It's been forever: memorial service, a salon, a protest

Gosh, y'all, I've never gone this long without posting here. Not while sick or abroad or in the weeds of any sort have I missed more than 4-5 days. But so goes life, and there you have it.

We're renovating our kitchen so have been mired in plans, and the boys finished school last Friday, and I went to New York on Sunday for Peter's memorial service and returned first thing Monday, and Christmas is a'coming, and on Saturday Jack asked with the most darling sincerity, "Mom, can you take me to the salon so I can get a new hair style?" and the orthodontist and this horrid tax bill and resistance, and a new venture, and so on.

I am deeply thankful to have been able to return to New York for Peter's tribute. I got to stay with my dear friend of nearly twenty years, Shawn, and time with dear old friends you don't see often enough is the absolute spice of life. 

Fourteen people shared their memories of Peter: how he'd believed in and supported them; how he'd changed their lives; how he was a rock, a touchpoint, the reason to stop and smell the flowers while running across a bustling campus. I know that I met Peter just when I needed to, at a time when I wavered internally, unsure of so much. He was a strong, funny, wise guidepost who kept me anchored and forward looking, even when I didn't know it. It was a gift to sit and listen to all who offered their reminiscences to us, a gift to hug Peter's wife and say thank you, a gift to see former colleagues and friends, a short moment to breathe and simply be present, with and for friends. 

This morning I spent two hours with a remarkable young woman. I have just opened the doors to a new business, an editorial consulting company of my own. I seek to help others make their written work shine. From college and graduate school essays to resumes and manuscripts, I am an eager partner and absolutely love the work. More about all of this soon.

After our work, I took Jack to the orthodontist to get new brackets and Christmas-themed rubber bands before heading on to my hair stylist for my big boy's first trip to the salon. 

Tom has cut both boys' hair for all these years. Jack has never been to a barber, and Oliver has just twice. When Jack said to me the other day, "I love that Dad cuts my hair, but I have had this do forever, and I just want something more me, with some lift," I both nearly died over the darlingness of it all and felt happy to make an appointment with Michael.

As I knew he would, Michael listened to Jack's vague vision with such seriousness. Then, he began. And now, my boy is thrilled. He has stood a little taller all day and he has reapplied his "product" with admirable restraint. I thought Oliver might want a trim after all this, but no. No amount of pride and preening from Jack could get Ol before hair scissors.

After an hour's rest, the boys and I crafted signs for tonight's protest at the White House, Caroling for Impeachment. My good friend, Karen, and a friend of hers, Emily of The Handmaid Coalition, were co-sponsoring the event with March On. Karen rewrote classic Hanukkah and Christmas songs with a decidedly #resistance slant, Emily brought handmaid costumes, and March On advertised and organized.

We marched, sang, and delivered post cards with messages of good tidings and swift impeachment. It was a great way to combat feelings of horror and fury over the current tax "bill" and general devolution of our democracy and also a great way to teach democracy in action: one cannot take it for granted, and using our voices to gather and protest is absolutely our Constitutional right!

It was a gorgeous evening, and the White House looked so beautiful. I felt sad that such ugliness lives inside, but my hope is not gone, and I guess that's something. 

Invisibility, darkness, and fucks or the lack of

I said to him, "You played the wrong note. So what. What do you do now? Do you quit or do you play it again? Do you quit or do you practice? What happens if you quit? What happens if you stay in the seat and erect your spine and reshape your embouchure and steady your fingers and blow?"

He looked down at his feet, and mumbled, "I don't get better, or I do."

"So, which is it? What do you want?" I asked the options kindly, but I asked them.

He turned back to the music stand, centered his horn, and blew out the first chords of the Imperial March. No squeaks this time.

***

This morning, I had a meeting. "He saw Mrs. L and turned in on himself," she said. "He turned down a snack!"

He loves Mrs. L. He loves food. What?

***

We have a tradition: Thursday night deep talks. Sometimes these happen on Thursday, but as often they happen on Friday or Monday. It really just depends on when said deepness needs to be talked out.

Tonight, Friday, I initiated a Thursday night deep talk as he packed his instrument away until tomorrow.

"Have you ever heard the expression 'Fake it until you make it?'"

"No."

"Well, Misse used to tell me to do that when I was nervous."

"What were you nervous about, Mama?" with a definite emphasis on 'you'.

"All sorts of things, honey. Being liked. Being smart. Making the dance line..."

He snapped the case latches shut and moseyed to my lap.

"What did it mean, what Misse said?"

"It meant that sometimes you have to pretend to be comfortable or confident or capable or ready. And ultimately, do you know what that sort of pretending is?"

"No."

"What did I ask you earlier, when you slapped your head and said, 'This song is too hard'? What could you do?"

"I could quit or practice."

"And what might faking it until I made it be like?"

"Practicing."

"Bingo."

***

I see the way he turns in on himself when he's nervous. When he doubts himself. When he doesn't feel up to snuff. It is a behavior I am all too familiar with. The turning in to the darkness, to the false feeling of invisibility. The hiding behind 'can't' versus shakily bucking up before 'faking and making.' Sometimes, but not always.

"Honey, let me tell you. It is scary for me to write so openly about politics and social justice. I was not raised in a place that championed the questioning of the status quo. But I do it anyway because it feels to me right and just. I am scared, but I make myself do it. What do you think that making myself do it is?"

"Practicing?" he murmured.

"Yes! And do you know what happened to me today? I left my meeting and as I walked through the school parking lot I saw a lovely acquaintance sitting alone in her car. It was an odd time for a mom to be parked in the overflow carpool line, and as I approached her, I saw that her eyes were shining.

“Are you OK?"

"Oh, I'm OK." and we exchanged deeper-than-pleasantries catch up talk. But soon enough, I was in her car skipping Pilates, and she was crying, and I was nodding.

"And at one point she said, I sort of hate Facebook but it's allowed me to see that you are an amazing person."

"And I blushed and said thank you, and still I am so moved, honey, because I was practicing speaking my truth even when it was scary, even when it meant pretending not to feel dark and worried, even when it meant being decidedly NOT invisible, and someone essentially said thank you for that."

"The only way I know how to be more like the people I admire -strong, brave, vocal women- is to fake giving no fucks until I don't. It is scary but it's the only way I know. And I want you to see in yourself all the absolute wonder and magic I see. Does that make sense, hon?"

"It does, Mama." His lip quivered, and we snuggled tight, and I said, "Sweet pea, what is it to ask for help?"

"It's practice," he said.

Indeed.

The Big Apple never disappoints

Home again, home again, jiggety jig. Jack and I had the most magical, special two days together in New York. We knew all the rave reviews of Hamilton, and yet it managed to far exceed our expectations, something that doesn't happen terribly often. It is a rare truffle worth every penny, and we both felt really thrilled and grateful to have seen it. 

Beyond the score, the choreography and use of the set and stage were exceptional. I have been lucky enough to see dozens of Broadway shows over the years, but Hamilton ranks right near the top. Jack sat forward in his seat, elbows on knees, at full attention the whole time. And then, ice cream.

We spent much of Friday at the Museum of Natural History and the Hayden Planetarium. If y'all have the chance to see the film Earthflight (a BBC Earth production that was filmed over four years in eleven countries and four continents), do. It is just magnificent. It's a 3D avian journey of migration and predation and flight and it moved me to tears. Why more people don't feel hellbent on protecting Earth and its creatures is beyond me. Nature is magic and beauty and grace.

We also enjoyed Dark Universe, a space show in the planetarium narrated by Neil deGrasse Tyson. Jack was spellbound. I can hardly comprehend the amounts of time and temperature and cosmic movement and drama that our existence entails, but it's humbling and awe-inspiring. And I learned a lot.

a big-ass geode

After hauling it downtown to see a friend and back uptown to change, we hauled it back downtown for dinner at The Spotted Pig, a cozy joint in the West Village whose ambiance really cannot be beat. Jack and I shared the savoy cabbage, speck, parmesan, and balsamic plate before he dug into his giant burger and mess of fries and I forked my arctic char with beets and creme fraiche. He declared his burger the "best I've ever eaten." I didn't much like my fish, but the cabbage dish was marvelous, and my wine was sublime. 

y'all, those fries. Shoestrings fried with rosemary and slivers of garlic.

Then to Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas tree in all its glory and then to get milkshakes. Jack doesn't eat much during the day, but damn does he make up for it come dinnertime!

I think I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow last night, and Jack slept like a baby until nearly 10 this morning. Places to go and people to see, buddy. So we dressed, and flew down to ABC Kitchen to enjoy brunch with one of my favorite people EVER, Shawn. Shawn who told me I had to start writing about food and thus, this blog. The best. 

So brunch and catching up and laughs and then we parted ways, and Jack and I went to see the Flatiron Building, and to Eataly, and to the Lego store, and then we walked the two miles back up to our hotel. Jack got quieter and quieter, and he slipped his hand in mine and said, "I love you, Mom."

We are home now, and I will never forget these two days with my sweet boy. I love that Jack and Ol love NY like I do; I think they totally get why my heart resides there, and I love that we can share that. Yes it's busy and noisy and can be dirty and rude and brusque, but it is so utterly alive and no-nonsense. Aah, as I saw on a bag today, "New York is my boyfriend."