Author: Fine Yesterday - WTF

Patong Beach, Thailand

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Nov. 5, 2013: A good vacation is about being flexible, I think. Our (best-laid) plans included a trip to Phang Nga Bay and James Bond island today. Well apparently, they forgot us. So now, that will be Thursday’s adventure. This, to us, was a clear sign to enjoy the local area and do a little exploring. We decided to walk to old-town Phuket to have breakfast. Much to my surprise, rice, glass noodles, and black-pepper chicken is quite delightful in the morning. On our way, I caught my flip-flop on an uneven piece of sidewalk, and took a spectacular tumble. This wonderful Thai gentleman was ever-so concerned, but I insisted on capturing the moment on “film” before I made my way back up on two feet. After all, this is all part of the story, right? This was, by the way, my second fall of the trip. There is far too much to see all around me to pay much attention to what’s going on down south, where my feet reside. So, in addition to unforgettable experiences and fantastic photography, I am also collecting an impressive array of bruises and skinned knees. My sister has taken to calling our vacation, “Trippin’ in Thailand”. I rather like it.

After breakfast, we made our way down to the sugar-sand beach in front of our hotel and set up our nest for the day … reclining beach chairs, umbrellas, and a couple of good books. Midway through the day, we enjoyed a Thai massage. Now, this was no gentle massage on a beachside cabana by a uniformed spa employee, mind you. This was a step-in-the-bucket-to-rinse-your-feet, get under a rusty, framed canopy, lie on an old beach towel kind of massage. The elderly, leather-skinned Thai pretzeled me into shapes I had no idea were physically possible. Oh, and beach sand makes an excellent exfoliant. Jell-O was firmer than I when I stepped out from under that tarp. I grabbed my snorkel gear and walked straight out to the warm, clear, emerald sea, where I floated face down long enough to acquire an impressive sunburn.

After rinsing the sand from our bodies, we grabbed a tuk-tuk and headed to the wild side of Phuket, Patong Beach. It is a chaotic, frenetic city, with kamikaze, helmet-less motorcycle riders vying for space and speed, beautiful people, smells, and sounds the likes of which I have never experienced. We had happy hour beachside, with our cocktails served from a pink VW van. My sister is working hard to teach me the art of negotiation, but alas, this is not my gift. I talked a woman into selling me a tunic for 350 baht (she started at 600), and after paying her, I gave her back 50 baht. I may not be ruthless, but the smile she gave me was worth it.

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Now, we’re back at the hotel, ready to rest up for our next adventure. Tomorrow is a dive for my sister and a lazy snorkel for me at Phi Phi Island. Until then …

 

Sons

October 10, 2013: Having a son is different than having a daughter, I think. I called my mom earlier tonight, and we had a thirty-minute conversation about everything from where to meet for next week’s Fifth Avenue production to what time she’s picking up Isabelle tonight (and everything in between). I called my son just now, and said, “Hi!” He said “Hey!”. I said, “Wanna meet for Mexican tomorrow night?” And he said, “Yeah”. So I said, “You workin’?” And he said, “Yeah.” I said, “we’ll talk tomorrow about the time and place.” He said, “Cool.” I said, “Okay, talk to you tomorrow!” He said, “Okay! Later …” The end. I swear to God. MAYBE 20 seconds. Sigh …

To my sister …

September 5, 2013: Amy, sometimes I think we get messages just exactly when we need them. I was thinking about you when I got home, and moved a notebook from the counter. There was a scrap of paper that floated out from a magazine I cut out during a particularly challenging time in my life. There was a paragraph that had prompted me to save the page, and it’s every bit as meaningful today. “Your dark days. If you find yourself in a crisis, remember. Nothing focuses the mind, mobilizes the resources, and highlights your support system like a truly difficult situation. You will meet your strongest self at such times.”

I told you this today, and I want to shout it from the rooftop. You have shown such astounding grace and kindness in the last couple of days. You set your own grief aside to do everything in your power to make this transition “right” for everyone, from Stuart’s new partner, to his children, beloved granddaughter, and his far-away family. You were so gentle in communicating this terrible news to our darling Isabelle, and you have worked to honor Stuart’s wishes in every way.

You are the most beautiful person I know, and it comes from your very core. I am so blessed to call you my sister. I am thinking about you, and love you so very much.

Twenty-nine

August 22, 2013: Twenty-nine. How can it be that 29 years have come and gone since I held this squishy, pink, squalling bundle and thought … I have NO idea what I’m doing. Nearly three decades later, I still don’t. Skinned knees and first girlfriends … new school clothes and the principal’s office. The goth period. The silhouette of a boy flying through the air, doing the perfect cannonball, back lit by a breathtaking sunset. First steps. Sitting in a hospital waiting room … breathless. He has to be okay. First birthday … diving in, fists of cake. Celebrating many more birthdays by jumping out of airplanes, tumbling down class five rapids, parasailing high above Seattle, and tomorrow … paragliding! Being this boy’s mom has not been for the faint of heart, and I would not have wanted to miss a minute. Happy birthday, my beautiful boy. I love you bigger than the universe.

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Dave

December 11, 2013: Life sure has a funny way of getting its point across. Today was … trying. I picked up my anesthetized sister at the hospital this afternoon. She thought I could just zip her home after day surgery. This quick ride home turned out to be a significantly more time-consuming adventure. (She’s fine, but needed to be monitored, so off to my folks’ house she went.) Traffic, ten minutes late with a senior director at work, red tape, annoying processes … sigh. Today was the kind of day that you’d generally classify as a pain in the neck. Thank heavens I had happy hour scheduled with a friend. Just what the doctor ordered … a nice glass of chardonnay, fireside.

There was a couple that sat across from us. Friendly faces … the kind of people you start a conversation with. We went from past travel stories to design plans they had for a house they were building. From what it’s like in Kelowna to how strolling the Great Wall is a terrific item for anyone’s bucket list. We talked about my plans to visit Jasper next year … what the Northern Lights look like from Yellowknife, while Dave drank his beer from a straw. Didn’t think much about it, but everyone’s got their quirks.

My friend, Lynn, and I told the story about how we met. Sixty miles of pavement-pounding in a fight to end breast cancer. From there, the conversation morphed to the value of health. I told the two of them the story of what will forever be known as “my really bad swim workout”. Dave’s brother suffered a similar situation, and the two of them got very animated about naturopathic health care. Turns out they weren’t here for wine tasting. Or shopping. Or looking at the Christmas lights. Turns out, Dave and Karen were there to see someone about the ALS Dave was diagnosed with last July. It wasn’t until then that I noticed that he leaned over to sip his beer from his straw while his hands, turned slightly inward, remained in his lap.

Dave was a long-distance runner. A mountain climber. A nature lover. He simply said, “well, you can’t not fight”. No truer words have been spoken. Today was not a pain in the neck. Today was a gift …

Seventy Lemons

June 26, 2013, Kauai: “Call for directions”, our voucher said. My sister calls … brow furrowed … totally focused. Because we were already slightly late due to an emergency stop at Starbucks, it was imperative she caught every word. After disconnecting, she turns to me and says, “Look for the Shell Station and The Seventy Lemons convenience store. We’ll turn left there.” Me … “Uhhhh … Do you mean 7-11?” The look on her face was priceless. Moral of the story? There is never enough caffeine.

Sock it to me

May 7, 2013: Had a typical conversation with my sister on the way to work this morning. Amy: “Shoot … one of my socks is longer than the other. That’s gonna feel weird.” Me: “Why don’t you put on another pair?” Amy: “Because then I’d have to find the other set that has one longer than the other.” Me: “You could just pick some other pair.” Amy: “In five minutes or so, I’ll be used to it and it won’t matter.” Me: “Alright.” Amy: “Damn! I think my shirt is on backwards.” <Sound of shuffling.> “No, I guess it’s just too tight.” Izzy: “THEN DON’T WEAR IT!” Sister, I love your quirky self.

589 Extra Days

January 30, 2013: Dear Dr. Kures …

589 nights ago, you fought for me. You didn’t even know me, yet you did everything in your power to save my life. Your skills, knowledge, and decision-making that night allowed me to experience so much over the last year and a half. There have been big, loud, raucous times … mud runs, sunny days in a kayak, admiring Eddie Van Halen’s moves with my sister, watching my dad show us all how to properly operate a (child’s size) hula hoop … even a 5k run in a peanut-butter sandwich outfit. I got the opportunity to celebrate Felix Hernandez’ perfect game with 39,000 other yellow-clad baseball fans. I bought a house! There have been quieter moments … enjoying a beautiful sunset with friends, my mom’s smile … kissing my son’s cheek on his 28th birthday. And a profoundly joyful moment celebrating LIFE with a thumbs-up from my beloved nephew, home from one tour of duty in Iraq and another in Afghanistan, with a chest full of medals and a Purple Heart.

What you do matters. I will never forget, or take for granted, the gift you gave me.

Thank you …

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My Dad

February 7, 2014: The Jefferson Awards were founded in 1972 by Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Senator Robert Taft, Jr. and Sam Beard. The Awards were designed to celebrate “change-makers” and promote volunteerism. I have nominated my dad. Whether he wins or not, I am so proud of him. I love you, dad.
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My father has been President of the Snohomish County chapter of PFLAG for nearly sixteen years, beginning in 1998. When he started this journey, he didn’t technically have any skin in the game. A heterosexual man in his “winter” years (his words) with three heterosexual daughters, he simply saw an injustice that he couldn’t let stand. In addition to his work with PFLAG, he was instrumental in advancing the mission of his church to formally adopt an open and affirming position of inclusion for all. He has encouraged, advocated for, and loved countless GLBTQ friends as they struggled for acceptance and fought for their identities. He has been the calming voice on the end of many desperate phone calls … day or night. In celebration, he has been the best man at three weddings. He will continue to fight for equality and revel in the diversity that makes our communities so rich and bright.

In 1998, the same year he accepted his position with PFLAG, Matthew Shepard was murdered … the victim of an anti-gay hate crime. Today, the tide is changing. Today, same-sex marriage is legal in 17 states.

My father is now 76 years old. A retired financial planner. The silver hair and wise eyes … the stable career. He is smart, and he is mainstream. And I think that is a part of the reason why he has been able to effect so much change within his circle of influence. A beautiful, intricate fabric is woven when the conventional meets the fringe.

Many of us feel outrage at the presence of injustice. Some of us even feel called to action. Fewer still actually show up. My father has … day after day, month after month, year after year. And every day, he lives the example of his beliefs.