Thursday morning an email pinged a red light on the Blackberry.

Ronda: Plans for tonight?
J: Boxing class and rest liver.
Hours later her emails were not direct, true friends know when something is wrong. So I went to boxing class. Ha ha. Just kidding.
J: A.S.A.P. after work. Just say where.

Over sushi and splintered chopsticks we discussed the last year, ideas for the future, goals tossed to wolves, and New Years Eve. In the last year we’ve learned to finish the sentences we could not complete twelve months ago. We’ve grown and seen pain, filth, strife, felt our own and felt, really felt, others burning misery in the wake of Katrina. 2005 started as a wart that became infected and vanished leaving scars of rememberance in bands of rainbows and feeling the rain. Dick Clark - still brought it - with out being there to say 3-2-1. With that, I look back and say, Bring it double. Red Rover is Coming Over.

If thinking inside the box was an annual race where the gold medal was awarded during the closing ceremonies New Years Eve, I would have been disqualified at the starting block in January.

The blog began as an outlet, an escape. I was anonymous – the Suspect no one knew. The voice of any and every woman finding her own while doing everything and more.

January – Fed up with roommate, have drunk college friend kiss my date while I was in bathroom. (Make mental note to try holding grudges in 2005)
February – Give up Fourbucks, make-up with friend, glad the New York Jerk and Shad are out of my life, not for good. (Can not hold grudge or be mad at anyone - blame parents - oh crud -can’t really do that)
March - Apparently March never happened b/c March didn’t archive correctly when site was built. Suck it.
April – Living alone once again, surprise b-day karaoke party, question his question.
May - Visit home consider unmentionables, Shad enters life once again, and hubba hubba.
June - Heartache’s sunrise - ‘he let me down when he didn’t disappoint me.’
July -Big Chill 2005 (10 yr. high school reunion) – question mortality after being lost in the woods and realize my best friends from high school . . . are still just that.)
August - Family reunion, ““Maybe that’s all family really is, all the same people dreaming of an imaginary place.” Zach Braff said in Garden State. End month Swinging on a star and curing ick. And ten years prove I went from bad to worse then definately, back to better.
September- Yours Very Truly holds Bobby McGee’s hand recalling hippyish roots. Rita tells Houston to leave.
October - Am asked, “How comfortable is your couch?” and it’s not a trick. Ha.
November - Escape kidnapping experience in Mexico City, Storms brew and the sun comes out, am sick with love.
December: Drank to much, cried a many, prayed not enough, know with each passing year I’m learning, growing, fighting through the tears, loving, doing the best I can, and watching others do the same.

AMEN.

I told my sister something I didn’t know I wanted to do until it came out of my mouth.

J: I’m going to do the half marathon in 3 weeks and if I’m feeling good I’ll try to go all the way.
C: How much have you been running?
J: It’s December, the usual 30 miles a week or from party to party.
C: Sounds healthy (sarcasm)

We’ve both run several so its no big feat, it’s a challenge.

Arriving home this evening before the sun set, I strapped on the IPOD, and headed out attempting a 9 mile run. I ran like Lola in the movie zoning to the beat of the music, pounding my thoughts away, and feeling the strength of my legs against the deliberately solid pavement. The sun sunk in the distance over a high rise as streams of pink layered the evening sky. Dusk set in bringing with it the misty evening dew. My mind rewound to the days of my youth and playing PIG in the driveway on such evenings. I ran passing mansions on my left and old oil money homes on my right. Releasing an audible shriek my heartbeat was elevated and my vision slightly skewed making my mind experience what can only be defined as an anaerobic acid flashback from my youth. A figure was in the window. The Grandmother from Flowers In The Attic? It was a 5 foot Santa waving. Still freaky.

This run was different, I didn’t know why until I had reached my turn around point and the Christmas lights slowly began to illuminate my path. From a half mile away I could see, what I wasn’t sure. Light and lots of it. The source was difficult to discover until I was close enough to enjoy it’s beauty. The corner of River Oaks and Inwood is crocheted with aristocrat decoration. White lights fell in tandem with each branch of ten willow trees. Two of the trees crying branches draped the sidewalk in luminary light cascading a stage in the center of their depth. I turned off the IPOD and trepedatiously walked under the lit branches. Standing surrounded by white lights I was overcome with a sense of peace. I raised my head and looked into the core of the tree,

This right here, right now is mine. It’s my New Year’s moment as the Apple drops and my fireworks in the sky.

I sat down on the sidewalk folding my legs under me, savoring this here and now. The beast of the area rolled by, a Jaguar, reversed and rolled back.

“Honey, are you okay”

I must have looked lost or scared or like a run away 16 year old from one of the near by mansions.

“Never been better. Thanks.”

She drove on.

I continued my run taking the long way home. Unsure of how many miles I actually ran other than it was indeed more than 9 and less than 20.

Arriving home I bopped around my apartment listening to Spoon not ready to let go of this buoyant feeling. One can’t help resist bopping to Spoon. Didn’t know I could bop did you?

I then put on my latest musical delight Fiona Apple. Her voice is sultry, strong, and smooth like liquid velvet cascading down steel. I continued with the bopping stopping only to smile in the mirror and apprehending the reason for my extraordinary run

Bippity Boppity Boo

How do you know you are loved?

You can raise your voice and storm out into the bitter cold and have him kissing your forehead twenty minutes later. I burrowed my head in the crease between his shoulder and neck as his arms threaded through mine.

“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. Now come back in here and share a glass of eggnog. It’s soy.”

The worded emotions were spinning around my head in scratched record form to fast for me to make a sentence out of them. “This very well could be the psychological form of cancer,” I told him as he gave my shoulders another tight squeeze.

We grew up as Globetrotting Nomad’s. Resenting time because it’s a working holiday the boss man imposes. Growing up as a child of the 80’s my family fit together like a mismatched pair of Chuck Converse sneakers. The five of us kids are different and exactly alike in many ways. Only now, they are my best friends. At ten years old I would question, after being banished to my room for the evening, why I had been sent to THIS family. A mother who is trying to keep up with the Jones’s, the fantasized Norman Rockwell painted family. A father who worked his humor around the office to counter balance stress sixty hours a week. Like father like daughter. Houston we have a problem. I wanted to be just like him, I’m exactly like him.

Family members tend to have a good fight every third year or 17th family gathering. The issues have compartmentalized in the teenage strife you long to forget and wrinkled clothes that won’t iron out. We fight serving hurt feelings for dinner and makeup hugs as a night cap. It’s those small complicated moments, absorbing moments, that make your personal alarm clock go off and you realize the hard times make you feel alive and grow. I think that’s real. Ridiculously real. Families who state they never fight are missing out on Maury Povich moments where it’s appropriate to break down and you hear wise words from siblings and parents. Let’s face it, if you can’t tell those that love you and vice versa what you really think then your love may be as ill contrived as a Seattle tan.

Families are music, dancing, misunderstood phrases, kissing, raised voices, laughing, La Vie Bohem playing and leaning close as “Hey mister, she’s my sister” booms from the speakers, singing in church, fondue, fireplaces, joking, tears, inside jokes, real empathy, and love – there’s always plenty of that.

I drove home Monday in 70 degree weather with the windows down and the sunroof open allowing humidity of welcome home sentiment to embrace my skin. Houston’s skyline loomed in the distance, the Enron building mirroring the city in steel reflection and the electric blue lights of the Ferris wheel cajoling.

The moment it hits is unstoppable. My chest tightened, I swallowed hard nearly choking on my tongue squeezing my eyes to fight back a tear. I was already missing them.

He really lives in this small little town my parents, sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephew reside in. EVERYONE talks about it, apparently. Not only does he, another kinder version that is more tame whose mother’s heart is bigger than a line drive pass lives in the same subdivision.

Yes my friends Terrell Owens and Donovan McNabb live here. And Santa Clause works at the local Home Depot.

It’s colder than cold this morning as I stare at the computer screen sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows preparing to lace up my running shoes for the morning jog with my sister.

Today is our day of the traditions our ancestors passed down. My heart will stretch to the outer limits of my chest while we break opwatek bestowing wishes to one another for the new year. But Borscht – tell me why must I eat Borscht every year? Then I remember what traditions are. They are hugs from relatives passed to us long after they have moved on and a way for US to carry on the Spirit and feelings of warmth wrapped in the Love of Friends and Family.

Christmas has a way of changing everything.

Two years ago I sat wanting to steal the pain from a sibling as tears strolled down her face. Wanting to tackle it, pin it down, and punt it to Tim Buck Two. Unsure of the future’s secret blessing we were scared unstable. Today, they have a miracle on Third Street. Two days after that Christmas Day of 2003 we learned of another blessing He bestowed upon us. She’s sitting on my lap saying the word I’ve taught her yesterday, “Dude” and the phrase, “Vegas Baby.” Her Dude sounds more like Duuud and Vegas Baby sounds more like a Ewok phrase. She’s also come to the conclusion that everytime she presses a button on her stuffed dog it magicly makes me dance around the room. That kids a genius I tell ya.

While I am enjoying our Great Eat Feast of 2005 with twelve members of my family and missing five that stayed in Texas, yes we are one of those rather large Catholic families, I wish for you many blessings and time to express your love to those that are dear to you. In the words of my father, “As we celebrate our Savior’s birth and thank Him for the blessing of family and friends, we ask that He continue to bless us all in the New Year. “

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” (even at Home Depot).

This little light of ours is going to shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.

Sitting in an airport bar on the Eigth Day of Christmas trying not to deliver One Drunk Daughter to my parents

To be continued…

My mother spent the day Sunday in the Emergency Room so I kind of feel bad for poking fun at her, but I sorta can’t help it. Then she says something off cue while I am Googling talking to her on the phone, “Honey maybe that’s all life is. Doing the research.”

That woman, my mother, breathes life in me with the preservation of the Rod Stewart song Forever Young every day of my life.

****** ******* ****
Jersey
Bundled in a winter coat with the hood tightly pulled over her head she plucked her hand in the pocket and decided to put an end to it. The woman next to her continued to drone on, she had enough. Her fingers scrolled through the phone in a determined fashion to make the woman stop obsessing over details. She landed on my name and hit send as though she was getting on a plane escaping the conversation for one less cumbersome.

Texas
I rolled over the usual five minutes before the alarm went off staring at the ceiling when a buzzing noise emenated from the floor. My sister was giving me a 6:00 am wake up call on her walk to Starbucks with our Mother.

C: You awake?
J: Yes
C: Tsssss. Yeah right, I woke you up, admit it.

I pulled the covers over my head and crawled back inside the cocoon bending my legs into the fetal position

J: No, no. I’ve been awake for a whole ten minutes.
C: Yeah, and you’re getting a boob job.

We both laughed at the sarcasm of her statements.

C: Mom’s stressing. She thinks you’re going to be upset because she didn’t go all out this year and make the house look like the North Pole.
J: She’s worried what I think? Because the place won’t be perfect for ME?
C: Yeah. Tell her.

She hands the phone to our Very Holy Mother who has a way of drooling Hello with a smile.

VHM: Hellluoo.
J: You’re not going all out for Christmas? Mother, you’re really setting a bad example.

Laughing she hands the phone back to my sister.

C: And she bought you more mace.

Maybe it worked back in the days of gun slingers doing the ten step waltz and when lunacy was authorized as danger, but mace is a rotten protection weapon for present-day. This world of women trying to protect themselves, and behave like human beings wearing broken brass knuckles acting more like mental cases is down right asinine. I’m putting my shit kicking boots on to complete the last details before I leave and going to my boxing class tomorrow hoping she knows, in the midst of her research, all those lessons hit home. I know it’s less about the decorations and more about the company.

I can’t wait to leave 65 degree weather and head into a 20 or 30 something degree that feels like a warm 85. Tomorrow night is for a gathering of the closest friends - the one’s that have become a branch of the family we never knew we needed till we realized there also the one’s we can’t live without.

A rootless bohemian like myself, gets knocked down quite easily these days. Here’s what I’m beginning to suspect during my moods of sass: I’m going to pieces. When I finally manage to make that new weaving from all the old unraveled threads on the upside-down loom, or just contrive to stuff all the bits any old where on any old shelf just to get them off the floor, I wonder if maybe I’ve done this to my life, I’ll find that a lot of the stuff I thought I knew the locations of actually don’t look better in their new order. Er. Disorder.

Friday night wasn’t supposed to end that way. It wasn’t supposed to start that way either.

I boast about the amazing women in my life, they are truly remarkable and held on pedestals each one inspiring me to grow. But the Men, leave me speechless. Occasionally us Ladies fall from those stools we’ve cared enough to place our love on. It’s during those moments when tact, style, and grace fly out the window on the wings of a dove; the Men are there for us, as friends. They catch us with arms wide open in case we shall fall.

Running late as usual to the final landing place Friday was, uh entertaining is a good word to use because right now my emotions lack a grip on the formal English language and vocabulary. I’ve been a blithering mess since I woke this morning at 7. Tears have been streaming down my face like rapid fire burning my eyes to pink and used up Visine bottles.

Last night really happened.

I nearly made a silent escape the first time somewhere around 1:00 am. I grabbed my purse, put my coat on, rushed down the stairs, and let the cold rightfully smack me on the face. Turning the key and ignoring the seat belt law there was a tap on my window.

“You can’t leave. There’s a dance off going on in there.”
My lip began to quiver, “You saw what just happened.”

He moved to my passenger seat and wrapped words convincing me to enjoy the party and ignore the present situation. I locked the car and headed up the stairs I would run back down an hour later unable to see straight, not from drinking as I had stopped at 3 drinks somewhere around 11:00 pm, the tears were my broken legs and worn out teddy bear pain

I was tired of trying to say I’m sorry because let’s face it, it’s never really enough.

The Drummer ran after me down the stairs grabbing my arm and telling me I was in no state to drive. He’d drive me home and let’s go grab a bite and figure this out type of thing

I’m stubborn like a floundering fish hooked and reeled in not wanting to die yet wanting it at the same time. I pulled free and headed to the car when my name was called from the balcony. Knowing myself and not quite remembering, I probably threw my hand in the air and all he saw was the back of it.

Second time around in the car I checked the rear view mirror to see if my water proof mascara was working when the passenger door opened again. This time the Ex Frat Man was inside my car for a solid hour wiping my tears telling me tomorrow would be better and to much alcohol was involved.

Eventually I arrived home wondering if I should email Tiffany when the phone rang not once, twice, three times. I opened two bottles of water and fell fast asleep hoping tomorrow would be better. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It was to be The Best F*&^%5*^ Christmas Party Ever. Minus the drama, it was.

We would have traded Garbage Pale Kid Cards on the playground, passed notes in the 7th grade, and taken our driving tests together if we knew one another back then.

I call, text, or email and she does simultaneously.

“While you were texting me I sent you an email asking the same thing.”

Scientists scratch their heads in wonderment.

She’s from West Virginia and me, I tend to forget.

Recall how I met her? The awkward connection between lovers, dreamers, and friends.

Last night I was stuck at a dinner meeting smack dab between a medical litigation attorney and a doc who couldn’t speak through his own accent. What not to say in this situation.

Litigation Attorney: We give out these cookbooks where all of the associates supply recipes and we slyly insert their bios. Turn to page.
J: Mmmm (fascinating)
L.A.: You’ll se my recipe, for tortilla soup and Blah Blah Blah . . .they didn’t put in my bio that I am an ex bull rider.
J: That would have been next to the meatballs?.

Insert Entertaining Coworker spilling wine.

The light on my phone flashed an incoming text message.

“Are you coming?”
“I promise. The moment the speaker is done I’ll be there.”
“K”

The speaker droned on .. my coworker rolled his eyes.

The 20 minute preview of the movie that led her to fall in love, travel to Berlin, and back again was set to debut precisely at 8:30 fashionably late.

8:45 I slammed the door of my car leaving the Medical Center and pointed my car in the Southward direction when the light came on.

“It just started.”
“I’m flying.”

Downtown Houston is cumbersome. Main Street is a commercial Mecca for bars, restaurants, rails, and statues. Cars can’t drive down a mile stretch in downtown on Main, it’s reserved for late night partiers, drunks, and wandering homes.

I shifted the car into park turned off the headlights when the light came on again again.

“It just ended.”

I ran and ran down brick paved sidewalks and passed decorated store windows. My heel caught in the crevice of a steel gate as a homeless man looked at me in my black barely legal for Catholic school skirt and black stockings, “Momma.”

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Running through my head like a bad pick up line was, ‘I let her down. I’m not there for what she worked on for over a year. I’m truly awful.”

Startled at the rapid click, click, click of my heels punching the pavement a man smoking a pipe shuttered into a dark corner.

Is this the measure of our friendship? That I would miss this for her? In the distance I heard someone yell, “Run Red Run.”

A heavy set man dressed in black attire doubling for Tony Soprano swung open the front door as I approached. She stood next to three laughing, empty handed.

Our hearts met the moment our eyes did.

I went to say something like. I’m sorry. I tried.

“I know. You made it. Have you met my friend Jessica?”

I haven’t a clue what to write about tonight. That’s not entirely true but I won’t do it here. I’ve been dragging my feet edging into the holiday spirit.

Reasons I’m NOW looking forward to the holidays

1. I’ll be home for Christmas
2. A gal I’ve known since the 6th grade called reminding me of 7th grade phrases like, “Cool Beans.” She and I made plans to connect while I’m in Jersey, my stomach muscles are still sore from laughing.
3. My sisters and I planned a shopping expedition and spa day while I’m home.
4. Several Christmas Parties to look forward to this weekend.
5. A New Years Eve Party was planned then moments ago I recieved another invite for New Years (thanks Sarah). The last few New Years have been spent in the comfort of a friends home in bedlam - which is near perfect.
6. The possiblility of meeting new blogging friends while I am home.
7. Ronda’s movie preview is tonight at Dean’s
8.
9.
10.

I’m working on the others - anyone have suggestions?

The holiday season is brighter.

Side note to below picture: Ignore Renee Zellwegger and the brunette chick- it’s the Caroline Herrera dress and the lingerie outfit they are wearing I want. This is for my humor unless you happen to see Joaquin Phoenix then send him my way.

Slapping my thigh Sunday evening he turned to me and said,

“Sorry Babe there are no Chinese places open this late. I’ve tried everyone. “
“Wee git no Chinese at all?”
“Not tonight unless you want to go to China.”
“We have to wait till the baby’s ready.”
Gfaw “Like they are checking the gauge on her thermometer”
“And once she blows we’re hot footing it to China.”

Saturday evening I ditched a date claiming an upset stomach after strolling the streets for Lights in The Heights with Kristina, Gary, and Mr. Anesthesia vowing never to listen to Kristina’s idea of a good fit for me.

Just tell him. You don’t want to be here with him. Be honest.

“My stomach is acting up. I think its best I go to my brother’s party alone in case I want to spend the night and not make the long treacherous drive back.”
“Can I get you anything? Ginger ale? Coffee? Chocolate covered gummy bears? Anything”
“No I’ll be fine. But thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

Moments later I returned a missed call to my favorite ex-boyfriend.

“Did you go to”
”Lights in the Heights? Yeah I did and just got home. I haven’t decided if I am going back out or not.”
“I don’t want to drive alone. Want to come to a party with me at my brothers?”
“Why not”
“Cool I’ll be there in five minutes. Pick you up outside.

He’s always there at the drop of a dime if I need anything. Last winter I was in the back of a cop car after forgetting to pay a traffic ticket and he flew over in a New York minute. Knowing him, he did it just to see me in handcuffs once again. He’s my go to man. Get your mind out of the gutter it’s purely platonic.

Walking into the party we were hit in the face with an abrupt conversation that took years off a friendship. Breakups, separations, and divorces are difficult. As women, we make them harder on our friends than need be. Friends are pulled in opposite directions as husband and husband talk about sports, financial plans, and swim suite issues. The women share pasts, childhood remedies, careers, sports, and vacation time. Generally speaking (something I hate to do) when breakups occur friendships are pulled and strained. The draw string catches on the stronger bond. Sadly, it’s true. Friends are there to catch a tear and pick up the phone when it rings in the middle of the night. With out saying a word they know you’ve woke realizing the bedroom is empty.

“Mmmm”
“Hi honey. I’m right here.”

Friends know that’s all you need. What they don’t know is how little you know of a lie that was never spoken. Spouses share a lot, as they should. Not everything is common knowledge. A husband knows his wife would have to tell the other wife of cheating moments if she knew of such. He hid his secret safely away, tied it with a string, and buried it in the recesses of his mind

“You’re lying.”
“I would never. If that’s what you think of our friendship then…”

Thou shalt not lie or penalties will fly. The slam of a door and the friendship hit the floor.

Sunday morning I woke laughing draped in a fuzzy Barbie comforter and surrounded by stuffed animals.
. “You look good in pink”
“It’s not really my shade. I like a darker more violet color”

To Sister-in-law: “What we need while we clean up is a Bloody Mary. Dontcha’ think.”

Brilliant.

And so the day began. He drove my car back to busy streets, bright lights, and a blazing sun. Lazily we lounged watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith, March of the Penguins, Serendipity and took naps in the middle of the day. He allows me to rest my head in the nook of his neck ignoring the soreness he’s bound to experience hours later

“I could die right now and be perfectly content that we did nothing today. Nothing.”
“If we keep this lifestyle up we very well may.”
“Aww Babe. Stop talking dirty to me.”

After making the jump from my place to his thoughts of Christmas lights and nightmares raced through my mind. .

For all the rice in China I’d do anything to not have some memories. But I’m keeping this weekend. I learned a lot about myself on Saturday knocking on Soleil’s door unannounced. My left hand held a yellow rose and a Hallmark card. My right cradled a pineapple.

“How do I tell you Sorry Isn’t Enough?”

She turned and flicked the TV to mute, bundled herself a little tighter releasing, “You scare me like Kim did. Sometimes it’s like loving you through a tea strainer. You’re holding back the best part of you. I’m going to say this in order of importance.” She listed all the qualities a friend tells another of love, yellow roses, and pineapples.

Perhaps the only way the universe can get through to someone who is as stubborn as Tony Blair speaking to the United Nations is a lightening bolt. The message got through. I told myself, ‘okay, here I am, the old is old and over with and here’s the new. All I have to do now is reinvent myself. Not like I haven’t done it before, many times. It’s true I wasn’t expecting to have to get this machinery out of the attic again, the self-reinvention machinery, and dust it off and oil its joints — aggressively low tech, that’s me — but it’s all still there. It’ll still work.’ This time around there won’t be any typos, wrong key strokes, or deleting people from my life. It’s my life peppered in yellow roses, pineapples, and set to a Harry Connick song.

After it was way too late to think again I dozed off realizing for all the rice and tea in China I wouldn’t be getting any Chinese Food. But I sure did have fun thinking about it.