Showing posts with label thank you. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thank you. Show all posts
Monday, August 17, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Good Things Return to Good People
...so the card says. It continues:
"...And so it goes with you. I came across this treasured vase of yours as I was packing to move towards the city you were moving away from when you parted with this piece. But now you are reunited."
I couldn't figure out who or what was sending me a box from New Jersey. The moment I saw the circular stripes inside the bubble wrap, I knew who the box was from. Barbara. Barbara! My vase! The vase!
The story of the vase goes like this. In college, $20 was a lot of money. A LOT. Several days of burritos. Even more of coffees. More still of proper dinners made from groceries from the market.
But one day, as I passed the vendors in the main quad, I fell in love, IN LOVE with a ceramic vase that sat among the handiwork of a local ceramic artist, on his portable wooden shelves. It was a long, lithe thing, dressed in blue-hued stripes in circles around its top to bottom. It was delicious. It hummed in my hands and I couldn't put it down. So I dropped the $20, choosing beauty over hunger for perhaps the first time.
Years of my love of this vase had it travel with me from city to city, until I was in New York and moving back to the West and realizing I had no place for the vase, and no heart to see it broken if it didn't survive the trip one more time.
So I gave it or I sold it to Barbara. I don't remember which. She had was just moving back to New York from San Francisco, where we had come to know each other. It was sad sad sad to part with the vase I had loved so dearly. But she took it and treasured it and understood its story.
And then, yesterday I open a mystery box to discover that Barbara, in her recent move, has found time and joy and inclination to pack it up and send it back to me. The vase.
What is that they say? If you love something set it free? If it comes back to you it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.
I can't tell you the laughter from deep in my gut that came from seeing the stripes in their bubble wrap, the recognition of what was going on here, the remembrance of how freaking downright cool Barbara remains.
Thank you Thank you Thank you, little vase for finding your way back and Barbara, for the presence of mind and heart that understands the meaning of a few blue stripes and the history of a hungry $20.
Good Things return to good people. Good people return to good people. Thank you, Barbara.
"...And so it goes with you. I came across this treasured vase of yours as I was packing to move towards the city you were moving away from when you parted with this piece. But now you are reunited."
I couldn't figure out who or what was sending me a box from New Jersey. The moment I saw the circular stripes inside the bubble wrap, I knew who the box was from. Barbara. Barbara! My vase! The vase!
The story of the vase goes like this. In college, $20 was a lot of money. A LOT. Several days of burritos. Even more of coffees. More still of proper dinners made from groceries from the market.
But one day, as I passed the vendors in the main quad, I fell in love, IN LOVE with a ceramic vase that sat among the handiwork of a local ceramic artist, on his portable wooden shelves. It was a long, lithe thing, dressed in blue-hued stripes in circles around its top to bottom. It was delicious. It hummed in my hands and I couldn't put it down. So I dropped the $20, choosing beauty over hunger for perhaps the first time.
Years of my love of this vase had it travel with me from city to city, until I was in New York and moving back to the West and realizing I had no place for the vase, and no heart to see it broken if it didn't survive the trip one more time.
So I gave it or I sold it to Barbara. I don't remember which. She had was just moving back to New York from San Francisco, where we had come to know each other. It was sad sad sad to part with the vase I had loved so dearly. But she took it and treasured it and understood its story.
And then, yesterday I open a mystery box to discover that Barbara, in her recent move, has found time and joy and inclination to pack it up and send it back to me. The vase.
What is that they say? If you love something set it free? If it comes back to you it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.
I can't tell you the laughter from deep in my gut that came from seeing the stripes in their bubble wrap, the recognition of what was going on here, the remembrance of how freaking downright cool Barbara remains.
Thank you Thank you Thank you, little vase for finding your way back and Barbara, for the presence of mind and heart that understands the meaning of a few blue stripes and the history of a hungry $20.
Good Things return to good people. Good people return to good people. Thank you, Barbara.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Duane Daniels
With a thank you to Lisa for blogsitting while I was visiting Gramcracker in the virtual no-fly zone, I'll segue to another entry for the Thank You Catalog. This one is for Duane, who strangely, miraculously, sweetly has shown up as a guardian to me since the moment I met him.
Have you heard of soul contracts? Carolyn Myss suggests that before we're born, we as souls make contracts with each other; and each event that occurs in our life's relationships, each joy and commitment and betrayal, is decided upon before we even take form in this world. If that's true, Duane must have agreed to be my rock. Ha--both my anchor and my rock-and-roll.
Duane offered me a job the day after I met him, and in so doing, introduced me to the love of my life: theatre. As house manager of a downtown San Diego, 99-seat brick box, the theatre took physical shape beyond my curiosities about plays. I sold tickets and counted the house. I swept the floor and watched wide-eyed the actors as they assembled in my reception area that doubled as a sort of back stage. I listened to the same play night after night and took flight to the cadence of the script, the rhythm of the actors, and the uniqueness of each night. I was inside the thrill of live performance and loved nothing more.
With a presence that calmed me every time he came near, Duane became my first boyfriend in many years. There's a funny story about how dating him put me back in the closet: after years of being gay, I didn't want my family to discount my life before him--like he was a silver bullet to the "lesbian problem"--so I didn't tell them I had a boyfriend for a very long time.
Cities and ambitions and years parted us. But Duane remained ever present in the dear parts of my dreams and survival. It seemed coincidental that he was in New York City on 9/11, and our astonished and shaken days that followed were spent together in this my new city. It seemed coincidental until last December, when my world shook again at the loss of Michael and his daughter. Duane and I both happened to be in San Diego on visits and met for dinner. As we walked into the restaurant, I got a flurry of calls that Michael hadn't shown up to his destination, and the rest of the evening was spent in distracted conversation. By the next morning, Michael's plane had been reported missing, and Duane was there to drive me home in my fragile state from San Diego while we waited for the news.
In between those times, he would show up in New York when I was a playwriting student and slip me a few hundred dollars, to pay back when I could. He gave me money to buy a car in L.A. when I was so broke I was stealing quarters to pay for half-sandwiches at the corner gas station...all the while saying I could pay him back whenever I was able.
This is a man who is not always money rich. A producer, actor, director, he has money when he's working and bread crusts when he's not. But when he's had it, he has shared it, and has subsequently cushioned the sharp corners of my life with his generosity.
It was his presence during the loss of Michael last December that crystallized it for me. I always realized how special Duane is to me, but when coincidentally he was there on the day I would need him most, in the same way that coincidentally he was in NYC with me when it was falling down, it brought even more to the fore that he's a living guardian angel of sorts. Duane without wings, but with long lanky arms around a deep hug, Duane without halo, but with a rich sweet baritone for making you feel serenaded in speech, Duane with the expansive heart and wicked stage smarts. I'm thankful for our souls' contract.
Have you heard of soul contracts? Carolyn Myss suggests that before we're born, we as souls make contracts with each other; and each event that occurs in our life's relationships, each joy and commitment and betrayal, is decided upon before we even take form in this world. If that's true, Duane must have agreed to be my rock. Ha--both my anchor and my rock-and-roll.
Duane offered me a job the day after I met him, and in so doing, introduced me to the love of my life: theatre. As house manager of a downtown San Diego, 99-seat brick box, the theatre took physical shape beyond my curiosities about plays. I sold tickets and counted the house. I swept the floor and watched wide-eyed the actors as they assembled in my reception area that doubled as a sort of back stage. I listened to the same play night after night and took flight to the cadence of the script, the rhythm of the actors, and the uniqueness of each night. I was inside the thrill of live performance and loved nothing more.
With a presence that calmed me every time he came near, Duane became my first boyfriend in many years. There's a funny story about how dating him put me back in the closet: after years of being gay, I didn't want my family to discount my life before him--like he was a silver bullet to the "lesbian problem"--so I didn't tell them I had a boyfriend for a very long time.
Cities and ambitions and years parted us. But Duane remained ever present in the dear parts of my dreams and survival. It seemed coincidental that he was in New York City on 9/11, and our astonished and shaken days that followed were spent together in this my new city. It seemed coincidental until last December, when my world shook again at the loss of Michael and his daughter. Duane and I both happened to be in San Diego on visits and met for dinner. As we walked into the restaurant, I got a flurry of calls that Michael hadn't shown up to his destination, and the rest of the evening was spent in distracted conversation. By the next morning, Michael's plane had been reported missing, and Duane was there to drive me home in my fragile state from San Diego while we waited for the news.
In between those times, he would show up in New York when I was a playwriting student and slip me a few hundred dollars, to pay back when I could. He gave me money to buy a car in L.A. when I was so broke I was stealing quarters to pay for half-sandwiches at the corner gas station...all the while saying I could pay him back whenever I was able.
This is a man who is not always money rich. A producer, actor, director, he has money when he's working and bread crusts when he's not. But when he's had it, he has shared it, and has subsequently cushioned the sharp corners of my life with his generosity.
It was his presence during the loss of Michael last December that crystallized it for me. I always realized how special Duane is to me, but when coincidentally he was there on the day I would need him most, in the same way that coincidentally he was in NYC with me when it was falling down, it brought even more to the fore that he's a living guardian angel of sorts. Duane without wings, but with long lanky arms around a deep hug, Duane without halo, but with a rich sweet baritone for making you feel serenaded in speech, Duane with the expansive heart and wicked stage smarts. I'm thankful for our souls' contract.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Thankya Jesus
Have you ever heard that accepting generosity is a compliment to the person who offers it? I'm thinking that ties into a sense of self-worth: the more easily you can accept someone's generosity, the more in tune you are with your worthiness, your simple worth as a person.
Since this blog is an experiment in exploration, henceforth we shall commence with the Thank You Catalog. An exploration in practice, a practice of thanks...
Since I was in high school, I imagined the day I would be able to give thanks to everyone who ever helped me in my life. The fantasy usually took place from the podium at the Oscars, statue in hand, cameras rolling. Then it was a huge party. This is what I'll do, I would think. When I make it big I'll throw a huge party and invite everyone who ever meant something to me, believed in me, wanted me to do well and supported me in my desires and endeavors...Of course this means I have to make it big for people to finally know what they mean to me. No pressure.
I think the fantasy came from such a small view of myself that I wanted people to see I deserved it ("see what I did with your help?") I wanted to show them their kindness wasn't wasted on me.
Well...you know how when you save money bit by bit, it adds up and before long your sitting atop piles of green? Lets call the Thank You Catalog the savings account of thank yous. Slip in a 50, and watch it grow. Then, one night if I'm standing there at the Oscars podium after all, dolled up and weightlifting a gold statue, I can just say, "read the blog amigos!"
The inaugural Thank You Catalog entry honors Janey Jane, who, in the gathering of momentum that launched me out of our city and into my dream--playwriting school in New York--gave me $400 for a used leather jacket she may never have "bought" in the first place had it not been for her love, belief in me, support of my dream, and passion for the person I was and friendship we had. Janey Jane and I are still the sweetest of friends and I have many many things to thank her for. But that teeny little act of kindness that took all of 90 seconds to transact accompanies me to this day when I think about people and moments in my life for which I am grateful and full of love.
Since this blog is an experiment in exploration, henceforth we shall commence with the Thank You Catalog. An exploration in practice, a practice of thanks...
Since I was in high school, I imagined the day I would be able to give thanks to everyone who ever helped me in my life. The fantasy usually took place from the podium at the Oscars, statue in hand, cameras rolling. Then it was a huge party. This is what I'll do, I would think. When I make it big I'll throw a huge party and invite everyone who ever meant something to me, believed in me, wanted me to do well and supported me in my desires and endeavors...Of course this means I have to make it big for people to finally know what they mean to me. No pressure.
I think the fantasy came from such a small view of myself that I wanted people to see I deserved it ("see what I did with your help?") I wanted to show them their kindness wasn't wasted on me.
Well...you know how when you save money bit by bit, it adds up and before long your sitting atop piles of green? Lets call the Thank You Catalog the savings account of thank yous. Slip in a 50, and watch it grow. Then, one night if I'm standing there at the Oscars podium after all, dolled up and weightlifting a gold statue, I can just say, "read the blog amigos!"
The inaugural Thank You Catalog entry honors Janey Jane, who, in the gathering of momentum that launched me out of our city and into my dream--playwriting school in New York--gave me $400 for a used leather jacket she may never have "bought" in the first place had it not been for her love, belief in me, support of my dream, and passion for the person I was and friendship we had. Janey Jane and I are still the sweetest of friends and I have many many things to thank her for. But that teeny little act of kindness that took all of 90 seconds to transact accompanies me to this day when I think about people and moments in my life for which I am grateful and full of love.
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