modeh365

Thanksgiving was the last time I wanted to write, the last time I had something to say. It was a crescendo on a year where I reached high highs and low lows. I was very grateful to be surrounded by the love that our family exudes. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming, but I could not imagine a life without that feeling. I wish I could bottle it and take it with me.

I think everyone reading this blog breathed a sigh of relief that 2011 came to a conclusion. I wouldn’t call it a resolution, but I’m ready to write again after a brief hiatus.

Today’s song is a pretty little ditty by one of my favorite indy artists, M. Ward called “For Beginners.” It’s often humbling yet ultimately rewarding to get your bearings as a novice.

John Lennon was driven by a desire to create slogans that unite people. “All You Need Is Love,” is one message that cannot be misinterpreted.

Today’s post was submitted by Howie. I thought the video complemented Howie’s message quite well.

“Pre-Thanksgiving Sunday”

Rachel’s posts are always so thoughtful and full of love for Marc and our family.  This is a thoughtful, emotional week ahead, full of mixed feelings, no doubt.

We’ve been preparing for Thanksgiving all week. Washing glasses and plates and polishing silver and ordering food and flowers and planning jobs for everyone.  Jonah and Emma both are crystal clear that all our Thanksgiving traditions — from the flowers to the fireplaces … from way too much glassware to way too much wine and spirits … from our thank you’s to our gifts for all — shall be part of our Thanskgiving this year.   Because that is what Marc Kravitz would do.  He would want to be with family and friends, and find comfort in our enduring — and sometimes unique — love for one another.

We will be together. We will hug each other.  We will be sad.  We’ll eat meatballs and tomato basil soup, and turkey and  stuffing and mashed potatoes and way too many desserts. We will drink great wine, I promise. We will be grateful. For all the love and goodness Marc brought into our lives, and for the strength and spirit he embraces us with every day for always.  Maybe we will walk down to the bluff where Marc’s bench will be … and all do a shot of tequila together.  

The beauty of our Thanksgiving comes from the truth of the enduring love and loyalty we all share. We all look forward to meeting Jen, to celebrating Julie and Matt’s engagement, to seeing Mike and Elizabeth happy together … and to pause for a moment to thank each other for the extraordinary love we will share, always.

Wishing everyone here much to be grateful for, this week and on.

I have mixed feelings about coming home on Tuesday. In our last correspondence, Marc gently reminded me that, “Thanksgiving is officially at our house. Hope you and Jen can make it for turkey and Kosta Brown (wine).”

Marc, as promised, we will be there, and are ready to be put to work.

I am sad that Marc will not be joining us in person this year. I am equally disappointed that Jen will not get to meet Uncle Marc Sir, somebody who shaped me in so many ways.

I know that there will be an empty chair, but I am thankful to share our special brand of Thanksgiving, and meet Char and Harmon, Howie, Jonah, Nala, and Emma, and Ellie, Eric, Will, and Kate, and Kosta, and the rest of our extended family and inner circle of friends.

Recently, I have been reading Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. It brings me comfort to imagine that Marc will also be piling his plate with turkey and filling his home with warmth, perhaps in another corner of the universe.

“Yes, it’s the right planet, all right, ” he said again. “Right planet, wrong universe.”

Today’s song was contributed by Emma. It’s Andy Grammar’s Keep Your Head Up.

This week, I hosted Cynthia, the sister of my oldest friend, Liz. Catching up with Cynthia inevitably meant laughing about stories involving Liz, a true character.

Liz and I were randomly paired as roommates at Northwestern our freshman year. By a random stroke of chance, our parents had befriended one another in lamaze class eighteen years earlier, though our parents fell out of touch soon thereafter.

From the moment that we met again at Northwestern, it was like we were already old friends who never skipped a beat. We were not only roommates throughout college, but we were also “wombmates,” as Liz’s aunt referred to us at her wedding. I can only hope that we find ourselves in the same place again. It might not be tomorrow, but I definitely won’t rule it out.

Below is a bonus post that inspired me today, written by the one and only David Friend.

After losing one’s best friend smack in the prime of life, and quite suddenly at that, one doesn’t know quite when the grief will sneak up and engulf. Yesterday, it so happens—after spending two hours lugging and stacking a half cord of firewood with my son on a golden autumn afternoon—my was one of those sneak-up-on-you days.

Simon & Garfunkel’s song, “Old Friends,” came upon me softly, playing innocently on the radio on the dashboard, and I had to pull off the highway. To me the tune was mournful, the lyrics ominous, a song about something I had yet to lose: those years of turning old with Marc and sharing as many future autumn afternoons as we had bright springtimes in the endless noon of our youth.

”..Can you imagine us

Years from today,

Sharing a park bench quietly?

How terribly strange

To be seventy.

Old friends,

Memory brushes the same years

Silently sharing the same fears…”

“A story is the shortest distance between people.”

It was a perfect weekend in San Francisco. Jen came to town, and we went out with some friends. We reconnected and fostered new friendships over stories and spirits (liquor, not ghosts).

Marc was a marvelous storyteller. When I turned four, he wrote me a story that convinced me to give up my Nuk (pacifier), not an easy feat. He also used to tell me a particular story, over and over and over again, which really tickled me.

One day, I was outside my parent’s house playing with Ellie. I decided to play baseball with her head as the ball, and a tree branch as the bat. I swung and missed…strike one. And, I swing again and missed again…strike two. Finally, I swung and connected and cried “Home run,” only to realize that Ellie was gushing blood out above her eye. I retired after that game.

Tomorrow’s Halloween, and it only seemed appropriate to post Thriller, the greatest musical story ever told.

Apologies for my posting pause this week…I have been sans Internet at home since Sunday.

Lately, I have been thinking about the places where I find comfort. I find my most contemplative moments while biking, in yoga, cooking, and reading, but my most peaceful moments occur while listening to others, not necessarily offering advice, but simply listening.

Listening is not something that comes naturally to me, but when I make the effort to do it well, I reduce my own anxiety by slowing down the furious hum of the world and focus on the problem, solution, idea, or emotion being communicated. 

I have recently recognized that I not only comfort myself by being a good listener, but I also extend that shelter and freedom of expression to somebody else.

Marc was one of the best listeners that I have ever known. I remember my last one-on-one conversation with him very well. I recall talking through a problem with him, and appreciating his patience with me and a willingness to explore ways to solve that problem.

Today’s song, Bob Dylan’s Shelter from the Storm, has many interpretations. This song is profound and great because it conjures different meanings to so many people, yet Dylan has never felt the need to define his own justification.

Some say it was written about Dylan’s feeling about his wife that he was in the process of divorcing (“Come in” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”); others say it is about his experimentation with heroin, conjuring a reference to the feeling of euphoria (‘silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair’); while still others key into the biblical references (‘she walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns’). It is worth reading the lyrics to derive your own meaning and connection.

To me, this song is about appreciating the people and moments in time that afford you that comfort, and trying to give that feeling back to others in your life.

I drove up from L.A. today, and spent several hours of my drive catching up with family and friends. I talked to Grandma Char for a while, and learned something new. 

As we were getting off the phone, she familiarly encouraged me to “be careful” (I may have heard that one a few times before :) and told me that she was going to knock on wood. Char is famous for knocking on wood, but she impressed me today with her recall of the orgins of knocking on wood. She pointed out that it is actually a Christian practice related to touching the cross.

When I got home, I learned that knocking on wood spans many generations and cultures. Greeks worshipped Zeus’ oak. Both Irish and Pagans believe that trees had good spirits, and touching trees is a way to thank leprechauns for good luck. And, persecuted Jews in the 15th century Spanish inquisition fled to synagogues built of wood. They devised a coded knock to gain admission, sparing many lives. 

Though Stevie (today’s artist) doesn’t advocate on behalf of superstitions for bad luck, I believe there may be something worth preserving in superstitions for good luck.

Congratulations to Julie (Howie’s neice) and Matt! Howie gave me the low-down on the proposal and the ensuing evening. I am happy to hear that the Seitler family has a reason to celebrate!

It reminded me of the cute video that made the rounds a few years ago of a wedding processional to Forever.

There was an earthquake in San Francisco today…it was a baby at 3.9, but it reminded me that there is very little that we can control; hope for the best, and keep a few chocolate bars nearby, in case of the worst.

I spent the evening playing around with Fanhattan, a new iPad app for entertainment discovery. It’s the closest thing that I have seen to true interactive TV, a passion of Marc’s. I remember when Marc showed me a prototype fifteen years ago, and I remember feeling like and insider.

Internet killed the video star.