Famous among dozens
Scenario: French coffee shop owner at French cafe realizes American customer’s wife is also French.
Owner: Your wife is French?
Customer: Yep.
Owner: No kidding!
Customer: Yep.
Owner: How long since you’ve been back to France?
Customer: I don’t enjoy France.
Owner: Oh…
Customer: Yeah, I don’t like France at all.
Four years ago, Bryan and I were in Boston listening to Senator Kerry’s concession speech. We put a lot into that election, and losing was rough. It’s only gotten more difficult since Katrina and the recent economic meltdown.
I was touched by Senator McCain’s concession speech last night. For too long, our politicians have been focused on winning at any cost, even at the expense of the very ideals that inspired them to lead. McCain’s grace and humility in the face of defeat was a reminder that winning can’t confer honor, and defeat needn’t diminish us.
So much has changed for me and Bryan since 2004, and so much has changed for our nation. But the post I wrote coming home from Boston that year is still true for me.
To my fellow U.S. citizens, however you voted, I know you only want the best for your family, and for your country. And no matter what your political affiliation, you and I are still on the same team.
Go America.
Despite weeks of anxious keening whenever I tried to get near Hank with his elephant costume, it took Dad approximately ten minutes of coaxing to get our little guy suited up.
“How the hell did you do that?”
“I promised him chocolate.”
“Oh.”
So Hank would put his hat on to obtain candy, and then remove the hat once he’d procured it. After about the fifth house, he just left it on. Suckah!
Later that night, Bryan settled in while I figured out what to wear to Meg and Rahul’s annual Halloween bash. I ultimately went as Mia from Pulp Fiction, because I randomly had all the elements in my closet.
Please note the faux hypodermic needle sticking out of my chest.
I was going to bloody my face, but Bryan advised against it on the grounds that the “needle” would only last 20 minutes or so and then I’d just look like some confusing modern-day Cleopatra zombie.
Shockingly, the needle went the distance. Around 2 a.m. I had to steady myself against a bathroom stall at the Makeout Room while another drunk girl peeled it off my chest. It wasn’t nearly as hot as it sounds.
We have three costumes for Hank, none of which he will wear, because he does not like hats. Or tails. Or sleeves.
It’s perplexing, because he’s never resisted any of these things before. Clearly, he can sense how much Halloween means to me. How I will do anything, short of super-gluing ears to his head, to get him in a costume.
Every time I approach with some bedazzled, be-furred, or suspiciously stiff garment, he thrusts a tiny toddler hand in my face.
“No?” he says. “Bye, Mama! Bye-bye! No? NO? NOOOOOOOOoooooooo? “
And then he shakes his head vigorously and super-glue sprays everywhere. I will never get it out of the carpet.
As for that beguiling, “No?” Don’t let the question mark fool you, he will avenge himself on your offspring if you keep advancing with that cowboy hat. What kind of monster are you? The kind who’s comfortable with toddler vendettas, apparently.
“Kid! Don this elephant costume immediately. Do you hear me? Mommy wants to keep you up well past your bedtime and flood your system with high fructose corn syrup. Hold! Still!“
Eat your heart out, Dr. Spock.
Antique shopping, I round a corner and nearly trip over a boy in a paper tiger-mask. He starts, scrambles backward, then pauses in my path. His hands are on the floorboards, and he rocks forward and back, eyes fixed on mine. I smile for a moment, and then realize he is gangly, tall, perhaps too old to be crawling around.
We pause for a moment, at impasse. A giant warehouse fan whirs beside him. He turns his head, bares his teeth one at a time, and growls softly into the fan blades.
A few months back, I was sitting in the coffee shop where I often work, and looked up to see one of my Morning News editors standing in line for the bathroom.
This wouldn’t have been odd, except Rosecrans was living in Paris at the time, and I hadn’t heard anything about him coming to town. My brain kept insisting that it couldn’t be him.
Turns out he was there for a whirlwind work trip, filming an ad campaign for Louis Vuitton. They were trying to capture Francis Ford Coppola’s San Francisco, and I ended up in the campaign.
Because of all the JavaScripty madness, there’s no way to direct link (boo!), but a full five percent of you should be able to reach it by following these painstaking instructions:
Go to Louis Vuitton Journeys
Click “USA”
Click “San Francisco with Francis F. Coppola”
Wait for the street video to stop playing and a mosaic of photos to appear
Mouse over the center photo in the center row until you see text
Click on the center photo that reads “The Mission Now, Bohemia”
Click on the photo of the blue sweater and coffee cup (that’s my sweater)
Mouse over the larger photo of the sweater and hit the play button
That’s all there is to it!
For those of you who aren’t related to me, and therefore won’t have to pretend to have seen this at the next family reunion, it’s enough for you to know that I am shockingly eloquent. I guess you’ll just have to trust me on that.
Bryan’s grandmother passed away unexpectedly, so we’re currently in Illinois for the funeral. We took a red-eye to get here in time, a flight I like to call the Happy-Birthday!-No-One-Sleep-for-48-Hours-Cross-Country Spectacular.
Yesterday, I turned 33. I consider this an auspicious number, and expect to have a very good year. However, for one week, all of us are going to pretend that never happened. Let’s meet back here at the same time next week and discuss birthday stuff in more celebratory detail.
For now, we’re enjoying time with Bryan’s family, acquainting Hank with extended family, and celebrating Grandma Mason — who was a very good grandma indeed.
Me: Do you ever wonder what the world would look like if humans hadn’t dammed up all the water?
Bryan: A little bit. You mean you want to see the towns that are underwater now?
Me: And to see what the canyons looked like, and how the water paths have changed. Water is a transformative force.
Bryan: So is the power of dance, Maggie.
Me: Touché.
We had a wedding-marathon weekend with two rehearsal dinners on Friday night, and two ceremonies on Saturday. For the morning ceremony, Bryan officiated Bond-style (in German, Mandarin and English — only one of which he speaks), and I made the flowers.
Of course, when we went to pick up the flowers we’d ordered, the florist didn’t have them. Had not ordered them.
So, instead of keening and rending our garments, the bride and I acted calm while we shopped for new-and-improved flowers. Here’s how they turned out:
Bridal bouquet
Bridesmaid bouquet
Boutonnieres
Hair piece
Mighty Girl 