O Lord, Won't You Buy Me a Mercedes-Benz?

"One of these things doesn't belong here..."

A skid on a snowy road last Saturday, and my ten year old Hyundai was totalled. We needed a rental car, so off we went to Enterprise. The young guy behind the counter looked at our reservation and said, "Seyfried? I went to school in Upper Dublin with a Julie Seyfried!" Yes, he and Jules had been classmates. Now, I'm sure there's no connection, but next thing we knew he had waved us over to a Mercedes in the parking lot. "You can rent that for the same price as a regular car," said he. I pulled gingerly onto the road, terrified of denting or dinging this automotive masterpiece.

I am intensely uncomfortable with luxury. I feel like a fraud in Neiman Marcus (even if I'm just cutting through the jewelry department), and when I take the Walk of Shame past the snooty first class airline passengers en route to my last row seat in economy, I agree with their pitying glances. I am the one sitting in the nosebleed section at concerts and plays, observing the swankily dressed privileged folks on orchestra level far, far below. The few times I have redeemed a spa gift certificate, I have been very tempted to offer to take the place of the hardworking masseuse or manicurist, because what right do I have to be pampered?

The closest Steve and I ever came to Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous was way back in the early '90s, when we collaborated with a Philadelphia real estate mogul/composer on a musical project. Jim had written some tunes for a show he envisioned based on the life of a Howard Hughes (another high roller, naturally). We were brought in to write the book and lyrics. For months, after toiling away on a script in our modest abode, we'd go over to his McMansion to update him on our progress. Sometimes Jim had similarly wealthy friends over, and it was all I could do to not hang up their coats and fetch them hot toddies.

Eventually Jim bankrolled a performance of "Flight" in Manhattan, We were still clipping coupons for Pampers at that point, so this "money is no object" attitude was completely alien to us. We planned to train it from Trenton for the big event. Silly us! A limo was summoned by our composer, and we were whisked up the New Jersey Turnpike like royalty. Lunch at Sardi's? Of course! Alas, after an initial flurry, the show went nowhere, and our fairy tale sojourn ended.

Anyway, the Benz sits in our driveway, looking very out of place. I can't figure out the radio, or the backing up camera, or the heated seats--and in a week my fabulous wheels will be gone, so there's no point learning.

Would I buy a Mercedes-Benz  if I had the means? Not sure. But for now, I hope I can get past feeling like the Great Pretender as I drive around town, and just enjoy my (very expensive) ride.

                                                          The original from Janis Joplin...

Gmorning, Gnight

Gmorning from the younger version of you

Who couldn’t wait to be you at this age right now

Gnight from the older version of you

Who remembers the exact moment you are in right now

And is grinning from ear to ear, because

You have no idea about

The wonders ahead

Gmorning

Eyes up, hearts up, minds sharp

Compassion on full blast

*Sips coffee*

Okay, let’s go

Gnight

Eyes shut, hearts open

Minds calm, empathy on full blast

*Sips tea*

Okay, let’s go

                        --from “Gmorning, Gnight” by Lin-Manuel Miranda

Julie gave me this book for Christmas, a collection of the “Hamilton” creator’s tweets over the past several years. I must confess I shelved it at first, much weightier tomes in the queue ahead of it. And, to be honest, I initially thought it was like one of those sappy little Hallmark inspirational books (or those annoying internet memes featuring cute kittens saying “Hang in there, baby!”)  

But then came a cold and dark early morning when I needed more than a mug of java to get me going, so I opened the small volume and read a page. This was not sappy stuff! Miranda has a breezy, slightly irreverent tone, and his pep talks are delightful. I am lucky enough to have lots of loved ones who cheer me on, but I know that’s not the case for many. For them, a book like this may be just the thing to make them feel supported and celebrated.

Now, there’s a line between affirmation and effusiveness, a line I sometimes crossed with my kids, and that my mom and Nana crossed with me. Nana used to carry a copy of the IQ test I took at age 4 IN HER PURSE (I can picture her whipping out my “stellar” score to show the unimpressed butcher at Harry’s Market). To Mom, everything I said and did was pure gold, to the point where I didn’t believe her. Recalling that, I tried to restrain myself from praising Sher’s compositions or Patrick’s soccer goals to the skies. Nowadays, I hear Aiden say, “Nana, why aren’t you clapping for me?” when he has a minor achievement, and I reply, “Look, Buddy, I love you but I’m not going to clap for every single thing you do.” Aiden is momentarily crushed by this news flash, but within minutes is back to happily playing. And his parents give the same response to him and to Peter; I predict the boys will grow up very well adjusted, without inflated egos.

Baby Einstein? Not by a long shot!

I think it’s human nature to crave encouragement and acceptance, especially during the down times of life. Someone who believes in us, and doesn’t desert us when we fail (as we all do). We can and should be cheerleaders for each other, and give one another a little validation in a tough world. I think Lin-Manuel is on to something, and I hope his message spreads everywhere:

Gmorning, my friends. Have a wonderful day. You got this.

A Room of One's Own

                                                                                      

New writer's room throw pillow-first things first!

                           

Let me begin by saying that I adore my big family, and truly love having Sher, Yaj and the boys living with us. Full stop. There is nothing like the joy of seeing the whole gang gathered around the dinner table, certain people bribed with ice cream if they finish their veggies (I name no names, they know who they are), or all of us sprawled in the family room watching Peter’s current fave flick, "Kung Fu Panda" (which is hilarious, btw-when did animated movies start stepping up their game this much?) And when Ya-Jhu takes the kids to Taiwan for three weeks starting January 20, I’m sure I will be drifting aimlessly and sadly through the empty rooms, with no little one asking me to go on secret missions to find imaginary golden violins or magical acorns.

But recently I thought back to the last time I was totally alone in the house. Steve has his office upstairs, and is not on the road much anymore, so he’s usually up there working. I came up with a startling figure: I have not had one minute by myself at 122 Apel Ave. since we returned from Lewes in late August. Would I make the most of solitary hours if I had them? Probably not. But I yearn for the opportunity to find out.

Now that my writing career is picking up a little steam, my default creative space (the dining room, which is like writing under the giant information board in Penn Station) is rapidly becoming inadequate. I write a sentence or two at most, then am distracted by the back-and-forths of the rest of the household, and there goes the work session.

So I was thrilled to find out that, once our basement renovation is complete and the zillion storage boxes are moved back into place, there will be office space just for me!!! Mind you, it’s the former nursery, our fourth bedroom, which is sized more like a walk-in closet. But I don’t care!! It will be my writing lair!!! I’ve spent a good bit of time this week pricing small desks and curtains and pretty daybed covers (there will still be a bed in there for overnight guests, but I want to jazz it up the rest of the time). There are two windows that catch the afternoon sun, and I’ll have space for a small bookshelf too.

This is as exciting as fixing up my office at church, but better, because at church there is still a constant flow of random stuff dumped on sofas and chairs for the next event, so it’s never perfectly orderly. However, I have the chance to make THIS tiny corner of my world lovely and serene, and believe you me I’m going for it!

Only one problem: if I don’t produce copious amounts of wonderful, sellable essays in this Writer’s Paradise, I will have no one to blame but myself.

But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Just a few titles for my new bookshelf!