You get one shot. So, go to book club.

Tonight I went to my book club.

I've been a member for 2 months and I have missed every meeting until tonight. The club is on their second book. I'm only halfway through the first book. But I went to the club anyway. I listened to the discussion as it bounced around a plate of oatmeal cookies. Two people were in argyle socks and they sat next to each other. I want those two to get married.

I loved book club tonight. Loved it. Uninvited tears marched to the corners of my eyes as I sat there. THAT'S HOW MUCH I LOVED TALKING ABOUT A BOOK I HAVEN'T READ YET.

Why did I miss the earlier book club meetings? Where was I during them? How did I spend those hours? Did I waste them? Can I have them back? Can I try to use them right this time?

Tough luck Laura, hours are unforgiving.

My little head announced that as I left the book club. You think it's annoying that my mind said that? Try walking around with that head on your shoulders. It's a thinking head, and most times, I can't really follow what it's thinking. I just let it think and then sometimes I'm like, alright, hold up... say that again?

Hours are unforgiving. It's like the samples at Costco. You get one of each. And no matter how sweetly you compliment the server's permed hair, she still slaps your wrist when you try for a second sample.

You get one shot, so just go to book club. Okay?

And I'm like, right. Book club.

This is a post about planes that is not really about planes.

On a night flight.
This picture may or may not look good on your computer. It looks good on mine.

I've always wanted to be Peter Pan because he never grows up.

Well folks, I'm growing up. I'm trying hard to stop the process, but birthdays just keep coming. I'm 21 now and my tendons are becoming more fragile as I age. I sprained my ankle recently. According to my doctor, the injury is attributable to aging tendons.

Peter has everything going for him. Not only is he young, he flies too. And while I can't stop the aging process, I can fly. I mean, he can fly. In the sky. Pray we don't die. Because I love to fly. He loves to fly. What a sky.

The point is, he flies and I'm a really good rhymer.

And I love it, every single time. The whole experience takes my breathe away. Literally. The g-forces when you drop a thousand feet in a plane make it impossible to take in air, not to mention the panorama from up there. And then there's the pilot...

Folks, he's a pilot.

“Uh, so does this mean you’re done with blogs?” And I was all, “No way man.” And he was all, “Really? You sounded passionately anti-blog just there.” And I was all, “It was a fight, not a break-up.”

Blog: thick, sticky syrup of potent flavor

I have one. A blog. Did you know? You knew and I knew. Believe it or not, I didn't forget about this blog. It's just that I forgot how to write for it.

Here's the deal. Life happens and gives so much material for writing. I have so much I want to say. So much I could say. I want to tell you about this one plane flight that I took. In fact, I have a drafted post about it that I never posted. A post I'll probably never post, because I know you won't want to read it. I take that back. I don't know how to write the post in a way that makes you want to read it.

Blogs are overwhelming me right now. I read so many blogs. So many, many blogs. Too many blogs. Because I love them; I really do love blogs and blogging. And get this, I now have Google Reader on my phone. Bad news folks, because now, I read blogs all the time. Everyone's blogs. Everyone's lives. Everyone is living and writing and reading and living and writing and reading.

A favorite recipe of mine requires making a balsamic reduction. To make balsamic reduction, balsamic vinegar must be simmered for hours until all the non-essentials evaporate and leave a thick, sticky syrup of potent flavor.

Blogs are life reduced. And sometimes I get sick of reading that. Sometimes vinegar is better left as vinegar. Stop the reduction. Admit it, you get sick of reading it too. In fact, I can almost guarantee that nearly all of the readers of this blog have already stopped reading, I mean skimming, because they are also sick of blogs and blog writing and blog posts about blogs and blogging.

There are so many ways to drown out the point in words. Or in this case, drown a lack-of-point in words. I have no point for you tonight, just sticky syrup.

Goodbye Gourmet.

It's dead.

All dead and gone. It's been around for 70 years and now it's gone forever. Cause of death? The autopsy says blogs.

Editor of Gourmet magazine. It was once my dream job. I have no future now.

This is my response.

My 15-year-old self mailed a letter to my 21-year-old self on the occasion of my 21st birthday. I opened the letter one week and one day early. You would do it too. How often does 15-year-old Laura send letters to the future-- NOT VERY OFTEN. So, don't judge me for opening it early.

This is my response.

Dear Laura,

You think it's some great feat that I made it to my 21st birthday. You think I'm a superhuman for making it. Breaking news: it wasn't some great feat. And actually, it would've taken some great event for me NOT make it. I would've had to stop eating. Or stop sleeping. Or jump off cliffs with rocks at the bottom. Or walk into the center of an intersection when the light is green. And like you, I'm happy. Very happy. So, I didn't do any of those things.I'm happy because you're happy. Your fault; you started it.

I think about you a lot. You think about me a lot too. I think you have high hopes for me. I feel the pressure to fill your expectations. You feel pressure too. You feel the pressure to become me. Don't. Avoid feeling pressure of any sort. Don't create artificial stresses for yourself. I am who I am. You are who you are. And get this-- we're more the same than you ever dreamed possible. You think I'm an improved version of yourself. I'm not. You're disappointed, I know, but it's a good thing that I am a little bit of who you are, that I haven't changed much in the last five years. You are something awesome, especially for your age. You're more on-the-ball than you know, you're more intelligent than you think, you're more mature than I am, you're more self-aware than any 15-year-old. You're a lot of who I want to be and yet, sometimes I'm afraid I'm degenerating from where you are. I like you. Let's be friends. You make me want to be better.

That being said, I do need to tell you to take a deep breathe. Just stop and live. No rush. No pressure. No stress. Enjoy. Do something stupid-- I can say that because I know you won't. And for goodness sakes, just enjoy those roses that he sent to you. Don't worry, you won't ever see him again. So feel free to enjoy the flowers-- no guilt. You're in high school for goodness sakes. The world does NOT rest on your shoulders. You don't need to be perfect. Relax the whole perfectionist kick. You have a good few years ahead of you. A couple of words from someone who has been there:

When you're cooking for the judge, pick up the chef knife instead of the serrated knife. It will be the difference between silver and gold.

Hold his hand. It's not a bad thing to do.

Don't make hard-fast plans. You'll be disappointed. Go with the flow and things will turn out better than you could have planned.

Don't cry when you fail that math test. Laugh. It's a better reaction to almost all things in life.

Mostly though, just do what you're doing. You're living right and loving life.

Oh yes, and always drive plenty far behind the car in front of you on the freeway. Do not sing at the top of your lungs while you're cruising, especially when you're going to the airport in August of 2007. Pay attention while you drive that day.

Thanks for your letter. You know, it really made my day, my week, my month.You'll have hard days, but I wouldn't take those from you. Give mom a hug for me. Give her one every day.

I love you.

Love,
Laura

Eat Cookies and Sleep Well

Thursdays call for some sort of celebration. Obviously. Uh, welcome to my blog. A blog that I may or may not write on regularly. I like to keep you (and me) on edge. Will I or will I not write today? It’s a mystery. Let’s dissolve the mystery today, for Thursday’s sake. I’m writing today. No mystery this morning. You may or may not appreciate this method of celebration.

I have a theory. You always need to have something to celebrate. You always need to be doing something to celebrate. My sister says that that is how she falls asleep. She thinks about the next day and what she’s looking forward to—what she’s looking forward to celebrating. And she sleeps in peace.

Celebrating is natural. Do it.

Last week was a hard week, for a whole lot of unexplainable reasons that seem silly now. Isn’t that how it always is? It was a hard week until I remembered my theory. I remembered that celebration is necessary. So I decided this week to celebrate. All the time.

I’m celebrating the completion of a long day with 30 pages in a book club novel. I’m celebrating three hours of studying for a test with a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. I’m going to the museum of art during my break between classes to celebrate the end of class. I’m cooking and reading and writing and doing art—all in celebration. It breaks up the routine, the monotony, the stress, the frustration. Can I tell you how much better this week has been? Please? I want to tell you because it’s been that much better.

Come to my house today and I’ll make you cookies with the leftover dough. And we’ll listen to good music while sitting on my counter. It’ll be our Thursday celebration because I’m aware that we need more than one more blog post in the universe of blog posts to sufficiently celebrate today. Blog posts don’t cut it. Cookies do.

And with that, we’ll sleep in peace, which actually has its drawbacks. Peaceful sleeping equals easy snoozing and no watermelons or chocolate. Needless to say, but I’m still going to say it, in all my celebrating I find myself still snoozing.

But don't you worry, when I stop snoozing, I'll celebrate that too.


Note: I appreciate all those who emailed and commented with advice on my snoozing problem. Wow. We need to start a snoozer’s anonymous group. I will join. And then, all of you who have gotten through the snooze problem can sit and share your success stories while we sit in a circle holding hands. It’ll help me, I know it. In fact, symbolically holding hands with all you snoozers out there has already helped.