The Lint Trap

My New Blog Home

2009-07-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

I'm up and running on Word Press, more or less. Some of the widgets aren't working quite right, but I've got new stuff up. Please come visit:

http://writerleeanne.wordpress.com/

I'm moving

2009-07-06T23:52:00.000-07:00

I am in the process of setting up a Wordpress blog. It will focus a little more on writing and other creative hobbies and a little less on my personal life (though there will be plenty of personal writing). Stay tuned for a URL later this week!!!

The Top Ten of 2008

2009-05-28T23:12:00.001-07:00

Oops! I never did post last year's Top Ten list! I was waiting for a while, hoping I'd see something really amazing on DVD that I had missed in the theaters, but sadly, 2008 was simply a WEAK movie year. Here's what I've got...

1. Slumdog Millionaire
2. WALL-E
3. The Reader
4. Benjamin Button
5. The Dark Knight
6. Son of Rambow
7. Revolutionary Road
8. Young @ Heart
9. Quantum of Solace
10. Penelope

Honorable mentions: Ghost Town, Get Smart, Last Chance Harvey, Expelled, and Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day.

Two movies I wish I hadn't wasted time on: Jumper and The Happening.

What were some of your favorites (and least favorites) of 2008?

Check out past years' Top Tens here: 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, and 2003.

Life, spaces, and stuff.

2009-05-15T19:39:00.000-07:00

The window seat was about as wide as my nine-year-old legs were long. I could scoot my butt up against one wall and place my feet flat against the other, and just barely straighten my knees. From my second-story window perch, I’d curiously observe the neighborhood and take notes like my hero Harriet the Spy: “Lisa’s mom pulls weeds in front yard and waves to neighbor across street. What does it mean!? 4:08p.m.”

As the eldest of four children, I got my own bedroom. So did my brother, since he was the only boy, but our middle sisters always shared. Oh, was I glad I was born first! My room was my world, filled with all my treasures, decorated in my taste, and governed by my rules—at one point, literally scrawled on construction paper taped to the door. My bedrooms over the years tell the story of my life, through phases and friendships and the wee hours spent filling up pages of my diaries by flashlight.

In my room in the house on Spinnaker Drive, the window seat doubled as storage space, and inside was my growing collection of stuffed animals. The plush bunnies, teddy bears, and Glo-Worms would eventually fill three enormous boxes when we moved from Alaska to California when I was 12. I liked to collect things—and could never let them go. Arranged on the long, grown-up dresser I inherited from my mother were dozens of Precious Moments figurines, even those accidentally broken by the cat, a stray bouncy ball, or a younger sibling. Gymnastics ribbons in a rainbow of colors were pinned neatly onto corkboard above my desk. The walls were covered in kitty posters. I had bins of My Little Ponies, Micro Machines, star charts, art supplies, and microscope slides. I was a budding pack rat and curious about everything.

Those things weren’t quite as “cool” when I was a teenager, and they found a new home in the attic of the house on Sage Way. Kitty posters were replaced with Pearl Jam and Green Day, magazine clippings of Brad Pitt, and 8x10 prints of Homecoming and Prom photos, with dried corsages hanging nearby from pushpins. Alternative rock played loudly and continuously from the CD player, and the air was filled with the sweet, smoky aroma of incense. It floated whimsically through the nostrils of my black, ceramic dragon incense holder, part of a new collection of Medieval and fantasy figurines.

As a surprise birthday gift one year, my parents removed my lofted bed with an attached desk below and replaced it with a day bed and trundle. It was perfect for sleepovers. Instead of sleeping on the floor, my friends could have their own bed, and when the trundle was pushed up against the bed, three to four of us could fit across the other direction. We’d giggle through the night, playing Truth or Dare, or gossiping about our classmates.

I always wanted to replace the bedspread—a quilt of hearts in different pastel prints that always seemed too childish—and when I used that same bed after five years away at college, I did. Studying art, I had developed an overwhelming fondness for color. My new bedspread was a patchwork of velvet in my favorites: olive green, navy blue, and maroon. On top were a dozen pillows in the same colors, some with beadwork, others with unique texturing. My bedroom in the Vista apartment was a gallery of paintings—my own, a hand-painted replica of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night,” Story People illustrations, color study prints—as well as frames, candle holders, and photo boxes in the same color scheme. When the mother of one of my roommates, an interior decorator, first saw my bedroom, she exclaimed, “Wow! Someone likes color!” I was never sure whether that was meant to be positive, but I cherished my artful digs.

The pièce de résistance, however, was my computer: a G-4 flat-screen iMac, the cute one with the gumdrop base and swivel neck. Most of my free time was spent at my desk on my computer, between freelance projects and connecting with friends through MySpace and Facebook. My life was becoming as “virtual” as it was real, sharing photos and music, chatting, status-updating.

It’s a good thing I married a tech guy. It’s unfortunate, however, that he dislikes abstract art! Right now, our bedroom is full of mismatched stuff: the bedspread we registered for, a few of my old throw pillows that happened to match, our new dark wood bed, his bookshelf of sci-fi novels, my unfinished wooden nightstand, his file cabinet subbing as a nightstand, and new frames and decorations leaning against walls, waiting to be hung when one of us figures out how to use a power drill. On either side of the bed are boxes and bags of stuff we haven’t unpacked since moving in six months ago. We sleep here, but otherwise, I don’t spend much time here. My computer is upstairs in the loft; the television is downstairs. We have many rooms, but none is my own—not like my old bedrooms were anyway.

My childhood things are now sitting in a storage locker. The Micro Machines, Brad Pitt photo clippings, velvet patchwork blanket—they’re all there. I’m slowly going through each box, getting rid of the junk, donating the good stuff, and saving only the most sentimental items. I’ve longed for a simpler life in recent years, and besides, I want to make room for this new chapter. Not just room for more stuff, but for more laughter and love and lazy Saturday mornings where all we need is each other.

My current home is a little messy, a work in progress. Sometimes, I reminisce about those old personal spaces, and how I grew and changed with each, and I smile. These days, “home” transcends spaces and stuff. Home is in his arms.

Words n stuff

2009-04-30T21:53:00.000-07:00

I started an online writing class this week. Sixteen weeks and eight assignments—all in the memoir genre. I received my first packet on Monday (assignment: home), and went through all the warm-up exercises to help get the ideas flowing. It was going pretty well until I read the enclosed examples of writing on the same theme. They were spectacular and moving. My ideas seemed sooooo lame and shallow in comparison. Why must writers be their own worst critics?

Lint Collection No. 1: Weight Watchers, the decade's best movies, and XIII

2009-04-03T23:15:00.000-07:00

I returned to Weight Watchers this morning. Restart number 2,467, or something like that, in my effort to lose the approximately 60 pounds I gained in five years of college. It's a purely psychological game at this point. I have the desire, ability, and support–I just need to get my brain on board. I have no idea how to accomplish this, but I did find one semi-good thing about the big number that came up on the scale this morning: I'm not heavy enough to be a Biggest Loser contestant.

San Francisco Chronicle's Mick LaSalle named the decade's best movies. In April. But whatever. It's a strange list. I've seen The New World, The Pianist, Almost Famous, Bridget Jones' Diary, Match Point, and V for Vendetta. They are all GREAT movies. But the best of the decade? I dunno. I'll have to come up with my own list... Off the top of my head: Amelie? The Incredibles? (Heck, any Pixar movie of the aughts except Cars.) Memento? Lost in Translation? Little Miss Sunshine? Lord of the Rings trilogy?

I blogged earlier about the state of newspapers. It's a very popular topic in the blogsphere these days. Today, Gawker posted a resignation letter from a Wall Street Journal feature writer. It's an interesting personal perspective on the state of journalism. His long articles take months to write, and in an era of "urgent," he feels out of place. Anyway, an interesting read.

Jamie Oliver and his wife welcomed their third child: daughter Petal Blossom. Congrats to the Naked Chef. I learned today that their other two children are named Poppy Honey and Daisy Boo. Um. Wow. When I was a teenager, I thought it would be fun to name my future child XIII. Instead of pronouncing it phonetically, like "exxxiiiiii" or something, it would be "thirteen." I thought I was wildly cleaver. Thankfully, I've grown up.

It has just come to my attention that there is a musical named Lint: http://www.lintmusical.com/

Twitter Takeover

2009-04-03T18:42:00.001-07:00

This blog thing isn't working. I blame Twitter. I can tweet ten times a day without breaking a sweat. I can share random thoughts and fun links and not have to take time to compose an actual blog. You know, with an actual word count.

Sex Education

2009-03-12T18:31:00.001-07:00

Wow. This was brought to my attention today. Bill Clinton has absolutely no idea what he is talking about, and Gupta doesn't question him, or even seem fazed!

Scrapbook Nerd

2009-03-10T16:45:00.000-07:00

I just put this on my car today. Tee-hee.

UPDATE: My husband suspects this move was to keep him from driving my car. LOL! Not intended, but an amusing development in our ongoing "my" car/"your" car battle. (He delights in saying, "Let's take my car," and then walking over to MY car. You know, the whole what's-mine-is-yours marriage thing... hehehe...)

Newsosaur

2009-03-09T14:53:00.000-07:00

I stumbled upon this blog today. If you're interested in the eminent death of the American newspaper, check out Newsosaur.

Geeking Out at Video Games Live

2009-02-28T23:45:00.000-08:00

Paul and I went to Video Games Live tonight at the recently reopened, art-deco-fantastic Fox Theater Oakland. The show is a retrospective of video game music—from Pong to Halo and everything in between—using an orchestra, choir, lighting effects, video, and audience participation. It was sweeeet.

While we waited for the show to begin, game-related fan and music videos played on the big screen ("Yuri the Only One" by LeetStreet Boys was amusing. Watch it here.) and the winner of the costume contest was awarded. There were three finalists, and we didn't really see anyone else dressed up, which surprised us. WonderCon was going on across the Bay, even!

The concert began with a tribute to old-school Atari and arcade games, the audience cheering when their favorite flashed across the screen. Then the set list moved into more modern games with lush orchestrations: Halo, Final Fantasy, World of Warcraft, God of War, Metroid, Civilization IV, and Castlevania, among others. There were tributes to Mario Bros., Zelda, and Sonic the Hedgehog. Special guest Martin Leung, known for his viral video of a blindfolded Mario Bros. piano tribute, performed a medley of Final Fantasy melodies with the skill and energy of a concert pianist. And there were two songs using audience members. For Space Invaders, the volunteer donned a logo shirt and was tracked as the space ship—running back and forth across the stage to shoot. For Guitar Hero, the winner of a preshow mini tournament was called onstage to play "Sweet Emotion" on the big screen with orchestral accompaniment. He had to score 150,000 points to win a DS and some fancy new gaming mouse and other swag. He did.

My favorite segment was the tribute to ten years of World of Warcraft. It was one of the few I knew (in addition to Mario Bros., Zelda, and the Atari tribute), and I've always been impressed with the game's epic, cinematic music. Overall, it was a very cool show. I highly recommend it to any gamer and to fans of contemporary classical music.

Sad day

2009-03-01T16:00:00.001-08:00

R.I.P. Paul Harvey.

The Windy City

2004-06-07T14:59:00.000-07:00

Continuing my publication-financed tour of the United States, I spent the weekend in Chicago for the City and Regional Magazine Association conference.

In college, I hit Kansas City, Atlanta, Washington D.C., and New Orleans for the Associated Collegiate Press/College Media Advisors conventions. They were fun, fun, fun. But I thought that would be the end of it. Instead, I've been to two conventions during my first year of real, post-college employment. In March, I judged the Maggie Awards in Los Angeles, which honors publications based in the Western half of the country. Since I was from a consumer magazine (and you can't judge yourself or your competition), I spent hours reading trade publications like Kidney Dialysis and Transplantation, California Firefighter, American Cinematographer, and Guitar Player. It was wild. And then this weekend, Chicago...

At the City and Regional Magazine Association conference, I spent two days in editorial sessions, listening to presentations by the editors of Esquire, Lucky, National Geographic Adventure, Parenting, and regional powerhouses Texas Monthly, Chicago, and Los Angeles magazines. Plus the media critics from the New York Times and the New York Post, and faculty from Northwestern's J-School. Overall, it was quite interesting. My favorite session by far was Esquire's. I was pleasantly surprised by the editor's demeanor. Here's this guy who runs a seriously smart and hip national publication... he must be extremely talented and powerful. And lofty. Instead, he had such a large vision and a large heart. In a discussion on covers, he shared which months had sold well and which didn't. His advice to all of us, however, was to create 11 covers that sell and one that is simply "beautiful, just in case it sells." I loved that. Also wise were his thoughts on content. He said Esquire doesn't make a magazine for smart people; they make a smart magazine for all people.

At the end of each day was a cocktail party. You guessed it, I dragged my feet. But, they were better than expected. The first night, I was rescued by the crowd. There was no mingling because you couldn't move, and it was so loud, the only people you could talk to were those whose ears you were already smashed into. So I hovered around my co-workers without guilt. The second night, I was rescued by the view. We were on the 95th floor of the Hancock building, and it was out of control. It's not even the tallest building in Chicago, and we were looking down on the other skyscrapers. It's the kind of view you only get when taking off in an airplane. I've never been higher than 40 floors in my life, so this was an experience... and one I wasn't going to miss by making surface-level chit-chat.

Dinners were fancy and courtesy of my magazine's publisher. We hit Kinzie's Chop House, an in-your-face-beef-restaurant where I insisted on ordering shrimp. And Pili Pili, a decidedly seafood establishment where I opted for rib-eye. (In my own defense, I did order a turkey club sandwich at the Tavern on Rush, as did 10 other people in our party. Okay, I did ask to leave off the cheese. But our art director said it was a good move, that the dill havarti was superfluous.)

And the rest of the time, I explored. We stayed at The Drake Hotel, which is on the shore of Lake Michigan and on the end of the Magnificent Mile. Walking around the area was easy. I hunted for local breakfast spots each morning... finding a bagel shop and a coffee shop. I browsed the endless rows of stores. You're never too far from an Urban Outfitters (where I bought my brother a birthday present and for myself, the current issue of ReadyMade.) The architecture in this city is simply astounding. Apparently the Water Tower was one of only two buildings that survived the fire of 1871. It's this beautiful castle-like structure that should be in the French hillsides or something. Instead, it's in the middle of Chicago, next to a mall. Then there's the Sears Tower, the tallest building in North America. I didn't get a chance to go there, but it was always in view. It's nearly impossible to convince yourself Lake Michigan is a lake. Even 95 stories up, you can't see the other side. My only regret is not making it to the museum. I guess I'll have to go back someday.

Can you believe people pay me to do this stuff?

What's black and white and read all over?

2009-02-27T14:29:00.001-08:00

I knew newspapers would one day be extinct—I just didn't think it would be during my lifetime. But I guess a bad economy (and a resulting slump in advertising) will accelerate that! This week, we learned that San Francisco may soon be the largest American city without a daily newspaper, as the Chronicle will close if it doesn't find a buyer. And the Rocky Mountain News, Denver's oldest paper, shuttered its doors Friday.

Making a living in the print journalism industry myself, I'm nervously watching it all unfold. I'm not, however, someone who thinks the end of the newspaper is the end of the world. (See the campaign of one local newspaper lover here.)

When televisions became household staples, people worried it was the end of radio. Not true. Radio was just forced to change. Similarly, there will always be a need for news—it just doesn't need to be on paper. The internet is a fantastic vehicle for news coverage. News when it happens, real-time commentary and discussion, even user-submitted content (when everyone is an iReporter, what a wealth of tips and pics). This is EXCITING! That's why so few people in my generation take a paper and why local news bloggers (go Claycord) are so successful. While the future of newspapers may be bleak, the future of news reporting is definitely bright. This is a great opportunity for newspapers to restructure for a web-based format and remain relevant.

My prediction: The big papers will be the first to go (and the most savvy will live on in cyberspace). The community weeklies will hold on longer, as they are uniquely positioned to best cover regional trends, lifestyle, wedding announcements, obits, etc. Magazines... well, I optimistically believe they're here to stay.

Style: How much is it worth?

2009-02-26T23:59:00.000-08:00

I didn't watch the State of the Union address. I don't have television (okay, I do have a TV, but it's only set-up for DVDs and Wii) and I was busy with something else. But I did read the transcript later that evening, as well as the transcript of Bobby Jindal's Republican response. I thought both speeches were well-written and made good presentations about the direction each side would like to take our country, and how, especially with regard to the economy. Both were inspiring in different ways.

So I was caught off guard the next morning by speech reactions. The buzz wasn’t about Obama’s agenda; it was about Jindal’s style. It seemed everyone was put off by his awkward delivery and doubted the legitimacy of the man considered to be a likely candidate for President in 2012. Huh. Really? Americans would dismiss someone that easily because of “style?”

I think we’ve been watching too much American Idol. We really love to critique style and performance, don’t we? But how much does that matter in terms of one’s ability to govern? I think of all the presidents before the age of radio and television. How few citizens must have heard or seen their style—what the people knew, they read—and yet this country elected many great leaders.

On the other hand, Obama has style in spades. He is tremendously talented—perhaps the best speaking politician of my lifetime. I’m convinced the guy could sell anyone on anything. But this doesn’t automatically makes him a great leader. If anything, he makes it harder to spot the B.S.

Did you watch the speeches? Did style factor into your reaction? If so, how much?

Random

2007-11-19T21:34:00.000-08:00

I think blue SweetTarts taste like soap. I eat them anyway.

Blog Relaunch

2009-02-25T18:38:00.000-08:00

I've been kicking around the idea of returning to blogging (regularly) for several weeks now. And, like I've experienced during other periods of indecision, I feel the universe is nudging me in a certain direction. While pondering how I might relaunch The Lint Trap, I came across Time magazine's Best Blogs of 2009 and became giddily excited about all the creative possibilities. A few days later, while coworkers were mocking my aversion to pulling socks too tightly (ahhhh... like fingernails on a chalkboard for me!), one suggested I start a blog to catalog all of my weird quirks. Finally getting up the courage to log into Blogger and spruce up the old site, someone referred to blogging as my "little hobby." This person didn't mean it and apologized immediately, but that comment aroused in me a great determination to prove that this is a worthwhile endeavor.

This blog won't change drastically. I will keep most of the old posts on here (though I couldn't resist deleting the most sophomoric). I will continue to write about my life and the things that interest me. But I hope that with some slight adjustments, the experience will change in a big way for readers. You see, I'm not that interesting. My day to day life is not compelling. That's the reason I kept giving up on blogging. There are far better writers, thinkers, artists, adventurers, you name it. But all of you are interesting. What makes you tick; how you're similar to me; how you're different; what experiences and insights you offer; how I might learn from you. I'll be asking for a lot more feedback and encouraging conversation through comments, and I hope everyone will take me up on this offer. It's the interaction that gives a blog life. Otherwise, it's no better than my third-grade diary.

Soooooo, the Princess of Dryer Lint is back! And so is the crazy blog buffet I affectionately call The Lint Trap.

Of Cell Phones and Sock Monkeys

2006-09-09T20:33:00.000-07:00

I was in Los Angeles last weekend, helping my little brother move into his freshman dorm room at my alma mater. In the midst of orientation activities, trips to Wal-Mart, and helping arrange my brother’s new space just so, I met up with Plunk to hang out and talk about the M.A.Y.A. blog. The timing was kinda perfect.

I was in my brother’s shoes exactly nine years ago. I packed up all my can’t-live-without possessions (at the time, these included a talking Buzz Lightyear toy and every yearbook I’ve ever received), and I moved into a dorm room with two strangers six-and-a-half hours away from my parents, my hometown, and the only life I knew. It was exciting and a little scary. The overall sense during those first days and weeks was that I was on the brink of something big. And that bigness was adulthood.

Which kinda begs the question, during the years between then and now, did I ever actually become an adult?

After college graduation, I moved back in with my parents. I got an internship, then a job. I joined a church group. I moved out. I paid off my car. I started paying into a 401K. I got a promotion. But my cell phone is still on my parents’ family plan, I continue to sleep with a sock monkey, I’m still not sure about what career I want to pursue, and marriage is so far away I’ll be blind before I see it coming. In many ways, I am my 18-year-old self trapped in a 27-year-old body.

Plunk has coined the term M.A.Y.A. (middle-aged young adult.) That’s SO me. I’m still learning and growing, and I’m kind of liking the leisurely pace.

I hope people will enjoy reading about our thoughts and experiences.

Any minute now, my ship is coming in...

2006-09-20T20:31:00.000-07:00

I think it's easy for people to assume that I've got it all together, especially when it comes to my career. Here I am, at 27, in the position I considered my "career goal" just months ago. I've made this somewhat miraculous professional ascent. I appear to be successful and driven. To have set goals and acheived them. To be at the top of my game, a rising star.

(Sigh.) But, I have to admit, I still have NO idea what I really want to do with my life. I'm walking this journalism path. I chose it. I've found satisfaction in it. But I'm frequently distracted by other desires of my heart.

In college, I had difficulty narrowing my interests to just two majors. I ultimately chose Art and Communication, but I could have easily studied (and loved) English, Film, Global Studies, Philosophy, Political Science, Sociology, or Theology. I think what Art and Communication offered was the opportunity to explore all areas of life within a defined medium: The subject matter and scope of my art and my writing was unlimited. Therefore I wasn't really limiting myself at all.

Likewise, I cannot accept that journalism is my sole career path. As soon as I got my foot in the door, I was thinking of the next adventure. Maybe I want to be an author, I thought. Or a script writer. Or get a graduate degree and teach. Or throw it all out the window and get a mindless, no-stress job that will allow me ample time to travel and serve those in need.

It's not about not wanting to work. It's me stuggling to reconcile what I do with what I believe. I have a desire to do something meaningful, and I'm not convinced that what I'm doing right now is meaningful to anyone. I sit in an office all day making sure the editors at my magazine meet their deadlines, routing pages through production, and running meetings. I think I'm good at the work, but I don't go to bed at night feeling like I've made a difference in the world.

Maybe I'm naive, but I want what I do to mean something to more than just myself.

Alicia's Story

2007-02-03T20:25:00.000-08:00

I stumbled across Alicia's Story yesterday. It's a series in the San Francisco Chronicle written by a M.A.Y.A. battling one of the rarest forms of cancer: alveolar soft part sarcoma. Alicia was first diagnosed almost two years ago, at age 23 (three years after her own mother died of breast cancer), and she chronicles every test and treatment and emotion along the way.

At the end of chapter one, Alicia wrote: "If I get through this, this story will help me remember the important moments along the way, the details, the dizzying emotions. And, in the worst of all circumstances, if I go through this life-changing ordeal and my body just wears out and I die, I will die a writer. The one thing I've always wanted to be."

Read it. You won't regret it.

Alicia's Story

Music Addict

2007-05-23T20:23:00.000-07:00

I've been a music nut for as long as I can remember--even back to my early elementary school days when I had my own record player and a stack of records I'd borrowed from my parents. As the years went by, my music obsession grew and evolved. There was my rap phase, my hard rock phase, my angry chick phase, etc. Somewhere along the way, though, I became concerned that I might one day become too grown-up for good, cutting-edge music, that there would be a magic age when I had to listen to the lame-ass "lite rock" radio station they play in doctors' offices. A magic age when contemporary music became irrelevant to my life. Or too loud. Or too offensive. And I feared this age.

I still believe that. I still believe there must be a point when everything changes, when I prefer the music of my youth to the music of "today," whenever that day is. I wonder when it will come?

In the meantime, I'll keep obsessing. I'm currently in a music phase best described as "wildly eclectic." I bought three new CDs this week: Linkin Park, Amy Winehouse, and Maroon 5. I'm 27 years old, and I still have no problem blasting each in my car with my windows rolled down and the bass rattling my rear view mirror so badly I can't use it.

In Memoriam

2008-07-09T18:39:00.000-07:00

My grandmother passed away unexpectedly on May 29th. Amid all the excitement of photographer interviews, cake tasting, and invitation designing, the last month has been somber and surreal.

Days shy of her 84th birthday, Grandma was active and fiercely independent. She worked nearly full-time as a volunteer for the local hospital and major league baseball team, walked to the mall and grocery store when the weather was nice, and took cruise vacations and road trips to visit family and see new places whenever she had the opportunity. She was loving, giving, and adventurous. She was also a woman who lived her own way and spoke her own mind—and made no apologies for it. And that was something everyone she befriended came to love about her.

Thinking of Grandma, many things come to mind: Baseball. Her perfectly styled hair. The Sweet Tomatoes and Fresh Choice coupons she always clipped for me. Retro furniture. Jigsaw puzzles. Her impeccable handwriting and ridiculously prompt thank-you cards. Crystal napkin rings. The smell of burnt chocolate at her house (she lived near a chocolate factory). And the Christmas Eve celebrations we had at her place for many, many years. She’d make us a fabulous dinner, one of us would sneak a treat into her stocking, we’d open gifts (which always included savings bonds, socks, and See’s candy), and just spend the evening talking and laughing and having some of the best of times.

And, of course, I remember the dating pressure...

Ever since I broke up with my high school boyfriend, Grandma would ask about my love life and offer unsolicited advice and opinions. “Why doesn’t Michael come around anymore?” “You let a good one go.” “Aren’t there any available young men at that church of yours?” She once tried to set me up on a blind date with a twentysomething she met at an Oakland A’s game. And one Valentine’s Day while I was away at college, she tucked a newspaper clipping about online dating services into my card.

It drove me nuts. I even schemed with a coworker about him posing as a new boyfriend at Thanksgiving dinner and acting so terribly my grandmother might lay off the dating encouragement for a while. Hehehe. (We never did it.) But I knew she meant well. Grandma wanted to see me happy. And the source of her life’s happiness was family—her husband, her sons, her daughter-in-law, her four grandkids, her siblings, and her sister-in-law-turned-best friend. She wanted these things for me, too.

I took Grandma out to lunch earlier this year and, knowing Paul and I were headed in the direction of marriage, I asked her questions about the love of her life. She told me stories I had never before heard—about meeting my grandfather (who passed away when I was 12); how as witnesses to a friend’s Reno wedding, they ended up eloping themselves; how they announced it at her sister’s wedding reception; how she was one of two girls in her senior class to marry before graduation. I listened, amused—but not surprised—by the image of my grandmother as a rebellious teenager. As she recalled the memories, her eyes lit up and she laughed heartily, and I wondered why I hadn’t engaged her in these types of conversations before.

Preparing for the memorial service, my mom, dad, and sisters looked through Grandma’s albums, gathering the best photos for a display. Her love story played out in scrapbooks—handwritten notes, anniversary cards, event programs, and photos pasted onto yellowed pages. News of her young nuptials made the local papers, and she’d saved the clippings. And I saw the only “wedding” photo she owned: The newlyweds captured descending a staircase with their marriage license in hand.

I made myself a copy of that photo, and it’s been sitting on my desk ever since. I miss Grandma terribly, and I am overcome with sadness when I think about how she won’t be at my wedding. My mother told me that the day Grandma went into the hospital, despite being very ill, she kept asking about the wedding. She wanted to know about the colors and who was in the wedding party and everything. It seems she sensed she wouldn’t get to experience it herself. Wouldn’t ever see me, or any of her grandchildren, get married. Wouldn’t ever meet her great grandchildren.

The last time I saw Grandma was at my engagement party. I suppose that is appropriate. After years of dating inquiry, my status was very clear: I was in love with a wonderful man who made me happy, and I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. And it was clear that day that my grandmother was so very happy for me.

Suzie McNeil

2008-03-14T13:15:00.000-07:00

I stumbled across a rocker chick named Suzie McNeil this week. I guess she was a finalist on that INXS reality show a couple years ago. I don't know. I haven't watched TV in a long time. But she is seriously awesome. I just purchased her album "Broken & Beautiful" on iTunes and I am loving it!

Spring Awakening

2008-03-11T20:03:00.001-07:00

The hills are green. The streets are lined with cherry blossoms. The season of renewal is nigh.

The Top Ten of 2007

2008-02-25T18:48:00.000-08:00

The Oscars are over, and I'm retiring my 2007 list. I've shuffled a few things around in recent days, but here is how they will remain...

TOP TEN 2007 MOVIES:

1. Atonement
2. Across the Universe
3. Lars and the Real Girl
4. Waitress
5. Once
6. The Namesake
7. There Will Be Blood
8. Ratatouille
9. Sweeney Todd
10. Juno / Hot Fuzz (tie)

Honorable mentions: The Savages, The Kingdom, Knocked Up, Ocean's 13, and Michael Clayton.

What I didn't get around to seeing but probably would have made my Top Ten: No Country for Old Men, King of Kong, Persepolis, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

Five I could have done without: Because I Said So, Walk Hard, Mr. Brooks, Blades of Glory, Shrek the Third.

Here's to 2008. Three down (The Bucket List, Vantage Point, 27 Dresses), many more to go...