Friday, September 11, 2015


It was the winter of 2001. The sky was just breaking out into the day, the sun peeking through scattered clouds of brilliant white. I drove with my two children heading somewhere far away and unimportant. It was the first truck that caught my attention, trailing in the back of a convoy of five. 9/11 had struck into our hearts and shattered safety into a million bits of ignorance across our lives. We were a nation united by tragedy, brought together in a flood of solidarity and patriotism to heal our wounds. The United States was in mourning. Our flag was still waving, but our lives were altered. Americanism was in, the stars and stripes were everywhere. That tragic day in September had made our flag the symbol of hope. It was cool to be square. Commercialism at its finest. We were Americans after all.

I drove behind the camouflaged covered military truck, thinking of all the recent events, my children, and where their lives would lead in light of recent events. In the back sat a soldier, his knees facing inward, across a bench that lined the side of the vehicle. He stared out into the world flashing past him, beyond our car and into an abyss of a changed landscape. I watched him, the gaze of a boy on a mission. His mission. He was in uniform, matching the camouflaged colors of the truck, set on disappearing into a battle I had no knowledge of, nor was I supposed to. Our eyes met, and together we drove, locked in a gaze of unity. I thought about my kids and about life. So much sacrifice, so much unsaid, yet a world of understanding. We were a nation in a battle for our future, struggling to overcome sadness, fear, anger. I wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, even if it was a lie. I wanted to hold him and thank him. To tell him how much I appreciated his choice. Protect. I stared back conveying my hope that he would be okay, we would all be okay. Soon.

Rolling down my window I felt the morning air rush across my body. Filling the car with the frigid cold, my children watched, six eyes now focused as the scene unfolded. As a mother your children are everything, what would tomorrow bring in this state of national uncertainty? There were dreams interrupted, lives on edge. He was a symbol of our future. Success. We would continue, fight, pray. Live. Moving my hand from the steering wheel I raised it out the window, into the roar of traffic that surrounded us, the force of air rolling against my outstretched arm. He was someone’s son, standing up for us all in a battle for freedom. Freedom to breath again, dream, sleep without fear. Our eyes never diverted from each other. He watched, I watched. Pouring out my emotions through my actions I raised my fingers and gave him a peace sign. He sat up straighter, focused, and understood.

Suddenly out of the back of that truck no less than ten hands struck out in answer. Soldiers that could not be seen prior reached out in response, each confirming they had heard, each with two fingers raised in reply. Peace was the message. Driving down the 5 freeway, heading south, I gasped. Cried. We were united. A united state of hope rang out. I heard every word. It was the winter of 2001, and, as one, we took the future into our hands.

Never forget.

Friday, February 20, 2015

The Pelican

Actual texts between me and a friend:

...AND a true story on the 405. Yeah, I guess 2015 IS looking better than 2014...

Me: Okay, so I'm driving yesterday day
I mean...
I'm driving yesterday...
(... A little too much whiskey tonight)
Damnit. You never drink with me.
And traffic around lax/Santa Monica gets real slow
Shut up
Reeeeaaalllll slow
... Like like time to smoke a cigarette slow...
So I'm driving like 5 Miles Per Help me kill myself and I drive next to-

What??? Who is pelguin???
Just sitting there, IN THE CARPOOL LANE looking at me like " hey there pretty lady"
NO!!! Pelican!

In a car?
No ON THE FREEWAY. Just standing there looking at me- like "I know about you and your boudjuor ideas you crazy redd" ( insert Russian accent here)
That's how I saw him, with a hat, beret like and cigar. With that lllooonnnggg beak.... See it?
Lol ok
It was surreal, yet totally happening. I LOVED it!!! But I was the only one, I thought, who saw it.

(10 minute gap)

So I called 911.

Were you drunk then too? Maybe there is a reason you're the only one who saw it...
FYI- they SAID they already had a call. A truck was on its way for the bird. So there.
Lol suuuuuuuuure.
Whatever. My truth is awesome.
That it is, redd...that it is. Thank you for sharing such a crazy story! I wish I'd been there.
I'm gonna post it on Facebook.
Hell yeah
But when I do, I'm totally adding the beret and cigar.


You know what though, in some bizarre Hollywood way, I wanted to put that dang bird in my car (A little red convertible, which totally had the top down on a sunny CA day- duh) and together we would just kick it back to Grams for her bday before going home. I mean it looked at me, like that.

It was that kind of awesome seeing that bird standing there in the carpool lane, I seriously felt like Ross in Friends with that monkey, and we didn't even have a Scrabble piece to bind us. Calling 911 was like calling the Narc's on him even though I knew he was better, hoped he would better, with some help. Though to me we will always share a cheap cigar and beret (Artists like us need our props). They bind us, tell me you don't agree.