Every time I watch Apollo 13, I bawl my eyes out during the launch scene. The expressions on the actors’ faces — the striking difference between the astronauts’ focus and the crowd’s emotion, the camera work and the music, the latter of which is most important to me, all bring me to tears.
My mom would tell you that when I was little, I would cry at the end of Sesame Street because the chimes made such a beautiful sound; she or my brother would have to run in to turn off the TV or change the channel before they began to play.

The way I figure it, I’d get by just fine in life without my sight — so long as I had my hearing to allow me to make and enjoy beautiful music. Loss of vision would be bittersweet, as it tends to amplify everything audible…but at least I could survive off of my memories and my imagination.

The Apollo 13 launch scene makes me want to write something equally powerful. It wouldn’t need to necessarily be a screenplay, but it would need to open those same floodgates of emotion that the movie opens. Easier said than done, as I tend to be able to write raunchy comedies or depressing tales more swiftly than the uplifting, depite the fact that my heart is firmly determined to deliver the latter. I don’t see much worth in putting out the expected into the world, though — I’d rather pen something poetic, moving and inspirational. But each time I try, I hit a snag. I don’t know why.

Perhaps I need to watch Apollo 13 on a Friday night with wine in hand, then spend the rest of the weekend seeing what comes out on paper. It wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world.

Regardless of whether I can eventually deliver on the inspiration, tonight I am thankful for my vision and hearing which are both intact and which work in tandem to motivate me to keep trying. I am thankful for the beauty of cinematography, the magic of production and the soundtracks and film scores which drive it all home. Here’s to creating.

Today was yet another of those days when a migraine paid me a visit, although it wasn’t a terribly bad one.
At the first sign of an aura, I brace myself for a draining rest of the day. Before too long, I was the weirdo in the darkened office looking at a monitor that I dimmed as much as possible. One diet Mountain Dew, three bottles of water, two cups of black coffee and four aspirin later, the aura was gone, the pain hadn’t really had a chance to take hold and I was feeling better.

Jittery, but better.

On days like today when the week feels like it will be never-ending on day one, and when I’m trying to beat back a monstrous headache, I often wonder what I can find to be thankful for when I get home and it’s time to write.

I read an article today about a man who discarded most of his possessions and walked across the country to shine a light on the homeless; social media helped document his journey and give a voice to those on the street. From one coast to the other, he relied on the kindness of strangers not only for food, but likely the motivation to simply keep going.

Each time I get one of these pesky headaches, I revel in my pity party for a while, then realize how grateful I am to be able to nip it in the bud.

I used to conduct said nipping via Imitrex or Zomig. Over time as the headaches lessened, I can now reach for something caffeinated — and a few pills o’ magic — and rest assured that they’ll do the trick.

If I was walking across the country, I’d probably be pretty hard-pressed to find any of those items in my path, unless someone happened to specifically present any of them to me. Prescriptions would obviously be even harder to come by, if not impossible. A concrete bed at night wouldn’t help my plight much, nor would the elements, and any lack of food or hydration.

Tonight, while not a coast to coast hike but a draining journey in its own right, I am thankful for the plethora of migraine-fighting tools in my arsenal, for a soft bed to fall into at the end of the day and for a roof over my head to help me hide away from it all. Here’s to a night of recovery, and a dark room that doesn’t give way to the morning light a moment too soon.

Once upon a time, someone called me flighty.

I took it personally, and it offended me. For years, I walked around with it hanging over my head like a little cloud. I wondered if everyone had known this about me except for, well, me.

“Hi, don’t talk to me, because I’m flighty.”

“Oh, you want me to do something for you? Well, you might wanna rethink that, because I’m one of those flighty types.”

“Looking for someone responsible? Move along, nothing to see here. I’m flighty.”

But then I decided I’d try to embrace it. Maybe it was one of those words I could bend and shape and make fit. Maybe I’d be the person that people would call on a whim to go somewhere crazy or fun or adventurous and I’d never give a second though to dropping everything and going, or maybe I could finally be seen in a more casual light, instead of the serious, hard-working, go-to-bed-on-time, remember-to-call-home light. I’d call myself flighty when the conversation accommodated it, and people would look at me strangely. Finally, one day someone asked me if I knew what it meant.

The answer I gave was the story about how “flighty” came to apparently describe me. I explained that I was offered a different job at the place I was working, and that at first I was excited and accepted it — like, right there on the spot. But then I went home, thought about it, and decided that I’d get far more experience if I stayed in the role that I was in, so…I ended up passing on the other opportunity altogether.

“That’s not flighty, that’s smart,” was the reply. “You thought about what it was you really wanted to do, and you made sure you stayed on the path you wanted to be on.”

Hm. So I wasn’t flighty after all? I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or frustrated. Perhaps I’d struggled with the word unnecessarily all those years when, in reality, it was an off the cuff remark that wasn’t serious in the first place. Maybe the person who used it didn’t know what else to say to me at the time, so he thought he’d toss it in my face to see if it stuck. Well, it stuck for a while, and while I do consider myself occasionally spontaneous, as well as someone who will sign up for a class on a whim or buy a concert ticket at the last minute (living dangerously, right?), I don’t know that flighty was ever a good fit for me. Nor do I know why I ever wanted it to be.

Tonight I am thankful for being grounded enough to know when I need to allow myself to drift up into the clouds, and for being responsible to the point of knowing when I have a responsibility to myself to cut loose.

Rumor has it we’re under a waning gibbous moon tonight.

Gibbous, adjective: more than half, but less than fullly illuminated (used of a moon or planet). Waning, verb: decreasing gradually in size.

It’s currently missing in action, instead preferring to appear when our eyelids are heavy — either from the day’s labors or following an evening of imbibing. Tonight, this less-than-full moon will make its appearance around 11pm, and I’m sorry to say that — in my old age — I may not be up to behold its arrival.

I was outside a while ago, and it looked as though a low and slow-moving rainstorm was passing just to the east of me. Instead, it was the smoke from the Disneyland fireworks, its remnants streaking across the sky and enjoying illumination from the nearby stadium. If I didn’t live in Anaheim with The Happiest Place on Earth nearby — as well as a well-lit field on which to play sports — the sight would’ve creeped me out. It was slightly eerie, but it reminded me once again that it was fall. The air was crisp, and a jack-o-lantern from across the street beamed at me; its orange, toothy grin — while distant — was clear as day.

Every year around this time, I start doing certain fall-like things. I get in the mood to make pies. And roasts. I like dumping a bottle of Merlot into a pot on the stove and making a batch of mulled wine. Then on Halloween, I watch one of my favorite double-headers: The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad. I love this time of year.

I’m a fan of fires in the fireplace, and I like to wake up early on fall mornings to tend to the garden plants that are otherwise too difficult to attend to during the warmer months. Our cold may not be like the rest of the country’s cold, but it’s festive, and it gets me moving.

Despite the shorter days, it’s usually the time of year that I also like to go for walks in the evening. On particularly chilly California nights, I may even arrive home with an earache from the chill in the air, but a cup of tea makes everything all better.

Tonight, I am decidedly in a fall state of mind — likely leftover from last night’s post — and, after an evening and dinner spent at a local British pub, I realize that I am thankful for the fellowship of friends, for the moon whose illumination is dwindling slowly in size, and I liken it to our own existence throughout the year: joyous following the holidays, bright and sunshiney during June, July and August, then gradually slowing down and going into a hibernation of sorts during our winter months. May we wane in our brightness only to enjoy the offerings the cold and shorter days have to bestow upon us, but may we always look forward to a full moon and sharing our illumination with others throughout the year.

Although it began five days ago, this is the first day that October has felt like October. And while autumn settled in for its months-long visit a couple weeks back, today is the first day that my thoughts have been colored by burnt oranges, rich golds and warm shades of brown.

It might have had something to do with a plethora of images being posted all day long by businesses that I follow on Facebook. Williams-Sonoma, Le Potager, Bevmo, breweries and wineries all shared photos of fall-themed beverages, dishes, decor, and numerous pictures contained jewel-toned leaves which stared back at me.

Tonight when I got home, there was a chill in the air; I grabbed my old, trusty Ugg boots which have turned into ratty slippers for around the house, flipped on the TV and noticed one of my old favorites on back-to-back: “You’ve Got Mail,” complete with its holiday-heavy scenes, what with mentions of fall in New York, bouquets of sharpened pencils, Christmas trees being shopped for and white twinkle lights strewn about the set.

I made some popcorn, poured a glass of wine and settled in to watch. With the French doors open ever so slightly and the evening insects busy serenading the stars, the season felt like one that would be enjoyable. And even though I was beyond confident that I’d microwaved a bag of popcorn that had been expired for quite some time and that my Malbec was on its last legs after having been open the better part of the week, I was happy to be here. On the couch, decompressing. Sitting. I was happy to just be.

Tonight I am thankful for the change of seasons, although I’m certain we’ll have more summer-like weather again before too long. I’m thankful for simple pleasures, for quiet time and for a peaceful existence.

A new Sarah Brightman album is about to be released, and her website has recently been revamped. Its intro is somewhat magical and mysterious, hopeful yet dreamlike. In it, she differentiates between being a dreamer, and being a dream chaser. I used to think I was the former until I heard the intro. Now I fancy myself the latter.

A dreamer says, “Wouldn’t it be great if?” A dreamer says, “I wish I could…”

A dreamer says, “I don’t have enough time.”

A dreamer thinks her head is probably in the clouds, and might even feel guilty about it sometimes.

A dream chaser, however, says, “I’m going to try.”

A dream chaser says, “I will.”

A dream chaser makes time, and that dream chaser loves the fact that her head is in the clouds — because the view is amazing.

Tonight I am thankful for dreams to chase, for clouds to daydream among, for time to race against and for the drive to find out “what if” instead of wondering why I didn’t.

The charm of cooking is that not only do you [hopefully] get tasty vittles when all is said and done, but it can teach us quite a bit in the process, as well.

Too fired up? Reduce your heat. Remove yourself from an intense situation and allow yourself to cool down. Need more balance in your life? Keep an eye on things, and get some good color on all sides…don’t focus on just one.

Someone else’s solution not working for you? Add salt to taste, and make things palatable for you — not for anyone else.

Can’t deal with everyone at one time? Gently separate your yolks from the whites. Don’t handle with care, and things get messy. Handle with care and everyone can live in harmony.

Need to cut loose and celebrate? Grab your truffle oil or a shot of ouzo — but use sparingly. All things in moderation. All things.

Don’t know how you’ll get there — to that goal, to the end of a project, to that place in life where you want to be? Simmer on low. Keep your heat on, and keep going. Slow and steady will win the race in time.

Tonight I’m thankful for my umpteenth month (year?) of ritualistic evening food show viewing which, just today, yielded a few handy reminders for the months and years ahead. Food for thought indeed.

After tonight, I’ll have blogged for 276 consecutive days. And even if most people haven’t read my posts, I’m thankful for the habit I’ve formed for myself.

Even if nothing ever comes of this writing dream long after other projects beyond Thanky are tackled, I can say that I tried.

Even if those who read these get nothing from them, I can still hope they’ll tell someone about the blog who might.

Even if the only purpose of Thanky is so I can tell someone else about the ease of setting up a blog so that they can help their own dreams take flight, it will have done its job.

Even if I’ll never know who takes what away from the daily posts, the hope that something someday will resonate with someone keeps me going.

Tonight I am thankful for everything Thanky has given to me, for everything it has the potential to give to others, and for the inspiration it gives me to continue at least through the year, but for sure with other writings for as long as I’m able.

If you’d have told me years ago that my days of working among racing’s elite would one day lead to dancing, I’d have thought you were crazy. But that’s just what’s about to happen.

A former client of mine invited me to tonight’s taping of “Dancing with the Stars” and I couldn’t be more thrilled to attend. I’m not a die-hard viewer of the show, but when the opportunity to see one of our former IndyCar racers twirl, glide, groove and sashay around the dance floor presents itself, of course my answer will be an enthusiastic “yes.” 

Cocktail attire is required, and I stopped by Nordstrom yesterday on my way home from my playwriting meeting to snag a dress. I found one — one that fit more into the “gown” category versus being a mere “dress” — and surprised myself when a smaller size than I’d normally purchase happened to fit. Thank you, Weight Watchers.

Upon getting it home, I then realized I’d need to wear a towering heel to keep from stepping on the darned thing, as it was long and slighly flowy toward the bottom. Duh — way to not realize such a thing in the dressing room. No bueno, being that I don’t have sky-high shoes. What to do, what to do.

I rifled through the dress section of my closet and found a black cocktail dress that I wore a few years back to an evening wedding. I haven’t been able to wear it since that event, but I figured I’d try it on. Success! Thanks again, Weight Watchers. And with that, I returned to Nordstrom with the dress I’d just purchased and kept my chunk of change safe and sound.

Today I’m simply thankful for the plethora of little things that all add up to big joy: I’m thankful for a tool that lets me track everything I eat and, in return, shows me results, I’m thankful for the opportunity to attend a taping that I’d likely never stand a chance at seeing otherwise, and I’m thankful for an understanding manager who told me to go, have a great time and enjoy the taping — and to report back on all the details tomorrow. I feel lucky, blessed and — if my knee lets me — I just might do a little happy dance of my own later on.

I believe that everything in our lives happens at the exact moment it’s supposed to happen — the good, the bad, the ugly and the supposedly “accidental.”

I went to my playwriting meeting again today and, while I was on my way there, found myself reflecting on how I started going to it in the first place.

Last fall at my old job, I started working with a new client. A few months prior I had completed a playwriting course at South Coast Repertory, and I’d gotten on some of their email lists.

One email I received shortly before last Christmas was promoting a collection of one-act plays, and I noticed that one of the writers had the same last name as my client. Turns out it was my client’s father.

I was invited to the playwriting group by client’s dad, and a few short months later I had moved on to a new job.

The new job has a ton of work-life balance. And I’m still attending the meetings with my (now ex) client’s dad. I didn’t know I was looking for a more structured forum in which to discuss writing until I found it. And what a small world to have found it through a client that I started working with only a few months before I quit my last job.

Today I finally had that feeling I’ve been waiting for. I left the meeting feeling 100% inspired, comfortable, welcomed and ready. Not 80%, not 90%. 100%. Finally.

I’ve been impatient for this feeling to come. But today I realized that everything happened the way it should to get me to this afternoon. In exactly nine months’ time, I’m finally ready to finish my half-baked plays and submit them for official membership into the group. Some people have babies in such an amount of time. My writings are my kids.

Everything happens in its own time. And it’s up to us to notice the chain of events and harness its energy. To feed off it, if you will. Everything happens for a reason, and we owe it to that reason to take action and do something. To go somewhere.

What’s happening in your life? What signs have you seen that you’ve perhaps been too quick to brush aside and disregard? Where do those things point, and to where do those events lead? Do they lead to a change? To a dream? I think we all need to ask ourselves one question: where to?

Tonight I am thankful for the chain of events in my life that have been taking place over the last nine months and for the destination I reached today. Today marks the start of a new chain of events and, while it’s impossible to say whether this next one will last nine months, more or less, it will be a journey worth taking. Because they always are.