ANOTHER RAINY DAY

It's another rainy day, and I say, thank God, or Whom/What Ever. And not only is it raining, it's a rainy Saturday, which means there's absolutely no reason to do anything. There are no "have to's" today. I can just listen to the real sound of music...rain...as beautiful as Bach's Cello Suites.

It's gray, and chilly (I can't say it's really cold - this is LA after all) and it's wet. That's all the excuse I, or anyone needs to be a lazy layabout, read a terrific book, peruse a lightweight magazine, do a crossword puzzle, listen to NPR, or if you're really feeling deliciously slothful (and I have practiced sloth enough to make it an art form, and dabbled in those others...the deadly sins) - anyway if you're really feeling that sloth, you can even watch daytime television or Hulu, and only feel a little guilty. As I have confessed, I have indulged in all of the seven...wrath, avarice, sloth, pride, lust, envy, gluttony. I might even call myself a fan of a few. But not without the guilt. My guilt is certainly not ignited by religious fear or fervor. I fear the fervor of the guilt is simply human nature. Or maybe I'm applying my template to everyone, and it's merely my nature.

As is evident, while I'm celebrating the delight of doing nothing, I also have too much time to think, and my thoughts become a do nothing jumble.

But back to the marvelous rain. If rather than being alone, you happen to be with someone you find appealing, another of "the seven..." that works wondrously well to the rhythm of a downpour, is lust. And if you can combine all three elements...if you can manage to be slothful, with a lusty partner on a rainy day, you've hit the Trifecta. So be it...

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS

Who of us has not suffered that seemingly endless night...a night of racing thoughts, troubled visions, anxiety producing apprehension about money, our children, our love life, or lack there of? How many of us have been lonely...having no one to call in the dead of night when the ghosts of the psyche choose to visit...uninvited? That was what my favorite teacher would have called a run on sentence...(he exists on my shoulder and whispers in my ear)...but this time he'll have to let it go. Basil Beckett Burwell, forgive me this lapse.But these are legitimate questions, and I am sure the answer it not one...not one of you have not experienced the worry in the darkness at least once.

So we share this plague of watching the hours pass with no respite...no restorative hours in the arms of Morpheus. He has deserted us...he has other pursuits. Some of us are born worriers and are waterboarded with insomnia all our lives. Others sleep well...and to them I say "live and be well,"... but even they have experienced at least one sleepless, troubled night.

In the night we are alone, in the dark with our thoughts...some of which we've staved off during the daylight hours. But in the night the dam bursts and our minds are flooded with the sludge of our secrets, petty jealousies and very real troubles and worries.

No one really knows what sleep is...we only know that we need it. New research tells us it's even more important than we thought...people who sleep well...get their solid eight hours...increase their longevity.

There have been many famous insomniacs throughout history.We can begin with Marilyn Monroe and Vincent Van Gogh...the were talented...that is indisputable, but they met decidedly tragic ends. Then there was Benjamin Franklin. He was charming, brilliant, witty and accomplished and lived a rather long life. But he used his time well. Most of us simply lie in bed and suffer. Franklin got up and functioned, thinking, inventing, being generally gifted. (I'm afraid if I get up I'll never get back to sleep...perhaps that's a poor decision.) Then there was Marcel Proust, though he expired at a young age, no one can dispute his extraordinary achievement. I've read "Remembrance...." twice and it never fails to dazzle me and think that I should give up writing because I'll never achieve that level of talent....I can't even come close.

Then there was Napoleon and Thomas Edison. Say what you will of them, Napoleon may have been exiled to Elba,but prior to that he was a brilliant conquerer. And what can be said of Edison...his many brilliant ideas are still with us. That's quite a track record.

For the rest of us who are visited in the night with troubles...yet again, we are but human and flawed and we will worry, and torture ourselves needlessly. All of us....everyone. So be it,,,

YOUNG MEN, A GIFT

God I love young men...oh don't get excited...I'm not a cougar (a dreadfully pejorative term I sincerely hope will pass quickly from the lexicon).

I mean I love males my son's age ... late teens, early twenties. They are so full of energy and hope, and (sorry guys) they're less mature than girls their age. I think that's why I find them so enchanting, frustrating, dear, lovable and often totally impossible. My friend Bettylou, who I consider a wise, wise woman, told me that boys are adolescents until they're at least 25. This by no means is meant to disparage them. It simply means that all our dear sons, and all their friends need help, support and encouragement in whatever form necessary. They bear watching...far beyond their teens. And, if you can possibly afford to retain an attorney that's probably wise. Kidding...but, truth in humor and all that...

I absolutely see that they are men...most certainly they are men. I would not denigrate their manhood, as nascent as that status may be. But look closely and you can still see the boy lingering there. And, if you have a heart, you so want to protect them.

They're all so good looking. Even the ones who aren't, are. They're naturally strong, they're beautiful, they have the body language of puppies. And oh, they take themselves so heartbreakingly seriously at times. That's when you must tread oh so lightly...no one should crush that kind of beauty...no one should trample a young, searching heart.

They still drive too fast, they probably smoke weed (if they live in California in all liklihood they have a prescription for it) and they notice every woman of every age. They see them all. They have testosterone embedded radar, sonar, GPS, and great peripheral vision. They miss nothing with ovaries.

I hadn't seen my son in several months months, life events having kept me on another coast. We agreed to meet - and the place selected was so perfectly the site of choice of a young man. "Where will you be my dear?" I asked. "Meet me on 'dirt Mullholland'."

I knew exactly what and where that was. For those unfamiliar with Los Angeles, Mullholland Highway is a narrow, winding, treacherous, gorgeous, wonderful two lane road that runs the crest of the Santa Monica Mountains that divide the city side of LA from the vast San Fernando Valley. The views are spectacular. "dirt Mullholland" is a stretch where the pavement runs out....it just does...runs out... right there in one of the world's major cities. The pavement eventually picks up again some miles further west. But it's simply been left with this glorious gap forever.

So, there, in the middle of this city, there are 11,ooo protected acres of protected land. There's a missle silo there, and hiking trails...picnic tables...and the smell of wild herbs, sage, rosemary, all intoxicating. I drove along Mullholland joyfully anticipating seeing my son, savoring the beauty and unable to restrain myself from stopping at one of the food trucks parked on shoulder of the road, because the Mexican fare served through the windows of those big trailers is incomparable and, being a mother, how could I not bring food. I rounded the wild curves and the bends for miles, and then dirt. The pavement's end. And there in the sunlight was Max's best friend Spencer, the top down on his old convertible, his long legs hanging over the side as he sprawled in the sun. A happy sight, a happy young man. And then there was my son, running down the hill, 5 % body fat....laughing, happy. Two best friends sharing their day. He caught me in a hug of young muscles. And my heart quickened at the sight of these two young, dear optimistic men, untouched as yet by the vicissitudes of life. Oh perhaps not entirely untouched, but unburdened. Soon enough for that...soon enough. Now it was a life of promise and fun and women and moods that shift with the wind and tide and have to be carefully, knowingly calibrated to give them the wide oprn arms they need.

These are the champions, these laughing, randy young dudes. They are to be cherished...each and every one...so be it.

SEX AND SANITY

Science tells us that being in the throes of new "love" is the result of chemicals rushing to the brain/body. The Greeks thought this madness. Confessing to the experience of being enslaved by these chemicals myself, I must concur. Then of course there is some science that tells us that chocolate releases similar chemicals. So, when we meet someone we find attractive (and there is more science on the subject of why we find possible candidates appealing) are we prisoners of chemicals? Again, I've been so imprisoned....willingly and wonderfully so. Did it last....no. When these chemicals drain from the brain something else must take their place. If you can only function in the "high" state, it's over...there's nothing...nada.

So, when the chemicals wane, some stray, looking for that fix again. My dear friends, who shall remain nameless...had what I will call "an episode" He had...to use a delicately old fashioned word... a dalliance... with a woman he'd known a long time, who had always thought she should have been his chosen. His wife...my close friend,,, was devastated. But rather than falling apart she consoled herself by sleeping with her pool boy, an acutely handsome specimen who was working his was through college. She told herself it was something special, he was special...not just a pool boy...something far more elevated emotionally...but really it was all about her marriage,

The pool boy coupling was short lived, as she'd accomplished was she'd set about. After she'd ended it she went directly to her husband and told him all that had transpired. He was furious, hurt, humiliated, and that was the end of either of them straying. They had something to replace the high. They've been married happily for years

Disclaimer - don't try this at home. The results may be tragically different.

As to these chemicals....remember the Greeks. You may be quite mad...deliciously so,,, So be it...

I LIED TODAY

Yes..it's true. Actually I think we all lie. I'm not a cynic, just an observer.

I'll begin with myself. I lied today. It wasn't a big lie. Someone called, I didn't want to speak to them, so I said I was in a terrible rush and couldn't talk. I wan't in a rush. In fact I wasn't doing much of anything. That's certainly not the biggest lie I've ever told, but the others are not for publication.

Now here's something to contemplate. I have a dear friend...I love her...known her since we were both fourteen. We met at a small private school that I will ever be grateful to my parents for choosing...but I digress.

My freind and her husband were wildly affluent...and he was sent to prison for stealing/embessling/skimming...whatever... from his company. My friend told me she knew nothing...that she was entirely innocent. Because I knew her and loved her I believed her. But, riddle me this, what does one do with a suitcase with $900,000 in cash that's legal? She went to prison, but she told me she was innocent so I will continue to believe the lie. Love and lies are strange convoluted things....so be it.