Girl's "Weekend" - San Francisco edition

Tuesday, 9/20 - To pick up from where we left off, Simone picked us up at the Emeryville station just across the bay bridge from San Francisco.  We were whisked straight away from coach class and delivered to high-rollin' deluxe class.  Our accommodations were posh to say the least.  We stayed with a friend of Simone's, who hooked us up with a gorgeous house complete with bridge and bay views. Check it.

We put our bags down, popped a bottle of bubbly, and watched the sun set over the Golden Gate and into the Pacific (see pic above).  I was deeply exhausted from the lack of sleep on the train, not to mention deeply grimy from the lack of showers on the train, but despite all that we decided to wash up and head out for dinner.  We went to a great place called Absinthe which, for all you Top Chef fans, is where Jamie Lauren used to cook before she moved to LA.  I ordered a cocktail called "The Agent", spicy pork meatballs, and heirloom tomato gazpacho - all delish.  The food, the booze and the laughter amongst old friends created the perfect storm of sleep-inducing goodness.  We took a cab home and had a roller coaster of a ride, complete with several "woo!"s.  That was my introduction to the crazy hills of San Francisco.  Woo!  

Wednesday, 9/21 - I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to explore.  We decided to walk around different neighborhoods, do some shopping, check out some scenic viewpoints, and just do whatever came our way.  One of the best things that came our way was PikaPika, a nothing-but-photobooths store in Japantown.  Jackpot!  We picked our booth, our backgrounds, our poses, and then got to decorate each photo with props.  Have a look at the awesomeness that is PikaPika, and the awesomeness that is Sara, Simone and I.  Take note of the little guy in the pink, in the lower left hand corner of the bathtub, as well as in several other pics.  If this Girl's Weekend had a logo, it would be that little guy, and the motto would be: "Hey Girl."

  

These pictures are by far the best souvenir from the trip.  So, after the hilarity that ensued as a result of these pics, I was high on silliness and friendship; I doubt there's a higher high.  Maybe not a higher feeling, but there definitely exists a higher place: Twin Peaks.  See below for breathtaking views of San Francisco, the infamous fog, and the waters that surround.  Do you see the bridge popping out of the fog in the last pic? 

After these pictures were taken and after a little more shopping, we headed home for cocktail hour with our gracious host, Stewart.  It was my first cocktail hour with a venture capitalist, and I learned a great deal about the world of wealth and venture capitalists.  I've always been drawn to that term not because it's associated with wealth but because the word "venture" sounds an awful lot like "adventure", and I'm all about having adventures.  I could take or leave wealth, but I could not do without adventure.  Anyway... I digress.  After cocktail hour, we went out for sushi (by way of a failed attempt at Burmese food) with Simone's friend Franco.  Again, the food was scrumptious, and we even got to listen to Journey on the drive home.  After a few classic Journey tunes and the Night Ranger tune "Sister Christian" thrown in for good measure, I was ready to rest my weary head and call it a night. 


Thursday, 9/22 - We woke up and decided to escape the fog and head to Marin county for the day.  The fog followed us to Muir Beach, so we continued further onward to Muir Woods.  We had stopped and picked up lunch along the way, and had the intention of picnicking in or around the park.  Once we arrived, we realized that the parking lot was the best bet for a picnic (no picnics allowed within the actual park), so we set up shop atop a mound of hay in the parking lot and enjoyed our salads and Sofia Coppola bubbly cans. 

Once inside the park, we were under the meditative spell of the redwoods.  The woods were lovely, dark and deep, and left me feeling like I had their secrets to keep.  Alright already, I'll share one secret: "In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks." ~ John Muir

After the woods, we drove through some quaint Marin towns and wound up at Scoop in Fairfax, where we indulged in freshly-made coconut, strawberry, lavender vanilla honey, and chocolate ice cream.  I could have died a happy and fulfilled woman after my ice cream cone, but something told me there was even more delicious food to be had in my near future, so I held on, and forged ahead.   Such a trooper I am.  


On the way back into San Francisco, we made a quick stop at the Marin Headlands, which is another gorgeous overlook that offers spectacular views of the bridge and the city... or the fog.  Because the Headlands sit right on the border between SF and Marin (basically on the fog-line), it offers a unique perspective on the interplay between the two different micro-climates.  Look behind you and you see sunny blue skies; look ahead of you and you see a wall of white on the move.  It's an excellent place to experience the fog not as something lurking in the distance but as something that is alive and active and in constant motion.  I could literally see the fog swooshing over the hills and blanketing the bridge; there one minute and gone the next.  And the wind- oh my goodness it was so incredibly windy!  I thought my sunglasses were going to ripped from my face.  Because of the fog, it was the first time I felt like I could see wind.  Fascinating stuff.

After the Headlands, we crossed the bridge back into the city and slipped back into the fog.  Later that night, we succeeded in our mission to have Burmese food at Burma Superstar.   All I'm gonna says is this: pork belly.  I'll also say this: food coma.  

Friday, 9/23 - I forget to mention this above, but when we arrived at the house on Tuesday, there was a basket of goodies at the foot of our bed, courtesy of Simone.  Inside the basket was an array of bath and shower goodies, including homemade lavender vanilla salt and sugar scrub, shampoo and conditioner, shower gel, body lotion, bath robes, cozy slippers, chocolate, and a little mini wallet/business card holder type thing.  Inside the mini wallet/business card holder thing was... drumroll please ................................
............a gift certificate for a massage!  Not a five minute massage, not a chair massage, but a full body, full hour massage.  I felt like I had won the showcase showdown on The Price is Right!  Seriously, what an incredible treat, especially after days of uncomfortable sleeping (or not sleeping) in a chair on the train.  

So anyway, we woke up Friday morning and went to the spa for our appointments at 11:00am.  I knew my body would be jacked from the train experience, but I didn't anticipate just how tight it was, or how difficult it would be for my body to release that tension.  The massage felt pretty damn good; I could feel some of the tension in my upper back and shoulders melt away as my therapist worked it out.  It wasn't until the post-massage lunch cocktails, however, that I truly felt all of the tension leave my body ;)

After the massage and the cocktails and the lunch (what a fabulous life!), we spent the rest of the day running some errands and taking care of loose ends.  We wound up over at Simone's house that night for a cookout with Simon, Franco, and Franco's parents John and Sue, who were in visiting from New York.  We wound up having way too much fun (shocking!) and could not drive ourselves back to the posh pad.  So, we just kept on having fun until the wee hours.  I think we got maybe 3 hours of sleep at Simone's before we had to return to the posh pad so I could pick up my bags and hop on my flight home.  

Getting out of the car and saying goodbye to my best friends at the airport was hard.  Not because I love them and didn't want to leave, but because we were all hungover and any type of movement hurt.  I kid.  It was hard because I love these two girls so much, and despite the number of years we've been apart and the number of miles between us, we always have a blast together.  Always.  We've grown from kids to adults- well, that's debatable, but we just fit perfectly together.  So it's hard to walk away from that, not knowing when the next get together will be.  

Also, boarding that plane and heading home signaled the end of this latest and greatest adventure.  Travel changes you; it awakens you and opens new chambers within yourself that you never knew existed.  I think the challenge, for me anyway, is fitting this new self and perspective into my existing world.  Going back to work was the biggest challenge, by far.  But it's okay, it's been a week and I'm starting to feel settled.  Mostly though, I just feel so grateful that I had the opportunity to experience this adventure in the first place, especially with people whom I love.  I can think of nothing better.  


Thanks for reading these lengthy recaps, friends.  If anything, I hope they've planted a seed for you :) 

Tales from the Rails: All Aboard!

I am home sweet home from my grand adventure on the rails and in San Francisco, and am slowly but surely settling back into normal life.  I'm not gonna lie- I have a pretty acute case of post-vacation blues, with the most severe outbreaks occurring at work.  Honestly, it's just really difficult to give a crap about Medicare when you're riding high on vacation memories.  That being said, it really is great to be back home in my neighborhood, with my man, and in my own bed.  Dorothy had it right: There's no place like home.  

Originally I had planned on writing and posting from the road, but I never had a signal so I never posted.  I did write, but by the time I got to a signal, the post felt so outdated, so I decided to just write a re-cap once I got home.  There's so much to say, that I think I'll do a day by day recap.  Bear with me.  Thanks.


Friday, 9/16 - Sara and I almost missed our first train from my neighborhood to the Amtrak station.  Miraculously, we made it, and eventually made it onto our first Amtrak train, the Cardinal.  The Cardinal took us down to DC and then through Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, and ultimately to our first final destination, Chicago.  

Saturday, 9/17 - As we woke up, the sun was rising over the fields of Indiana.  I only know it was Indiana because I'm a map addict and regularly looked at my Google maps GPS app to see where we were.  We arrived in Chi-town around 10am and had a few hours to kill, so we decided to treat ourselves to a delicious meal at Mercat a la Planxa.  We ordered the Chef's Tasting, a flight of wine, and white sangria.  It was exactly what we needed after eating crappy Amtrak food for the past day.  After lunch, we boarded our next train, the Southwest Chief, which we lovingly called The Chieftan.  The Chieftan was awesome; it was a double decker train with all the amenities, including a dining car, a lounge car and a cafe car.  We were delighted when we realized that not only were we were seated in the caboose, but we were the last two people in the caboose!  On a train that stretches at least 12 cars long, it is an honor to be bringing up the rear.  Plus, we had a unique view out the back window.  

Also worth noting on this day was that a fellow passenger got left behind at a stop!  It was just after we crossed the mighty Mississippi, and stopped at a designated "smoke stop".  The conductor warned us not to stray from the platform, as the stop would be brief.  About five minutes later, the horn blew and the conductor yelled "All Aboard!", and we all piled into the train as it chugged on towards Missouri.  Unfortunately, one passenger was too busy taking pictures of the Mississippi River to notice the horn and the "All Aboard" and so the train left without him.  We learned a big lesson in that moment: the train waits for no one.  

Sunday, 9/18 - We awoke to the sun rising over the Kansas plains.  It was a sight to behold.  The twilight hours transform even the most mundane landscapes into the most spectacular sight your eyes have ever seen.  As we rolled into eastern Colorado, I started to see the first signs of the mountains to come in the west.  Just little land-humps, but enough to know that we weren't in Kansas anymore.  That, plus my GPS told me we weren't in Kansas anymore. 

A few hours later we got off the train in Raton, New Mexico.  Talk about bizarre.  Not that Raton is bizarre; it's actually the sweetest little podunk town, but getting off the train - that is bizarre.  The train becomes your home, your neighborhood, your community, and the people become your family.  It's like a microcosm of the world on wheels.  You grow accustomed to the constant sway, the sounds, the people, the gross food, the cramped bathrooms, the lack of control, and my personal favorite, the lack of any real responsibility.  Riding the rails is like taking a course in Escapism 101.  As a Pisces, this appealed to my sensibilities very much.  One of the most surreal moments was when we got off the train in Raton, and watched our train (home, neighborhood, community, family) pull out of the station without us.  All of a sudden it was eerily quiet, and we both stood there in mild disbelief for a moment, not quite knowing how to comfort each other.  We both wound up calling home to distract ourselves from the fact that we just lost our home on wheels. 

Once we collected ourselves and felt comfortable on solid ground, we went exploring through Raton, NM.  Unfortunately, it was a Sunday and everything (I mean everything) was closed.  Not one shop, gas station, restaurant, or movie theater was open.  Even the tumbleweeds had the day off.  There was literally nothing going on, except two girls from out of town hauling luggage through the town.  We had six hours to kill in this town, and were starting to feel like it would be a l-o-n-g six hours.  But then we rounded a corner and I smelled a hamburger cooking, and I knew we were saved!  We found a restaurant (haven) called Hamburger Heaven that sold not only hamburgers but $12 bottles of wine.  They even offered to hold our bags while we walked around, and let us swing on the hammock in their side yard.  It turned out to be the best day.  Sometimes nothing cures the post-train blues like small town hospitality and $12 bottles of wine.  Major shout out to Shannon at Hamburger Heaven for making our day what it was.  Here's the view from our hammock @ Hamburger Heaven:

After the wine and hamburgers and heaven and hammock, we boarded a bus to Denver.  Four hours later, we met up with my cousins Michael and Marytheresa in Denver for dinner and drinks.  We also had a hotel that night, which meant showers and a bed!  You would think that after 2 days and nights on the train we'd take full advantage of the comfort, but we still managed to stay out way too late (no regrets!) and only got three hours of sleep.  In my opinion, family is more important than sleep.

Monday, 9/19 - After a brief nap, we woke up and headed to the station.  We couldn't wait to get back on the train!  And this was no ordinary train; this was the California Zephyr, the train we had built this whole trip around.  

We had a minor delay but were soon enroute to California aboard the Zephyr.  We were giddy.  It didn't take long for the train to leave Denver and start its ascent into the Rockies.  It also didn't take long for the Rockies to blow my mind.  I'm going to stop writing for this portion of the blog and let the photos speak for themselves...

You're welcome.  The journey through the Rockies filled most of the day, but then we crossed over into Utah just as the afternoon began yielding to the evening.  Again, I'll stop with the words and let the pictures work their magic.

Spending the day in the Rockies and watching the sun set in the Utah desert set the bar pretty high for the rest of night.  What can top that?  I don't know that anything can top that, but we came pretty close.  We spent the night playing cards and having shenanigans with two train friends, Christian and Mike.  At around midnight, Mike told us that he had a hammock, and would love to hang it somewhere on the train.  Hanging the hammock became our mission; our life's purpose.  We finally rigged it up in the middle of the observation car, and I finally got to experience rocking in a hammock while on a train while in the desert in the middle of the night.  I never realized this was an experience I wanted until it happened.  This was the second most surreal moment of the trip.

Tuesday, 9/20 - Once again, we awoke in the dark and witnessed another gorgeous sunrise.  This time, it was over the Nevada desert.  Have a look:

I did not sleep very well the night before, so I felt kind of buzzed/high on exhaustion for most of the day.  It was fitting, as this was the day our train adventure was to end.  We had to say goodbye to friends made along the way and switch from journey mode to destination mode.  It was a bittersweet and buzzed kind of day.  We rolled through the desert while hanging with Christian and eventually started climbing into the Sierra Nevadas.  Once again, the natural beauty was astounding.  

We spent our final hours on the train hanging with Mike and having lunch with new friends.  When we got to Sacramento (SacTown, or Sacto, or Sacow), we said goodbye to Mike, and started packing up our belongings.  Before we knew it, we were pulling into the end of the line, Emeryville, California.  Talk about bittersweet.  Our friend Simone was eagerly awaiting our arrival, and was so excited to see us.  We were definitely excited too, but we were also pretty bummed to be off the train.  

After a few days of reflection, I think that's precisely what makes train travel so special: you can never go back.  Sure, you can take the train again, but never with those same people under those same circumstances during that same time in your life.  And because of that, every relationship you create, every moment you experience, every sight you behold only exists in that moment, and everyone knows it.  Everything becomes magnified, and beautiful, and sacred; nothing is mundane.  That is what's most surreal about train travel. 

Stay tuned for part II of the adventure: Girl's Week(end) in San Francisco!

Report from the Rails, vol. 1

After months of planning and sweet anticipation, I am finally on the train, and on an incredible journey across the country with a dear friend to see our other dear friend in San Francisco.  Philadelphia to San Francisco, via Delaware, Maryland, Washington DC, Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, New Mexico, Colorado again, Utah, Nevada, and California, all on Amtrak, and all in coach class.  For some, this may sound like a nightmare.  A few people asked me, “Why don’t you just fly to San Francisco?”  It’s a valid question; let me explain why we’re taking the slow boat to China. 

For starters, ever since I spent time in Colorado and Utah last year, I’ve been longing to return, if even just to pass through so that I could once again behold the incredible beauty and diverse landscape of the Wild West.  These places changed me; they removed my blinders and connected me back to wonders of the natural world.  I was ill prepared for what I saw in Colorado and Utah, and how those places would affect me, both in the moment, and in the moments since.  Those places and experiences have lingered, and have quietly yet continually beckoned me to come immerse myself in their wonder again.  

So, when planning a trip to SF, when my friend Sara asked if I might be interested in taking a train rather than a plane; a train called the California Zephyr; a train that travels through the Rockies and Utah, I was sold.  Going to SF and being able to travel through CO and UT was like a buy-one-get-one no brainer. 

Another reason why this trip appealed to me was the romanticized notion I have of riding the rails across the country.  There’s something to be said for the art of slow travel, the way it used to be, and all that comes with it.  While driving, all you see is the interstate and what surrounds it, and a seemingly endless row of golden arches at exit after exit.  While flying, all you see are clouds and the sprawling tapestries of land beneath.  Both offer interesting perspectives of this country, but both are limiting and fairly cut-off from the reality of the cultures, landscapes and communities that comprise our country.  The thought of seeing small towns that I otherwise would never see, witnessing the rolling vastness of the prairies, getting to see the majesty of the mountains and canyons from places where no cars can travel, and waking up to a gorgeous sunset over the desert, all the while meeting a variety of strange and wonderful folks from around the world; this my friends, is the experience I sought.  Also, just enjoying the journey rather than being hyper-focused on the destination is what appealed to me. 

The final reason why I agreed to join Sara on the train was because it’s Sara, and we always have epic adventures when we’re together, no matter what.  Truthfully, I would not take this trip with most people, but Sara and I travel so well together that I couldn’t pass it up.  I knew that even if we had an awful time by conventional standards, we would still have an awesome time according to our standards, and would create memories to last forever. 

So, that’s why I’m sitting here on a train, just west of Washington, DC, heading towards Kentucky.  This is our second train of the day; the first took us from our neighborhood in Philadelphia to 30^th Street Station, also in Philadelphia.  Then we hopped on the Cardinal, which will take us to Chicago.  We had a brief layover in DC, so we took the opportunity to marvel at the architecture of Union Station and even got a peek of the Capitol.  Prior to arriving in DC, we ventured into the Dining Car and had breakfast as we rolled over what we think may have been the Chesapeake Bay.  It was spectacular. 

Now we’re just outside of Manassas, Virginia, heading due west for the hills of West Virginia, and ultimately, California.  I’ll write frequently and will upload whenever I can get a signal.  Stay tuned for the next report from the rails…

Worldwide Bloom

I sit here in mild disbelief that today is April 20th.  My last post was on April 5th - that was fifteen days ago, yet it feels like I shut my eyes for a nap... and apparently awoke fifteen days later.  April is one of those time-warp months, cause it bridges winter to spring.  Forty degree April 1st (aka winter) feels worlds away from 80 degree April 20th (aka spring/summer).  The past week has been particularly bloom-y and springlike.  Everything is coming back to life, and it feels great.

After losing dad in late November, I kinda appreciated the fact that my "season" of grief aligned with winter; it made total sense.  I felt dead, and the world looked dead, so it worked.  I was able to hibernate and hide under the covers and silently freak out for a few months, just as the rest of the world (or the parts that celebrate winter) did a similar thing.  Winter is all about being inside, both literally and figuratively, so going into my shell and mourning the loss of my beloved dad during the winter worked out really good. 

But now- now it's spring, and everything and everyone is coming back to life, myself included.  The worldwide bloom is contagious.  The numbness of loss remains, but the hard edge has softened and the sun feels real good on my face.  I just want to stand here and soak it in for a minute, or a month.  I hope you are all enjoying your own personal blooms, and are taking the time to stop and feel the sun on your faces.  

More later, my loves.  Until then, bloom on.

The Underground

You know what's one of my all-time favorite things?  It's something that, even on the crappiest of days, can make me smile and feel genuinely happy (other than family/friends/animals/books).  Even when I wake up on the grumpy side of the bed on a dreary, rainy morning and forget my umbrella and miss my Dad and have a horrible day at work, this thing has the power to turn my day around and my frown upside down. 

It's something that is free, and is available to everyone every single day.  Despite how  available and accessible this thing is to just about everyone, I think it is under-valued, or under-appreciated, or simply goes unnoticed.  I can't speak for every locale, but I imagine that this thing happens in cities across the world, particularly when the masses are pouring in and rushing out of said cities. 

I've come to the point where I need to identify the thing so that I can stop referring to is as thing and start talking about the actual people that comprise the thing.  Any idea what the thing is?  Take a guess and say it out loud before you scroll down any further.

The thing is.....


drumroll please..........


The underground music scene that takes place in train stations and underground concourses in Philly, and around the world.  You know, the performers who lay down a hat or open their guitar case in hopes of getting a few bucks in exchange for playing or singing a few tunes.  This, my friends, is one of my favorite things.

Every morning and every evening, musicians of every caliber and background tuck themselves into the nooks, crannies and corridors of underground Philadelphia and serenade us commuters as we make our way from point A to point B.  There are soul singers, banjo players, five piece bands, acoustic guitar players, sitar players, keyboardists, and even classical violinists.  It's like a free festival underground, and has truly become one of the highlights of my daily grind.  I never used to carry cash, but now I try to keep a wad of singles to give monetary props to those that provide the soundtrack to my daily commute.  

My all-time favorite guy, who plays the keyboard and sings Lionel Richie and Stevie Wonder, has not achieved YouTube fame, at least not that I can find.  So I'll leave you with this clip of an amazing (and young!) violinist who turns Suburban Station into Symphony Station every day.  Enjoy!  

 

The Case of the Swiped Slice

I want you to imagine the way it smells when you walk into a pizza shop.  Close your eyes for a minute (after you read this sentence) and really allow your olfactory system to be overwhelmed by the delicious aroma of pizza.  (Ok go) 

Can you see it in your mind's eye?  Your favorite pizza baking in the oven, your desire for it rising in sync with its rising dough, like two hearts beating as one.  Soulmates, you and this slice.  It is being made for the sole purpose of bringing you joy.  And when it emerges from the oven?  Heaven on a plate.  That first bite?  Like a first kiss with a true love.  Nobody can mess with the bond between you and your pizza.  


Until they do.  

This morning, as I trudged through the first few hours of work, I kept remembering what was waiting for me in the fridge.  "Yesssssssssss!", I thought, as I remembered the thin-crusted, triangle-shaped piece of tomato, basil and cheese goodness that awaited me.  Finally, at 1:00, I obeyed the grumbling in my belly, put aside my work, and strutted with sweet anticipation to the kitchen.  After working hard all week, I deserved this little slice of heaven on earth.  And with that, I opened the fridge.  

Huh.

I looked right, I looked left, I blinked, I rubbed my eyes, I blinked some more, I closed the fridge.  "Hmmm, I know I put it right on the center shelf, in the middle, in a brown paper bag", I reassured myself.  "Let me look again, it has to be here".  I opened the fridge again, and ripped it apart.  I looked in every drawer, on every shelf, and inside every brown bag; I even looked in the freezer, just in case.  


My pizza was gone.  


I was so confused, and sad, and pissed!  I went back to my desk and composed the following email to my colleagues:  "Has anyone seen a slice of pizza?  I put a slice in the refrigerator yesterday afternoon, and now it's gone :( "  People offered their condolences, likened the scandal to a who-done-it game of Clue, and offered to help find it, but alas, it was nowhere to be found.  

Imagine the let-down.  Why my pizza?!  Help yourself (or steal) my apple, my turkey sandwich, my box of soup, but please, do not mess with my well-earned-Friday-treat pizza.  I have no clues as to who committed this heinous act, but I now look at my co-workers with one eyebrow raised.  How well do we really know the people we spend our days with?  Who are all these "social workers" and "advocates" working for social justice, anyway?  Ha!  If someone is capable of stealing a slice of pizza (on a Friday afternoon!), imagine what else they're capable of.  I shudder to think.


Moral of the story?  Don't bring pizza to work.  And if you do, and your slice gets swiped, well don't say I didn't warn you.  Be safe friends.

Signs

Some days, when making decisions, I feel rather indifferent and ultimately find myself questioning whether I've chosen the the right thing or am following my true path. 

Today was not one of those days.

I recently made the decision to stop thinking about writing a book and to actually start doing it.  I have the story in me; it's just a matter of learning the logistics and how-to's of writing a memoir.  Part of my process entails reading a lot of books on writing, particularly those on writing memoirs, but where do you start?  There is so much information available these days, and while that is a wonderful thing, it can also be daunting to have to weed through it all and find precisely what you're looking for and what speaks to you.

Today on my lunch break, I went across the street to the Borders (which is closing! sigh...) to continue my search for any books that would help demystify the writing and/or publishing process.  After looking through a few relevant books that seemed just fine, I found a book that seemed just right.  It was called Shimmering Images: A Handy Little Guide to Writing Memoir, by Lisa Dale Norton.  I liked how, as promised in the title, it was little; it felt like a manageable read that offered practical tips and insights on how to bring your story to the surface.  Beyond being practical, however, the author woo'ed me with her perspective and language.  She talked about things like grace, compassion, and the transformative power of sharing our stories.  For me, writing is a deeply spiritual experience, and the initial vibe I got from this book seemed to validate and honor that perspective.  So, I bought it.

I should note that the memoir I am writing is about my family and the incredible experiences we shared during the last six weeks of my dad's life.  It is not a sad story of loss, nor is it an account of the grief that accompanies and follows great loss; rather, it is a story of miracles and grace and humor, and deep, abiding love. 

As soon as I was able to, I opened the book and started reading it.  Within the first few pages, I received two distinct signs that I was indeed reading the right book for me at the right time, and that I was following my true path.  To explain those signs and their significance would take me more time than I have right now, but I'll just say that they were clear, relevant signals representing (1) what I consider to be the physical manifestation of my dad's spirit, and (2), the cultivation of something I have been praying for in recent weeks.  So, within five to ten pages, I knew deep in my heart that I had picked up the book that would transform me from wanna-be-writer to writer-for-real, and that the story I want to tell is indeed the story I need to tell. 


As the title eludes to, this book is about understanding the power of those shimmering images that are forever stored in your mind.  You know, the ones that are like snapshots of certain memories, captured in time, alive in your mind, pulsating with just enough energy to make them shimmer ever so slightly.  Lisa Dale Norton explains these potent memories as the bedrock of stories.  These snapshot memories shimmer and ripple in our minds because they are full of the energy of the story-to-be.  They are more than just vivid memories; they are the keys that unlock the stories of who we are, where we've been, what we've experienced. 

When I think of those last weeks with Dad, I have a series of shimmering images that play in my mind, that both haunt and delight me.  I have an image of Dad clapping over the prospect of chocolate cake after a pot roast dinner.  And then there's the image of him in his wheelchair, struggling to lean over the sink and brush his teeth in the final days of his life; this is forever burned into my memory.  And finally, one of the most potent visual memories I have is of the silhouette of my dad laying in his rented hospital bed in the bay window of his bedroom, in the fading afternoon light.  I can still see the texture and color of the blanket that covered him, and the position of his hands, and the softness of the light as it came in through the sheer curtains.


Anyhow, I am so smitten with this book and this author that when I came home from work, I went on Twitter and searched for Lisa Dale Norton.  No dice - she is not on Twitter.  So I decided to search for her book instead, thinking that maybe she used the book title rather than her name.  I typed "Shimmering Images" into the search box and hit enter.  No dice - the book was not on Twitter, either.  

But... what appeared was something far greater. Not the author nor the book, but a random tweet from a person that had used the phrase "shimmering images" in his tweet.  As if spoken directly to me, it said ..."those shimmering images of your father are there for a reason"...

Chills.

I'm starting to understand the reason.