Today was a good day. Not because I jammed my high heel into a grate cover right outside of Cost Plus. Not because I ran (ruined) with one small whisking of my pinky finger, my $20 formerly lovely tights. Not even because when I squatted down to pick something up I stepped with my high heel on the back of my skirt and promptly ripped it when I stood up. No, not for any of those reasons.
It was a good day. Not because my friend stood me up for lunch, though I totally understood, and hope that someday when I have kids and stand someone else up for lunch, they will similarly forgive me my shortcoming with a smile on their face glad not to be dealing with the screaming tantrum on the other end of the line that was the cause for the cancelled lunch. (On a side note, the cheese sandwich made of donated bread and cheese from coworkers was actually delicious. It was just missing grape jelly). Not because I was a very bad doggie-mom and left my two luvs at home alone far too long. Not because a raccoon or a murder of crows strategically knocked clean over the black iron post I have with three bird feeders and dessimated everything. No, not for any of those reasons.
It was a good day. I woke up early, exhausted, but nonetheless, I woke up. I got dressed, was feeling cute for about two minutes before I started ripping my skirt and apparently my tights too in an effort to get out of my house. I went to work. I worked. I found blue thread and sewed the rip in my skirt. I got a few things done. I got my time entered. I had a great 1-hour conversation with a phenomenal photographer. I had a peanut butter cookie, though I shouldn't report that part. I had an interesting conversation with those who will be left unnamed about creative alternatives for digging one's way out of this recession. I then took myself on a date to a wine & hor d'ouvres - I always have to look up that word - fundraising gathering on a street which getting to resembles something like landing on the right seed of a pomegranate. Tricky to say the least. Now, I am not afraid of taking myself to the movies. I have been known to do it without any qualms whatsoever. But going anonymously into a theatre, sitting quietly in the dark in the back row, thoroughly enjoying your space and silence amidst a crowd of strangers, is entirely different than trying to slip casually into someone's home through the front door, when they have all the lights on and 50 people guarding their hor d'ouvres, to support a cause, and a famous author, neither of whom you know anything about. The invitation last week just seemed serendipitous, and I like the numbers "8-2-6", and so I showed up.
It looks something like this: knock knock (quietly). Door opening. "Hello!" says Jeff. "I'm Jeff."
"Hi!" I say in return. Flash big winning smile. "Welcome!" says Jeff. "Why thank you!" I respond. "This must be your home." "Yes, it is. So, you must know Dave Eggers?" (Turns out Dave wrote "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.")
"Oh, um, no. Actually, I don't." (Turns out he also started 826 and is the reason behind this program and the event.)
"Oh, so you know Teri."
"Oh, well actually, no. Who is Teri?"
"So do you know the author, Michael?"
Smiling and wishing the interrogation would end and that the gatekeeper would just let me slip into the back row of the dark theatre with my popcorn and silence. But instead, thinking, "Oh, um, yeah, that
pullitzer prize winning guy who is helping host this event? Um, yeah, not him either."
"Oh well, come on in, 'your people' must be here somewhere!"
(Laughing hysterically inside, then immediately wondering who 'my people' are and whether I will recognize them just based on looks, or whether they will flash me the symbol. Eeks! Could he tell that I am a lawyer? Is that what he meant by 'your people'? Ouch! He can't even say the word, it's so despicable.)
Sigh. Enter. Try not to rip skirt or tights any further. Decide to introduce myself as a photographer tonight, not a lawyer. Yes, that is a good plan. I think writers and wannabe writers and people who support writers and other creatives must like photographers better than lawyers. This is a good plan.
So, using my newfound name remembering skill ("I care about you enough to remember your name ... I care about you enough to remember your name ... I care about you enough to remember your name." Don't say this out loud, just repeat it to your tired brain), I met Michael and Nona first, though for a second I wanted to call Michael "Shawn" instead, which was weird. But Nona I will not forget, because I've never met a Nona. Then I met Michael and Jennifer. They were leaning by the beautiful piano. Turns out Jennifer is an ophthalmologist and Michael works for Microsoft. (The other Michael works for Department of Health and Social Services). Nona liked to laugh. But she was also intrigued with Sylvia who teaches pilates. "Look for the woman with the good core." Back to Jennifer, Jennifer is the sister of Susie, who it turns out I helped with a legal matter awhile ago. Small world. Jennifer is vibrant and charming and smart.
Then I found Sylvia and thanked her (not for being a pilates instructor), but for co-hosting the evening. Her husband was Jeff, who opened the door. They had an outrageously beautiful home with lots of space and lots of art. It was really the perfect setting for awkward social encounters. Which leads me to my next introduction. Seeing the guy with the hair, I figured that just HAD to be the pullitzer prize-winning author, Michael Chabon. So I just stood there, quietly, until he and another gentleman turned and then I said, "did I hear that you are Michael?" (Michael number three for the night, so I probably should have clarified).
"I don't know whether you heard that, but I am a Michael." Good one. I should remember that the next time someone approaches me awkwardly. Then it turned into a lovely conversation where we talked with Doug, another Microsoftie (that is how they refer to themselves!), though Doug claimed to be "like 8 levels below Jeff" at Microsoft. "That sounds like a good spot" I said, pretty cleverly. The conversation recovered, and then we talked about Michael's latest adventures and I pretended to know something of his writings, when the conversation turned to movies based on his books and one that was cast had Natalie Portman and Ewan McGregor in place until someone decided they didn't want to spend 83 million dollars on a movie about two guys who come together to write comics. Bummer. But it will likely still see its day. That's my thought.
And then Michael mentioned another kind of exciting project that was under way and when Doug inquired further, Michael explained he could not disclose any details, "because of blogs and all that." Um. Yeah. Blogs? Weird.
Then when I asked Michael about writing habits and structure and self-discipline, he said it's really like doing anything regularly: "It's hard to make yourself do it, but you always feel better when it's done. Like exercise or bowel movements." (My thoughts exactly! I thought maybe I had misheard him. Nope.)
"Careful, careful!" I told Michael. "That's going to end up on Doug's blog tomorrow." If Michael denies any of this, which I'm sure he won't, because he seems pretty colorful like that, I will just claim to have taken artistic liberties in regards to describing our conversation. But I found him to be perfectly lovely despite his colorful examples. After all, he was wearing a good suit and cool boots. (As part of his speech to the group: "It's like me asking whether sex would be better had not an old jew stood above me and cut me as a baby." Uh-huh. It's like that. Kind of came out of the blue like that, too. Choke.) Anyways, he clearly has more experience with giving colorful speeches than I do. He certainly captured his audience.
But actually, the huge bulk of his presentation was perfectly composed yet genuine, spontaneous, descriptive, relatable and about kids, and their abilities for creation: dirt, leaves and other messy things glued to a paper and handed proudly to a parent as a gift. Scribbles resembling fish on the back of mom's bank deposit slip. Collections of beans and glitter and straws and colors and everything else that sometimes ends up in the trash because there is just so darn much of it, and where do you put it? Where exactly does this stuff go?
And then a parent looks back, and in a blink of an eye, their kid is all grown up, and those little messy piles of art and projects and creations have a different meaning than what once they held ... a childhood so fleeting. Or at least seeming that way.
Nurture the creation. Nurture the art. Nurture the commas and the periods and the syntax and the silly stuff too. Take it seriously but not too seriously. Visit 826 disguised in cities throughout the nation as "the Greenwood Space Travel Supply Co." or "the Pirate Supply Store" (where they really do sell space travel and pirate supplies). You might even get your own copy of the "Map of the Known Universe" or your very own "Black Hole Starter Kit."
WARNING: INCORRECT USE OF A BLACK HOLE MAY CAUSE WIDESPREAD DESTRUCTION, CREATION OF RECURRENT TIME LOOP ANOMALIES, AND AN UNPLEASANT BUZZING SOUND. Learn more about 826 Seattle and other 826 groups
here.
**Photo courtesy of Michael Chabon's website.
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