Mostly a bad day. Or maybe not.

I don’t really know anymore.

One probably shouldn’t blog in a melancholy mood, but at the same time – if it’s authentic and real – why the hell not?

So let’s see: Last night the dog attacked the cat and really – pardon my French – f*cked him up. I wasn’t actually in the immediate vicinity, but as I understand it, steak was involved and the (very food aggressive) Malamute noticed that the (very food aggressive) Himalayan cat was moving in, and he tore him a new one. Literally.

Fu’s chin is covered in stitches and he’s missing some fur by his left eye. He’s also QUITE emotionally traumatized.

As am I.

Add to the mix that not one, but TWO people I consider very close and important friends called me out on the carpet – separately and without much padding or candy coating – on all the ways I sabotage myself and make excuses and hold myself back and stay stuck in patterns that aren’t serving me.

This had nothing to do with the cat.

It just also happened to happen today.

So ouch.

Is there anyone that’s ever happy to hear this stuff about how we’re our own worst enemy? Even when we know it’s true?

Don’t get me wrong.

These were lectures given with love.

And they weren’t off-base.

Maybe the worst sentiment of the whole day was something along the lines of, “If I came to you with these excuses, you would kick my ass and give me really good advice and totally straighten me out. Why can’t you do that for yourself?”

Double ouch.

And yet…

I have been saying “the book will be done in a week or two” for…

I don’t know?

Ten weeks?

Twelve?

And  some of it is legit – my friend died brutally of a brain tumor, and I made a conscious decision to be there with her in those last months, and I’m so glad I did – but some of it is bullshit. In truth, I keep finding new ways to distract myself or chase other rainbows and what I really, really, really, really want to do – deep down and with every bone in my body – is finish this last editing and contact agents and sell this damn thing and realize a lifelong dream and make some money and effect the future of required reading lists and change the world, but I think I’m also totally scared and terrified and vulnerable and dealing with all that by sabotaging myself.

So my plans (to attend the Isha Yoga Inner Engineering program in Seattle this week) have been nixed, and I will – no more excuses – finish the book and contact at least a handful of agents by the end of next week.

I have to.

This has gone on long enough.

I’m so close it’s absurd.

Which is what I guess is what spawned the WTF!? lectures delivered at both 11am and 11pm today.

Or maybe it’s just some weird alignment of stars in the universe?

Either way, it worked.

Anyway, it just got me thinking about how we cling to our ways – good, bad, and indifferent – and this really sweet song by Cy Coleman (as sung by Fiona Apple because that’s what I could find on YouTube) about just that.

To anyone else out there getting in their own way: I can relate, and if you can’t do it for yourself, I wish for you that some dear friend comes along and gives you a dose of tough love sometime soon. Or if they don’t or if your friends are too polite, send me enough information that I can do it for you.

It’s no picnic.

You may cry.

It hurts…but in a good way.  xo

At first I thought it was spam. I hoped it was spam, because it seemed a little bit mean. The part about my game. So I decided it must be spam.  Then I realized it wasn’t spam, largely because the first word of said spam happened to be my first name.

“Vanessa. I have been waiting for your blogg. Ki you really need to step up your game.
Is something else taking your focus away from writing? Everyone can spit, But few can spit around the corner.
Just a tip from your old uncle Dors.”

And you  know what?

Old Uncle Dors is on crack.

But he’s also onto something.

I have no freaking idea what the spitting stuff is about. I’m chalking that up to the crack.

But otherwise – although completely baffling – he’s kinda right. There are a few things taking the focus away from my writing. I don’t really like to get into my personal issues in this medium, but I suppose the long silences and extended absences may require some kind of explanation or commentary.

Thus, as much as I hesitate to go there in public, please enjoy a short list – in no particular order – of the myriad issues that distract my mind and take my focus away from my writing:

Damn. They should hire him to do the next Exorcist movie.

• Generalized fears about solar flares
• Generalized fear of that Millionaire Matchmaker lady.
• What the eff happened to Gary Coleman?
• Deep thoughts of no particular consequence
• Why can’t I do a cartwheel?
• Why didn’t I move that 401K when the stock was still worth something?
• Does Eric Clapton really get off on ‘57 Chevys? Define ‘get off’,’ because I think maybe I have a different idea of what getting off means? Does he mean he gets off on or he gets off ON? Man, I hate that song.
• Why do I keep dreaming about snakes?
• Who wrote the book of love?
• Wouldn’t it be nice if there really were such a thing as money trees? Like a plant that makes money, not a store where you trade your car title for $50 or whatever. Those are real.

Last count, he was 542 years old. So either he's a vampire or he's dead.

• My throat hurts and my ear aches and my skin is kind of sensitive and my head hurts and my hair hurts oh, dammit, I think I’m getting sick.
• Is Papa Smurf still alive?
• Are we really going to transcend to the fifth dimension on December 21, 2012 and what will the weather be like?
• Does my bologna have a first name?
• What’s up with brain tumors besides the fact that they suck balls?
• Low-grade fear of whatever it is that happened to Heidi Fleiss’ face.
• Generalized anxiety about money.
• Generalized anxiety about Monet.
• Man, did they screw up Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs or what? That was my FAVORITE book as a little girl. The movie was total crap. Actually, I quit after the first 15 minutes when the town wasn’t even named Chewandswallow, but I’m assuming the rest of it was equal parts crap.
• How come?
• Why not?
• What if?
• What’s wrong with Jennifer Anniston such that everyone always dumps her? Seriously, she seems so pretty and funny and is “America’s Sweetheart”, but obviously there’s something way wrong there. Ceaseless nose picking? An unpredictable mean streak?

I prefer cherry.

• Do androids dream of electric sheep?
• If Clonazepam is for seizures, how does somebody get addicted to it? And why?
• How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?
• Is there an app for that?
• Wondering where the lions are.
• Huh?
• Was Sherlock Holmes really that much of a badass in the books, or is that something they invented for the movie?
• How much coffee is too much coffee?
• Did the groundhog see his shadow or not and does it really matter and – the real question here – when the hell is it going to be warm and sunny again?
• Why haven’t I heard from my dad in like a month?
• What ever happened to Baby Jane?
• What’s the price of tea in China?
• Blog? What blog? Oh yeah. That blog.

Her old nose was thicker, but with the new one, maybe a little bit. But not really. I don't know. I have no perspective.

Let me count the ways…

At the moment, there’s a stupid Facebook thing going around where you’re supposed to go to urbandictionary.com and do a search on your first name and then post it as your status.

There’s also one where you’re supposed to change your profile picture to your ‘celebrity doppleganger.’ but I don’t have one. Once in a blue moon someone says I look like Jennifer Aniston, but I don’t see it. She has a lot more chin than I do.

Anyway, normally I don’t do any of that stuff, and my status pulls from Twitter, but I decided to look it up just to see. And blow me down, if names were a beauty contest, I’m taking first prize.

I had no idea people were out there defining names on urbandictionary.com as if they were blanket truths (or words to be defined), but take a gander:

Vanessa

1. A moderately common name for an American female; pretty; hot; beautiful; perfect; cutest girl you’ll ever see; angel

2. As stated in other definitions of vanessa she is always known as being cute, and is the basic definition of perfection. she is the most beautiful girl in the world, and is perfect in every single way. people associated with the name vanessa are usually attracted to large wooden clocks.
vanessa is beautful and perfect

***What? Clocks? Large wooden clocks? What the hell does that mean? Does that mean people associated with me have the clock fetish or that I’m supposed to? (Must pay more attention to wooden clocks moving forward…)***

3. Means Butterfly in greek

***Actually, it doesn’t. In ancient Greek “psyche” was the word for butterfly, but now it’s petalou’da.***

When I was a little girl, people would always ask me if I was named after Vanessa Redgrave. I had no idea who Vanessa Redgrave was, but I would always say "Yes" because it seemed easier that way.

4. The hottest chick on EARTH, damnn you know that ANYONE named Vanessa is the hottest chick you will ever see. Anyone named Vanessa is hottest than the damn sun itself.

BOY1: yeah I’m hanging out with vanessa today.
BOY2: V-v-v-v-anessa..is her name?
BOY1: yeah dude why?
BOY2: SHES SOOO HOTT ISNT SHE?!?!
BOY1: NO SHIT BRO, NO SHIT..EVERY CHICK NAMED VANESSA IS HOTT.

5. A beautiful girl.
Loves music, hanging out with her friends, and eating.
Very friendly, sexy, and stylish.
The one best friend everyone wants.
The one girl every guy wants.
Shes tough so dont mess around with her.
Shes the most special girl in the world.

I want to meet my perfect Vanessa.

***This is uncanny. Has someone been following me around???***

6. Cute, beautiful, Visionary, Amazing, Neat, Amusing

Vanessa, You’re the only Vanessa in my world.

7. Smart, Funny, Charming, Caring, Responsible, Beautiful, Gorgeous Eyes that would be so easy to get lost in, yet you would never care, so lost yet held there so happy so content, and a smile that lights up a room and makes your heart pound. A rare combination, someone beautiful inside as well as outside.

Vanessa is an amazing person.

***On second thought, all this is a bit much. I’m starting to get creeped out. Why on earth have so many people written these wackadoo “definitions” for the name Vanessa? Weren’t the first five more than enough?***

8. Invented by Jonathan Swift as a nickname for his lady friend Esther Vanhougan.

That is pretty cute.

9. The most amazing types of people. Always makes a best friend and never lets you down. Loves green tea and tea tree and has the most amazing lime coconut cookies Super pretty and loves Simba Shares an interest in Disney movies with Avonlee. The most amazing type of person in the world and everyone who knows a Vanessa is very lucky <3

***Simba like The Lion King? Obviously this one was written by a ten-year old. But it’s still spot-on in many ways…***

Just so you don’t think it’s all about me (although it mostly is), here’s the definition for my very best friend.

Dozer

1. Marijuana, Weed, Herb, Mary Jane, Reefer, Grass, Dope, Green, Green Wood.

Smoking marijuana tends to get some people sleepy, in other words some people “doze” off.

-That dozer we smoked knocked me out

-Yall niggas think I’m trippin cuz I’m on dat dozer -Master P

He is a serious dope.

I had no idea.

2. A person who toils mindlessly at the same mundane endeavors as their forefathers without ever seeking to alter their course or advance their processes in anyway. (from HBO’s Fraggle Rock, Dozers perpetually built and rebuilt structures for the Fraggles to devour)

The dozers can’t seem to grasp the idea because it wasn’t listed in the manual.

Tee hee. It’s funny because it’s true. And it explains the random girl in the street who once gushed on about Fraggle Rock. We didn’t have HBO when I was a kid.

3. A Bulldozer

In other news, I’ve become obsessed with VH1’s Celebrity Rehab Season Three (and those of you watching know what I’m talking about – Dennis Rodman! Heidi Fleiss and Tom Sizemore AND they used to be in love and she got him on meth and he ultimately betrayed her!!! Mackenzie Phillips!!!!!), and when I was told that Leif Garrett (who I had to Google to figure out who that was. Whatever. Before my time.) was arrested for heroin possession, my very first thought was, ‘Yay! He can go on the next Celebrity Rehab!”

EXHIBIT A: Dennis Rodman.

I also have a huge crush on Dr. Drew. I don’t even have addiction problems, but I would like to check into the Pasadena Recovery Center and tell Dr. Drew all my sad stories and have him affirm that he is witnessing my pain right now and make it all better.

But I digress…

What I wanted to say is that I discovered you can watch complete episodes of Celebrity Rehab on VH1’s website and there was a still shot of Dennis Rodman on the screen, and I had a sudden epiphany: Dennis Rodman looks exactly like Mrs. Potato Head.

Seriously, give him a little red purse and slap a daisy on his wrist, and it’s doppleganger time.

EXHIBIT B: Mrs. Potato Head. (The defense rests.)

Dennis, if you’re out there and you have a Facebook account, feel free to update your profile picture accordingly.

You be the judge.

As I’m sure you will.

Anyway, my old cell phone had a camera, but it was quite possibly the sh*ttiest camera ever made.

Thus, I wasn’t too upset to say goodbye to the few semi-interesting photos on it, as it could’ve been a taxidermied Kodiak bear in the Fairbanks, AK airport or it could have been any old  pine cone. It was hard to tell.

In sharp contrast, my new Blackberry takes AMAZING pictures, and although I don’t use it as much as I should, I am slowly getting into the habit of recording random interesting things I come across on this little ball of rock we call earth.

Or at least the little segment I’m occupying at any given time.

So, seeing as none of these images are life-changing in any particular sense, I suppose I’ll go in chronological order:

These look like shrooms, but they are not shrooms.

Okay, so these are some kind of mushrooms I picked up in the Lihue Costco as grown by Fungal Jungle in Kauai. Depending upon your life experience, you may or may not realize that they look EXACTLY like shrooms. EX-ACTLY.

But they’re not.

And I guess the good news here is that they don’t taste like shrooms either, but there’s still something terribly unnerving about seeing them on your dinner plate.

Next, in the “What the hell have you been doing for the last month? Oh…really? Wow. That’s super boring.” slide show is a truck grill I saw at the Wal-Mart (yes. The Wal-Mart. I go to Wal-Mart, and – to the best of my knowledge, so help me god – I have never appeared on the “People of Wal-Mart” website and been mocked as such. What can I say? I loves a bargain. And everything is 10% to 60% cheaper than it is at the surrounding grocery stores. You’d have to be a friggin’ idiot NOT to shop at Wal-Mart. That, or have more pride or a desire to not see a grown man wet himself and his scooter while waiting in line. Either way.)

Menacing.

There really isn’t a whole lot to say here except the obvious: This is the grill of a man who owns an oversized truck and still feels a deep need to assert his manhood through gasoline consumption and menacing custom skeleton-based ‘art’ soldered to the front of his gigantic motor vehicle.

Note the strategically placed bulbs in their eye sockets. I only wish I could’ve seen this baby lit up in the dark of night, bearing down on me on a lonely road, as I….

Wait.

What was I talking about?

Oh yeah.

1960’s row homes converted into castles through the magic of sheet metal fabrication.

Fake castle

So……

There it is.

A faux castle in a lower-middle-class neighborhood.

Impressive.

Yet sad.

And I’m still typing.

I need to fill in the space next to the picture.

Or things will get kerplooey in terms of photo to text symmetry.

And I’m all about photo-to-text symmetry.

You would be too if you had a blog about nothing. It’s the Seinfeld of blogs without the notoriety or writers or success or paycheck or anything that makes life worth living.

Pike Place Market produce

So anyway…here comes another one.

Of some very attractive produce.

Which is probably boring.

But I think is very, very pretty.

And – let’s check it off here – I think all the colors of the rainbow are represented.

Except maybe blue.

I ate some of those Brussels sprouts.

And they were awesome.

And also a lemon or two.

Me and Dozer. He could eat me if he really wanted to.

Finally, in conclusion to a somewhat painful post which was as much an excuse to post after a lengthy silence as it was a reason to share some semi-worthless photos on my phone, allow me to share a photo of me and Dozer, the rare self-portrait a la Blackberry.

Yes, his head really is that big.

No. I have not yet developed a circus act where I stick my own head in his mouth…but I’m thinking about it.

“Black lab Bronson’s owner, Deborah Allen, trundled home from the nearby fields with a poisonous reptile hanging from his face.

Poor Puppy.

Bronson is often bringing objects he finds in the fields back to his owners’ farmhouse at Yarragon, near Melbourne, Australia, but the day he brought home the deadly copperhead snake topped them all for Deborah and her husband Peter.

The snake’s tail was in Bronson’s mouth, its body was wrapped around his jaw and the reptile’s head was dangling down between the dog’s feet.

Deborah and Peter were terrified that the snake might raise its fangs and give Bronson a deadly bite, but it appeared to have come off the worst in the battle between canine and reptile and was in a dazed state.

‘The first thing we did was grab a camera and take a picture, because this had to be believed,’ said Deborah. ‘The look on Bronson’s face left us in no doubt he was feeling very sad about having his mouth clamped shut by the snake’s body.

‘You could see by his expression that he just wanted the picture session to be over with as soon as possible.’”

Yes. He was hoping you’d get past the pictures and get on to the snake removal.

However, when Bronson didn’t realize is that the first thing you do when a snake bites you or a pet is take a photo of it. That’s snake bite 101. Snake bite = photo time.

Better yet, bust out your video camera and take your best shot at “America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

Imagine the hilarious voice-over they’d give this venomous situation! A veritable laugh riot! Hilarious stuff!

So anyway…

The couple were eventually able to remove the snake by lowering a grain bag to the ground and then pulling it up over the reptile, while at the same time pulling its body from Bronson’s mouth.  ’As soon as I said “give” Bronson dropped the snake right into the bag and we sealed up the ends.

They then rushed Bronson to a local vet, where a blood test confirmed he had received a bite from the snake. He was put on a drip and after four days was allowed to return home in the best of health.

Now first off, being no stranger to vet overnight visits, let me tell you a mere ‘four days on a drip’ is going to run about $4000. Seriously. And if they start doing EKGs and whatever the hell else they deem necessary? Well, it’s worse than a mechanic who realizes you have no idea how a car works.

Secondly, the photo thing really does kind of blow my mind. Especially now that I know that the dog had already been bitten. On the other hand, without the photo there probably wouldn’t be much of a news story…so I guess I should bear that in mind the next time Dozer eats a huge Costco package of dried mangos (last night) or a 14 oz. container of chocolate cover-espresso beans or a box of raisins or whatever other toxic substance comes his way next.

A picture tells a thousand words, so (obviously) photos make it an awesome story!

And thus, here one is, repeated in my blog for your reading enjoyment. Maybe not so much because it’s fascinating or news-worthy or life-affirming, but because it makes me feel better about my own idiot dog. Sure he’s been stung – in the mouth – snapping at yellow jackets, but he’s never brought home a poisonous snake.

Yet.

Good boy!

I could go on and on – foot binding, suicide bombers, The Darfur genocide, child pornography, the destruction of the environment, human trafficking, evil multinational corporations, famine, animal abuse, zombies, Fox News, and Tom Cruise’s ego – but it’s super depressing, so why bother recounting the endless list of our shortcomings as a species? You know what they are.

My dad used to do this SETI@home thing. Maybe he still does?

Regardless, the title of this post got me thinking. It came from this article I read entitled, “Scientist: Alien Life Could Already Be On Earth,” which wasn’t nearly as exciting nor fulfilling as one might’ve hoped. But I digress.

After suggesting the rather ho-hum premise that things such as organisms that live in hot springs (or my hot tub?) could have alien origin, he then digressed into a reflection about how our chances of having more exciting alien life show up are dwindling. You see, our former din of analog TV noise is disappearing as we switch to digital broadcasting, and we will soon become undetectable to other worlds. So not only is Comcast running an extortion scam on every last one of us, they’re ruining our chances of getting rescued off this rock and taken to a land where HBO is free.

Anyway, due to this looming lack of SOS, the scientists at SETI were excited by the possibility of using lasers to send super-bright flashes of light into space for a tiny fraction of a second and which could theoretically be seen by an advanced civilization up to 1,000 light years away. The issue, in the end, isn’t the signal so much as would any alien civilization would want anything to do with us in the first place?

Not the most attractive aliens on the block.

“For this to work … There has to be altruism in the universe.”

And not only altruism, but a complete and total lack of access to our media.

That or technological advancement combined with a stunning inability to judge character. Because, as we darn well know, unless they’ve come to blow us up, alien life would be best served to make a right turn at Jupiter and keep on going because we are one nasty and greedy plague.

Have you noticed that there are less and less true monster movies, and more and more ‘humans as monsters” movies. Where even the bad guys (aliens, vampires, vicious wild animals) in the end are the good guys when squared off with human beings? And don’t even get me started on all that “Saw” stuff.

I’m not saying it’s not all plausible, it’s just depressing.

Like District 9? I was despeartely hoping for the aliens to get out of South Africa and get away from us.

The Navi, on the other hand, are downright hot.

And Avatar made me wish I could move to Pandora, instead of walking outside to once again mingle with the kind of jerks that blow up and strip mine a beautiful and magical world in order to get at something they could sell for money.

I think what makes those plots so uncomfortable for me is that it’s not just feasible…it’s likely. It’s stuff we do every day to our own species and our own home. And it makes me wish the Navi existed and would be open to adopting me. Or even the District 9 ‘Prawns.’ They’re not much to look at, but I could adjust.

So what am I talking about?

I have no idea.

Maybe just that there probably is alien life out there, and they’ve gotten our Hitler broadcasts and Ku Klux Klan footage and listened to five minutes of The Howard Stern Show and realized we are not worth their time.

And perhaps our only hope is the fact that we’ve finally started to realize it and maybe can learn to collectively change our ways.

Or does that kind of stuff only happen in the movies?

She was more graceful, grateful, cheerful, and selfless during the worst days of this than most people are when everything is going their way. It was an honor to have known her and been her friend.

The blog has officially lost a very dedicated and enthusiastic reader, and I’ve lost a fellow writer, dog-lover, seeker, traveler, cook, co-conspirator and steadfast believer that there is nothing so awful that you can’t find the humor in it…including terminal brain tumors.

She will be horribly missed.

“I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.” ~Anne Frank

Island dogs spotted in the distance

I have no idea what this fantasy business does, I simply have an unshakeable knowing that Dozer’s happy and newly Hawaiian mug would make for fine advertising.

Anyway, I was at the beach yesterday and these two dogs were running around, tied together with a surf board tether.

Now, the inherent arrogance of the dog chain gang is the assumption that at least one of them is not a raving idiot…and that the ‘good’ one is the dominant dog.

In my case, back when I had two dogs, this would have been a terrible plan.

Pixie, my German Shepherd, was physically much smaller, but she was also about three hundred times more clever. And she lived to run off. My nickname for her was “The Bolter” as there was nothing that dog loved better than to catch the scent of a rabbit two miles in the distance and take off after it…with Dozer in tow.

Headed my way.

The amazing thing was if you called Dozer, he would often come back.

Tether them together?

Not so much.

So anyway, back to my point, these two dogs – a Jack Russell Terrier and ???. I don’t know. Maybe a white Jack Russell? Or a Jack Russell mixed with something white? – were tied together and roaming the beach. I can only assume from both locale (Donkey Beach – rough waves for anything but surfing) and circumstance (the surfboard tether holding them together) that their owner was a surfer who’d left them to do as they pleased as he rode the waves.

I saw them walking around and kind of waited for the moment when one would try to go one way and the other would have none of it and there’d be a battle of wills…but that didn’t happen. Rather, in tandem, they sensed the vibe of a sucker and came and hung with me. And they were super mellow and kick-back, which I suppose is befitting a Kauai-based surfer dog.

Unsure about sloppy kisses from a strange island dog. The SPF 500 I favor gives me the appearance of an escaped member of a Kabuki theater troupe.

I didn’t have any food, but they didn’t seem to mind. The white one (the male) content to hang out on my towel, and the bi-color female not far off. And not to imply there’s some magic power I have over dogs, when I got up to leave, they simply rearranged themselves a few feet from where I’d been, and continued hanging out on the sand. So there’s really no point here. Just I wanted to share my humorous observation about the arrogance of tying two dogs together and letting them roam. And publish these cute doggie pictures. And I suppose that has led to the realization that I could dress Dozer up like an island dog, but he’d never really be one.

Even five minutes alone on a beach could result in a wide variety of disasters:

General barking and growling at small children – He’s afraid of toddlers…and most pre-schoolers…and anyone with a really high-pitched or shrieky voice gets him amped out of his mind.

Food snatching – I tell people that living with Dozer is like living with a black bear. You have to hang all your food from the trees or store it in bear-proof containers. He’d pretty much go through a car windshield if he thought there was a slice of pizza in it for him.

With my new best friends.

Separation anxiety – If he’s left alone in a strange place, he gets anxious and starts howling and digging at the door.

General mayhem – That could run the gamut from digging a large hole right next to someone’s blanket to heading off into the hills in search of adventure to more of the food snatching previously mentioned.

In other words, even if he does one day become an island dog in name, I will never tie a surf board tether to him and let him roam freely. So you can rest easy in that regard.

Apologies for the derivation into sadness yesterday. I suppose sometimes it cannot be helped. Meanwhile, I’ll try to resist getting all somber and sorrowful in the upcoming days/weeks. I will say it was kind of a relief to ‘purge,’ so thanks for listening.

Gotta work the biceps.

Moving right along, it’s 8:00am here in Kauai, and I just finished a rather grueling upper body workout.

It was the same workout I usually do, just…altered in a manner that made it notably harder.

Usually I do the workout using neoprene-covered five and eight-pound hand weights.

Seeing as the last thing I would put in my luggage is ten pounds of dead weight as it’s much easier to do so with shoes I never end up wearing anyway, I was forced to improvise. And after testing a variety of objects around the house for sufficient poundage and grippability, I finally discovered my muse.

Don't forget the deltoids!

.

.

Certainly you recall the great champagne athletes of Haute-Marne, France? The spectacle as they would wind up and throw the bottles as hard as they could into the side of a ship, often tearing a hole in the hull upon collision? The glorious sight of champagne spray and shards of glass and wood flying everywhere? Admittedly, many people lost their sight standing a little too close to the flying shrapnel, but there are always risks when beholding history in the making.

Who can forget Etienne “Napoleon” Beauchamp, who revolutionized the sport in 1903, tearing sixteen cannon-sized holes into the side of the previously mighty and water-tight Dupuy de Dome before collapsing into an exhausted heap on the grass-covered ground? Not only will he live on as the greatest champagne thrower to ever live, but he is also the sole reason the sport was outlawed and ultimately abandoned altogether. When the French Navy returned and saw the damage inflicted on their once-proud vessel, well, clearly this had to stop.

Rounding it out with some triceps kick-backs.

Although I have neither the strength, passion, nor the financial backing of the French luminaries, I did feel I was launching my own mini-revival of the tradition in my decision to employ champagne bottles as hand weights. I’m no pro, but I would estimate they fall in the five-pound range, whereas the wine bottles were only about three…and mostly from California, which simply will not do. True, they’re freezing cold and the weight is a bit unevenly distributed on one end, but that’s the price of greatness.

As with any workout, it’s really important that you employ proper form. When working with champagne….hell, form goes right out the window. Just make sure you hang on tight and don’t drop them! Ignore the early signs of frost bite in your finger tips. It’ll wear off.

Simply put and stated despite the obvious, I am willing to go the distance and improvise in the (fruitless and futile) pursuit of Linda Hamilton T2 arms. And improvise I must. One final tip: No mimosas for breakfast…unless you like licking them off the ceiling.

All of it is terrain I’ve traveled in detail these last few months.

My darling friend goes into a fog – I’ve come to call it “under the waves”  as it’s like drowning in slow motion- for days and even weeks at a time, and we’re certain we’ve lost her.

I can’t even tell you how many hours I’ve spent stroking her hair or watching her sleep or listening to her erratic breathing or holding her hand or telling her mundane crap about my day because I know that my voice makes her happy. I know this because sometimes I’m the only person she wakes up for or speaks to all day. It’s not much – a ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘okay’, or ‘love you’ – but she’s still there. And thus, I’m still there.

And everyone breathes a sigh of relief that she spoke at all.

It’s this weird dichotomy: Those of us right there in the middle of the situation intellectually understand and even accept the inevitable conclusion…but we cling like hell to any sign of life. We share little moments of what she ate or said or smiled at and cherish them as uplifting signs of life.

There is no story so simple about my friend that I do not rejoice in it.

The other day, her aunt told me, she ate a piece of cheese and drank a few sips of wine. And she really enjoyed it. And she – the aunt and I – were as vicariously happy and relieved and uplifted as if she had been crowned Miss America or class president or won a prize she really, really wanted. If C has a good day, we all have a good day.

And sometimes we even get the miracles.

Her brain rewires itself, and she comes back to us.

Last week, there were four remarkable days I had to actually talk to her. TALK.

I nearly cried I was so shocked and happy and flabbergasted to see her look at me coherently and say, “Hello, sweetheart,” when I walked in the room. I’m crying right now just remembering the blessing of that time.

I had honestly resigned myself (with huge regret and a lot of tears) to the reality that I would never again hear her voice in this lifetime.

So to have four days??

It sounds so small, but in this situation, four days borders on a lifetime.

Four whole days to tell her how much I love her (and hear the same), and tell her I’m always with her…even if I’m not sitting beside her bed (and hear her say “I know.”), and to have her look at me straight in the eyes – eyes that were clear and knew what they were seeing – and say, “I’m so happy you’re here with me. I hope you know that. I need you so much.” was more than any MasterCard ad could ever capture or fathom.

Each year, over 40,000 Americans are diagnosed with a primary brain tumor — and for an unknown reason, the incidence rate is on the rise. In the U.S. there are about 12,000 people living today with a gbm, with an estimate of 6,500 new cases a year.

It’s such an unbelievable and unfair thing. My friend turned 45 in October. And in my case – as much as I’m inclined to delude myself or pray for extreme miracles occasionally – I will lose her soon.

Yet this is still a situation ripe with miracles.

To cry all night realizing how very much you will miss your dear friend and then just 72 hours later to get her back – albeit temporarily – is an incredibly beautiful and sacred thing. I am so very blessed and prepared thanks to that time.

And it makes me think of Desiderata, a poem I have always taken comfort in in the darkest of days:

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.