Pardon My French

Thanksgiving dinner was never an especially favorite ritual of mine.

We usually spent the holiday with some of my parent’s friends, a group of people who I’ve spent some holidays with as long as I’ve been alive. When it gets right down to it, though, we don’t know anything real about one another: only the most superficial stuff. My parents would discuss with these people what kinds of activities we’ve been up to, what kind of grades we’d received and pass around photos of how we looked on picture day and at the homecoming dance the previous year. We don’t know anything about each other as people.

We’d all sit in our assigned seats around the dinner table and eat our dinner at 1 p.m. Our accolades were shared, compared, quietly judged. Afterward, the children were instructed to go down to the basement for the remainder of the party while our parents drank and talked about the good old days, the times before we all were born. It never strayed from this formula.

I remember one year that the topic of marriage came up during dinner. A man who is a sort of faux-uncle to my sister and me asked the table what age we all thought was the ideal time to get married.

My “cousin” spent a few minutes describing her dream “Tiffany & Co. wedding.” Everyone else didn’t seem to give it a whole lot of thought, and one by one, revealed what age they considered to be the perfect time to get married.

When it came to be my turn, I admitted that I thought the question was silly. “You shouldn’t force the concept of marriage by pinning down an age that you must to be married by,” I said. It shouldn’t be a question of age, because if you truly live your life as its meant to be lived, you’ll never know when you fall in love. Whether you’re 30 or 90, you should get married when you’re ready to–and if you aren’t ever married, it shouldn’t be frowned upon. My sister nodded in agreement. Otherwise, I collected a bunch of blank stares and the subject was quickly changed as though I’d said nothing at all.

Holiday tradition resentment aside, marriage has never been part of my plan.

I didn’t spent my childhood dreaming about what my wedding day would be like. I didn’t play wedding with my Barbie dolls, make crayon drawings of my dream dress or include a bridesmaid dress color palette in my MASH games.

In adolescence, this turned into a full on: “I don’t want to ever get married,” which didn’t seem set well with a lot of people I knew. But, did they have the right to be surprised? Gays weren’t legally allowed to marry–and everywhere I looked I saw unhappy straight couples, my parents included. It seemed that whatever these couples had at one time loved about one another, it had completely disappeared.

People just didn’t seem to take marriage seriously, either. I would hear all the time about celebrities and reality TV stars becoming divorced within a year of their wedding day. Even “real life” people didn’t seem to fully grasp what it meant to be married. When I worked grocery retail just a few years ago, a guy who was 15 years my senior had recently become engaged. I remember him saying “and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll divorce her. Just like I did the last one.”

Why should the idea of and word “marriage” ever mean anything when its lumped into the same category as the above listed relationships?

When Phil first asked how I felt about marriage, he got an earful. He didn’t disagree with me at all, but I do think that my opinions made him sad. Even with divorced parents and similar life experiences, marriage was important as a symbol to him.

Marriage as a word and concept doesn’t mean much to me even now, years later. The only thing that matters, though, is how I feel about my relationship with Phil. Through thick and thin, we’re there for each other. Even if he got into a car accident and became a Paraplegic, I would be there for him, whether or not there’s a ring on my finger.

Phil’s an optimist and he’s opened my eyes to a world of happiness unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. He’s my best friend, my soul mate. We take care of each other.

Every morning I wake up, happy that he’s there. Every evening, I come home from work excited to tell him about my day. My love for him only grows stronger with every passing week and month. He colors my world and I couldn’t live life without him.

I have always felt that marriage is society’s attempt to lump us all into the same category. While there’s just no way to compare what I have to what others have, I’ve decided to stop caring so much about this. All that matters is Phil’s and my happiness.

It was my idea to go on a getaway to Big Bear Lake.

A small city nestled high up in the San Bernadino Mountains, I first heard of the beautiful ski resort town soon after we moved to Southern California.

A few weeks back I mentioned to Phil that I wanted to get out of the city for a weekend. We haven’t yet had the time or the means to really explore outside of Los Angeles, so there are still a ton of places I’d like to visit throughout California. Because of the time of year, I thought it would be good for us to get some crisp, fresh air and be out in nature. Because it’s just two and a half hours away, this would also be really convenient.

Earlier this week, I pulled the trigger and made the arrangements for us to stay up in Big Bear Lake for a night. The thought of hiking, horseback riding and shopping in the villages small boutiques all sounded fun to me, but if we just hung out in the hotel room’s jacuzzi tub and sat near the fire, that would also be perfectly fine with me.

We woke up early Saturday morning, grabbed some coffee, hopped in the car and headed east for the mountains. After an hour into our car ride, Phil clued me in to the fact that he had a “couple of surprises” planned for us. Since he’s kind of horrible at keeping secrets, he told me that their first of my surprises was a couples’ massage in Big Bear Village. It just so happened that it was exactly what I wanted to hear.

The winding drive up to Big Bear was stunningly beautiful: We were surrounded by mountains covered in massive pine trees. Because the sky was clear and it was sunny, it was all that you could see for miles.

On the way up to Big Bear Lake

See the snow?

When we reached Big Bear, we had an hour before our massage appointment, so we had some hot soup and sandwiches at a small pizzeria and then explored The Village. There was a lot of touristy shops, but there were some gems in the mix. Inside of an old fashioned candy store, I found Cinnamon Bears, a vegan friendly gummy that I haven’t come across since I’ve left Michigan. I also got myself a dress at a small boutique.

Our massage was at The Village Spa and Wellness Center, one of the most beautiful facilities that I have ever been to. (Ahem…I’ve had my fair share of massages in the last year.) The staff asked which areas were troubling me most (shoulders, neck and back) and spent most of the time working out all of my knots and stress. All of the while, Native American flute music played. I was in heaven for a full 90 minutes.

Afterward, in a bit of a daze, we wandered around the village more and got ourselves cider chai lattes at one of the local coffee shops.

Because it was pretty cold in Big Bear (in the 20s!) we soon checked into our hotel and took full advantage of the hot tub and fireplace.

When the sun began to set, Phil encouraged me to get my winter gear back on so we could head out for my next surprise: a horse-drawn carriage ride around the lake. The white carriage was a classic Victorian coach that had been decked out for the holidays, detailed with holly and brass bells. The driver took us for a 45 minute ride around the lake, drove us by some of the multi-million dollar log cabin homes and throughout the village. The best part was that we could see stars twinkling across the crystal clear winter night sky as well as all of the Christmas lights throughout Big Bear. We probably would have been freezing if it weren’t for the huge furry blanket that we cuddled up beneath.

Afterward, Phil took me to dinner at a small, charming little restaurant a stone’s throw away from our hotel. It wasn’t a long walk from the carriages, but we were still freezing when we arrived. To get warm, we sipped ginger ale and whiskey cocktails and sat close to each other in our booth. For dinner, Phil had stuffed salmon and I had a garlic veggie pasta.

When we were finished eating, Phil wanted to take me somewhere up higher, he said, so we could get a closer look at the stars and a better view of the mountains. We spent an hour driving around and unfortunately, we never found a scenic vantage point that worked well in the dark. I took note of his persistence, thought it was strange, but didn’t dwell on it.

We headed back to the hotel so that we could warm up by the fire. It was some time later, after we had enjoyed each others company and sipped on some champagne, that Phil told me had something to give me. I assumed it was a special early Christmas gift and sat down on the edge of the bed.

He asked me if I remembered the first present that I ever gave him. I did–a notebook that I decoupaged for him back when he was my editor at CM-Life. It’s an item that he has told me many times meant the world to him–he still has it and uses it.

I made this for Phil six years ago

That’s when he pulled out a notebook that he had decoupaged especially for me, something that he had never done before. It had my picture on it and words and images that reminded him of how he felt about me. I opened it up and on the first page he had hand written “I love you with everything that I am.”

The notebook

I tried to turn the page to flip through the rest of the journal, but it was stuck. When I realized that the pages had been taped shut, I pulled it open. There was a diamond ring wedged inside of a shallow hole that had been cut into the paper.

Where the ring was hidden

That’s when Phil went down on his knee and asked me to marry him. When we talk about it now, Phil said that I screamed “WHAT!?”, but I only remember saying “yes” before bursting into tears and sobbing into his shoulder.

Phil and I had discussed our engagement with my parents while we were home in Michigan this past November, so it’s not like I didn’t know that this would happen. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Phil told me it probably wasn’t going to happen until after his book came out this Spring.

I had accidentally destroyed my phone earlier this week and so I kept using his to text friends and make calls. He was very weird about this at times–and I just assumed he was concerned about potentially spoiling a Christmas gift. Looking back, he was behaving strangely, but again, I just assumed he was freaking out between work and the holidays.

I’m still just kind of speechless about the whole thing.

Beautiful mountains, my beautiful ring

The last 9 months that I worked for Starbucks, I spent my weekends at the store. My Saturday and Sunday morning shifts would start in the early morning, usually sometime between 4:30 and 6:30 in the morning.

Since I started working for Brave Dog full-time, I’ve got my weekends back. I have time to myself, to break free from the grind of the work week and put my feet up.

I get to have a social life on Friday nights, stay up late, sleep in and go out for brunch with my boyfriend. The last few weekends, I’ve used this time to write, work out, get a massage and spend a whole day with friends. I’m hoping to use this time get back into hiking. (I miss it!)

I’ll never take this gift of personal time for granted again as long as I live.

Enjoying some coffee and mimosas with Phil earlier
today at Home Restaurant in Los Feliz

This Christmas will mark the first ever that I won’t be spending with family back in Michigan. Phil and I decided to go back to Michigan for two weeks during early November when we could have a much more low-key visit. I know late December will make me a little homesick, but I certainly won’t miss the usual stress that comes with traditional Christmas festivities.

Because I’ve always spent Christmas at my parents’ house, I’ve never had my own Christmas tree. In fact, aside from the few ornaments that I’ve received over the years and the occasional cheap strand of lights, I haven’t owned any decorations at all. Phil and decided that we needed to change this.

Our apartment isn’t spacious enough to accommodate for a full size tree, so we went small and bought a three-foot tall fake tree. We also picked up some silver & gold ornaments and a big, sparkly silver star to put on top of the tree.

After we decorated it together, we decided to place it near the front door, in the corner atop our blanket box. This way, it’s in the middle of everything. The gifts beneath the tree are already starting to pile up!

Because we’re shipping a lot of gifts home, I’ve been leaving this little note for our friends and family on every package.

My whole life, my mother has been making and decorating her own wreaths. When my parents bought the family cottage back when I was 9, she started the tradition of making Christmas wreaths for friends and family using live greens.

This year she made me a beautiful wreath of my very own for our front door. My dad, who’s a bit hard of hearing, shipped it to me overnight. I know that if he heard the actual price that it cost for shipping, he probably wouldn’t have done it. I’m really glad that he did, though. It’s really cheered up our front door!

There’s nothing like good old fashioned scripted television to break up all that reality TV.

I’ve always been a sucker for a well told tale about the living’s relationship with all things that go bump in the night and FX’s “American Horror Story” is no exception.

The horror/drama series grabbed hold of my attention from it’s very first scene:
It’s the late 70s and two twin brothers, baseball bats in hand, push through the large front gates of a foreboding Victorian home. A little girl in a pretty yellow party dress warns “you’re going to die in there.” The boys insult her, push past her and enter the house with the intention of vandalizing it.

I just had to know what happened next.

“American Horror Story” has an elaborate plot, some very compelling characters and seem to take notes (and the soundtracks) from some of the greatest psychological thrillers in American cinema: “Rosemary’s Baby” and “The Shining” to name a couple.

I also can’t help that I’m captivated by the very beautiful, yet also extremely creepy house that the show is centered around.

A few weeks ago, my sister Courtney informed me that not only was this house located near me in Los Angeles, but it is also for sale. Some searches on the internet confirmed that this was true–and that I could also arrange to have a real-estate agent take us on a tour of the property. (Side note: My research also uncovered the very exciting fact that the “Buffy The Vampire Slayer” episode “Fear Itself” was shot in the house.)

I left messages with the appropriate contacts, but did not hear back from anyone. I have to wonder: maybe they’re receiving a lot of calls just based on popularity from the show? Or perhaps the house has already sold?

Despite the fact that we weren’t going to be able to go into the house, Phil, my friend Chris Pudlo and I decided that we wanted to drive by and check it out anyway.

According to the ever-reliable Wikipedia, the house was designed and built in the early 1900s by Alfred Rosenheim, the president of the Los Angeles chapter of the American Institute of Architects, the Tudor or Collegiate Gothic-style single family home was previously used as a convent.

1120 Westchester Place is a historical Hollywood mansion located in Hancock Park. While the home was still quite beautiful, I was surprised that it did not look exactly like how it did on the show.

It was much longer in length than it’s portrayed on TV, there’s a greenhouse attached on the left hand side (when you’re looking up at it from the street) and the yard just wasn’t as well groomed as I had imagined. (outdated shrubbery, weedy grass and a sparse pine tree with some awkwardly droopy branches.) It’s interesting how the creative angling of the camera and just a pinch of Hollywood magic can make a place seem completely different on screen.

With my friend Chris

See what I mean about that yard?

Standing near the driveway

I’m still clutching onto the hope that maybe someone over there will return my calls and agree to take us inside.