bucket list gifts.

I have 15 days left to my summer vacation, then back to the bear pit. I hate that I even feel the need to call it that, yet that is what teaching increasingly feels like. On the one hand, I like that they are practically giving us call sheets to adhere to and scripts to read these days--this fuels my active imagination, as I'd like to pretend I'm a low budget, grade B horror movie actress day in and day out. On the other other hand--where's the heart? Where's the heart. (Some days August through May, mine is just broken.)

But I didn't come here to write about education. I came here to write about bucket lists. 

I have a bucket list--a To Be, To See, To Do list. I can't share it all with you here (it's very long), but over the years I've checked off a few things. Live in the Sonoran Desert? Check. Swimming with dolphins? Check. Running the Peachtree Road Race? Check (twice). Dancing naked in a summer rainstorm? Half-check (I had clothes on; can't win them all).

Here's a sample list of things I've not been able to check off yet:

*Travel somewhere ancient and mysterious

*Get in my car, pick a direction, and drive until I run out of gas, and wherever that is stay there for a weekend

*Hang out on a movie/television show set for a day and just...observe (I like to observe)

*Visit The Louvre

*See a play at The King's Theatre in London (it could be any London theater, really...I just like how imperially important "The King's Theatre" sounds and looks). (But I also like that London has an Old Vic Theatre and a Young Vic Theatre...I wonder what the difference is?) (jotting that down on my Bucket List right...now...find out what the difference between Old Vic and Young Vic theatres is.)

*See a Broadway show in New York City (how have I been to NYC three times and never seen a show on Broadway??) (possibly for the same reasons I lived in Arizona for 3 years and never once saw the Grand Canyon)

*See the Grand Canyon

I have many others on my list. What I don't have a lot of is "To Be" items. Lots of To Do's and To See's but not too many To Be's. I don't know why this is; possibly because I am mostly content with who I currently am? I am. I am content with who I currently am--and let me tell you: that was a bumpy, twisted, mountainous, hellish road to walk down to get to this place. I still have to dodge pot holes every now and then. And I've had to practically mental block out my entire 20's...if I didn't, I'm certain I'd need to take PTSD meds.

One thing I once had on my list was: "Develop a close, inner personal circle of trusted people." Over the years, I've been able to check that off. I often kick myself for choosing to leave support teaching and go back into high-stress, crazy classroom teaching...and yet, I do believe the Universe lands us exactly where we're meant to be at that very moment in time, even when that place looks insane and makes us say to ourselves: "What were you THINKING, choosing this?? Were you on CRACK??" Because, typically in these situations, the Universe also makes sure to surround us with people who will help us grow into exactly who we're meant to ultimately become. No one crosses your path by accident. Ever. Even the ones who make us say to ourselves: "What is that person's PROBLEM?? Surely they're a minion of Satan." And that's what going back into the classroom has done for me: hugely widened my circle of people who are the opposite of Satan's minions. (It's also widened my circle of people who ARE Satan's minions, but that's another post for another day.)

I have slowly come to realize what a gift other humans are. All humans are gifts; even the bad ones. (This makes me think of my poet hero Mary Oliver's brief poem "The Uses of Sorrow": Someone I loved once gave me/ a box full of darkness./ It took me years to understand/ that this, too, was a gift.) So sometimes the particularly bad people are gifts, because they teach us who we DON'T want to be and how NOT to behave. And it's a gift to have that knowledge, let me tell you.

But when you encounter angels disguised as friends, the GOOD ones, then isn't Life just so much sweeter? To know there are people out there who'd follow you off a cliff, who'd walk through fire to help you? And that this is a circular thing, because you would do the very same for them. Some days I am consumed with rapturous joy about this; I feel quite confident in saying nobody else in the Animal Kingdom does this for others they haven't given birth to...well, maybe dolphins do it for other dolphins. And whales. And elephants. But certainly not sharks or hyenas, though.

Wait--do you have time for a quick parable? 

Once upon a time (Wednesday to be exact), I was driving home from a teacher technology course and I accidentally hit a curb and ripped up my passenger side front tire. I pulled into a small driveway leading to nowhere so I wouldn't cause traffic jams or get hit, and called for help. While I was waiting, I vented about my situation on Facebook (to feed others' Schadenfreude) and a man came and stood outside my window, clapping his hands to get my attention. I rolled down my window, thinking he wanted to help me, because clearly I was in distress--my warning blinkers were on. Nope. He just wanted to yell at me for being on his private property. When I let him know I was in distress and had a flat tire, he demanded to know if I'd called someone. Finding out I had, he walked away. Jerk. If I'd sat there another 30 minutes, I'd have been desperate enough to have to pee outside...and I'd have done so all over his stupid, private property bushes. On the flip side, ten minutes after Grumpy Man walked away, my friend C was pulling up to check on me after reading about my situation on Facebook. She stayed with me until the emergency roadside help came. 

Light and dark, evil and good. They both teach us, but I find the light and the good far more fun and pleasant to hang out with, don't you? Darkness and evil only get you so far, and nobody brings you flowers as you lay dying at the end. I hear.

In a few minutes, I'm getting ready to spend a whole day with people who are of the Light, and are very very good. Don't you feel so much better after being around people who laugh and hug you, who inspire you to do things you've always dreamed about doing but don't always believe you have the wherewithall to accomplish...but they show you how you do have it in you? 

I love inviting people like that into my inner circle. I think it's nice to be someone who helps people cross things off their bucket lists...and to surround myself with human beings who help me cross things off mine. 

Plus, I know any one of the people I'm spending my day with today would be totally willing to drive back to that Grumpy Man's house, pull down their pants, and take one collective piss on his private property front yard. And listen to me: you don't find those kinds of friends just anywhere. Put "Have friends who'd pee all over mean people's lawns with me" on your bucket list. Right now.

worshiping at the house of barry

When I was 7, I was in love with Barry Manilow. In LOVE. With Barry Manilow. It was fairly intense. Absolutely serious. Had I been born in a different decade, I could totally have been Amy Manilow.

For Christmas 1979, at the top of my Wish List was Barry Manilow's new album THIS ONE'S FOR YOU. It's really all I wanted, actually. Oh, the Donny & Marie dolls were fine. The Farrah Fawcett glamour center was okay. The Speak and Spell was nice. 

But had I not unwrapped THIS ONE'S FOR YOU that Christmas morning, I would have been crushed, I tell you. Crushed! My whole Christmas would have been crap; my world ruined. I am certain I would have known then, for sure: Santa Claus does not exist. (Thank god he got me the album! I went on to be Santa's biggest PR person another 4 years.) (Also, I would sit and stare--for hours--at Barry Manilow's eyes. I may have sliiiight inability to refuse men with light-colored eyes.)

To this day, sometimes I will Youtube "Barry Manilow" and sit, for the next 2 or 3 or 8 hours just sighing very big sighs over him. I've become a Barry connoisseur, actually. For example: 2014 Barry Manilow is lovely. He's older and wiser, an attractive man with amazing talents. But 1975 Barry Manilow? Good heavens, where are my smelling smalts? Friends, there is simply nothing quite as magnificent as Barry Manilow, circa 1975. Barry Manilow, 1975, was a stunning, fine wine. I was only 3 and he was...however old he was in 1975. But no matter! This is when Barry was at his most complete god-like perfection. I submit the following as evidence:

Barry Manilow as a Human Deity.

I mean, seriously. How can you argue with that? The white polyester pants suit with the flare at the bottom. The shiny, feathered hair. His jewel-like green eyes, with that sleepy, bedroom-look to them. Perfect specimen of a man. 

Better yet, I've successfully convinced Miss M that Barry Manilow is a musical deity. I hooked her via the song COULD IT BE MAGIC, because at the start of this song, Barry sings: "Sweet MELISSA, angel of my lifetime, answer to all answers I can find..." (I do swear to you I did NOT name my child after a Barry Manilow song--this is sheer coincidence.)

Then, I further her addiction by introducing her to I CAN'T SMILE WITHOUT YOU. Because it's a catchy tune and also: did you know that in every concert up to a certain point (which I suspect is the point Barry felt maybe he couldn't overpower an overzealous fan), Barry would pick a female audience member, bring her on stage, and sing this song with her? Yes! And not only that, but he'd also walk along the stage with her while singing, her arm through his, then he'd jump up on the piano and (deep, calming breath here) stick her between his legs and wrap his arms around her while finishing the song?? (Oh my god. Excuse me while I collect myself. Deep, deep calming breaths.)

Had I seen the video below at age 7, I know I'd have had a completely different childhood. I wouldn't even be the "me" you see right now. I'd be, like, I don't know. I can't even. Here--just watch this video. Skip to 1:55. You'll see why.

If I had only KNOWN about this at age 7, if I had only been aware of the fact Barry Manilow regularly plucked willing girls from his audiences to go on (good lord, breathe, Amy!)...pretend dates with him at concerts? Holy shit. Holy shit! I can't even. I just can't. I'm certain my 7 year old brain would have exploded, because when my 41 year old brain discovered it, it just about had an aneurysm.

And even better than all THAT (if all THAT isn't enough), this summer Miss M and I have been enjoying All Barry Manilow, All The Time! time on car rides around town. Our favorite is this song:

                          Car Concerts With Barry Manilow

We're going to find a karaoke bar and sing that as a duet. Like Gwyneth Paltrow and Huey Lewis, but mother/daughter. And no conscious uncoupling. And more sequins.

the miraculous journey for good heroes.

Sometimes I stumble upon someone who makes me think: huh, here is a fascinating, seemingly admirable human being. So I get out The Hero List. Because before I decide to officially make someone my hero, I have a really picky list of Criteria (capital C, because criteria matters). (You realize I'm about to list some of these Criteria now?) (FYI: none of the Kardashians have ever made my list) (ditto all Fox "News" analysts plus Rush Limbaugh and the creator of Girls Gone Wild) (I know someone who finds all of these people heroic, and if you're reading this That Someone, I'm not scared to let you know you need a better hero list):

*Does this person seem like a kind person? Do they seem approachable and real?

Side story: Once, I met an author--I won't name her, but she was a Somebody in the world of Writing Somebodies--who I gathered enough courage to speak to at a book reading/signing...a BIG thing for me, an incredibly INFP person, to do. I went up to her, her book in my shaking hands, and asked her to sign it. The book was about a diary she'd kept as a young writer, and I thought she'd written a lot of interesting, important things in it. I gulped down all my starstruck and said as she autographed the title page, "I really loved what you wrote about journaling; it's something I've always done, since I was little." Her response? "God. I hate that word 'journaling'. I prefer 'keeping a diary' or 'writing down thoughts.' My mother always called it journaling, and my mother was just so...SO. You shouldn't call it that. That's not really what it is."(Please re-read that in a really judge-y kind of tone of voice.)

I threw her book (and her stupid snotty autograph) in the trash when I got home because I just felt so ucky about her then. In my brain, I knew I'd just met a person with (clearly) deep psychiatric mother issues, but my heart was broken. My heart was just a jumbled up mess of confused and broken disappointment. A simple, humble "Thank you" is nice and (I think) the best route to go when someone tells you they admire you or your work...because we all have our issues, believe me--no one gets out of childhood alive without them. So unless you're paying me the big bucks, I'm not a psychotherapist to help you through your mental woes; just a girl who thought you rocked as a (insert creative outlet job here) and wanted to let you know it. Because if someone did that to me, it would have made my day, so I'm hoping it'll make yours and that you won't be a complete a-hole. Please don't be an a-hole, we have far too many of those already.

(To be fair: I do think experiences like I had with Arrogant Author are also quite good for us, because those tend to stick with us for awhile in our scarred over and bruised hearts, so they teach us how to treat others and make important decisions on who and how we want to be.)

*Are they genuinely talented and freakishly smart? I mean: Will they make me aspire to be like them? Will they inspire me to be better? Isn't it always awesome to run across people who not only make you want to be you and make you feel good about the You you already are, but also inspire you to want to be a better version of you? I love these kinds of humans; my sweet friend Carol is one of these, and I think this crazy rock we're flying around on is better because she's here.

*Are they people I'd invite to my house for dinner, or even just meet for coffee? Do I have conversations with them, read things they've written, or listen to speeches they give, or enjoy creations they've gifted to the world and do these things make me think: Man, I wish we were next door neighbors all the time! I'd pick up your mail and keep vigil over your house while you're on vacation. AND invite you over for barbecues every summer.Certainly I'd loan you all my lawn tools.

*Do I sense we could talk about sensitive subjects (politics, sex, religion, the bizarreness that is 21st century American public education) and this person will not create in me a deep and driving need to punch them in the neck? These kinds of humans are so hard to find these days. (When did we, as a species, become so divided over things that will matter so little 200 years from now? And why are people so ANGRY about everything? What are you so angry about, fellow Earthlings?) (Here, let's pause to allow Frozen's "Let It Go" play in our brains until it gets stuck there for the next 3 hours.) (You're welcome!)

*Do they have a good sense of humor? Oh, this is so important! Having a good appreciation of irony along with an irreverent, self-deprecating wit is such a delicious quality in a person. I think people with a good sense of humor flavored heavily with irreverence, self-deprecating irony, and maybe even a good dash of gentle, sardonic wit are the kind of people who ought to be running the planet, because they're smart. Smart people like irony; that's why not too many right wingers get irony (HA! I kid! I kid the right wingers...in a very ironically sardonic way).

But, for obvious reasons--reasons like being too smart to wind up in some Corporate Sleazy Guy's pocket--those who are irreverently ironic will not ever run anything global. But they should at least be in charge of a very large Homeowner's Association somewhere, in my opinion.


Have you ever met one of your heroes? Elizabeth Gilbert (a tremendously important hero of mine) has met some of hers, and she wrote once about it. About the relief when your hero turns out to be a true hero, someone worthy of your admiration. And I have a long list of heroes from various different artistic fields I'd sell a lot of my worldly possessions to just to be able to shake hands with, or even just stand in the same room 5 feet away from and breathe the same general oxygen. And every time I envision myself meeting one of these people, I do it with a deeply held breath of hope with some tightly crossed fingers that the person will get to remain a hero in my heart after we shake hands or make brief but meaningful eye contact across a crowded room. Because I don't want to throw any more autographs in the trash.

Here's my point: I wrote to Kate Dicamillo recently, a new hero I've discovered, who wrote The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane (please read this book if you haven't and/or share it with your child/ren if you haven't yet; it won't just change your life...it will change your HEART. Your whole heart will be softened in magnificent, magical ways you don't even know about right now. I mean, seriously: you don't even KNOW).

I'm writing about this because it's terribly big for me: I rarely contact people who are heroes I don't personally know, but I love and admire from afar. Doing this intimidates me, because I worry I'm bothering them and/or they won't respond, or that they will respond but they'll respond in a weird, you-are-in-deep-need-of-a-good-therapist tone of voice, which means I'll get the sads and won't know how to feel about them anymore. I want my heroes to stay my heroes--don't you? This planet is full of Crazy with a capital C; I sense it has a lot of hearts crying out for a good hero or three to safely harbor forever.

I hope you have some of your own heroes. If you've met some of your heroes, I hope you haven't had to throw any of their work in any trash bins. I hope you get a chance to have at least one of your heroes' full attention over coffee and a long chat one day. I hope you come away knowing your heart made a right choice and your hero gets a permanent home in it. (And I hope you have a very detailed list of criteria for who gets to be a hero in your heart, because I don't think sipping coffee with Donald Trump's self-promoting egotistically weird hair would be quite as awesome as sipping coffee with the Dalai Lama beaming across the table at you with his laughing, kind eyes. Just sayin'.)

And go read The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane! Right now! It could save your life.