Hot and sour soup for the soul

I don't get sick often -- as in colds, flu, that sort of thing. This week I came down with a full-on cold, the week before the largest event for which I have ever been single-handedly responsible. That would be Neil's surprise 50th -- I can say this, because my darling luddite has no idea how to find this blahhhggg.

As such, I have made a full-time job out of trying to get well, using every remedy that's ever been suggested to me. These include but are not limited to:

-Going to the doctor to learn that they have not yet found a cure for the common cold
-Chicken soup
-Hot and sour soup
-Ginger tea with cayenne and lemon juice
-Regular tea with honey and lemon
-Gypsy Cold Cure(tm) tea, by the potful
-Dandelion tea, also by the potful*
-Vitamin C
-Airborne
-This homepathic sugary substance one ingests sublinguallly
-So much garlic it's absurd
-A neti pot (I know, but you get used to it)
-Something called Wellness Formula, in which I have high hopes
-Tons of water (with lemon, of course)
-Sleep
-Exercise
-Skipping exercise
-Prayer

The end result? There is still no cure for the common cold.

That said, God willing, Saturday will be wonderful and Neil will be happy.

*full disclosure -- this is more for slimming purposes, to eliminate the water that all these remedies make one retain. It works!

All we need is love

I'm truly sorry to have written so many mournful posts this year. I am actually having a pretty good one, work, family, man, dog, and self-wise. But death is a part of life; in fact it's the concept that keeps me from being truly calm and centered, the idea of losing those I love and of wasting my own life. I'm working on this.

In the post below I wrote that human resilience never ceases to amaze me (yes, I realize I've just quoted myself, but hear me out on this one). Of equally morbid fascination, though, are the depths to which human ignorance can plummet, and the things that prevail in people's minds.

A 49-year-old man, Jack Price, was attacked last night in Queens because he was gay. He's now in a medically induced coma. I did not know him; I read about him in the news. This is also the anniversary of Matthew Shepard's death.

For lack of anything more erudite to say at this hour, what the fuck?

I just don't get it, on any level.

Whether or not you like Keith Olbermann, please watch this.

Kindness and compassion. That's what it's all about.

Sing of the past as you behold the dawn of hope in my eyes, for
It's magic meaning is a soft bed upon which my heart rests.
-Khalil Gibran

Beautiful girl

A friend of a friend took her life on Thursday. She'd battled very real demons for quite some time, and they finally took over. Not "finally" because it was an inevitability; human resilience never ceases to amaze me. "Finally" because demons can be tenacious, will try with all their might to get the best of us. I mourn the loss of this woman, Annie. I feel like I "get" her.

I've told this to very few people, but last year, winter of 2008, I went through a fairly intensive training program for Samaritans, one of the oldest suicide prevention hotlines in the world. This was, oddly, a credential of sorts - the process for inclusion in this group reads like a reality show; despite how human he was, the director had to be tough. Obviously. Candidates were elminated after each training session. I made it toward the end, and Neil finally asked me if this was a good idea. I have first-hand knowledge of depression which, while not fun, has made me comfortable with some of the darkest human experiences. I am not and have never been suicidal, but I get it. And I wish I could prevent it. But one of the many things I learned while I was in training is that ultimately, insurance and religion aside, it is our right as human beings to choose to end our lives.

This is nothing if not complicated.

I have so much more to say on this topic, but right now I feel like reprinting a poem I've already presented here. I wish I could convey this to Annie, but I can't.

Rest in peace, beautiful girl. May you now find the tranquility that so eluded you in life.

***
Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

-Mary Oliver

Don't let it be forgot ...

that once there was a spot,
for one brief shining moment that was known as
Camelot.

Fare thee well, Senator Kennedy.

I would love to believe that I live in a country that will make you proud by realizing your dream of health care for all.

Honestly, how could one possibly object to this notion? It is nothing short of bewildering.

From the people who brought you ...

...Headless Body Found in Topless Bar

comes my first published book review. Glaring typo on web editor's part notwithstanding, here it is for your amusement.

Summertime dirge

It's a cold, quiet rainy afternoon and the Mr. Softee truck is driving around my neighborhood, playing that creepy, creepy song. It sounds like an antique music box being wound by a ghost. I'm baffled by its apparent success as a marketing tool.

How's that for a comeback?

I just dropped by to say hello ...

Is that the name of it? I loved that album (she says, dating herself) when I lived in San Francisco.

Mark Twain once said, "The coldest winter I've ever spent was summer in San Francisco." He also described New Orleans as, "a beautiful woman with dirty fingernails." Both apt descriptions for two of my homes-away-from.

I realize I haven't written in a while. In an effort to stop apologizing, um ... you know.

I have insomnia (see: timestamp). We are going away tomorrow. Far, far away, to Paris and Florence. Lovely lovely lovely can't wait beautiful cities all that -- I did, actually, break my foot which is a slight hindrance to absolute perfection on this trip. So that's a relief -- I already know it'll be imperfect.

Broken foot as analogy for allowing life to be imperfect. Give it a whirl.

Yes, I've had a glass of wine tonight.

I was telling a new and lovely friend (that's you, Mr. K) today about how I managed to spend yesterday, a beautiful, springlike day following a fabulous week of love and festivity and preceding a potentially amazing vacation, immersed in tears and hiding behind my pal depression. Moods, we've decided, are strange, strange beasts. And it's beyond comforting to know that there are others out there who know and live this too. My sweet friend with whom I dined last night and I shared this realization earlier in the day when we had the following conversation:

LB: It's beautiful out.
VB: I know - it really is.
(pause)
LB: And for some reason, I feel like hiding inside.
VB: OH my god me too. Can we have wine?

It takes a lot of effort to maintain a chaotic mind. But the payoff is fairly huge. If you're reading this and you know me, you're part of the payoff, and I love you.

I'm off to the continent. As my nephew would say, "Von boyage".

Je vous adore.