How Lucky We Are

Ugh, I am so boring these days.

All I do is work, and travel for work, and study for my Managerial Economics class, and sing Meiko songs in my head perpetually (see: entry title), and read Stephenie Meyer books. Good Lord, they are so addictive and delicious and brilliant; I can't stop obsessing over the characters, and that makes for really boring entries. (Because do y'all really want to hear me wax poetic about Edward Cullen for pages and pages?) (Um, if you do, just say the word. We'll go to town.)

Hey! I took my darling sisters to Manhattan to see Wicked a few weeks ago. That was fun! I would describe it here but I have lost the ability to be descriptive, apparently. I will say that the more time I spend with Cat and Meg, the more time I want to spend with them. I actually miss them terribly most of the time. Cat is fourteen now and is brooding and angsty; she is blissfully sarcastic and lovely and intelligent and enigmatic. Meg is ten and adorable, with green-framed glasses that adorn her tiny freckled face. She loves monkeys and playing school in equal measure, and has reached a difficult crossroads: should she decorate her bedroom as a jungle, or as a classroom? She also has a "bacon dance" which she performs when a certain Wendy's commercial plays. When she tells stories, she painstakingly recounts every detail of her tale. She has a remarkably dry sense of humor, and smiles incessantly.

I really love those kids.

And now I must run to a business dinner, one that will be no different than a host of other business dinners, as I miss key moments and memories with my husband, siblings, and dearest friends.

But I've got Meiko on my iPod, and Breaking Dawn.

Grateful.

An RA friend sent this to our group this morning. We're still connected, and always will be, palpably on this day. Wishing them, and all of you, much love this morning.

Life has left her footprints on my forehead.
But I have become a child again this morning.
The smile, seen through leaves and flowers,
is back to smooth away the wrinkles,
as the rains wipe away footprints on the beach.
Again a cycle of birth and death begins.

I walk on thorns, but firmly, as among flowers.
I keep my head high.
Rhymes bloom among the sounds of bombs and mortars.
The tears I shed yesterday have become rain.
I feel calm hearing its sound on the thatched roof.
Childhood, my birth land, is calling me,
and the rains melt my despair.

I am still here alive, able to smile quietly.
O sweet fruit brought forth by the tree of suffering!
Carrying the dead body of my brother,
I go across the rice field in the darkness.
Earth will keep you tight within her arms, my dear,
so that tomorrow you will be reborn as flowers,
those flowers smiling quietly in the morning field.
This moment you weep no more, my dear.
We have gone through too deep a night.

This morning,
I kneel down on the grass,
when I notice your presence.
Flowers that carry the marvelous smile of ineffability
speak to me in silence.

The message,
the message of love
and understanding,
has indeed come to us.

by Thich Nhat Hanh, 1964

One Last Refrain

I tried to craft an eloquent post about what Rent has meant to me over the last 11 years; unfortunately J is watching Resident Evil 3 in the darkened living room at top volume and shouting at me to return, completely breaking my concentration.

Sigh.

To sum up: I'll miss you, Rent. I'll miss escaping to the Nederlander on a weekday and scoring rush tickets. I'll miss sitting in the front row of the theater - watching the familiar characters fumble through life and love and relationships and AIDS and budding careers - and reflecting on my own life, my own shortcomings, my failures... and still feeling so damn hopeful about it all.

And for that, my heartfelt thanks.

TGIF

From: J
Sent: Friday, September 05, 2008 3:54 PM
To: HomeValley
Subject:


Dear Wife,

I love you. I am going to come home to see you soon.

Regards,

Husband.


From: HomeValley
Sent: Friday, September 05, 2008 3:57 PM
To: J
Subject: RE:

Dear Husband,

I love you too. Also, I am hungry. Can we get Panera?

Fondly,

Wife.


From: J
Sent: Friday, September 05, 2008 3:59 PM
To: HomeValley
Subject: RE:

Dear Wife,

I am also hungry! See how much we have in common!

Love always,

Husband.

Pitbulls Wearing Lipstick

So... much... to... write... Head... close... to... exploding...



Lord, where are we this week, Internet? Governor Sarah Palin has become an overnight media sensation, despite negative press surrounding her seventeen year-old daughter's pregnancy! (I saw today that Palin supports abstinence-only education in schools, and my head actually exploded just now with the irony.)



Obama has taken the high road regarding the young Palin girl, claiming that children are "off-limits", further endearing me to him and his progressive, change-bringing ways.



But political discussions must be put on hold until another day - friends, we have a 90210-remake to dissect.



I had completely lost track of time on Tuesday evening, having fallen head over heels in love with Edward Cullen in New Moon. (Mrs. Meyer, please accept my heartfelt apologize for this post. These books are ridiculous, in a completely incredible, wish-I-was-seventeen-again-and- dating-a-vampire way. You are my hero.)



Anyway, my phone began buzzing at 8:10 and Allie promptly brought me back to reality. Hannah Zuckerman-Vasquez?!? My heart swelled. And then I turned on the CW to meet "Silver" and my heart exploded with joy. (I am very explosive this week apparently.)



And then... well, meh.



Silver is of course my favorite. She's adorable, she's related to David, and instead of trying to be an R&B star crooning "You are so precious to me," she is a bad ass blogger with actual video feed! She makes HV look downright pedestrian, y'all.



And then there was everyone else. Black Brandon (or "Dixon") is a far cry from our beloved Walsh, the one who acted as moral compass for the West Beverly group, sans that one time he had too much to drink and crashed Mondale. But he totally learned his lesson.



Not Brenda (or "Annie") is quite adorable and giggly, and all the boys love her Midwestern ways. The richest kid in school is not quite Poor Man's Dylan, as he has a private jet and sings in the plays. A far cry from our dark knight of the 90s who lived in a penthouse and had that pesky drinking problem.

The Hot Walshes were, er, hot. And that's about all they've got going for them at this point. I miss Cindy, who missed Minnesota and almost had an affair that one time but stopped herself because she was of the highest moral caliber. Sigh.

And so they gave us illicit blow jobs before school, child actresses with drug problems, and super sweet sixteen galas. And through it all, HV said: yawn.

I perked up whenever the lovely Jennie Garth was onscreen, which was not quite often enough. And who is the father of her child? It must be Dylan, no?

Then suddenly: enter Brenda.

What was with Brenda? Did she look a bit odd to you all? The entire time she was on screen I kept recalling that episode in which Dylan was forced to choose between her and Kelly, and we got a glimpse into his future with each woman... He eventually chose Kelly. Smart man.

So, the jury is out. I'm not sure if I can stomach much more of the show without Tori Spelling. And who has ever written that sentence before?