Settle down.

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Someone recently told me about a movie they saw in which its 24-year-old lead character was in need of some life guidance. She felt lost, she felt like she didn’t have a purpose. The commentary surrounding this movie went something like this:

“It was just a weird movie, because the character was 24. Aren’t you supposed to be a little lost at 24? It’s not like you’re 40 and you should be settled down with a family or something by that age.”

40.

Settled down.

By that age.

These all point to the fact that there is an unspoken — or, often times, it’s quite audible — rule that we should be at a certain place in our lives by a certain year. By a certain age. By a certain decade.

Spoiler alert: this is not a rant.

I mean this sincerely when I say that I didn’t take the movie conversation personally. Why would I? It was simply one person’s take on a film, and this person was younger than I, married, con casa y child. Naturally this person would think that evolving into marriage, then a family, is what everyone does. She, after all, did it. Most people do it.

I’ve had people in airports, on airplanes, at the nail salon, in the grocery store and in the mall inquire about my husband — with raised, quizzical eyebrows. They’re prying, naturally. Some pry because they’re male and interested. Others pry because they are simply curious. Still others pry because they think it’s odd that I’m not partnered up with someone. Nope, don’t have a husband. Not really in the market, either, but not because I’m against it. I’m very much for it. It’s just not for me at this time.

They ask if I have children. Yes, I have many. Three are furry, and many more are a lovely combination of black and white — words on paper, letters on a computer screen. My written projects are also my kids. I raise them with care, polish them up and send them off into the world hoping they do well. I will always love them.

I’ve congratulated people on engagements, weddings and births, and — numerous times — have received a strange, “Thanks — your day is coming,” in return. It’s an odd response because I merely was expressing my happiness at their happiness. I didn’t say I wished what they had, I was simply happy they found what they were seeking.

With the same passion that makes me firmly believe that white cake with white buttercream frosting is the only way to go when it comes to cake, I also firmly believe that the notion of settling down should be relative to each person. You may despise white cake — or any cake, the same way I will never think that “settling down” should be defined as the trading of vows followed by procreation. Yes, it’s a societal norm for a reason, but…people can be sheep. Sheeple. Sometimes they don’t think, they simply do. It is what it is.

Yes, I love my music and my guitars and keyboards and my amps and my wine. I love VH1 Classic and Metal Mania, my rom-coms and sleeping in. Yes, I love to spend hours in the kitchen cooking, an evening out lingering over small plates and cocktails, taking in a concert or a Broadway show. To many, it’s immature. To me, this is my version of settling down. I’m settled because all of these things were dialed up to 50 in my 20s. Things were often excessive, and only occasionally thought through.

Thankfully, I’m very much settled down — for me, and for now. I can only assume that you’re settled down for you. If you’re not, and I also say this sincerely, tweak what needs adjusting, and seek a better fit if you’re not happy. Take a class. Teach a class. Go to counseling. Stay home more. Go out more. Love your spouse. Love yourself. Whatever you need to do, do it.

You will still evolve, I will still evolve, and at the end of the day, the people who are concerned about whether or not someone is “settled down” are the people who don’t matter, quite frankly. I may find myself with a husband at some point, and you may find yourself separated or divorced. Live and let live, and don’t box someone into a cube which may not be a good fit for that person. The point is that settling down isn’t a one-size-fits-all box to check off life’s list. It’s all relative, and it starts with the heart; you’ll know it when your spirit is calm, content and loves the life you lead.

So settle down.

The Squeegee Truth

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I squeegeed my carpet tonight.

I heard a tip recently that a squeegee works wonders at getting pet hair up and off of whatever it is that’s overly furry — with the exception of the pet itself. I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate being accosted by a rubber-edged contraption at the end of a long handle. During some house cleaning a few weeks ago, I wondered if vacuuming really was as worthwhile as I thought it was; I stumbled across the tip within a week of wondering. This evening I ran a few errands, one of which included purchasing a small squeegee so that I could conduct the experiment at home.

Whoa.

Yes, it works. It is a veritable magnet for pet fur that you can’t even see, and that a vacuum apparently isn’t interested in nabbing. Gross.

I spent close to two hours killing time, scooting on my behind around the spare room — then the front living room — all the while squeegeeing my carpet with combing motions. It was somewhat cathartic and oddly satisfying, in the same way that picking a zit and witnessing the beginning of its demise is satisfying. Oh, the massive hairball that I was left with. It could’ve been mistaken for a Toy Poodle.

Jack, my black rescue kitty, seems to appreciate the effort. I figured he’d get busy re-furring the carpet with some flip-flopping shenanigans as an expression of gratitude, but instead he’s showing his appreciation in other ways: he’s in my lap as I write, curled up and acting asleep, but clearly not — his motorboat of a purr gives him away. Every now and again he’ll look up at the monitor and the cursor flitting across the screen will catch his eye. His attention span is short, however, and he goes back to his curled up position a few seconds later.

After a week of water leak issues here and there and more repairs looming on the horizon, squeegeeing my carpet wasn’t exactly an activity that was super high on my to-do list. I just happened to find myself armed with the right tools, a bit of time and — voila! Happy carpet. Sometimes the things in life that are time-sucking chores are exactly the things we need to do in order to feel less burdened. At the time, it may be anything but freeing, but so long as the right tools are in place and we make time for the unpleasant tasks that our worlds require, a weight can be lifted. For the renewal and peace which follows an unpleasant but completed task, I am thankful.

Sarah.

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There’s not much I won’t do — legally, that is — for great concert tickets.

Sarah Brightman’s performance at the Honda Center was supposed to have taken place about six months ago, but her tour was postponed. Tonight is finally the night.

I’ve seen her before, and her show is mesmerizing. Captivating. Enchanting. It’s the kind of show that leaves you wondering if you dreamt it, or if it was real.

It is very much real.

If you ever have a chance to see her, go. You won’t regret it, even in the cheap seats. It’s a fantastic combination of Cirque du Soleil, Tim Burton, opera and rhythm section-driven rock — all in one. It is fantastically delightful.

For the detail and attention that goes into each of her shows, for the exquisite leading lady quality of each segment of the concert and for the beauty of musicianship, I am thankful.

The Benefit

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My freeway exit dumps me into a part of town known for having a lot of homeless individuals. The woman I saw today is one I’ve seen before, and she’s one heck of a saleswoman/marketer.

When you get into an elevator when other people in it, I’d guess that most of us don’t say much to others (unless we know them). However, if you get the courage to say “hello” to a perfect stranger about to share your incredibly small, enclosed space, the stranger generally replies in kind. Before you know it, “Have a good day” is exchanged from him to you, and a connection is made.

Similarly, if someone smiles at you, I’m going to assume that we generally smile back. There are lots of poker faces in the world today; it’s easy to get caught up in our own little worlds and not crack even the faintest smile at a passerby. When someone does this to me, however, I a) immediately find it to be refreshing, b) am slightly embarrassed I couldn’t have been that nice, smiley person first, and then b) return the smile.

It’s nice to be nice.

The homeless woman looks clean, her hair is neatly pulled back and she’s holding a sign: “Single mom lost job. Anything helps. God bless.”

She’s also savvy: she waves as though she’s a town greeter, makes eye contact, nods her heads to all who pass by her — regardless of whether they give — and mouths, “Good morning” to me and other motorists.

I feel like a terrible, terrible human being.

I don’t know why, but I don’t buy it. No, I take that back — I know exactly why I don’t buy it, even though I know I could be dead wrong. And I would hate to be wrong.

But I don’t buy it because there’s a group of men who also works that corner, and they rotate days. I’ve seen her with this group, hanging out at the gas station convenience store a block away.

I don’t buy it because the first time I saw her there was more than a year ago. Where has the child been for the past year? Perhaps the child is with a family member and doesn’t live with her at all — in which case “single mom” is still true, technically. If the child is in your care, is a street corner really the best place for you to be? What about safety? What if the child suddenly has no mother?

I think we’re wired to be suspicious, and in this day and age, that’s a very good thing. Is $1 a great loss to me? No. If she’s being truthful, could it help her? Of course it could.

I could give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she is truly a single, unemployed mother.

If the benefit of the doubt is accurate, then a dollar would only benefit her.

If “anything” would really help, perhaps she’d be open to food. Or a grocery store gift card.

And if her story is true, her dollar and any food — of means of purchasing food — would also benefit her child.

My suspicion has a domino effect: unfortunately, I think everyone — not just one person — is lying. Ever since I tried to give a homeless man the remainder of my Starbucks gift card and a hot coffee one morning on my way to work, only to have it angrily rejected, I admit I am not a fan of giving the way I one was. I will give to a rescue mission, but personal one-on-one giving is hard for me. It used to be easier.

But giving food or a dollar could have its own domino effect, as well; the benefit could extend to more than one person. Not only mother, but mother and child.

I’d like to find out her name. If I was more ballsy, I’d like to sit down with her for a chat. But that one bad experience has left me wary of extending myself in such a way, so for now I will pass.

In the meantime, while not proud of my current giving-to-homeless-people stance, I am thankful for the smiling homeless woman who has made me reevaluate my position. No doubt her presentation is intended to do such a thing, but — nearing the holidays — I find myself focusing more on the haves and have nots, more on those who need a lift in life. Even if her story isn’t truthful, maybe one more dollar is all it would take to stir something inside and make her chart a new course — one that doesn’t involve a street corner or a sign. For that, I would be grateful.

Cheesecloth and Food Coloring

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We put our heads together today and got creative. Literally.

All of our agency’s employees were divided into teams and given a Styrofoam head to bedazzle, decorate, make gory, etc. If you’d have told me a week ago that I’d be getting my hands dirty not with front yard soil but with red food coloring (blood), cheesecloth (mummy wrapping) and hot glue (oozing eye goo), I’d have snickered. In fact, I did a lot of snickering today — the candy kind, as well. It was a good day.

Last night my Band-Aids for the week were Game 6, Stove Top stuffing and a lovely glass (OK, two) of white wine. Shameless plug for Pine Ridge’s Chenin Blanc/Vigonier blend. Now that I think about it, I might’ve plugged them before. You’re welcome, Pine Ridge.

Today the Band-Aid continued with Halloween festivities, and the week o’ water leaks that have been plaguing me are fast becoming a distant memory.

It’s funny how troubles and irritations can disappear when we loosen the grip on their details. Admittedly, sometimes a glass of wine can help with said loosening, but that’s beside the point. When we want to let go, we can. And when we can, we return to a pre-agitation state we’re so deserving of. Life’s too short, although there will inevitably be some character-building moments that still manage to irk us along the way. It is what it is.

Tonight I am thankful for frustration-releasing fun and for the passing of time which brings peace, calm and relaxation. We won’t always have those days, but when we do, I know that I appreciate mine that much more.

Towel. Thrown in.

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I’m weary. It’s only hump day and I need a) a weekend, b) better yet — a vacation or c) a trust fund.

Just kidding on that last one.

The Lawn Surgery which I spoke of last weekend resulted in stitches which didn’t hold. A leak returned, and with it, my sanity quickly dwindled.

My eyes rival the color of beets. I am crabby, cranky, and I want to fall face-first into a plate of comfort food. I can’t tell you which I’d be more happy to swim through: mac and cheese, or the beany, cheesy mixture inside a soft, supple tortilla. Mmm, carbs.

If I blink on the way home, I fear I may fall asleep. Forget sleepwalking, what about sleepdriving? I could do it today, I tell you.

The leak returned Monday, spotted by yours truly only because I went on my four-mile walk and came home to the sound of water running — right as I passed the water meter. Looking down, I saw that the Nile had migrated to Southern California — and on my street, no less. Geography, shmeeography. Oh, and two thumbs down.

The water got shut off until [another] fix could happen, so I packed a bag, crammed my makeup and hair product into another bag and stayed with my parents. Enticing on the surface (a home-cooked meal, some coffee chatter in the morning), but since they live 30 miles from me, my morning commute tripled today. My 45-minute drive turned into close to two and a half hours. By the time I got here — an hour late thanks to a traffic accident and whatnot — the fact that my computer has been having issues made me want to throw in the towel: on the week, on my laptop, on life. Sleeping in a bed that’s not my own makes for a sore back and hourly waking during the night. Tackling a commute that is roughly one-third of the time it takes to drive to San Francisco from Orange County — minus the fantastic destination — is ridiculous. And mind boggling. Ridiculously mind boggling.

Ugh.

The solution? Tonight I’m going to rebel against my usual evening routine: no evening walk, no healthy dinner. In their place, a couch (go Red Sox) and Del Taco (see above reference to the bean and cheese burrito). Insert: snuggle time with my kitts (kittens — the single girl’s version of kids), an early bedtime, and voila — the towel has officially been thrown in. Take that, hump day!

Today, despite extreme exhaustion, I am thankful for the existence of bean and cheese burritos, furbabies, my own bed and a couch ready to support me the way a therapist does for a person in need. Here’s to sliding towards the weekend, hopefully the same way Boston will do a bit of sliding into home tonight.

Goodwill.

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When something is gone, we often mourn its loss: friend, a spouse, a prized possession, maybe something we had only for a short while but which made an impact upon us.

I was thinking recently that I need to take stock of what’s in my closet, maybe some storage areas in the house. Time to thin things out, time to make way for a new year. Time to find a worthy donation center. Am I discarding things that I couldn’t care less about? Will I never give them a thought again?

No. I’m giving them new life. I loved them for what they were meant to be, but every season has an end. Every day experiences night, every candle eventually goes dark, but so also does each storm experience a lull, a break — quiet.

If giving something up and releasing it isn’t a form of love, I don’t know what is. We can’t hold onto everything forever. We can’t transform the used into something shiny and new. We can’t get back its original glory, but to someone else, that very thing might just breathe new life. It can bring goodwill and cheer, renewal and commitment.

For our own experiences with endings that might mean a new beginning to someone else, I am thankful.

The Strawberry Field

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When I was little we’d go to Disneyland once, maybe twice a year. Living a few miles from The Happiest Place on Earth is something most will never know — fireworks from the park were visible during summer nights, and the Mark Twain riverboat’s whistle could be heard during the quieter parts of the day, usually around dusk and in the mornings. I used to take it for granted, but not anymore.

There was an expansive strawberry field just to the west of the park. Even as a child, it amazed me how built up Anaheim was with the exception of this little corner of my town. Sure enough, during the late ’90s the family who had owned it for decades finally sold it — for tens of millions of dollars. In its place stands a parking deck, a parking lot, a myriad of stores, gluttonous restaurants and vendor kiosks selling everything from jewelry to caramel corn, from glow in the dark bracelets to caricature drawings. I miss the strawberry field. Its absence is somewhat depressing.

On my way to work, I pass another depressing spot: a massive cemetery. I’ve never really wrapped my head around death, as I tend to exercise extreme avoidance in my life until I simply can’t anymore. The only thing, however, that could be more depressing than a cemetery in plain view is the death of something else: yet another strawberry field bit the dust in recent weeks.

Vast, fruit-bearing fields full of life, hard work, patience and dedication are disappearing before my eyes. Generations before mine were devoted to them, caring for them week in and week out, through the seasons and across the years. Whether the lure of the almighty dollar got the best of them or perhaps because times just got too tough to be able to sustain lives by holding onto it, the fields are going the way of the dodo. The only life they’ll have is the one that lives on in our memories.

Seasons change and nothing lasts forever — except death, taxes and PVC, that is. The strawberry fields of Orange County are catching up to the orange groves which also used to be plentiful in these parts — and by “catching up” I mean they’re fading fast. Though beautiful in my mind, their disappearance is a good reminder to take note of that which we appreciate in our lives — the people, a city street, a small town storefront — because someday it will probably all be gone.

The Stillbird

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A few days ago before work, I squeezed in a bit of early morning watering in the backyard. My eyes drifted upward and I saw a hummingbird sitting on the telephone line.

It was rare to see such a thing, as there are a few that enjoy flitting around the potted orange jubilee, savoring the nectar in the trumpet-shaped blooms then zipping away as quickly as they appeared. But this one was caught in a moment where someone had seemingly pressed the pause button on life. The scene wasn’t lost on me.

With the garden hose in my hand, I was either already in the process of heeding its advice or it was telling me that whatever respite I thought I was in the middle of wouldn’t be enough. Judging by the fact that I overslept last week as a result of completely forgetting to set my alarm the night before, I’m going with the latter.

Sometimes we think we’re taking part in some pretty serious relaxation, and then we realize we need a break from our break. In the interest of good times, we might’ve crammed too much into too short an amount of time. In the spirit of making it through the work week, we realize the moments of down time we snuck into our days weren’t enough after all. Then what?

Inevitably, something will slow us down and try to drive the point home — if our eyes are open. Maybe it’s a traffic jam. Maybe it’s an unexpected phone call. Maybe your kids need help with something they don’t normally need help with. Maybe it’s the visual of something at rest that usually goes a mile a minute — like a hummingbird sitting still.

Tonight I am thankful for the little things in life that remind us that slowing down is as important as getting things done. When the going gets tough, the tough can get going — or we can take a step back, a deep breath in, survey our surroundings, rest, then go deliberately. For the lesson of the hummingbird, I am thankful.

Lawn Surgery

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A water leak resulted in the casa’s front yard being dug up today. OK, not the whole yard, but a house-to-sidewalk trench almost two feet deep.

After nine hours, the scarred landscape was put back together. The yard took on a Frankenstein appearance, its battle wound quite visible. Crabgrass stitches held the lawn together, dirt bruised its surface.

Underneath it all, however, new arteries were in place. Gone were the issues, the years which had taken their toll, the proof of time. A rusty, corroded artifact had been plucked from the ground 55 years after its burial and replaced with something nearly indestructible.

When we go through a rough patch or deal with a deep, long-standing issue, the process is never easy. It might leave our surface marred and we’ll inevitably receive some bruises, but the trouble is all worth it in the long run. We’ll deliver when we’re called upon and the long haul might even seem a bit less daunting. Let the issue fester, and good luck not seeing it affect other areas of your life. Tackle it and heal.

Tonight I am thankful for the lawn surgery which spoke of those insecurities and burdens we cling so tightly to, but which are often detrimental to our personal growth. For knowing that nipping it in the bud is sometimes the best way to deal with an issue, I am grateful.