I didn't really know what to post after writing last week about my friend Marjorie's untimely death. Nothing seemed worth saying. But I started thinking about positive things, and some of the little things in life that make me feel good, and I thought I'd share a few here.
1. Shoes that fit. Yes, that's right. I love to walk, so it's important that shoes feel good even after I've been walking for a long time. Even better: going shoe shopping and trying on a brand-new pair that feel so fabulous that you know they're the right choice.
2. La Taqueria (25th and Mission Streets, San Francisco)
These are truly the best tacos and burritos I've ever had, in part because their salsa is so good. Years ago—when I first went to La Taqueria—I ate cilantro for the very first time in my life. Their formula hasn't changed, and I've been hooked ever since.
3. Train travel. I'm not talking about transit systems like the SF Bay Area's BART— I mean real train travel, with comfy seats, great views, beverages, and bathrooms. Like the Eurostar, or the train systems in many parts of Europe, or the Amtrak routes on the east coast of the USA. And...well, Caltrain is pretty good, too.
4. Salads as a meal. I just love a big salad that's full of good stuff and lots of variety...you should be able to get all the food groups into a salad and top it with a delicious vinaigrette, and that's all you need.
5. Music. Of course. But not just the downtempo and world fusion and trip hop and other good stuff that people associate with me, but also flamenco, and fado, and classical music like Bach's cello suites (because the more melancholy it gets, the more beautiful it sounds).
6. Bookstores. Even though I get many of my books via Bookmooch these days, I love going to a real bookstore that's jammed full of books and magazines on every topic and thumbing through books and yes, even buying them.
7. Hardware stores. This might surprise you, but I find hardware stores fascinating. I've always been clueless about construction, but I'm a sponge for information about it. I love to just browse in hardware stores and find little things that I didn't know existed, but which solve a problem I've been dealing with for a long time. I like the tools, too.
8. Red wine. Strong varieties, like Malbec and Shiraz and Merlot and Médoc, to name a few. But I got a taste for white wine spritzers while I was in Switzerland, too.
9. Solving problems. This kind of goes with the hardware store. I like solving problems, but I'm not keen on process. I'm the type who likes to throw a solution at something and see if it works. If it doesn't, then I try something else.
10. A comfortable sofa. Isn't it great when you sink into an insanely comfortable sofa? The kind that makes you want to lean back, relax, take a nap, read a book, or hang out and chat with your friends? Where your legs are the perfect distance to the floor and your back feels like someone just gave you a massage?
These are a few of my (many!) favorite things.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Sunday, October 7, 2007
R.I.P., MEB
Today I received news that a longtime colleague of mine passed away after a battle with brain cancer.
I knew she was ill and I was in contact with her through the spring. In the past couple of months, her condition worsened. She was lucky to have two caring brothers and a core group of friends to give her round-the-clock support until the very end and they even set up a Yahoo Groups site to communicate with each other and with us.
She knew what she was up against. I spoke with her not long after her diagnosis last summer. Her cancer was a really invasive one: glia, I believe it's called. The prognosis was horrible and there was no reason to believe she would beat the odds. She was very clear about it and quickly set about with organizing her papers and her affairs while she was still able. She was pragmatic above all else.
Even if she had survived, the affected area of her brain was the part that processes language. She lost the ability to communicate: both what she said, and what was said to her. I can't think of what could be worse for someone who valued words, language, and clarity more than anything else. At first, it was just a few words here and there, but when I saw her a few months ago, she had trouble remembering the name of her cat.
I worked with her for 10 years. In fact, we used to live on the same street and commuted together to work until we both moved elsewhere in the late '90s. For seven years, our cubicles were next to each other. I think the biggest shock for me was when she was diagnosed: knowing that she would never -- and could never -- be again the person I used to know, the natural-born mentor of editors.
The news today was less of a shock, at least so far. Her condition had worsened to the degree that there was nowhere left to go but death. That doesn't make it any easier. So tonight I am thinking of Marjorie: the most passionately erudite editor I've ever known. Rest in peace.
I knew she was ill and I was in contact with her through the spring. In the past couple of months, her condition worsened. She was lucky to have two caring brothers and a core group of friends to give her round-the-clock support until the very end and they even set up a Yahoo Groups site to communicate with each other and with us.
She knew what she was up against. I spoke with her not long after her diagnosis last summer. Her cancer was a really invasive one: glia, I believe it's called. The prognosis was horrible and there was no reason to believe she would beat the odds. She was very clear about it and quickly set about with organizing her papers and her affairs while she was still able. She was pragmatic above all else.
Even if she had survived, the affected area of her brain was the part that processes language. She lost the ability to communicate: both what she said, and what was said to her. I can't think of what could be worse for someone who valued words, language, and clarity more than anything else. At first, it was just a few words here and there, but when I saw her a few months ago, she had trouble remembering the name of her cat.
I worked with her for 10 years. In fact, we used to live on the same street and commuted together to work until we both moved elsewhere in the late '90s. For seven years, our cubicles were next to each other. I think the biggest shock for me was when she was diagnosed: knowing that she would never -- and could never -- be again the person I used to know, the natural-born mentor of editors.
The news today was less of a shock, at least so far. Her condition had worsened to the degree that there was nowhere left to go but death. That doesn't make it any easier. So tonight I am thinking of Marjorie: the most passionately erudite editor I've ever known. Rest in peace.
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