Rain

I have somewhat of a love-hate relationship with the rain. After living in the North of France, where you notice more often when it is not raining than when it is, the sound of the drops hitting the pavement has become less romantic to me. I also experience a healthy amount of fear and anxiety when I happen to be driving (especially on a busy interstate road in the dark, like I was this evening) with the pouding of the water blurring my vision and loosening my traction...

...but then I come home, to my welcoming home, and sit, in my warm and inviting study, and open the door to let the voice of the thunder and the smell of the showers outside remind me of how lucky I am to sit where I sit. This is especially true when I had been sitting here, quietly cursing the extra work I had to finish before the end of the night and feeling just a little bit sorry for myself. Tonight, I will go to bed and be lulled by rain. Ahhhhh....

Huge Weekend

This weekend was enormous. Not huge... enormous.

Friday night, we had a lovely Belgian dinner. After dinner, we went to the theater and caught a whole slew of friends (and made a new one) doing fine work. After the theater, we met up with two old friends I was able to introduce Maura to.

Saturday we took a great walk, did some grocery shopping, spent a bunch of quality time lounging in the sun and doing some wedding planning, then we drove to Baltimore for a lovely Passover dinner with the family.

Today, after a sweet morning at home, we headed out to do some registering for the wedding, then drove out to Mt. Airy, MD to see one of my oldest friends in the world... and to ask him to perform our wedding ceremony. (He said yes.) On the way home, we finally knocked an annoying errand off our to-do list.

Perhaps the most important event of the weekend, however, happened in the car this afternoon. While riding in the car, sitting beside Maura, I had my first ever bite in my entire life of... a banana.

Yes. I'm 39 years old and until today, I'd never eaten a banana.

I was scared of them. The smel turned my stomach. But you know what? It wasn't all that bad.

Now, I've still got a ways to go. I still think I'm far away from actually desiring a banana. But I got over the hump. I took a small bite, put in my mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed. And it wasn't at all terrible.

I'll keep trying. And that's what I'm grateful for -- that I'm open to new experiences, new flavors, new textures (nobody told me they were so MUSHY). I hope that no matter how old I get, I always keep my mind -- and my taste buds -- open like that. Don't you?

Confidence and the Lack Thereof

I'm generally a pretty confident person. When I walk into a meeting with a client at my day job, I'm relaxed, curious, inquisitive, eager to meet whomever I'm meeting, and generally pretty sure I can accomplish what I've set out to accomplish. When I enter a creative collaboration, too, I feel good and strong, able to communicate what I want, ask questions when I don't get something, put myself out there, listen to my collaborators, and pretty much just plain like myself.

But sometimes there are moments... and tonight I had one of those moments.

The details aren't important, not really. Suffice it to say that for about two minutes, I felt anxious, riddled with low self-esteem, confused, and not generally myself. It happens from time to time, of course -- to all of us, I realize -- and it passes, even if it sometimes lasts longer than we'd like it to last. But in recent years, I never really let myself get into such situations. I avoided them; I put myself in situations in which I was likely to be successful, to feel good about myself, to be without self-doubt. I was, quite simply, afraid.

So what I'm grateful for is that I've now entered a period of my life in which I'm able to feel those uncomfortable feelings. I think it means that I'm taking new risks, challenging myself, daring to open my heart more, to risk. And even though it makes me feel pretty awful -- and sometimes makes the people around me feel awful, too -- it's a good thing, in the long run. I'm sure I'm bound to learn from it... assuming I keep moving through it and examining it properly. Which, I am quite happy to say, I am eager to do.

Take Me Away

I am so bloody grateful to be leaving for Boca Raton in a couple of hours, you have no idea.

Even if "Boca Raton" is Spanish for "mouth of the rat."

We'll be at the beach all weekend if you need us...

Little notes

I got a great little note today in the mail from my aunt Barb. It consisted of two sentences: I thought you might like these. They were quite the pair. She was talking about pictures of my grandparents, both of whom just passed away, within weeks of each other, actually. Altogether, there were three pictures, including graduation headshots of each of them along with a lovely "live" shot of them together on their wedding day. oh - and there was a tiny snapshot of my grandpa as a little boy. These pictures will soon be framed and hung up on the wall as part of my new home with Gwydion. It was an extraordinary gift to receive. The pictures were, of course, the focus when I received the envelope Barb sent , but I am still compelled to think about her choice to include a little note with it; and to think about the note that I immediately wrote her in response. What I am coming away with is a reminder that it does not take a great, eloquently written letter to communicate something meaningful. -- this is certainly something I am continuing to learn more about from my Midwestern family in their inability to waste time with words that don't matter. It is a very beautiful thing to say it like you mean it, especially when it comes directly from the heart. And if it arrives in an envelope, with a postmarked stamp on its cover, it is simply an added plus.

Hidden Lessons

So last evening, my friend Scott and I were at the theater watching an amazing production of Death of a Salesman. We'd arranged beforehand to hit the Kennedy Center afterward so he could take a photograph -- he's a photographer for a living, and he'd set up a gig for 10:30, having first called the theater box office to make sure the play would be over by then. Well, he'd been told the play ran until 9:30, giving us an hour... but at 10:15, with the all-important funeral scene still to come, we were still sitting in our seats. So with great regret at what we were about to miss, we waited for a transition between scenes and made for the exit.

We hopped in his car and sped out of the garage, driving as fast as we could... and just as we were coming into view of the Kennedy Center, with minutes to spare, his phone rang. The gig had been cancelled. Scott, who was naturally annoyed, chatted with client while he drove -- a big no-no, of course, but we were on the verge of running late -- and in the middle of the conversation, we were rear-ended.

Before you worry, don't. Everyone was fine, and both cars were pretty much fine, and Scott's client even offered to pay him for his time because the cancellation was last-minute. But we both couldn't help thinking: what if we'd just stayed in our seats till the end? There were only 15 more minutes in the show. He'd have been a touch late for his gig... only he wouldn't have been late at all, since it was cancelled. And then we wouldn't have been rear-ended, either. In other words, making an irresponsible, selfish choice to indulge our desire to stay in our seats would have spared us a good bit of heartache, and everything would have turned out better.

What I'm grateful for, though, is that we didn't. We made the good, honorable choice, did the right thing, and lived to talk about it -- and had a nice story to tell. This is how life is supposed to be: you make commitments and you honor them, even when it's hard, and things work out in the end the way they are meant to, not the way you mean them to. Life is just like that sometimes.

Mistakes

Last night, Maura and I made a silly mistake. The details aren't important, but suffice it to say that we made it together, that we both instantly regretted it, and that we won't make it again. What's wonderful, though, is that we both responded to it together, as a team, communicating and figuring out what went wrong... and I'm so very glad for that. Life is indeed FULL of mistakes -- if you're living big and honestly -- and the important thing is to forgive yourself for making them, and to learn from them, and to move through them. The fact that we did that -- that we always do that -- makes me incredibly happy.

Spring

Spring has sprung.
The grass has ris.
I wonder where
Da boidies is.

I'll tell you where they is... in the courtyard just off my balcony. After last week's aborted attempt by two mourning doves to build a nest on a neighbor's window sill, this morning I spotted my first robin, flitting about on the ground beneath a yet-to-sprout-leaves tree (the species of which, for all its nakedness, I can't identify).

You know, I'm inspired to think for a second about the fact that the robin now seems to me such an ordinary bird. Aside from the fact that its eggs are such an otherworldly hue, nothing seems special about it. Its ruddy breast is, well, drab. Its song isn't particularly special. And it doesn't have any wondrous behaviors that make it stand out in any way. I'm sure there's something unique about it that I don't know... but what I do know doesn't set my hair on fire.

And yet when I was a boy, I remember thinking amazing things about robins -- they were, in fact, one of my favorite birds. I loved finding and seeing them -- perhaps I was a birder even then -- and I loved pointing them out to anyone who'd bother to listen. "Look," I would say, "a robin!" As if that was some sort of precious gift.

And in fact, perhaps it is, for this morning's robin has brought with it a fond memory of my childhood, one I'll appreciate all day long... leaving me quite grateful for spring's arrival.

"Boy Time"

First of all, it is important to know that I do not even like baseball. Not one iota. Nope. Not one bit. I have been interested in the symbolism behind the good 'ol game (which I find to be eerily synon0mous with the "GOP"...), but watching a baseball game does nothing for me.

Still, I am so happy to have been to the first exhibition game -- as I understand it, the fist ever game open to the public to be played in the new "National's Park" stadium -- of the National's season this past Saturday. The reasons why I am grateful to have been still have little to nothing to do with the the game itself, mind you. My reasons are many and range from getting the chance to hang out with my boyfriend's brother in a context that is both familiar and fun for him to eating my first ever chili dog in the stands. I laughed at how the pictures of the players that flashed on the screen during the pre-game extravaganza looked like they hadn’t evolved since the early 1070s with another friend – another “guy” – and traded whispers about the supposed pro-umpire who was apparently seated behind us (handheld electronic devices coming in handy to look up his picture, just to be sure). It was a ball. No pun intended

So, I got to be “one of the guys” and didn’t for a moment feel like I was out of place or unwelcome among them, even though all three of my compatriots was a seasoned baseball fan. And, although there is little fear that I will hence become one myself, I will certainly jump at the chance to catch another baseball game…although I will probably pass on the chilidog.

Fake House Calls

Yesterday, I was sitting and reading at home, when I got a rather amazing phone call. A man on the other end of the line -- who said his name was Dr. Kevin Johnson -- told me I had won... are you ready for it?... a house.

Yes, a house.

He said I'd entered my name in a computer somewhere, that he had the printout sitting in front of him, and that I'd really won. A house. For free. I just needed to come see him at his office.

Naturally, all the possible bells in my head were going off... loudly. A free house? Please. I'd entered my name in a drawing? No, sir. Naturally, I was tugged-at emotionally -- I really would LOVE to win a house, and I'd even fantasized about just that very thing happening -- but I wasn't that gullible. (Always hopeful, never blind -- that's my new motto.) I knew there was something fishy about this crazy call. I just didn't know what it was.

As it happened, we were planning to go for a walk later in the afternoon, so we thought... what the heck? Let's go by the guy's office and figure out exactly what his scam was. I mean, if the dude had my phone number -- not to mention the correct pronunciation of my name, which is perhaps not too shockingly rare among cold-callers -- what other information did he have? I wanted to track him down and try to find him to make sure he wasn't up to something even worse than a prank call.

So, off we set on our rambling. We strolled this way and that, popping our heads into a few cool stores, until we found ourselves in front of his office -- or, more accurately, where his office was SUPPOSED to be. He had given me an address -- 1819 New Hampshire Avenue NW -- that literally didn't exist. The numbers went from 1815 to 1825. Knowing already what would likely happen, I took out my cell phone and dialed the number he gave me: a wrong number. Dr. Kevin Johnson didn't exist.

At this point, you might be thinking I was pissed... but no, I wasn't. I was a little bit relieved that there wasn't some bigger financial scam going on, but mostly I was (you guessed it) grateful. Throughout the whole walk, we enjoyed a charming, dreamy conversation about what we should do with our new imaginary house, wondering how we'd decorate the new dwelling we knew was entirely fictitious. And then, when that game got old, we started outlining what might even become a cool play about a man who makes elaborate prank phone calls to get back at a lover who jilted him -- a legitimately interesting idea we might pursue further. Without Dr. Johnson's minor-league scam, we'd never have done any of that... and so I'm glad it happened.

Thank you, Dr. Johnson -- or whomever you are. But please don't call again -- once was enough.

For the Birds

There's a mourning dove that has been flitting about happily in our courtyard this morning, cooing and hopping from balcony to railing to window ledge, and it reminds me that the world is full of beauty and delight that needs only be noticed and taken in. It's a wonderful gift, and I accept it with great gratitude.

Speaking UP

Funny, I have recently been attentive to questions and moments that are described by prases ending in UP...this is interesting to me as it relates to my feelings about looking forward in movement through life.

Today's "up" lesson began yesterday with a near-fight. I allowed myself to speak up in a moment where I would have otherwise held my feelings in for fear of displeasing or creating a moment of conflict with someone I love. I tend to react to -- or retract from -- such moments in this way even more when they involve people I am not familiar with. However, I was happy to have believed in myself, and in the person I love so dearly, enough to speak my mind in a moment where I felt that my heart and mind were in a very different place than his so that we would both better communicate what we were feeling.

Again today, I was reminded of the strength and power of speaking UP during a conversation at lunch when I spend a long time listening to another person who has made it a habit not share moments of discord with the people she most loves and who has, as a result, become very afriad and confused about what she really thinks for herself. This makes me afraid when I can understand, in a very personal way, the situation she has created for herself. Still, I am inexpressibly and infinately grateful, even as I write this, when I recognize my ability to use my voice to speak my mind as my own chance at giving the world, and those I love the most in it, every opportunity to love me better. This is my committment to keep on doing it, no matter what.

Waking UP

Sometimes I hate waking up in the morning; the disdain of getting out of a warm bed on a cold morning, knowing that I haven't had enough sleep, worry for what the demanding day will pull out of me...but today I am invited to find reasons to be grateful for it. I realized this morning at around 6:30 while taking a wonderfully hot and soothing shower that I love what the morning holds in its quiet and slow awakening each day. I used to embrace this part of the day with much more enthusiasm, which I have somehow lost the more and more I have become focused on work and getting it done. The morning is not concerned with such things; it does not worry about the time it needs to wake up and become the day that it has been able to create through its waking. I think there is a lesson to be learned from observing the world and I am grateful today for what it has taught me, yet again.

Celebrity Atheists

I'm very, very grateful for Julia Sweeney and Penn Jillette -- two big(-ish) celebrities who've come out as atheists. The stand they've taken -- given how it might impact their careers -- is inspiring.

My newest celebrity atheist hero, however, is Ricky Gervais. In the article I've linked to he describes his deconversion story; it's honest, simple, and straightforward. (You can learn about Julia Sweeney's -- which she's turned into a very successful one-woman play -- here and Penn Jillette's here.) If you've ever seen the original British version of The Office -- far superior to the American version, which is still pretty funny -- you know how incredibly, uncomfortably funny he is. I'm really, really grateful when people that talented and articulate and entertaining speak out on behalf of the truth... without demeaning people of religion. It feels like I'm not alone. I feel like I have... a champion.

Rich, I'm Rich, I Tell You, I'm Rich!

There is nothing in the world like having an open-hearted, completely non-judgmental, totally supportive friend.

Having so many of them is an embarrassment of riches.

Presence of Mind

Writing is often lonely. You spend time alone, quite literally, sitting at your desk... but you're also spending time alone in your head, wrestling with words and sentences and phrases and structure and what-not. Sometimes I think it's why I became a playwright -- so I'd have lots of different voices in my head to spend time with.

Every now and then, however, you meet someone with a powerful mind that's kindred to your own, and that mind somehow finds its way into yours while you're writing, and there's a kind of quiet conversation that goes on. You feel buoyed and supported. And that's what I'm feeling this morning as I wrestle with the latest scene of my current play. And I am so grateful for her presence in my mind.

Having a Home

Today, having returned to my new home after a grueling four hours at work -- I'm not kidding, it was terrible; I have a terrible cold -- I am tremendously grateful for the simple pleasure of having a home to come home to.

As soon as I finish this post, I'm going to hop into my shower, put on my pajamas and robe, and get into my bed to read (and, hopefully, sleep). There are, I realize, millions (?) of people who don't have anywhere comfortable to be sick. Now, this isn't a tremendous illness I'm dealing with -- I wouldn't be blogging if it was, for goodness' sake -- but to have to deal with it on a cold day like today, or (worse still) to have to spend a cold, achy night laying on the sidewalk... well, that'd be dreadful.

The best part about noticing what I have (a wonderful home) rather than what I don't have (my health) is that it makes my illness more bearable. This is a life secret I'm only just now, at 39, figuring out -- but it makes me unbelievably happy.

Cold Coffee

On a morning like this one, which has already been full of wonderful, irreplaceably beautiful moments, I am grateful to note how the taste of cold coffee warms me.

Because we got up leisurely, taking our time to tenderly wake each other up, and because we are continuing our morning "getting things done at home," it has been fun to note the domesticity of it all. A little, silly, annoyance about the coffee maker still being plugged in (because we want to be energy-conscious and not leave things plugged in when they are not being used) led me to unplug it, only to later learn that it was not completely empty/finished. Now the cold coffee that has resulted, and which I am drinking, makes me grateful to know that I am living here, that I will surely go on making incorrect assumptions and that I will continue to learn from them because they will always be shared with a man who listens and whom I trust enough to risk being wrong.