Please Happy

Big 3-0 Birthday Party Saturday night in Mar Vista. Jake’s friend from high school and college with whom he has reunited since moving out here. Lots of actors and filmmakers and producers and at least one costume designer/stylist. And, lots of guacamole, lentils, ice cream cake and candles.

(This last shot is of Telly, the dog. Named after Telly, the man.)

Sue surprised us at Grandpa Whaley’s house with these engagement goodies. Delish. And hilarious. We also got books that quizzed us on How Well Do You Know Your Bride, asking questions like Would She Take the Last Cookie on the Plate? a. Yes. Yum! b. Yes, but she’d feel really really guilty. Or, c. No way.

He answered b. And he’s probably right.

Now, we have champagne glass garters, His and Hers.
And so it begins.

Again, another first radio story. Maybe the second one I ever did. Again, recently posted on Southern California NPR station KPCC.

It’s about psychic José Ledesma whose South Central L.A (city of Vernon) business has taken off in the past year. He’s a character. Tried to get in touch to let him know the story published. Apparently, some Moroccan family has paid Ledésma’s way to Africa for some private tarot readings and über secret cleansings.

Glad I got in while he was still around.

Photos by Jake de Grazia.

Psychic Brings in the Money from 89.3 KPCC on Vimeo.

Psychic José Ledesma helps clients with woes – from health to wealth. This audio piece comes from Lauren Whaley, a graduate student at University of Southern California, who finds out what it takes to get the money flowing back into her life.

Saw a girl today with a big black mark of soot on her forehead. Thought she had a tattoo, a birthmark or one of those pet bugs that people keep on broach chains pinned to their lapels. Nope. She was just displaying her Catholicism. And that hit me smack in the forehead. I completely forgot (sorry, Grandpa). But, after seeing her, I started thinking about lent. The 40 days from now until the anniversary of Jesus’ death and Resurrection, where people give something up in honor of the sacrifice Jesus made for “us.”

Then, I saw a Facebook status update asking “____ is wondering what to give up for Lent this year.”

People give up all sorts of things, from TV to chocolate. There tends to be a tendency to give up a vice, a luxury, a treat. But, I wonder how that’s actually helping the world? How is your moodiness from lack of caffeine making the world a better place?

Why not flip the Lenten sacrifice around and take something up.

Give up TV and then spend your free time mentoring local middle-schoolers. Instead of giving up chocolate, teach a community class on how to make chocolate cake or better, how to enjoy broccolini (a new favorite ’round here). Do something productive.

So, for Lent, I’m not going to Give Up Hope (as one Huffington Post author vowed) or give up sweets (though, as a separate promise to myself, I’m no longer eating refined sugar). I’m going to stop driving my car so much. I’m going to ride my bike and walk in this city of highways. (Just heard of a couple that had a wall map of L.A.. On that map, they circled a one-mile radius around their house. No driving within that circle. Good idea!) That’s good for me and for others. I’m going to talk to people on bikes. I’m going to talk to the folks on the bus. I’m going to talk to my friends about their cars.

And, I’m going to write more letters. This is something I love doing anyway, but people always love snail mail. That’s not a giving up. Just an adding on. Snail mail and mixed tapes! On a bike! Eating well!

Yay for Lent!

… Your host insists on giving your car an afternoon wash (for the first time in its life). If he used Seventh Generation soap, does that make if OK to let the suds flow down the sidewalk into the gutter into the ocean?

I windexed the inside glass and scrubbed the wheels. The boys did the rest.

Apparently, the bug-covered hood was too grimy for residential West Hollywood.

The car deserved the pampering, as it safely delivered its passengers (and all my crap) over 1,000 miles from mountains to ocean.

My postcards to myself come from all over the world. They’re usually reminders: “Tell Mark and Anna that you love them” or “Smile!” Sometimes they describe scenes, such as eating a papaya salad with salt after fasting, sweating on a 10-hour dusty bus ride, shoulder to shoulder with loogie hockers or watching a gecko grab a fly on a quiet morning.

And they all start the same: Dear Lauren

And all end the same: Love, yourself

My family makes fun of me. You got another postcard for you today, huh? my Dad asks.

But, it’s a pretty incredible thing to send a note to my Future self. And equally incredible when I’m back home to receive a note from my Then self. I tend to forget what I wrote, and the scene or description brings me back to that captured moment.

When on my Outward Bound course 10 years ago, we wrote letters to ourselves while on our three-day solo contemplations. We received them six months later. And that letter stuck with me. I talked about the food I missed from home, the sound of the Maine ocean hitting the cold rocks, the sleek cormorants and clunky lobster boats, and pink sunsets and roaring tides. And I talked about the beauty of not knowing the time, of being truly present.

When in the Arctic, I had the girls write themselves similar letters. I sent them a few months after we got back to civilization.

This summer during my spiritual Odyssey, I sent myself a few. One from Cambodia, a few from Vietnam. Most recently, a German Christmas card from France.

I love the handwritten letter. I love the Time Traveling that happens from letter writing moment to letter reading moment. And I love reliving that moment again and again and reminding my future self to slow down and notice. Slow down and listen. Slow down, grab a pen and write. On paper with ink.