Kaya

We all have friends who are special to us for a discrete amount of time. There are the temporary ones, like the friend you make on the airplane ride home from vacation. Or the friend you make in line at the movies. Then there are the longer term ones, like the friends you make during a summer job or even at your regular job that never really make it out of the work place. But if you're extremely lucky, you've got those friends:  the ones with whom you make a soul connection, the ones with whom you share a level of trust and care that simply transcends time. I have been lucky in this world and I can count those people on one hand. Amongst them is Kaya.

I met Kaya when she was called Sherry. We bonded as girls often do, over the shared dislike of her then roommate. For months we swapped stories of how horrendous living with that girl was. For example, when Kaya had the stomach flu, her roommate heated and ate tuna casserole in their bedroom. It was then that Kaya coined the phrase, "socially stupid." It was perfect for that roommate, and like a sign I hand out à la Bill Engvall, I've dubbed lots of people socially stupid since (including myself on occasion).

It was Kaya who got me through my first big break-up. And even then she had the wisdom to give me permission to patch things up with him if I wanted to. Somehow, her telling me that gave me the resolve to let him go for good. Best move of my life, btw.

After Kaya graduated from UW, I worried that I'd never see her again. So heart broken that my friend was leaving my geography, I helped carry her boxes out to her dad's car just to steal a few more moments with her. But as she was leaving she turned to me and said that I was one of her forever friends. That I couldn't get rid of her if I tried. That was exactly the right thing to say to me.

She has a real gift for that, being able to say exactly the right thing. Words are her superpower.

For years I was amongst the lucky people who got Kaya's Xerox letters. For those not in the know, they were pieces of paper upon which she had written, drew, and mused about her life. Each square inch of the sheet was covered with her loopy print -- which changed a little when she became a teacher -- much more teachery. I loved getting those and at some point realized that I needed to keep them. I've got a stack of them somewhere. As much as I loved getting them, I loved even more finding the ones where she wrote on the back or included another sheet, just for me. Those were the treasures.

When my father died, I can't believe it has been almost 10 years now, I was in such a deep dark place. I spoke to Kaya shortly before the funeral and her words gave me my first moment of laughter -- so much that I kept reminding myself of them, telling my grieving family them, just to keep putting that salve of laughter on our broken hearts. She said that she imagines that heaven and earth are a lot like visiting a third world country and the United States. That you're living in the US and you think that maybe you'd like to visit a third world country just to see what it's like, just for the experience. You go there and the living is hard. There's no running water and you have to wipe your ass with your bare hand. Then you make it back to the US and you're relieved because there's running water and you DON'T have to wipe your ass with your hand. So Dad was in heaven, he did his time on earth -- learned a lot, loved a lot -- and now he's back in heaven. And he's just so lucky because he doesn't have to wipe his ass with his hand.

Kaya's gift with words, love of adventure, & varied professions all came together at some point with her first manuscript. She sent it to me printed on paper and via the US mail. *gasp* That's how we got it done in the olden days. I devoured that thing and made my notes. I boast to anyone who will listen that I'm in the acknowledgements of Kaya's books. I recently came across that first edition Church of the Dog, and in the inscription she wrote me it said, "Dearest Tess, Thanks for helping this not be a pile of crap. Love, Kaya" One of my proudest moments helping her in this process was finally ovary-ing up and telling her that I disliked one of the characters in one of her manuscripts. I was so worried that I couldn't muster enough tact to tell her about it gently, especially since I've struggled with being tactless all of my life. She accepted what I said with so much grace. And even acknowledged how tricky a position I was in to tell her that.

Kaya's always been the person I call when I truly need centering.  I know that she'll always listen and not judge me too harshly. She's also one of my biggest cheer leaders. To have someone like her be one of my cheer leaders makes me feel beyond worthy, even when I sometimes don't believe her. This woman has seen me figuratively and literally naked and still calls me beautiful. That she still calls me for counsel and support makes me want to be the best version of myself.

Today is her birthday. I suppose the right thing to do is thank her parents for making her and thank the UW for making me her neighbor. Heck, I'll even thank her roommate for being such a jerk. My life is richer and better because I have her in it.

I love you, my soul sister.

Bewbs

Yesterday was a beach day at a quiet closed gate community beach of which we are members. Really, that sounds snootier than it really is. When we first bought into the community, there used to be a logging gate at the front. Now the community sports a fancy automatic gate with a lighted keypad. Much cooler but still, not a pretentious gilded gate.

All it really means is that when we are there, usually there isn't anybody else there. Increasingly agoraphobic in my old age, I can't stand fourth of July's crowds and noise. Give me a sunny beach with nobody else for miles. Perfect.

Last fourth of July, we were the only humans we saw all day. It was heaven. Yesterday towards the end of our stay, we shared the beach with a bunch of 20 somethings who only came as sunset approached. The family in the neighboring house came by with two young boys around 8 or 9 years old and settled in to watch the 20 somethings burn their enormous pile of fireworks.

My girls were playing in the remnants of sunshine while Hubby and I sat in our beach chairs reading our books.

The 20 somethings were all having a bunch of fun -- whiskey and beer were being bandied about. The neighboring family was preparing a pitcher of mojitos to share. It was getting pretty festive.

I'm only telling you all of this so you can imagine the scene.

I turned around to see a 20 something girl wearing a string bikini chatting with one of the 20 something boys. One of the neighbor boys was turned in his chair away from the fireworks being shot over the water so he could stare right at her. That's when I realized that she was having a wardrobe malfunction ala Janet Jackson... well, more of a peeking nipple. In my surprise I turned to tell my husband that there was a wardrobe malfunction only to find that he'd already located the offending nipple himself.

He said, "I wasn't sure if I was seeing it right but then that boy seemed to be looking in the same place so I figured I was right."

Dirty old man.

I actually was going to walk over there and tell her if her boyfriend didn't manage to notice himself. Good on him, he did. I think the huge clue would have been the 9 year old boy sitting not 5 feet in front of her staring at her chest. Or the 44 year old dude sitting 20 feet away trying not to look like he's staring at her chest but still staring at her chest.

How early does that whole horndog thing start? And does it really ever end? Early and apparently not.

Prank

One of Hubbys's new coworkers keeps a full bottle of Mischief whiskey on his desk. It is an artisinal whiskey that is brewed in Seattle. We recently finished a bottle. Such a beautiful bottle so I didn't really want to recycle it. Weirdly there is some outdated law that prohibits the reuse of liquor bottles. I don't claim to understand it. For weeks I kept the bottle on the shelf but recently decided to recycle it.

Had I known about hub's co-worker, oh the fun we could have had!

1. Hubs loudly brags that he has successfully achieved his 180 days of sobriety chip from AA. Let that gem percolate through the workplace.

2. Day before next step, wear an easy to remember shirt, maybe loud Hawaiian print.

3. Get into work early wearing same clothes as previous day with empty bottle. Hide full bottle. Pretend to be passed out on co-worker's office floor with empty bottle clutched to chest.

4. Hijinks ensue!

Papa

It's father's day here in the USA. I am pretty certain it was a holiday given us by Hallmark. It's not a bad thing. Consider all the people employed by manufacturers of singing bass, silk ties, golf clubs, grill implements, and house slippers. Having Father's Day to cycle through all that inventory is a boon. Walked into the hardware store or sporting goods store lately?

Today, men across this great nation will fire up grills and cook outside -- not because they want to per se -- but because it is expected of them as fathers. There is something really primal about grilling food outside. I think it speaks to a man's inner Neanderthal. Bring home meat, make fire, burn meat, feed young.

Years ago we were all home for somebody's birthday for whatever reason. Dad wanted to get a gas grill for his Father's Day present. Oh the debates! My brother the chef dissuaded my dad from that choice. Yes, the fire comes on instantly. Yes, the clean up is easier. But Dad, the FLAVOR! My brothers and I ran over Dad with that one. You can't beat the flavor of the smokey carcinogens on a good piece of meat. We got Dad a Weber grill, and to make it even more ridiculous, we got a special edition Homer Simpson grill. To his credit, my chef brother made the best prime rib I've ever tasted on that grill to break that puppy in. In hindsight, I suppose we should have let Dad have the grill he wanted -- but in his way, he let us have what we wanted, just like always.

I have a father's day card that I bought ages ago. It was one of those that I meant to send to my dad but forgot and then figured I'd just send to him the next year. It is a little embarrassing how many cards like that I have. What I didn't know is that the next year never came for me. So this card is like a bad penny. It just keeps showing up -- a little emotional grenade that can derail me at a moment's notice.

This Christmas Eve marks the 10th anniversary of my dad's passing. The soul crushing grief has passed for me. It is still accessible though, and no less surprising. I remember watching a scene from Gray's Anatomy (a television show that I never got swept up into so I don't know the character's names) but one of the characters had lost his dad and said, " I don't know how I'm supposed to live without him." And the other person in the scene who had disclosed that she lost her father years ago said, "Me too."

It has been nearly a decade of Fathers Days for me with only my kids' dad to think about. And he's a fantastic dad. I chose incredibly well. I remember what sealed it. We were still a very new couple, but went to visit his family in LA. His niece was maybe 2 years old at the time and he sat on the floor with the limited toys at his parents' house and turned a beach pail and shovel into a hat and comb, a bowl and scoop, and a pirate's stump and hook, for his niece. She was a little shy at first because her uncle had been away for school. But within a few minutes, he was her favorite human being.

He revels in our children. Truly enjoys their company. He reminds me that they're interesting and fantastic people -- not just my daily grind. And after all these years, he still makes me laugh.

To celebrate this father's day we're going to grill up some steak, take in a show, and then head out to his favorite restaurant to get a heart attack inducing burger. Burn meat, feed young. Indeed.

Another difference between me and him

Me: So I offered to do her nails before she went away for the weekend.

Him: I don't understand.

Me: She's going on vacation. She wants her nails to look nice.

Him: What I don't understand is your willingness to do somebody else's nails. You'd have to touch them to do that.

Me: ...

Bodyrocking

My brother the fitness junkie turned me onto a website that promises to "get you in the best shape of your life, at home, for free." It is basically a bunch of workout schedules and YouTube videos with super fit & incredibly attractive 20-somethings showing you how to exercise in your living room. The equipment is very basic and they show you how to use what you might have instead of their equipment. Most of their stuff you could get for less than $200 total, I'm thinking.

Two days ago, I did the couplet workout featured on the website. The trainer goes through the routine on the video which lasts about 14 minutes long. She peppers in a bunch of encouragement along the way and reminds you that she's only asking for 12 minutes out of your day. Who cannot spare 12 minutes, right? Lacking in excuses, I made it through 4.5 of the 6 couplets before my legs turned to spaghetti and I needed a shower.

I figured that was pretty good for a first at bat and I should feel pretty pleased with myself.

The following day, I discovered that I had not properly hydrated myself. I knew this because of the enormous amounts of lactic acid that built up in my quadriceps. Oh my goodness my thighs were screaming. I found that walking down the stairs was especially excruciating for me. Each step down brought new groans of discomfort to my lips.

Painful, but good pain. Here comes the not so good pain.

So I made it downstairs where my teen aged son told me, "I thought you were carrying a heavy load down the stairs since you were making noises like you were struggling. I was going to help you carry it but then I saw that it was just you."

Ah... the pain of embarrassment. Ouch.

Net positive

Today, I got to go to the gym. It was a close thing because daughter #1 decided she wanted to go to the library and needed to be picked up at 5 PM. I hurriedly packed my gym bag and rushed out the door. Not a bad time because I wanted to take the 5:30 PM Zumba class. That would have been plenty of time to make it to the library, bring her home, and then get back to the gym. Of course, she ended up sitting somewhere else and I couldn't find her until 5:10 PM. I managed to make the class anyway thanks to the favor of the parking space faeries.

Zumba was especially fun because it was a new to me instructor. She was clearly a dancer. I didn't understand a lot of her cues just because this is exactly my 4th Zumba class ever. But half the fun of group fitness is screwing up the moves and looking like a fool. You still get your heart rate up no matter how ridiculous you look.

Lessons learned:

1. Pack your gym bag ahead of time -- well ahead of time, so you know you've done it right. I remembered to get new underwear for afterwards but apparently in my haste, I packed two bras and no panties. I also neglected to pack a fresh shirt. Grr. I did pack 2 sets of flip flops to shower.

2. I know she's only 11, but maybe it is time to rally behind the girl so she can get a cell phone.

That is all.