Bon Voyage, Mes Amis

I Have To Say I Love You In A Blog

 

Spring is here and love is in the air!

 

Well, it's not, but it should be and I'm about to do something about it.  I've planned a bit of a get together.  A soiree with four of my favorite people and the man who I've believed for years would be the love of my life, if only.........

 

I've picked the four people very carefully.  The men both bring out "the best of Billi".  They make me feel alive and giddy and girly.  He will love this.

 

 

Wolfie will arrive first.   He is usually the last to leave, but not tonight. There is no one who can get a party going better or faster.  But a small gathering can't be "balls to the walls" the whole way through.  That's where Edgar steps in.

 

He's a wild card to be sure, but his lively sense of the absurd makes the risk worth taking.  Not one moment will be wasted with silence or dull banter.  So long as the topics remain on the merely morbid and absurd not crossing the line into politics, Dorothy will be fine.

 

Her wit and Etta's voluptuous sensuality are qualities that I possess in ONE package.  A package that I hope my love will be unwrapping before the night is through.  He can't help but notice and be impressed by my confidence in inviting these fabulous women and my belief that they will enhance and not lessen my own fabulousness.

 

 







I considered inviting Tallulah Bankhead, but I'm not that confident....no one in their right mind is.

 

 

So everything is in place.  Brie with fruit to start.  Cornish game hens with an asparagus pilaf.  Wine, ale and whiskey.  (I know, I know "Should I really give this crowd alcohol?......It's not like I have to worry about killing them).

 

“I wish I could drink like a lady / I can take one or two at the most / Three and I'm under the table / Four and I'm under the host” ~ that Dorothy, what a hoot! (But good to know in case things don't work out as planned)

 

The music, of course will take care of itself.

 

Everyone is here, everyone but him.

 

And then he arrives.

 

 

 

I've known since I was about thirteen, when I realized that songs like Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown and Rapid Roy that Stock Car Boy and I Have To Say I Love You In A Song and Lover's Cross all came from the same beautiful mind under that curly beautiful hair, that he was my soul mate.  He was the man who imprinted a love for "sexy-ugly" men on me like a little duck.  He was the man who convinced me that "cool" is quiet and that "style" is being comfortable in your skin as well as with your feelings.

 

I've known since I was thirteen that this man died five years before I fell for him.  I've know since I was thirteen that I would search for and be attracted to men with some Jim Croce in them.

 

 

This blog was inspired by writer's block, a weird dream and a young man (I almost said boy, sorry Ryan) in my class who has Jim Croce hair that I want to touch like normal women want to touch pregnant bellies.

What Am I Afraid Of?

Heights.  Definitely heights.

 

But really, for the most part I can avoid heights.  I have control over whether I climb a ladder or go to the edge of the balcony of a fourteenth floor hotel room.  If I decide to go to out on a ledge of a cliff and I start to freak out I can back up.

 

What I can't avoid, what I don't have control over is the safety of my children.  It's so hard to balance keeping them safe and encouraging to have an exciting and fulfilling life.  There are so many scary things out there.  Even if they make wise choices at every turn (I've met them, they aren't going to), even if they wear seatbelts and don't experiment with drugs there are so many things out there that I have no control over whatsoever. 

 

When my oldest daughter was a baby sleeping in a crib I remember looking at her and thinking that she was so tiny and helpless and that this MUST be the scariest stage of motherhood.  I was wronger than wrong!  That kid is twenty-six now.  In the Army.  Living in California.  Climbing rocks, jumping out of planes with babies of her own.

 

Now a couple of my babies have babies.  The idea of losing any one of my four children paralyzes me.  The idea of losing one of my grandkids is, in some ways even more frightening.  The thought of losing them and having one of my children go through the pain of losing a child makes me want to huddle us all into a "safe" room and sit.  And be safe.  And be sad.  And not have a life.  It, of course, is not an option.

 

I love seeing them live and enjoy life and I love having them return home safely.

 

 

 

 

 

I owe it to them to teach them to love life and to live life in the safest and most fantastic ways possible.  I owe it to them to hide my irrational fear as best I can.  I have to do it even as I watch a friend go through the unimaginable.  A friend of mine is in day nine of hell.  Her son is missing after a tragic mudslide in Washington state.  Her pain is heartbreaking.  It has literally brought me to my knees.  However, one of the things that I believe will get her through the dreadful unfairness and pain of her son's life cut short is the beautiful adventure of a life that she gave him.  The hiked and skied.  They didn't just live life they embraced and attacked it often outside in the mountains of the beautiful part of the country where they live.  Was he out in the wilderness taking risks when he was taken.  No, he was watching television in the safety of his step-father's basement.

 

I will do whatever I can to help my friend through this nightmare.  I will learn what I can from her loss and from the way she lived her life and taught her son to LIVE his.

 

 

Gobsmacked

 

I was more than shocked when I heard of L'Wren Scott's suicide.  I was gobsmacked and I'm having a hard time shaking the need to make sense of it although I know that there is no sense to be made.  I have attended three visitations for young people whom my twenty-six year old daughter was friends with during her grade and high school years.  All three chose suicide, chose to die.  While that is an enormous tragedy it is something that's easier for me to understand.  They were all in their early twenties.  This is a point in life where, when things go very badly, it's hard to imagine them ever getting better.  However once you get to forty-nine, as L'Wren and I have done, it seems that you have gone through the ups and downs of things seeming hopeless and have come out on the other side and that that would be enough to get you through even very dark moments.  For L'Wren Scott it wasn't enough.  Not enough hope, not enough love, not enough empathy for those who were sure to be devastated by her decision.  Not enough.  It twists my soul to think of the anguish that led up to her making and following through on the decision to end her life.  The decision to completely cease to exist.  Unable to reach out.  Unable to trust the people who could see her worth when she couldn't and who loved her when she didn't.

 

It's made me rethink the direction of my blog for the time being at least.

 

I had visions of writing on creams that would make your skin shine and outings that would make your heart sing.  I was going to tell you that by dressing appropriately for your age with a bit of personal flair added that you would look much younger than if you tried to dress your daughter's age.  I was going to talk about the joy that reading, art and music could bring to your life and if these were already things you loved how looking outside of your normal choices could be fabulous.  I was going to encourage you to do the things that brought you joy as a child....color a picture, take a dance class, ride a horse.  I was.  But first I need to do something else.

 

 L'Wren had so much access to the things that I had in mind.  If I was to put together a life in a Mr. Potato Head kind of way it would be fairly close to the life she seemed to be living.  Beauty, a successful, life-long career centered in the world of fashion, a rock-star boyfriend, fabulous parties, etc. 

 

Why wasn't it enough?????

 

What was missing????????

 

Something else happened soon after I heard of Ms. Scott's death.  A copy of Oprah's magazine arrived in the mail.  With thoughts of "What makes a life worth living" bouncing around my head I leafed through the latest issue and a piece reached out and grabbed me. It's title was 20 Questions Every Woman Should Ask Herself.

 

Do I examine my life enough?

 

Do I care too much what other people think?

 

How do I want to be remembered?

 

Have I forgiven my parents?

 

These questions, and the rest, challenged and excited me. They are what I want to take a detour and devote my blogging to for now.  Maybe they will take up some space that is being haunted by questions about a choice that I don't understand made by a woman that I didn't know. 

 

 

 

 

Here's to finding answers where we can and finding hope......always.

 

 

Spending My Life




You knock her down......we'll fuck her up

 

 

 

Ugh, what a horrible experience. I started feeling sick a week ago Friday and today is the first day that I didn't believe death would be a step in the right direction. My energy was non-existent, my tolerance for everyone and everything.......gone. The first few days were bad but interesting. When I'd lie flat it sounded as if there was a Pop Rocks convention taking place in my chest. This was amusing....for a while.

 

I spent those first few days in bed, emerging only when absolutely necessary. I felt cruddy, but to be honest, it was a nice break. I watched some fabulous movies with imaginary Ethan Hawke curled up behind me.

 

Ethan: "Can I get you anything?"

 

Me: "No, your just being here is enough."

 

If he'd really been there I'd have sent him for soup, but pretending to get and eat soup would have been ridiculous.

 

After about four days I started feeling worse instead of better. My kids were being neglected, my homework was falling behind, I couldn't go to work and could see my next paycheck shrinking and you could barely see the clutter in my house because of the clutter piling on top of it.

 

Anxiety and depression started to kick in.......as well as something else. I realized that I waste a lot of time on things that aren't important - such as napping and television. During this time when all I could do was nap and watch tv it dawned on me that the things that I really wanted to be doing were the things that I tended to put off. 

 

I remember reading a quote that was something along the lines of "How you spend your days is how you spend your life". This past ten days has led me to reexamine how I'm choosing to spend my days and to make choices that will please me when I look back at how I spent my life.

 



(Relatively) Reckless Abandon

This past Friday night I went, with a few friends, to a drag show.  Talk about people who live with abandon.  Drag queens and kings lead such techno colored lives in spite of the fact that chances are pretty good that their paths have not been without more than their share of bumps.

As a younger person I lived with what I would have described as reckless abandon, but what I now realize was mostly just stupidity.  Drug use, blackout drinking, a belief that "safe-sex" just meant having a padded headboard.

Now I see reckless abandon differently.  It's taking a chance with your heart even though you're terrified.  It's choosing a path that isn't practical but makes your soul sing.  It's ignoring the self-conscious voice in your head that keeps you from saying or doing things that bring laughter to yourself or the friends and strangers around you.

That's what I did Friday night. There was a benefit going on at the show and I was the lucky winner of the first give-away.  It was lube.  I held that bottle up like it was Simba and announced to the room, "When Billi Casey wins lube....EVERYBODY wins lube." 

The crowd loved it.  People that we would have simply coexisted in that space and time with ended up being part of our group for the evening because the walls between strangers had been eliminated by ridiculousness and laughter.




How many times do we think things and not say them?  Things that would have made someone laugh or smile or gain some confidence.  Is it crazy to reach out to people that we share this ride with if it might make us look a little wacky?  Or is it crazy not to?