Tell Me the Story of Your Life, Part 2

I love the moment, in passing or somewhere in the interview portion of the evening or even in a movie, where I discover something truly surprising about someone. You don't know me: you think I am a ______, but really I am a...blue belt in judo! Accomplished belly dancer! Mountaineer! Cellist! These moments can be the stuff of spy fiction, but they happen in real life too. Like when my friend Pie, someone I like to think I know quite well, totally moved and surprised me with her cello choir concert on Saturday. I knew she was rediscovering the cello, taking lessons, practicing with the choir. I'd even heard her play some on her own and with the burgeoning family band (longer, later post here). But I didn't really understand her secret cello identity until I heard her play with the cello choir. It was as surprising as if she'd given a speech in Farsi onstage. It was stunningly good, all those strings together, Pie a part of them.

So. Please, stun me, tell me more about your surprising self because it wakes up my capacity to live bigger, to show up to my life in more ways. Even if I am a little tone deaf.

Vacation

When I tell people I am spending my vacation in El Paso with my in-laws, I get pitying looks. Is it the "El Paso" or the "in-laws" that draws such sympathy? Let me speak in defense of both. Coming here (where I am as I write this) is relaxing, in some way more relaxing than all but the most tranquil, lie-around-and-do-nothing beach vacation (the kind we don't go on because we like to do things). There are no sights we have to hustle to see (just some family to visit). There are no fancy restaurants to get into (just various local cuisine to sample, much of it made by Grandma herself). And unlike being at home, there are no house projects, no laundry, no busy social life. Just a swimming pool and plenty of free time.

Oh, and I like my in-laws. They are fabulous hosts. They love my children. They appreciate me. They are thrilled we are here. And did I mention the swimming pool?

Oh. Hi.

The whole life is under repair here in Suganaholand. Traveling. Changing. You know. Some recent progress: • Lucy can put together the entire Mousetrap game with only muttered adult encouragement. (This adult can only mutter encouragement, as she herself cannot put it together.) • Milo can blow kisses. • Jason and Kate can still shake it at a (totally freaking fabulous) wedding.

More later. X to the O.

Adult Supervision Part 2

Thirty seven doesn't sound as old to me as it used to. Yet it is a decidedly adult age. This birthday has brought a new awareness that people more less my age are running things, with no adult supervision. The president is a mere 12 years older than I am. Barack Obama is barely old enough to have been my babysitter? And he runs the country?

The founders of Google are a year younger than me. And they pretty much run everything else.

Again, trying not to panic.

Adult Supervision, Part 1

I spent my birthday weekend at the Cleaves compound in Wimberley. On Saturday, we attended splendid Major family reunion put on by Peggy, probably the first time in 25 years all those Majors have gathered in one place. We lost the last of a generation when Aunt Patricia died in the spring, so it was amazing to see so many cousins together. On Sunday, we had a quiet day at the creek. The only real excitement was when Ted seemed close to setting his arm on fire while cooking steaks over open flames, and Willow wailed over being separated from Lucy for the week before they go to camp. As the day wound down, Peggy and Ted left with Willow, leaving only our generation to cook, clean, organize and generally fend for ourselves (with help from Bonnie, a blessed token from the grandparent set).

My cousin Lauren made us dinner, while I half-helped but mostly just chatted and drank wine. Lauren: a cousin whom I hadn't seen in 20 years and last remembered as dark-haired cherub. She's now the mother of a dark-haired cherub of her own. I leaned against the pantry for a moment watching this girl-woman stir her gourmet chili, while David made an elaborate salad of his own garden tomatoes. It hit me: she is an adult, he is an adult, I am an adult. We are the grown-ups.

I decided not to panic.

How I Met Your Father

Warning: corny. Fifteen years ago, I threw a surprise birthday/going-away party for Leslie, who was turning 22 and headed to London for the summer. I invited lots of people we knew, as well as some new friends she'd made during the semester I'd been in Costa Rica, plus her friends from various clubs, activities, associations and the like (Leslie was a "joiner" and is an amazing connector of people).

One of her "joiner" friends was none other than Jason Sugawa, whose name I had heard for years, such that it had begun to grate on my nerves like a badly tuned instrument. I remember saying to Leslie in the Cactus yearbook office (younger readers, I can dust off some old yearbooks to show you since I am told they don't make them anymore), "God, who is this Jason Sugawa? What's his deal? He's Japanese?" Leslie said, "No, I think he's Mexican. He's from El Paso. I don't know. Why?" "I don't know, he just sounds so annoying."

Throughout my senior year of college, his name was a sharp note, but I'd managed to avoid meeting him. So when I had the chance to invite him to Leslie's party, I was...intrigued? He came. We met. We had a rousing argument about the relative merits of Quark Xpress (me) over Pagemaker (him), waxed on about our favorite segments of All Things Considered and got to know each other in a dorky haze while the rest of the party faded away. I still have the notebook where I wrote down his phone number — on what pretense, I can't remember. Maybe paying off the bet about which would win — Quark or PageMaker? Jason was prescient (PageMaker = InDesign, m-effers!). I married him, so I guess he won.

Fifteen years ago, we had our first date, which wasn't even a date. It was a conversation. And it's one we're still having.

Thanks, Leslie. Happy birthday.

I Am Here

So, many of you know I've had been thinking about the issue of homelessness here and there for the past couple years, mostly because I've had to explain it to Lucy. Just this Thursday on the way to the airport, we passed a homeless man with a sign that said "Please help." Of course she wanted to know what kind of help he needed, what we should do, why we can't just help him right now.

Why can't we help him right now? Because we don't have cash. Because he might spend it on booze. Because he needs real help: a bed, a home, a community. The answers are so complicated, seeing homeless people is so uncomfortable, that we get overwhelmed. We look away. We pretend not to seem them: all these unfortunate souls, who for whatever complicated reasons have found themselves not only homeless, but also, identity-less. It's too much.

I am so happy to say (and forgive the plug), we can help right now. I have had the privilege of working on a project for Mobile Loaves and Fishes to raise awareness of homelessness and advertise mobile giving: help that homeless person you see right now by getting out your phone and texting a donation to Mobile Loaves and Fishes.

The theme of our campaign is "I Am Here." Imagine what it would be like if all those homeless ghosts we ignore everyday could be seen as human beings. And we could have an immediate way to help.

We're kicking off our campaign with an event where we're putting Danny, a courageous homeless man, and Alan, the fabulous founder of MLF, up onto a billboard for two days. Our goal is to raise the visibility of the cause and raise money to get Danny and his wife Maggie (who has had a stroke and is in a wheelchair) into a home through MLF's Habitat on Wheels program. Yes, it's a little crazy, but Alan's whole mission is to lift up the homeless. We're just doing that in a very dramatic way.

If you're driving down southbound I-35 April 27 or 28, look for our billboard. If you want to help Danny and Maggie get into their new home, send an instant $10 donation by texting "Danny" to 20222. To find out more about the project, visit our website. To keep up with the conversation on Twitter, follow the #iamhere hashtag (Mom, I will explain this later), and by all means, tweet and retweet. Or RSVP to the Facebook event to show your solidarity for the cause.

And to make a difference to another human being who's just saying, "I am here," a simple "hi" is a pretty good start.