are four different people and now our life experiences have taken us in separate directions. But together those experiences and our lives create a beautiful quilt, overlapping patterns and interwoven memories. These, I know, will be lifelong friendships. I am sure.

But what else am I reflecting on? What about 2009? I want this coming year to not be marked as a year of triumph or survival; not as a year of dramatic independence or bouts of faith set forth in a new city. No, this year won't be another 2008...

I want to cook more often and to cook more for others. Many of my greatest Los Angeles memories have been made in my tiny galley kitchen in Brentwood with new and old friends.

I want to make my health a greater priority. I want to join a new pilates studio so that I may go more often. I want to hike more in the green, lush, wild wonders which lie near the ocean. Drink more green tea and watch passersby and be content with just that.

I want to hammer out my LA List. There is still so much to do and time is always uncertain.

I want to keep my heart open but not allow time to waste away on the wrong person.

I want to surround myself and indulge myself in the simple pleasures in life. Plants and clean sheets and a nice glass of wine. Long walks in the afternoon. The New York Times at Peet's Coffee up the street. A luxurious afternoon of smut tivo. Sugar scrubs, museum strolls, the ocean's lullaby.

I want to travel, travel, travel.

I want to go to Omaha to see my relatives. I hardly know them. If I don't go in 2009, I'll never go.

I want to just try to be a good person.

And so, in two days, I'll embark on the six hour drive (well, sometimes 12) to Los Angeles with one of my crazy best friends. As soon as we arrive, I'll show her to the wine and then start to clean the apartment (I wasn't able to do so before I left since I was so sick). We'll go and get cheap manicures. I'll ring up the Brentwood crew. We'll eat some tasty Italian food. We'll....

Who would have thought, two years ago, that I would be ringing in 2009 in Los Angeles? Love it!

'Tis the season

Just a few days ago I was having trouble walking. It hurt to turn my head. The pain made my eyes sting with tears; my entire body hurt. I haven't been in that much pain in about 10 years. The doctor said it was just a virus and there wasn't anything they could do to help me. I wouldn't have made it home to Arizona if my friend Eric had not driven me the entire 12 hours. Are all Erics good guys? Possibly so. And it's not always 12 hours. Only when a big rig decides to fall across an interstate highway, blocking Los Angeles traffic to a mere one lane glacier crawl.

Anyway, Christmas in Arizona is just the opposite of bitter cold, but this time of year still makes me want to curl up and stay inside. My mother has been baking Croatian goodies, sugar cookies, peanut brittle, cakes, chocolate chip cookies...God knows what else. My best friends are here. My brother is home. The dog is in a great mood. Life is good.

This is my time to read by the Christmas tree or with a glass of wine. With that in mind, here's my latest book list, besides The Last Temptation of Christ, which I am still working on.

7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Stephen R. Covey. I have my Dad's version from the early 90s or late 80s, which offers an element of wisdom transcending the generations? Or maybe just the smell of an old book? Not sure. But whatever, the 7 habits haven't changed much in the last couple of decades so the message is still there.

Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway. I like the way Ernie writes. He's got a lot to say.

White Album, Joan Didion. I've read a lot of articles by Joan so I have no doubt I'll enjoy this collection of essays.

Start Your Own Business, Riva Lesonsky. It's just what it says.

Myths of the Ancient Greeks, Richard P. Martin. A topic I've been wanting to study.

Hope and I

The Hope Hygieia. Photo courtesy The Getty, Los Angeles.

My two closest work friends and I were underneath the stars, rubbernecking the buildings and city lights that surrounded us, nibbling on manchego and dainty butter cookies. I thought to myself how urban Museum Row and Miracle Mile feels at night. Los Angeles, such a fickle city, managed to surprise me once again.

We were nestled in a courtyard at LACMA at a private reception and tour of the Hearst collection and Vanity Fair exhibit. I have decided, now, that I much prefer the museums at night. Tonight, LACMA was tranquil and warm. There was something inviting about the red glow of the lights inside the onsite cafe that led us in to have some wine pre-viewing. And our tour guide was knowledgeable, personal; a wonderful story teller. Can't these receptions be every month?

All of the art was fascinating, but one piece in particular I was drawn to. The Hope Hygieia, Goddess of Health. Our guide discussed details of Roman sculpture but one comment about The Hope made me smile. Our guide said, "See how she's standing, how she looks away. It's not that she is is avoiding your eyes. She just has other things to think about."

Isn't there something lovely about that?

Me

Croatia - on the Island of Hvar.

I am outspoken and opinionated and brash but let me be shy. I will be shy if I like you.

I was told once that I duck my head just so, when I laugh, and my shoulders tighten with joy. Why dip my head to hide such a smile?

I am used to knowing the answers and being the overly confident one. Let me be unsure; let me be the Explorer. It is not that I am afraid; it’s that I adore the process of discovering the unknown.

My life is padded with friends. They catch me and enfold me; like palm fronds and grape leaves they shield me from the winds of life. They are my Light.

Don’t assume that I know. Let me be told I am beautiful because I am not always quite sure.

I care what people think but think that I don’t care. I work hard but am not always sure what I am working towards.

At night I count sheep to sleep. I count backwards sweetly, starting with 100, and then I might drift off to DreamLand sometime around 74.

Do I smile too much? Do I laugh too loud? Let me be clumsy and silly. Beneath the giggles is a brain that is addicted to the news; my mice wheel of thoughts that are never-ending and ever-dreaming.

I drink music in like caramel. I am the honey-glazed notes of a piano.

I’ve long debated whether I am a night person or a morning flower and I know now that I am one of Morning. I feel peace in the first light of day.

This is Me. I am sure.

The little things

Today

I have spread wet linen
On lavendar bushes,
I have swept rose petals
From a garden walk.
I have labeled jars of raspberry jam,
I have baked a sunshine cake;
I have embroidered a yellow duck
On a small blue frock,
I have polished andirons,
Dusted the highway,
Cut sweet peas for a black bowl,
Would the tall clock,
Pleated a lace ruffle. . .
Today
I have lived a poem.

~Ethel Romig Fuller

Sometimes I find that it's the little things that are most satisfying. I seem to have tossed my to-do list aside this weekend. I didn't run the errands I wanted to; I didn't go into the office. I laughed until my throat ran dry at my work Christmas party on Friday night. I spent a lazy Saturday morning watching television with my roommate. I hiked alone through the lush green California hills. I had drinks with Infatuation and friends. Made tomato-cream soup, sprinkled with fresh basil. I slept in 'til nearly noon on Sunday. Had an afternoon glass of wine near the ocean with friends. Started to read a new book. Folded towels; held them to my face to breathe in the lavendar.

And that's all I needed.

Serenity

Do you ever feel as though you just want a few hours alone, to clear your head, to loosen the knots that conquer your neck, your stomach?

As much of a social butterfly that I may be, today I escaped for a few hours to hike Temescal Canyon solo. I moved fast, wheezing and breathing hard up through the canyon trail. Sweat ran down my neck and dampened the back of my shirt. My body felt good to be in motion. I passed by other hikers, foreigners, couples, a man rehearsing his acting lines to himself. It was a sunshiney day, yet not bright.

When I reached the top of the ridge, it was as though a gift waited. Through the clouds that hovered over the Pacific, the sun shined down through one solitary hole in the atmosphere. The effect it had on the ocean was stunning. While most of the water was a green-gray, where the sun shone it sparkled like diamonds.

Although it's December, here in Los Angeles it's 70 degrees and gorgeous. The leaves are changing and falling but for the most part, the hiking trail is a brilliant green. One tree in particular was a cranberry-red. This photo reminds me of it (courtesy of Martin LaBar, Flickr).

Paradise.

An early morning run-in with my (ex) friend

I’m standing in the security line at Sky Harbor Airport with my bright red carry-on bag, clutching my purse in one hand and my ID and boarding pass in the other. Every minute or so, the line crawls forward, slow and steady, filled with gluttonous post-Thanksgiving travelers on their way back home. Every few feet or so, I glance back to the middle of the line. My eyes quickly scan the faces there. Nothing. I then glance further down, to the tail, eyeing the men in line; their posture, hair style. What they’re wearing.

Nope, still nothing. I do not see my ex boyfriend.

Yet I continue to look, because my sixth sense is sending off sirens. He’s here! it says. But where?

I reach the security podium as though it were a finish line. As I am handing over my ID and boarding pass, I glance to my right. And there he is, just about five feet away from me, holding out his boarding pass as well. The timing was impeccable, as though it were rehearsed.

Our stares are a mixture of shock, familiarity, knowing. His face reads, “Oh shit, I don’t believe it.” We laugh.

“I knew it!” I said, “I just KNEW it! I was looking for you.”

“I was looking for you, too. I knew it,” he said, “I got here today and something told me: Something is amuck.”

Still at the podium, a sinking feeling hits me. “Are you,” I ask, “on the 8:30 flight to LAX?”

“Yes.”

Shit.

My flustered reaction is delayed. Suddenly I am aware I’m not wearing a lot of make-up. That I’ve gained 10 pounds. I fix my shirt, smooth my hair. I wonder what he sees.

We take different security screening lines. For me, it’s not to avoid him. The line I choose is shorter and I finish first. I stand awkwardly at the end of his line and when he emerges, I blurt out, “You don’t have to sit with me on the plane, you know.”

“No, Jo, I think it’s time we catch up.” I ignore my urge to ask why he doesn’t email or call if it’s time, why wait for a serendipitous airport run-in? But I keep these thoughts to myself.

He says something about needing to use the restroom and I proceed to our gate by myself. I don’t know whether to sit or stand, so I stand. A good five minutes passes and when he finds me he asks about work. I am a few details in with my update when I tell him, “It’s hard to look at you. I’m not sure if I can.”

“Nope, let’s do this. Right here,” he says, pointing to his eyes. I start again.

And that was all. The nervousness, the awkwardness, it all washed away. It was just liked it had always been. We sit down together on the plane and trade stories about our last year, of family and traveling; of work and friends. It is surreal and familiar all at once to receive an annual update from someone that I used to talk to several times a day.

We laugh about memories. I tell him I remember the one time he ate so much ice cream at Disneyland, it was as though he was drunk. He teases me that I’ve “ruined” certain words for him, words I used often that every time he hears, he thinks of me. We banter back and forth about inside jokes, long ago locked away in velvet corners of our minds. We both are thinking of traveling to Peru next year, ironically.

I observe his face and the way he talks, and I remember. I look into his caramel-hazelnut eyes and I remember a time when that felt like a warm blanket. Now it’s looking into the face of an old friend. I see his two- or three-day unshaven face, how I used to tease him about it! I even inspect his shoes. Yes, I think he wore those when we were dating. I am a sponge, observing. Taking it all in.

But not once did I actually feel. Not once did I feel sad. Not once did I have regret. Not once did I think a wrong decision had been made.

And so, as our plane descends to Los Angeles, with scarcely five minutes left, I casually bring up what I once never thought I would say.

“So…are you…dating?” I say. Casual. Easy. “Anyone?”

He looks out the window. A long pause.

“Jo, let’s not go there.” He stares out the window. It’s a sunny day in Los Angeles. “Let’s not go there.”

“Okay.”

In LAX, things bounce back. We reach the baggage claim area, where he has to scour for his bag and I have to hop into a cab.

“Well, this was actually fun!” I can’t read his face anymore, can’t tell if he’s putting on his charm or being genuine. I choose to vote genuine.

“Yeah, me, too. I’m glad you’re doing well.” I smile. “That you’re happy.”

He gives me not one but two hugs, tight and long.

“Let’s not wait so long next time to catch up,” he says.

And then I’m off, washed away into the stream of people, swept out the door, into the city.

Later that day, I send him an email. I don’t care if he responds. I know we won’t be friends, but I send him a note anyway.

I don’t know if I ever explicitly said this, but thank you for a fantastic three years and for playing such a large part in my move to Los Angeles. I’m very grateful.

And I am.