the girl and the fig and a bottle of happiness.

Sonoma is the quintessential wine country community, the kind of place out-of-towners dream about when they think of Northern California, and ponder leading the kind of romantic lifestyle I only know about from movies and stories and being a daydreamer myself. It has a grassy, tree-shadowed square and the streets are lined by quaint shops and beautiful hotels, award-winning restaurants and casual cafes. Wine and cheese is a way of life, enjoyed daily like a meal, and the passing of the seasons is noticed in grapevines rather than tree leaves.

As a Napa Valley girl, born and bred, I am virtually committing treason by announcing this confession, but there is something I love about Sonoma so much more than my hometown, I find it difficult to express beyond my obvious appreciation of its aesthetics. Perhaps it is because it is a tabula rasa, something Napa can never be for me. Regardless of the fact that it is a mere 15 minutes from Napa, it often feels a world away.

Now, I know I have a penchant for wanting to run away from my life at times. Proven in my indecision, in my quick decisions, in moving to and fro, sleeping on foreign couches and sisterly futons, in friendly beds, on not-so-friendly floors, not knowing what the hell is coming around the next bend, finally settling at the beginning again. Settling, however, very often feels closer to restlessness, neighbors on the circumference of a circle rather than strangers at different ends of a spectrum. But I’ve come to the realization that what I am actually trying to do is run towards my life. I feel as though it keeps evading me somehow, like a star in the sky when you look directly at it. Only when you look away, does it finally come into focus, burning brightly in the corner of your eye.

MY good friend, JB, and I had a little date last Saturday night. I arrived at her house around 8:00pm, we enjoyed a glance of pinot noir as we chatted and she suggested we drive into Sonoma for dinner and conversation. A Napa girl, like me, she couldn’t bear the thought of our usual downtown Napa routine, undoubtedly running into all sorts of characters from the past (i.e. high school, boys and drama-causing friends) and I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief because my feelings mirrored hers exactly. I was almost going to suggest we stay in, in order to avoid the fray that is Napa on a Saturday night.

We conversed as she drove, winding her Land Rover through the two dark valleys, catching up on months of new developments after a summer apart. Upon our arrival at the square buzzing with tourists and locals alike, all out painting the town burgundy, we parked and chose a restaurant called the girl and the fig (lowercase letters). We have both recommended it a combined total of one hundred thousand nine hundred ninety eight times to guests at the hotel, but had never actually patronized the place ourselves. Concierges are the best liars who give the best advice on the best restaurants to which they never actually go. Unless invited as industry guests. Complimentary, of course

We sat at the bar, I pulled a fantastic bottle of Terra Valentine Cabernet Sauvignon from my handbag and gave it to the friendly bartender. One of the things I do love about wine country folks – most everyone knows how to pour wine correctly; into a certain glass according to the varietal, never filling the glass more than halfway at a time. If that qualifies me as a wine snob, I don’t care.

As we enjoyed our wine and cheese, another fellow concierge, and dear friend, arrived. LS was on a first date with a stockbroker, nice guy, and they joined us at the bar for cocktails and conversation.

After the lovely girl and the fig, we crossed the square to the locals’ favorite Irish watering hole, drank some beer and water and then said good night to LS and her stockbroker, who were clearly ready to continue their date sans JB and me.

When JB and I got back to her place, we chatted outside in the cool night for a bit, and although we talked for close to five hours that night, what I remember most about what we discussed is this: Her son had been having trouble recently with mean kids at his school. He is only six years old, I think, but is so wise, asking her how it is that people can be so cruel. Her response was equally wise. She basically told him that all we can do is surround ourselves by people who make us happy and to not worry about what other people think, because there is nothing we can do about them.

I have thought a lot about that advice in the last week. Because I think that is the ultimate struggle we all face in life. Finding who and what makes us happy. Easier said than done, right?

What I do know is this: Nothing makes me happier than a great bottle of wine, great friends, loving family, reading a good book, writing in my journal or on my blog, yummy cheese, and knowing that I don’t have to run from or towards my life, if I am willing to accept what makes me happy right now. My future life of travel and love and adventure will wait for me, while I enjoy my present life of school and struggle and sacrifice. No rush, right? Life is not a means to an end. As the saying goes, life is a journey, not a destination. Happiness is not “there” but here, not “tomorrow” but today. I have heard this quote attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson, Steven Tyler and Sidney Greenberg. Though it has become so ubiquitous it almost requires no author. Common knowledge need not be included on the works cited. So I must accept it as a truth, and learn to live it.

Now, if I can only hold onto that notion for a few years – or even a few hours…

sixty-seven things.

I know you’re supposed to do a “100 things” entry as a celebration for your one hundredth post, but I’m just not that patient. Plus I like random numbers. Plus I’m experiencing a bout of writer’s block. ( And I do have over a hundred posts on my MySpace blog, so there.)

Here is to my 67th post on semper scribendi Cheers!

1. I was born nearly deaf. I couldn’t hear much until I had a surgery at age six, and then had tubes in my ears until I was ten. My hearing still isn’t 100%.

2. I strongly dislike mushrooms. I gag when I smell them being cooked.

3.  In business emails, I always sign Best Regards, in the first email to someone new, and Cheers! in each following correspondence.

4. I eat at least one apple a day. And not because of the old “an apple a day…” adage. But because I love them. Pink ladies are my absolute favorites.

5. Cheese and apples is the best snack ever.

6. I love cheese. I can’t even convey in words how strongly I feel about cheese. As third grade me would say, I want to marry cheese. If I had to choose between having cheese and having an orgasm… let’s just say, it’d be a pretty tough choice… Guess it depends on with whom I get to have either

7. I love summer rain on the East Coast. We don’t get that in California.

8. And thunder storms. We don’t get those out here too often either.

9. I don’t listen to much mainstream music, except classic rock and oldies. I like a lot of indie/emo/folk rock. And house music, of course.

10. Pandora.com is my favorite new website.

11. I haven’t eaten red meat since I was twelve.

12. I wrote to Ann M. Martin when I was ten and she wrote me back

13. My sister and I grew up with a bunch of kids in our neighborhood and many Saturday evenings would be spent with all of them in our living room, dancing, the TV blasting Dance Party USA.

14. I’m not very girly, except when it comes to make-up. I make no excuses about that. ( And I’m blonde, I look like I’m twelve if I don’t wear make-up.)

15. My cat, Chester, may he rest in peace, would sit in front of our house waiting for me to walk home from the bus stop every day after school. As soon as I rounded the corner, he would run to me and jump into my arms

16. Chester also liked to sleep on my bum. When my high school bff, Laura, would spend the night, he’d sleep on her bum too.

17. Chester’s middle name was Harrison. And his nickname was Boboli.

18. I think swimming naked, in the ocean, at night, is the most incredibly peaceful and sobering experience in the world.

19. Red tide may be smelly and ugly in the daytime, but at night it is the most beautiful and amazing thing I have ever seen, have ever been blessed to experience.

20. Strawberry is my favorite flavor of ice cream.

21. When I eat ice cream in a bowl, I have to mash it and swirl it all together, to make it creamy. I don’t even take a bite until I do this.

22. I love to exercise, but hate to think about having to do it. The motivating myself is the hardest part.

23. Same with writing.

24. Getting out of bed in the morning is the most difficult part of my day. I seriously, honestly think I have some kind of disorder. But I love mornings. Go figure.

25. On that note, I am slightly narcoleptic. Ask any of my friends. I can fall asleep anywhere, everywhere, in any position.

26. When I was younger, I thought my grandmother got cancer because she was a cancer. Following this logic, I figured I would inevitably get cancer as well.

27. I still think I might, since both of my grandmothers died of breast cancer.

28. I love that numb, raw feeling of your lips after a long make-out session

29. I love Robert Downey Jr. Love, love, love.

30. I will live in Europe, one day soon. I want to be an ex-pat, and sip cappuccinos at little cafes, smoking thin cigarettes, wearing berets, writing in my journal and laughing at American tourists.

31. I have a beautiful antique diamond ring that I wear on my right ring finger every day. I inherited it from my step-grandmother. Turns out, some old lady who lived in the same senior community, gave it to her before she passed away. I found out that a lot of old people do this, trade jewelry. It’s a shame that I’ll never know the amazing history of this 1920s era ring. It really is spectacular.

32. I carry my journal, plus at least two books, with me everywhere I go. My handbag is incredibly heavy but I’m used to it.

33. Even though I carry my journal with me everywhere, I still forget to write some things down, even when I make a mental note to do so.

34. And then I’ll remember them a week, or even a year, later. I do this with stories too. I will think up a story in my head, but won’t start writing it for some time. Months, usually.

35. If I get caught in the rain without an umbrella, I don’t freak out and run for cover. I just keep walking, and get wet. (Unless I have to be somewhere looking presentable.)

36. I’m annoyed at myself that I can’t think of simpler things to write in this post. Like one sentence stuff. I have to write freaking paragraphs.

37. My MySpace blog has been viewed over 15,000 times.

38. This blog has been viewed less than 100 times.

39. I still have my first stuffed animal. It is a squirrel that winds up like a jewelry box and plays Frere Jacques. I love it. I keep it on my bed or on my nightstand.

40. I couldn’t whistle until I was a teenager. Even my sister could before I could. My whole family made fun of me. Remember the oldest son in the first Honey, I Shrunk The Kids movie? I loved him when that movie came out, because he couldn’t whistle either. Now I’m an AWESOME whistler

41. My sister and I occasionally send each other greeting cards. We call them “Mission Statements” and in lieu of writing “life” updates, we write our favorite movie, Friends and The Simpsons quotes in them, and then call each other upon receiving the card to laugh hysterically together.

42. I didn’t light a match until I was 20. I used to be very pyrophobic. I still am, to an extent.

43. I had two recurring nightmares as a child. One was about the whole neighborhood I lived in burning down in an angry inferno and all my family and friends would die in the nightmare fire. In the other, I would be chased down the street by a Tyrannosaurus Rex and have to hide in a rain gutter to escape it.

44. The first time I ever ditched school was in the sixth grade. Kaylee Morrison and I forged notes from our parents and then walked to her house, watched movies, ate candy and jumped on her trampoline.

45. We had many pet hamsters and rats growing up. My last rat, Polly, would sleep on my shoulders under my hair, from the time she was a baby, the size of a walnut, until she was about 5 pounds and ten inches long. She died in my hands and I cried for a week.

46. My favorite dessert is chocolate-dipped strawberries.

47. When my sister and I were little we had these swirls of blonde hair on the backs of our necks. Mine looked like a six and hers looked like a nine. Our parents thought it was the funniest thing. We didn’t understand why.

48. My first car was a ’67 VW Beetle. It was charcoal gray and had a sunroof that was kind of difficult to crank open. Even though it broke down a lot, I loved it. I would like to own another one day.

49. I am a big fan of Formula One. I watch all the races with my dad. He and I went to the inaugural U.S. Grand Prix in Indianapolis, September of 2000.

50. I am a major Golden State Warriors fan.

51. I don’t know if I could ever live in a place where there weren’t a lot of trees.

52. I love cold weather. Thus, living in California gets kind of annoying sometimes, even though I’ve never lived elsewhere.

53. I really want to live elsewhere. Soon. I hope to only be here for about three more years.

54. I am deathly afraid of jellyfish.

55. Spiders too.

56. I love the smell of chlorine; of swimming pools.

57. My family hates the Red Sox and their fans. We’re Yankees fans or we’re disowned! Kidding. (Sort of.)

58. I read books while walking.

59. It is a goal of mine to speak five languages, besides English, by the time I’m 35.

60. I never, ever wanted a tattoo. Until I started studying Latin. I got my first tattoo last month, while visiting a friend in Baltimore.

61. I love used books. I love the fact that they have a history I can only imagine. Especially old, used books. I try to only buy used books, unless I’m looking for something specific. Even then, I’ll go to an independent bookstore. I am loathe to shop at Borders or Barnes and Noble. (Although I do like to browse in those stores. But not buy. It’s my way of “sticking it to the man.”)

62. I especially love used books that are inscribed, or have notes in the margin. My favorite is a 1936 printing of Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, illustrated by Norman Rockwell. On the inside of the cover, in a scrawled cursive; “Bryan, from Grandpa Palmer, Dec. 25, 1968.” I found it at the Berkeley Library bookstore for $3.50. It is a fantastic find and I would have bought it anyway, but the inscription made even more special for me, because it was once special to someone else.

63. I love, love, love wine. I am definitely a product of my home town of Napa, CA. I shudder to imagine a world without wine.

64. I have a scar an inch long on the inside of my lower lip. Every time I feel it, I remember getting smacked in the face by an orange street pylon, which my drunk friend was swinging like a baseball bat. Not looking, I walked directly into his swing. It was a grand slam.

65. I once had a crush on a married man with whom I worked. I’m fairly certain he had feelings for me too. Because I am a good person, and so was he, nothing ever happened between us. Except for a bit of flirting and many serious conversations over cocktails and cigarettes before, during, and after work. It was the best job, the most fun at a job,  I’ve ever had.

66. I secretly loved doing “stadiums” before swim practice when I was younger, but pretended to hate it because I wasn’t the fastest, and I’m very competitive.

67. If stranded on a desert island and could only bring one thing, I’d bring my Concise Anthology of American Literature.

an EKG?

An EKG records the electrical activity of the heart.

Why is it easy to say no to some people, but not others? Why is it so easy to let go of some people, but not others? Why is it so hard to say no to somebody you thought you let go of, a long time ago?

The truth is, some people affect your life, dramatically, whether you want them to or not. And others pass by, their presence merely a sporatic blip on the radar in your memory. But the ones whose memory maintain a constant blip, an EKG reading if you will, never leave your heart.

I’m not in love with him. I don’t know that I ever was. And I don’t think I even love him. But his memory is a constant blip. Because he has affected my life so much.

Most of my friends don’t like him. In fact, most hate him. Hate is a really strong word, I know, but that’s the way they feel. I understand too.

He contacted me the other night. Text message. I hadn’t heard from him, or spoken to him in, I don’t even know how long, at least six months. I did run into him at a bar about a month ago, but tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore his presence. When he finally approached, I was cold, and then he left. I felt a twang of guilt as I watched him walk away, like I was being a bitch when he was trying to be nice, but I brushed it off, knowing that we weren’t friends. After all, why would we be?

I ignored this text message, shocked at his gall. How dare he contact me? He sent three more. He knew I’d eventually respond, I knew that, and his prudence pissed me off. The fourth message read, Are you alive? and I responded with, No, I’m not alive. Thus began an hour long stint of texting back and forth, me trying to ignore him, and him persisting. He called three times before I finally answered with “What do you want?” But no matter how hard I try to be a bitch to him, I always end up softening. He’ll say something that will make me laugh aloud, and my bitchiness melts away so slowly I hardly notice. Later on, in retrospect, I get so ticked off that he is able to do that.

What I don’t understand, is how someone can use people, they way he does, and not feel inhuman. He denies that. When I told him I only had three weeks left living here and I’d rather spend time with people who actually care about me, he acted appalled. “You think I don’t care about you? I care about you. You care about me too.” I was glaring, but said nothing. He couldn’t see me glaring over the phone, though, and broke my silence. “Come over.”

I asked him how he thought his current girlfriend would feel, knowing I was with him. “I don’t care, ” he said. I can’t say I was surprised. “You of all people know I’ve never been monogamous.” He grinned as he said that. I should have slapped him, but I didn’t. I laughed. I should have felt ashamed that I was even hanging out with him. I do, a little, but not really. It’s nobody’s business but mine. (Even though I’m blogging about it!)

He asked if I was going to stay the night. “No, I’m going home.” We’d been talking for hours, as if the time apart hadn’t gone by. “Like old times,” he said. “Remember the beach, with a bottle of pinot noir and a candle?” he asked. I smiled. Because every time I remember how we used to do that, I smile. We’d drive to the liquor store in the middle of the night, buy the wine, two plastic cups, and a candle. We’d sit on the dark beach for hours, talking and laughing and kissing, until the wine was gone. And as the candle still flickered, highlighting millions of grains of sand, we’d walk away, back to the car. I’d look back at the little flame until I was no longer able to see it, and wondered what would become of it. If it would sit next to our empty wine bottle for a few days, or if some passer-by would pick it up, and themselves wonder who had sat on the beach in the candlelight.

Before I left he asked if I would go to the movies with him the next night. “Sure, ” I replied, recognizing his empty invitation, and offering an empty acceptance.

I drove home, a little pissed off. I couldn’t help but smile, either.

I know he is going to read this. But I don’t care