Celebrating...

They'd reserved the table only hours in advance, but it was the best in the house. As it should be. They were celebrating, after all.

If you were there that night, you would've seen them. Couldn't miss them. Couldn't take your eyes off of them. They were adorned in every color under the sun, feathers hidden in their hair, shoulder-brushing earrings catching the candlelight, smiles flashing like beacons drawing in the entire room. They leaned in to hear each others' words, sharing toasts and touching arms to make a point and holding hands just because. It was like no one else existed except them.

And at ten, the cake came. Carried in by two waiters with a third following, making sure it didn't tip or tilt, but mostly because he wanted to be near these stunning women.

They started to sing Happy Birthday in their deep voices, but the women giggled and waved off the song. "It's not anyone's birthday," they smiled.

Well, then, what was it? What were they celebrating? Everyone was dying to know. And so I'll tell you.

One had finally mustered up the courage to leave. Everyone at that table knew the struggle it had taken for her to get to this place in her heart. My God, they'd nursed her wounds and let her cry for years before she finally looked in the mirror and saw the gift that she was to the world. That was the day she left. They could breathe a little easier knowing she was finding herself again. And safe.

One had finished treatment, and was hoping beyond all hope that this third time was the charm. They were all holding their collective breath for her good health to stay forever, and would probably do so for years to come. For now, they'd take tonight.

One had just decided on a career after a grueling soul-searching. Finally, after years of slaving it out in the entertainment industry and making quite a name for herself, she'd decided to change that name permanently. To Mama. 

One had stopped something. One had started something else. One had given of herself, and one had taken back what she gave away too long ago. Miracles, all. And well worth this celebration.

They had shared the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, and vowed to stand together 'til death. That night, they raised their glasses to Love and Friendship and Trust and More Love. May Death be damned.

Better than any marriage was this tribe of theirs.

Should I Stay Or Should I Go...

He wanted her to stay. And, truth be told, she wanted to stay more than anything. But she couldn't give it away, so she left. Ran right out his door and down the steps to the street below, stopping at the bottom to catch her breath and wonder what the hell she was doing.

She had to go back upstairs. No. She had to leave. Stay. Run. Say yes. Say nothing.

The front door of the building buzzed open just then, and a woman of a certain age walked slowly inside, carrying a bag full of groceries. She smiled when she caught a glimpse of wine and several good cheeses. Grandma has good taste, she smiled to herself.

She heard a door open a few flights up, and a man's voice yelling down, "I'll be right there, cara mia! Don't move!"

He made his way slowly down the stairs, and the woman waited. So did she. In fact, she couldn't pull herself away from this story for some reason. There was a tiny gasp as he came into view on the landing; he stopped and smiled and said again, "Cara mia..." My beloved...

He took her groceries and took a kiss. They look so young, the girl thought. And so in love.

Before the two headed upstairs, she blurted out, "You're very lucky."

They looked at her and smiled, seemingly knowing her story before she even told it. "We are." they answered together.

"The trick," the older man continued, with a twinkle in his eyes, "Is making sure I'm here when she comes home. But the bigger trick...is making sure she wants to come home."

In the end, the girl went home. But that ending changed about a month later after he made sure she understood that he wasn't going anywhere without her. And that he wished she'd feel the same in return. And what do you know? She did.

And whenever she brought home wine or cheese or even a gallon of milk, he met her at the bottom of the stairs and they walked up together. Someday, they'd carry their babies to bed the very same way.

Tribal...

He grinned while she smoothed his collar and brushed a stray piece of lint from the front of his shirt. "Hey," he whispered, grabbing her and pulling her in close. "Why are you so nervous? It's not like they're your parents."

No. He was right. They weren't her parents. But they were her tribe. And why he didn't comprehend the importance of her girls in her life...well...it was baffling to her.

"You don't understand..." she murmured. How could she explain?

Could she tell him that when one of them crashed, they all rushed to put her back together? Meetings cancelled, flights scheduled, all plans rearranged...all for each other. No questions ever asked. Except maybe When? Or Where? Or Are you okay?

Could she tell him that when one of them flew, they all soared? Holding hands in the blinding sun, laughing at the sky, winking back at the stars. No goal was ever out of their reach. Not together. Sometimes they needed a bigger running start or to jump off a higher point, but it could be done. Together, anything could be done.

Could she tell him that when one of them was wronged, they all jumped to fight? When one of them was sad, they all cried? And when one of them loved hard, they all loved just as hard.

But if it was wrong? If it wasn't truth? They all knew it.

This was their first time meeting her new love. She wanted them to see what she saw. But also, she wanted to see what they saw.

She shrugged, shook away her worry, and then grinned back. "What will be, will be. It's just...they're everything to me. And you are, too."

Epilogue: Her tribe loved him. It had a little to do with the honesty of his smile and the directness of his gaze, but far more to do with the way he looked at their girl. He never took his adoring eyes off of her, and that was just fine with them.

Catching Dreams...

There's a girl at the beach waiting for a someday sunny forecast, a love with whom she can share the sand, and a giant wave to come wash her truth away. On another continent, on different sands altogether, another girl sits wishing she was more to her father than a wife to give away. She dreams of being a doctor and saving lives, but she can't even save her own; in two days time, she'll marry a man fifteen years her senior.  And she'll be his third wife. She has forty-eight hours to make her dream come true.

Far outside Paris, a girl sits in a cafe sipping the water she'd ordered hours ago, pretending she's almost ready to order something from the menu. The old waitress looks the other way; she knows the girl is dying to be an artist and trying to come up with the train fare to get to the city where she thinks all magic comes true. She might be right, the waitress thinks. Everyone needs a dream. Even though she'd long-forgotten her own. And who knows? The girl could very well become an artist. She's already starving.

And in a crowded restaurant in Malibu, surrounded by her favorite family and friends, all smiling with joy, he asks her to marry him. A dream come true, sealed with a diamond found by a girl a million miles away in a crowded mine, surrounded by her family and friends, no one smiling at all. Someday, she'll have a diamond of my own, the girl dreams. And as soon as I do, I'm out of here. No looking back.

Dreams. They save us all, don't they? 

So let's hang our dream-catchers tonight and save ourselves. Let's save each other, too. Every night and every day, believing fiercely that our dreams will come true.

And so will hers. No looking back.

Taking...

After a few days of full-on giving of thanks and love and more love...I'm kind of in the mood to take, aren't you?

So let's take a ride, take a spin, take a hike, take a leap, take a trip, take a sip, take a deep breath, take a chance, take a peek, take a bite, take a nap...

And then let's do it all over again as soon as we rest a bit, shall we?

Everything She Touched...

She was the obvious choice to host Thanksgiving; she had a incredibly magic touch, which tended to add shimmer to any event. Plus she was grateful beyond compare. If she was the last person on Earth, in fact, you can bet her last words would be thank you.

She spent the morning making purple potions, which she thought would coordinate nicely with her menu of greens and golds and buttery browns. Her music list included a lot of reggae and early Michael Jackson because she thought it was so much lovelier to be thankful while dancing and singing along. And her guest list was diverse and never-ending; it was her dream to marry everyone in her life together, at least for a day, and Thanksgiving seemed like the right time to do it.

In a last-minute burst of genius, she set up a kissing booth in the corner of the kitchen, with all proceeds going to the homeless shelter near her office. Her friends and family were so generous, she thought, as she wiped her hands on her apron - stitched boldly with the words Kiss The Cook - and just knew it would be a very good Thanksgiving, indeed.

Or yet another perfect Thursday.

Kisses just have a way of making that happen, yes?

Gratitude...

If you've read me for even a minute, you know I'm grateful for the life I've been gifted, and for the one I've worked so hard to make my own. I smile far more than I frown. I give more than I take. I love more than I hate. And no matter the cards I'm dealt, I try to play them with a smile and a wink and fake that I'm holding the perfect hand.

But if I'm being honest with you? There are days when I've got a two of clubs and a ten of spades and a three of hearts and not much else. If you saw me, though, you'd think I'd been given a Royal Flush.

A huge part of gratitude is feeling thankful for all you've got, pushing aside everything you have not. I can handle that, most days. But others, I crave a bigger this, a healthier that, a night made of this, and a life built of that.

If I'm being honest with you? I'm dying to have a Full House.

Tell me what you're grateful for and what's missing, will you? I think our stories have a tendency to come true once they're written and shared...

Eleven, Eleven, Eleven...

There's magic in this day's numbers. It feels like it'll be lucky for us all, I'm betting. And a day to make things happen.

Like love.

Under the full moon last night - as I sipped on potions that stained my lips ruby red and swayed to music that turned my heart into a drum beat, adorned with more silvery glitter than ever that won't be coming out of my hardwood grooves anytime soon - I slowly and surely cut shapes from an old tee that's been with me forever, like a lover I can't seem to shake. Took metallic Sharpies and wrote all my hidden fears on those scraps. Every last one. Even the ones I didn't realize I still held deep.

But they were still there. Still.

I let them stay with me one more night. Like a lover I can't seem to shake, you know?

This morning, just before the skies changed from velvet to chiffon, I set fire to those fears. And, friends? I'm never looking back. That's a promise. 

As the embers glowed, I wrapped myself up in a quilt, poured myself a bubbly concoction, and drank deeply to a toast to my dreams coming true. Yours, too.

Today, I'm making things happen. I'm starting with Love. How about you? Tell me what's going up in flames on this magical Friday of ours?

Anchors...

Who holds you down when all you want to do is fly away? 

Who keeps you above water when you're so damn tired 

and just want to sink to the bottom of the sea?

Who keeps you from drifting away 

no matter how wild the winds and how tall the waves?

Find your anchor, Love.

Sail until the seas and skies turn into endless blue.

Me and you, Love. Me and you.

Beautiful...

I saved this image. Twice. Kept returning to it, over and over again. And I couldn't, for the life of me, understand why I kept it around.

And then it hit me. I didn't understand this sentiment. This feeling. At all. Ever in my entire life. Destroying something beautiful? Never. Not me. Not ever.

Show me an old piece of furniture that everyone's given away. I'll take it and restore it to something at least a little better. Because it deserves to be kept. Everything does, doesn't it?

Show me the meanest person in the world, and I'll show you a broken heart that needs love. Show me an injured baby bird with no hope of living, and I'll give it enough hope to live two lifetimes. Same goes for an injured friend.

I don't understand destroying anything beautiful. I don't. And I don't understand destroying anything un-beautiful.  Because it simply cannot exist. 

I don't believe there's anything in this world that's not beautiful, do you?

I guess I must keep this image around to remind me of exactly who I am not...

Tag...

 

Thirty years old and still sneaking around at night, she thought to herself with a proud little smile. She fancied herself a fairy of sorts, cans of spray paint as her wings, and the words she scrawled the magic she left behind.

She was not the sort of girl you'd expect to see in those parts of town, but there she was and there she'd stay. As long as there were gray, lonely walls and gray, lonely people...she'd stay.

Tonight, she was in the middle of an epic masterpiece. Epic. But, then, she said that about all her public art. Tonight's read ONE DAY, YOUR LIFE WILL FLASH BEFORE YOUR EYES...MAKE SURE IT'S WORTH WATCHING. An insane splash of violets and blues to match the words she wrote yesterday in turquoise: FALL HOPELESSLY IN LOVE WITH TODAY. Have you seen it? Epic, right?

And just when she was almost through, she felt a chill up her spine. Someone was watching her.

Damn.

She turned around slowly, prepared to run if necessary. And there was a police car, sliding slowly by.

Damn.

They locked eyes, and something passed between them. Something beautiful and unexpected. And he nodded, almost like a salute, and kept on cruising.

Yeah. She was making sure her life would make a brilliant movie. It was definitely keeping her on the edge of her seat.

Hobbies...

There are hobbies in your life that feed your inner artist. Some that make the singer in you croon and hum all night. Others that make you sweat. If you're lucky, your hobby achieves all of the above.

And if you're really lucky? Your hobby does all that and adds wings to your heart. Do you feel the flutter?

One of my favorite things is taking care of my heart. It's a full-time hobby, for sure, especially when you add my love of taking care of all my lovelies' hearts, too.

It doesn't take a lot of training. There are no instructions or rules, guidelines or supply lists. No drying time or notes to follow or brushes to clean or worries of overexposure. Just love.

It takes only a little to tickle my heart. Whisper to it, sing it to sleep and awake. Shine your rays on it and warm me from the inside out. It's a gesture, it's a meaningful glance, it's a touch in the night, it's a stolen kiss that's just the beginning of a theft. It's making me tea and making love to me. Mend it when it's broken, cherish it for always.

And I'll do the same for you. Just tell me what your heart needs, and I'll give it. It's my favorite hobby...