Animal Spirits

Dear Readers,

If you don't believe in the afterlife, do not bother to read this blog.

This morning I was taking my walk along our illustrious paseo (it seems every time I take a walk these days, something bizarre happens) when a stray dog started to follow me. This medium-sized dog was short-haired, white with some brown spots, and had a tiny pink nose. He was wearing a green collar, but it had no tag. I couldn't tell what breed he was. I am nervous around strays, but this one had such kind eyes that my heart melted. As I petted him, he wagged his tail.

He (I could tell he was a he) continued to trot alongside me when I ran into a friend of mine. Somehow she convinced me to take the dog home. Okay, this is certainly dangerous territory for me. I had to put my beloved cat, Louie, to sleep last November, and my husband and I decided on a firm no pet policy for the time being.

"I want to travel without worrying about a pet," said my husband, recently. Actually, he said it this past Saturday night, after my daughter and I had "inadvertently" stopped by the pet store, AND my daughter had said point blank, "Mommy, get me a puppy!" I really don't want a pet right now, either, as I am still grieving over my cat; also, if anyone has ever had to take care of an aging, sick pet, and knows all the heartbreak surrounding that endeavor, then it is clear why I don't want "to go there" and get myself attached to another animal so soon.

But I know how animal spirits work. They know when a person misses their animal. Sometimes I think I feel Louie with me -- when I am doing some mundane chore such as folding laundry, for instance -- he used to keep me company. I still like to imagine him being there as I fold shirts and socks. "Are you crazy?" I used to say to him, "Or are you totally insane?" He would look at me with those beautiful gray-green eyes and I know he was thinking, "No, you're the crazy one, mom."

The stray dog followed me all the way home. I fed him a hot dog, offered him water and somehow got him into the car with me so I could drive him to the local veterinary office. He curled up in the back seat -- poor thing had probably been on the loose for some time and was so tired! Anyway, at the vet's office they scanned him, and fortunately, he had a chip that identified his owner. They called and left a message for the owner to come and pick him up. I left the office alone. The same office where my husband and I had taken our cat for his final good-bye only three months ago. This was tough.

I hope all goes well for that wonderfully sweet dog. But my story is not over. Many years ago, before I had my cat, I had to put down my dog, Gizmo. Gizmo was a cream-colored Lhasa apso who had been my baby before my real baby boy was born. About two months after Gizmo was gone, a stray dachshund appeared literally at my doorstep. I took it in, put notices up all around the neighborhood, and lo and behold, the distraught owner found the dog. The strange thing was that the owner had also just recently had to put her Lhasa apso to sleep, too. We commiserated over our losses, and celebrated the fact that her puppy dachshund was safe and sound. Her dog had dug himself out under the fence and had run at least three or four miles to my house.

Intuition told me that after I put my cat to sleep last November I would be visited by a stray animal, just like I had when my dog died. I think that is the animal spirit way of healing humans who miss their pets and letting us know that everything is okay in animal heaven. At least I like to think so.

The Birds

A short note about birds.

I love birds. I think in a past life I was a cockatoo in a cage or something. Yesterday as I was sitting at my dining room table, I noticed a hummingbird hovering near the window. It flew away, but reappeared in a matter of minutes. Then I realized that I had taken down my hummingbird feeder to clean it last week and forgot to replace it. Suddenly, I was filled with guilt; the poor, hungry hummingbird was outside saying "feed me!" Without haste, I filled the feeder with my special red solution and brought it outside. Whew!

The bird world must have caught wind of my faux pas. My yard was filled this morning with a swarm of tiny little birds in search of post-rain worms. Surely, the hummingbird must have sent them! Luckily, I caught sight of a pretty little blue bird in the mix. I love blue birds, as they are supposed to bring good luck. I don't know where I heard that bit of superstition; perhaps my imagination made it up. But what is wrong with making up folklore as we go along?

To complete my little bird blurb, I would like to tell you about a near miss this morning. I was out on the San Fernando trail, my MP3 player in hand, when I noticed a huge flock of birds in the trees above. No, I was not in a Hitchcock movie (anyone remember "The Birds" with Tippi Hedren?). I turned off my Madonna music and heard such a clamour I almost thought I was hallucinating. No such luck. The birds were real and were making the loudest avian racket I've ever heard. Kind of like an idiot, I just stood there listening to this deafening bird mayhem.

I am sure you can guess what happened. A bird poop missed me by that much. We are talking a millimeter. I even took my jacket off (the pea green one I wrote about the other day) thinking I had been hit. Fortunately, I was spared. I'm not sure whether I was lucky or simply stupid. My guard was down, and I let myself become a target. All in all, though, being privy to nature's symphony was worth the risk.

The Post Valentine's Day Greens

Have we had enough red and pink hearts, everyone?

Today I feel immersed in all things green. I shall explain.

It all started the other day when I received my L.L. Bean fleece jacket in the mail. This was my first Bean item ever, and I was very excited to receive it. (How fun is it to open a UPS package for oneself? I can definitely see the addiction possibilities!) Unfortunately, the green shown on the internet -- a soft, muted, camo green -- was in reality a bright pea green variety. Yikes! When my eyes cooled off from the color overload, I started thinking deeply about green.

Green means a lot of things these days. We are concerned more than ever about the future of our environment, and are inundated with "Go Green" slogans everywhere. Next month is St. Patty's day, too, and having an elementary school child, I know how many clovers and leprechauns are coming home in the next few weeks! (Frankly, I can't wait for green bagels and cream cheese.) We can be "green with envy," have a "green thumb," and our beloved currency is green. We are told from a nutritional standpoint that we need to eat healthy "greens."

Back to my jacket. The first thing I did after the initial shock was try it on. Nice fit. Soft and warm, too. I ordered it to wear on my morning walks and as a mid-weight alternative to frumpy sweatshirts and such. A funny thing happened, though, as I looked at myself in the mirror: I felt happy! Even my husband, who is not a fan of bright colors on me, said he liked it. Okay, what is going on here?

I think I have been indoctrinated in neutrals. My first suit out of college was navy blue. Yes, I had matching navy blue pumps and a black briefcase. Ugh! This was my power suit as I pounded the New York City pavement searching for my first job out of college. When I did start working in the wonderful world of advertising, my closet slowly filled up with gray, beige and black suits. C'mon, what woman isn't told to own at least one or two pair of sensible black pumps? I have also read books and countless articles about how French women are chic because they have small wardrobes of NEUTRAL clothes that they mix and match. Bright colors are for accents only! Do I dare to be unchic? Will I be a pea green freak?

After some deliberation, I took the plunge, or I should say, cut the tags, and decided to keep the jacket. What the heck! The next morning I wore it to my daughter's drop off at school. Right away, I noticed that I matched the green grass and felt a little spring in my step. I also noticed that everyone around me was wearing neutrals. Grays, browns, whites, blacks abounded...nary a bright in sight. Several moms stopped me and said how much they loved the color, as it reminded them of spring. Yes, that was my light bulb moment: I realized that this jacket was my rebellion to winter!

I remember now that when I lived in New York I bought a red winter coat with big red buttons. We're talking tomato red, here. New Yorkers in the career obsessed 1980s were all wearing neutrals (and snorting cocaine, but that's another story). On a blistery, gray day in winter, however, that red coat always kept me toasty and cheered me up as I trudged along Madison Avenue knee deep in snow and sleet. So perhaps history repeats itself, and I need a boost to get me through the darkest season. Consider color a shot of adrenaline. Indeed, I think I could definitely become a bold color convert.

Love Story - the movie

When I was only ten years old a movie came out that made more women cry than a barrel full of chopped onions: Love Story. Starring Ryan O'Neal and Ali MacGraw, Love Story brought us the famous line, "Love means never having to say you're sorry." It was the BIG romantic story of a generation, and considered one of the most romantic films of all time by the American Film Institute (#9 on the list!). Even the book by Erich Segal was a bestseller.

Sadly, when I mention that movie now to any one of my friends under forty years old, they give me a glassy-eyed stare and say, "Who was in that?" One of my dear (young) friends said, "Oh, yeah, that is my Grandma Mimi's favorite movie." Aha! I am in with the grandmas (a recurring theme in my life, so it seems).

When I first saw Love Story I had no idea what the fuss was all about. I mean, a ten year old watching a movie about adult love and loss? I don't even remember who I was with (a friend? my mother? I know it couldn't have been my brothers!) I do remember, however, that I saw it in one of those lovely, historic theaters in Westwood that was built before multi-plexes took over the planet. After the film I was in the bathroom, and ALL the women were crying. I am talking about a major tear fest! Sob city! Back then, I just looked around at all the Kleenex and red eyes in a childish stupor.

Just the other day I put myself to the Love Story test and watched the film again. Nearly forty years later, I had a totally different viewing experience. Savvy film goers today would find many aspects of the film dated. However, I was caught up in the story of Oliver and Jennifer, both Ivy Leaguers (one wealthy, one poor) who come together despite the obstacles. Oliver's relationship with his millionare father is also a "love story" in and of itself. By the film's end, there I was, just me and my DVD, tears and Kleenex. I had been moved just as women had before me many moons ago. That is the power of a love story!

Love Story was nominated for seven Academy Awards, and won for only one, Best Music -- Original Score. Which is interesting, since at the end of the film, as I was weeping away in the living room, my eighteen year old son comes into the kitchen rummaging for food (as usual) and upon hearing the title song, "Where Do I Begin?" says, "Oh, yeah, I've heard that song before!" Okay, so at least someone younger than forty knows the music! Yeah!

Now about that famous line, "love means never having to say you're sorry." Well, it has been my experience in the reverse, that it is actually very important to be able to say you're sorry. Just hearing those words after a dispute, whether the argument is big or small, seems to send a soothing balm over the anger that unfortunately erupted. Or sometimes I find myself saying it to my children when I have been short tempered or over reactive to one thing or another. Saying "sorry" along with a reassuring hug and kiss is an effective diffuser in my house.

In the bigger picture, however, love should transcend petty arguments and disagreements not only between couples, but amongst family members as well, and that was the message offered in the film. After awhile, it is best (and healthier for our spirits) to let go of a grudge whether sorry has been said or not. Forgiveness is an admirable quality, indeed, and often so difficult that it should be considered a skill set. Time, maturity and perspective go a long way towards letting go of hurt. Sometimes, too, it is best to forget figuring out why someone said or did something, but to finally admit to ourselves that some actions are inexplicable. This is what I think is meant by unconditional love.

I might revise that famous Love Story phrase with, "Love means having to say...whatever!" This Valentine's Day is as good a day as any to hug and kiss our loved ones and say "I Love You," and then think calmly to ourselves, "no matter what."

Romancing the Meal

For some reason, when we think of the ultimate romantic evening, it seems to tie into a meal of some sort. A candlelight dinner for two, some exotic fare, wine, along with a rich dessert all connotate a special occasion for lovers.

Yesterday, I got to thinking about my most romantic meals, and for some reason, I could never remember what I ate, so much as where I was and who I was with. And if I was in a relationship that ended up being a "bad romance" (to quote Lady Gaga) whatever romantic meals we may have had, I seemed to have blocked them out of my memory altogether. I guess that is a good thing!

Sometimes this memory lapse is not my fault. For instance, before my son was born, my ex-husband and I took a trip to London and Paris. In London, food wise I remember wolfing down big breakfasts in the morning and getting heartburn in the evening. The saddest thing of all, however, was by the time we reached Paris I had a bad cold...so you know what that means...no taste! WHO GOES TO PARIS AND CAN'T TASTE THE FOOD? ME! Alas, what would Julia Child have said?

I asked my husband, Steve, what he remembers as our most romantic meal. His answer was very sweet, and brought back a dinner I had honestly forgotten. Before our daughter was born we took a trip up to San Francisco. I went to college in S.F., and as the song goes, I did leave my heart there in a sense. The restaurants, the bars (cheap hangouts for a college student) and scenic vistas at every turn always give me a thrill when I visit the city by the bay.

In San Francisco there is a little restaurant called "La Felce" on an unassuming corner in the Italian section of town known as North Beach. San Francisco is a gourmet's heaven, with so many amazing restaurants, but La Felce is one of those homey places where the menu never changes and the waiters are there forever. If you order a complete dinner, the food keeps on coming -- salad with antipasto, soup, pasta and THEN the main course, such as chicken saute sec with spinach and potatoes (my favorite). Not to mention, dessert, too! I had discovered this restaurant as a college student, and whenever I made it though a semester in one piece, I would go to La Felce with friends to celebrate.

I am grateful to Steve for remembering the time we went there together before we needed a babysitter! Since having our baby, I actually find going out to breakfast to be very romantic and relaxing. I am a pancake nut, and love the pumpkin pancakes at the Egg Plantation in Newhall. Sneaking off to breakfast with my husband when our daughter is in school feels totally decadent to me!

In the movies, romantic interludes always seem to happen over Chinese take out. Perhaps it has something to do with chopsticks and long noodles. Go figure.

For Valentine's Day this year I have bought a small box of chocolates for Steve and I to share together. For my son and daughter, I have a strawberry shortcake from Trader Joe's hiding in the freezer. The red and white cake seems perfect for the occasion. Naturally, mom will have to sample a little bit of it, too. (After some Chinese take-out, of course.)

Isn't It Romantic? A little about Audrey...

Last night I was listening to Michael Feinstein's rendition of the classic love song, "Isn't It Romantic?" The song reminded me of the film "Sabrina" (the original version) with Audrey Hepburn, William Holden and Humphrey Bogart. If you haven't seen this film, it is a must in the romantic category. The song plays in the film when Audrey finally gets to dance with the love of her life, William Holden. There is a close-up of her face, and she is in total rapture. Ah, c'est l'amour!

Any film that Audrey Hepburn was in had to be romantic, no? "Roman Holiday," "Breakfast at Tiffany's," "My Fair Lady" and "Funny Face" come to mind instantly. Women (and lots of girls, too) still love Audrey today because she was beautiful, charming, graceful, unabashedly stylish, elegant and all THAT without losing an intangible girlish innocence and intelligence! A great romantic heroine and icon, indeed.

Audrey trained for the ballet, but by a fluke, became an actress. After some bit parts in movies, she met the famous French writer, Collette, who was looking for an actress to play her famous literary character Gigi on Broadway. When Collette first laid eyes on Audrey, legend has it that she loudly pronounced, "I have found my Gigi!" The rest is history, because Audrey was enormously talented. Okay, by now you may have guessed that she is one of my favorite old school actresses, along with Greta Garbo and Ingrid Bergman.

But despite all of her talent and good looks, her love life was tumultuous. It took two failed marriages before she met the true love of her life. Her first marriage to fellow actor Mel Ferrer lasted fourteen years and she was depressed during most of that time. Her second marriage to a wealthy Italian psychiatrist was a disaster and ended rather quickly (we're talking rebound relationship, here) until she eventually met Robert Wolders. Wolders was wealthy and found happiness in just letting Audrey be Audrey -- and what she wanted most was to be a mommy to her two sons (one from each of her marriages). They all lived in her Swiss Chalet where she loved to tend her garden, cook, read, entertain and travel a little. Sounds good to me! Wolders and Hepburn never married, but they were together until she died.

So though we often talk about marriages lasting hundreds of years (okay, maybe thirty or forty is more realistic) there are some people who find true love later in life, such as Audrey. A second or even third go round can be the charm for some who are world weary and wiser in the love department. And for some, like Audrey, marriage is not the answer. Her lover, Wolders, was empathetic to the unhappiness Audrey had endured and once said when asked why they never married, "It would be like asking someone who has just got out of an electric chair to sit back on it again."

Ouch!

Ivan's Story

This morning I was taking my power walk up through Summit Park when I met Ivan. I was just about to pass him on the trail when he struck up a conversation with me as a flock of birds flew overhead in a beautiful V-formation.

"Look at those birds! I used to fly like that," Ivan said. "In the Air Force. The Korean war. I was stationed in French Morocco -- North Africa." If you haven't guessed by now, Ivan is old enough to be my grandfather.

Ivan loves to talk and he started chatting away as if we were old friends. I found out that he had met his wife, Lynn, in high school. They had been sweethearts for seven years before they finally got married. But lo and behold, Ivan was sent off to North Africa right after their honeymoon in Mexico. "I'll never forgive my commanding officer," Ivan said. "He didn't have to send me there, but he did anyway. My wife and I were separated for a whole year. And that flight to North Africa over the Atlantic Ocean was the worst flight I ever had, and I've flown a lot!"

We walked together, total strangers, as Ivan told me about his adventures in North Africa. "We lived in plywood buildings in the desert. The temperature reached 117 degrees. Except on some days it would be 125 degrees."

My job was to listen, to offer a kind ear to an elderly man with tales to tell. He also recounted how a long time ago he took his wife on her first night flight and how "she was like a kid in a candy shop. Her face was glued to the window. She loved the lights." His wife is still alive, too, and works as a librarian at a local junior high!

Ivan said that when he and his young wife were finally back together they had four children. Her doctor had said jokingly to Ivan, "hey, take it easy on her, already!" Now they have several grand kids, too. Even great grand kids!

As I've been writing about love stories, I thought Ivan's story was the epitome of
romance. A newly married couple separated for a year and then finally reunited as he came off an airplane in New York. Their resilience in the face of early hardship. I couldn't help noticing, too, how whenever he spoke of his beloved, he had a certain twinkle in his eye.

What a privilege it was to meet and hear Ivan's story. In a world of instant gratification, here was an example of a true happily ever after. Disney couldn't have written it better.

We had to part ways at the end of the trail -- I was heading south and he, north. We shook hands and exchanged names. Ivan made me think about romance as a long distance race. How glorious it is to first fall in love and get those initial flutters in the stomach. But to hang in there over the years, raise a family, and still have that twinkle in the eye is as romantic as it gets!

Speaking of Keats

Pip! Pip!

Speaking of brilliant British poets, one of the greatest Romantic era poets was John Keats, who died at the ripe young age of 25 from tuberculosis, or "consumption" as they used to call the incurable and all too common disease in those days. Keats happens to be my all time fav; his poetry is a paradox of otherworldly, etheral imagery and metaphor pared with down-to-earth vulnerability. But I am not here to preach on the poetic prowess of Keats, just to talk about the film "Bright Star" which documents the last three years of his life and his passionate love affair with Fanny Brawne.

I am a big Jane Campion fan. She directed "The Piano" which I absolutely adored. It was a dark, damp film with Harvey Keitel and Holly Hunter. Campion has a Victorian sensibility and I love, love, love (did I say love?) the Victorian era for many reasons which I will not bore you with now. So a film directed by Campion about my favortite poet in pre-Victorian England -- we are talking supreme Heaven for me.

I was a little disappointed in the film, however. I don't mind talky films, but I had a hard time hearing what they were talking about! I thought Abbie Cornish as Fanny was excellent, and Paul Schneider as Keats' best friend and benefactor, Charles Brown, was scene stealing. For some reason, Ben Whishaw, who played Keats, just didn't have enough "umph" for me. He is handsome. He is skinny. But the other actors seemed to outshine him in my opinion.

Keats fell in love with Brawne after his initial impression of her was "she is ignorant - monstrous in her behaviours, flying out in all directions." Not too flattering, really! Fanny was into all things frilly -- fashion, sewing, silly novels, but not poetry, for goodness sakes! First impressions often go by the wayside, and this is what happened to these young lovers. On the plus side, they were both very short (five feet tall each! Yes, I said EACH!)

I won't tell the whole story because I don't want to ruin it for my movie-going fans out there, but as the film progresses it gets better and better. Keats' friend Brown warns him of the dangers of love - like the loss of all creative freedom, for instance. Fanny's ma is worried about her daughter marrying a poor schmuck with no bucks. So if you don't mind a slow start, I recommend it! Heck, anytime I can see British costumes and scenery as well as hear Brit accents reading poetry, I'm there, baby.

Today I want to close with the ultra romantic poem, "Bright Star" which Keats wrote for his beloved Fanny. Feel free to steal some lines from it for your Valentine's cards. (Oh, by the way, there is a great Valentine's day scene in the film, too...) Please note: poetry of this magnitude is best enjoyed with a spot of tea...

'Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art'

Bright star! would I were steadfaast as thou art-
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors-
No-yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft swell and fall,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever-or else swoon to death.


Cheerio!

That's Amore!

Hello Lovelies!

Ah, February! The month of amore, liebe, aimer...and in jolly, old English, LOVE. So for the next two weeks I will talk about all things love.

As we know, Love (and I capitalize it on purpose) is a multifaceted, complex thing in and of itself. Song lyrics such as "Love is a many splendored thing," or "What is this thing called Love?" describe Love as a big, weird THING. A mystery. A shapeless, amoeba-like "thing" that seems to permeate our souls to the core and drive us crazy. We are hard wired for Love (most of us, anyway) and this elusive "thing" has kept our species going for quite some time already.

For my first post on Love, I thought I would get uncharacteristically personal and tell y'all about how I met my husband, Steve. For our story is about how love and romance are often misunderstood. Let's face it, women crave romance just as men crave sex. This, I believe, has led to many of the issues that come between couples these days.

Anyway, on with the story! About eleven years ago I was a divorced, single mom venturing out on a new career as an English teacher. Fortunately, I was hired at a terrific middle school in Tarzana, California. As I was a new teacher, I was nervous, anxious and every other adjective for "scared silly" as to how to do my job. One day in early October, about a month into my first semester, I was about to go into the copy room when I heard someone call out my name, "Ms Stone!" (Stone was my former last name.)

I turned around and there was Mr. Thatt, one of the school deans, whom I had never met before. "I want to talk to you about one of your students," he said. He was referring to a student who had said the "F" word in my class recently. I had written a note to the dean's office about the matter. He told me how he had called the boy's father and worked out the matter. He was very professional and said he would be glad to help me, knowing that I was a new teacher. He explained that before he became a dean, he had been in the classroom as an English teacher for fifteen years and was an expert at classroom management. Yes, people, he was strutting his proverbial peacock feathers...

What I remember most about our first meeting outside the copy room was how attentive and helpful he was. Also, our school was known for its beautiful rose bushes, which just happened to be in full bloom right outside that same copy room. So I will always associate our first meeting with those wonderful roses.

Fast forward a few months. Mr. Thatt had "visited" my room on several occasions just to see how I was doing. It was his way of watching out for me, and letting the students feel his presence so they would behave in my class. But middle schoolers being middle schoolers, they figured out pretty quickly what was really going on. They said, "Look at Ms. Stone -- she's blushing!" One very sweet girl asked aloud, "Ms. Stone, has Mr. Thatt taken you for ice cream yet?"

By December we were on our first date. And here was the truly romantic part: on a piece of ruled yellow paper, he had hand written out various English lessons for me in case I was ever in a bind. The list included, "Vocabulary Activities, Transormational Grammar Activities, Syntax Activities, Paragraph Activities and Literature Activities." Neat and precise, this list was a life saver during that first treacherous year as a new teacher.

I still have the list. I keep it in a sheet protector so it won't get messed up. I don't need to refer to it anymore, but it is in my briefcase as my good luck charm whenever I work. It is right beside my computer now as I type this story. No, it is neither love letter nor a dozen roses, but it was Steve's way of showing affection and how much he cared. Knowing my husband as I do now, he is not romantic in the way many women wish their mates to be. He shows love most often through being helpful.

Love and romance is often a matter of balance. We need to ask for what we really want and appreciate what we get. Steve knows how much I adore flowers and gifts; and I know that when he does a chore for me, that spells "Love." A glass of fine wine along with a gourmet meal now and then doesn't hurt, either!

Ciao!