Elliott Smith - Between The Bars

He wrote from the deepest place. I find I need to go there on occasion.

Sarah Jarosz "Tell Me True"

Doesn't Sarah Jarosz do a lovely job with this song? (Her own, incidentally.) Something inside me needs to hear music like this.

it gets better

Today I tackled the box containing my little brother's personal photos. He was 38 when he died, and to quote a tired phrase that's more than true, a day doesn't go by when I don't think about him. He liked to take pictures, and I had a blast flipping through the now faded images he shot during our high school days. Had no idea he chronicled our high school concert choir tour and classroom moments, the staff at the Anaheim Hills Carl's Jr. (where we both worked), graduations, family gatherings, trips to the beach. And lots and lots of our current families — how he treasured his nieces and nephews! Then there are the many images of folks I don't recognize from chapters in his life I wasn't a part of. I don't know these people, the landscape, or events pictured, nor does anyone in our family that I know of. But each image is kind of like a little piece of him — the San Francisco skyline from his apartment window, a beloved castle in Germany — no way will those pieces will end up at the bottom of a landfill heap if I have anything to do about it. No, they'll be scanned along with the rest of the family photos, just in case an old acquaintance of his contacts me someday. Perhaps their memory of him would be sparked by one of these old images, and I'll learn even more about this wonderful human being I was lucky enough to have as my little brother for a time.

Just this week, two good friends informed me of their own recent family losses — both scenarios tragically heartbreaking. I would've loved to be able to offer effective comforting words to each, but all I could come up with was that, for some reason, crying really helps. I've so been there. My brother was afflicted with a horrible disease that ravaged his mind and body — his death was our family's own personal 9-11. A year after that, my dad, a beautiful man and our family compass, died of a heart attack.  He was 65. Neither loss was easy or made sense.

It's been almost a decade, and although our family's losses will never make sense to me, they have gotten easier to bear. I see my brother's crooked grin and twinkling eyes and I have to smile. "How cool was he?" I think. My salt-of-the-earth coworker says something both hilarious and encouraging, and I think, "Dad would've liked her." These beautiful men are more than with me — they're a part of me. I'm thankful for that.

So for those whose hearts are being ripped out at this very moment, I offer this: It gets better. I've found that in time, the tears don't come nearly as often. Oh they're still there, and I kind of like that they are. I'm closest to the core of who I am in these broken moments, and through my own pain I find I'm more fully able to deeply feel someone else's. From that small seed emerges the tiniest sprout of understanding.

These are the pictures that made me cry today:

photo shoot at sunset

Song: Mother by Kasey Chambers


Sometimes when you live in Paradise you forget that after work on a Tuesday evening you and your 15-year-old daughter can grab a couple of cameras and steal away to the tidepools — at sunset.

Why we never do this remains a mystery.

of girl parties and girlfriends

I love this photo. Unabashed giggles at my daughter's seventh birthday party. The theme was "spa party" that year — I vividly recall the time and effort involved in giving 12 girls manicures and pedicures after they frolicked in our candlelit jacuzzi spa. Add party games, dinner, birthday cake, cleanup, bad pop music, and unending girl screaming, and I'm ready to be carried off to the nearest insane asylum. Of course, they always wanted a slumber party, but it never failed — just when I'd gotten them all quiet in their sleeping bags at some ungodly hour, there'd be at least one girl who decided she was homesick and needed mom or dad to pick her up. But it's all been totally worth it.

My girl turned fifteen this week and we just put a cap on her most recent birthday bash. Many of the same girls from those early years were in attendance, along with some darling new acquaintances. And although the guests are now texting boys from their cell phones and socializing on facebook during the festivities, things really aren't too different than the birthday bashes of old. A similar cast of characters enjoyed a hilarious afternoon of bowling followed by a video contest, pizza dinner, gourmet cupcakes, groovin' to whatever the kids are listening to these days at full blast, screaming, and chattering into the night. And a first: No one went home early!

Over the years the guest list has been altered. Those who've proven to be kind and supportive have kept coming year after year. My girl seems to have an innate radar for selecting friends who are genuine and unselfish and build her up rather than tear her down. I'd go so far as to say these friendships will serve as the building blocks for every tough situation she'll encounter in life.

I don't know if her mother has provided her with the best example in this area. I made the grave error of replacing my girlfriends with whatever boy or man happened to be in my life at the time. This began in my teenage years and lasted until after my divorce when some wonderful, selfless women came out of the woodwork to rescue me. I thought I had friends when I was married, but I didn't fully realize that maintaining these friendships meant constantly working on them — scheduling lunches and girls nights out or simply picking up the phone to ask "how are you?" Never did it. I was waiting for them to call me. They did, sometimes, but for the most part, I depended on the poor man in my life as the outlet for all my girl-motions. Yeah, that went over really well. Point is, we girls need to vent, and we need to vent to each other. If we're lucky enough to be blessed with girlfriends who are, as my grandmother put it, "old shoes," the love and support we receive from them will be genuine, constant, and beyond measure.

As girls — and women — all is right with the world when we feel loved and supported by our fellow girlfriends. And we are happy to oblige when a true friend needs us. I cannot stress enough the importance of this concept to my daughter. Good supportive girlfriends, along with strong faith in her higher power, will carry her through each and every life mishap. She'll be well-equipped for the journey.

detours in the highway of life

From April 26, 2009


Watched another Woody Allen movie last night. Manhattan. I love that film. If you haven’t had the pleasure of watching it, it involves a love triangle between Woody, Diane Keaton, and another guy (forget the actor’s name). Filmed in black & white with a George Gershwin score — a really beautiful film. Woody has a 17-year-old girlfriend (Muriel Hemmingway), and he knows the relationship’s totally wrong. After he meets Diane Keaton (his married friend's girlfriend), he comes up with a classic line to drop the 17-year-old. “Think of me as a detour in the highway of life.”

I just love that line. And it gets me thinking. Which events in my life are merely detours, and which are the real thing? If I take out all of the fluff in my life based on bad decisions I’ve made, would I end up with a straight line of a life that has purpose and makes sense? Can anyone but the Dalai Lama do this? Maybe it’s all about trial and error, and the silly events in our life we’d like to forget really do matter. Like that weird dude I met at a dance club in Pasadena who took me to Green Street Café and ordered us an appetizer-only dinner with water. His father was dying of cancer and he took me to his boyhood home in Lancaster to meet him. His mom worked at a supermarket. I think we went out about three times. I don’t even remember his name. Does he count?

I recently discovered a diary I wrote in 1989. My thoughts, feelings, and accounts of each day for the entire year. I read it not long ago. I’d forgotten about most of the events of that year, but there they were — the gospel truth of Kirsten in blue and black ink. It was a rough year for sure. Cliff and I were newly married and had just moved to Texas to make a new start. We were living with his parents. I was 25 — way immature and insecure. I got a job at a home security company and I spent way too much ink wondering whether they’d promote me and/or give me an office (both of which never happened). This was before the kids were born, and even then, there were big troubles in the marriage — but I digress. That year DID matter. I made lots of mistakes. But I learned from them. I’m not the same person today. Thank God.

Maybe instead of a straight line, we’re supposed to have detours and those detours are actually part of the line. And maybe the line’s supposed to be crooked with only brief periods of straight. I believe what I’m doing with the kids is pretty much straight (OK, I’ve had my detours there, too). It’s all an ongoing project, I guess. But I keep trying. And I get better. And then I fall off and do something completely ridiculous —and the line gets curvy again. I feel like I have a vague clue sometimes, and when I don’t, I pray. I should really pray first.

When my dad used to phone us from one of his exotic travel locations, he’d say he was calling “from the highway of life.” Maybe that’s why I like that line so much.

Anteekin'

From recent excursion to a fabulous Cayucos antique store — ideal Saturday afternoon to-do with someone you really like! P.S. Elvis is everywhere!