honeybun

My aunt, my aunt, my tiny little dark-haired aunt. Her small shoulders held up high. I remember she told me years ago, her time is the middle of the night. Or it used to be. When everything is quiet and she can have a snack. And here I am, 36 years old--my time is the middle of the night, when everything is quiet and I can have a snack.

Some other things I love about my aunt include how she taught me to remember my social security number with a pneumonic device or how she always gets the name of every waitress or how she snorts when she laughs. She calls me honeybun and I call everyone else honeybun. I remember all the schemes I've been party to thanks to my aunt. Like the Christmas we all met up at The Mall of America. Or the holiday in San Diego. For whatever reason we arrived first, had one night of just us. We loafed on, I think, a mattress on the floor, gabbing our heads off. I didn't want it to end. I never want it to end. We stood looking out over the ocean with my cousin a few springs ago. She held out her hands to the sunset, okay now everything just...slow down, she said. I understood exactly what she meant. I too wanted the minute to be captured like a diorama I could live in.

It was so sweet she came to my college to see me as the lead in the musical. It couldn't have been an easy trek with my grandfather, but she did it, and we all ate ice cream together in the campus guest house. She helped me book plane tickets when I had a layover from my study abroad and she did my taxes for years. I was always eager to have her on my Pictionary team and thought it was adorable how she adopted Facebook earlier than most Boomers. She made a habit of sending me emoji hearts. My sister once asked her how often she used the website. She said, if you two post something there is a one-hundred percent chance I see it. She watched all the episodes of the TV show I worked on and even flew to LA to attend a taping with her lifelong bff. We went to a sound bath and a diner and had lunch on a Hollywood pool deck.

What a model of girlhood, to have not just one, but a pack of lifelong bffs. I spent a long weekend with her in a bungalow. I studied for finals at the table outside and we took a drive to a manmade lake. On our way home from dinner one night she started singing the Flintstones theme song. I can see it now, the way she bobs her head around when she's having fun. I'm told when she was a child she made a protest sign in support of the Black Panther movement. A couple years ago she made a joke to me about a disgraced celebrity. I said I didn't think it was funny, and instead of rolling her eyes she really sat with that then said, you know I never thought about it that way.

One time we lounged for hours in a coffee shop and she told me everything she was excited about in college. A thing she did decades after it might be traditional. She got her degree online, computing from the basement of her lovely nature-soaked home. She had dreams of ending welfare systems, and I take on these dreams as my own. She organized a women's march in her small neck of the literal woods and volunteers on behalf of animals. She's invested in the Native people surrounding her and often up for an adventure. She sent me a photo recently, she and her boyfriend snowmobiling. She sends me adorable photos of her granddaughter too. We don't see each other often, but we are in an important club together, as are all people who adore the same person.

When I was seven and afraid of her gruff husband she tried to explain Vietnam to me. When he passed away we visited her. I was making a pb and j and she gasped. She took the jar away, it was his last, it was his last. I recalled this years later and she laughed, sorry about that. But I wasn't sorry. I was glad to see someone going a bit nuts over something that seemed nuts-worthy. I've had a couple dreams about the man over the years, and I always let her know. Once their song was playing on the radio as I texted. It was playing in a gift shop last week. I thought of them.

It's cool she's always been up to crafty things. Like glassblowing or beading. A true artist, it's about the journey not the destination. Some other time she was staying in an Arizonan hotel. I drove my scooter over to have the continental breakfast with her. She made up a little English muffin with cream cheese and walnuts. She waxed on about the bad men who'd been in her life, and how she mommed through it. At one point she started crying. Why am I making myself sad? she suddenly asked. She also told me she'd really enjoyed the new Jackass movie, and, inspired by a recent watch, took a flying leap onto her own bed.

I still wish to do an improv show up there some summer. It might not ever happen, but I think about it every year. She said, oh I'd love that, mostly because I'd be cheesin' all over town about my niece. Everybody likes her, except the people who don't. She has wisdom about that too. How once a client was mean and rude and no matter what she couldn't win him. How to this day that ornery guy serves as a reminder that some people will just never dig us and that's fine.

Couldn't have been easy to watch her brother lose his mind and another lose his ties to the family. But she was beside them both when they passed from this earth. Just as she was with her father and mother. If I had to describe my aunt briefly I couldn't do justice, but I think the word "brave" would be in there.

I didn't much know her aunt R, but she made a point to tell me, that's who taught her "to aunt." So I guess I do know R, don't I? Just like most people who know me know my aunt--even if they don't know it.

Last I saw her was for an Italian lunch. There was surprise ham on my pizza and she was upset on my behalf. She looked at my puffy white coat and said in her next life she might dress a little fancier. We remembered how my college boyfriend's dad had been in an internment camp and didn't like to talk about it but did tell my aunt the first time they met, over breakfast. We laughed so much and I don't know what about. Something about vowing never to return to the Orlando airport then deciding she didn't actually care about it that much. There is an urgency when we're in person, like there's a full bottle of magic--only we may not have enough time to uncork and guzzle it all.

She told me she remembers trying to swim across the lake together. We didn't end up doing it, but I think it's really special we set out at all. I was little, but I recall splashing near her, the dock getting smaller and smaller behind us. And other times I feel like I'm on that dock, watching us go. The child and her aunt are the ones getting smaller and smaller. 

fall 2023

Orange Drop

I recognize most people don't understand, but I am still grieving Cap. I've been reading grief books, so I know judging your grief only makes it worse. But I do judge myself because I know caring so much about a hamster is not seen as Acceptable. So many glamorous things are happening right now. Getting tapped for exciting development projects and extended meetings with my favorite artist and pitching to the crown jewel with a crown jewel. But underneath everything I do and say there's a weight on my heart and a crumpled photo in my purse. I feel embarrassed even writing this, but to my knowledge only six people read this blog and no one else can find it. I just wish I was normal.

Yesterday we took down her cage. I've been dreading it. I didn't know what would be worse--always looking in to find no one home or no home at all. But it was time, Saturday January 28th, 2023 at 3:30 PM. We sorted things into donate and toss, I walked the shavings to the dumpster, we took a photo of her paw print in the sand bath. I knew the sand bath would be the worst. I guess because it was the last place I could touch she touched. Put a peanut in her ashes box.

Now there's open space on the wall and a picture frame where her whole life used to be.

We decided to take a walk and drop her extra pellets along the way for neighborhood mice. I thought hiking up the mountain for sunset might be nice. Up at the top the sun looked just like a juicy, peeled orange. It dropped heavy and slow.

I always feel equally enlivened and melancholy at sunset. What an incredible gift to live a single day, and what an incredible responsibility to live it well. The sun disappearing feels so final. That's a wrap on January 28th, 2023 forever for all time. But tomorrow the goodbye repeats itself. I think I worry about final goodbyes, but the truth is there's always a new one right around the corner.

Simply Having

Frothy ocean, reading poolside, lime juice in the hot tub, chatting with a window, pastry pile every morning, Christmas Eve nachos and then Christmas nachos, humid salt air, smoke in the palm forest, beach massage, Diet Cokes on the patio, dumb little holiday tree, sunglasses gone, tips counted, bright stars, sandcastle lump, iguanas and hawks, biking around the bend, red lipstick, time moving on.

Until Next Time, Cap

Those last days at home are so crystalized. A week before she left, Puhg was at a concert, so we had a girls' night in. I made popcorn and watched _______ with her snuggled on my chest. I thought the movie was terrible and this bothers me, that the last film we ever watched together was so stupid. Even though she wouldn't know that. When it ended I played our song in the living room.

I don't remember how it became our song. I think I happened to be holding her while some 90s Spotify playlist looped. I danced with her fuzzy self and sang along "I'll never let you go, I'll never let you go." I found myself humming it all the time to her. A calming lullaby before she was comfortable with us. Hard to believe she came so frightened and jumpy, eventually a puddle in our hands. It was past midnight when Puhg's keys jangled in the door. Her ears perked as they always did.

5 AM Sunday I shuffled out to the living room as I often do when I can't sleep. She curled up into my lap as I read for two hours. I cried--unsure if I was imagining something was off or not. Puhg and I went on a long walk. We finally got a vet appointment, days away. At night she was eating apples again. In the morning we woke up our favorite way--hearing the water bottle click. But just a few hours later everything changed.

She was Sick. I called all over LA for help. She was manic then tired, climbing upside down then unable to hold her head up. Chewing then tossing her pellets around. We found a hamster ER, and flew there, her in a shoebox despising every bump and turn. A team whisked her away for urgent care.

We sat for hours watching dogs, cats, and one wheezing hedgehog come in. A guinea pig didn't make it. I didn't notice the time pass even though I had nothing to do but wonder if I'd ever see my dear one again. We were relieved she made it. The doctor recommended an overnight stay for pneumonia, antibiotics, oxygen. We were led to the back, tapped on her glass, told her it would be okay. Would it?

Days of waiting for "the call" gave me a permanent stomachache. I typically have healthy boundaries with my phone. I often leave it for short errands or keep it face down with friends. But not last week. I had it on full volume next to me 24/7. The doctor would call in the morning, then in the evening. They were kind, bright professionals who referred to my beloved with a chuckle: she is quite round or the little lady. We feared for a buzz off-schedule, meaning the worst. I made my ringtone "Bette Davis Eyes" last year. I thought it was funny. It was no longer funny.

When we visited two days later she was different. Exhausted and white. We held her and hoped. We gave her her ham house and a blueberry, which she ate slowly. I willed her to be better. We agreed to a bill for more everything. We took photos. I look horrible or maybe just like the saddest I've ever been. We cancelled Thanksgiving travel and spent the day quietly, vaguely tossing around the idea of a movie we wouldn't see. At 6 the call came: she improved! She ate some, seemed a little more energized, dialed down the oxygen! Her team would continue this plan. Oh, the hope. The puffing rising hope. She'll be home tomorrow.

But tomorrow her situation worsened. And would we like to come by, sooner than expected. I sobbed and put together a respectable outfit. Black pants, the sweater she chewed through the day she came home, my hamster headband. Filled my purse with seeds and fruit and cheese.

Agreeing to euthanize her was awful. Even now delusion creeps in. She couldn't comfortably breathe without an oxygen tank, and she couldn't really drink, and she seemed confused, but what if we'd just tried to take her? Maybe it was simply too bright in that new cage. Maybe there weren't enough shavings. Maybe it was all a mistake. We sat with her, held her, told her everything we could. But was it enough time? She was struggling for too long as is. But was it enough time? Was it enough time? She picked up the cheese but was too fatigued to chew. Herself only two weeks earlier would be shocked. She never passed up cheese. She never even stored it. Cheese is meant to be snacked immediately. Once we gave her a peanut and she shoved the whole thing in her pouch and darted to the back corner of her cage. It became a mantra for us: take the peanut and run. She managed to nibble at a blueberry, her last. She was sedated with a shot, her last memories of us before the finale. My head shrieked this isn't real. Was it enough time? 

I hate life going on. I've become small. I hate how the days build on themselves. I held her yesterday two days ago three days ago four days ago a week ago. She was carried away in a daze, going to the big wheel in the sky. And I also hate the big wheel in the sky.

She bit me one time, a year ago. It was so unexpected I yelped and plopped her back in her cage. After I washed the blood down the drain I realized she was limping. Poor thing had sprained her foot, lashed out in fear. We took away her toys to heal, I bandaged my finger. After a week she was scampering again. All that remained was a mark on my nail. A crack from her sharp teeth. I watched that crack move up and up over the months. A kind of calendar. Until one day I didn't notice it had left me at all.

It was a bright afternoon. Should we do anything? Puhg asked. I had put on extra sunscreen that morning. I didn't know why. He suggested the beach and I said, yeah, sure, why not? We never go to the beach, but we were 20 minutes away. We walked to the sparkling ocean. I drew her name in the sand. It would be washed away but not that I'd see. When it was time to go, we got back in the car and the wind knocked out of me. Blaring over the radio--that obscure 90s hit. I'll never let you go. I'll never let you go.

I can't stand mornings. I can't coming home. I got a new ringtone. There's no one to eat the vegetable scraps from dinner. I can't stand going to bed.

I have 300 videos of her because how could I not? They help. She was a true individual--so chonky and bossy but ultimately sweet. Unlike every other hamster I've had (angels to be sure), she loved to be pet and held and snooze on us. She communicated with nips and sounds. She brusked when happy and purred when alert and had trained us to give her a treat when she squeaked. She and I would have long long talks at night. Some of the videos are short--a few seconds of her running or cleaning. Others are long, a whole grooming session, minutes of her cozying into my shoulder, but they always end before I want them to.

I remember the stupid things, the mood rings, the bracelets and the beads

Nickels and dimes, yours and mine, did you cash in on your dreams?

Spicy Ranch

Yesterday a man outside my window shouted for an hour at the cars whooshing by. I've seen him before. He walks around the neighborhood with a tattered poster that reads, "DON'T BUY HONDA." I've never heard his voice before. Yesterday he repeated two sentences over and over, "DON'T BUY HONDA. MY KID DIED IN A HONDA." Sometimes his voice was full of pain and other times it was rote.

Another day in paradise Thursday. I buzz into the bungalows and AP greets me with a hug by her pool. We spend the first half hour of the session chatting and laughing. Her assistant brings us fancy organic salads with farro and sweet potatoes, I'm in love. For two hours we brainstorm. I always feel like I get away with what "work" is, but then I remember it took me fifteen years to be able to hang like I can hang. I drive away full, instructing Spotify to play LFO.

But that night I text a friend who defends someone I thought we didn't like, and I feel so betrayed I can't keep my mind off the interaction for two days. I beg to go to breakfast with Puhg on Friday morning, just to have something else fill the clouds. My scone is perfect, but it's not enough.

What is is gymnastics. My main issue (with all my moves) is I just go too slow. Our coach is really laid back. He doesn't offer much feedback, which I personally like. But when he does, for me, it's a simple, "faster." I feel like I'm sprinting and whipping but when I watch the videos, gosh if he isn't right. It's like a turtle doing a roundoff. How can I feel so sure in my skin but the evidence simply proves otherwise? I walk out into the sun with a new friend. We stand by our cars talking for twenty minutes. At home I get on my swimsuit and hit the pool. It's hot enough, but cool enough I question myself before jumping in. Once I do, it's heaven. I do 15 laps, huffing and puffing.

I remember going to Outback Steakhouse after a round of mini golf when I was 19. I ordered the cheese fries as dinner. I remember the painting of cowboys and knowing it was the end, but the ranch was so good. The last time I went to an Outback was, I think, in 2014 when my sister, Dad, and I were at Mount Rushmore. I got the side salad then--the fries a distant fantasy. But then this Friday. Went to a wrestling show, and my friend, being a friend, told me I could leave after her match. It was 10 PM in Burbank, nothing was open but lo and behold, an Outback Steakhouse. And this time, I did get those fries, and they were not as good as I remembered. Not even a little bit. So now I am free.

not thinkin' bout forever just six minutes of her time

Empty Cage

Balcony morning. I felt Puhg's shadow before he opened the door. I assumed he was trying to spook me, but he met my smile through the glass with a frown. "It's the ham," he said. My heart thudded. "Is she gone?" I asked. He nodded. I rushed to her cage. He had to be wrong. I reached in to her little nest. It was warm.

But she was cold.

I took her out gently. So small and so peaceful, curled into a crescent moon. Her paws under her head, eyes closed. She went in peace, and for that I couldn't be more grateful. I held her little body to mine, like I'd done hundreds and hundreds of times, but she didn't squirm and she didn't whir.

The tears come every day all the time. Our little precious potato gone too soon. I thank my lucky stars we rescued her from the store right before she'd be in a dark lockdown. I thank my lucky stars it was her, chunky and curious and ready to stuff a raspberry at any given moment.

We piled shavings in a shoebox, lined it with her favorite wooden apple slice, a blueberry treat, a chew stick. No yard cemetery, so we looked up critter cremation and found a place she would get individual treatment. But it was Sunday, so we'd have to wait a day. We took a walk, we sat, we failed at TV. I realized I hadn't eaten, went to pick up a sandwich at 2. A bee stung me. Died in my hair and poisoned my hand. Puffy still as I type.

On Monday she looked so the same. Soft fur and all, hard to believe. I researched hibernating. Never mind it hasn't been cold. Never mind she was stiff and her little nose less pink. We held her to our ears, like we often did to hear her sniffing. Nothing. I wore my black dress and brushed my hair straight. We wrote her letters and slipped them inside. Goodbye, little angel.

She'd been in our car twice--the day she came home and now the day she left. The sky was full of huge fluffy clouds. She'd be burrowing in them. Puhg filled out a form while I held her in my lap. A flower petal fell near us and we gave that to her too. We agreed to close the box together, a final look at our beloved girl. Just as we did, a gust of spring air blew. Is that you? I wondered just as Puhg said, "Ham on the wind."

She was so much more than a hamster. She was a puzzler and a snoozer and a muncher. Sometimes I'd watch her think through a problem or decide to relax. If I gave her a piece of corn she'd look at me for more. She kicked green seeds out of her cage. She had a coconut that she didn't enjoy napping in, so she filled it with grains. She made so many different tunnels and hoards. She showed me being is a wonderful thing. And small things are wonderful things. She gave us the opportunity to be quiet and still all together on the couch. She reminded us to be spontaneous. I'd take a break just because she zoomed out for a drink of water. She gave us happy, goofy times. I'll always remember dancing with her and Puhg, in my platform sandals, her eyes big from the jostles but ready for adventure.

Mornings are the hardest because I'd wake up first and always give a little look in, see what she'd gotten up to in the night. Sometimes I'd catch her stealing a snack. Occasionally I'd get a pre-dawn hold. But also nights are the hardest because we always wished her sweet dreams. Called it out from the bedroom. And mid-days when I'd come back from walks and immediately spy in on her are the hardest too. Every time I rounded the corner last week, I instinctually looked in the cage. Chest tight with false starts, but we cleaned and dismantled it. Put a plant and car keys where she used to be.

When my insomnia has been bad this year I've stumbled out to the couch where I can watch videos loudly or be nearer to the air conditioner or drink tea. And I didn't feel alone in my sorrow or confusion or headache because she'd be a few feet away chattering and running. I'd even take her out some holy nights, sit with her in the darkness. She might squeeze or squeak. The Thursday before we were together at two in the morning. I haven't been able to sleep all week, my hand itching fiercely, my love bruised. But I can't bring myself to go to the living room. I toss and turn instead. At last I dreamt. A huge monarch butterfly landed on my face. It was so real. I woke up, sure it was in the room with me.

I wish we had more time. Love you forever, my sweet sweet ham.

What does it mean? What does it all mean? I had a dream, but what did it mean, what did it mean?

Week of Dec 2 2019

Don’t usually want breakfast but was absolutely desperate to eat at call. Put a breakfast burrito in a brown box. Arrived on set, which was a basketball court today. High school pep rally.

I interviewed for a job two weeks ago and never heard back. It was a job everyone said I would get. I would have to leave this movie if I got it. My bosses mourned my departure preemptively and then we all said nothing when my “last” day came and went. My manager left word with the main exec with no response, no response, no response. She said that meant I might get it. Did she really think that or did she not want me to be mad? But why would I be mad at her?

A person who was in the interview room was at the fake high school pep rally because everything is intertwined that way. I didn’t know what he’d say to me or what I’d say back, if we’d say anything at all.

I sat on the bleachers with our costume designer who read my horoscope. It said I was drowning under falsities. I said, “Yes, I am. I just want someone to be honest with me.” She said, yes be honest. I said I love honesty but LA doesn’t.

This person avoided me. I felt a gloom roll in. Confirmed. I wasn’t hired and I was to be pitied.  I had to stand close to the scene to pitch alts. Right in his eyeline. He never looked over. And then randomly he cut loose from his mark, marched up to me, and gave me a huge bear hug. I wasn’t expecting it, and I didn’t like it. Then he said he was sick. Then he walked away. It’s like he planned a bunch of tactics for getting around my disappointment and did them all at once. It was gross. I was mad. Costume Designer saw it all and sang in my ear, “hooonesty.”

I tried to stay busy in my seat, but he sat right in front of me. I felt heat from my whole being willing him away. I finally stood up and closed myself in a port-a-potty to cry. An extra, dressed like a cheerleader barged in. The lock didn’t work. Grief texted me, asked if I was hiding.

In ten minutes he was gone. I barely kept a lid on my anger. My manager emailed me, “They’re not moving forward at this point.” Just say I didn’t get it. She emailed me five minutes to later to set another interview for another show. To be honest, a very very similar show. I accepted the meeting.

Shooting a romance scene the next day that wasn’t quite there. AP pitched me lines, I pitched lines. She sent me a clip from a John Hughes movie. When we found what it was supposed to be we both squealed like This Is It!

It rained on and off. I saddled up to the twins in another department to talk about past failures. Left partway through to get a two tamales. I squeezed lime on them. Later I ate two hot dogs with mustard. I’d had two soy tacos for lunch. I ate more in that one day than in a typical three day span.

A fake marching band performed a Mighty Mighty Bosstones song. I brought up a discrepancy I saw in the shooting. I was impressed with myself for having the ability to defend a script to people I admire.

An extra in the hot dog line had asked how much the food was. Free of course. She was so happy. It was the best day ever for her. She gets to be a dot in a movie.

By the time I got home I had a migraine and went directly to bed. It wasn’t gone when I woke up. If I moved I puked. Things were this way for two days.  Thursday night I had the strength to walk to the grocery store for a box of Saltines and Pedialite, which I drank on the sidewalk. I made an impromptu visit to the Thai massage spot. I told them my head hurt so badly I couldn’t stand the light from my cell phone. The lady dug into my neck for an hour, I hobbled home, and fell fast asleep. With an eye mask on like some kind of Victorian lily.

In the morning I was new. I had an interview at 3. It was raining, but I couldn't stop smiling. The people were so welcoming. They’re going to be honest with me. When I find out if I do or don’t get it. I drove to work for an overnight shoot. I wore my biggest down jacket and ate a sweet waffle at 2 AM.