alex the girl

Almost every day I see the same gentleman (who is in his 80's) walk very slowly down the sidewalk. Until he takes notice of me (or any other young woman around) he is supported by his daughter (who is in her 60's). But as soon as he sees me he shoo's her away, stands a little straighter and walks on his own trying to be proud and nonchalant. He always says hi to Jack and I and then once we're passed and I'm out of sight, he returns to his daughter's side. Sometimes I'll hear her say as though she's an embarrassed 16 year old, "Oh Dad, really" when he lets go.

In the video above, I was seventeen years old and now the video is seventeen years old. I can remember every detail of those days - the heat, the way the grass felt, the butterflies in my tummy over crushing, the weight of the trunk on our heads, the beach, her laughter, putting on lipstick for the first time and eating McDonald's French Fries.

Recently I showed this video to my mum who giggled through the whole thing whilst saying over and over, "you haven't changed. Listen to how you giggle, look at those movements and that cheek! So much the same!" When we went through her photos at the same age, I could say the same things about her.

And when we look at the seventeen year old girls we were, we don't see any non-physical differences between the (almost) thirty-four year old woman I've become and the (almost) sixty-four year old woman she's become. Despite there being all those years between us and our younger selves, there's actually none at all. We have the same heart, the same mannerisms, the same ideals, the same sense of fun, the same of love of life. We're just young girls who dream big, hope for the best but are just a little older and a little bit physically changed.

A man in his 90's once said to me, "I'm just a 22 year old guy caught up in this old man's body. I'm not so wise and put together as everyone assumes I am just because I'm old. I'm not stuffy or boring. I'm fun, alive with dreams, too and I still want to chase the girls. I don't know how to be in this body. I just know how to be 22. And I miss it."

I think of that every time I meet someone in that age range - that they're just young people in an older body but who we are is who we are. This has given me happiness in the past little while for I thought I was getting further away from myself when, like Dorothy, I was there all along. I just, for awhile, became someone else I didn't recognise. Luckily, I do now.

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January 13, 2008

The Santa Monica Sunday Market is always busy making parking - which is already rare - even more of a premium. I turned off main street to park in the public lot behind, hopeful that I'd find parking so I could run into my favourite pet food store to pick something up. I usually do because I don't focus on the full lot but on one spot to open. And it always does.

As I turned in, a man about 50 in an expensive, flashy convertible stopped in front. It looked like he would get a lucky day as one car pulled out of a very full lot. However, as the car was getting ready to pull out, I noticed on the other incoming side a car of women who also thought they were going to get that spot. When convertible man saw this he began to yell not very nice things to them.

The way the parked car pulled out ended up blocking convertible man and in went the car of women. Convertable man was not happy about this and kept his car stopped so he could continue to yell not so nice things to the women. As he did this a woman walked past him and said, "Sir, you can stop, I'm pulling out right here."

And that should have ended it. But he was angry and had to be right.

So while he waited for the other woman to pull out, he kept yelling at the all the women that pulled in - including a 6 year old child. He was so busy yelling at them that he didn't notice the other woman pulling out but he did notice another car from the opposite side pull in.

Now he was very angry.

He had been screwed over once, and rather than let it go he focused on it so much that when a second opportunity presented itself, he couldn't take it. All he could do was park his car, get out and chase both parties down to yell about how they were all his spot.

So there he was, standing still, unhappy, looking ridiculous and without parking. One spot taken, another missed. So busy focusing on that which made him angry that he kept himself from seeing something that he needed open up right in front of him.

< November 2007 | Main | February 2008 >

January 10, 2008

My secret beach in Carmel had beautiful, tall trees and flowers that kept trying to grow amongst the white sandy beaches. It was quiet, peaceful and beautiful. I'd go here when I needed to feel the same.

Then last week rough weather approached and for a few days the secret beach was dark and clung to desperately to its winter beauty. The clouds rolled over the regular beach, too, creating massive waves and ominous skies. But the beach, though darker, was unchanged. Although the winds and waves were kicking up, the white sand tried so hard to stay, hiding things underneath while letting selective things grow. It wasn't ready for the change and tried to pretend nothing was happening.

It's just winds and waves said the beach and those who came - this is how it always is. You think something will happen but really, it doesn't. We pretend to ooh and ahh and watch the show but truthfully, it's just show.

But then a storm really came; trees were down, power was out for two days, hurricane winds pelted down over 6 inches of rain in 24 hours. The view from my flat was usually beautiful but I couldn't see through the rain or clouds and at night it was pitch black with no solace from a candle. It was an isolating, scary and humbling three day period because no one was really prepared.

When the worst of the storm was over the dog and I were itching to walk and so to our beach we went, expecting just to see some big waves and dark skies as before. Yet when we arrived we found the beach very much changed.

It was bare - there were no people or beach; just new cliffs with a small bit of sand below full of seaweed. It wasn't safe to walk on, it smelled bad from everything washing out - then back - to shore. It was in transition and no one - and nothing - wanted to be there. And so we left wondering if it would ever be the same as before.

Of course it wouldn't. Nothing stays the same after a storm.

A few more days later I went back to the beach and found it once again transformed but this time, into something much more beautiful and interesting. The cliffs were still there but now gave way to a new kind of beach. One that lacked all the comforting soft white sand and instead now had boulders everywhere that were hidden for who knows how long. They were beautiful, mysterious, filled with life in all their nooks and crannies.

And they were slowly being discovered by people who had returned after the storm and wanted to see the beauty of change.

Usually it's a quick walk on the beach but today the dog and I lingered, even played. We got trapped on boulders, walked through the cold water, talked with some surfers who loved the new waves. I marveled at how quickly it had changed.

Even though the storm was scary terribly scary to be in and the transformation of the beach was hard to watch at first (I was sad to see my struggling flowers die), it produced a dramatic change back to what it once was. It just did it; no gathering of people to dig away the sand, no permission to get, no questions asked if it was ready - it just did it.

And that doing produced an old beach that had been hidden for so long and made it new again for itself and those who came to it. It became a beach that truthfully, was a little more fun than the last.

< November 2007 | Main | February 2008 >

January 06, 2008

It's not in me to wear a yellow slicker during storms but I still go out in them. I prefer not to wear hiking shoes whilst hiking yet have been to the top of more mountains than anyone I know. I don't like pants when using power tools or putting up dry wall. It's just not in me to be in anything other than a skirt or dress.

But people are often uncomfortable with this. I have friends who, for years, have tried to fit me in jeans or make me "hip." Girlfriends who think because I wear a dress that twirls I'm prissy when I am only wearing one layer to their 5 (who put more thought in and worries more? Not I). There is an assumption because I dress like a girl, I must be limited to phrases such as "princess" and only wear pink. I have never used the word princess and I don't own anything pink.

My adoration for dresses and skirts come for my love of pretty and my laziness. They're easy, versatile and simply, me. And they've made me a target of a lot of people's jokes, assumptions and insecurities. But that hasn't ever changed how I feel about them.

Besides, wearing them on blustery days has given me great reflexes.