Pastel #1

My friend Kordt used to work at a restaurant on Rodeo Drive called "Pastel." The manager was a guy named Fabrice - ebullient guy with a thick French accent. One of the servers there was a woman named Telsie, petite, beautiful, self-assured.

Once, as Fabrice was ushering a couple into Telsie's section, she said, "Oh, no. No, no. Fabrice, I told you I would never wait on them again." Fabrice's response: "Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Telsie," and to the couple, "I'm sorry, you will have to follow me." The woman protested, "What?" and Fabrice, shugged, put his hands up, "It's impossible! Follow me."

Telsie worked two jobs, Pastel during the day and the Playboy Club at night. We went to visit her - I think she had to get us in. We were impressed by her nighttime look, "Oh, my God, Telsie, you've got boobs!" She said, "Oh, yeah, you basically just drag every single bit of your body up into this iron cage and set all of that on a shelf of padding. All of this," (she poked the bottom of her boob) "is just stuffing. Half of this," (poking the top of her boob) came from my thigh." Then she said, "Oh. I have to go deal with those dickheads," and she walked off smiling from ear to ear at a tableful of business men who looked very much like dickheads.

Telsie had bought two houses by the time I left LA.

what i dreamed and wrote down

we became

and then we were

we made more

and learned to stay

we made sounds

and we threw colors

we moved things

and gave them names

and through it all

with every dawn

we reached out 

'til we were gone

It'll Get Better

From January 8, 2014: I was sitting in my car after parking at Kaiser, crying my eyes out from pain and nausea before going in to get an x-ray.

A nice gentleman saw me, motioned for me to roll down my window and said, "It'll get better. It doesn't seem like it, but it will."

I said, "I know! I have a kidney stone!"

The gentle smile fell from his face and he said, "Oh SHIT! That's what I've got! THIS is what I have to look forward to?" and we both laughed our heads off.

Two Times Mom Danced

My mom liked to dance. She wasn’t good at it. She just kind of bobbed around to the music. That’s what we all do, actually. But she loved it and she did it a lot. All the time. But right now, I’d like to tell you about two times my mom danced.

Dance #1

For this first occasion, Teresa and I were returning to the house, pulling into the garage. My mom had an actual clothesline, and she had hung a blanket on it, and it was stretched across the back. She was behind it as we pulled in, but all we could see were her legs, from below the knee down to her bare feet. I stopped the car a way back, so Teresa and I could both look at those disembodied feet. I said, “I wish they would dance,” and at that moment, Bevvy started dancing around. Of course, she had no idea I had said that, but she knew how funny it would look. She knew it would make us laugh...and it did. 

Dance #2

The next time was during that year when mom had such a rough time, getting pneumonia all the time, back when the kids were toddlers. She was in the hospital, and I couldn’t take the kids up to her, so Andy watched the kids as I spent some time with her. When I went to leave, I told her we’d wave up at her window before we left, if she felt like looking out.

The kids and Andy and I went to the lawn below her window and sure enough, she looked out. We were all waving like crazy, and then she danced around, up there in the window, so sick, but never one to pass up an opportunity to celebrate a joyful thing like waving to a couple beautiful, happy babies.

And on…

She knew how to find the fun in so many things. She also knew how to reach out and really care for people. Mom had a great life. She grew up in a family of smart, capable, loving people, and then met the love of her life, Tom. She had a career she loved, working with special people and lovely kids.

She wanted to stay especially for the kids, Lottie, Paul and Ian - and she fought so hard for a long time, but her body could not keep pace with her spirit, her deep will to live.

Back when she was up in the hospital window, after she was dancing, when her body got too tired, she moved away back to her bed, out of our sight. We waved for a minute at the empty window, because toddlers love to wave. We couldn’t see her anymore, but we knew she was still up there, out of reach, still pouring her love down on us. We walked away still bathed in the light of that love.

She’s gone, now, away from the window, but her love still fills our lives.

About her own life, not long before she died, my mom said, “I reached out and got everything I ever wanted.” 

I look forward the many, many more times she will make me laugh again, as, together, we remember things she said and did in her long, wonderful life.

 

I've Got Something Better Than That

When we travelled all the time for ESPN, my friend Kordt and I had a recurring experience at Pea Soup Anderson's at Santa Nella - there was a waitress named Jorge (pronounced Georgie) whose section we'd request. We'd order the Traveller's special, which comes with unlimited bowls of pea soup and various fixings. Kordt would ask for Tobasco. Jorge would say, "I've got something better than that!" and would come back with Cholula. I would try it and pronounce it a vast improvement, but Kordt would try his and agree that while he enjoyed it, he'd still like some Tobasco, which Jorge would retrieve cheerfully.

After a couple bowls, she would ask if we wanted any more soup and we'd tell her we were too full. She'd lament that we'd barely had ANY, and tell us that, one time, a guy ate 13 bowls of soup. We'd exclaim loudly, "Thirteen bowls?!?!" and she'd wait a beat and then, with a twinkle in her eye, she'd say, "I mean...I like Hagan Daaz Vanilla Swiss Almond ice cream, but I couldn't eat 13 bowls of it!" and we'd laugh uproariously. 

We always asked for Jorge's section and this scene was repeated. Every. Single. Time. 

It was perfection. We loved it.

Birds - Identification and Behaviors

 

I'm Meeting Someone

In the early days of newspaper ad dating, I agreed to meet at guy at Sparky's in SF. We described ourselves to one another on the phone ahead of time. He was 6 feet tall, with dark hair and blue eyes; I said I'd be wearing a blue sweater.

At the time of the date, I went to the restaurant and ordered a coffee at the counter from the waiter, telling him that I was meeting someone there. A tall guy with dark hair came in and told the waiter the same thing had said - that he was meeting someone.

I asked, "Are you Paul?" He looked at me and said, "Nope." A minute or so later, he left. I felt the blood rush to my face, since I was sure he had just bailed.

I was working up my nerve to ask for the bill so I could leave, when another tall guy walked in. I didn't say anything.

The waiter studiously wiped the counter down.

The guy kind of cleared his throat and said, "Um. Are you Darcy?"

The waiter burst out, "Oh, thank GOD!"