The God Realm

My alternate life fantasies are spinning again. It all started with a lovely weekend spent at my aunt's house on Tomales Bay where I got to go running among the oak trees and kayaking through the clear waters of the bay and where I ate oysters and drank crisp, cold white wine and showed Maggie her first sea anemone and "drank" cup after cup of the "tea" Oliver made out of Boggle dice. It is a place of such beauty, it is literally almost painful.  My father calls places like that the "God realm," places where life is extraordinarily good and beautiful and infused with good karma. 

So, of course, instead of just being there and feeling lucky to be there, I start to think about how I can hold on to the God realm, and scratch out a little piece of it for myself.  Enter Buddhism's main tenant about desire and suffering.  I am so, so far away from enlightenment, and so, so close to the God realm (a mere 40 miles!) 

Some of my new alternate life fantasies:

•Moving to Pt. Reyes Station and starting a lavender farm

•Becoming a ridiculously successful writer so that I can move to Pt. Reyes Station and just write

•Becoming a second grade teacher so I can move to Pt. Reyes Station and not have to commute

•Living in a world where money has no consequence so I can move to Pt. Reyes Station and just stare out the window eating oysters and drinking crisp, cold white wine

My real life is pretty sweet too.

And PS.  I'm so sad about the suicide of David Foster Wallace.  Man!  What a terrible thing.  I got to meet him a couple of times when I used to host literary events, and despite my fears that he would be intimidating and cooler-than-thou and just way dismissive of a little nobody like me, he was one of those extraordinarily kind, polite, interested people. He remembered names.  I always really like that in a person.

Something sweet in the world

Although she does not capitalize and this is one of the things that really bugs me about the internet, I still love Andrea at Hula Seventy.  She is so kind and humble and she has great taste. I think I have a girl-crush on her.

This post, about her 14th wedding anniversary at Old Navy, made me weep.  Read it if you are married or if you are in a relationship or if you ever hope to be and you will be left feeling all sweet and refreshed and like maybe people are good and you are like them and they are like you.  And that, my friends, can be very comforting.

Now I'm old enough to raise money

Twins for change

Yesterday we had our Auction for Obama party and raised more than $8,000.  Our friends were so generous and good-natured and in the mood to bid.  We plied them with hot dogs and potato salad (and white wine and brie because we are, after all, Democrats) and they supplied us with check after check for Obama.  Big smakaroos to them all.  Moo-ah, moo-ah.

Really the only downsides were the multiple skinned knees (so many kids running around--it's as if all of my friends have exploded in the last few years) and the woman whom I'd never met who accidentally put her baby down in a huge pile of dog shit (damn you, Woody!).  But otherwise, the yard was just alive with happy, rosy liberals—all of us smugly munching our foreign cheese and French wine.  And the mother of the dog shit baby still gave $100!  Thank you.

Our auction table--lots of good stuff!

Now it is the day after and I am literally sitting in my underpants having finally roused myself from my Office stupor (kids are napping).  I curse the day (today, actually) when I discovered hulu.com. I'll never nap again. 

I'm ok with my new found laziness though.  After fulfilling my American fundraising duty, I deserve a couple of hours in my underpants watching Pam and Jim and Dwight.  Don't I?

Oh, and I think the statute of limitations is up on writing about my 20th reunion, which happened a week ago (five days if you subtract the two days I spent recovering from my hangover).  So I'll just say it was fun.  It wasn't a seminal life moment or anything, but I did get to dance to Purple Rain for the first time in a long time and since dancing to Purple Rain is possibly one of the few constants on my "things I love to do" list, I have to say I enjoyed myself very much.  I wasn't the prettiest or the richest or the most successful.  But I was fine and everyone was in great cheer and here's a little secret: women age better than men, at least until age 38.  I'll report back at 50 and let you know how it's going (I am not optimistic).  Oh, also personalities don't change.  Details change, but personalities don't.  I've heard that.  Now I know.

Want to give money to save America and the world?  Click here.

Selfish jeans

Yesterday I bought my first pair of jeans for over $100.  This goes against much of what I believe in.  Or much of what I say I believe in.  There is this line in an essay by David Rakoff (very funny guy, incidentally) where he writes something about justice or equality being the central theme of his life and then corrects himself and says "no, actually, thinness is the central theme of my life."  That's how I feel.  I want the good of humanity and art and literature and hiking to be my central concerns, but really, I spend a lot of time thinking about my neck and my ass and whether or not people link me or think I'm pretty, or funny or smart.  So, I suppose the yuppie jeans are just the logical extension of my self absorption.  

In my defense, my twentieth high school reunion is tonight. 

Things I fantasize about doing with my life:

Moving to a rural area and become an organic farmer (complete with bee hives)

Moving to Kenya to work at that huge refugee camp for the displaced Sudanese

Moving to Alaska to be hermetic and literary

Moving to Madagascar to help prevent erosion

Moving to Telegraph Hill to be a rich bohemian 

Becoming a midwife and moving to an impoverished African country where they need midwives

Or I could just stay put and count my blessings, which I am trying to learn to be better at.

And speaking of blessings. . .a completely unrelated picture of Oliver in the tub.  Just to lighten the mood.

Sometimes the internet is used for good

People can be so amazing and interesting.  Here's one of them.  I don't know him but I love this project called Unphotographable.

A few hundred words are worth a picture.

So little time

Ack!  This blogging thing is harder than I thought.  One day it's Monday and then. . .it's Monday again and all you've done in between is hang out with old friends, host a BBQ, attend a book group to discuss the wonderful and moving Out Stealing Horses, take your two-year-old twins to to the Exploratorium (note to self: Exploratorium is truly cool but a total a nightmare with two-years-olds.  Stay clear for at least three more years), get your hair cut, and shop for a 20-year high school reunion outfit even though no garment exists that can make you look 18 again. And yes, I tried a girdle.

Mostly, though, I've just been stressing out about my storytelling performance coming up on Wednesday.  I had my "run through" in front of the class last Wednesday and despite my suspicions that I was going to be a natural, I was not.  There was sort of an eerie silence when I finished and I could feel the whole thing just sort of deflate. I also discovered an until-now dormant flailing thing I do with my hands when I'm nervous.  BUT I've been practicing, so here's hoping I step up and don't make a fool of myself in front of all the Porch Light hipsters!  And even if I do, at least I've done something I'm scared of.

I'll let you know how it goes.  And if you want to check it out or cheer me on, come at 6 on Wednesday to Intersection for the Arts.  Some of my classmates are really great and it's free!

PS.  If you want to donate to the Obama campaign, go here.  We are having a fundraiser at our house soon.  More to come about that. .  .

Yes we can

Just back from a cuckoo's nest east coast vacation with Pete's family in Delaware.  All screened porches and walks into town for ice cream.  The beach, fresh corn, a million little cousins screaming and playing and fighting and eating sand.  My children's first donuts (and, alas, Gogurts and Capri Suns--nasty).  Good times.  It makes me happy to see my little twins all dirty and scratched up trailing after their cousins through the brush.  It feels very Americana and wholesome, even if the adults were busy downing cheap white wine and Mai Tais all the while.

And speaking of Americana. . . because of friends in high places, Pete and I got to attend a fancy-pants Obama fundraiser last night at the Fairmont with our friends Chris and Lee Anne (also not fancy-pants).  All the other attendees had coughed up $2300 for the privilege.  We sort of felt like frauds with our blue VIP wristbands.  Sort of.

We spent all the initial waiting around time (lots of this as candidates are not timely people) nibbling tiny ham-and-cheese sandwiches and scoping out a strange line-up of celebs.  We spied with our little eyes: Alice Waters, George "I-guarantee-it" Zimmer, Carl Pope of the Sierra Club, and Craig Newmark of Craig's List.  We also liked to watch the secret service guys--they look exactly how you think they'd look--all serious and suited-up with little coiled wires springing from their ears.  I kept try to imagine them having sex, but couldn't.  Oh, and they all have a major penchant for hair gel.

Here we are, hobnobbing (ie: drinking free hooch).

After a little warm up from Graham Nash (Pete calls them "Crosby, Stills and Cheese Ball") and Jackson Brown (he of the limp hair and earnest lyrics), and a super-canned introduction from Nancy Pelosi, out came Obama in all his glory.   And glorious he is.  Man, that man is handsome and smart and in possession of an eerie talent for public speaking.  He pushed all my buttons: education, healthcare, single moms, the environment (I know, super girl-liberal lineup). He completely un-jaded me.  I'm hooked.  I'm a true believer.  I even got to shake his hand. 

 You can see from his expression that he was as unhinged by me as I was by him. Sigh.