I mean, look at him.We went on a date tonight. I agreed to drive since he’s underage and all and when I picked him up he had a lovely yellow sparkly card for me. Yellow. Of course. And inside the card, he thanked me for taking him on a date and told me that he loves me.

Like I said, my life is rich.

He also informed me that he wanted to get me flowers, but unfortunately ran out of time. Understandable. He had a very busy day of slip and slides and play-making, from what I heard over dinner tonight. And really, it’s the thought that counts. Well, at least in this case, anyway.

We went to Ollie’s favorite restaurant and had some amazing Vietnamese food. And then had some ice cream at Friendly’s, which is always perfect, if you ask me. We also saw a baby bunny eating some grass outside and how hilarious this sentence would be if I swopped out eating for smoking.

But hugs, not drugs, baby bunny!

It was an altogether adorable night and I think I might love one-on-one time with people I love more than anything else.

And yesterday I had the pleasure of speaking with a man named Larry on the phone about buying a certain bedroom set that I never do want to see again. We were talking about addresses and what his ETA might be to pick it up when all of the sudden he started talking me through it. What? I know, that’s how I felt too. He was telling me that he had been divorced, too. TOO. You know, me and Larry. So much in common. And that he had gotten through it. And then he told me that he’d pray for me and that’s real nice, it really is, but it’s bad enough getting random Larrys out and about buying your bed, but when they start praying for you too…Well, let’s just say that’s when you’re like, yep. this is my life. take a nice inhalation because this is what it smells like–larry praying for you.

And nope, I am not an ounce above Larry’s prayers.

But seven months ago my life didn’t look quite so much like it was in such obvious need of prayer by total strangers who are buying my bed. Not a complaint, though; just an observation. And I am not crying or anything; I actually think it’s kind of funny.

Oh, and tonight I got home to a quiet and dark house. This might sound creepy, but I kind of like it. Because there was the piano, all begging to be played and it was like, you spend all day with kids and they make you necklaces out of gimp and you wear them! and yet you’re gonna just walk on by…?

So I was like, You’re right, piano. And if you made me a necklace out of gimp, I’d wear it too.

So I sat down and played and then I decided to play a ballad that I wrote for the play my brother wrote that he asked me to turn into a musical by way of adding tunes. And if you are an editor, please, have yourself a field day with that terrible sentence.

And there was one song in particular that strikes a chord with me. Jason emailed me, asking me if I would have a very hard time writing a sad song for Esther to sing; that this song should be something about how Xerxes (which happens to be Drew’s screen name for just about everything, ironically enough) falls very short of his role as husband and how Esther is a woman of worth, despite how she is treated by him.

Do you think you could handle writing something like that? he asked, more than a little tongue in cheek.

So I sat down and wrote it in just a few minutes, it felt. Bam. Here’s a little bit of what’s happened to me, a little bit of my childhood, and a little bit of hope anyway.

It’s called You’ll Know Him. And my niece Charis sure did knock it out of the park when she sang it on stage, by the way.

A beautiful blur, but still.

I didn’t get a ton of sleep. I have many pictures here, but none of them are of me sleeping because, right: I didn’t get a ton of sleep. Too bad, because you know how I love to post pics of me sleeping.

But I did go to the Summer Molestice. And Shane and I got to play there, which was pretty awesome.
And people listened, which makes a show even better, I’ve learned.

And I got a new pair of boots.

Yes, that has nothing to do with the Paper Janes or the Summer Molestice, but well, I’m liking them very much, so I thought I’d mention it.

And Shane and I really need to make a card. This is something we say very often but rarely do. Actually, we never do it. And every time someone asks us for our card, I feel pretty dumb as I reach into my purse, rip a receipt in half, and scrawl some of our info down for them.

Which is what I did for the man in the far right of the above picture, after he asked us for our card. And then he told us that he wants to produce our little rap, boi boi boi. And yep, that’s how it’s spelled. And yep, it’s a rap. But he was pretty excited about it and I guess we shall see if that happens or not.

I’ve learned that people say a lot of things and maybe it’s well intentioned and maybe they mean it as they say it, but I don’t put much stock in things people say they will do until it’s pretty much done.

At least when it comes to things like producing.

And wow, just wow, because my brother Jase decided that he would put on one of our dogs harnesses and run people around in the dog cart.

It was pretty hilarious.

And I don’t know who enjoyed it more–Jase or whoever was getting carted around at the time.

And afterwards, Jason said that he thought it would be easier. He mentioned that he thought he’d be able to run like the wind in front of that dog cart.

But keep trying, Jase! Cause we certainly don’t mind the rides around the yard, even if you don’t quite run like the wind.

Yet.

And last but not least, today was Father’s Day and we all pitched in to get my pop a whopper of a gift.

I made a poster because presentation is everything, you know.

And pop is quite delighted at the prospect of his DNA test.

We were joking about all the many results that could come of it. One of the Sand People from Star Wars, Bald Man, and Any Ethnicity That He Is So Clearly Not So Wouldn’t That Be So Funny? are all in the running, but I suppose we’ll have to be patient and see.

And of course, his results effect all of us, so we all have some vested interest in this test.

Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted.

Now, there are a lot of reasons to cheer for him, but today we cheer because he graduated with his master’s degree in screenwriting from UCLA.

He wore a cap and gown and everything. But let me say that those things are tricky. Especially when you get a cap that is defunct.

But I should back up.

It’s just a little while before Jase has to meet all his fellow graduates and we are hanging out at his school. He decides he should be a little ahead of the game and put on his accoutrements, pulling on the cap first. And as soon as he puts it on, he wants to showcase how snugly it fits.

So he proceeds to do a pretty wild head dance with the cap in place. He swings his head from one side to the other, neck oscillating like he might not actually have any vertebrae in there at all. He finishes with a flourish and we give him mad props–how could you not, after a performance like that?

And then he tries to put on the tassel.

Uh-oh, because the button is totally missing. There is a little screw, but it’s very short and the tassel won’t stay put without the button to keep it there. Which is when my mom starts doubting the wisdom of the dance he just performed. She even mentions that it was quite wild, and starts to suspect that the nature of his flailing sent the button somewhere far far away, much like the galaxy where star wars is.

So we all start to look for that button, and being a little bit devilish, I jump on the bandwagon and talk about that dance really being just way too wild, that surely a button would have no chance against those moves.

Jason is saying that he thinks the button was never there in the first place, but really, it’s hard to tell because well, that dance. I suppose that will be one of the questions we ask God at the end of time (whatever that means): Oh hi, God! thanks for peanut butter and I always suspected animals could talk but just chose to keep that a secret and wow! the way you made it so that we are all eternal must speak volumes about how you love us, wanting us to stay around forever and all–but what I really want to say is: what’s the story with the button?

And I will pray pray pray that God mentions Jason’s wild head dance and how no button could stay put with that going on.

Oh, that would be glorious. Angels would sing. Or maybe laugh. And I would probably do both.

But the button never did materialize. However, we ran into a pal of his who happened to have a safety pin on hand and I don’t wanna brag or nothing, but I did manage to jerry-rig it so that the pin kept the tassel in place and nobody was none the wiser for it.

Then we tried to put on his Miss America type sash thing and that was a bit of a disaster because by the end, it looked a little ripped in the back and something was hanging oddly down his back like a deflated water balloon.

Oops.

We were laughing and he was like great and luckily, a friend of his helped him get all put together. Apparently they saw him before he walked and was like, Excuse me, you need help. Not like a question, but a statement of fact. So by the time he did walk, he looked pretty darn good.

See?

And here we all are, so proud of the guy!

I just wish everyone who is so proud of Jase could have been here today, too–cause there are lots more where that comes from.

It’s rather hard not to see something that you are photographing, I think.

And it has a point.

One that I have been trying to live by for a while now. You know, digging into the moment. Realizing that life is happening whether or not it’s what I’d planned and there’s probably something happening that I’d rather not miss.

So wherever it is that I find myself, I try to be.

And I didn’t mind finding myself on a brisk constitutional this morning. That’s my brother Jason’s absolute favorite term for a walk.
I think he must have read the term in a Jane Austin book. Either that, or while watching Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

And after that brisk constitutional I went on a little run all by myself. I have to admit that after passing two different signs–one that gave a warning about the California reptiles and one that warned you about mountain lions–I felt just a tiny little bit wary. And then I got a tiny bit lost. Which is no surprise, I know. But I found my way right in time to run into one of Jason and Darby’s neighors who asked me where I am from. Pennsylvania, I told him. And then he looked me up and down and said, Cause…you don’t really have much of a tan…And I was like, Oh. Which is when he let me know that all the blonds have really nice tans around here.

Sorry, I’ll work on it, I guess.

And another thing that’s been a long time coming is a dance.

Specifically to Paper Gangsta. Lyric’s been planning this out for a while and we finally got to execute it today–with the help of Ollie.

One of the nearby neighbors here hosted a wedding recently and this is still up.

So pretty, so sweet.

And nothing wrong with a brisk constitutional to end the day, too, right?

We walked into the dusk and saw what my pop insisted was a dipping bird. He made it up on the spot, but considering how the bird did a little dandy bow every time it called out, the title works just fine for me.

It was a good first day here in California and I guess I better get cracking on that tan because all the blonds have good ones around here and now I only have six days left to fit in with all the blonds.

Which is basically the point to life, right?

Or maybe the point has more to do with moments like this.

Or probably the point to life has everything to do with this.

We both said hi. It was a sort of surprised kind of hi because neither of us expected to see each other in the refrigerated meat aisle (could there be an uglier aisle title out there?). If it were church, then we probably wouldn’t have said anything, really–both being very used to seeing each other across the way and saying nothing because who shouts HELLO!!! across three hundred chairs and a very loud worship song? But like I said, we were in the midst of refrigerated meat. No three hundred chairs. No loud worship song. And the only thing left to us was to talk.

I had, however, just gotten invisalign this morning. This is braces for people who are shy about braces, as my friend Shane puts it. And so I was not yet in the habit of speaking to people with them–not to mention the fact that I was not in the habit of speaking to this particular person at all.

So my hi was short and I was hoping to just stroll on by. Except after our initial greeting, he very loudly exclaimed, Ohhh! Which made me stop. It was the kind of noise that would make the animals at the zoo stop whatever it is they are doing and wonder if Ryan the Lion had finally bitten somebody like he’d been threatening to do since ’01.

And after this guy’s exclamation, he looked at me and asked, Are you a mother…yet? To which I said no and then he sadly told me that he would have liked to have wished me a happy mother’s day. I told him that I’d pass the sentiment on to my own mother, who is more than deserving of it in her own right, and that was that.

And then I told my brother Jason about the exchange, just cause I thought it was rather odd and we often like to tell each other about life’s oddities. To which he said that I should have said, No kids. But I DID get invisalign AND a divorce, so yay for me!!!

And then I asked him if there was a day for that.

To which Jase said, Screw Mother’s Day. You have your Divorced, Better Teethed, Dropped the Bum* Day!!!

And so Happy DBTDTB Day to me!

Catchy, isn’t it?

Hallmark better get on the ball and start making some cards. I could certainly help with the text, if necessary.

*nobody means anything very serious by the word bum here. We are simply using poetic license to emphasize humor. And also, no bums were actually hurt or injured in any way during the making of this blog post.

I know, novel idea.

But then I didn’t want any of your computers to blow up because I had surpassed the amount of words allowed in one comment box. And it’s a doozy of a question (which I totally welcome; I guess by now you’ve figured out that I live my life on the more open side of things. Although I don’t know how I could have pretended that there wasn’t an explosion–not when everyone heard the sirens and saw the smoke and the burning building, anyway. And wow, but that’s a long parenthetical statement. Let’s make it just a little bit longer by saying that I had cheesecake tonight, too. And nope, that’s not relevant at all but it did make the parenthetical statement longer, so check).

Deep breath.

Now what was I even saying?

Oh right.

I was talking about this question, asked by my dear friend Mandy Hornbuckle:

I do wonder that sometimes, Jess – If you had it to do over, knowing what happened, would you have still married him?

And I have two answers for this, I guess. I have the clear and obvious choice. That is, if someone told me that this person would end up not at all being the person he presented himself to be; that he would lead a double life which would finally culminate in a devastating affair–not just devastating to me, but to others that I love as well–and then this person proceeded to be like, So…whaddaya think?

I think I’d be like, hahahahaha good one, but thanks anyway.

But then I think there might be a deeper answer, less obvious, but no less true. I think about how my brother and sister-in-law miscarried a child and how sad that was and how we all wept for the life that was lost to our family. I think about how wrong it felt, how nobody could tell us that his little life was better spent far from the arms of his parents.

But then I see my nephew Ollie and I cannot begin to describe the kind of brilliance he is. He is a light and I love him fiercely. When I was out there with Latshaw-WEST during my darkest night of the soul, so to speak, he was the earth and sun and moon to me. He woke me up one night, just to give me midnight kitheth and I cannot begin to tell you how special that was. He wrote a report about me in which he told his teacher that he loves everything about [me]–and after the words I’d heard from another source, those were healing, to say the least. He is a beautiful boy and my point is that I cannot imagine life without him and the greater point is that if Jason and Darby had not miscarried, there would be no Ollie to give me midnight kitheth or to light my world.

And this blows my mind. I don’t understand how to reconcile it, but I do know that I am grateful for Ollie. I also don’t believe in living in a world of what if’s; rather, I think reality has a grace and redemption that is full enough so I’d rather just look around and see it for myself right in front of me, if that’s alright.

I recently told a dear friend that I am not going to apologize for my life. Because see, I’ve thought about doing just that for a while now–well, ever since it’s changed so drastically. I suddenly was constantly feeling like the nervous host whose guests drop in unexpectedly and look, there’s the dirty laundry piling up and over the clothes basket; there’s the carpet faded and dingy and the blinds covered in dust. And here I am apologizing the whole time and nobody can get a word in edge-wise.

But see, my life–it’s complicated, maybe. Surprising, definitely. But it’s not dirty. I think I can see that now. And I am pretty sure–positive, actually–that someday I will tell people my story and I will talk about the indelible threads that connect this pain with the beauty that has sprung forth since.

And so maybe if that same someone who I quoted earlier as saying that Drew would end up not at all being the person he presented himself to be; that he would lead a double life which would finally culminate in a devastating affair–not just devastating to me, but to others that I love as well–and then went on to say that afterwards I would experience a life that I never could have imagined, a beauty of which I never could have conceived…Well, that would probably change my answer considerably.

And no, I don’t think that it’s God’s design to make marriages suffer and people do terrible things to each other. But I do think that God brings beauty out of ugliness, joy out of pain; and that maybe someday I will say this beauty is so great and this joy so much better than I’d hoped, that all the terrible stuff was worth it to get here.

Though I am not sure I would have had the strength to choose what happened–it was that terrible. But at the same time–it did. All of it. And like I said, I cannot change it–but I am not sure that I even would now, because what if that changed some of the truly great things that have happened–and shall continue to–in the wake of the storm?

So, like I said–a doozy.

And so very hard to understand or even reconcile within my own mind.

But here’s to trying, I suppose.

And sometimes I say something that makes perfect sense in the context of whatever it is I am talking about, but when isolated, it can sound pretty bad.

Or funny, depending upon how you look at it.

Like today, for instance.

When I was talking with Shane, telling him about a conversation I was recently party to with some friends. Basically one friend was asking another friend (who is straight, for the record) if he would engage in, uh…non-straight relations… in exchange for ten millions dollars. My friend thought about it for about half of a second before saying, Absolutely. It’s ten million dollars. Then the question was posed to another friend of mine–who again, happens to be straight–and she was like, Of course. TEN MILLION DOLLARS, FOOLS.

But when they asked me, I was all, Nope. Not now, not ever. I’ll get a job, thanks. Er, but not that job. And as I was recounting this to Shane, I was getting more and more passionate about it, telling him that God could provide for my needs without me having to get all sexy for it. And the more I got into it, the higher my voice raised, until I ended my diatribe by loudly pronouncing:

SHANE, I WILL NOT HAVE SEX FOR MONEY!!!

At which point Shane asked me if I could say it a little louder please, because the fishermen who were about ten feet away from us might not have been totally clear on what it was I was talking about.

But then again, considering the way I shouted it, they just might have been.

And can you imagine overhearing that statement, and that statement alone, between a girl and a guy just sitting and minding their business? After hearing something like that, suddenly their business just became a whole lot shadier, I suppose.  Or maybe it’s his business that got shadier.

And hahahahaha, we laughed a long time about that one.

And we also laughed about how one of the guys who was fishing nearby yelled over to us, asking us what kind of sandwiches we were eating. Because, who does that? Who asks total strangers what kind of sandwiches they’re eating, like it’s their business? And it’s not that we minded telling this guy, but we just thought it was even funnier when he could barely believe that we weren’t eating something with shrooms in it.

In fact, we ran into him again a little later in the day and he asked us if we were sure those sandwiches didn’t have shrooms in them. Like we’d forgotten that they did last time he asked us, but now that we were high or something, Ohhhhh right–they did have shrooms in them, after all! I think it was really disappointing to him that they were simply filled with plain old peanut butter and nutella. Can’t please ‘em all, I guess.

Oh, and he also asked if I go to Avon Grove High School. Good one. And once he found out that I do not, he asked if I was a hair stylist.

Because I guess it has to be one or the other.

And for the record: No, I will NOT have sex for money; I stand by what I said.

I have pretty pictures to upload here.

Of eggs, dyed lovely colors. And I have a thumbnail that is dyed orange to prove that I, along with some friends, dyed those eggs.

And even decorated them in a way that used wax and candles and made you feel a kinship with those wonderful Ukrainians who invented the method in the first place. And if I could remember the name of that method, I would enlighten you, but alas, all I recall is that it is a word that is long and it employs the ‘aaaa’ sound.

But I cannot upload those pictures. Perhaps my brother Jason, who is much smarter than me, can tell you why sometime. Or perhaps he can just fix it for me.

Ahem.

But I can tell you that this is Easter Sunday. That there are many people who have said many things about this day and I think I’d like to add something of my own. And it’s something about how this day is just another day, yes, but what if we thought about this day like falling in love?

You know, all those conversations it took. All those thoughts about him that were so big and loud inside, you were sure the person standing right next to you could hear the mayhem too. And that’s why you couldn’t believe it when they said what? and you said oh, nothing. and they took that at face value and moved on to the weather.

Because it wasn’t nothing and you were smiling, and that’s something, anyway.

But my point is that love is a multitude of little bits of color until you can’t see much of anything but those bright spots anymore. And you wonder why nobody tapped you on the shoulder to tell you, shhhhhhhh, it’s starting, because surely you would have dedicated a few more journal entries to the feeling if you had known that that was what you were feeling.

And see, winter happened and it was good, but it wouldn’t be good if it happened forever, you know: because spring has to happen. And maybe you didn’t notice the first crocus you saw because maybe you were too busy being late to wherever it was you were going, but then you find yourself walking outside, and walking cautiously, because now there are so many flowers, you have to try not to step on their silky little heads.

And so it is with Easter.

There were signs of a God and his love all over the place, but then he did something bold and crazy and different and it stood out. Just like in that movie About a Boy, when the kid sings Killing Me Softly for his school’s talent show and well, it’s awful. Just terrible. Nobody likes it and everybody wants it to be over. But then Will, the main character, steps into the song with him. He stands on that stage, fills it out with his presence, and suddenly the boy is no longer alone, dejected, and owning every reason for embarrassment in the book.

Suddenly he is loved.

And maybe that’s what God did. Maybe Jesus had heard us singing our pitiful, awful songs for a very long time and instead of just hitting the mute button on humanity and turning on his Ipod, he did something shocking. He learned our song. He jumped up on to the stage with us. And by doing so, claimed us as his own.

Ooh, and here’s the good part: he made the song beautiful. And taught us the better lyrics, the better melody, a life that sounds a lot like harmony.

And just like spring has to happen, God has to happen. Or rather he makes us happen. And these are rich, beautiful happenings. They carve out our hearts until we resemble those old walls that are filled with hieroglyphs; and they tell stories that take our breath away. And nobody wants to tear those walls down, for they are too beautiful; they came at a price, but with each etch and mark, slash and chisel, they have become priceless.

And these stories on the walls of our hearts are love stories, I think. Every one of them. And despite the fact that I can point out some reasons as to why I think love is dumb anyway, I still believe in it.

But all of this has something to do with Easter.

Which is why I can say Happy Easter.

Which is why I am even happy to say it.

And not just because of the color of my hair.

More because, see, I am a fan of a good bath. But recently I’ve been striking out. And it’s been all Papa Bear or all Mama Bear all the time while I’ve had to jump out of the water, it being too hot or too cold, without ever finding my Baby Bear kind of just right.

And a bath is a commitment. It takes some time to fill the tub, not to mention the fact that it is a drain on my bubbly resources. And no, I don’t mean champagne because no, I don’t have any of that. What I do have is some precious stuff that makes the water smell really nice and then get all good and bubbly and so you understand that I don’t like to waste it.

Oh well, there are worse things, I suppose. Like the time I was in Mexico and showering regularly with cockroaches that looked like they ate better than some of the people I met down there.

Next, I have pink shoulders.

Why?

Oh, because of that lovely and unbridled sun. Because of the way it encouraged me to wear a tank top. But also because it’s still the tricky month of March, and though I remember to grab a sweater before I run out the door, I don’t quite remember to wear sun screen. And though I remember to sit in the sun for a very long time, I don’t quite remember that my shoulders have been through a long winter and perhaps I would do well to ease them into sun worshipping rather than bam! here’s the sun: get to it!

And lastly, I am slowly building up some secrets. And now my brother Jason has stopped reading because he is busy texting me, asking me what secret I am referring to on here.

But what I mean is, I am becoming like a city enclosed again, I think.

Or maybe just a nice little home. Some flowers out front. A piano inside. But a lock on the door, which is kind of nice too.

See, there is this house on Appleton Road that I pass by quite a lot. And house is putting it kindly; it’s more likely called ruins. There is no ceiling, no door, and nothing close to four walls. This house, it has no secrets. Anybody passing by can see exactly what is going on, if they care to look. All that it contains is exposed, poor thing.

And sometimes it reminds me of me. Or at least the way I’ve been. It’s weird to be an adult and have your life completely exposed. To suddenly have the door ripped off the hinges and the blinds pulled up, and everybody saying, Oh, wow. That’s what’s going on in there? What. A. Mess.

But now I’m gathering some secrets and I’m feeling less exposed and I’m less like wickipedia and I’m more like a journal and there are songs that I have written that I cannot yet sing for you and there are pages I am writing that nobody has read and I’m feeling some autonomy and I’m feeling less like ruins and I like the feel of a door right here again and I’m careful about who I let through it, can you blame me?

And I think all of this is a pretty good idea.

One heck of a run-on sentence, but still, a pretty good idea.