Rest in Peace

I am still in a state of mourning over the death of Heath Ledger, a 28 year old actor. I'm not some fanatic fan who can't stand the thought of not seeing another of his films; I'm just a woman, an ordinary woman leading a somewhat ordinary existence, who recognizes that a life was lost. A father to a 2 year old little girl is gone. A son to loving parents. A friend. The fact that he happened to be an actor leading a seemingly extraordinary life is lost on me. I really don't care about his fame. That's not why I feel so terribly sad.

I have always thought Heath Ledger was a dignified actor. I admired that he stayed out of the salacious tabloids. I usually admired his choice of roles. I will admit that I admired his face as well. To be honest, I admired it because he reminded me of V, with that wide nose and pretty pretty skin. I remember first seeing photos of his daughter with him on the streets of NYC thinking that she resembled my own little girl so much. That warmed me to him too. Seeing photos of him holding his child moved me because it could have been V and Mia running out to grab something at a cafe in the photos.

When I heard of his death, I remember feeling that slight tightening in my stomach. I knew that his parents had received the phone call, the phone call that everyone at some point has thought about receiving, but hopes to God that they won't. I knew his ex-girlfriend had gotten the same call, maybe even as she was holding their child. I pictured his mother wiping her hands on a dishtowel, shouting to her husband that she would get the phone, only to realize that her life had forever changed after she said hello. I remember my own drive to the hospital, pleading to God to just show me this one mercy and I wouldn't ask for anything else. I promised I wouldn't. I knew that they all begged for the same mercy upon hearing the news.

I simply ached when I heard of his death because my own dad's one year anniversary is in a few weeks. I am a daughter mourning the loss of her father. I think back to those photos of Heath Ledger in NYC with his little chubby faced baby girl and I know she too is without her special father. I realize I'm lucky to have had 30 years with my amazing dad. I know how he laughed and smelled. I know how he chewed and slept. I know how he felt about God and Bush (forgive me for mentioning both in the same sentence.) I know how he liked his tea (with milk) and what poets moved him. These are all luxuries that she'll never have, because she is so young. But, I also know that despite age and wisdom and laugh lines, I'm still the youngest of Roger Padden's kids. I'm still his child and I always be. I remember being at the hospital hours before his death and slipping my hand inside his. Mine was still so tiny tucked into the little nook between his thumb and palm. I have a husband and a child and career, yet my hand was tiny inside of his. When it comes to our parents, aren't we all just kids waiting to be embraced? Whether I'm 2 or 32, I'm a kid who aches to be told that it will all be o.k. from really the only man who can say those words believably. The relationship between a parent and a child is so unique in that they really are the only people you can collapse into and sob, knowing full well that they just might be able to make it all go away. I can collapse into V, and I have many times, but I know that we will dig ourselves to safety as partners. That too is a beautiful and special thing. It's the special gift of adulthood, being capable. Being competent. Being grown up. But in the eyes of just two people on the planet, I'm little Meggie, and I always will be.

I am feeling alive and energetic today despite carrying around a heavy heart. I do feel such peace with who I am and where I come from. I'm so terribly proud of my people. I'm proud of V's too. We come from good stock as my dad would say. I'm going to spend some time tonight wishing upon a star for all of the kids out there who may not have a parent. I hope that they find pride and joy too. Because without it life can be a bleak place.

STRIKE

I have declared a strike. I am refusing to enter the kitchen in the name of cooking. I simply will throw a fit if I have to open that fridge door once more and try to fashion a meal out of a baby yogurt, a zucchini, some wheat bread, and Omega 3 pills. I am usually the type that has the menu on the fridge door for the week. I shop once, on Sundays. I buy everything we'll need to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the entire week. It's a job and a half and my interest has suddenly waned.

V is so accommodating and extremely helpful but he just is sub par in this department. He lovingly told me that he would take over the duties for me and skipped off to the store. He returned with bananas, spinach, vanilla wafers, and mozzarella cheese. I told him that while his act was certainly kind, it didn't at all solve the problem of what we were going to eat.

That's when I declared a strike. I had to ask myself though if this was REALLY a strike. I'm not balking at unfair work conditions or a measly salary. Both my work conditions and my reward are great. I love my house and my family couldn't be any lovelier. I'm not striking a poor raise or even inequities within my contract. No, no. So, is this really a strike or have I simply quit? I think the latter is true here. Plus, if it were REALLY a strike, I would be in trouble for crossing the picket line several times. I entered the so called work place in order to make a sandwich. I also made a soup, which was delicious by the way.

This just boils down to the fact that I need a break from it for a bit. I'm taking a much needed vacation from my post as head chef of Chez Pellegrino. Wave to us if you see us dining out several times this next week. I'm planning on reading someone ELSE's menu for a change.

Watch out Tom Brady...

I have begun doing Mia's hair. I use the term "doing" loosely. I simply mean I try holding her squirmy 15 month old body between my legs as I take a wet comb and brush it to one side. V and I have spent the past two days staring adoringly at her with her new do. V keeps saying, "Wow. She's like Madonna. She just simply changed her image so quickly." I think she is resembling Tom Brady a bit, with the smart comb over.

She still loves her special reading nook, which to most people is the bottom shelf of our bookshelf. Not to Mia. She clears everything out of it and will bring a few prized toys or books into her spot to entertain herself for a bit. I know what it's like to have a cozy spot that is just yours. It feels like a secret gem and you wonder why no one has tried to tap into all of its mighty power. Thank God our secret places remain just that though. Or else they wouldn't be special anymore. When she crawls into her nook, I try to leave her alone. That's her time.

One step closer...

I thought I was making my life easier when I handed Mia the spoon to feed herself. Not so much.

Fish and Freedom in Colorado's capital

We had an idyllic day. Everyday that V is off and I'm not working is idyllic. We set out on an adventure to the aquarium and had a great time. I always feel bad for anything living in captivity though. There was one exhibit that had a large land turtle and two rattlesnakes. (Who knows why these land animals were on display at the aquarium.) V asked the volunteer if the animals got along. She said, "Are you kidding? The rattle snakes are TERRIFIED of that huge turtle." V looked back at the exhibit and saw that it was small; the large turtle took up most of the room and the two scared snakes sat in tight coils against the glass. "Ummm...than why do you have them together?" V asked innocently. It was one of those moments that you just realize the absurdity of mankind. Mia was not one bit aware of the absurdity because she was so busy pushing her stroller all over the place. She loved being there. She called the fish, "shhh" and pointed at a few. Her main priority though was pushing that stroller as far as she could and then pleading when she hit a wall. I was so proud to be there with them. I'm always proud but today I kept thinking it over and over in my head as we watched these huge animals soar through water all around us. "Remember this" I thought. Not the absurdity. Not the weird man in the wheelchair who seemed to park himself in the narrowest of pathways throughout the aquarium. Not even the fish really. Remember the amount of love pumping through my heart for my family.

On our way home we stopped to get a picture of V in front of the capital. He has a goal: to photograph himself in front of every state capital building in the country. I made an album for him years ago and we've been slowly adding to it. We have driven around many a cities before searching for the capital building. We always laugh that we had yet to get Denver. Today was the day. To mark it as a special photograph, we did a family photo as well. We think it just might be the cover of our debut album, which has yet to be named.

Lyrics are the way to my heart

It's a mystery to me
We have a greed to which we have agreed
You think you have to want more than you need
Until you have it all you won't be free

Speaking of lyrics...isn't that great? It's from Eddie Vedder's new solo project for the film Into the Wild.

I think I might start taking singing lessons. I'm totally and completely serious. I have been walking around lately singing like I'm a lost folkie, stuck in the wrong generation, using my voice to try to transport me back to my people...to some other time and place. If you know me, you know I am a folkie deep in my heart. Dylan. Joan Biaz. Joni Mitchell. These people are my kind. They are cut from my same cloth. This morning V was strumming "One more cup of Coffee" on the guitar and quietly singing. I jumped in with my awful soprano...

"Your breath is sweet
Your eyes are like two jewels in the sky.
Your back is straight, your hair is smooth
On the pillow where you lie.
But I don't sense affection
No gratitude or love
Your loyalty is not to me
But to the stars above.
One more cup of coffee for the road,
One more cup of coffee 'fore I go to the valley below."

It felt so free to be singing with V while Mia played underfoot. I'm like a hippy in constant search of great jeans and good skin care products. I'm a walking contradiction, aren't I?

Chimes of Freedom

I've been reading a lot of lyrics lately. Dylan lyrics especially. I've been in the mood for poetry and he always moves me in a very gentle way. I'm going to dig a bit deeper and explore some new poets at the library this month to add some flavor and meat to my understanding. Poetry is a great way to read with little commitment. It involves so much analysis, which I love. You can read it quickly and then go about your day, marinating in all of the juices. I can think while I drive, cook, play with Mia....I'm a multi-tasker kind of thinker. Poetry lends itself to that.

I remember trying to write poetry in college. I like to view myself as a writer, but folks, a poet, I am not. I remember my professor very kindly saying, "You know, writing poetry is a lot like blowing your nose. It feels good but not a lot of people want to see it." I took that to heart and never wrote a poem again. I began taking poetry as lit classes instead. Maybe with some age and distance, I can try to pick it up again. I don't know though. I'm a verbose girl. I like language. A whole lot of it. And narratives. I think I need to write more than poetry will allow me to.

I wanted to jot down a few lines from Dylan's CHIMES OF FREEDOM. Tell me that this guy isn't just a genius...

Far between sundown's finish an' midnight's broken toll
We ducked inside the doorway, thunder crashing
As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds
Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing
Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight
Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight
An' for each and every underdog soldier in the night
An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.

I get stuck every time on these two lines:

Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight
Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight

Isn't that just beautiful? Describing a soldier's strength in his decision NOT to fight. Brilliant. Really really brilliant. True isn't it? And the millions of refugees in the world today...all unarmed...all fleeing. This song was written so early in Dylan's career, yet still so relevant. The more things change, the more they stay the same I guess.

Into the Wild

As V was reading the book INTO THE WILD by John Krakauer months ago, he would stop and tell me bits and pieces. He would lean over my pillow and say, "listen to this". He blitzed through the book in two days and I remember feeling both awe and envy at this young man in the book who had so enraptured V. He sat hunched over his cold cereal with book in hand, telling me to "just listen to one more line here." He told me of Chris's longing for a life free of possessions and material trappings. He told me how he abandoned his former life, and name for that matter, and adopted a new path, along with a new moniker...Alex Super Tramp. He told me about the people he met along the way. The odd jobs he had in order to make enough cash to get to, what would ultimately be his final destination, Alaska. Every time V spoke of Chris, I always asked, "But what about his family? Didn't he tell his family where he was going?" V tried to explain the unexplainable. He tried to help me see how this boy...young man rather...needed to abandon a life in order to be reborn into a new one. I just didn't get it. I used words like OBLIGATION, DUTY, LOYALTY to defend my view of Chris as a selfish and naive boy while V used words like COURAGEOUS, EAGER, and TRUTHFUL to defend his view of Chris as a man. We had hour long conversations about how we felt about this decision of Chris's - to leave his family, his life, and to set out into the great unknown in order to live as man was intended to live. Was it right? Was it wrong? Of course it really didn't matter what we felt about this kid. We were really talking about ourselves during these circular discussions. The questions we were asking one another weren't really about Chris, but about us. What would we be willing to leave behind in order to live more truthfully? I think there was a part of me that began to embrace Chris during the discussions. He was just like us, only more extreme. He didn't just have these conversations with people, he went out and sought the dialogue in different, more tangible, ways.

The real events of the life of Chris McCandless have the makings for a powerful story. Man vs. Man. Man vs. Nature. Man vs. Self. Sean Penn, in all of his infinite wisdom, obviously noticed this before I did. Damn him.

We saw the movie tonight and we were both transfixed. I'll say it...and I don't say this often...I think my initial feelings about Chris were wrong. Those feelings I had developed for Chris through my discussions with V only became more powerful. Sure, some cinematic smoke and mirrors helped to portray this wandering recent college grad in a positive light - gorgeous cinematography. GORGEOUS. A breathtaking soundtrack by Eddie Vedder. Some of the most lovely performances this year (Hal Holbrook? He deserves an Oscar for that pent up pain behind his eyes. Catherine Keener? The scene where she and Chris play in the ocean as the narration above them speaks of Chris's need to return to the most primitive of man's ways...truly remarkable film making). All of these elements hooked me. I'll admit it. But, those things didn't make me change my perception of Chris. It was putting myself in his shoes that allowed me to truly accept him, with all of his faults. I had to shed my own belief system to make room for him in my heart. Maybe that's why his story has had such a profound effect on people...you either get him or you don't, but either way, you FEEL something pretty intense.

I've heard him described as an egotist ("Who does he think he is going into those mountains unprepared?") I've heard him described as a fool. I see him as a generous and good boy in a lot of pain. Like every 23 year old I know. You know Chris's greatest fault? Youth. He was poetic and bright. An optimist. All of those qualities that we try to wring out of people...he was. I saw myself in him tonight. For the first time really, I saw myself in him. It was painful watching it, knowing what I know now but also vividly remembering what I felt at that age. I wanted to change the world at that age, make it better. I wanted to be invincible. Didn't we all have a bit of Chris in us? Seeing that final scene, watching him take his last breath, was such a dagger to my very core. I was comforted though leaving the theater with V, knowing that we were still the same two kids we were almost 10 years ago when we got together. The same optimistic hopes and dreams. Not everyone is successfully wrung of their youthful outlook. I think there are still a lot of us out here who escaped the stronghold.

We all change the world in ways that are so unknown to us. You don't have to be an extremist to live truthfully. But you do have to be willing to accept and embrace. It's a new year. And I'm a year older technically. With age, I'm going to attempt to reclaim my youth. I may go down as the oldest young girl anyone ever met. That would make me terribly happy. I feel as if I'm expressing my own truth by making that attempt. It's my way of traveling into the wild.

Pack 'em up and Move 'em out

I'm very weird about removing all traces of the holidays shortly after the day is over. There is just something slightly depressing about the lingering limp mistletoe and the piles of Christmas cards set out for display. I'm always very festive before the holiday but I like to remove it quickly. I've officially packed what little I put out and put it away. I feel clean. I also have been tearing through the house the past few days ridding us of all unnecessary junk. I've got the Disabled American Veterans coming in a few days to pick up old clothing and household items that are just stressing me out. For some reason, V's old Alma mater sweatshirt with the holes HAD to leave the premises. So did the old computer table that is now set up in the furnace room (?) and the old frames that haven't housed photos since the late 90s. You know what's odd? We're not savers! We are like ANTI savers. So the fact that we've accumulated this stuff is just scary. It makes me fear going into the homes of people who actually are savers. What must their closets look like? I'm on an anti stuff kick which I'm sure I'll write more about in a future post.

Christmas was bittersweet. Mia was sick (she was officially diagnosed with Rosiola a few days after Christmas). She was feverish and so so miserable. I forced her into her adorable outfit so she could be dressed appropriately while she clung to us and cried while we tried to be very very festive and open gifts with my mom. That afternoon, the fever broke and she began walking. Merry Christmas indeed! Despite the setbacks of having to drive in the snow and Mia's illness, the day was better than anticipated. I was really dreading the celebration without my dad. While it wasn't easy, I was comforted by the fact that I felt him all day. I could practically hear him calling down from upstairs.

We flew to Tucson a few days after Christmas for a Pellegrino family reunion. We were only there for three days which proved to be perfect. V and I spent the whole weekend hunched over Mia, following her from one breakable item to another. Mia was on cloud 9 the whole time. She ate all of her Nonna's cooking, played with her cousins, and busied herself by showing everyone her tricks.

On to a new year. I'm such a nostalgic person that saying goodbye always breaks my heart a bit. I'm ready for new challenges though. Happy New Year!