retrospective

i was one of those people who went to so see "eat, pray, love" in the theatres, and cried through the whole thing. no, i didn't read the book. but, i probably will...it's on the list of books to buy during my next buying spree at half-price books. ryan and i talked about the movie, as did jackie and i, before i saw it. i knew parts of it were going to be smug. i knew parts of it were going to be trite. i knew parts of it were going to be sweet enough to give me a cavity. but i pluncked down my shekels, and watched it.

i watched it after i woke up from that weird dream i told you about, the one with the guy in the hare krisna robes. i'm serious when i tell you that i started crying during the credits. i am embarassed to admit that. i think the whole world is comfortable with me being a crier, except for me. i hate crying. HATE IT. i don't care that it's a normal response, or that crying actually releases endorphins and chemicals that make you feel better. i don't care that my eyes turn a totally different and kind of awesome color after i've cried. i don't even care that i usually feel better after a good cry. i also feel better after i throw up, when i'm sick. and i hate to throw up worse than i hate to cry. also, i almost always cry when i throw up. double hate.

so, there i was, sitting in a theatre, surrounded by other crying assholes, there with boyfriends (most of whom were probably there under protest, hoping that by going to such a femme movie, they would get a little something-something in return), husbands, sisters, mothers, significant others, etc. the overwhelming majority of the audience were female. and the sniffing noises started about five minutes into the picture.

let me be honest...this movie was pretty smug, on lots of levels. if i were being paid to write a book on self-discovery, i'd probably be pretty pleased with myself, as well. but you guys, there was something so familiar about the story, so reassuring about the questions this woman was asking herself and the universe, so encouraging to see her pray, even though she wasn't sure what to pray for, or to.

tangent:

i read a ton of my old blog posts last week. what a head trip...and some of the comments were hilarious. some of them really irritated me, too. i came across this one comment, on a post i wrote in 2005, from an anonymous poster. they asked me how it felt to be a martyr turned philosopher. that seriously pissed me off. and i'm not sure why. part of it felt true, at the time. part of it still feels true, today. but it hurt my feelings, too. a martyr is not something i've ever wanted or aspired to be, not for anything. and i was seriously offended that someone would imagine that what i was writing was anywhere on par with philosophy. this is just some dumb blog, written by a girl trying to figure out what this life looks like, how it feels, all the way out to the edges. and it's an honest expression of my angst, my excitement, my worldview, my theology and cosmology, my memories, my justifications, my experience. it seemed like a cheap shot. it still seems like a cheap shot. i don't like what that person said. and i certainly don't like how what they said effected me. in the final analysis, i don't consider myself a martyr, and i certainly don't pretend to be a philosopher. i'm a student of this life, nothing more.

back on track:
after the movie was over (talk about a totally predictable ending...wtf?), i cried some more in the car. there was a point in the movie, where the main character talks about words, what words describe things, people, etc. this discussion occurs around a dinner table, with beautiful people eating beautiful food, talking about which word most accurately describes themselves, the cities they know and love, etc. i thought and thought and thought about that. i love words. i love what you can do with words. i love the right words at the right times about the right things. there is nothing better than saying exactly what you want to say about something. nothing.

i spent the rest of the night trying to figure out what word describes me best. we each have a collection of words that would describe us down to the molecules in our bodies. some of the words are nice. no doubt, a few of them aren't too nice, though. but what word describes you, encapsulates the essence of who you are? can you really boil it down to one thing? i turned that over and over and over in my head. for days. weeks. months. last week, my word hit me.

distiller. i distill. that's what i do. all i had to do to find it was go back through and read my blogs, my journals, old letters, notes i make in the margins of books, reflect on conversations, write a couple of new songs, retune all the instruments in the house, clean out the cat-box, and get the hell over my own martyrdom/philosophic b.s. to do it. once i gave myself the right word, so many things made so much more sense. distilling takes a long time. distilling is about extracting the most potent and essential parts of something, so that the resulting substance can be shared and distributed and consumed. distilling is an art and a science. it can be deadly, too. it's a big responsibility, and you have to be fully invested in every step along the way, otherwise everything can be ruined, and no product is produced. there are no insignificant steps. nothing is wasted. i love that.

distiller.

mil besos,
rmg

just hear those sleigh bells...

Well, as the words to my favorite secular holiday song go, "And so this is Christmas…and what have you done?"

Are you ready? Are you freaking out? Are you whining?

When I go visit my brother and his family, the older nephew and I get to go out on our own, and do our thing. Our thing consists of going to the "train store", which to normal people is just a regular big-box toy store, with a scary giraffe as the mascot. I'm sure you know the one I'm talking about. Anyway, the five year old nephew could care less about the other toys in the store…he only has eyes for trains, especially blue ones that are named after certain doubting Disciples. He is obsessed. He's had to be escorted out of the store, several times, by his parents…literally kicking and screaming. This kid LOVES, LURVES, LUUUUHUUUUHUVES, trains. He is, hands down, the easiest person in my family for whom to buy gifts.

I remember the first time we went to the train store, on our own, to pick out a new train. My brother pulled me aside and told me to call him if things got ugly. I looked at him like he'd gone crazy…and just nodded my head, remembering that small children are highly volatile and toys to kids are like chum in the water to sharks. I started to feel like I might not want to do this thing, after all. But I had promised. And I refuse to break promises, especially not to small children who look like me.

The nephew actually gave me directions to the store, from his backseat. As I pulled in, parked, and turned off the car, I turned around to look at the blue-eyed cherub. "Bilbo, we are going to go shop for a new train, buddy. I want you to remember something. We are going to share at the play table. And when it's time to leave, we are not going to whine or freak out. Ok? Now, what are we going to remember? " "We are gonna sare at the pway table. And we ah NOT going to whine or fweak out." And so, we got out of the car, and ventured into the gaping maw of the toy store. I felt like I might throw up.

Thirty minutes later, we came out of the store, all smiles, with our new "twain", and no tears. I was amazed. I felt like I must be the kid-whisperer, or something. As the nephew exclaimed over his present in the back seat, telling the new twain about all the other twain fwiends back da the house, I realized something. I was not magic. No, the success of the trip had to do with factors that were beyond my child-charming (bribery). We prepared ourselves for the trip. We knew what we were going to get. We were realistic about what the trip might look like. We hoped for the best, and were willing to be surprised by success.

That's nothing like what Christmas and present buying is like for most of us. At all. We do a lot of freaking out. We do a lot of whining. We forget to be realistic about our expectations for giving and receiving. And sometimes, on our not-so-great days, we have to be lead kicking and screaming away from the experience that should be nothing short of awesome. We are not willing to be surprised, and failure is an excuse for another glass of egg-nog or a bloody Mary.

The nephew and I have made several subsequent visits back to the twain store. There have been no fweak outs, no whining, no kicking and scweaming. There have been good conversations in the car, many questions asked and answered, and the bond between us grows stronger and stronger. I wonder what it would look like if you and I applied the principles of the twain store to Christmas, to time with our families, to giving and receiving gifts? I bet Christmas would be less whiny and freaky for all of us.

My prayer is that you and your families and your friends share a marvelous Advent and Christmas season, without whining or freak –outs, without fights over the train table, and with the full and incredible knowledge that a very small person, born very long ago, loves you, saves you, is coming back for you, and thinks you are the most wonderful gift in the world.

Mistletoe Kisses, and Candy Cane Wishes...

mil besos,

rmg