Candleside.

by

You know the smell right after you’ve blown out a candle? I love that smell. For the most part, it reminds me of two main memories: 1) December birthdays, cold nights, white cake and white buttercream frosting, as well as 2) candles blown out after the last of the holiday guests have gone on their way.

It also occasionally reminds me of church. I’d yawn and shift and fidget during the entire service, dutifully standing up, sitting down and kneeling, simply going through the motions. I’d frequently get lost in the construction of felt banners which were hung around the church, or in the dissection of matronly hairstyles, costume jewelry or the tattered pages of hymnals. But I really perked up at the end of the service, and not just because it was the end: it was when the altar candles were extinguished.

Why can’t they make a candle that’s scented with that same blown out candle smell? That would be fantastic.

I started my slow process of getting ready for bed an hour ago and had just blown out my firewood-scented candle I’d been enjoying most of the evening. It transported me back to yet another memory: walking mile after mile on the esplanade in Redondo Beach years ago. There was a home that smelled like freshly blown out candles each time I passed it, morning or night. Heavenly, but my brain was torn. Which memory would I revel in tonight?

I settled on remembering the white cake and buttercream of my youth. It’s true — they don’t make ’em like they used to. Mr. Lowe’s bakery in Anaheim is long gone, but I have yet to find a cake as good as theirs. Sure, others are great in their own way, but the frosting would — ever so slightly — crunch as you ate it, like the tiniest of sugar granules was asking to be relished before being completely dissolved. And relish we did for many holidays, birthdays and family celebrations.

But it doesn’t stop there: don’t even get me started on the goo that was always left behind on the cake’s waxy cardboard platform. With each piece that was cut, the thin layer of cakey, sticky deliciousness would also be swiped — sometimes with a fork, but usually with a finger when nobody was looking. My brother and I were both quite fond of it.

It’s funny what we hold onto in our lives: the smells and tastes from childhood, and the reminders of them that visit us in our adult lives. Those candle-scented moments seemed so insignificant at the time, yet what they marked (the end of a celebration, more or less) is something that’s part of my little bubble — my cocoon — to this day. I love being candleside. Had the ones from my childhood been surrounded by angst or trauma, no doubt their place in my heart may be microscopic — if it existed at all. But because they’re good and warm, happy and fond — even sparkly and joyful — I am thankful for their lasting effect.

Seasonal Peace

by

The San Gabriel Mountains as well as others here in SoCal have been dusted with their first snow of the season, and our skies have been delightfully gray the past few days. Yesterday one section of the range was in the setting sun’s vibrant amber spotlight; the air was so clear and crisp that you’d swear it was possible to reach out and trace each ravine and craggy peak with a single finger.

These are my favorite days of the year. So often it seems summer’s grip doesn’t loosen until it senses the irritation of the masses, if even then. An 80-degree Christmas is always possible in these parts, yet never festive. This year, however, it seems Mother Nature is delivering the season in a relatively timely manner. I hope it sticks around.

In the same way that we expect the seasons to live up to their usual definitions, we too expect certain things from the seasons in our lives.

Some go as planned, others are more tumultuous and destructive. Some seasons happen right on time, others are slower to materialize.

Regardless of what’s in our minds, the seasons come and go — behave and misbehave — as they please. We can’t control the winds of change, the intensity of the UV rays or the snow level, but we can be prepared with a windbreaker, sunscreen and chains for our tires. Weathering the seasons as best as possible is usually all we can do. On any given day, though, we can take comfort in the fact that the weather is as it should be — good or bad.

Tonight I am thankful for the message in the mountains and their perspective on expectations. While we may get exactly what we hope for, other times might throw us a curve ball. Either outcome is out of our hands, but both require the same thing: acceptance, appreciation and the belief that things are as they were intended.

The Wind

by

You know that time during late autumn/pre-winter when it’s cold outside, but not so cold that you turn on your heater or furnace?

Yep — it’s one of those nights.

No thoughts of loved ones, friends, or others can warm me — it’s legitimately chilly outside. And I love it.

My house flag is flapping in the wind. Note: not a breeze, but a wind. Clouds overhead are speeding by at breakneck speed, only to be met by mountains about thirty to forty miles north which put a damper on their plans. Flowerbeds are damp from yesterday’s rain, and the backyard birdbath has been renewed by Mother Nature.

The change of seasons — once it moves past its hemming and hawing where summer thinks about moving into fall, despite its hesitancy to commit — has me hopeful for the future. Change isn’t always top of mind, but once it gets under our skin, it can take hold like no other. We might try to deny it, but ultimately I think we see the benefit of an embrace.

Tonight I am thankful for the change of seasons, the seasons’ effect on our lives, the power of others and their influence that knows know bounds.

Emergency Ten.

by

I just wanted to leave work. Today was my Friday. I’m taking a vacation day tomorrow to be with my mom for an early Thanksgiving celebration at the senior complex where her parents/my grandparents live. And my Friday wasn’t ending soon enough.

I left work later than usual — about an hour past my usual time. When I got in my car this morning, I knew I’d need to stop for gas before heading home tonight. As is the case with a day, however, tiny details are forgotten and the to-do list is passed over in favor of office tasks, meetings, emails, reports.

I trekked to the parking deck, collapsed into the driver’s seat and exhaled, glad that my workweek was finally over. Upon starting my car, however, it flashed a reminder at me: my range was only 8 miles. It was 15 to get home. Yep, fuel is definitely a must.

I pulled into the nearest station — tiny and chaotic with too many pumps for the corner it occupies, but you do what you gotta do. I maneuvered into an open space and got out, ignoring my surroundings. Until I couldn’t ignore them anymore.

It was rush hour and the streets were damp; the shushing of tires on wet asphalt was peppered with the occasional honk and evening commute speeds of 50 mph across six lanes of traffic. A TV on top of the pump was blaring its ads; my ears were starting to buzz. It was anything but quiet. As I fueled up, I was instantly aware that a group of guys was approaching me, yelling or hollering about something. I didn’t know what the fuss was about, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t in the mood to assess the situation, but something made me look up once they were about five feet from me.

It wasn’t a bunch of guys. It was two teenage boys and two elementary school boys pushing their mother’s old minivan toward a pump. They were having a good time doing it, as I’m sure it was an adventure for them. For mom, however, the situation isn’t ideal. She’s out of gas. Her children are pushing the van during rush hour. What’s more, they’re not prepared.

I continued to pump my gas. The minivan was on the other side of the pump.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but do you have any change?” one of the teenagers asked. “We need to get some gas. We’re out.”

“How much do you need?” I asked. Meanwhile, one thought is in my head.

Change? You expect to purchase a decent amount of gas with change?

“I dunno, maybe one or two dollars,” he said.

I said yes. Yes, I certainly did have some change — I spent about five minutes yesterday afternoon appalled at myself for having so much crammed into the coin section that it was starting to overflow out the sides. The seams were sure to bust at any point in the next few weeks. Yep, I most definitely, absolutely had change.

But he wouldn’t be getting it.

I also knew I had a $10 bill in my wallet which had been sitting there for almost two weeks. I usually don’t carry cash, but the note was there. Waiting. Unused. Ready. For an emergency? Perhaps, although my emergencies usually consist of me having a hankering for a taco on the way home. But there it was.

I popped into my car, grabbed it and gave it to him.

“I have a one dollar bill, and a ten. I’m confident you won’t get far on the one,” I said, handing him the ten.

“Wow, thanks! Do you want change? I can get you change right now,” he said.

“Nope,” I answered. “No change. All yours.”

He was over the moon, and he handed it to his brother who wanted to give it to the cashier. The kid hollered out at his brother, “Tell him $10 on pump 10. You can’t mess that up, right?”

Some might say it was a scam. They might be true, but it certainly didn’t look like one. Others might say that they might’ve only put $5 worth of gas into their tank, and kept the other $5. To that, I’d say that if they need to keep $5 that badly, then I’m happy to let them do that. Giving up $10 or any amount is trusting the other party to do what’s right with it — you know, that whole karma thing. But then I thought of this, although I was still quite happy to have been able to hand over a $10 to a kid who just had a big hand in pushing him mom’s minivan to safety: even if they only used a portion of it, there’s a pretty important day just around the corner. It’s called Thanksgiving. And regardless of how they used it, if not for gasoline entirely, I’m going to bet someone in that group was thankful for it.

Period.

For gratitude and for being able to help, for a longer than usual workday delayed for a reason and for a $10 in my wallet that’s never, ever there, I am grateful.

Piano Lessons

by

Years of piano study taught me about the world before I was old enough to comprehend its size.

I also wasn’t aware I was learning lessons which would one day be relevant to life, love and the pursuit, but — looking back — they were plentiful and their truths have stood the test of time.

1) Performing is occasionally necessary. It may not be enjoyable, but everyone’s nervous and we’re all in the same boat. Own it.

2) Learn to leave your hand-warmers and gloves at home. They might be beneficial while you’re waiting to play, but you can’t play with them; they come off eventually. Suck it up.

3) Practice doesn’t necessarily make perfect. Sometimes it just makes you better than the next guy, and sometimes that’s all you need. So practice.

4) As was the case with me and music theory, there will always be some things you just don’t “get.” Be patient with yourself. They usually click in time.

5) A beautiful tune may not be apparent in the first few bars, but just you wait — you might be surprised. Give people a chance.

6) You might get to a point and think you’re done, but inevitably the madness repeats. Follow the directions — you’ll reach the end when you’re meant to reach it.

7) When something stumps you, break it down: left hand first, then right — then both. Similarly, a complex situation can also be lovingly dissected and conquered.

8) Find your rhythm, heed it and be OK with it. Some are fast, some more slow. One’s tempo is a thing of beauty. It does not determine your worth.

9) Someone’s style of teaching may not be your cup of tea, and you may not be in the mood for a lesson at all — but you’ll still learn something. Pay attention.

10) Every genre has something to offer, a sound all its own. Discounting those who may be different robs us of experiencing something unique.

Tonight I am thankful for years of piano study which helped me keep the tough times in perspective and appreciate the rewards of persistence. Not every lesson was enjoyable, and each hour of practice wasn’t always appreciated. But if everything was all roses, all the time, where is the learning in that?

Light.

by

“In all our searching, the only thing we’ve found that makes the emptiness bearable is each other.”

More TV quotes tonight, the above courtesy of Contact.

Beyond its relation to the movie, the first thing this line made me think of is my frequent feeling of sadness and disinterest in the world — thanks to all the bad that we see highlighted in the news on a daily basis. Don’t get me wrong — my life I love. My family, my pets, those important to me, people that I feel a close connection with, I love. But some people make this world a difficult place to call home.

Interestingly, people can also bring healing and warmth…the ones we’ve chosen to hold close, that is. Interesting creatures we are, capable of good and evil, heaven and hell. All flesh and blood, all walking, talking, thinking, blinking beings.

Tonight I am thankful for the reminder that no matter how dark the world may seem, light is readily available in the ones we love. They really are the ones who make the emptiness and this crazy life bearable.

The Key

by

“To every man is given the key to the gates of heaven. The same key opens the gates of hell.”

I watched a documentary this evening about Richard Feynman and the above quote is true — so painfully true.

“And so it is with science” is how the quote concludes.

Science, yes.

And business.

And politics. And life, love and the pursuit of happiness.

So it is with advertising, acting, parenting and everything in between.

We all have a key. Do we use it for good or bad?

Do we become a ruler with an iron fist or a listener and ponderer — someone who weighs the options and who thinks before speaking?

Do we claw our way to the top, or form a human chain of success?

In our day to day, might think we need to be a certain way to get to our version of heaven, but we often forget how easy it is to unlock a door to hell. We might unlock it unknowingly, or we might not even know the difference — one more painful truth.

“There is pleasure in recognizing old things from a new viewpoint.

Another Feynman quote. Taken out of context, I’m sure, but it makes me think of this: It’s always surprising to realize we might’ve been going about something all wrong. But when we realize it and choose to use our key differently, there is beauty.

Tonight I am thankful for the idea of the key used for good, for the idea of a key misused and for the pleasure that indeed comes from realizing the old — that everyone can be wrong — and realizing the new…that it could be us.

Music therapy.

by

Brian Crain’s “Song for Sienna” is a tune that moved me to tears the first time I heard it.

I think I was listening to a Pandora station when it came on, and whatever I was doing was immediately paused. It’s a simple composition that sounds full of hope and sorrow, triumph and loss, patience and resolve. I’m listening to it right now and it’s on repeat. If I sit too long without writing, my eyes will start to well up. I’m not fully sure why, but I’ve always been this way.

Rumor has it my mom and brother had to move me away from the TV whenever Sesame Street would come to an end, lest I dissolve into a puddle of tears when the chimes at the end would begin to play. I don’t remember the chimes, nor do I remember being relocated a safe distance away. I can’t even find any retro clip of Sesame Street to revisit said chimes. But it must be true, because beautiful music still does it to me — even the slightest swell of music in the background of a movie can cast a spell (precisely what’s intended, I’m sure).

I’ve often wondered what my response means. To pursue or not to pursue as a career? I toyed with the idea of majoring in music during college, but decided that it would’ve taken the fun out of something so incredibly sacred to me that it wasn’t worth the risk. To dabble in on the side? I’ve done that and still do it in the comfort of my home, and while it’s personally satisfying, I can’t say I don’t want it to be more than that. What exactly — I’m not sure. Maybe in the same way that I’m considering the self-publishing path for my writing, I’ll record a CD someday just to say I did it. Nothing wrong with that.

In the meantime, I am thankful for others’ compositions and offerings which are inspiring, as well as encourage introspection and dreams. If music doesn’t cause those things for others, I can only hope that something else in life stirs up the same emotions. Riding the wave of highs and lows, listening and thinking, wishing, praying, hoping and remembering — all the things that music causes me to do — is nothing short of exhausting at times, but it’s therapy at its finest in my opinion.

For music as my therapy, I am thankful.

Breaking the mold.

by

I was in Laguna Beach earlier this evening watching a family try to leave Tommy Bahama. I say “try” because their daughter was enamored with the live music.

The woman singing and playing guitar was really, really good. The four-year-old thought so, too, because as they made their way to the front door, she stopped and stared, practically in a trance. Her eyes fell upon the woman’s guitar, then drifted up to her face, back down to her guitar, then up again.

The dad crouched down to his daughter’s level, interested in the three-foot view. His daughter bopped and swayed along with the beat, and they danced together in front of a bar filled with Hawaiian-print-clad adults drinking adult beverages and having their boring adult discussions. When the song ended she seemed suddenly shy. Her dad handed her a $1 bill for the tip jar.

The little girl couldn’t do it. She was frozen, afraid to approach the artist.

And then the musician did something that can only be described as awesome — she broke down the barriers, reaching out her hand with an open palm. The little girl toddled over and high-fived it. Cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Just like that, the tip found its way into her tip jar and the woman resumed playing.

The family left, but a few moments later I spotted the little girl again. She’d broken free of her parents’ grip somewhere up the street and made her way back to the bar and live music.

That’s my kind of kid.

She sat herself down in front of the woman yet again, enchanted by her singing. The parents followed close behind; it took them only about three seconds to find her. The mom stood on one side, the dad knelt on the other. And they all took in the show.

Tonight I am thankful for catching a glimpse of parenting that resonated with me. (And, no, “kid in a bar” is not what I’m talking about.) Instead, I’m referring to two parents patient enough to give their daughter time to enjoy music, for giving her the time of day to experience life and who danced with her while admiring the talent before them. I don’t see a lot of patience in people these days, and even less in parents, but this little girl clearly lucked out with the ones she got.

For a duo that broke the parenting mold that I tend to see, I am thankful.

Game-changing truth.

by

It’s a game-changer.

We’ve all heard the phrase before. But sometimes it comes down to not trying to change the game, but your game.

Nobody reinvents this game.

So goes the line in Moneyball. It might be true if you’re talking about the general perception of something.

The majority’s perception.

What the commonly held belief is.

Forget about the game as most know it. Play your own. You know that thing you’re struggling with — the one that keeps you up at night and makes you toss and turn, maybe even awakening you in a restless sweat?

Give it a makeover. Give it the boot. Give it the finger if you want. But most importantly, give the usual perception of it up.

Give it up.

Your game is nobody else’s.

You might not be using statistics to deal with the curse of the Bambino, but you don’t have to. There is no curse in this case.

Repeat after me: “There is no curse.”

Maybe all you need to do is let your head overrule your heart. Or maybe it’s time to let your heart overrule your head.

Life is a maze and love is a riddle.

Changing your game will inevitably feel uncomfortable. After all, it goes against everything you’ve done before. But change is one of those necessary evils to get out of the holding pattern you’re in.

Just enjoy the show.

Tonight I am thankful for knowing that enjoying the show will entail doing some things that might go against our grain. A change in our thought process, in our habits, in what comes naturally. But if we’re not enjoying the current show, turning it on its head is necessary to get the love for it back.

Here’s to the game-changer.