Olivia draws to save their home.

"A dog makes a house a home."

- my dad.

This blog, my little blades, is dedicated to my Gatsby. Because coming home was a rough transition because my time away was so magical.

But alas... my house became a home the moment I walked in the front door with Gatsby after my friend John had picked me up from the airport with him.

Immediately, the messy floors, the little heaps of furballs scattered around the kitchen table chair legs, my unkempt bed, my near empty fridge... All of it was transformed into a home when Gatsby walked in and took a seat on my bed, where he always curls up and sleeps...

And so, tonight's blog is a practice in brevity.

I dedicate tonight's blog to Gatsby, my Great Gatsby, who makes my house a home.


And since falling in love with Gatsby, I see him in every animal I see. And maybe you guys do too -- Gatsby is a horse or a bear or a deer. He is every animal -- because invariably he is. We all are.


And so, on that note -- I am going to include a link here of a facebook page created by a 5th grader from Islip, New York named Olivia whose beautiful bird drawings have thus far raised over $70,000.00 towards organizations who are saving birds from the devastating oil spill in the Gulf.


Please check it out. Become a fan of her page. And purchase one of her drawings to help to save our splendid and soon to be aching wildlife in our beloved Gulf.


She is one little human being who is making a big, big difference.


She said that after having watched what was happening to the coast where she summers with her family every year, she burst into tears and then came up with the idea to draw in a effort to show her love for these beautiful animals and by doing so, to raise money to save their endangered lives.


May we all be so bold. So loving. And so imaginative. As one fifth grader.


Below is the link. Please click on it and become a fan. Let us all give.


http://www.facebook.com/pages/Save-the-Gulf-Olivias-Bird-Illustrations/102196836492763?v=wall

Above is one of Olivia's drawings. See? Gatsby, your dog, someone's hamster, another person's cat, or horse, a deer, a hummingbird, they are all of them all of our animals.


May we learn this as one bright, bright 5th grader has.


And then -- let us give.


Love... Always.

For Growing Up.

“Growing up is never easy. You hold on to things that were. You wonder what's to come... I think we knew it was time to let go of what had been, and look ahead to what would be. Other days. New days. Days to come. The thing is, we didn't have to hate each other for getting older. We just had to forgive ourselves... for growing up.”

- The Wonder Years.

These past eleven days being away have been truly magical...

This was such an exceptionally concentrated time of reunions, of all sorts. 

With my father, my stepmother, and their doggie, Molly. Spending time on our front porch, sipping wine and watching the world go 'round...

With my friends from Peddie, dancing and drinking wine, shuffling "downtown" to the ambitiously-named Tavern on the Lake, thinking that it was a karaoke night when it was actually a band they'd hired. Zoiks!

Chatting with Peddie classmate Zi-Yah, who resembles Kim Novack circa Vertigo, about her move to Larchmont, New York, which she loves. And listening to Brad and Paige as they spoke of buying Peddie gifts for their 4 kids!

Reconnecting with the Olympic athletes with whom I'd graduated -- watching pictures of them on the big screen in the new athletic center -- what they looked like in high school... Few look the same. Bless their souls...

We were walking amongst Gods then. I remember my senior year when our headmaster had asked the swim coach, Chris Martin, to talk about the swimmers -- which is something he'd never done. And so he did.

And what he did was give the name of the swimmer and his or her world ranking and then, he asked them to stand. World ranking.

I was sitting in my chapel seat speechless. All around me popped up these gods of the water.

World ranking.

It felt like our own Dead Poets Society. Our own version of Oh Captain, my captain. These swimmers seemed to rise out of their pews as if they were rising triumphantly out of the Olympic swimming pool in which they broke world records and created their own.

I was so happy that as an ambassador to the school -- which actually meant that we were social, we were asked to stand before the swimmers were. Or else, I think I would have slunk back into my seat feeling rather silly.

I knew that they swam 5 hours a day. 2 in the morning and 3 in the afternoon. I always saw them walking around campus with their hair -- like the fuzzy troll hair except it was a greyish green. And they wore these super long swimmers jackets that were lined and had hoods.

I went on to seriously date two Peddie swimmers and I have to say, that even while I was dating them, I was always in awe of their athletic abilities. To be so great at such a young age, to understand discipline and to work daily, so assiduously to achieve their goals of being the absolute best in the world for their race, this was something to be admired. Something to be celebrated.

And so, being a girlfriend to them felt like I was a part of this greatness. It made me feel great. 

I've never been an athlete. I am fast and super competitive but mainly with myself. I'm honestly more of a poet. A comedian. A love, not a fighter... Hehe. But seriously, I loved their discipline. Their bodies were extraordinary. They worked tirelessly every day. And I admire that. Drive. Passion. Work ethic. Teamwork. I admire these things. Deeply.

And being amongst these Gods was just a sliver of what I experienced when I came home.

There is absolutely more to come... And thus, on that note, I wanted to tell all of my little blades, that yes... This is one blogger who is growing up. Embracing the new parts of my life. Excited about owning a house in the future. About having a hus-band -- even the word sounds sexy sliding off my tongue, making my fingers find the letters to spell this sexy word... I am excited to be a Mommy in the next few years.

And being home, amongst all these kids who are now grown ups, adults owning homes and starting families and in some cases adding on, this was exciting. Seeing where everyone was, had landed, whom they'd married, what they looked like, how much we were all the same, where our dreams had taken us, how we'd still migrated to one another and found our stories falling so readily out of our mouths.

And who were we then? In those evening hours of reunion? Were we the kids who'd taken the field hockey bus together and talked about our bodies? Were we junior prom dates? Were we the two girls who met life-guarding the summer before I started Peddie? The two girls who created underwater jungle gyms in the pool with the two lawn chairs we had to swim under and around?

Were the popular girl and the studious athlete rather quickly falling in love?

Were we the star in the school play and the girl with all the freckles? The kid whose uncle owned the Baltimore Orioles and the boy who did back hand springs on center campus in front of Masters Dormitory?

Were we the Olympic athlete, the first two win a gold medal for America at the 1992 Olympic Games? His victorious moment when his arm leapt out of the water once he'd seen the score, reached up into the heavens when he saw that he'd beaten the Olympic Record and won, the shot which then graced the cover of Sports Illustrated and The New York Times? 

Or were we the same guy who'd worked in the kitchen, Richie since 1967 and still smiled and still loved his job?

Or our classmate John who married a recent graduate and lived right over the bridge, she's texted him to "come home" when he was giving us a lift in his golf cart, which he rode all over campus and which was pretty much his car. From which he heard the toads on the lake, felt the cool breeze in his hair, and sniffed the sticky, buggy Jersey summer air...

Mmmm...

We are all growing up now. Babies and marriages and big jobs and disenchantment, a fiancee had died 5 years ago, a woman questioned what a great mother she was, one felt smothered when her children asked for milk, one said she was not a "kid person," one said he was a Peter Pan, one had three children and went back to Peddie and now teaches there. Happily.

And me? Me, you may ask, my Little Blades... Welp, going home did 5 major things for me:

1. Got me excited for having my own family.

2. Reminded me that I deserve the best. To be loved and surrounded by love all the time.

3. Reinforced that I have worked very very hard for all of the grand success that is coming my way.

4. Was life-affirming. There is SO much LOVE for me out in this wilding world. Lots of invitations and support, excitement for me, and still some love in the eyes of the boys from the days gone by...

5. Showed me in every way possible that -- you can always go home.

And on this note, to all of my little blades, near and far, I thank you for strolling down memory lane once again with me... I hope you all have experiences as extraordinary as I have at Peddie.

Where a young girl dreamed of the many things she now is as a woman. And yet... there are still many dreams to bring into reality. Glowingly.

May you all feel the same way about your lives. Know your worth. As Louise says in Thelma and Louise, "You get what you settle for."

Being home again, back East, reminded me that I am worth -- well, a lot. Priceless. We all are. Let us -- none of us -- settle for anything less.

Love... Always.

You're My Home.

"Musicians want to be the loud voice for so many quiet hearts." - Billy Joel 

Good evening my little blades, Billy's words are how I

feel about writing and acting. We too are the loud

voice for so many quiet hearts... Billy said it

perfectly.

And on that note, I am going to let him sing his song

to you.

Having spent 11 days with my friends and family on the

East Coast, I can honestly say that this coast and its

people are my home.

I feel eternally grateful for each and every one of you

with whom I have spent my time.

And I love NJ, NY, PA & DC -- because all of you whom I

have loved so much over this past week and a half, you

are my home.

And that goes as well to all of my little blades who 

are reading about my days and tagging along for the

journey, you too are my home, living in my house.

I am alas grateful to all of you.

And thus tonight, I thank each and every one of you for

coming along on this trip with me down memory lane and

clearly along the way to creating bright new memories.

I am SO happy about this new phase of my life. About

growing up. Being successful as a woman, not merely a

girl. About sharing my books, my movie and my show

this fall.

And mostly, I am happy about my home. My friends and

my family.

My home.

And having come back to my home, which I literally

grew up in, my home in my hometown, I have to say,

it has been truly heart warming to be "back."

To jump on the trampoline at Katie's with her two

granddaughters.

To play in the backseat of the car with Baby and 

Robbie's two beautiful girls, Ella and Juliette.

To walk to D & D with Jill and her son.

To drink a martini with Niambi and Shabaka -- in my

hometown!!! (This was like a dream when I was little.)

To drive to East Hampton to Alec in a play and to

share a yummy dinner and drinks with some friends and

him afterwards. Inspiring.

To drive around the Delaware River with my Dad and

treat him to an early Father's Day lunch.

To get a chance to laugh with Mark, my high school

love, at reunions.

To meet Jeb's lovely family at Reunions.

To see Mary Jeanne again -- and before I knew it -- 

find myself scratching her arm.

To scratch my daddy's doggie Molly's ears.

To go for a bike tour in my hometown, sooo green...

To take a wine tour and spot my elementary school

friend Ericka's lovely artwork.

To be congratulated by my former prep school headmaster

Mr. Tom DeGray on my recent/upcoming success.

To go for a one hour walk with Baby this morning. Muggy

and hot, beloved weather...

And all of these things because all of you...

You're My Home.

Love... Always.

A brave new world.

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive."

  ~Anäis Nin

Today my blades, I strolled through Princeton with my very first best friend in the whole wide world. Gretchen.

She lived up the block from me growing up. She had a Barbie swimming pool. She had video games. She had the happiest smile. And every kid wanted to be her best friend.

We were rollerskating waitresses together in her parent's basement. We used Nexxus hair conditioner on our barbies in the bathtub.

We went to Manasquan together with her parents in the summer.

We ate crabapples from the tree across the street from her house.

We carried Madame Alexander dolls together across the street to the Peddie School campus. We pretended (or "betended" as I put it) that we were the "last women on the frontier."

Too much Little House on the Prairie perhaps.

Her dad would drive us to Cranbury to eat ice cream cones from Harold's. He'd "boogie the car" all the way over. And they always had new cars because her Dad owned a dealership and so they forever had new smelling Oldsmobiles...

We belonged to the same swim club -- Sky View! She had a white tag around her ankle and I had a black one. She could swim 3 foot deep and I could go off the diving board with my mom or dad watching.

We belonged to the same church and wanted to be Olivia Newton-John. We even told our Sunday school teacher.

We put on a dance for the local retirement home in our town -- it was like a boy/girl Dance fever kind of dance to Rock With You.

I can only imagine their reactions when I swung her around like Tony Romero!

Yep, we did it all... 

We both got cabbage patches at the same time -- we sang the same disco songs, we dug her mom's spaghetti, she called it "pasghetti" and the salads in the little wooden bowls.

We played together every snow day. Usually at my house.

I used to let her win at Asteroids.

She let me sit next to her when all the other kids were giving her stickers and stationary to win the spot alongside her in homeroom.

And we both wore Danskin leotards and imagined ourselves famous dancers, actresses, gymnasts...

Then, we grew up and out of each other for some years. Quite a few years actually.

Then, with the arrival of our beloved Facebook, we reconnected.

And we text every single day of our lives. With Emoticons. Silly little emoticons on the Iphone. See? We're first best friends again. Little girls in the neighborhood. Our own secret language rediscovered. Our own private games. Our own prioritizing of one another. Our own original love restored.

And today, we met for ice cream at Thomas Sweets in Princeton and we walked along the leafy streets with their intelligent, cozy homes with bright green grass in the front yards and elderly couple sitting on front porches together or moms greeting their children off the bus or one lunatic laughing like a hyena on someone's front lawn. Zoiks.

But, as we walked along, I felt like -- life is restored. 

My high school reunion. Reconnecting with my s-two ex-boyfriends -- high school and college.

My two closer friends from 7th Grade.

My new friend in his play in the Hamptons.

And Gretchen on our ice cream walk through Princeton.

Now I sit in my bed downstairs at my best friend's house. Tomorrow is her young daughter's birthday party.

Sigh.

All is good in the world.

As I contemplate this time in my life, I feel as if I am going to sneeze. A sneeze of new love. Of massive success. Of moving home.

We shall see where the winds of life will sway me.

But for now, my little blades, this is one happy girl.

Whose past and paster and pastest have connected with her present. And like a dab of color dye, all of the waters of my life are blending into an astounding set of swirling colors. 

Just like when I was little. And I saw how everything and everyone was connected. I see this again.

MAGIC.

Prep school, projects, first friend, pregnant best friend, new movie star friend, old family friend, junior high friends, my other half living nearby home again, my Dad and my stepmom, Molly and Gatsby...

We are all connected.

And on this note, let us all remember and honor the worlds that our friends bring to us, enlighten inside of us.

 

Never Say Good-Bye...

“Don't get too comfortable with who you are at any given time - you may miss the opportunity to become who you want to be.”

- Jon Bon Jovi

And tonight my little blades, after a drink for about 4 hours with two of my closest friends from 7th grade, Niambi and Shabaka, I am leaving you all with a JERSEY VIDEO. After all, I am in my hometown in the Garden State. P.s. I hadn't seen Shabaka since 8th grade!!!

And after a high school reunion, seeing a dear, new friend in a play, hanging with my Dad and stepmom, sleeping over at one of my best friend's houses and waking to D & D walks, seeing my childhood best friend tomorrow for ice cream in Princeton, and then hopping a train down to DC to spend the weekend with my two best friends and their little young family...

I am realizing that though we may move from our hometowns and follow our dreams, though we may lose touch and pull away from our families to establish ourselves in this world, we truly never say goodbye... Not to the people whom we have truly loved.

And thus, I leave you with some serious 80's Bon Jovi -- a time when I was little and living in my hometown in NJ, dreaming of the things I am now beginning to hold in my two hands -- best friends, big, big dreams, leaving my small town and making it big in the city and beyond that, the world...

But what I am realizing more than anything is that in order to truly make it -- to be a success and break glass ceilings and make our glorious mark on this world, me must take our stories with us. Our truth. And my hometown, my beloved, complicated family, my friends since nursery school, 7th grade, from up my block, from prep school, the kid I was... I love all of these things.

And as my dreams come closer and closer, I am more sure than ever that I shall never say goodbye... to who I was to become who I will be.

And on this note, I will never say good-bye to my little blades, near and far. And please remember, all of you, that success comes from truth -- having the courage to share our own stories, and so, may you all never say goodbye to what you have been, who you once were, to become who you are yet to be. Carry your stories with you, for these memories, these human beings, they are what make us yearn to come home, what make our lives rich, what put the "home" in hometown. And I for one DIG being home again.

I send you all Love... Always

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant.

"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie
That's amore.
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine, 

That's amore."

- Jack Brooks.

Good evening, my little blades... I am a sleepy blogger tonight because I drove for about 5 hours today -- maybe more on my way back from East Hampton/Cutchogue, I got stuck in siiiiccckkk traffic on the BQE and it was raining and my cellphone (Iphone of course!) died and after drinking an offensively large D & D iced chai tea latte, I had to pull over and pee, eat, and recharge my iphone. In that order. 

Zoiks to blogging about peeing.

But alas... my little blades... this homegirl had to stop. And so, I initially attempted to stop at a random diner in a random part of Brooklyn, but I circled the block 3 times, unable to find parking. I felt like Chevy Chase in European Vacation: There's Big Ben and Parliament. Damn. Can't get off this ramp.

And I might add there was no radio -- in my Dad's '92 Volvo, in the pouring rain in New York rush hour traffic -- I decided This is what hell looks like. I was still smiling I might add -- it was a digestible kind of hell -- because I was on the East Coast, close to home, I dig my Dad's Volvo, and the rain tapping and the fact that the car was so quiet for so long, I found myself making up a song to the tune of Hey Jude called Je-Sus -- more of a laugh than a misery. But alas, I still needed to get myself out of the traffic and recharge.

So, somewhere along Route 278 West, I randomly decided to stop off at Exit 12. And as I rambled down a street called Slosson, I followed the traffic and the traffic lights to where I presumed the "town" was. I soon learned I was in Staten Island.

And happily, as opposed to Brooklyn, I found parking! I pulled over, sloshed a bit across the wet sidewalk (in my gold super slipper sandals) and made my way into a friendly looking pizza restaurant called, Joe & Pat's. Little did I know it was a famous pizza restaurant -- people call from all over the country for Joe & Pat's!

I soon learned why: the thin crust and sweet sauce are killer! Giovanni, with the Yankee's cap in the photo above, greeted me when I walked in. And welcomed me to sit at the counter. I had a root beer, charged my Iphone, used the restroom all while my delicious slices were being heated up for me. One by one.

I ate two. The thin crust made two the perfect amount.

Giovanni and John (the other guy flipping the pizza dough in the photos above) made me laugh with their insider accounts of the restaurant owner and staff and their assembly-line-esque efficiency would've made Henry Ford blush with pride.

Their Staten Island accents endeared me to them. And when I spotted Joe -- of the restaurant name sitting at a corner table figuring out some receipts, the whole life of the place came alive for me. He and his brother Pat have owned this place since 1960. (Pat also came in while I was eating at the counter. So did Joe's son. It was magical -- watching an entire story come to life before my very eyes...)

And it is absolutely a little slice -- pun intended -- of small town deliciousness. The slices were phenomenal -- dripping with cheese, fresh tomatoes, and thin crust -- then a root beer to slurp it all down, I felt like I was privy to the family atmosphere of the joint. I just sat on my counter stool and watched the world go round.

Giovanni smiled at me and asked me some questions. And I smiled back and asked about Joe and Pat and Joe's son, and what it was like working there. I felt like the princess of the pizza. At my counter top throne. All the princes smiling at me...

It was honestly a serendipitous experience on the way back from East Hampton and Alec's deeply intelligent, provocative play (more about that fantastic experience in tomorrow's blog!), because what I was seeking was shelter from the storm. But what I got was for about an hour, family. Small town. Yummy slices. Giovanni. An Italian Family History. A feeling of love, maybe it was the pizza -- but I myself felt a little Moonstruck with the whole place...

When I said I had to leave and took out my money, Giovanni tried to persuade me to stay. And only then did I realize that he had ordered his dinner to arrive on the counter top right next to me. 

But alas... I'd been on the road for a long time and knew I had to saddle up and head back to the Garden State.

As I was paying, I tipped Giovanni a healthy tip and said good-bye. And he said to me, It was a pleasure knowing you.

I smiled broadly and when I swung the door open to leave, I looked back and Giovanni was smiling after me, as I walked away.

I smiled back and waved.

The drive home found me playing Billy Joel's Vienna. 

Below is the link in case you find yourself in the neighborhood, it is sooo worth the drive.

http://nymag.com/listings/restaurant/joe-and-pats-pizzeria/

And so, my dear blades, I shall leave you with another little piece from Billy Joel, the aptly titled, Scenes From An Italian Restaurant.

May you enjoy it (almost!) as much as I enjoyed Joe & Pat's.

Oh. And the moral of the story... Sometimes when we think we may have gone down a "random" road, or we feel lost, we end up in the perfect place. Just follow the bright lights, the ones inside of you, and the ones on the street. And you just may end up with a heavenly slice, a feeling of home, and some love from a cute pizza guy. Or girl.

Staten Island never tasted so sweet. I heart NY. 

Love... Always.