an hour in the life

It started cuz I took the laundry outside to the washer. 
Then I figured I should probably clean the cat box. 
Then I noticed I needed to water, which made me realize I needed to weed. 
Which made me notice I needed to replant a few things. 
Which made a mess so I needed to spray off the dirt from that area, 
which made me spray off the entire back yard. 
Which made me need to scrub the teak table down. 

And when I was done, the wash was done and I put the clothes in the dryer and on the line.

thats how i sunday...

Goodbye David Carr

I don’t remember meeting Dave Carr- I just know that in the second semester of my senior year at college he was there. And, he was my boyfriend. David was tall and skinny and blond. He always had these chipped painted fingernails. He listened to music I didn’t understand and chronically smoked cigarettes, he drank Gin and to me, he was Super. Fucking. Sexy. He was, in hindsight the beginning of a long journey I would take dating alcoholics and drug addicts. But at the time, I was so naive, I thought when he fell asleep in the middle of dinner it was because he was just tired, I had no idea what a junkie was. I thought the acne was just bad luck.

We dated about 6 months, which was a long time for me in those days. He was there for my graduation ho-rah… the party, the packing, and the goodbye. He and I had a tender little romance, nothing earth shattering, and nothing that would last… in fact my inevitable leaving made it even seem more important then it might have actually been. On Thursday nights when we had ‘soul night’ at Charlie Flynn’s with what felt like everyone I ever knew in college, he always saved one slow dance for me. Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature”

In the goodbye love note he gave to me he wrote, “Our history is an accumulation of small moments. Building toward a 5 day explosion and the hope that you’ll stay”

I didn’t stay. I left college, and Boston, and Dave.

I went to Colorado after graduation for the summer and he actually came and visited me. We tried each other on outside of college, but it was there, in the mountains that we realized we would be destined to be friends and not lovers.

Those early years the memories are like a slide show- that fucking sunburn he got that one afternoon when he fell asleep on the deck, to this day I’ve never seen one worse. The hot air balloon ride (my only one ever) over the Rocky Mountains at sunrise. Gallivanting down the street in Boston howling at the moon. Day drinking in Charlie Flynn’s bar weeks after my 21^st birthday. The chipped paint on his fingernails- I always thought that was so punk, so hot… Making out in the back of a party, feeling like I was a good girl parting on the wrong side of the tracks.

In those days we wrote letters. It was before cellphones and email and texting and Facebook. We kept in touch by hand, and mail. He sent me letters on the back of bar napkins and negative reports. At least once in every letter he would apologize for his handwriting and that he felt he didn’t know what to say…  often he would talk about trying on sobriety for size.

After college, when I still fancied myself a film director- before the slow numb hum of mediocrity had set in- I set out to make a short film. Chick Pee Productions was born, and in looking thru the photos just now I’m shocked by how many of my friends from my whole life long turned out to help get it made. I knew about acting and directing and a little about design- but the whole camera and lighting part of filmmaking was another language to me and I knew, if I was gonna even pretend to make a movie, I needed Dave Carr. He had been a camera hot shot in college, and I knew no way I could do it without him. I asked him to come to LA, and he came! He told me he needed Josh Dreyfus, to which I replied, “ok, lets get Josh”. We did. And that’s how Josh and Dave moved in with me and my cat- into my one bedroom apt. 

I can’t remember how long they were there or how we managed to fit in my tiny one bedroom apartment- I know they stayed at least a couple of months. Maybe even six.

What I do remember is his drinking. He and a couple of friends came to visit me on set one day when I was doing a TV commercial- it was about 11am, and when I took a sip of his sprite it was full of SUPER. STRONG. VODKA. About once a week I would find vodka bottles hidden in my apartment. I wouldn’t look- but in a tiny apt I would just, find them… In my towels, in the cushions of my couch, under my kitchen sink. I was so confused. It was so weird. Why didn’t he just leave the bottles on the counter? All the drinkers I had known did it in public, even sloppily so, Dave was the first secret drinker I knew.

We shot that short film, and it was an especially fine piece of shit- however, I will say this, it LOOKED fucking terrific. In the end the script sucked and I learned the hard way that sometimes, you CAN’T fix it in post.

Dave and I kept in contact for the next 20 years. I saw him when I went to Seattle, and he and I wrote and later emailed. He struggled with sobriety, but last I spoke to him, he was sober, working at a sober living place and really making a go of it. He always emailed me when he moved, or had a big life change. But in the end, I hadn’t heard from him in a couple years, and the last time I SAW him was in Dec, 2006.

Couple of days ago Josh texted me that he had died. He had heard thru Facebook. Which, you know- fucking sucks. Cuz like, can you even trust Facebook??

David told me I should always have his parents phone number, you know, just in case. I called them, and despite wanting to, I left a message. A day or two passed, I didn’t call everyone because, I didn’t know what happened, and I wasn’t even sure if it was true.

It is.

I still haven’t really heard what happened. Heart Failure due to booze? Ooof. That’s a motherfucker. In the end maybe it doesn’t matter how, only that he died.

 I loved him, and I’m sad he’s gone. For a time I loved him most of all. And, even though I’ve had a parent die, and suffered like, real grief, this one hurts too. And as I look back thru photos, I realize that everyone dies. And sooner or later, the longer we last, the fewer and fewer people are alive in our old photos. And that just fucking sucks.

My history with David was an accumulation of small moments. Building toward a sad quiet implosion and the hope that he could have stayed.

What. Do. You. Want. To. Say?

What do you want to say- all this talk of being a writer, and where is it? What’s the deal? Where are the goods? Till now it’s all just a bunch of talk and a basket full of hopes, but where are the goods? Where’s the time in the chair?

What do you want to write about? What do you have to say? Why would anyone want to read what you have written? I mean, really? The world is a bevy of thoughts and information and social talk, and bullshit broadcast on the regular… so Chase Carter what sets you apart? All these years of ‘I think I’m a writer’, but I’ve never even, well, written- do you dare? Do you dare to put it out there? Try and say some shit?

Do you dare?

In truth, there is so much to say. In fact I wish I could just fucking shut up. I am by no means an authority or an expert on well, basically anything, but I’m terribly opinionated and often sound like I know what the fuck I’m saying… And I do know a bit about a whole bunch of shit.

Like, I know how to cook. And be a wife, and tend to my cats. I know how to travel and how to eat (it’s a fucking skill…) I know how to make an event happen in wicked fast time, and I can organize your whole life in an afternoon. I know how to make cheese, and bake, and how to relax- like really relax. I know how to decorate and how to make your environment beautiful. I know how to throw a dinner party and I mean MAKE the party, like down to the homemade tablecloths. I know how to laugh, and I know how to grieve. I know how to be a godmother and how to walk my mother into her death. I know how to survive as the sole woman in my family and tend to my three men, while still being my own person. I know how to be the daughter, sister and wife of an alcoholic. And I know how to survive that too. I know how to swear, and I know how to work, SUPER FUCKING HARD. And I know how to play. I know how to skip thru my day with grace, and a little style, and a lot of laughter, and shit ton of cool.

And so that’s what these following pages are. They are a place for me to express that, and advise that, and to comment on that. I don’t want to talk about politics, or smart shit. I want to talk about real life. Day to day life, and if something smart comes out of it then so be it. But I’m not setting out to give a shit what all my fancy pants well read over educated friends think about this. They can go read the economist. These pages are for me, and my friends, this is for people who eat, and people who laugh, and swear, and like to make clean delicious beautiful things. This is for parents and non-parents, for travelers and for dreamers.

If any of that applies to you: then welcome, and read on.

Stories from at sea- Turkey June 2014

As expected this boat, er, Yacht, is amazing. The group is wonderful- not a dud amongst us- everyone is getting along-I mean, there are inter-family dynamics but as a group it's pretty perfect. Lots of laughter and joy and silliness. I've been nothing but happy for days.

Mornings begin with swimming laps (at least for me) and breakfast of eggs, toast, olives, cucumbers and tomatoes. Sometimes yogurt and fruit, always tea and coffee. The first day i was the first one up at 5am, today i woke up at 9.... There is a large 12 person table where we share all our meals that are prepared by Mettia, our large round non English speaking, kind eyed chef. As we speak he is down in the kitchen chopping mint for our mid day meal.... the food is always fresh and delicious, well cooked and there is way way more then any of us know what to do with. We've considered asking them to make less food, but that seems far too rude, and we wouldn't dare...

Our Captain is Bajarin- Baja for sort. He's 36 and been a captain for 8 years... we met his daughter and wife who came aboard when we docked in a small fishing village that he's from (dad/ carter think St Barts circa 1981) We have two deck hands, a 16 year old plump and super sweet boy named Hussein, and another man who is our waiter, bartender, he cleans and takes care of us. (it's a funny thing having "help" and i'd be lying if I said there aren't some on this boat who are more comfortable with it then I...)  Normally we just motor along, but today we put the sails up and went for it... Patricia said she's never seen a boat like this actually "sail"- we decided since we have a young captain he's not yet sick of the work and still loves his job, he gave us the thrill of the sails up. (plus he loves us cuz we are obviously awesome)

The first night I slept in my cabin, it was kinda stuffy so the last two nights I've gotten into my homemade sheet sleeping bag (which, was literally the best thing I've brought- SOOOO glad i took the time to make it), then I bundle under 4 or 5 blankets and my pillow and the wind flips and flaps, and the sea laps at the boat and I sleep like a fucking baby. The first night there was wind so loud and strong that Mimi gave up and went in... but I maintained and the payoff of waking up looking out over the sea to the sunrise was beyond anything I can explain... while you are all watching Game of Thrones, we are floating IN it....

Everyone usually takes a morning dip before we push off and we cruise for anywhere from a half hour to even three hours (as we did the first day and will do again tomorrow when we travel over into Greece). Each morning a couple of us do our exercises, sit ups, stretches etc. And then we sun. Sun, nap, read and chat. The old ones and I sit in the shade- the young ones lie in the sun. There is a fantastic awning that they pull over the deck where was can sit on our loungers next to the ladies in the sun and all talk and chat and relax.

Mid day there is a stop in a village, or like today a 10 minute walk to a small Bazar (where I've decided to skip.) it's HOT mid day so I tend to find some shade and a pal to talk reflect and relax. Lunch is served between noon and two- depending on where we are going and have been... and it's always fucking good. Yesterday it was an eggplant, tomato, beef situation over rice/ almond pilaf- with salad, yogurt, and a bean and squash side dish. It was, BEYOND delicious... really really amazing. If we want it wine is served and long after the meal we sit and chat and laugh- often we swim, always I take photos.

Wifi is terribly sporadic- and mostly we go to villages just to get wi fi and then shove off again. The boat doesn't get it all that often, and when it does it's slow. Its been fairly hilarious to pluck 11 americans into a wifi free zone, it's like a bunch of addicts jonzing for their fix- Dede must ask every hour or so- "is the wifi back??" 

Thing is- we like the quiet coves where we are secluded and don't hear or see other people. But the trade off is no service. The first night when we were just outside Marmaris we were in the same proximity as a floating party boat. For most of the night it was deep in the distance, but when I woke up at 5am feeling stuffy I heard the ungt, ungt ungt of the base and thought I'd go investigate. And there it was, not 100 yards away from us with its blue and pink neon awfulness pulsating thru the night like a bad floating rave. At one point it was so close the I could make out the people on deck laughing whooping, screaming in their drug addled haze. It was hilarious... While i was standing there Jamie, (who has slept every night on the deck) woke up and he and I snuggled in and talked an laughed and whispered till others woke up at 7a. (And when the party boats music stopped sharp at 8am- we decided they were amateurs.... we would have partied FAR harder then they....) But their noise made us SURE we didn't want to be anywhere we would have to deal with that shit again.

The seclusion of a private cove aboard this floating 5 star vessel is about as luxurious as anything I've ever dealt with. Granted there are some aboard that have been on far fancier digs, but theres not a bitch amongst us who wouldn't admit: this doesn't suck. And when we do find ourselves complaining, for example "theres another boat in our cove!!!" we all look at each other and some yells "hashtagyachtproblems" and then we all laugh... or "we've run out of white wine"- thats a: #yachtproblems... it's so silly, but so so funny. You know what Jamie is like when he gets going.... we've been howling.

In general there is a lot of laughter aboard this wooden gulet. Laughing watching Jamie dance or someone tell a scathingly embarrassing story, or hastaging this or that.... just all a lot of simple, silly fun.

Evening falls and the water gets calm. Dinner is served around 8ish and it has been grilled fish, and lobster, shish kebabs and pasta. There is grill rigged to the front of the boat and the captain mans the grill. Again there is way way way too much food, but the crew takes all our left overs and so nothing goes to waste... and the chef repurposes, often days we recognize yesterdays sauce as a base for todays side dish...

Before we left we decided that at least one night should be birthday party- so last night was the night. Missy had brought some streamers and balloons, and we all pitched in and bought her a new ring when we were in LA, and had brought it with us.

It was Gracie and Fiona's job to take her to the front of the boat as the decoy while the rest of us scurried and decorated. She came back and we all sang happy birthday and laughed at her while she did the now classic, steady herself, tilt her head slightly back, pull out her phone, and attempt to take a photo... we were taking photos of her, taking photos of us.

We put her at the head of the table with her silly birthday candle glasses- which she wore all too eagerly, and we feasted. After we ate dede opened her gifts.  Dad, you will remember the large red ring she always wears- it's beautiful, but it was a Bob (her ex) promise ring, that she still wore only cuz it was beautiful, but she wasn't thrilled with the meaning. I don't think any of really knew that- and when she saw her new ring, dude she took the red ring off and she motioned like she was about to throw the old one into the water- we all screamed and howled and, of course she didn't, but later in the evening we decided it would have been pretty bad ass if she had actually checked the fucker. (but as she put it she thinks she'll sell it and do something nice for her granddaughter instead) The new blue magic ring is so beautiful on her finger, and she just loves it so much- it was so so dear to see her with it. We all sat there and toasts were made and sweet tears of love were shed. Jamie made a toast to mom and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. We all agreed she should be here, and in a way that she was. We all told our favorite Dede story which ranged from putting Patricia in the BACK of the green pick up and driving her up to grizzly, or asking Jamie if he thought maybe he was gay and Jamie dissolving into tears because no one had ever asked him before and he hadn't told anyone- her quote at her only daughters wedding "don't beat her up and don't bring her back" or the time while driving 100 miles an hour, and passing a speed limit sigh that read  "40" she looked at me and said, "that can't be right..."

The Captain had a cake made for the party and as soon as we took a bite we stopped, cake in mouth and looked at each other. Whomever made the cake, god bless them, had mistaken salt for sugar and the cake was, well, inedible. We howled with laughter, it was awful. There was no way we could tell them, and knew it had to appear as though we enjoyed it- the crew is SO lovely and the chef especially, we couldn't bear letting them know how bad it was....so while Jamie, Missy and Natacha distracted them, we got a black plastic bag and threw the extra cake away and enough from each plate to make it look like we devoured it.... was as funny as anything that has happened yet.

We laughed, and cried and toasted. We turned on turkish pop music and danced... we poured Raki (turkish sambuka) and watered it down for Grace. We made mocktails for Deeds and toasted her long amazing life, and her impact on all of ours. Not least of which was this trip. We realized sitting there that Missy had been the flower girl at Gracie's wedding. That Claire had been the flower girl at Missy's wedding (which Gracie officiated) and that Grace had been the flower girl at Mimi's wedding...  It was pretty amazing to have all these amazing people sitting around the same table, tucked into a cove in the corner of the world. (And, Carter you should know to keep it alive, you'll need to marry Natasha so Naomi can be the flower girl at YOUR wedding. Sorry, but it's been decided.)

So thats it for now- I hope you are well- doing what we do when life is normal. Today i am enjoying one of the perks of working so hard- alas what we all work so hard for- until I see you next  I will remain, floating along into the night, under super bright stars and a very bright midnight moon.  Content just drifting along, safe, happy warm and loved with old, dear friends.

So fun. So special. Magic.

More soon

xoxoxo

Chase

Thailand

Hey guys- greetings from a far off corner of the world.. a place where there are white sand beaches in every direction.. the constant sound of loud tropical bugs and birds, the sun is H.O.T, and we have barely heard english spoken in a full day. Today is one of those days- one of those days that will stay with you for the rest of your life. The kind of thing that reminds your life is an adventure. We left Bangkok at 5am. We knew today was Thai new years, but neither of us really comprehended what that would mean. We knew what we had read: With the new year there is a cleansing- a sprinkinling of water over the Buddah... i suppose it started as a sprinkling of water over one another... but it has developed into a nation wide waterfight. Like, supersoakers, buckets, full on drench fest. What we didn't realize it that its a long weekend and every thai and their mother goes out of town. I'm telling you- it was liking flying the day before thanksgiving. I have never seen so many people at one airport at once. It was like a ballet of luggage. A snarl of travelers. but not grumpy... happy and easy. When we saw the  mountian of people we were both a bit concerned- but getting to the gate was actually astonishingly simple, and it was such a nice surprise not to have nightmare before 7am... The flight to the island was short, and by 9:30am we were on a tropical island... We found our way to the counter to buy a ferry ticket, and in 5 minutes we were on the mini bus to the pier. As we got in I said to tate, You have your wallet and your passport? and he felt in his front pocket and said, yep. I said good, becasue none of this other shit we have with us means shit without our wallet and passport. The short drive to the pier was our first real glimpse of the water fights, kids sitting on the side of the dirt roads in bathtubs with buckets throwing water at cars and motor bikes driving by... Makeshift roadblocks where all the bikers are stopped and buckets of water is poured over thier head. It might seem awful, but it's totally amazing. First of all, it's hot as balls, so the water is welcome, and the other thing is- you know it's coming so your ready- We have all our electronics in plastic, we brought the waterproof camera especially for this reason, and my cellphone is in a plastic bag... BRING IT. The van stops and the driver points to the pier across the street. There are a lot of people with buckets, not sure if luggage is out in terms of things allowed to be soaked... we get out of the van/bus and are a bit relieved to see that we are not going to get soaked, at least not for the moment, and we walk the bags down the bumpy dusty road to the pier. We sit down- we have an hour to kill. It's hilarious to me that they are playing B.O.B. and loud... how does shitty american music travel like a virus across the planet? Tate puts his hand in his pocket and i see him jerk, like when you see a bug- that fear jump. He leaps to his feet. His wallet is gone. It was just in his pocket. And now, it's not. He searches his bag, its not there. His pants, he just had them. I just asked him NOT 5 MINUTES AGO, and he had it. He must have left it in the van. It must have slipped out of his poket. No way he got ripped off, no one was even within 10 feet of him since the bus... i KNOW he had it, he paid for the ticket to get on the bus! OK. Don't freak. Deal. Tate waits at the pier. I talk a guy into giving me a ride back to the airport, maybe i can find the driver. I decide simply, not to panic.  He's still got his passport. I scanned and photocopied all the credit cards before we left, i can cancel them. I've still got all mine. So there was a couple hundred bucks, american and thai baht... fuck it. We can do without it. A nice man who speaks virtually no english takes me back to the airport. His 10 year old daughter rides with us. It's wierd to leave tate with the bags at the pier. There are a series of fairly terrible senerios that run thru my mind. Abduction, death, separation from Tate, speaking with the authorities, "and this man told you you should get in the van with him...?" you get the jist. I decide again not to log onto these thoughts and stick with the task at hand. I cannot believe how awesome i am that i brought a thai phrase book. i had it in my hand at home, almost didn't take it... then figured, oh fuck it, couldn't hurt. I look it up- there it is:  "i lost my wallet" amazing. I am taken to the place where the van drivers chill, none of them speak english either, but the phasebook and a degree in acting kick in- and we figure it out. A call is made, there is a walkie talkie involved and at least two cell phones are engaged... I am taken to an office where another guy who doesn't speak english reads the phrase in my book- I've lost my wallet- this book is so rad... It's black i say pointing to my purse. It's my husbands... its not me. Man, husband. Oh fuck it... doesn't matter. The driver comes in and says "ok, we go back to pier. Driver meet us there." Does he have it? I ask.  He says a lot of things, none of which are in english. I don't know. I dont think he knows...But i decide to be optimistic. We'll wait for the driver. We drive back to the pier, the water fight has taken on  a whole new level. People are waking up. Thats when i remember it's only 10am. People are just starting their day. It's a holiday.The ferry leaves at 10:30. As it stands now there is very real possibility we will miss that. Ok, well, fuck that too. Nothing is broken here, we can fix all of this. I see Tate who has clearly been talking himself off a ledge in my absence. I walk up to him. "It's gone" he says. "not yet, the drivers coming lets see what happens." I ask the driver how long till the other driver comes. "100% coming. 100%."  Ok, but how long? does he have the wallet? What does 100% mean i wonder... 100% he has it? 100% he's coming? The 10:30 ferry arrives. shit. It starts to rain, i mean like huge fantastic tropical 7 minute huge rain. Saddly for those getting off the boat, they will walk the entire length of the pier in the pouring rain. that sucks. they should wait 10 minutes, this isn't going to last. The rain starts to let up. I see the guy. The original driver. He's walking towards me, in the rain, like a scene out of a movie. With the wallet. He totally has it. He totally has it, and everything is still it it. I know thai people don't shake hands but i can't help myself. I'm nodding and bowing and saying thank you... I reach into the wallet and grab 200 bhat and shove it into his hand. I can't remember how to say thank you in thai right now- I'm so happy so i say it in english. Tate comes walking over and says WAIT to the guy. He reaches in and shoves even more money into his hands. 40 american... who cares... He had the wallet. we sit there stunned. I can't believe we got it. I can't believe it. AND we are gonna make this ferry. And just like that, the clouds part, the sun comes out and we get on the boat. ---- The ride to the island is short. I feel the sun on my back and put sunscreen on. the sun is really really hot down here. It's a different beast. I put my hat on. We get to the island and meet the pick up truck for our hotel.  We check in. The pool sits up next to our room... Like, it comes up to our patio. The pool. On our patio.  it's absurd, and delightful. We walk around the island. We get drenched by cold water. It feels great. The happiest silliest people in the world wipe our faces with flour water mix... people shoot us with water and scream happy new year!!! It's like mardi gras. or vegas or neither. It's like songkran. We eat. We have a coconut shake. We nap. We relax. We sit by the pool. We have dinner. And we realize. 3 days. 18 to go. www.icloud.com/journal/#p=02&t=CAEQARoQi288OoUuA3MHE_UEji4vRg==&f=/82J93X7T25~com~apple~mobileiphoto/Public/96E7D653-D31C-4102-9812-19F9F7887927.jb/index.json

DINK

DINK

Duel income.

No kids

Yup, that’s us.

Which is why we are planning vacations. And I for one and super duper stoked about it.

FEELING MERRY

Well, for the first time in a very very long time, I am feeling downright merry.

It's been over a year since i wrote, and i doubt my of my once faithful readers ever check back anymore. But damn it i'm happy. Happy enough even to write about it.

I have SO MUCH to be grateful for this year, it's pretty absurd.

Tate and I are so happy and healthy and feeling and looking great, it's so so nice. Tate got sober 7 months ago, and it totally changed our lives, everything is so much easier, and calmer, and happier. No more drunken melodramatic fights... bliss. It's been a lot of work, and emotional upheaval, but what a payoff.

And i worked more this year then i think i ever have, and there is money both in the checking and in the savings... what a gift. I bought a new car last week, and then, with virtually no effort, i sold my car. To the first guy who came to see it. He even paid me cash. Jesus! What an amazing thing.

The present- which i find myself intensely grounded in these days- is just that. A gift. I feel so lucky- to have my health, and to be happy, and to be loved and supported. My cup really is over brimming.

The wedding is next June, and its going to be amazing. We are going to have a wonderful party, and all the pieces are in place. Catering, DJ, Dress, flowers...blah blah blah blah!! And we broke down and decided to just invite a bunch of people, so while it's still small, everyone who needs to, will be there. That is a relief.

And the cats are good, and the apartment is JUST BEAUTIFUL. And we made Tate his own room, we call it the man cave, and i have my own office.

And things just couldn't be better.

So i don't need a pinch, because my eyes are open. And as i look around i see that my life is very very good, and i am very very grateful to be here.

xoxoxoxox

VIEW FROM THIS SIDE

Jesus it’s been seven months since I last wrote??

That’s fucking absurd.

My god, a lot has happened.

Tate and I renovated our apartment- it’s so beautiful, we really took it to the next level. Here are some before and after pictures.

Dad moved to Colorado for the summer. I managed to eek out about 3 1/2 weeks there- it’s such a magical place- and summer really is the best time ever there. I went to Mountain fair, and went swimming in the rivers and I hiked up to six mountain lakes- 4 of which I swam naked in… that really is the only way to hike I discovered. Here are some pictures from Colorado.

Doing some pretty intense therapy- which is good for me. It has helped me a lot- to deal with all these fucking emotions,

Mom will have been dead a year, in 3 weeks. This time last year was such a traumatic time. Watching her die was so brutal, and it’s just kinda nut s to have it all behind me and try to move on, and make her proud, and to still do what I want, and be happy. We kept a calendar on the wall during those 6 months. From her sickness to her death. It was purely out of necessity- to keep track of all the doctor appointments, and the visitors and all the madness. Now it reads like a reminder of the most awful six months of my life. It’s in a closet in my dad’s apartment next door. I happened to go in there yesterday and found my self gazing at it. A year ago today she had 5 appointments. FIVE. It was like having a child with a million summer classes- and we had to take her to all of them.

It was so overwhelming.

A year later and I am having a bridal shower in my beautiful kitchen and backyard that my mother’s death help renovate. I am using her china, and my grandmothers silver- I am using her vases, and her glasses, even her champagne cooler… The furniture and the linens are mine. Ha.

I think about her all the time and I hope she is watching from somewhere- feeling proud, or at least not totally disappointed.

I think she is.

Have a busy fall. Work coming up, then a trip to Mexico for Mimi’s 30th Birthday . Hopefully I will work for most of October so Tate and I can take a deeply overdue trip to Rome. Still yet another trip to Indiana and again to Colorado for the holidays… All this and I am unemployed right now. Good grief!

Things feel good to me right now. Or perhaps more accurately things don’t feel awful. And considering the year I’ve had, shit man I’m just taking it wherever I can get it.

WELCOME FROM HELEN HAYS REHAB HOSPITAL

In what I am now referring to as an astonishing turn of events, I have found myself in yet another hospital. This marks the fifth one in six months. If I count it out, actually I have been to five hospitals for 8 different people in under 6 months. Holy shit. Getting old sucks.

This time is a doosey. I am here in New Jersey visiting my dear, closest cousin TJ. Last December, totally out of the blue, he got a backache, And two days later was sent to the hospital. The next morning they told us he would not make it thru the night. They didn’t’ know why, but his system was shutting down and he was dying.

As it would turn out TJ had contracted a staph infection, and, as luck would have it- it was MRSA, which stands for Methicillin-Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus. Methicillin is a family of antibiotics. So MRSA means that this particular strand of Staph is non responsive to antibiotics. Charming. His MRSA led to Pneumonia, which led to blood poisoning, which led to Bacterial Spinal Meningitis.

Which, basically means he was totally fucked.

He was put on life support and had machines breathing for him for 6 weeks. He was in a medically induced coma for 5 weeks. Slowly but surely he started to come back- both of his collapsed lungs regained their former glory, his once racing heart found it’s beat once more, and his blood found it’s balance. However, because of the meningitis his spine was damaged so badly, that he cannot walk or use the lower half of his body.

But, by some miracle he has full use of his upper body, he has no paralysis, his arms function normally and his there is no brain damage… it isn’t all “shitted up” (a particularly articulate way to explain brain damage that I heard last night from a fellow spinal cord patient- fantastic).

And so here I am. Flew in for a week to give my Aunt Lois a break. Imagine- she lost her sister and 2 months later, was told her son might die. Jesus.

But TJ is a fucking champ- no Joke. He now can stand, and walk on the parallel bars, and he is in good spirits and is super positive, and we’re making cripple jokes and we all know THAT HE IS GOING TO BE OK. The doctors expect him to recover fully. They are thinking that he will check out in a few weeks- he will have to use a walker for a little while but they do expect a full recovery.

Today he got approved to go in a car so tomorrow we are steeling him out of here to go home for the first time since before Christmas…

And even though this is awful. It’s amazing too. What is most surprising about this place is the sheer undeterred amount of hope that is simply palpable here. And we are dealing with some pretty hardcore shit here. Perched on a hill in West Haverstraw New York, overlooking the Hudson: people who were simply going along when in one split second everything is different. Mike had finally dumped his (and I quote) bitch of a girlfriend- finally bought that motorcycle he wanted. A 90 year old man pulled out in front of him 4 years ago and now he lives life from a wheelchair. Ron was an undercover cop who got rammed in a high speed pursuit, boom. Now in a wheel chair. Cathy was taking a walk with her two kids, she bent over to pick up a pinecone. Her 18 year old neighbor came screaming down the street and here she is, away from her family, all alone in the hospital with only the very littlest use of her limbs. Yesterday she cut a piece of melon with a knife and fork. It was a triumph for us all.

The brutal truth about life is staggering. The world is a harsh brutal place. Things happen that fucking suck. I MEAN SUCK. People get sick, people die, people survive… people shit their pants and have to learn to walk, or eat , or cut their food.

I could look for some reason for why I have had to bear witness to all of this lately- why I have had to push not one, but now two family members in a wheel chair in the last few months- but I don’t think that there’s a reason. And even if I knew that reason it wouldn’t change the fact that I keep having to wipe family members asses….

But hope is a hell of a thing.

And resilience is a motherfucker.

And I’m proud of TJ for surviving and not dying on us. And I’m grateful. And I’m proud to be here and help him and it’s good therapy for me to be in a rehab situation where TJ is going to learn to walk again, and NOT walk to his grave, like mom. He is gonna stand up and do a lot of things, and win more Grammies, and walk down an aisle, and walk on beaches, and foreign soils… and it’s a fucking miracle.

And so when I feel like life is all shitted up, I don’t really dwell, cuz it all feels pretty precious, and inspired, and powerful.

And then I slap myself and tell myself to snap the fuck out of it and not to be such a fucking sap.

HOLY SHIT

Holy shit- that last entry kills me. “Someday I will look back on these days as a blissful steady stream of one good day after another.” Ya think???

I wrote that Mach 31st of this year. Amazing.

On March 12th my mom looked down at a magazine and heard a click click click in her neck.
On April 16th my mom was taken into the ER in Santa Monica because the pain in her neck had gotten so bad.
Later that week she was diagnosed with stage 4 advanced lung cancer. She had a tumor in her lung, on her neck, in her lymph nodes and one on her rib.
On may 29th we got the news that chemo was working- we were gonna be ok..
On July 5th our cat died.
On July 6th we moved.
On August first mom had a severe double stroke that rendered her near incapacitated.
And after two brutal months, on Oct 2nd mom died from complications of advanced lung cancer.


And so Chase, yes, you were right. You do look back on those days before the storm that has been 2007 as “a blissful steady stream of one good day after another.” And I miss that.

I ache for it.

Perhaps one day it will return, but for now it is gone and I am left struggling, muddling, just trying not to drown in sadness.

I was never particularly close emotionally with my mom, but we spent an awful lot of time together, and we have always been a super close family.

The last 6 months of her life however, I never left her side. I quit my job, moved in with her and my father twice- once for a month, another time for a few weeks. The rest of the time I was at her house by 7 am and didn’t leave till 10 or 11 pm. I drove her to the doctor, changed her IV, cooked and cleaned. Packed and organized. Paid the bills. And in the end I bathed her, brushed her teeth and shaved her head. I wiped her butt and got her dressed. Rubbed lotion on her depleted body and flossed her teeth.

It was at once beautiful and deeply deeply painful.

And her death brought me relief: that she was out of pain, and out of that miserable state of affairs her life had become. But now- with some time behind me- I miss that time. I miss it. Because even though she was a mere shadow of herself, at least she was still here.

And man oh man, I miss my mom.

It’s thanksgiving this week. And I can’t remember how to make the yams. I think I know- but I’m just not sure. I mean I made them with her so many times, but I never bothered to write it down. I just wasn’t ready.

It’s also my birthday this week. SO I’m getting a double dose of missing my mom this week.

And it’s brutal.

But you know? You just wake up, and breath in. And out. And you show up, and try to be present. And you do what you can. Try to pay attention and not be too flighty or spacey, I find baking helps.

But man I cry a lot. More than I ever had before- it’s just ridiculous. Without the slightest provocation. And that is exhausting… because I’m not a crier by nature.

But all these tears, they fall so hard and so often and so sincere.

But everyone says that time helps. And I guess it does. I am just doing what I can, and being honest about how I feel, trying to feel it now so it doesn’t come back to haunt me later (anymore than I’m sure it will always haunt me)

And just putting one foot in front of me and thinking that someday, that blissful steady stream of good days will return.

It’s just not today.



Finally some links:
The Team Carter Blog (where you can read about my mom’s illness if your so inclined)
Photos:
My mom’s Colorado memorial
My mom’s LA memorial
Zoe’s Wedding
Vicki’s wedding
My trip to Indiana
My trip to New Jersey


And this: is me and my mom

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HELLO BRENDA

Well it’s been ages since I’ve written. Been better at posting pictures than writing. But Brenda says I have to blog, so here I am. Hello brenda. How are you?

Everything is actually excellent in my little world. Work, time off, great weather, love my man, love my cats, love my apartment. Someday I will look back on these days as a blissful steady stream of one good day after another. And that is a pretty nice thing. Over the years I have often written about how lucky I am, and about luck in general, and now, after all this time I find myself going back to the same subject. Finding myself endlessly blessed, and unable to articulate my gratefulness.

I woke up last night in the middle of the night missing Rome so much I could hardly breath. It doesn’t happen all that often, but I feel like if I don’t go visit soon, even if it’s just for 5 days, it will slip out of my fingers, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t bear the thought of going there without Tate, but given our current situation I think I might just have to… one person alone seems somehow easier than two people going… we’ll just have to see I guess.

I have tons of pictures up

Carter turned 35

Tate and I went to NYC

My cousin Shannon got married

Megan had a birthday

We had a yard Sale

Sasha had a party

Pretty fun days recently.

And fucking babies everywhere. It is official, Mimi and Santi are having a boy. Brent and Ari are due in 3 weeks, Josh and his baby mama are right around the corner… lots of babies… thank god for birth control is all I have to say… no whammies for me!!

One last thing and then I’m off to shower- Tate bought me an 80 gig ipod for no good reason. “I deserved something nice” is what he said. Can you believe that???

I have the 15 gig (which is so old they don't even make anymore) so basically I put ALL my music on. ALL my pictures on. ALL my contacts, my calendar, everything. And I still have more room remaining that my entire previous ipod. It’s AWESOME.

Love my duty!

DOUBLE OHH SEVEN

So I have started about 15 entries in the last few months- none of which I can seem to finish and post. So fuck it. Pictures- that’s what I got right now. Pictures.

Emily and Sabine.

Getting Drunk with Mimi and Santi before Christmas.

My godsons that are so cute I could die.

Damaris’s Birthday Jamboree.

Thanksgiving.

And my birthday – what up 31…nice.

Haven’t been working this week _thus the time to upload pics and such. It’s been awesome…. Tate and I so live together- the place really feels like its OURS. We spent the week tinkering around making meals and fixing little things up here and there- sold a bunch of shit on ebay and clearing out the garage (which is crammed with shit) and going to the dentist and that kinda stuff.

I could be the best professional unemployed person…. Damn it to hell that I can’t be. But it sure is nice this week!!!

SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE

Literally.

I have been in Seattle for the past week, and am finally leaving to go home today. (phew- thank god). So excited to go home- for several reasons, excited to see my cats, excited to be in 60 degree weather, excited to see Vicki and Damaris, but more than anything- excited to get a goodnight sleep.

I have not slept well since I got to Seattle. And I’m not even joking. We stayed at the westin- which for all outward appearances should have been a nice experience- kinda fancy, right down town, good room service, pool, spa, whatever- I mean bill Clinton stayed there… but holy shit what a façade. First of all there are two tall towers that all the rooms are in, and they were built on ”rollers” (whatever that means) as a earthquake precaution. But what that means is that the towers sway, and they creak. And I’m not talking about a little sway or a little noise. I’m talking water swishing in the toilet bowl and loud creaks and moans and holy fucking shit.

The first night as Tate and I laid awake at midnight, a little scared, a lot concerned and totally pissed because we had to be on set in 4 hours.

We changed rooms.

That one talked too. I’m telling you the whole hotel had something to say- it was wild. After a week I got used to it. It isn’t so bad when it’s not windy, but , as you might have heard Seattle gets a lot of rain, and um wind… it’s unbearable.

But I couldn’t believe in a town who is famous for insomnia, one of the nicer hotels in town would, it seems go out of it’s way to make the stereotype true.

Good riddance.

GREETINGS FROM TACOMA

So here I am in Tacoma Washington, sitting in my rented Tahoe in the middle of the night on an Army commercial. For those of you that are avid readers, you will remember that I ended my year last year by blowing up a set, and this year ends no differently. We’ve built a set in the middle of a field- a “bad guys base camp” and we’ve been blowing it up bit by bit…

Well sort of. Lots of army dudes, gas explosions, helicopters, machine guns shooting blanks… pretty cool shit actually.

The whole job is about a month long and myself, my father, my boyfriend and a host of other dummies are up here as well…

Tacoma leaves a lot to be desired, but Seattle is awesome- we move hotels up to Seattle next week which I am looking forward to- I’ve been in shit hole Tacoma for far too long.

Excited to go to Colorado for the holidaze- Tate is coming with, which is nice… we are about to have our one year anniversary- gulp. Speaking of anniversaries , I have officially been in the US for a year… in fact it was one year ago tonight my brother threw me my welcome home/ 30th birthday party…

I was in such a different place then- just back- deeply culture shocked- unsure of where I was going to live, or if would go strait back to work, or if I was even going to stay… a lot has happened- most notable of course is Tate, without whom I can no longer imagine my life. (sigh)

And so I don’t know. I don’t feel like blogging lately, and its not that life isn’t exciting or interesting… it’s just, happening, and I am enjoying it, and I don’t feel the need to share it as much as I did before. I feel very grateful, and blessed, and so in love… it’s just all so nice. I’m a happy girl, and it’s a welcome feeling.

And so, in conclusion I leave you with this: Dirka Dirka, Jihad Dirka.