Weekend in Review

“I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.’” —Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country

This weekend, I forgot I had ALS. Not the whole time, of course, but for entire delicious hours. I don’t know exactly how it happened, and I don’t plan to analyze it too closely.

Friday night was our 6th wedding anniversary. To some, that’s the “iron” anniversary, but Rob and I know it as the “one where you celebrate with your brother-in-law, who scored Beck tickets and invited you because his own wife was out of town.” The three of us went out to dinner and to see the show at a new SF venue, The Masonic. Brand new places are awesome, because they all conform to accessibility laws and basic common sense. Our general admission tickets led us to a raised platform with good views, and, most importantly, safety from the sweaty, excitable guy below who kept high-fiving a thin-lipped usher, even though she clearly just wanted to be at home with her cats.

It was an older crowd at the show, suggesting to us that Beck is perhaps not as cool as he once was. Which is fine, because I am totally, totally uncool. And I’m not just saying that so that someone tells me that I am, in fact, cool. I’m not and it’s fine. I think most of the trouble I’ve gotten into in my life stems from trying to be cooler than I am. Perhaps we’ll explore this in a future post. Read More>

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A Simple Night Out

The setting was a small Mexican restaurant in our new neighborhood. It was our first time trying it, because that morning Scarlett said she wanted tacos, and while we draw the line at tacos for breakfast, the idea got into our heads, and neither Rob nor I felt like making dinner later. Actually, part of that was a lie. I don’t draw the line at tacos for breakfast, we just didn’t have any.

The restaurant was decorated in a super fun and kitschy way; collectibles like small dolls, head shots of 1940s film stars, and license plates from different states adorned every surface. Aside from the decor, the place was not at all full when we arrived, and they sat us right away, at a table for four in the front corner. I don’t use a real chair at restaurants these days (or at home, for that matter), so I just wheeled up to the table while Rob and Scarlett went around to the side closest to the window.

The service was ok, and my margarita was a little watery, but we were having a pretty good time. And then, 25 minutes or so after we sat down, a woman came up to the table. She was older, and possibly the owner or a manager. “Can you move to the other side of the table?” she asked me brusquely, gesturing to where Scarlett was sitting across from me. Read More>

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Little Sister

Ask anyone with ALS. We are all fighting for our lives, but we have a list (sometimes a very short list) of the people for whom we’re truly fighting. My sister is very, very high on my own list. She is one of the MVPs of my story, a long-time fact that has only been underscored by my present situation. It was her birthday yesterday, so we celebrated. But the truth is, she is worth celebrating every day (or…at least once a week.)

I’m four years older than Liz, and when we were younger, we didn’t always get along. I found her to be very annoying and also cuter than me, which—if you’re someone’s younger sister—is the recipe for getting punched in the head. And I’m sure that did happen to her, although it was a great number of years ago, and so I conveniently forget the details. Read More>

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