Cannonball

I buy books based on their covers. I buy sports cars based on their curves. And, I buy wine based on its label. If I ran a winery and produced a wine, this would be it. If I ran a film company, this would be it. I'm even thinking about changing the name of my next book to this, with this exact cover. It says everything, doesn't it? Brings us back to a time when running to the end of a dock stretching into a endless summer's day lake, and launching into a hilarious cannonball was what it was all about. When I'm watching the diving at the Olympics, I'm always secretly hoping, during the tense finals, that the lead diver will plunge off the high platform and execute a perfect cannonball. Wouldn't that be joyous and life affirming? Yes it would.

Super Hero Dreams

The other day I was poking around my closet and found my long-lost childhood cape. It's a magic wizard's cape, purple on the inside and black on the outside, with stars. My mother sewed it for me when I was little. It used to go all the way to the ground when I had it on. There was a long period during kindergarten, I believe the whole year, when I wore it everyday to school. What an inspired, magic thing I thought, standing there at my closet, now an impossible 38 year-old. How wonderful that I wore my magic cape every single day and my 5 year-old colleagues celebrated me for it; at least, I think they did. I had pangs of sadness, of loss of youth, of death of super hero dreams, standing there with my childhood cape clutched in my hands. I decided, right then, that I was going to wear my cape all day, to work even. Thankfully I'm a teacher, and not a stockbroker, because my students loved it; at least, I think they did. Well, I loved it.

Luck

Is there any such thing as luck? That was the hot topic over drinks the other night with fellow conspirator, Harper Wortham.  He argued that luck was mostly out of our control, much like the Greek view of fate, and that it starts with the very circumstances under which we were born. Are we born privileged, do our parents push us to college, are we naturally social and thus do we mingle with opportunity? That like a row of dominos, lucky events are laid out in the stars, and fall across our paths. I passionately disagreed, feeling strongly that we make our own luck with being able too see opportunity and acting on it. To me, luck is hard work, preparation, and then when a vague yet enticing opportunity presents itself, seizing it. When people like to say, wow, you've led quite a lucky life, I think, no, it's just inspiration followed by hard work. That's not to say I don't have little totems to help me. I always hold my breath driving through the the rainbow tunnel in San Francisco and I always rub the head of Mr. Moneybags (pictured) when I pass him in the NYC Subway. And I collect my useless pennies and place them heads up on the sidewalk when I walk around town, spreading the inspiration. We are all lucky, and as Wortham says in his famous play, this is all a House of Lucky.

The Best Cocktail Hour of my Life

My 93 year-old beloved grandfather has decided his time has come to dance into the next life. The family was notified, and I drove through the night to say my last goodbye. I sat at his side, held his hand, told him stories, cried a little. Then he whispered in my ear that he'd like one last cocktail hour with me. I looked over to the nurse who smiled and said anything is possible. I poured him his usual, a Smirnoff vodka on the rocks. I poured one for myself, too. He has been using this lollipop sponge to wet his lips with water, so we dipped that into the vodka and let him suck on it. He was happy as a clam. We dipped the sponge many times. We had many toasts. One to his great life, one to his safe journey to the afterlife, and one to a beautiful afterlife. When our cocktails were done, he whispered again into my ear, "That was the best cocktail hour of my life. I love you."