Testament.

We’d fall asleep crying and holding hands. We slept in the same bed – their bed – that night, and for a month after he died. As if I would not be as impacted by his death as my mother, the ER doctor gave me a stern look and a warning to calm down in the face of my hysteric distress. She had ridden in the ambulance with him; she was in shock when I met her at Diablo. I don’t remember the actual act of driving their Mercury Bobcat station wagon, only the image of flashing red lights on the back of the ambulance I followed. They lifted him from his chair and lay him on the living room floor; I’m sure they asked us questions about his health, but I can’t recall our responses. Their neighbor was a young RN, but she wouldn’t touch him before the paramedics arrived, in fear, I guess, of litigation, should her actions fail or exacerbate. I stood in the center of the parking lot to guide them to the apartment, weeping to the starry night sky, don’t take him, I just got here, we have things to do, we’re not finished, please please please. She and I made futile attempts to revive him, slumped in his blue easy chair – she, with breathless mouth-to-mouth; me, frantically pounding on his silent chest. I dialed 911; it took forever to hear a voice on the other end of the line. I ran into their bedroom and shouted at my mother to wake up. I finished brushing my teeth in their bathroom and, after closing the faucet, heard an unfamiliar, guttural snore coming from the living room. I leaned over to kiss him goodnight. My father looked up at me and said, “I love you, Zan.”

The history of the word "friend" from Answers.com...

A friend is a lover, literally. The relationship between Latin amīcus “friend” and amō “I love” is clear, as is the relationship between Greek philos “friend” and phileō “I love.” In English, though, we have to go back a millennium before we see the verb related to friend. At that time, frēond, the Old English word for “friend,” was simply the present participle of the verb frēon, “to love.” The Germanic root behind this verb is *frī–, which meant “to like, love, be friendly to.” Closely linked to these concepts is that of “peace,” and in fact Germanic made a noun from this root, *frithu–, meaning exactly that. Ultimately descended from this noun are the personal names Frederick, “peaceful ruler,” and Siegfried, ”victory peace.” The root also shows up in the name of the Germanic deity Frigg, the goddess of love, who lives on today in the word Friday, “day of Frigg,” from an ancient translation of Latin Veneris diēs, “day of Venus.”

John Keats said it best.

But this is human life: the war, the deeds,
The disappointment, the anxiety,
Imagination's struggles, far and nigh,
All human; bearing in themselves this good,
That they are still the air, the subtle food,
To make us feel existence, and to shew
How quiet death is.

-Endymion, Book II

"Insanity - a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world." -RD Laing

I'm just saying.

"Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back: a new life, a new friend, a new love, or a new country."

-Anais Nin

I was a very little girl -- maybe 3 or 4 -- when Mom and Dad and I flew a box kite on the beach at Oyster Bay, Long Island. I only remember a couple of things: it was an overcast, blustery, late afternoon. And the kite was grabbed by a sudden gust, breaking free of the string with which Dad was guiding it. We watched it sail over the sound until it was a speck in the dark clouds.

So, in my experience, kites don't bring things back; they fly away for good.

Then again, what's the point?

I'm just asking.

Things That Make Me Happy, Part 2

Wearing Size 4 jeans.

Having good skin, pretty eyes, and nice breasts. Oh, yeah, and great hair. Thanks, Paris.

Being healthy enough to appreciate the above.

Things That Make Me Happy, Part 1

My relationship with my mother; her belief in my abilities, her pride in my progress.

Any given moment with Lulu, The Best Dog Ever Made.

Writing a good story.

Reading a good story.

Pitching a good story.

Selling a good story.

Making a film from a good story.

Bananafriend's babies.

Making X laugh.

A loving, comforting hug. But not from just anyone.

Carvel.

Sobriety.

Kissing. But not with just anyone.

The way I feel after a challenging yoga class. Notsomuch during. After.

Being of service to my friends.

Being of service to people I don't know.

Great sex. But not with just anyone.

Blog Value=Personal Satisfaction? Welcome to the 21st Century.

Apparently, I can raise the value of my blog if I reference sex.

There: consider it referenced.

Oh, and Paris Hilton is still a big online draw. So, I have two Paris Hilton references:

Several months ago, I met with a colleague at Toast, a West Hollywood breakfast/lunch/coffee establishment. Paris and her beau-du-jour were there, lounging on the very couches we coveted. Our timing was good: Paris and beau were about to leave, so we waited. I sat in Paris' seat, moments after she vacated it. It was cool. No, I mean literally. No discernable leftover body heat.

Later, the waiter advised us that, as she and beau passed us, she looked at me and said to beau, "She has great hair."

And last week, one of my partners on a movie I'm producing told us that Paris and sister Nicky are interested in being in our film.

Okay, let's see what this does to my blog value, now.

"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know." -Ernest Hemingway

Ah, THAT explains my abject misery.