I'm back in Los Angeles, the Oscar helicopters are circling, and I've already scrubbed my Barbie bathroom clean.
Here I am in the Chihuly boathouse BATHROOM. It was filled with vintage children's books and weird animal figurines. It was, after the pool, my most favorite room:
Here's a magnificent 85-foot table, made from one slice of a tree that was felled when too many prisoners in a penitentiary used it for escape. It begged for someone to dance right down it, but I refrained.
Here's a close-up of the sculptures that ran down the table in rainbow colors:
Here's a close-up of the bar. See that familiar photo of moi? It was sitting right below the bottle of Scuttlebutt beer that features a mermaid and the letter S. Like my friend Carrie says, There are no accidents. Those photo cards were distributed throughout the boathouse -- the beautiful people at Caregifted loved our video and used the still photos in such a beautiful way.
There were stacks and stacks of warm-colored Navajo blankets in a room ringed by low leather armchairs and a wall of sepia-toned photos of Native Americans. There was poetry by Heather McHugh and Robert Pinsky. There was jazz by Molly Ringwald. There was an excerpt of an upcoming documentary about us -- long-time caregivers of the disabled, made by the extraordinary Adam Larsen. Remember that name. My friend Cara and I drank, perhaps, a bitt too much beer and wine. We laughed a lot. I told her secrets, and she held them. When the event was over, we took a taxi to a restaurant called Grub, and I ate sauteed calamari with a light, flavorful sauce of tomatoes and wine and garlic. I drank a whiskey sour, and I slept well.
Yesterday afternoon, we hosted a luncheon for the caregivers, and I met and talked with the most wonderful people -- all recipients of respite weeks. They each have incredible stories, many of which will be featured in the documentary. It was rainy in Seattle that afternoon, but I lay on my bed and read and thought about everything, relished it all. Last night, I sat in the living room, sipped some berry wine and talked for hours to Adam about caregiving, about dance and documentary and cities and life. Remember what I said. Remember Adam Larsen's name!
This morning, I woke early, and Heather gave me a ride to the airport. We stopped at a funky hippy bakery and got coffee, talked every second of the 45 minute trip. I love this woman and can't believe my good fortune to have met her.
How's that for superlatives thrown willy-nilly?
Reader, what did you do this weekend?