living in a material world

... and I am a material girl.*

Fortunately I'm not alone in that.  Far from it. 

I was speaking to my parents on the phone two days ago, about the latest turn-for-the-worse in my sister Carla's condition. The news is bleak and now it seems that we may not even be able to visit if there's any possibility we're carrying germs.  Her t-cell count is super low, so death by some opportunistic infection is a very real possibility.  I called because I know my parents are going through hell with this whole thing.  I can't even imagine the unspeakable pain of it, and try not to imagine the anguish I'd be in if this were The Kid we were talking about, my baby at death's door.  I would be out of my mind.  As they are.  So I called to see what I can do, to tell stories and try to be helpful, try to hold up my end as the eldest, set a good example and all that crap that they clearly trained me in so well.

So we're talking and it's all dark and shitty and grim and then my mother says, I know it's so stupid but besides all this, I'm really excited about my new pants.

We laughed about how stupid that is but also how awesome.  They're just pants, she said, but they're making me so happy.  And isn't it funny, she went on,  how we can be so sad about really big things but so happy about little things, all at the same time?

Everything is a little thing.  Everything is a big thing.

I guess it all depends.

For a long time I think I tried to deny that I love stuff.  I've spent years and years of my life thinking that I should be above loving sparkly earrings or caring about a really kick-ass pair of shoes.  But the truth is that I do.  I do care.  I love pretty.  And remember: this is my year of Shri, my year of Go Pretty or Shut Up, so it makes sense that I am, once and for all, embracing my love of stuff. 

And yeah, I know it's de rigueur to be all oh, have you watched The Story of Stuff, and we're such consumer assholes, and bla bla bla, but fuck that, I'm just not about that.  

I unapologetically, unabashedly, un-whateverly love stuff! Judge on, if you will.

And honestly, it has actually been hard for me, for most of my life, to stand my ground on liking silly stuff, to fly that banner high when I know other people don't like it.  For example, I know that Joe doesn't like the pink in my hair.  He's just not a fan, not that he would ever say anything (unless asked directly, which I did) and he would never stand in my way.  Until very recently, I would just not have proceeded with putting the pink in my hair BECAUSE I know he doesn't like it even though he would never stop me.  I have historically stopped me.  Absurd!  Done!!  Especially since the pink in my hair makes me just absurdly happy -- jump-around happy.  And silly as it may seem, I feel like it really does express something essential about me.  Nuts, I'm sure, but like I said, judge on.

I mean, just last night, at Barnes and Noble in the magazine section, I said to Joe, "I'm done pretending that I don't love fashion magazines.  I love fashion magazines." He just looked at me like he knew that all along, which is probably true.  Sometimes it just takes me a little bit to catch up.

Love what you love.  It all matters. It all doesn't.

In the midst of all of misery and woe with my sister Carla, I had a fucking-great day on Friday, a day so great it merits the use of "fucking." Started out at midnight, so at the very very beginning of the day, with a super-special private screenng of The Hunger Games at the Kabuki in SF with Joe, The Kid and GF, then a good hike with Mr Burns after about three hours sleep, then more pink hair thanks to the awesome Nicole of Siren Salon, then some new clothes and earrings and purse courtesy of the wonder that is Sax in San Anselmo.  While shopping there had a great conversation with the shop owner, Jennifer, who is also an aerialist.  That's right: when not selling great women's clothing on consignment, she's on a trapeze.  Snap. How awesome is that?  I walk in, we start talking, and she blows me away almost instantly.  I love those days when I'm walking around, chatting with strangers, making new friends and adding to my collection of stuff.

From there I picked up a sandwich and ate in the sun at the yard at Out of the Woods, with Joe, Lucio (our employee) and Mr Burns, while the bees zoomed in and out of the nearby hive.  Worked for 4 hours (boo, that was the only part I was truly not stoked about since Friday was supposed to be a vacation day for me but I ended up having to work because someone I hired recently made so many mistakes over the past two weeks that all her work blasted upstream at me).  But I made the best of it, despite how tired I was, meeting a crucial deadline with 2 hours to spare.  Then popped in to a place at the mall and had my brows done in the window (so weird and awesome that I'll have to write about that, too), followed by dinner, and bed at 8pm, completely zonked.  Slept 10 hours and woke up Saturday, fired up, ready to go.  

Throughout Friday, all day Saturday and even now, this lingering feeling:

I am ever in my prime.

So yeah the big stuff can be super sad.  But other stuff, little stuff, can be so amazing.  Other stuff, little stuff, can be so pretty, like new vibrant pink streaks in my hair or a perfect pair of earrings or a t-shirt that fits me perfectly.  Or a random conversation with someone who turns into a friend, almost instantaneously.

All those little things that might seem silly, all of them add up to happy all the time.  Sure, it's superficial.  Sure, it's material.  But guess what: we ARE material. So we might as well celebrate it.  

It's true: my baby sister is dying.  She's dying and that totally and completely, in every conceivable way, sucks.  It's terrible and sad and unfair and every shade of fucked-up.

AND we're here, the world is beautiful and we have a responsibility to life itself to be as gorgeous and happy as possible every single moment.  So if you're holding yourself back from something that just might make you jump-around happy, go do it.  Who cares what other people might say?  Do it.  Life is way too short.  Make it pretty.  Make it yours.

* Just saying that if you go looking for the original video of Material Girl and watch it, like I did yesterdaywhen I started thinking about this post, perhaps you will agree with me that it's terrible and that it's a wonder with that weird imcomprehensible Jon-Benet baby voice that she ever made a career out of singing.  OK, well maybe that's the point, right, that she didn't make a career out of singing per se.  But jeez, the video is so cheesy!  And don't get me started on the inanery of the lyrics...