The Sheila Variations

Monty Python

Cashel and I had a lot of fun this week watching various Monty Python episodes on Netflix, rolling around with laughter. The "Semaphore version of Wuthering Heights" was one of our favorites. And last night, we said good night to one another "in semaphore", gyrating our arms at one another from across the room. It's the joke that never dies. As I drove off this morning, Cashel was saying goodbye to me "in semaphore". Beneath the lines of palm trees.

Why: music video for "These Hands" and "January Twentysomething"

Directed by Ben Barnes.

Starring my awesome nephew Cashel who does an amazing job here. And my brother's girlfriend Melody is also in it, in one heart-wrenching shot.

I'm so proud.

A couple things to note:

1. Brendan was there during the shoot, and described seeing the lead actor, John Walcutt - with all of the arrows out of his back (he's obviously an incredible actor, just WATCH him) - sitting on a break with Cashel, chatting. And he's wearing the jacket with the arrows coming out of his back (a hand-made costume, unbelievable) - but by that point, it's normal that that is what he is wearing, so there he and Cashel sat, having a snack, arrows out of Walcutt's back, talking about Star Wars or whatever. I love this man.

2. I love everyone on the shoot for their kindness to Cashel.

3. The director, Ben Barnes, came to Cashel's school play a couple of weeks ago. You know, because Cashel is "his actor", they were colleagues, so to speak, so he came out to the middle school to support Cash. This speaks volumes of his good character. Here's an interview with Barnes about the video.

Enjoy. It's intense.

Cash does a great job, and it's definitely difficult to see him in this situation, but I know he had a lot of fun doing the shoot.

On the Block Island ferry

... with Cashel.

Thoughts swirl through my head.

1. Wow. I miss my pimp coat.

2. Cashel was so little!!!

3. But in Lucy terms, he looks so big. Will she ever be that big?

How will my heart stand it??

Father and son

I love this picture of Bren and Cash.

Aqua Boy

aka Cashel.

Summer, 2007. Cape Cod.

Scanning Tuesday

Uhm ... Cashel?

Is that you????? You big boy with glasses and books and a great vocabulary and a Boy Scout uniform?? Is that really you?

Scanning Thursday

Dad holding Cashel who is about one month old here. A proud and happy grandfather (or "Gampa" as Cashel ended up calling him).

The best sound in the world

Mum, Bren and I sat downstairs. We were watching It's a Wonderful Life.

From upstairs we heard guffaws - or, more accurately, HOWLS - of laughter from 11-year-old Cashel. He was HOWLING. We laughed just hearing the sound. The howls didn't stop. They kept going. The guffaws, the howls, rang through the house.

Bren went upstairs to see what was going on.

I had given Cashel 4 Marx Brothers movies for Christmas, and Cashel was, at that moment, watching Monkey Business, and rolling around on the bed upstairs, clutching his stomach, howling with laughter. He later came down, his little body so cute in his new blue pajamas, holding his laptop, with the scene cued up that he wanted us to see. It was the scene where Harpo, on the run, finds himself in a puppet show, and he successfully imitates a puppet in order to evade the police.

And then we all were howling, too.

Cashel was doubled over, cackling.

It is the best sound in the world.

He has been such a brave boy the last two weeks. I am so so proud of him.

And so happy that my gift went over well.

Harpo / puppet show clip below.

Snapshots

-- Justin came over with his three kids. Cashel and the three kids were playing down the hall and we could hear some ruckus going on. Justin went to check, came back and said, "It's fine. They're just playing Somali Pirates."

-- My father gave each of us a copy of the book he wrote in 1989. He had been keeping the copies for us - not wanting them to get ruined in all of our various moves. But now we each have a copy. Beautiful. Dedicated to my mother, of course. Cashel, good little boy, flipped through the book and said, "When was Ulysses published?" What a sweetie. Talking with the adults, being interested in what was going on. Bless you.

-- Bren, Cash, Siobhan and I went to go see Bolt the night before Thanksgiving. It was great!! So much fun! We all just fell in love with that obese awesome hamster. Great great character.

-- Cashel made me a great card for my birthday. He's a very good artist. I stand there in a real bad-ass pose, and I am wearing a fedora and cracking a bullwhip. I am flanked by two enormous statues - kind of like the lions on the steps of the New York Public Library - only these are two giant turkeys. Above my head is an open book on a pedestal, and it has a question mark on the pages and is called "Untitled". It is addressed to SHEILA O'MALLEY AND THE FUTURE NATIONAL BESTSELLER. I was really touched.

It's Cashel's birthday today!

I spoke to him last night.

"So, Cash, are you excited about your birthday tomorrow?"
Brief pause.
"It's daunting."
"It is?"
"Yes! I have less than 24 hours left of being 10 years old!"
"That is pretty scary."
"It's daunting!"

I know it's daunting, but I also know that our little man is up to the challenge. In many ways, it seriously does seem like only yesterday that I made my way to Beth Israel Hospital in New York, and sat in the waiting room with my parents and Maria's parents, waiting to hear the news. Then Brendan came out, in his scrubs, rolling a little tupperware tub-like thing, with a small curlycue wrapped-up creature in it, with huge staring eyeballs - and Brendan whispered, "It's a boy!" and we all flipped OUT. And now that small curlycued creature is telling me his birthday is DAUNTING.

Oh, and I asked him what he was going to be for Halloween.

"Cash, what are you going to be for Halloween?"
"The economy."

I NEED PICTURES.

Samurai call this ...

For some reason, yesterday morning Jean became a samurai calesthenics instructor - and was making Cashel and me laugh so hard that we were close to drowning at certain points. We had to stop playing the game becaue Cashel was guffawing so loudly he was drinking the entire lake.

"Samurai call this ... the albatross ..." she would intone, and then do some goofy "calesthenics" with her noodle. (We've been all about the noodles. We can't stop talking about them. "Hey - could you grab me a noodle?" "Where's my noodle?" "Do we have any more noodles?")

"Samurai call this ... great dog ..." and Jean swam off away from us, pushing the huge noodle along with her nose.

We played Samurai Calesthenics Instructor for about 45 minutes. It's a game that keeps on giving.

Watching Field of Dreams with Cashel

At the sight of Shoeless Joe in the field at night, Cashel cuddled up to Bren, whispering, "This is like a horror movie!"

I think Cash's favorite part was James Earl Jones chasing Kevin Costner out of his apartment saying, "You're from the 60s! Go back to where you belong!" Cashel couldn't stop laughing about that. The sound of Cashel's unselfconscious laugh is the best sound in the world.

Cashel on Frankenstein:

"I read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and every other WORD was 'melancholy'. The melancholy sky, the melancholy smile ... EVERYTHING was 'melancholy'! And it was 200 pages before he built the monster!"

So, Mary, could you dial down the melancholy, please? A 10 year old in 2008 is bored by the repetition. Thanks.

Culture snapshots and emotional snapshots

-- I'm reading A Widow for One Year by John Irving and also The Fortune of War by Patrick O'Brian. Awesome counterpoint. Both superb writers in their own way.

-- Thank you, dear Siobhan, for introducing me to the amazing pleasures of L.E.O. - I cannot get enough of them right now. (Website here) Mike Viola and the Candybutchers are pretty much a required course if you are an O'Malley - kinda like the Foo Fighters - you at least have to give them a chance ... otherwise we won't take you seriously. It's kind of non-negotiable. Sorry. Anyway, L.E.O. is sheer liquid joy floating through the atmosphere. The song "Make Me" is my current fave. (Explanation of what L.E.O. is here)

-- Thinking a lot about Jeff Bridges these days. More later.

-- Went to a screening last week of Mongol, the sweeping Russian epic about Genghis Khan. Big plush press screening room on 57th Street, it was great. Everyone (myself included) blackberrying throughout the film, stepping outside to take a phone call, whatever ... and also scribbling on notepads throughout ... totally different atmosphere from seeing a movie out in the real world, but fun and interesting. My review will be on House Next Door eventually - I'll point you that way when it launches.

-- Totally consumed by something I'm working on now. It's causing me a lot of stress, there are not enough hours in the day, but I find a deadline ultimately very freeing.

-- Oh, guess who I heard from randomly (God bless Facebook) ... the guy I gave a photograph of my eyeball to for Valentine's Day 'lo those many years ago. Hysterical. It was good to catch up. I didn't bring up the eyeball. It's still too embarrassing.

-- I miss all of my friends right now.

-- Cashel wears a fedora to school now. He calls it his "trademark".

-- Allison's going to Italy for 10 days with her aunt to take a vacation in Tuscany on a horse farm. She's going to be riding horses the entire time. I'm so happy for her, although I will miss her.

-- Thank you, Hitachi. From the bottom of my heart: THANK. YOU.

-- Oh, and I'm also reading Patricia Neal's autobiography (thank you, cousin Mike!) and damn it's making me fucking SAD. She had one love. Gary Cooper. And she never recovered from the loss. Never. And Roald Dahl was a son of a bitch. But what a life, what a career, what strength ... but she ends the book with thoughts of Gary. She never got over it.

-- I crossed 2 or 3 pretty major things off my To Do list which have been haunting me. I actually cried when I crossed the last one off. It had been tormenting my mind, and giving me stress dreams.

-- Watched Stranger Than Fiction last night for, oh, the 10th time, and had to mop the tears off my face at the end. Slowly it's becoming one of my all-time favorite movies. ("You're never too old for space camp, dude.")

-- Last week I said the following sentence to Patrick, "My fallopian tubes are unfurling." Patrick still has not recovered.

-- My entire consciousness is now consumed by the bridesmaid dress I will wear in September.

-- I find office supplies immensely relaxing.

2007 Year in Pictures

Cashel in the batting cage

Paging Sigmund Freud

Talking with Cashel on the phone last night. He launched into a monologue at one point.

"I was playing the Star Wars Legos game the other night, and I was so focused on it that I dreamed about Legos that night! And the dreams were reeaaaally scary!! Dad said that I was so concentrated on the Legos that they went into my subconscious."

I hate it when that happens.

A certain special little boy

is turning 10 years old today. 10? Can it be?? My whole life changed when I morphed from regular old Sheila to "Auntie Sheila". It's a whole new part of my identity now - one that I hold so dear. I can't imagine my life without Cashel!

He has moved on to much more ambitious projects now - with his video camera. He even took a movie-editing class this last summer. But just to show how far he has come, I will link to (yet again) his earlier work.

The much beloved KUNG FOOD GUY series.

Part 1

Part 2 (Please take note of how Pasta Guy's face changes right before he is devoured. He starts out screaming in horror - and then at the last second, he becomes resigned and Zen about it. That's my favorite part.)

Trailer for Part 3

Happy birthday, dear Cashel! You're ten! I can't beLIEVE it.

Like a true O'Malley:

this is how we found Cash when we went upstairs to tuck him in on our first night in the Cape:

Face down, fast asleep, in The Once and Future King.

pas de deux with the wind

There's a new choreographer on the block.

Here is a sneak peek of his latest work.

It is called "The Windiest Day EVER at the Beach."

Use the force, Cashel!

"Do or do not. There is no try."

(Cashel called me last night and today to give me permission to post this photo of him and his friend Jack. Great job with the Photoshopping, Cash!)

The life of Herb Brooks

I think this is one of the best movies I've ever seen. Done by a kid for a class project. I can't stop watching it. And I get all choked up at the end every time when you see the photos.

Thank you, Emily!!!

Speaking of an O'Malley filmmaker (Kung Food Guy: Part 1, Part 2, trailer for Part 3) Cashel is going to a summer camp where he will learn how to create video games.

This is the coolest thing ever.

He left me a rambling message where I only understood two words: "500,000 dollars" ... It sounded like, "blah blah garble blah and BLAH GARBLE BLAH!!! blahblahblahblah 500,000 dollars!!"

Is he asking me for 500,000 dollars? Not sure.

I also had a brief conversation with him, where I could tell his attention was elsewhere. I had interrupted his Simpsons marathon.

I said, "Okay, Cash, I'll let you go. I know you need to get back to the Simpsons."

He pondered this, and then said, "Well. I don't think I need to get back to the Simpsons."

I howled with laughter. His linguistic sophistication rearing its head. "Hahahaha VERY good point, Cash - but you WANT to ... You don't NEED to, but you WANT to. I completely know what you are talking about."

I don't NEED to watch Holiday and Only Angels Have Wings back to back on a weekly basis. No, I don't NEED to. But I WANT to.

And that's good enough for me. Life is so full of have-tos. It's good to make time for what you WANT-to.

Anyway, I can't wait to see what video game he creates.

Oh, and watch that Herb Brooks movie. Genius! I've watched it 3 times.

The day

I wrote this last year and I'm posting it again.

It's a self-absorbed post, my favorite kind. It is about what I remember. I mean - all I remember NOW is that it was Cashel's birthday. But this is not what the post was about, originally. It's about what I remembered from the day before, and the day of ... 2 of the most vivid and freaky days I've ever had in my life.

I wanted to write it from a ground-level perspective - which is hard - because I keep wanting to put in retrospective comments, stuff I've learned, how it all turned out, how I realize NOW that such and such ... but no. That was not the point of the post.

THE DAY

The clock was ticking. It had been ticking for months. The anticipation was tremendous, unbearable. As the day approached, it was as though the upcoming event washed away all other thoughts and concerns in my mind, and in the collective mind of my whole family. We could not talk of anything else.

The baby was coming! The baby was coming! The baby was coming! We didn't know if it was a boy or a girl ... but we knew that it was coming, and we loved it to death. It was the first grandchild to be born - on Brendan's side, and on Maria's side. We were al lout of our minds.

This is a post about what I remember about that day. And it involves the day before (it always does, doesn't it?) But it's really about that day. THE day. Certainly one of the most important days of my life, because it was the day that Cashel was born. Cashel, whose birthday is today.

I was in grad school. It was a vigorous and energetic time. I was living in Hoboken with my dear friend Jen. It was the late 1990s and my sister-in-law, the one who was carrying the most IMPORTANT BABY WHO WOULD EVER BE BORN, had gotten me a freelance gig my first year in New York, to make extra cash while I was slogging away in grad school. This was the dot com era, and there was major money to be made for doing ... basically ridiculous meaningless things. What were we doing? Or selling? Nobody knew. It was the something "new", the new thing! She got me a freelance gig, doing Rainman programming for AOL, and it paid 30 bucks an hour. I made friends doing that insane gig that I still have today.

Our dot com was affiliated with New Line Cinema so our offices were a floor below New Line corporate. You would walk up the spiral staircase into New Line proper, and there you were surrounded by cubicles, fluorescent lights, white boards, pie charts, Power Point, and perky girls in form-fitting suits and alligator pumps. You know. Civilization. But down that spiral staircase? You were full-on in wacko dot com world. There were mannequins dressed in school girl slut clothes. There were no overhead lights. There was more than one lava lamp. Dart boards were on the wall, beanbag chairs were on the floor. We were barely presentable. If "corporate" was coming down to visit, we'd really have to clean up the place, and make it look just a little bit like a real office. You know, like take the cigarette out of the mannequin's hand.

I used to work beside a guy named Pat, who was a surfer, a writer, a music-lover, and kind of brilliant in a very chaotic way. He also was kind. He was an online personality. He was born to be an online personality. He had nutso hair that was a different color each week, and he was doing literally MEANINGLESS things online on a daily basis, hosting chats, writing articles about stuff that he found interesting, and he made shitloads of money. He was a crazy Irishman. He's now married to a no-nonsense tough Irish chick who grew up with 8 older brothers. Her brothers were always beating guys up because they were being protective towards her. She finally had to be like, "Guys, STOP BEATING UP MY BOYFRIENDS." She is PERFECT for Pat, because she knows how to handle men. She ought to, with 8 brothers! But she doesn't play headgames, she's able to be one of the boys, she's a huge sports fan ... Perfect girl for him.

When I knew him, though, during the dot com mania, he was single and he's the kind of guy I click with, guys like that always get along with me really well.

We were friends. We sat side by side, at our respective computers, and he would reach out with his left hand and play with my ear lobe as we worked. He never asked permission. We never discussed it. It's strangely bizarre when I look back on it ... but that whole time was bizarre.

Upstairs was corporate America. Downstairs was Pat, with jet black hair standing up straight, or blonde streaked surfer dude locks, or totally bald having shaved it all off in a drunken frenzy. Downstairs was Pat touching my ear lobe as he typed with his other hand. I never said, "Uhm ... what's up with my ear lobe?" I can't remember the first day he did it, but I didn't slap him away, and so the ear lobe thing went on the entire time we both worked there, as darts flew towards the bullseye behind our heads, as people sat around us working at their computers with huge headphones on listening to music, as people lay in the beanbag chairs eating Krispy Kremes and having "integration meetings" ... and we all were working on ... what, exactly?

None of the companies I originally worked for are in existence today.

I told you this would be a post about what I remember.

When I think about "that day" - all of this stuff surrounds it. Dim lights, crazy offices, free-spirited funky dot com people, and Pat playing with my earlobe as he ran online chats. I worked 20 hours a week, I think ... taking the subway to 59th Street from my school in the Village. And I had a full course load.

I would spend my weekends out in Park Slope with my brother and Maria ... and her belly was growing ... and we would feel the baby kicking ... and the baby was so REAL to us ... I had a relationship with the baby from the moment they told us she was pregnant, of course. I didn't know who it was in there, but I couldn't WAIT to find out. But meanwhile ... during the pregnancy ... I had a huge huge love for the creature in there. I loved it so much.

The C-section was scheduled, finally, for October 31. Calendars were marked throughout the O'Malley and Sullivan family. That was THE day.

Maybe 4 or 5 days before Halloween, I was at my freelance job, getting my earlobe stroked by Pat the surfer, doing my work. I called my voice mail service to get my messages.

And - like a bolt from the blue - I heard an all-too-familiar voice. A voice that made my heart burst out of my chest. A man I once loved (you know, this one). I still loved him, I guess - But it was over, so, you know, life goes on. You slog on. You do the best you can. You MOVE. I had moved. It wrenched us apart geographically. He had my number, but never called it. It was over. It was over in the biggest way possible. But there was his voice ... there was his voice ... telling me that he would be in New York for one day only to do a show ... and want to get together? I could barely understand the message because I went out of my mind at the sound of his voice. I lurched forward in my seat, clutching the phone. The earlobe-stroking stopped as Pat looked over at me, curious as to my response. I was saying into the phone as I listened, "Oh my God. Oh my God." Surfer Pat mouthing at me, "What? Who is it?" All I heard was that HE would be in town for one day. And he was calling me to let me know that and to let me know the hotel he would be staying in. I was instantly a wreck. I had to listen to the message again because I had barely understood a word. I wrote down the address of the hotel. He also gave me his itinerary, he had to be here at this time, and there at that time, he would be checking in at that time ... and his voice was so jaunty and cheerful (Like always, I knew exactly what he was going through. He knew I would flip out when I heard his voice, so he wanted to sound unthreatening, unemotional, and ... happy. Like this would be no big deal. No big deal, right? We're friends, right? Happy happy joy joy!)

His jaunty cheerful voice: "So ... I know you're ... like, a really busy ACTRESS and everything ...but ... if you're around ... well ... that's where I'll be ..."

I made Pat the surfer-dude listen to the message so I could hear what he thought. I hadn't told Pat about him or anything - but I just gave him a quick bullet-point list of the situation and then said, "LISTEN TO THE MESSAGE." As though he were my best girlfriend or something. Why I loved Pat was that he - a rough-round-the-edges straight Irish boy - listened to the message seriously, no expression on his face, hung up the phone, said in a flat tone, "The dude's in love with you," and turned back to his computer screen, reaching out for my earlobe.

So.

October 30. He would be in town on October 30.

It was so bewildering to me, so intense ... and not altogether welcome. My main focus of that autumn had been the upcoming birth. It was beautiful, hopeful, so exciting. And ... to have ... him come to New York ... which he never did ... and to have it be on the day before this momentous event ... I guess you could say some of the ol' circuitry got a little botched up in my nervous system. I was wound tight as a top, man. I mean, I'm always wound tight as a top - but this was even more nuts than usual. My heart constricted into a tiny fluttering laser-beam of movement. Okay. Okay. You're gonna see him. Get ready. Ya ready?

I had class the morning of October 30. Classics. My outfit had been painstakingly chosen, with much help from my roommate. I wore a tight houndstooth skirt, and high brown heels - very retro - a fitted brown sweater. The outfit was very 1940s leading lady. Womanly.

I had a great class, I remember. And then I walked out into the blinding autumn morning, the flaming leaves in the trees, and headed uptown to go meet him at his hotel. I was completely consumed with keeping myself together, and not flying off into a million bits into the universe. Breathe ... breathe ... one foot ... in front of the other ... stay calm. Stay calm.

I walked into the hotel lobby. It was a fancy hotel, but intimate, small, lovely - with deathly slippery marble floors ... and I remember this part perfectly. It's going to be hard to describe - because it depends on the visual, it was such a cinematic moment. But this is just how it happened:

Slippery marble floors. I could barely breathe, I was so freakin' TENSE about seeing this man again. I was having cardiac arrest ... we had no meeting place or time ... I didn't know where he would be, he didn't know if I would show up, I hadn't responded to his phone call because he hadn't given me a phone number (and I didn't have his number) ... so it was either going to happen or it wasn't ... He had told me where he would be, and when ... and if I was free ... I could show up at that time. Right on schedule, I walked into the lobby, palpitating, he could have been ANYWHERE ... but I had to keep my exterior calm and cool, in case he saw me before I saw him ... so I tried to look around, casually, for his face. And I remember these workmen walked by, carrying an enormous decoration of some kind, perhaps on their way to a private party room, for a wedding reception or something. The decoration was so big that it was almost like a stage set, it took 3 guys to carry it ... and it was all silvery and covered in pearls, and there were long streaming silver ribbons, and sparkley gems covering it ... All silver and white. It took up the whole lobby, and I stopped, watching it pass by, it seemed so odd ... it wasn't a Halloween decoration, and I was so hyped up that pretty much everything in the world was coming at me in vivid 3-D technicolor ... and then - once the decoration had passed by ... there he was. It was as though the silver-glitter thingamabob was a curtain or something - going up - signifying the start of the theatrical event that would obviously be our day together.

He saw me. I saw him. The whole thing was wordlessly dramatic, and rather awkward. We were always bad at greetings and goodbyes, we never hugged, or gave casual kisses, or anything. We had a hard time just saying, "Hey, what's up" or "How have you been?" to each other. We just couldn't do it. We were like hot stoves to each other. You can't really cuddle up to a hot stove ... it's too dangerous. But seeing each other after all that time ... seeing each other in the strange unfamiliar lobby ... with a silver floating stage set going by like some Busby Berkeley fantasy dream-sequence ... He and I had a full greeting. Even with no hug. Even with no words. We needed neither.

Within 10 minutes it was as though we had never been apart. We were just in sync. Always. However, everything was different now. We knew that. We didn't speak of it, we didn't have to. It was there at all times.

He had hours free until he had to do his show. He said, "I kinda wanna see your school. I want to see where you spend all your time. Show me the coffee shops where you go. So I can picture it."

And so that's what we did.

I took him downtown and I "showed him my school". I took him into my classrooms, I introduced him to my acting teacher. I took him to my coffee shop. He walked into the joint (which was completely generic - you would find such a coffee shop in any town anywhere) ... and he walked into it, stared around him, taking it in, and then nodded, to himself. Like: "Okay. Got it." Like he had memorized it for safe keeping.

I knew I would cry about such moments later.

We walked and walked and walked. We talked. He made me laugh so hard I cried. He went off on the "lack of enthusiasm" in "kids today". He went off on it for a good 20 minutes. I egged him on, I completely agree with him, and suddenly he heard himself and said, "Oh man. I sound like such an old fogey. These kids today!" The sun was shining, it was Indian summer, everyone was out, the NYU students, the locals ... it was a day when you suddenly were happy to be alive. It was also as though New York City put on its best outfit ... just for my guest.

I remember we went to Washington Square Park. We watched the street performers. We sat on a stone bench, and soaked up the atmosphere. Time stood still with him. It stretched out. It couldn't have only been 5 hours that I was with him. That CANNOT be right.

We had no deep conversations. We never really did. We didn't have to. We talked about books and music and told funny stories.

A drug dealer wearing a Rasta hat came up to us. His eyes were marbly-glazed and red, but he had a really friendly reggae-drenched smile. "Smokes, smokes?" he offered.

The two of us smiled at him regretfully. "No thanks," we said together.

He shrugged, sadly, and then took another look at us. He took us in. Then he stated, "You two are in love."

We froze. Neither of us knew what to say or do. We didn't respond. We sat there, consumed with awkwardness. Seriously. It wasn't delicious awkwardness, or flirty awkwardness ... It was this unspeakable thing that had been spoken by A DRUG DEALER. A freakin' stoned drug dealer saw the love. We had been fine until that moment.

We both kind of awkwardly said, "Oh ... well ... you know ...." He had plunged us into this psychodrama which we couldn't even reference ourselves, not if we wanted to get through this day without a huge scene.

Rasta guy said, seriously, not looking at me, but looking at my companion, "She's the only woman for you, my friend."

We both laughed (oh, they were the fakest laughs in the world) and my friend kind of awkwardly put his arm around me. It was an act. Maybe if we validated Rasta's observation, and said, "Yes, that's true" then drug dealer would go away and stop TORMENTING US WITH MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS. His arm around me was like a stiff robot arm.

It worked. Rasta guy walked away, and then called back at us, "Today is a day for lovers, you know!"

And he was gone. Leaving us silent, and totally awkward with each other.

Suddenly, after hours of nonstop talk ... silence. We didn't know where to look (certainly not at each other), we drank our sodas, looking around us, pretending to be people-watching, trying to pretend that that didn't just happen, nibbling on pretzels ... We might as well have started whistling, staring up at the sky "nonchalantly". It was that cliche.

We went on like this for a good 5 minutes until ...

"Wanna go see The Bottom Line?" I asked. I was desperate. I had to do somehing to save us.

He leapt up, all excited and not awkward anymore. "Yes!!"

We walked around the city for a couple more hours. I showed him stuff. We staggered around laughing. He asked questions. I answered. I asked questions. He answered.

I didn't realize until that gold and blue October day how much I really missed him.

We said goodbye on a corner near his hotel. We were suddenly very formal with each other. We had a stiff hug (like I said, we're not huggers. We can't touch casually, AT ALL. Still can't. Even now when we see each other, we can't just have a friendly normal hug. Nope. No way. Not because of animosity but ... well, you'll just have to figure it out yourselves, people.) - "Good to see you!" "Oh, it was so great to see you in your element!" "Have a great show!" blah blah blah.

Casual! Happy! We're old friends visiting! Yay!! Fun fun!

And he was off. And I was off.

As I walked back to school, it was as though I had an anchor, suddenly pulling me down into the cold blue deep. Literally, the second I turned away from him I could feel myself fall. And it was a far fall, man. It just kept going down. And down. And down.

I came back to Hoboken that night ... the day before THE DAY ... and cried myself to sleep. Pressing down on my heavy heart, with my own hands, trying to soothe the hurt there, which was searing. I was proud of myself, though, that I had kept it together during our time that day. There were no meltdowns. I hadn't "gone there". We kept it together. We had a nice time. We enjoyed each other's company. We kept it light. We made jokes. We laughed, we didn't ruin it. I was proud of both of us for that.

I woke up the next morning.

It was THE DAY. The day we had all been looking forward to for so long.

But God. How differently I suddenly felt. My whole hopeful autumn had been knocked out of me, leaving a puffy-eyed pale-faced girl with an anchor round her foot.

I made my way to the crazy New Line office, with its mannequins wearing kilts and biker boots, and its low lights, the glimmering screens of the monitors ... I sat at my computer, wearing my sunglasses inside because my eyes were so messed up from crying and I was embarrassed. I had a couple of hours there before I headed down to the hospital where I would be there for the birth.

The birth! Is the day really here? Is it really happening? What the hell? Did yesterday even happen?

Weird what you remember. I remember going to work that morning and I remember looking forward to Pat playing with my earlobe. The earlobe thing had become a normal part of my everyday life, and I took it for granted. But suddenly, on Halloween, on THE DAY, I needed it. I needed a nice tender friendly touch that day. And I needed not to ask for it. I needed a touch that demanded nothing of me in return. A touch that was gentle, but with gentleness that did not hurt me. And there he was. Now that I'm actually thinking about "the earlobe thing", I think that why it was so cool is that it wasn't sexual. It wasn't a come-on. It started as an affectionate joke thing, or like he was my little brother trying to bug me as I tried to work, and he just kept doing it, until it morphed into ... almost a trance-like thing, where we weren't even aware we were doing it.

So I sat there, on THE DAY, with my heart down in the cold blue deep, thudding painfully against my chest, doing my Rainman programming for 30 bucks an hour, drinking up the touch of Pat's hand on my earlobe, with tears rolling down my face. A constant flow of tears. Pat never mentioned the tears. He was too much of a gentleman for that.

Then.

It was time.

The moment we all had been waiting for. For nine months.

I left the office. It was 5 o'clock at night. I was kind of hysterical, truth be told. I hadn't fully segued yet. I was still trying to get back up to the surface. Believe it or not, I had completely forgotten it was Halloween. The really important event of that day was the birth. So I emerged onto the street, and I remember watching a witch walk by me, with a tall pointed hat, and then I remember watching a guy come towards me, fully dressed as an Oompa Loompa, with a bright orange face. I was so out of it, so absorbed with my own pain, that I didn't know what was going on for a second. Why is there a witch on the sidewalk ... oh my God, why is there an Oompa Loompa? I remember, too, that it was sunset, and the sky was a bright PINK. A crayola pink. With no other colors blended in, no soft wash of lavenders or lilacs ... no. Just a flat Pepto Bismol pink sky. With witches and Oompa Loompas coming at me.

Of course I remembered in the next second second that it was Halloween, but for those few moments when I had forgotten the world seemed like a completely insane place. With no rules I recognized. I had never seen a sky that garishly pink before. The streets were full of ghosts and ghouls and people with masks. Reality had shifted.

Oh, but no. It was just Halloween. I started walking down one of the Avenues - I had time to walk - I didn't feel fit to get onto the subway. I was too hysterical. And the sky was a glaring pink, and goblins and ghouls filled the streets. Everything was so WEIRD. NOTHING was normal. People in masks, ghosts, wizards, warlocks, vampires, Medusas ... strolling up 6th Avenue under the pink sky.

Truth be told, I kind of felt like I was losing my mind for about 20 minutes.

But it was good that I walked, because by the time I reached Beth Israel Hospital, the segue was finished. It's a long walk. I left the hysteria behind on the walk, I remember the breathing, the letting go ... and I came out of tragic mode and went into celebration mode. The goblins and ghouls had helped, turns out. Nothing was normal. And so it was COMPLETLEY fine that I was crying as I walked down the street. I cried as I walked. I didn't have to hold the tears back, which always makes things worse. I could just cry. And the goblins passed me by, not noticing. What did they care? They were goblins.

It wasn't ALL out by the time I reached the hospital, but let's just say the first wave was out. I had no idea how much feeling I would eventually have when that child arrived. I mean, I was excited, and I had SOME idea, but until it happened ... I just couldn't know what was coming.

I made my way to the maternity ward, and ... slowly ... as I took the elevator up ... I shed the day before like an old snake skin ... I let it go ... and I accepted the day I was actually in. It was the day. The day of our dreams.

The substance of things hoped for.

My heart was no longer an anchor sitting at the bottom of the ocean. It pounded against my rib cage ... the adrenaline rushing back in ...

It was time ... it was time ...

My parents were there in the waiting room. Maria's parents and brother were there in the waiting room. I joined them. There were other families waiting there, too. We got very involved in their stories. We shared our stories. We waited. We paced. We talked about nothing. We made chit-chat. We were completely in the moment. ALL we were doing was WAITING.

We loved our baby so much. We couldn't wait to meet ... him? Her?

The other family, whose daughter had had a labor of 24 hours or something and then had to have an emergency C-section, was anxious and exhausted ... and I think it rubbed off on us. I held onto my dad's hand as we waited. The anticipation was unbelievable.

And then ...

The moment came.

Brendan, in his doctor's scrubs, came out of the delivery room wheeling a little tub ... We all LEAPT to our feet. The moment was indescribable. I can't do it justice.

In the tub ... was a small cocoon. A white cocoon of a human being. With HUGE eyeballs staring out of it. HUGE STARING EYEBALLS.

Brendan whispered at us, excitedly, "It's a boy!"

Oh, we had never heard such miraculous words. Never! The burst of emotion that followed ... was operatic. I saw Maria's mother turn to Maria's father and throw her arms around him in a total abandonment of joy. My parents hugged each other, hugged my brother, hugged Maria's parents, I was hugging Brendan, with tears streaming down my face ... different tears now ... glad tears ... The joy I felt was ferocious, a stabbing knife of life-affirming joy. The anxious family, waiting for word of their daughter, got caught up in our celebration, and hugged each other, hugged us. And we all just kept peeking at the small white cocoon ... this PERSON ... this person we had all been waiting for, and loving so hard for 9 months ...

this wee white-swaddled being with HUGE STARING EYEBALLS ...

who was now ... undeniably ...

HERE.

Kung Food Guy!

No - there is not a new movie out - but there WILL be.

And here's the trailer! Just to whet your whistle.

It's especially great - because I am posting this on the filmmaker's 9th birthday. So it's all just even MORE cool!!!

I have many comments about the trailer - my favorite parts, etc., (I love the last close-up which kind of comes out of nowhere) but I will save them for later.

Refresher:
Kung Food Guy - part 1

Kung Food Guy - part 2

Cranium: "toupee"

Cashel was given "toupee" and he had to draw it with his eyes closed, and we all had to guess what it was.

Look at his drawing. Of a freakin' toupee.

Done with his eyes closed.

"Everything looks 3-D."

This was Cashel's response to what it feels like to have glasses. Cashel just got glasses. Uhm ... I need a picture of Cashel in glasses IMMEDIATELY.

I remember when I first got glasses. In 5th grade. My first glasses had thin silver rims and were vaguely Oscar Goldman-ish. I will never forget being driven home after first getting the glasses - and I remember we were driving by Old Mountain Field - and I was completely blown away by how the trees no longer looked like green BLURS. I was amazed at how I could see individual leaves. I had thought that EVERYBODY saw trees as vague green blurs!

So yes, Cashel, everything DID look 3-D!

My heart cracks at the thought of him in glasses. Can't wait to see him again. Where we can commiserate on our vision issues.

Correction

Talking on the phone with Cashel on Friday night. Cashel was pretending to be a martian for the entirety of our conversation.

Cashel (in martian voice): "I wonder what this little hole in the wall is for! I know that you earthlings call it an electrical socket! What would happen if I put my finger in there?"

Cashel then makes a long bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz sound.

Cashel (in martian voice): "The electrical socket is bad."

Auntie Sheila: "Uhm - so am I talking to an electrocuted martian right now?"

Cashel: "No. You're talking to a DEAD electrocuted martian right now."

Cashel then collapsed into hysterical laughter.

We continued on in this manner for about 20 minutes more.

DC Comics vs. Marvel Comics

-- Cashel slept over my house on Saturday night. This is a first. I planned for it as though a Head of State was passing through.

-- As we careened through the Lincoln Tunnel together (in the crazy little bus), on the way back to Jersey, he said, in a tone of humorous awe, "It's weird that I'm going to be in a different state than my dad!" I told him about the line in the middle of the tunnel - where it says New York on one side and New Jersey on the other. So we kept our eyes open for it - so we could be aware of the moment when we were actually in two states at the same time! When we saw the line, I glanced down at Cash, and I could see this huge grin on his face - as he was briefly picturing himself being split down the middle between 2 states.

-- Cashel was amazed at how tall the Empire State Building is. "It makes the Chrysler Building look so small!" he exclaimed in his enthusiastic mouse-voice.

-- He kept commenting on the cultural differences between my neighborhood and New York. "This feels like Maine," he said, as we tromped along the sidewalks to my house. "Really, buddy? Maine?" I asked, kind of doubtful, to tell you the truth. He said, thinking about it, "Yeah! It's quiet. Well ... it's quieter than Times Square!" That is always a good point of comparison. Is it quieter or louder than Times Square?

-- I think my favorite moment was when I brought him into my place (he's never been here before), and he came into my main room - sat down in the most comfortable chair (well - er - it's the ONLY comfortable chair - but he picked it!!) - took out his book and started reading. Immediately. SUCH an O'Malley moment. Yeah, whatevs, nice apartment, Auntie Sheila, I'm gonna read now. He didn't care about the TV until I mentioned it later. He didn't immediately sit down, pick up the remote, and turn on the TV. No. Out came the book. So I sat on my bed and read my book (which basically should be called The Black Death for Dummies - but oh well. I don't know much about the Black Death, so I guess you could call me a dummy. It's fun to read, believe it or not - even though the author talks to me like I'm retarded and don't know what bacteria is.). We sat in companionable silence and read for about an hour. I kept glancing up at him, I admit, so I could watch him read. The serious face, the long eyelashes, the big book ... I asked him questions about the book. He was forthcoming. "And this kid ... is endowed." Cashel said. Excuse me? "He is?" "Yeah. He is endowed with magical powers. And ... some crazy things happen to him." "Wow." Endowed.

-- Topics we discussed:
the Museum of Natural History, and the primates therein.
Illegal immigration. (Cashel brought it up.)
his best friends - who they are, and what their virtues are as friends
the Far Side (he's very into the Far Side) Once he gets started on the Far Side, it is a runaway train. Pretty hard to stop it.

-- I made him a sandwich. Mr. Picky Eater completely approved of the mustard, and asked me, as though he is a culinary connoisseur, "What kind of mustard is that?"

-- I know all I write about him are little teeny moments like that, but I love him and he kind of is a reminder of how miraculous life is. Small moments like that. There he is - this small person in my apartment - and it's kind of a miracle.

-- Then came the coolest thing. After dinner - with the amazing mustard - we turned on the TV to see what was on the History channel. You know, see if we could catch up with the Sumerians or something. And lo and behold - there was a 2-hour special on the entire history of Superman. We both got so excited!! Cashel is a Superman afficianado - and lectured me briefly on the importance of DC Comics, mentioning the names of the creators, casually, as though he knew them personally. So we were really psyched. I got him some ice cream. He sat on my rug, and I sat on my bed, and we watched. Occasionally we discussed. It was fanTAStic. Did anyone else see it?

-- Cashel had some comments: "I am REALLY interested to learn that the original Superman was evil!" This then led to Idea #1: He thinks it would be a great idea to have a movie where the original evil Superman battled the later good Superman. Almost like a Jekyll & Hyde thing.

-- Another idea he had was to have a movie where the cartoon characters created by DC Comics would battle the cartoon characters created by Marvel. Sort of an apocalyptic inter-comic-company war. Marvel vs. DC! Opening summer 2008!

-- We discussed the so-called Superman's Curse. I felt a little bit weird talking about suicide with Cashel - and George Reeves committed suicide - but Cashel seemed okay with it. Even baffled. "Why would someone want to kill themselves, Auntie Sheila?" Oh boy. We were on a commercial break, so I said, simply, "I guess he was just sad that he wasn't really Superman, Cash." Cashel thought about this, and then went back to his ice cream. Not really satisfied with the answer, but not pursuing the subject further. Hmmmm.

-- We laughed at the failed TV show "Super Pup" - which was put togehter in the wake of Reeves' suicide. I guess the producers thought: We can't have any more Supermans bite the bullet - so let's do the same Superman story, with the same cast, only let's have them all be dogs - only not real dogs - let's put midgets in dog outfits!!!!

Yeah, cause that's exactly the idea I would have in order to keep the franchise alive. I would hire midgets and make them wear dog costumes. Makes perfect sense!

-- We saw a bit of the pilot of Super Pup - which was ludicrous. Lois Lane was a poodle. The dog-heads were hard - made of some kind of hard thick plastic - and you just knew that there was some sweating midget inside. It was bleak. The narrator (Kevin Spacey) said, "This rarely shown pilot blah blah blah ..." The next day when Cashel was telling his dad about Super Pup, he rattled off, "We saw the rarely shown pilot!" Frankly, I can understand why it is "rarely shown".

-- Cashel has not seen the original Superman with Christopher Reeve! This is a must-see. We saw many clips from it. We saw Reeve's screentest - which - are always amazing for me to watch. I love seeing actors auditioning for the parts that eventually would make them famous. First of all: he was so hyped up and probably nervous that he had huge sweat stains in his blue leotard. Second of all: the performance that I saw in the screen test (and I think he was actually acting with Leslie Anne Warren who was up for the part of Lois) - was exactly the performance he ended up giving in the film. His audition had that much certainty to it - that much fullness. He had researched it to death - he knew what Superman represented - he knew what he had to embody - and so he DID that. He WAS Superman, and that was just his screen test. It just goes to show you that as an actor you always need to "show up" 110%. It's just a job interview ... but what they are looking for is the final product - and that may seem unfair - but that's the way it goes, and those actors who are sure enough of themselves to deliver that - will go far. It was great to see Reeve be so effortless in his screen test (only the sweat stains gave him away.)

-- When they showed the clip of Superman flying with Lois Lane near the Statue of Liberty - Cashel exclaimed (and it's a good point), "In Metropolis???"

Anyway - as you can see we had a great time with this special. We just ate the whole thing up ravenously - and were still talking about it the next day. Cashel is probably talking about it right now. Either that or the Far Side.

The potato famine, a-boo-hoo-hoo

It is well known in my family that my dad hates memorials to the potato famine. If you want to know why, just ask him! It's a "ooh! ooh! Mr. Kotter! Ooh! We were victimized too! We were victimized too!!" desperation that my dad despises. A-boo-hoo-hoo there was a potato famine. Get over it. Stop wallowing. So you had to eat your great-grandmother when she died. SO WHAT!! She was old anyway. I love to get my dad going on the potato famine memorials. The O'Malleys are from County Mayo - one of the hardest hit counties - but whatevs. Is that any reason to put up memorials in every city about it? It was black '47, a-boo-hoo. It's 2006 now. GET OVER IT. You just want to be included in the roll call of the world's biggest victims. Etc. I could go on and on, but you get the drift.

In our walk yesterday I said something like, "Somewhere along here is a memorial to the potato famine. Which of course makes dad crazy."

I was talking to Bren, but of course Cashel heard this and I could feel his little brain turning it over. Then the inevitable: "Why does the potato famine memorial make Gampa crazy?"

Bren replied, "Oh, because he's cranky."

We walked and walked. We saw the Korean War Memorial. We saw the US Navy memorial. We saw the really cool memorial to the Merchant Marines. That engendered a great discussion. Mainly about the seagull who perched on top of the main statue's head. Then suddenly, we saw something that looked like a discarded set for a Flintstone movie. Seriously. Look at the potato famine memorial in Battery Park and you'll see what I'm talking about.

"What is that?" asked Cashel.

"Some memorial, Cash. I have no idea what it is."

Then we heard some loudspeakered voice moaning on and on reproachfully and we heard the Irish accent and Bren said, "Oh God. It's the potato famine memorial."

"We have to go check it out."

We walked through it. There's a kind of recreation of - oh - Glendalough - but - it's dumb. I didn't say anything, though, because who knows - maybe Cashel would LIKE the potato famine memorial, and it's not up to me to tell him how to feel. We stood in one of the little Glendalough-esque alcoves, listening to the a-boo-hoo-hoo loudspeaker voice - on autopilot - there was an "old" stove cut into the wall, and Cashel went over and sat in it. All around us was the overwhelming sadness of the millions of Irish dead. Not. It looked like a Flintstone set.

Then I said, "Oh my God. We have to call Gampa right now and tell him where we are."

So we did. It was hysterical. I dialed - Dad picked up - and I said, "Hang on, Dad - we want to tell you where we are right now ..." And on the count of 3, just like we planned, Cashel, Bren and I screamed into the phone: "WE'RE AT THE POTATO FAMINE MEMORIAL!"

Seeing Cashel, with the huge smile on his face, and his big-boy teeth, scream those words - and he doesn't even really get WHY the potato famine memorial is funny - but he knows it's a joke, and that we're "getting Gampa" and that will be, in and of itself, funny.

My dad was HOWLING.

The funniest thing about it is that people were wandering around through the memorial - people of all nationalities - looking at the plaques, listening to the a-boo-hoo overhead, contemplating, being serious and respectful - blah blah - and 3 people of actual Irish descent stand in their midst, shouting into a phone about how FUNNY the memorial is.

Sumer

Cashel, Brendan and I walked around in Battery Park, looking at all the war memorials. We had many interesting discussions. Cashel said, in a tone of ancient worlds, obscured by the mists of time, "The Korean War was a long long time ago." At some point the word "genocide" came up. We were passing the Holocaust memorial - so it was appropriate. Cashel said, "What's genocide?" Ah, it's a beautiful summery day!! We're drinking lemonade, the sun beats down, the sounds of children laughing fill the hot air! It's the perfect time to discuss man's inhumanity to man! Bren said, "It's when one group of people decides to totally wipe out another group of people." There was a long pause. Cashel pondered this. Then he said, "Like with the Sumerians."

Kung Food guy!

For the first time ever - Cashel has commented on my blog! I'm so excited! I knew he read the posts that I put up about Kung Food Guy (he doesn't read my blog, of course - this is a grown-up blog - but when a Kung Food Guy installment goes up he is allowed to take a look at it with his mom or his dad watching) - but so far he's never commented! I am so excited.

So any Kung Food Guy fans who are out there - just want you to know - that Cashel is open to taking requests to the next part of the series - as he states right here!

One reminder: Cashel is 8 - and just remember how kids like to be taken seriously.

But I know there's a lot of love for him here - so if you have any ideas for him, or messages for him - go here!

The long-awaited sequel to Kung Food Guy

I am so excited about this that my heart just LEAPT when I saw the email from my brother.

So we have experienced Kung Food Guy. There were immediate cries for a sequel.

And Cashel has come through!!!

Wait until you see. I have many comments but I will wait for now.

Here is ....

Kung Food Guy 2.

This one has a particularly terrifying (meaning: satisfying) ending.

Awesome, Cash-man! Great job, hon!

Cashel's latest

Truly there is nothing else to say - except maybe WOW!!

Busted!!

Cashel and I had a long conversation about his most recent projects, and his upcoming projects. The talk turned to Kung Food Guy.

"Auntie Sheila," said Cashel over the phone, "I went to your blog and saw that you put my movie up."

Uhm. You "went to my blog"? You read my blog, Cashel? Also, the way he said blog - in this odd accent - "blawg" - kills me.

"You did? Member you told me it was okay, Cash?"

hahah I was afraid he would suddenly sue me for copyright violation or something.

He said, excitedly, "Oh, I know! But Auntie Sheila ... who are all those people who made comments??"

I felt like saying "Damned if I know" - hahaha - but I said, "Oh ... uhm ... they're my friends, Cash. They all liked your movie."

Cashel said, "I know! Last time I checked there was 32 comments!"

Last time I checked? You counted? The image of him coming back to my blog to see what other people were saying ... hahaha He was truly confused about who all those people were.

But more than that, he said:

"How did those people know about Stretchy Colorado?"

Oops.

"Uhm, I told them, Cash."

Cashel went on. "I was really surprised to hear someone talk about the banana sergeant."

Oops.

I said, "I'm sorry, Cash - I told them about the banana sergeant too." Auntie Sheila's a loudmouth.

"Oh, I don't care! I actually think that I WILL make a comic about Stretchy Colorado." Love it when little kids say "actually". Cashel says it all the time, and it kills me.

"Great idea! I love Stretchy. The whole banana sergeant thing was when you were really little - you probably don't even remember it, do you?"

Cashel did not. I described to him the card. I could hear and feel the silence of his listening emanating thru the wire. It was hilarious. He said something like, "Oh yeah" at the end - in a tone of: "Yes, that sounds like my work."

Cashel then took us back to the "blawg" and "all those people": "You know what, though, Auntie Sheila? I think you have to tell them about Garl."

Oops.

I said, "Garl is really cool, Cash."

Cash got all excited and said, "And someone in your comments said I should do a sequel to Kung Food Guy???" (Uhm - Mere? That would be you, I believe.) "Well, tell that person that I'm working on it."

Mere? He's working on it.

He then told me the entire plot. Which, you know, took about 2 seconds. The Kung Food Guy franchise is not known for its intricate plot.

But it sounds like it's gonna be a good one!

Introducing: Kung Food Guy!

My nephew Cashel is 8 years old. Cashel just made his first movie. It is called Kung Food Guy.

I have watched it 500 times since I first received it.

It's one of the best movies I've ever seen, I think. Oh, and he gave me permission to put it up here. I asked first.

Introducing: Kung Food Guy!

I have many many comments about my favorite moments (I have two in particular that I'd like to talk about) but I'll leave those for later.

Potatoes are in the past

Cashel had to give a talk in his class about his ancestors and where his family came from. The whole class has to do this project.

He interviewed my parents on the phone (multiple times - he had to call back and FOLLOW UP on a couple of points he wasn't clear on - hahahaha) - and wrote down the answers to his questions about our ancestors ("Where did we come from in Ireland?" "Why did we come to America?" "What did our ancestors do in Ireland?" Etc.).

Then he had to give a talk to the class.

Uhm, what I wouldn't give to have a video tape of the whole thing???

Apparently, he did really well. He gave his talk. And he closed with a bang: He passed out raw potatoes to the entire class. Each student got one. Nothing like a PROP to make history come to life! THIS IS WHAT MY ANCESTORS ATE. EVERY STINKIN' DAY.

hahahahahaha

Go, Cash-man. Good job, little man.

I tried to talk to him about it on the phone today but he wasn't really interested in re-living it. You know ... His whole vibe was: "that's the PAST, Auntie Sheila. I gave the talk THREE DAYS AGO."

I got monosyllabic answers to my questions.

"So how did it go?"
"Good."
"Was it fun?"
"Yes."
"Did people laugh at the potatoes?"
"Yes."

Cashel's got his priorities straight. Live in the PRESENT. But Auntie Sheila, with her pestering questions about an event from ANCIENT HISTORY needs a little work on hers.

Cashel's question

On Saturday, Cashel and Brendan and cousin Mike went to the Santa Barbara Film Festival to see the premiere of Believe in Me - a film starring Jeff Donovan, a good friend - who appears to be on the brink of major stardom. He's been on the brink for a couple years now, actually (uhm, Blair Witch 2, anyone? - but this might be the role that pushes him over the edge. It sounds like a crowd-pleasing film, with a juicy part for him. Very exciting. Cashel has known Jeff since he was born. I mean, Jeff has always been in Cashel's life. Believe in Me sounds like it's sort of A League of Their Own for basketball:

Set in the mid-60's, Believe in Me is the true story of a young man whose coaching dreams seem dashed when he's assigned to the girls' basketball team at a rural high-school, a dead-end at that time, pre "Title IX". Through the course of the movie, the girls and the coach find ways to earn each other's trust, and despite the opposition of the conservative town fathers, learn how to play to win.

Jeff plays the coach. Here's a shot of him in the role. And here's another still from the film. Looks like it could be pretty major!!

So Cashel, Mike, and Bren went to the premiere.

Cashel wore a white shirt with a collar, and a little sports jacket. The thought of this makes my heart crack. The sense of an EVENT. Cashel getting dressed UP.

They watched the film. It was all very exciting. Cashel had a ball - watching his friend JEFF up on the screen!!! Cashel is such a movie-lover anyway, so to be friends with people who are IN THE MOVIES ... is really really cool for him. (I can't get over the image of Cashel in a sports jacket, attending a premiere at the Santa Barbara Film Festival ... but I will move on.)

Afterwards, there was going to be a QA session with the director, producer, and Jeff. Mike and Bren were like, "Bah ... we don't need to go to that ... let's walk around ..." But Cashel said, "Can't we go to the question and answer session?" Mike was like, "Those things are always kinda boring, Cash." Cashel said seriously, "I have a question I'd like to ask."

Well. How can you say no to that??

Bren, as they filed into the big hall, made Cashel tell him the question ... just so he could give his stamp of approval on it. You know, you didn't want him to stand up and ... oh ... make some inflammatory statement about Iraq or something. Or shout, "What's the frequency, Kenneth" and then run out. No, just kidding. You know ... he just wanted to make sure the question was okay, and Cashel was okay with asking it.

They sat in the back of the hall. (Uhm ... Cashel was in a sports jacket. Help.) Of course the place is full of press, and actors, and directors, and studio people ... it's a madhouse. Cashel is 8. He was a part of the group.

Finally they opened it up to questions. Questions being asked and answered ... about the filming of the movie, the locations, the financing, the marketing, distribution questions ... You know. Insider-type questions.

Then the director, up on stage, saw Cashel's little hand way in the back of the hall and called on Cashel.

My heart is cracking in two.

"Yes - you? Do you have a question?"

Cashel shouted out his question, in his small mouse voice. "Was anybody injured during filming?"

hahahahahahahaha

I just love this boy so much. I wish I had been there. Obviously I wasn't - but I have now IMAGINED that I was ...

The director said, (and I want to hug him for being kind) "That's a really good question ... It's hard to make sure that actors aren't injured ... you're right about that ... and so that's why we blah blah blah blah ..." And he proceeded to answer Cashel's question, in detail. Did I mention that I want to HUG this man??

Cashel, wearing a sports jacket, asked a question at a press junket during the Santa Barbara Film Festival.

That's really all I wanted to say.

Cashel's breakthrough

Two days ago, Cashel fell on the playground, and got some scrapes on his face.

This is huge. Cashel has, up until this last year, been a cautious boy, physically. He never ran. He would go up and down stairs slowly, as though he felt that at any moment he would go spinning off into a wormhole if he didn't pay attention. His physical activity came when he would go off into his imaginary world, and have rowdy Jedi fights throughout the apartment. But in terms of sports? It's not Cashel's thing. Because it's too REAL. He would rather catch an IMAGINARY ball than a REAL ball. And in terms of running and jumping and careening about? Never Cashel's thing.

But when I visited him out in Los Angeles - we ran around the track at his school - and I watched him just take OFF, freely running as fast as he could, his little legs whipping back and forth ... with no fear of wormholes sucking him out into the deepest reaches of space or anything like that.

He seems to have had some kind of a breakthrough, in terms of being PHYSICAL.

So he fell! On the playground! This is huge! Throw caution to the wind! Run! Jump! Fall!

Brendan, when he heard about the fall, asked Cashel, "Did you cry?"

Cashel gave Brendan a look like: "Are you insane?" and then said, scoffingly, as though the answer should be SO OBVIOUS: "Of course."

Things experienced so far in LA - part 23

-- Bren and Cash and I came back to Bren's place, absolutely wiped OUT. Actually, Bren and I were the ones who were wiped out. Cashel promptly had to go into a room, lock the door, and re-enact ... movie scenes or something ... This is such recognizable behavior to me. Needing alone time. Fantasy time. I never could just get off the school bus and go running off with my friends. I always needed half an hour at home, decompressing, etc. If you're a cerebral imaginative little kid - then it takes a lot of RESTRAINT to hold all that stuff in check during school hours. It's exhausting. So anyway. Cashel just went NUTS in the other room. The explosions! The laser blasts! The random Jedi commands!

-- I was very entertained by Bren's two roommates. Bren is moving into his own place this week - so I'm glad I got to meet these two gentlemen. I've only heard of them ... but man. They're just both so so nice. Warmed my heart. They just opened their house to me. Both actors, both with a gazillion stories to tell.

-- We sat around and talked about the Inside the Actors Studio show - I regaled them with stories. They regaled me with stories. We DISHED on all of our celebrity encounters. Up close and personal. Half of the stories I am not allowed to tell. Jim started to tell me one, and he suddenly stopped himself and said, "I just realized I'm talking to the press." (hahahaha meaning - my silly blog) Then he said, "Is this OTB?" Off the blog. hahahaha We KEPT saying this over the rest of the night. "Now you're sure this is OTB?"

-- It was great. I really enjoyed the both of them. Really fun. I had heard so much about them, they're basically members of our family - through Mike, through Bren ... they're a big group of working actors out there, and have been friends for years - so it was wonderful meeting them. OTB.

-- It was heartcracking to me to drive off (Larry gave me a ride home) - with Cashel standing in the garage with Bren - waving at our car - and I can hear his little voice shouting, "BYE, AUNTIE SHEILA." I'm in tears right now.

-- The only thing that would have made the whole thing even more perfect would have been if Jean and Siobhan had been out there with us. We missed them both.

-- Alex and I spent our last evening together watching Dark Heart Iron Hand - one of our favorite shows on television. We continuously called it the wrong title. "Dark Head. Iron Glove." "Dark Hand. Iron Weed." Etc.

-- And yesterday morning I left. I drove off into the morning to get myself to the airport. Alex and I had kind of a melancholy parting. I mean, a big hug and everything ... but ... I miss her already. Ouch. I came home last night and wondered where the hell Alex was! We settled right into a great vibe with each other ... It was one of the nicest vacations I've ever had (even that first crazy day!!) But I drove off, waving to Alex, seeing her waving hand out the car window ... and tears started streaming down my face as I catapulted onto the damn 101.

-- I cannot even explain how insane it was ... the 405 ... I just have no words ... and I just stuck to my guns and followed the signs to the airport. I changed lanes. This continues to amaze me. I followed the damn signs. I ignored my instincts. I just followed the signs.

-- The airport was LUNACY. I made my flight with only minutes to spare.

-- Lauren Hutton was sitting in first class. She's just as beautiful and COOL-looking in person as I imagined her to be. Tousled hair, no makeup, showing her age ... but great body ... and wearing huge red and yellow running sneakers. I just love her. Friendly face, too.

-- Hey, Lauren! Whassup???

-- Oh, and Jimmy Connors was on my flight as well.

-- I read Innocents Abroad all the way home. I had a strange hurt in my heart. It was hard to say goodbye to Cashel and Bren, and it hurt to say goodbye to Alex.

-- The weather here has been unseasonably warm. Really no different from LA except wetter. It was rainy when I got off the plane. A rainy dark New York night.

-- It is good to get back to my apartment. To all my things. My bed.

-- I want to buy a Swiffer. I have been using an old-fashioned mop and bucket for years. But through Alex I have learned the error of my ways.

-- Weird: I didn't see the Pacific Ocean once during this trip! I also didn't see Window Boy. He lives out there. Haven't seen him in a couple of years and I thought it would be fun to track him down ... but it didn't end up happening.

-- I have no idea what I'm writing. I miss LA. I miss Alex. I miss Bren and Cash. I miss looking up and seeing mountains - especially at night - the mountains dotted with lights, lights sparkling out into the dark ... Heartcrack. HEARTCRACK. I miss my sisters.

-- A wonderful vacation. I have needed it. True relaxation. True love surrounding me. Not enough time with the cousins ... but that'll also have to wait for next time. I got my eye on Mike and Lisa's guest house.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 22

-- Bren and Cash came and picked me up at Alex's so we could head over to Universal Studios together. It was a bright warm morning. Cashel sat in the back seat, reading a book called Ghosts and Ghoulies. Within 2 seconds of me getting in the car, Cashel began to pontificate on the difference between REGULAR ghosts and POLTERGEISTS. "Poltergeists stay in the house ... and they are tricksters." Cashel said.

-- The studio was like a circus. Throngs of tourists, amazing sights to be seen ... everything artificial and fabulous. Cashel held onto my hand - we were afraid of losing his shortness in the crowd. He wasn't wacky about this, but he submitted peacefully.

-- First, we did the tour. Which was so so fun. Bren, Cash and I sat in the front seat of the little van - Cash sat on the edge. He had done this before, so he was letting me know what would happen. Our guide was wonderful - and I loved glancing down at Cashel and seeing his little face staring up at the guide, listening, laughing, and sometimes his jaw would drop in amazement at this or that little known fact. We saw fake New York streets, we saw fake Parisian streets, we saw fake Western streets - and the doors of the saloons and buildings in the Western streets were often strangely SMALL - they seemed made for Munchkins. This is because the directors wanted to make the star of the movie - the cowboy star - seem taller, bigger, outsized. He dwarfed the doors of the town he was trying to protect! We saw the city hall where many a movie has been filmed ... Our guide showed a ton of clips, where we could see the city hall in all its different guises. We drove through sound stages - we experienced an earthquake while in a San Francisco subway station - which was pretty spectacular. An enormous truck crashed down from the highway above us. A subway car careened at us and then split in half. Cashel was AGOG. Hell, CASHEL was agog? I was agog! We drove through a nighttime New York scene ... and suddenly we were going over a bridge - and there was King Kong, red eyes blazing, shaking the bridge back and forth. Cashel was clinging to me. Uhm, Cashel was clinging to me? I was clinging to Cashel!! We drove by the little Cape Cod town seen in Jaws - and suddenly - floating by us in the water - was the massive shark seen in the film. His name is Bruce. He was named after Spielberg's lawyer. We saw a flash flood. We saw a rainfall created. We drove through one of the sets for The Mummy. We also drove by an enormous plane crash - used in War of the Worlds. That was pretty freaky, I have to say. It was so huge - the plane was in 3 pieces - and it was a scene of total and utter destruction. Carnage. The wreckage still smoking. It's amazing because it LOOKED chaotic - but you know that every single piece of debris was carefully placed.

-- The tour was great. The whole day was great. Cashel kept wanting to talk about it, and kept finding ways to bring it up again. 8 hours later, Cashel was still saying to me, "So Auntie Sheila, what was the most BORING part of the day for you?" "What ws your FAVORITE part of the day?" "What was your LEAST favorite part of the day?" We covered our experience from every possible angle, just in order to KEEP TALKING ABOUT IT. DO NOT LET THE EXPERIENCE DIE. KEEP IT ALIVE.

-- After the tour, we did many many cool things, and saw many many cool sites.

-- Well first, we went to lunch in a huge Western type corral place. There were two wandering cowboy troubadours who went from table to table and took requests. One said to us boastfully, "We know every song ever written. Ask us to play one." The other said boastfully, "We haven't been stumped yet!" I requested "Peace, Love and Understanding" - Elvis Costello. They played it. They said, "Ask us to play any Stones song. Try to make it obscure." Brendan said, "Parachute Man." They played it. Then Cashel made a request. "Could you play Holiday, by Green Day?" And whaddya know ... they didn't know that song. They were stumped!! One of the guys was so funny, he said, "Awesome. Stumped by an 8 year old!" He said his musical tastes stopped in the late 70s and that he was now sinking into the La Brea tar pits of music. hahahahaha Go, Cashel!!

-- After lunch we moved on. We saw: Shrek 4-D - an amaizng interactive experience - we had to wear 3-D glasses, our chairs went this way and that, water sprayed down on us at certain points - there was also a HORRIFYING moment when an "s" suddenly dangled RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME ... and then it attacked - and the chairs were somehow rigged with small wires - so that it seemed as though you were being bitch-slapped by a giant "s". I literally screamed at the top of my lungs. Well, many people did. I was not alone. But Cashel, sitting next to me, wearing his huge bug-eyed green 3-D glasses, literally shook with laughter because of Auntie Sheila's nervous breakdown.

-- Then we went on the virtual reality Back to the Future car ride. It was AWESOME. You feel as though the car is plummeting through space. It was so so fun.

-- Then we went to see Terminator 3-D which, sorry, was reeeeeeeeaaaaallllllly dumb. Cashel said later, "It was kind of boring. Like - the whole thing had no point." Exactly. A discerning boy, that Cashel.

-- We saw Spongebob go skipping by at one point surrounded by bodyguards. Cashel's entire posture changed when he saw him. He became as alert as a mountain lion. That's Spongebob! Then off Cashel went, running to keep up with him. So he could talk to him. It was so funny - Cashel wearing his little hooded Red Sox sweatshirt, his cool wide-wale corduroys - running like a maniac through the crowds chasing after this enormous waving bright yellow sponge. We got our pictures taken with Spongebob.

-- Oh, at one point, Cashel was blithering on and on about the day, and how wonderful it was, how cool the tour was, how great the experience was - and he said the word "minimal". "Even if you just do ONE thing ... even if you just do the MINIMAL ... you're going to have a great time." I love it when he says stuff like that. Bren and I just glance at him over his little head, exchange a look, and then say to him, "You're right Cash. Even doing the minimal amount of stuff ... it's a great tour."

-- As we drove off, we discussed our favorite parts of the tour. Which became an ongoing theme for the rest of the day. We had to KEEP going over it. "I think my favorite part was when we toured the studio. Although Shrek 4-D was pretty cool, too." Etc. We all agreed that Terminator 3-D was a huge letdown.

-- The sun was now getting low in the sky. We were headed back to Bren's ... and they took me to one of their favorite spots. We drove up Mulholland Drive, a maniacal road, with death staring you in the face on one side as the cliff plunges straight down with nary a guard rail to protect you. But the view ... the view ... You just get an eyefull, you really do. It is beyond spectacular. You just can't get that kind of perspective on the city in and around New York. But here - 10 minutes out of the city - are the HOllywood Hills - covered in trails, leading to the tippity top - and you can get to the crests and see all around, 360 degrees. We went to Runyon Canyon Park - and hiked up to the top. We were now at sunset time. The smog, of course, does the most UNBELIEVABLE things to the sunset. It was a wash of brilliant colors - bringing out the hills in stark outline - the palm trees sketched against the gold and pink and purple in black silhouette. Cashel was a good little hiker. We got to the top - a dizzying moment. I had a bit of vertigo. Again, it's just a dirt platform at the top of the hill - with no fence or rail to keep you from plummeting to your death. But the view! There was the Hollywood sign - reflecting the sunset - Oh man. It all just took my breath away. I was so so glad we did that. Cashel climbing up the dirt path, talking to himself, occasional laser blasts emanating from his area ... he knows how to occupy his mind during a boring hike.

-- Then ... we headed back down the hill and went off to rent Back to the Future - which Cashel, amazingly, had never seen. Very exciting.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 16

-- Yesterday was awesome. In the late afternoon, I started off down to Santa Monica to see Maria and Cashel and Brendan. I was going to get to see Cashel's room! His house! Where he lives ... This is what I miss. Seeing him in casual everyday moments.

-- I had to take the 405. By the time I hit the 405, it was dark ... and there was, miraculously, almost no traffic on it. And I have to say - it was kind of exhilarating. There were moments, when coming over hills, and seeing the glittering city below, that I felt like I was flying. It was so so beautiful. Kinda stressful, sure, I mean I don't drive on freeways regularly in my normal life ... but this was fun. I was able to change lanes if I needed to - I went 65, 70 ... I felt comfortable there and nobody was on my ass tormenting me and harassing me and making me feel like I was about to die in a fiery mesh. I blasted the radio. It was wonderful. Just wonderful. I was on my way to see Cashel!! I haven't seen Maria either since this summer ... so I was just really excited.

-- The directions were superb. No wrong turns. (The way home was another story).

-- I got out of the car. The night was almost cold. I loved the feel of the air. It was a dark shadowy peaceful neighborhood - with beautiful little vine-covered houses lining the street. Vine-covered houses, yes ... but most of them had that kind of early mission-style architecture ... just so adorable. I was walking back to find Maria's house ... and I crossed over one street - kind of wider than the others - and it's lined with palm trees - up and down the street - way way up into the darkness - Just the kind of image that makes me just stop and stare up. How beautiful. The palm trees give the entire place such a whimsical air ... I love them. Like, I'm not "over" them yet. I still just get the giggles when I see a palm tree. But this one street was just beautiful - no cars coming either way, the streets dark and peaceful - with the palm trees quivering high high overhead.

-- And then there I was - in Maria's living room. I was so happy!!!! Cashel sat at the table, doing his homework. Very grumpy. You know. Homework's tough when you're 8. Bren was there. Maria gave me the grand tour. Her place is adorable. She was hanging curtains in her room. Billowy white curtains with blue and green flowers on it - very sunshiny and homey. Maria said, "I can offer you ... some water ... some orange juice ... or some sherry." hahahaha We decided to go out to dinner to a new place that Maria was excited about.

-- And off we went. Cashel chattered up a storm, naturally, the entire way there. Oh, and I got to see the letter Cashel got from George Lucas' secretary which is now framed on his wall. So cute!!! Cashel must have written a letter to LucasFilm - he asked a question about the upcoming Star Wars TV series ... in 2007 ... and the letter that came back was so adorable. "Dear Cashel: Thank you so much for writing to us and thank you so much for being a great fan ..." (That's hilarious. LIke they're lacking for fans! But still - so sweet!!!) Then the secretary went forward to talk about "George's" new projects. So that was very exciting. I think Cashel was proud of it.

-- There was a 20 minute wait for a table, so we decided to go over and see Cashel's school which was nearby. This, for me, was almost the most exciting part of the trip so far. To see Cashel's school! The place where he spends the majority of his time! I was so excited. It was night - but we were able to wander around the playground. It was so so fun.

-- Bren, Cash and I had a race around the track. Cash has turned into a good runner. He used to be so cautious physically that he would go up and down stairs slowly, putting both feet on each step at the same time. But now? There he was, charging off into the cool night ... and when he could feel us gaining on him ... he picked up the speed. It was like the O'Malley version of Chariots of Fire.

-- Cashel is really "cool", you know ... but I could tell he was excited to show me stuff. He was also really excited to be there AT NIGHT. He kept saying, "Watch this ... we aren't allowed to do this during the daytime ..." and he ran up a random set of stairs. He was thrilled to do things that "we aren't allowed to do during the daytime." He stood on top of a picnic table, and did a little tap dance. "We aren't allowed to do this during the day time!" He was HYSTERICAL with laughter. Literally falling all over himself with laughter as he got off the picnic table. What a thrill. He got to show me his room. I don't know ... I got a little choked up. Imagining Cashel, my little Cashel, in school, doing his thing, getting his education ... Man. It's amazing!

-- Cashel's school is really beautiful. White and blue stucco, murals everywhere ... I got a very good vibe from it. I'm really happy for the little guy.

-- We went back to the place, which is called BABALU - I thought of you, Val!! - and yet again: I was so impressed by the calm and kind customer service. This is just my impression, so it could be wrong: but it seems that the only time when people from LA are categorically ASSHOLES is when they drive. Other than that? Everyone is nice, friendly, helpful, mellow ... it is SUCH a delight. Like our waitress was this adorable girl who helped Maria figure out what Cashel would want to have to drink. "We have lemonade ... we have a sort of organic ginger ale ... but ... you know ... kids are always like: Organic? What??" It was very cute. So Cashel got some lemonade. Anyway: I just want to say to the people of LA, especially all of you who are in some kind of service-oriented job: GO, YOU. To say that this is NOT the case in New York City is an understatement. However, I have stated my theory on all of that before: It is not that Manhattan-ites are rude. It is that we are ON TOP of each other and we are all OBSESSED with manners. We have to be FIERCE about our boundaries because we cannot get away from each other. People from LA can get the hell away from each other, because they have to get in their cars, and drive around ... and so their public personas, when they bump up against humanity, seems to be universally friendly and helpful. It's really refreshing.

-- Cashel told us about his idea for a movie. It is called The Egg Heist and it is about a colony of ants who get tired of their queen and decide to start a new colony - so they have to steal all the eggs in their existing colony and transport them to a new location to start anew. I ask, "What's wrong with the queen?" Cashel shrugged and says casually, "She's a tyrant." I see. He starts to tell us the individual scenes - the ants go to pick disguises before the heist - and much hilarity ensues. One poor ant is obviously not the brightest bulb so he picks out an ant costume!! Cashel said, shaking with laughter, "So he still looks just like himself!!" The heist itself is a mastermind of technology. The ants have human-size duffel bags that they have to haul into the egg chamber ... Cashel found this image supremely amusing. Tiny ants with massive duffel bags. I think it could be a hit, actually. The Egg Heist. Coming in 2010.

-- Cashel made a joke. Instead of saying "barroom brawl", wouldn't it be funny if school kids called their fights "lunchroom brawls"?

-- He explained the intricacies of his relationships. How he is going to tell his two friends how to deal with the school bully. "I am going to stand up for my friends ... but I will not fight. I am just going to tell them to IGNORE him." Maria validated this choice. Oh, how complex it is to be a child. Isn't it?? So amazing.

-- The food was delicious. Cashel enjoyed his chicken kebobs. Which is a miracle in and of itself.

-- We headed back to the house. Cashel was now launching into telling us about the play they were working on for school - a play for Ancestor Day. When they all learn about their ancestors and act stuff out. Maria said, "So Cash - will you be Finn McCool?" I said, "Or Cuchalain?" Cashel said, "No. I'm a Greek immigrant named George." What? hahahahaha Cashel kept fantasizing about adding a scene to the play where George immediately stabs himself with a pencil upon getting off the boat at Ellis Island. "Hi! My name is George! I'm from Greece! My family came through Ellis Island." STABBED WITH A PENCIL. Many fake deaths occurred on the sidewalk on the way home. Cashel staggering around, moaning, and then collapsing into laughter. Poor George, the immigrant from Greece. He obviously has some emotional problems.

-- Once we got home, it was time for Cashel to go to bed. And I got to read to him for a while before bedtime. Which I used to do when he lived in Brooklyn ... so it just made me soo damn happy to lie on the bed with Cash, his little PJd body propped up beside me, reading out loud to him. We read 4 chapters of Treasure Island which Cashel has already read, but - as we all know - you can never read that book enough. I said, "Maybe we'll read 2 chapters, okay?" Cashel insisted, "The chapters are really short, Auntie Sheila. Let's read 4." When I came to the end of the first chapter, Cashel said triumphantly, "See how short that was???" It was fun. We got to the point where Jim Hawkins and his mother take the coins owed to them from the dead captain's sea chest ... and they flee into the "frosty evening" - from the approaching one-legged guy, tap-tapping his stick leg on the walk. Terrifying!! But it was so fun - I wish it wasn't so late, so I could have kept reading.

-- Then ... lights out.

-- Maria and I hung her curtains. They look great. Bren had taken off. Maria and I hung out in her living room, talking ... she starts a new job today ... we talked about the short novel I wrote that she read ... It was interesting - I kind of put that book away in a drawer ... haven't looked at it in over a year ... so talking about it, and trying to hash stuff out, was really really interesting - and I think I need to take that book out and work on it again. Talking about it was really helpful.

-- Then we took out a book of pictures of Cashel as a baby and pored over it. His day of birth. The newborn ... on his birthday ... Halloween ... wrapped up in an orange silk pumpkin costume. The pictures of Cashel as a fat-legged little smiley drooling baby. His face still looks the same ... but he was so little! When the heck did THAT happen? Now he's a movie mogul planning his next project called The Egg Heist ... was he ever that grinning toothless creature?? Amazing!!!!

-- And then ... it was 11:00 pm ... and I started off to go home.

-- Of course I have no idea what my rental car even looks like and I completely LOST it on the street. I walked up and down ... enjoying the cool air, and the palm-tree street ... but I was like ... tiptoing over the grass to peer at license plates ... I was peeking through darkened windows ... My behavior looked EXTREMELY suspicious. But finally I found my car. And off I went into the glittering already-going-to-sleep Los Angeles night.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 11

- Sunday was my day to meet up with Bren and Cash. I woke up early and felt unbelievably refreshed. After the mania of the day before. I made some coffee, it was early, and I sat on the couch and read some of Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad which I have never read and which I am absolutely adoring. I am laughing OUT LOUD reading the damn thing. Bren called at 10 ... and I said I would be over in an hour or so. Let's try this driving down the 101 thing again, shall we???

-- Alex emerged from her beauty sleep right before I left. She said, "Lemme tell you something. If any disaster occurs to you today?" Pause. "Don't call me." It's been 2 days now and we are STILL laughing about that first day.

-- And off I go into the sunblasted gorgeous morning. Here I go! Look at me! In my Enterprise car! Careening down the 101!!!!!! Again!!!!! Now, though, I feel like I have had a great trial run with that first debacle of a drive, and nothing can shake me up now. I blast music. I enjoy the scenery. I change lanes. I am AWESOME.

-- 25 minutes after leaving Alex's, I pull up outside Bren's apartment. It is a beautiful neighborhood, peaceful, thick grass lawns, big trees, old buildings. I am about to see Cashel! In his natural habitat!

-- Bren lets me into his apartment. It is cool, big, and beautiful. Bren says to me immediately, "Sheil ... " (and I could see immediately from his face that a game was about to be played) "I'm really sorry, but Cashel was here a while ago and now I have no idea where he is." I say, concerned, "What?? But I really want to see him! Where did he go?" Bren, all sorry and sad, "I don't know ... but I can't find him anywh---" and then Cashel burst out of Brendan's room screaming and jumping up and down. To surprise me. I screamed, accordingly. Cashel was very happy about that. He immediately launched into what he WISHED he would have done - and that had something to do with spiders. The boy loves to taunt me. He said to me, slyly, "Auntie Sheila, have you seen King Kong?" I say, "No." He said, to me, seriously, as though he was some jowly cigar-smoking career advisor, "I really don't think you should see it." "Why, Cash?" "Because ... well ... there's a looooooootta bugs in it." "Oh no. Really?" "Yup. A looooooootta bugs." "Thanks for the warning, Cash. I really don't want to see a lotta bugs."

-- I met Bren's roommate and really good friend Larry - I have heard so much about this man, my parents love him, everyone loves him - so it was SO nice to put a face to the name. What a nice man.

-- Bren and Cash took me up to the roof so I could see. There's an outdoor pool up there. A deck with deck chairs. Tables. And a view like you would not believe. It was so beautiful that my breath caught in my throat. I want to hang out up there with my laptop and my dawn coffee. The palm trees just careen up into the air, above the horizon - giving a strange Dr. Seuss-ish appeal to the landscape - and right there was a huge hill with the HOLLYWOOD sign. The Hollywood sign! It was all just beautiful. Cashel, in his little fleece sweatshirt, and sneakers, kind of strolled around the pool, telling me how the water is heated and how sometimes he swims there. I, as always, struggle with my desire to SQUEEZE THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF CASHEL. I have to calm down. He's such a little cutie. I was so happy.

-- We drove to a nearby strip of shops and cafes - and Bren showed me the sights along the way. The apartment complex that was Mae West's after she retired - she would walk around the apartments and collect the rent. Can you imagine if Mae West was your landlord? And then Jack Haley's house - built like a ship. It looks like a ship - an ocean liner of a house - made of a light light green stone. You know what I also love about LA? The architecture. I love the OLD neon - you know? The kind of 50s style neon - big, brash, and retro. I also love the signs up on top of the old hotels - El Royale - or whatever - and these are not neon - but just swirly letters held up into the sky with steel poles. New York just doesn't have signage like that anymore.

-- We stroll the sidewalks. I am so happy to be with my family. I am so happy to see my brother and to be with Cashel. We sit and have lunch. We eat pizza. We overhear a couple next to us having an amazing conversation. Snippets that came to us: (oh, and it was only the girl that spoke. That poor guy) Anyway, here's some of what we overheard: "Anyone who thinks that Jesus had a son has mental problems." "I used to black out all the time in my 20s. I'd have a couple of drinks and then just black out." Bren might remember more. The three of us would be chatting, having a nice time, then there'd be a pause and some random snippet would come to us - stopping Bren and I in our tracks.

-- Back at Bren's place, we watch the films of two plays Bren did this past year in LA. Plays written and directed by Larry. Cashel said, rolling his eyes, "I have seen these so many times." Ah, yes, Cashel, to have your father be an actor ... what a BORE. But of course Cashel kept coming into the room for his favorite parts. He sat on Bren's lap, and I would glance over and see Cashel laughing, his little body shaking like a bowlful of jelly. They were GREAT. Truly funny and original pieces of work. Wonderful actors ... and the SCRIPTS! I love funny people. I love people whose minds work in comedic ways. It was great to see my brother acting again, as well. He's so good.

-- Alex and I were supposed to go horseback riding that night. Some thing where you ride horses and then have dinner at the Sunset Ranch. We literally had no idea what we were doing. We knew nothing. I mentioned to Larry what we were doing, and he knew all about it - said they do it every year - and you ride up the cliff by the Hollywood sign. So ... this will be an up and down journey. This will not be a flat-surface horse ride. I call Alex to tell her what I found out. She has a fear of heights (and it's debilitating - it's like me with "s"s) - and FLIPPED OUT. "I can't do that. No. I would cry and also pee a little bit." "And then you would have to be airlifted off the top of the cliff." "No. I cannot do this. I am so sorry, Sheila ..." "Oh God, no worries. If you said to me, 'Let's go hang out at the Tarantula Museum' I would say - ABSOLUTELY NOT." "Okay. I'm calling Meg." So horseback riding was out!

-- Bren had to take off at 3 ... so we all parted ways. I drove off down Cahuenga - waving goodbye to my brother and my nephew - Cashel's little head silhouetted in the backseat. Heartcrack!!

-- I was home at Alex's in 25 minutes. A miracle.

Joy is:

-- listening to Cashel babble at me about Buster Keaton and why Buster Keaton is so funny. (He got a couple of Buster Keaton movies for Christmas). "Auntie, Sheila, he never shows any expression on his face. He is always like this." Cashel did a poker face. "But then sometimes, he goes like this." Cashel made a huge shocked face, with a wide-open mouth.

-- watching Cashel make Christmas cards for all of us. We each got a different one - and he tailored each one to our personality. That's a lot of work for an 8 year old boy. Mine came in the form of a military broadcast - which I just think is so hysterical (and appropriate - seeing as I had Imperial Grunts in my bookbag at that very moment). He said to me, "Yours is kind of military, Auntie Sheila." "Oh, wow. That's so cool." I said. Here is what it said (I will re-create his spelling - he is a very good speller, but you know, nobody's perfect):

News Brodcast:
Shhhkk. "Is that radio on? Okay, this is Lehsac Yellamo and there's a sleigh raid approaching O'Malley Ville! And here comes Auntie Sheila's batch !!!!

Merry Xmas
From Cash, Bren and Mel.

This is the best Christmas card I have ever received.

"Lehsac Yellamo" is obviously backwards-speak, an O'Malley tradition brought to new heights by my brother Nadnerb. Nadnerb has clearly passed on this talent to his son Lehsac.

-- For Jean's card, because Jean is a teacher, Cashel purposefully misspelled every word. As he was writing the card, sitting at the table (Jean and Pat hadn't arrived yet), he literally shook with laughter, like a little bowlful of jelly. It began: "Deer Onty Jeen ..." and it kind of just went from there. The card ended with: "Pee Ess. Sennd mee aye tootr." Cashel, man - you know what? That's pretty damn funny.

-- For Pat's card, Cashel made every other word be "dude". hahahahaha

-- Siobhan's card referenced the "Christmas Hannuka Kwanzaa express"

etc. The cards were genius.

-- Jean sat with Cashel reading out loud to him from the big Calvin & Hobbes book she gave him for Christmas. She did all the voices. Cashel's laughter - his true spontaneous laugh - is the best sound in the world.

-- It was so great to be all together. Melody's apartment is adorable - but we sure were all just crammed in there. A constant reshuffling had to occur - chairs moved into rooms, chairs to be moved if someone had to step out ... etc. But her place is adorable, and it made me want to move into Manhattan proper. Maybe next year.

-- Cashel looks so different with his big-boy teeth.

-- I got to see the blow-up R2D2 chair. It is the coolest thing ever.

-- We ordered pizza. Mum heated up the lasagna she brought. Bren and Dad went out and got a couple bottles of wine. We sat around in Melody's kitchen and just feasted. It was beautiful.

Reunion

When Cashel lived in Park Slope, his best friend was a kid named Jack. This was not JUST a best friend. This was a kindred spirit. I only met Jack once, at one of Cashel's birthday parties - he was dressed as Obi Wan Kenobi - and I already just loved the kid, because Cashel loved him so much. Their main bond was Star Wars.

It's really hard when you love Star Wars MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE ON THE PLANET. It can be a very lonely position. If you love Star Wars MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE ON THE PLANET then it's truly painful to not have anyone to share it with. It's jarring to hear someone say, "Yeah, it was a good movie, but I liked Harry Potter better..." Ouch! What do you DO when you love Star Wars MORE THAN ANYBODY ELSE ON THE PLANET? But thankfully, Cash and Jack never had that problem. They were absolutely in sync in their adoration of all things Star Wars.

Cashel, occasionally, would wax eloquent about the relationship.

He said to my parents once, point blank, "The first time I met Jack, I could see the twinkle of Star Wars in his eyes."

I am not kidding.

They were 6 years old the last time they saw each other. That is an eternity. Cashel moved far far away. But he never forgot Jack. He made new friends in his new schools. But if you asked him, "Who's your best friend?" he would say, with a faraway look in his eye, "Jack." It was hard for Cashel to move away. But you know, kids are survivors. Cashel survived.

Occasionally, Cashel and Jack would have looooooong phone conversations - of course arranged by their mothers. They were still, after all, little boys, who didn't just pick up the phone, and blithely dial phone numbers. They would stay on the phone, and just talk about Star Wars. What more does one need from friendship.

I fully credit the parents of both children, too, for helping this tiny friendship stay alive. Jack's mom always made sure that Jack sent Cash a birthday card. And Cashel's parents did the same with Cash.

So even though Cashel and Jack, two WEE LITTLE BOYS, were a continent apart - they still were friends. I remember saying once to Cash, "I bet you and Jack will be friends still when you're grown-up men." Cash gave me a look that I just will not forget. So funny. He got this quizzical expression - his eyebrows wrinkled up - he had simply never contemplated being an adult. And in the next second, he just started LAUGHING at the idea of Jack as a grown-up, and himself as a grown-up. It was incomprehensible.

Once I was speaking with Cashel, and I mentioned that it was a blizzard in NYC. Cashel immediatley gasped - yes - he gasped - and said, "I hope Jack's okay."

hahaha It's alllll about Jack. "I'm sure Jack is fine, sweetheart."

Two weeks ago, my brother called Jack's mom to let her know that he and Cash would be in town the week after Christmas - and maybe they could arrange a reunion for their kindred spirit sons? Who had not seen each other in TWO YEARS? Jack's mom got all kind of emotional - and said that just the week before Jack had written an essay in school about "his best friend Cashel" (trying to picture the 8 year old handwriting - it just KILLS me). Jack's mom told Bren that everyone in his class just accepts that Jack's best friend is Cashel who lives across the country. Jack has other friends - he is a personable friendly little boy - but everyone knows that you can only have ONE best friend.

I just got word that last night was the long-awaited Cash and Jack reunion. These two little brave kindred spirits - who have been maintaining a long-distance friendship for two years (hard enough to do as an adult - even harder when you are eight!!) - had a sleepover last night at Jack's.

They stayed up talking until 11 pm.

My heart is full. I am so glad for both of them.

May the twinkle of Star Wars always be in their eyes!

Cashel Stuff

Unfurling below you is a Cashel Greatest Hits. There's so much more to say ... a million more things in that archive ... I just pulled out some of my personal favorites.

Any of the Aunties who are reading this ... please add your own favorites.

Happy birthday, Cashel!!

The day

The clock was ticking. It had been ticking for months. The anticipation was enormous. As the day approached, it was as though the upcoming event washed away all other thoughts and concerns in my mind, and in the collective mind of my whole family. We flat out could not wait. We could not talk of anything else.

The baby was coming! The baby was coming! We didn't know if it was a boy or a girl ... but we knew that it was coming, and we loved it to death already.

This is a post about what I remember about that day. And it involves the day before (it always does, doesn't it?) But it's really about that day. THE day. Certainly one of the most important days of my life, because it was the day that Cashel was born. Cashel, whose birthday is tomorrow.

I was in my third year of grad school. It was a vigorous and energetic time. I was living in Hoboken with my dear friend Jen. It was the late 1990s and my sister-in-law, the one who was carrying the most IMPORTANT BABY WHO WOULD EVER BE BORN, had gotten me a freelance gig my first year in New York, to make extra cash while I was slogging away in grad school. This was the dot com era, and there was major money to be made for doing ... basically ridiculous meaningless things. She got me a freelance gig, doing Rainman programming for AOL, and it paid 30 bucks an hour. I made friends doing that insane gig that I still have today.

Our dot com was somehow affiliated with New Line Cinema so we had our insane offices (with mannequins dressed in school girl slut clothes, and no overhead lights, and dart boards, and beanbag chairs) attached to New Line corporate. You would walk up the spiral staircase into New Line proper, and there you were surrounded by cubicles, and fluorescent lights, and white boards, and perky girls in form-fitting suits and alligator pumps. But down that spiral staircase? You were full-on in wacko dot com world. We were barely presentable. If "corporate" was coming down to visit, we'd really have to clean up the joint, and take the cigarette out of the mannequin's hand, etc., so the place would look presentable.

I used to work beside a guy named Pat, who was a surfer, a writer, a music-lover, and kind of brilliant in a very chaotic way. He was an online personality. He was born to be an online personality. He had nutso hair that was a different color each week, and he was doing literally MEANINGLESS things online on a daily basis, hosting chats, writing articles about stuff that he found interesting, and he made shitloads of money. He was a crazy Irishman. He's now married to a no-nonsense tough Irish chick who grew up with 8 older brothers. Imagine. 8 older brothers. She's hot, too. Her brothers were always beating guys up because they felt the dude had fucked with their little sister. She finally had to be like, "Guys, STOP BEATING UP MY BOYFRIENDS." hahahaha She is PERFECT for Pat, because she knows how to handle men. No gamey shit with that one. No nagging gamey shit. She's straight up cool. The two of them together are hysterical. When I knew him, though, during the dot com mania, he was single.

Pat and I were friends. We sat side by side, at our respective computers, and he would reach out with his left hand and play with my ear lobe as we worked. He never asked permission. It was just something we did.

Upstairs was corporate America. Downstairs was Pat, with jet black hair standing up straight, or blonde streaked surfer dude locks, or totally bald having shaved it all off in a drunken frenzy. Downstairs was Pat touching my ear lobe as he typed with his other hand. I never said, "Uhm ... what's up with my ear lobe?" I can't remember the first day he did it, but I didn't slap him away, and so the ear lobe play went on for months, as darts flew towards the dartboard behind our head, as people sat around us working at their computers, with huge headphones on listening to music, as people lay in the beanbag chairs eating Krispy Kremes and having "integration meetings" ... and we all were working on ... what, exactly?

None of the companies I originally worked for are in existence today. What a crazy time.

I told you this would be a post about what I remember.

When I think about "that day" - all of this stuff surrounds it. Dim lights, crazy offices, free-spirited funky dot com people, and Pat playing with my earlobe as he ran online chats. I worked 20 hours a week, I think ... taking the subway to 59th Street from my school in the Village. And I had a full course load.

I would spend my weekends out in Park Slope with my brother and his wife ... and her belly was growing ... and we would feel the baby kicking ... and the baby was so REAL to us ... I had a relationship with the baby from the moment they told us she was pregnant, of course. It was real. I didn't know who it was in there, but I couldn't WAIT to find out. But meanwhile ... during the pregnancy ... I had a huge huge love for the creature in there. I loved it so much.

The C-section was scheduled, finally, for October 31. Calendars were marked throughout the O'Malley and Sullivan family. That was THE day.

Maybe 4 or 5 days before Halloween, I was at my freelance job, getting my earlobe stroked by Pat the surfer, doing my work. hahaha I called my voice mail service on this particular day to get my messages.

And - like a bolt from the blue - I heard an all-too-familiar voice. A voice that made my heart burst out of my chest. A man I once loved. I still loved him. But it was over. We were across the country from one another. He had my number, but never called it. It was over. It was over in the biggest way possible. But there he was calling me, telling me that he would be in New York for one day only to do a show ... I could barely understand the message because I was out of my mind at the sound of his voice. The earlobe-stroking stopped as Pat looked over at me, curious as to my response. I was saying into the phone as I listened, "Oh my God. Oh my God." Surfer Pat mouthing at me, "What? Who is it?" All I heard was that HE would be in town for one day. And he was calling me to let me know that and to let me know the hotel he would be staying in. I was a wreck. I was instantly a wreck. I had to listen to the message again because I had barely understood a word. I wrote down the address of the hotel. He also gave me his itinerary, he had to be here at this time, and there at that time, he would be checking in at that time ... and his voice was so jaunty and cheerful (I am sure he knew I would freak out, but he wanted to just make it sound friendly and cheerful, and A-okay ... he was always great with me that way) ... "So ... I know you're ... like, a really busy ACTRESS and everything ..." (making fun of me) "but ... if you're around ... well ... that's where I'll be ..."

I made Pat the surfer listen to the message. He listened to it with no response, and then flatly said, "The dude's in love with you," as he turned back to his computer screen.

So.

October 30. HE would be in town on October 30.

It was so bewildering to me, so emotional, so intense ... because my main focus of that autumn had been the upcoming birth. I had not heard from HIM in months. I didn't expect to. It was over. But now ... he would be here. In only a couple of days.

I had class the morning of October 30. Classics. Shakespeare, Marlowe, yadda yadda. My outfit had been painstakingly chosen, with much help from my roommate. I wore a tight houndstooth skirt, and high brown heels - very retro - a fitted brown sweater. The outfit was very 1940s leading lady.

No man has ever had such an effect on me as this man had. Once I'm actually WITH him I am always relaxed - but the anticipation has always driven me insane. I would forget about it for a second, and then remember and feel this swooshing vertigo take over. Literally vertigo. I couldn't eat. I drank water like it was going out of style. HE was coming!

I went to my class on October 30. I had a great class. And then I walked out into the blinding autumn morning, and headed uptown to go meet him at his hotel.

I walked into the hotel lobby. It was a very chi-chi small hotel, with deathly slippery marble floors ... and I remember this perfectly; they must have been having a Halloween party in a private room or something ... because I remember I walked into the lobby, and I was having cardiac arrest ... we had no meeting place ... I didn't know where he would be, he didn't know if I would show up, I hadn't responded because he hadn't given me a phone number (and I didn't have his number, long story) ... so it was either going to happen or it wasn't ... so I walked into the lobby, and he could have been ANYWHERE ... and I remember these workmen walked by, carrying this enormous Halloween decoration ... it was so big it took 3 guys to carry it ... and it was all silvery and covered in pearls, and there were long streaming silver ribbons, and sparkley gems covering it ... It was completely psychedelic. It didn't look like a Halloween decoration at all. Random. And once the workmen passed by, there he was. He had entered the room somehow shielded by the massive pearl-encrusted extravaganza, and once it was gone - there he was. It was as though the silver-glitter thingamabob was a curtain or something - going up - signifying the start of the theatrical event that would obviously be our day together.

He saw me. I saw him. And it was as dramatic a moment as you would imagine. We were never sentimental, we were never gushy - I don't think we ever had a gushy moment together ... we're both too Irish and wise-cracky for that ... but it was full. A full moment of greeting after a long long time apart.

Within 10 minutes it was as though we had never been apart. However, everything was different now. We knew that. We didn't speak of it, we didn't have to.

He was up for anything. He had hours free until he had to his show. He said, "I kinda wanna see your school. I want to see where you spend all your time. Show me the coffee shops where you go. So I can picture it."

And so that's what we did.

I took him downtown and I "showed him my school". I took him into my classrooms, I introduced him to my acting teacher, I showed him my coffee shop ... It was ridiculous. He walked into the coffee shop which was completely generic - you would find such a coffee shop in any town anywhere ... and he walked into it, stared around him, taking it in, and then nodded, to himself. Like: "Okay. Got it." Like he had memorized it for safe keeping.

We walked and walked and walked. We talked. He made me laugh so hard I cried. Some things I won't share. They're too precious. The sun was shining, it was Indian summer, everyone was out, the NYU students, the locals ... it was a day when you suddenly were happy to be alive. It was also as though New York City put on its best outfit ... just for my guest. So he could see it in all its glory.

I remember we went to Washington Square Park. We watched the street performers. We sat on a stone bench, and soaked up the atmosphere. Time stood still with him. It stretched out. It couldn't have only been 5 hours that I was with him. That CANNOT be right.

We had no deep conversations. We didn't have to. We talked about books and music and stuff. Beautiful.

A drug dealer wearing a Rasta hat came up to us. He was stoned out of his mind and very friendly. "Smokes, smokes?" he offered.

The two of us smiled at him regretfully. "No thanks." we said together.

He shrugged, sadly, then took another look at us. He stated, "You two are in love."

We froze. Neither of us knew what to say or do. We didn't respond. We sat there, consumed with awkwardness. It was weird. He was like this wise Rasta sage who came over and spoke the SUBTEXT of what was happening. He saw it.

We both kind of awkwardly said, "Oh ... well ... you know ...."

Rasta guy said, seriously, not looking at me, but looking at my companion, "She's the only woman for you, my friend."

We both laughed (so awkwardly, though - very fake) and my friend kind of awkwardly put his arm around me. It was an act. We didn't, obviously, feel like going into our situation, and why we actually were NOT the only ones for each other ... but we kind of put on the act ... so he would go away. His arm around me was like a stiff automaton.

Rasta guy walked away, and then called back at us, "Today is a day for lovers, you know!"

And he was gone.

And my friend and I didn't speak to each other for 5 minutes after that. We ALWAYS know how to talk to each other. But suddenly, in the wake of the Rasta truth, we were awkward, quiet, and kind of ... itchy and restless ... We sat there silently, we didn't know where to look (certainly not at each other), we drank our sodas, looking around us, nibbling on pretzels ... It was a cliche. We both might as well have started whistling, staring up at the sky "nonchalantly". Suddenly, for the first time the whole day, I tried to think of something to say. We were like awkward teenagers.

The Rasta's words sort of sat there with us for a good 5 minutes until ...

"Wanna go see The Bottom Line?" I asked.

He leapt up, all excited and not awkward anymore. "Yes!!"

We walked around the city for a couple more hours. I showed him stuff. We staggered around laughing. He asked quesitons. I answered. I asked questions. He answered.

It was exquisite. I had missed him so much. I didn't realize until that gold and blue October day how much.

We said goodbye on a corner near his hotel. We were suddenly very formal with each other. We had a stiff hug (we're not huggers. We can't touch casually, AT ALL. Still can't. Even now when we see each other, we can't just have a friendly normal hug. Nope. No way. Not because of animosity but ... well, you'll just have to figure it out yourselves, people.) - "Good to see you!" "Oh, it was so great to see you in your element!" "Have a great show!" blah blah blah.

And he was off. And I was off.

I walked back to school, and it was as though I had this anvil, or anchor, suddenly pulling me down into the deep, into the cold blue deep. Literally, the second I turned away from him I could feel myself fall. And it was a far fall. My heart. My heart was heavy.

I couldn't bear it.

My love for him. My love for him was something else, I'll tell ya.

I came back to Hoboken that night ... the day before THE DAY ... and cried myself to sleep. I lay in bed, howling to the moon. How hard it was to let him go ... how much I love that man ... how much I love that man ... how much I love that man ... how hard it was to let him go ...

I was proud of myself, though, that I had kept it together during our time that day. There were no meltdowns. He didn't have any either. We kept it together. We had a nice time. We enjoyed each other's company. We kept it light. We made jokes. We laughed, we didn't ruin it. I was proud of both of us for that.

I woke up the next morning. It was THE DAY. That was all that was in my mind.

My eyes were puffed out of my head, and my heart still felt like a leaden anvil in my chest ... a sick and dead feeling in my stomach ... the whole world gone grey now that he is gone again ... and yet ... today is the day. The day I have been waiting for for NINE MONTHS.

I made my way to the crazy New Line office, with its mannequins wearing kilts and biker boots ... and the constant dart games going on ... and all the nutso talented people working there ... I sat at my computer, wearing my sunglasses INSIDE because my eyes were so messed up from crying. I had a couple of hours there before I headed down to the hospital where I would be there for the birth.

I do remember (weird what you remember) going to work that morning and looking forward to Pat playing with my earlobe. I had taken the earlobe thing for granted, it was a normal part of my everyday life (please, don't ask me why. You think Surfer Pat was crazy? I'm crazy, too.) I needed a nice tender friendly touch that day. And there he was. Why it was cool - now that I'm thinking about it - (and i have never sat down to analyze the Surfer Pat earlobe thing): it wasn't sexual. It wasn't a come-on. It started as an affectionate joke thing, and it kind of just stayed in that realm. We were buddies. He's the kind of guy I get along with really well. Big, loud, politically incorrect, funny, unselfconscious, kind of nuts, loves women, would kick the ass of ANYONE who messed with his sister or his girlfriend, goofy, not afraid to be a goofball ... He was that guy. He liked me. We made each other laugh.

So I sat there, on THE DAY, with my heart somewhere down around Houston Street, doing my Rainman programming for 30 bucks an hour, drinking up the touch of Pat's hand on my earlobe, with tears rolling down my face. Pat never mentioned the tears. He was too much of a gentleman for that.

Then.

It was time.

The moment we all had been waiting for. For nine months.

I left the office. It was 5 o'clock at night. I was kind of hysterical, truth be told. I hadn't fully segued yet. I was still crying about the man. I would stop and get out of the line of foot traffic, and just do some deep breathing, and try to calm down.

Believe it or not, I had completely forgotten it was Halloween. The REALLY important event of that day was the birth. So I emerged onto the street, and I remember watching a witch walk by me, with a tall pointed hat, and then I remember watching a guy walk by me, fully dressed as an Oompa Loompa, with bright orange face. I was so out of it, so hysterical, that I didn't know what was going on for a second. Why is there a witch on the sidewalk ... oh my God, why is there an Oompa Loompa?

I remember, too, that it was sunset, and the sky was a bright PINK. A crayola pink. With no other colors blended in, no soft wash of lavenders or lilacs ... no. Just a flat Pepto Bismol pink sky. With witches and Oompa Loompas coming at me.

Of course I remembered in a second that it was Halloween, but I didn't really get into it. I was too self-consumed, too upset. I started walking down one of the Avenues - I had time to walk - I didn't feel fit to get onto the subway. I was too hysterical. And the sky was a glaring pink, and goblins and ghouls filled the streets. It was truly fantastic. Everything was so WEIRD. NOTHING was normal. People in masks, ghosts, wizards, warlocks, vampires, Medusas ... strolling up 6th Avenue under the pink sky.

Truth be told, I kind of felt like I was losing my mind for about 20 minutes.

By the time I reached Beth Israel Hospital, the segue was finished. I was out of tragic mode, and into celebration mode. The goblins and ghouls had helped, turns out. Nothing was normal. And so it was COMPLETLEY fine that I was crying as I walked down the street. I cried as I walked. And the goblins passed me by, not noticing. I was in public. But I was totally in private.

It wasn't ALL out by the time I reached the hospital, but let's just say the first wave was out. I was completely wrung dry by the time I reached Beth Israel ... but I had no idea ... I had no idea how much feeling I would eventually have when that child arrived. I mean, I was excited, and I had SOME idea, but until it happens ... you just can't know what that joy will feel like. It's not even like joy. It's so BIG.

I made my way to the maternity ward, and ... slowly ... as I took the elevator up ... I shed the day before like an old snake skin ... I let it go ... and I accepted the day I was actually in. It was the day.

The substance of things hoped for.

My heart was no longer an anvil sitting on the corner of Houston and Sullivan Street. It pounded against my rib cage, adrenaline, impatient, excited ... It was time ... it was time ...

My parents were there in the waiting room. Maria's parents were there in the waiting room. I joined them. There were other families waiting there, too. We got very involved in their stories. We shared our stories. We waited. We paced. We talked about nothing. We made chit-chat. We were completely in the moment. ALL we were doing was WAITING.

I'm very emotional right now. Tears are in my eyes.

We loved this baby so much. We couldn't wait to meet ... him? Her?

I feel so so blessed that I was able to be there.

The other family, whose daughter had had a labor of 24 hours or something and then had to have an emergency C-section, was anxious and exhausted ... and I think it rubbed off on us. I held onto my dad's hand as we waited. The anticipation was unbelievable.

And then ...

The moment came.

Brendan, in his doctor's scrubs, came out of the delivery room wheeling a little tub ... We all LEAPT to our feet. The moment was indescribable. I can't do it justice.

In the tub ... was a small cocoon. A white cocoon of a human being. With HUGE eyeballs staring out of it. HUGE STARING EYEBALLS.

Brendan whispered, excitedly, "It's a boy!"

Oh, we had never heard such miraculous words. Never! The burst of emotion that followed ... it was operatic. I saw Maria's mother turn to Maria's father and throw her arms around him in a total abandonment of joy. My parents hugged each other, hugged my brother, hugged Maria's parents, I was hugging Brendan, with tears streaming down my face ... different tears now ... glad tears ... The joy I felt was fierce. It was a stabbing knife of life-affirming joy. The anxious family, waiting for word of their daughter, got caught up in our joy, and hugged each other, hugged us. And we all just kept peeking at the small white cocoon ... this PERSON ... this person we had all been waiting for, and loving so hard for 9 months ...

this wee still white-swaddled being with HUGE STARING EYEBALLS ...

who was now ... undeniably ...

HERE.

Big news

Cashel had his first play date today in his new hometown. He has made a friend. They have bonded, apparently, over Star Wars (thank you, George Lucas!!) and a shared love of playing imaginary games. And today Cashel went over to his house. This is very exciting news. Cashel making friends in his new town. It's hard to remember being a child, being so little, and how hard it can be sometimes. How hard the whole process is. Especially if you move around a lot. But Cashel has a new friend. I love this boy, whoever he is.

Downward Dog ...

Cashel apparently is adjusting very well to his new school. This warms my heart. He has made friends, and he loves his teacher (so much so that he leaves her "anonymous" notes).

He has also signed up for 3 after-school activities. Which ... frankly ... just KILL me. I can't get over it.

They are:

1. Spanish
2. Musical comedy (they will be doing a production of Cats. Ahem.)
3. Yoga

Yoga. I can barely express how much I want to be a fly on the wall at that class and watch Cashel do yoga.

But also ... just taken all together ... those 3 activities just crack me UP.

Add this to the Cashel archive! Cashel's doin' some yoga!

Another update

Cashel emerged after his first day of school at a brand new school and said to my brother, "That was fun!"

Big big smile in my heart.

First day of school

... for Cashel. A brand new school, as he begins his brand new life. He's been such a brave boy, really a tremendous sport ... and I feel this strange sense of relief and happiness to think that he is now where he is ...

and today is his first day of school.

Thinking about him SO MUCH right now!!! Wish I could watch the whole thing on web cam or something.

Go, Cashel!!

Cashel's commentary

... on War of the Worlds.

Please be advised: Cashel has seen the original movie. He has heard snippets of the radio play. And he has also read the book. So he did a bit of compare and contrast with the modern version, and here is one of his observations:

"The tripods in the modern movie had laser rays with much more maneuverability."

Just so ya know.

The Pride of Auntie Sheila

Cashel not only got straight As on his latest report card, but straight As for "deportment". The straight As in reading/writing/arithmetic is a given ... but the triumph is in the deportment arena of his life. Cashel has gone through a rough patch, for reasons that make total sense - I will not invalidate what he has gone through ... Those straight As in deportment really mean something. He has worked VERY VERY hard to be a good boy. Very difficult for a 7 year old, right? Life seems so unfair sometimes, and it's not FUN to suck things up, and know that there are some things that you just have to do: like being polite to others, and obeying the teacher, and stuff like that. But after a rocky road, and - to put it mildly - NOT straight As in "deportment" ... now comes this triumph.

You're a good boy, Cashel, and I get how huge this is for you. This is a breakthrough, frankly. It is not easy to change bad behavior - I know it from my own life! But the work you have done is already paying off.

I am so so proud of you.

Cashel's book "on nature and storms"

I was walking across town last night (after attending Jess' 30th birthday party - at a great place called Grass Roots on St. Mark's Place - Fun! Dart boards, creaky wooden floors, an absolutely harassed bartender, and the famous "Hot Bouncer" - it was a great time) and I looked at my phone, saw that I had 1 message. So I called my voice mail.

At first, I didn't understand who was calling me. I thought I heard the word "Brooke" - which is the name of a good friend of mine - but if it was Brooke calling me, then she sounded like she was reaaaalllly upset, or something - the voice was very very small, so maybe she was out of breath? From crying? Or ... oh my God - was Brooke calling me in a state of emergency or something? Then I heard the small voice (which kept talking) say at the very end of the message: "This is Cashel."

At the sound of his name, my heart LEAPT with excitement! I love hearing his voice on the phone. It's so funny. So sweet. His personality is so enormous, but his voice on the phone sounds so teeny. I love him.

As a small update on our writing project (you know - our book on "nature and storms"):

About a week and a half ago, I got started on the book he asked me to write. I bought him two huge books - one on "weather" and one on "nature" - with great pictures of flowing lava, and swirling typhoon clouds, and pictures of cracked desert earth. Cashel's 7, and these books were maybe a bit more advanced, but I think he's ready for it. (After all, he wants me to include "tuberculosis" in the book. I think he can handle conversations about "geology" and water tables.) He can grow into the books. There are maps in the book, and satellite photos, and explanations of how tectonic plates shift ... etc. So I thought these would be good books for him to have. Not just for our project, but in general.

I also did my first illustration for the book. Or maybe it's the cover art. We'll see. It was so fun - I set up my watercolors in the kitchen, and did some sketches, and then went to town. The painting is of a small blonde boy standing in the foreground, staring at a massive lightning storm going on in the distance. The sky is a swirling purply black, and the lightning gleams out white.

I put all of this in a package and sent it off to him. With a note from his Auntie Sheila. (I hope even when he's 18, he still calls me "Auntie Sheila".)

I didn't hear anything for a bit, but then my mother told me that she talked to Maria for awhile and the package did, indeed, arrive. (It's the giving of gifts that is really THE thing in life. I was as excited as a little kid to put this package in the mail to my wee nephew.) Cashel was very excited, and was poring over one of the books, and apparently he started looking at a map - maybe of Australia? And he noticed on the map that there was something called "Fraser Island", and this excited him SO MUCH because his best friend down the street is named "Fraser". He took "the book from Auntie Sheila" and ran down to Fraser's house - SO EXCITED to show his friend that there was an island named after him.

Why does this bring tears to my eyes?

It's just so sweet. I love him, that's all.

So last night came the "thank you" call, which, sadly, I missed. I have already listened to it three times. It's so adorable.

Here's what I hear - the undercurrent of it, I mean:

Obviously, he didn't just pick up the phone and dial my number himself. Maria said, "Okay, let's call Auntie Sheila and thank her for the gifts." So he was pretty much obeying orders at the beginning of the call. Maria probably said: "Just tell her it was really nice of her, and thank her for the book."

So the BEGINNING of the message is a bit rote, he's just saying his lines (and this is why he didn't tell me who he was until the END of the message - because he basically just launched into his pre-planned script immediately - Maria hadn't said to him: "Say to her, Hi Auntie Sheila, this is Cashel..." ). But THEN ... after he gets the script out of the way, he can't help but add his own sentiments. I can hear the change in his voice when that happens.

The message goes something like: "Thank you for the books, Auntie Sheila. It was very nice of you." (this is obviously the script part. Then comes...a change of tone.) "The books are ... reaaallly cool. Really cool." (haha So cute. ) Then he says: "Oh. This is Cashel. Bye." And he hangs up.

This was the best. phone message. EVER.

My latest writing assigment - part 2

Here is part 1.

So this morning I had a loooooong teleconference with Cashel, about the book he has basically commissioned me to write. The book "on nature and storms". It started out with a heart-crack moment, because we sort of did the chit-chat thing (which I'm not good at, and neither is he). "Hi, how are you?" "Fine. Good." Dead-ends galore. Cashel's voice sounded tiny and almost monotone. There were MANY awkward pauses. Then Cashel said, in a completely different voice altogether, kind of alert and serious, "Auntie Sheila, I really hope that you will think about writing that book on nature and storms."

And with that, we were off and running. Cashel and I talked about nature and storms for 45 minutes. We planned out our book. We brainstormed. I wrote down everything he said.

Here, briefly, is what Cashel wants: There will be two distinct sections of the book. One on STORMS. And one on NATURE. These are not one and the same and must be separated out.

We took on the "storms" part first. We started listing all the different kinds of "storms". We include "natural disasters" under this category, by the way.

Here is the list - My contributions were "hurricane", "blizzard" and "volcano eruption". All else came from Cashel:

Hurricane
Drought
Lightning
Tsunami
Flood
Earthquake
Blizzard
Mud slide
Typhoon
Volcano

Then came the NATURE discussion. Now, to me ... where I was going with the whole "nature" thing was to get into all the different elements in nature: animals, mountains, ocean, stuff like that. I was very quickly made to realize that that was not what Cashel had in mind at all.

Here is where the conversation got really deep.

I said, "Okay. So now we move on to 'Nature'. I am thinking we should have different sections in the book for - like - the beach. Or flowers. Or redwood trees."

Cashel interrupted me, and his voice dripped with scorn and irritation. "Auntie Sheila, no, not trees and flowers. Not THAT. They're not DANGEROUS."

I slowly realized that the book was actually going to be a list of dangers, throughout the planet.

"Oh ... okay ... so just dangerous stuff in nature, then?"

I felt confused. Because to me, all the dangerous stuff in nature we had already covered (typhoon, earthquake, etc.) Oh, how narrow-minded and unimaginative I am. Cashel, in an extended monologue, set me straight.

He said, "Yes - like SICKNESSES."

"Sicknesses?"

"Sicknesses can be VERY dangerous!" (Again, the irritation in his voice. I was slow on the uptake.)

"Yes, Cash-man. You're right. They can be very dangerous."

"Like tuberculosis." Cashel rattled this one off.

I wrote down, under my "Nature" heading the word: "Tuberculosis."

"Yup. Tuberculosis." (Where the hell did he get that??)

Then came this monologue from Cashel: "And here's another one. You go to China, okay? And you pick up a virus in China. Then you come home, and you get a cold, and then BOOM." (He shouted "Boom") "You're dead. Your white blood cells can't fend the virus off."

I literally wanted Cashel to keep talking in this vein FOREVER.

I said, "Right. White blood cells are very important. So what other sicknesses?"

Cashel began to brainstorm. He said, "Heart attack." I wrote it down. He clarified for me, his stupid auntie, "Basically any kind of sickness caused by NATURE."

Then, out of nowhere, Cashel said in a serious voice, "I think the most dangerous thing in nature is ourselves."

I felt that go right through me. I felt his essence, his little serious essence. It was a deep moment.

I said, "Ourselves, Cashman?"

"Yes. Mankind. Mankind is the most dangerous thing in nature."

"I think you're onto something there."

"Wars. Look at all the wars."

"I know."

There really wasn't much else to say, along those lines ... I wanted so badly to be in his presence at that moment, his little sensitive blond-headed presence, and hang out with him, and read with him, and watch movies, and stuff. He's an incredible person, he really is.

Then, after the digression into the inherently dangerous nature of mankind, we got back to our list of sicknesses.

Cashel said, "Heart burn. Also humungous fungus." There was a long pause, and then Cashel said portentously, "There's a fungus among us."

I burst into laughter, and I heard Cashel laughing silently on the other end. I only knew he was laughing (in that shaking-like-a-bowlful-of-jelly way that he was) because of the occasional gasps for breath. Other than that? Silence.

We ended the list of "sicknesses caused by nature" with the deadliest of them all:

"Onion breath."

I certainly have my work cut out for me. A book including typhoons and onion breath. I can't wait to get started.

My latest writing assignment ...

... has just come in. It is from Cashel.

I opened my mailbox last night to find a three-page letter from Cashel. Of course, it is three pages because his writing is so HUGE. However, he has stayed within the lines very very well. Getting a letter from Cashel is, to me, like winning the Lottery. That is the only way to explain the excitement.

Here is the letter, in its entirety.

Dear Auntie Sheila, This morning (and last night) I saw a big thunderstorm. I thought it would inspire you to make a book about nature and storms. Now for the details: I was on the bus talking to a new friend about what would happen if lightning struck a termite mound. We thought lightning struck Whataburger! It turned out I was wrong. So then we started talking about what would happen if lightning struck the heating system. Love, Cashel.

That is one of the deepest most profound things I have ever read in my life.

Uhm ... "whataburger"? And ... what exactly was Cashel "wrong" about? I'm not clear on that. Obviously, these are eternal questions not really meant to be answered - only contemplated and reflected upon.

And don't even THINK that I'm not going to write a book about lightning striking a termite mound.

Serious note: This sentence made me cry. "I thought it would inspire you to make a book about nature and storms." I honestly don't know how I can bear it. The love, the essence of Cashel, the REALITY of Cashel ... it cuts me like a knife. Makes me cry.

Humorous note: I sense some Trotskyite attitudes in Cashel's fantasizing about lightning striking "the heating system".

Speaking of kids being smart ...

(see the post below) ...

Here is the latest Cashel anecdote. (I miss him so much my heart actually aches.)

Cashel's latest passion is turning books into movies. In his head. He's very big on adapting stuff for the screen. He has a lot of ideas. And the movies he makes in his head are, I must inform you, completely real. He has a resume. He says stuff like, "In my next movie ..." What are you, Quentin Tarantino?? Books are being adapted into movies - all in Cashel's 7-year-old head. He even has cast lists planned out. I'm sure Marty Feldman would have been thrilled to know that he would have been asked to be in any one of Cashel's book-to-movie adaptations.

Recently, though, Cashel has been feeling a bit uninspired. None of the books he's been reading seem adaptation-appropriate. There's no spark. Cashel knows good material when he sees it ... and lately? In the 7-year-old reading world? The well has run dry.

He shared his concerns about this to his dad (my brother). They had a serious discussion about it. Cashel talked about wanting to adapt more books into movies (I'm sorry, I just have to interject this: I THINK THIS IS SO ADORABLE. Cashel ... "adapting" books into movies and feeling bad because he doesn't have a new project.)

So he asked my brother: did he have any ideas? Did he read any books when HE was a kid that would make a good movie?

My brother started brainstorming with Cashel, remembering his childhood books, telling him the plots, seeing if it would be a good movie. Finally he said: "I remember reading a book when I was little about a boy who could move stuff with his brain."

Cashel pondered this. Seriously. Silently. Then asked: "He could move stuff with his brain?"

Brendan said, "Yeah, like - he would think to himself: Let me move the pencil across the table. And just by thinking about it, the pencil would move."

Silence from Cashel. DEEP thinking going on.

Brendan went on, "And not only could this kid move stuff with his brain - but he could also read other people's minds. He could tell what you were thinking."

Long long silence. Cashel listening, pondering.

Then Cashel spoke. And this is what he said: "So ... he was telekinetic and telepathic?"

In the world of superheroes --

one can only assume (and demand) that there is ALWAYS room for one more.

There BETTER be, because my nephew Cashel recently had a dream where he was a superhero. A new and improved superhero. A superhero the world has never heard of before ... and in my opinion, the world is the lesser for it.

Cashel had a dream that he was a superhero with long limbs - limbs that could elongate and reach out ... stretching across the acres ...

What is the name of this new superhero? Brought to life in Cashel's subconscious mind?

Stretchy Colorado.

Yes, folks. There's a new superhero on the scene and his name is:

STRETCHY COLORADO.

I can think of MANY ways that good old "Stretchy Colorado" could be of use to our society. Thank goodness he has finally arrived.

The adventures of Cashel, continued

As we all know, Cashel got through his first day at a new school relatively unscathed.

Here is the update.

There is a "bully on the bus". Of course there is. Isn't there always a bully on the bus? As I remember from my own childhood, the school bus could be treacherous territory, because there was only one adult around to monitor things, and that adult was also ... er ... driving. So some pretty sketchy Lord of the Flies behavior could flourish on the bus. I lived in terror of the girls who sat in the back of the bus. They were evil incarnate, frankly.

So Cashel has had a run-in with "the bully on the bus". The "bully on the bus" is a girl.

He told my brother (his dad) all about it. Apparently, this little she-witch (I want to wring her neck) hit Cashel over the head with a bottle, and declared loudly, "YOU'RE GROSS."

Cashel confided seriously to his dad, "The bottle didn't hurt too bad. But it did hurt that she said 'you're gross.' "

So much for that whole sticks and stones thing ...

God bless the child

Yesterday, Cashel ... my dear brave nephew ... started a new school. He is seven. He has had a rocky road. But yesterday, he faced his fears, and walked into a new school. His mother said she peeked into the room as he sat down at his little desk, surrounded by strangers, and he sat there, with himself, and then he took a deep sighing shaky breath, in and out, getting ready for the day. SO BRAVE.

Apparently, he did very well. He made three new friends - they all invited him to do stuff with them. (I love these little boys DEARLY for that reason alone).

One invited Cashel to play "hotshot".

"Hey, Cashel, wanna play hot shot?"

Cashel had no idea what "hotshot" was. A video game? A gameboy extravaganza? But he said (being brave), "Sure."

Turns out that the kid had said "hopscotch". Cashel had never heard of it.

I am so glad that hopscotch is alive and well on playgrounds in America.

My dearest Cashel, my brave boy, meeting new people, facing his fears. HEART-CRACK!!

One of the problems with being a precocious 7-year-old (like my nephew Cashel, er, for example)

... is that you can't just blindly "believe" in Santa Claus. You have to justify it scientifically. You have uncomfortable questions about the feasability of Santa's one-night journey. How does it work? How can it be explained using the laws of physics? And so it causes you to say to your mother such things as:

"So Santa's sleigh can go at the speed of light, I bet."

Happiness is ...

... hearing my nephew Cashel sing "Happy Birthday" to me over the phone - singing at the TOP of his lungs. Now, he is a little boy, so his voice is a wee little mouse voice - so if you can imagine a wee mouse singing at the top of its lungs, then you will know what I heard on the other end of the line.

"Happy BIRTHDAY Aunteeeeee Sheeeeeeila
HAPPY BIRTHDAY .... TOOOOOO .... YOOOOOU!"

Cashel, Part Deux

Cashel does not have cable. So there's THAT. So - over the past year or so, his main entertainment has been watching documentaries, ordered over Netflix. He's watched millions of them. I remember going up there this past spring, and he was babbling to us about "cro-magnon man" and "woolly mammoths" like an expert. He put me straight on a couple of my own misconceptions. It's hilarious.

The documentary topics have a wide range. Outer space, animals, history, geology ... you name it.

So recently, he was at my parents house. My dad was sitting on the couch, watching TV, and Cashel was catapulting about the room, in his normal fashion, shooting imaginary laser guns, and battling off dark-force Jedi knights. But then he turned, and looked at the TV.

My dad was flicking through the channels, surfing, and he stopped, briefly, on one channel - probably the History Channel, or PBS or something ... On the TV-screen, there was a Renaissance-era painting of a man ... and there was a voice-over droning on ... That was ALL that was seen before my dad flipped onwards.

Cashel, seeing just that one snippet, rolled his eyes, and said in a bored over-it voice, "The Medici popes."

Then he went back into Jedi land.

Heh heh heh

We all find that so FUNNY: Cashel being tremendously bored with "the Medici popes".

Sheila is very happy - and also a tiny bit unhappy

Happy because:

-- I went out last night and hung out with 5 blurpy Irishmen. There were others at the table, but I was primarily interested in the blurps. They are the kind of men who, no matter what is going in their lives, if you say to them "Hey, how are you?" they will reply jauntily, "Oh, can't complain, can't complain." I could say, "Wow, it looks like someone just chopped off your foot with an axe ... does it hurt?" Back would come the jaunty reply, "Oh, can't complain, can't complain." I am strangely charmed by that attitude.

-- I had a phone conversation with Cashel yesterday. He is going to be 7 soon. He reads "4 chapters a day" of Harry Potter. He is now on the 5th book in the series. He told me that he is planning a surprise and wanted me to keep a secret. I was extremely excited. Then he said he had to go, and hung up promptly. Without divulging the secret. I love it because his personality is so HUGE, and his voice, on the phone, sounds soooooo teeeny. So cute!

-- Emily, you will be happy to know that I braved Hollywood Video. Just to see the scene. To evaluate the prospects. And lo and behold - they have completely built out their "classics" section, and they are all videos, not DVDs, and there are so many movies I haven't seen and want to see that I almost had a heart attack looking at all of the titles. I am so happy!!! I signed up promptly. The first video I rented (which I realize made me look like a JACKASS probably) was the Howard Hawks/Cary Grant film I Was a Male War Bride, which I haven't yet seen. CAN'T WAIT.

Unhappy because:

-- I have lost electricity in ONE of my rooms. My main room, with my computer, my clock, my stereo, and my TV. My kitchen and bathroom are fine. So ... even if I wanted to watch I Was a Male War Bride I couldn't. I may have to drag my TV and VCR into my miniscule kitchen this evening. I thought the loss of power might have something to do with the tail-end of Ivan which whipped through here yesterday. It was like we were in a tropical country. SHEETS of rain, huge thunder, wind driving the rain past my window in horizontal lines ... I called the landlord, so hopefully we'll be back up and filled with electrical power this evening.

Yes, we have no bannanas

This is going to be tough to describe without visual aids, but I will give it a go.

Cashel (my nephew) sent my mother a birthday card. A home-made birthday card, with an envelope he filled out himself. Cashel (who is 6) wrote my parents address (in thick blue magic-marker) on lines drawn on by Cashel's mother, obviously. To keep his crazily large handwriting in check. Most of the letters and numbers are backwards. And yet it still arrived!!! The return address, written on the back of the envelope, is also punctuated by backwards characters - and he has written his name thusly: CASH.

That's it. No last name. It's positively heart-crackingly hysterical.

But the card!!

Okay, so here's what it is:

On the front of it is a spectacular Cashel drawing. When I first saw it, all I could do was fall into silence, contemplating the image: It's obviously a banana, coming out of its peel. The 2 sides of the banana peel are curling down, as though they are arms - about to be placed on the banana's hips. This is all very apparent. The banana itself, emerging from the peel, is obviously in profile - The banana is looking to the side, and he is wearing purple sunglasses (seen in profile. Cashel's very good at perspective like that - you can see the side of the glasses hooked around the banana's "ear"). It's quite a pose. Yellow arms curling down to the sides, banana-head in profile, staring off at some indeterminate horizon, purple sunglasses cockily in place.

This is my mother's birthday card.

But then, you open it up - and there is Cashel's handwriting, sprawled across the inside. Does he say, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GRANDMA"? No. There is no mention of "birthday", there is no "happy", there is no "love, Cashel", there is no "dear Grandma".

All it says on the inside of the card is this:

THE BANNANA SRGT. IS SAYING HE'S TOUGH.

Heh heh heh heh

We could not stop saying this phrase over the weekend. "Hey, listen. Don't argue. The banana sergeant is saying he's tough, and that's final."

Of course, once you read the inside, you then have to flip back and stare at the drawing again. Only then do you realize that yes, indeed, THAT is what is happening with that banana. I would not have realized that the banana was a "sergeant", but I could tell quite clearly that he was a tough-guy. The banana arms coming down, the cocky profile, the sunglasses - of course! The banana srgt. (love the abbreviation) is "saying he's tough".

WHAT?

We are still laughing about this. That card is more precious than "the stolen Scream" in the world of the O'Malleys!

A Cashel moment from our vacation

I was sitting on the dock, reading one of my toooo many books.

Jean and Cashel were in the water, Cashel had on his goggles, and Jean was lying on "the floatie".

A game began, and here is how it went:

Jean was speaking in a hoity-toity English accent, about how lovely the day was, how much she adored the blue sky, how it was almost tea-time, and Cashel would sneak up and splash her, or try to upend the floatie, causing GREAT distress in hoity-toity land.

Jean would flail about in the water, spluttering, making random exclamations: "How has this happened ... oh my GOODness ... Dear ME" as Cashel writhed about in laughter.

The game evolved. Jean became the actual QUEEN of England, and the "floatie" was actually the QEII. Because Cashel is insane, he knows what that is. "You're on an ocean liner, Auntie Jean - that's an ocean liner, okay??"

So Jean lay on the deck of the ocean liner, as Queen Elizabeth, musing about the loveliness of her hoity-toity British day, until along came ramrod Cashel, to sink the QEII.

Queen Elizabeth flailed about in the 2-foot-deep water, in her bikini, making random shocked exclamations, and at one point, Queen Elizabeth, clinging to the edge of the floatie, trying to save her own life, stated, "I deCLARE. Where are your manners???"

6 year old Cashel, enormous goggles on his small blonde head, screamed - in utter glee:

"I'M AN AMERICAN! I don't HAVE any manners!!!!"

Cashel's short story - written for Father's Day

Cashel, my nephew, wrote a story for my brother - in honor of Father's Day. I am sure that you will find it compelling. It appears that there will be a sequel. The narrator has a certain film noir-esque charm. It could be Philip Marlowe speaking.

I particularly enjoy the aural complexity of the beginning - I am assuming that that is the wailing whistle of the Midnight Train. It's quite a Joycean device.

That's my boy.

The piece is called "The Midnight Train".

The Midnight Train

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
hmmmhhmmmmmmhhmmmm

mmmmhmmmmhmmmhhhmmmmmmhhmm
hmmmmmmmhmmmmmmmhmmmmmm
mmmhmmmmmmmhmm

hmmmmmhmmmmmhmmmmmmm
hmmmmmhmmmmmmmmmm
hmhhmmhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Trailer 1

It was a long time ago. I never thought I would get it, cause I always wanted to see the moon. And, well, I thought when I was a grown up I could be taken away in a space craft, but I was so wrong.

I was, well, dreaming about when that happened and suddenly something woke me up. Instead of a space shuttle, it sounded like a, well, train.

So I opened the window, I climbed out, climbed down onto the fence and got off.

When I looked, there was a conductor and he said, "Well, you getting on board?"

"Why should I get on board?" I said.

"Well, to go to the moon of course," said the conductor.

"Okay," I said.

End of Trailer 1

"Saucy goblet nothing foul"

My 6 year old nephew Cashel was in town this weekend with his mother. Cashel used to live in Park Slope. While Cashel lived there, he befriended a boy named "Jack". Jack has taken on mythical qualities to all of us O'Malleys, primarily because of Cashel's undying love for Jack. They are soul mates. They are six.

They met when they were 4, and now Cashel lives far away - and yet the friendship has flourished. They have long-winded telephone conversations once a week. I said to Cashel, "I bet you guys are gonna be friends when you're grown-ups." He gave me this unbelievable look - perplexed, kind of amused, but also very confused ... trying to picture the two of them as adults. He couldn't see it. I said, "And you'll go visit Jack where he works or something, and you'll play like you're Jedi knights all over his office." Cashel thought this was a supremely hilarious image, and shook with hysterical laughter.

I'm a big hit with the 6 year old set.

I met Jack at one of Cashel's birthday parties. Jack was dressed as a Jedi knight. The primary bond between Jack and Cashel is Star Wars.

Cashel stated to my parents once, bluntly, "The first time I met Jack, I could see the twinkle of Star Wars in his eyes."

How one does not laugh when a 5 year old says something like that to you ... I simply do not know.

I love Jack. I love Jack because Cashel loves Jack.

When my sister and I drove up to see Cashel this past fall, there was a huge snowstorm in New England. I mentioned it to Cashel: "It was snowing in New York when I left!"

Cashel gasped. And then said, under his breath, "I hope Jack's okay."

Bwahaha. I said, "Oh, I'm sure he's okay."

For Cashel, it is ALL ABOUT JACK.

This past weekend, Cashel spent with Jack. On Saturday and Sunday (while I was quite ill, by the way - still not better) I kept imagining the rapture going on in Park Slope, the Star Wars orgies, the game-playing ... It made me happy to think of.

Monday morning, Siobhan made brunch for us at her apartment. It was me, Cashel's mom, Cashel and Siobhan. Still sick, I woke up early, got my act together, and traveled through the cool grey morning out to Queens. Siobhan's neighborhood is quiet, homey, and overwhelmingly green. Flags at half-mast everywhere because of Memorial Day. I kept seeing little kids in band uniforms, and little majorette girls ... traipsing off for a parade somewhere. I heard snippets of bagpipe music.

I was so excited to see the Cash-Man. How I miss seeing that little boy all the time.

My mother told me that she and Cashel had taken a walk around the neighborhood on Friday night, it was dark, they had flashlights. Cashel, who is verbose, to say the least, talked the entire time, the chattery mouse-voice coming through the darkness.

At one point he said, a propos of nothing, "Bullies aren't really bullies. They're really just cowards."

Smarty pants! MY heart cracked in two. I knew he was mouthing something that either his mother or his father had said to him, to help him make sense of playground politics.

"Bullies aren't really bullies, Cash. They're really just cowards."

Anything you say to Cash, he is liable to latch onto, make his own, and then say it right back to you. He is a knowledge and philosophy hog.

Siobhan cooked pancakes, bacon, made coffee. Cash has a scruffy short haircut that looks great. It took him a bit to warm up.

"So what did you and Jack do?"

Long silence, as he concentrated on eating a strawberry, eyes averted.

"Cash?"

Chew, chew, chew, eyes roaming the walls.

"Hello? Cash? What did you and Jack do?"

But the truth eventually came out. They saw 3 movies: Samarai Jack, Return of the Jedi - and one other, can't remember.

"And what else did you guys do?"

The casual off-handed answer? "We played."

Ah, children. God bless them. They "played".

So we ate breakfast, we all chatted, it was great fun, I have to hold myself back from attacking Cashel every other second, hugging him, kissing him, etc. It is very difficult. The good thing about a 6 year old, though, is that he will not completely object if you just reach over to him, and pull him on your lap. Such closeness can still be tolerated.

But really - the entire morning was completely enlivened by the Drama of the Refrigerator Magnets. This is what gave our brunch its special and memorable flavor.

Siobhan has those Magnetic Poetry magnets - the "Shakespeare" version. They are spread out all over the side of her fridge. Random snippets of silly verse - One was "I Like My Lady Belch" - stuff like that. Cashel noticed all of the magnets and said, "Heyyy, what's this?"

Then stood there, in his little jeans and striped shirt, looking up, and reading as many words as he could.

Because it was Shakespeare, you can imagine what Cashel's little boy voice sounded like.

"Henceforth."

"Methinks." (He said it correctly, too - which just cracked me UP - emphasis on the second syllable)

He just thought the whole thing was so funny for some reason, so fascinating. Like all the O'Malleys, he loves language.

I loved his pronunciation of "Melancholy".

Again, I have a hard time not attacking Cashel every other second, squeezing him so tight he begs for mercy.

So Cashel began messing around with the magnets, putting together random phrases - before he finally composed what amounts to a messy sonnet - which makes absolutely no sense - and which Cashel is probably still laughing about.

Every nonsensical thing he composed gave him such merriment.

He particularly found this phrase HYSTERICAL:

"saucy goblet nothing foul".

Actually, I think that's pretty funny, too, and believe the phrase could be used in all kinds of circumstances.

"How are you doing today?"
"Oh, you know. Saucy goblet nothing foul."

"Goodness, I just stepped on your foot. I beg your pardon."
"Saucy goblet, nothing foul, no problem."

Cashel kept saying it, over and over, his voice disintegrating into giggles. "Saucy goblet nothing foul..."

Love his laugh. It's the best sound in the world. No contest.

But here is Cashel's masterpiece, which he declaimed, over and over and over again that morning:

"dream & ly said mischance
let winter above light
peasant merry tempt to speak
thus curse could like you
lazy warrant and ed almost
give me manner strike his
poison deceive wherefore 'st
every fair hither hast to
must"

Now one word: If you do not find that poem to be one of the funniest things you have ever read in your life, Cashel will have no use for you.

To Cashel, his creation was HIGH COMEDY.

Clearly, there are myriad interpretations one could glean from this work. Siobhan came up with a very good dramatic reading of the last line - put a comma or a dash in between "hast to" and "must". So that, like with Shakespeare, the thought, the intention of the line is in the punctuation. One doesn't "hast to" do something, one "MUST" do something.

Cashel, though, would read the thing aloud, barely able to get through it because of his laughter, and then would state - every single time he finished it - "It doesn't make any sense!!"

That, to him, was the funniest part of it!

Actually, that's not quite the case. To Cashel, the absolute pinnacle of comedy was contained in the two words "lazy warrant".

For whatever reason, he thought that was SO FUNNY and would start to laugh about it 5 words before it came, because he could feel the comedy approaching.

"Lazy warrant".

We made a joke about how Cashel could use that as an insult on the playground (to throw at the bullies, who are not really bullies, they are just cowards.) Then when Cashel is taken to the principal's office or someone tries to tell on him, nobody will even understand what the insult means.

"Cashel called me a Lazy Warrant!"

Cashel thought this was such a funny image. "Nobody would know what it meant if I called them that!! 'You lazy warrant'!" he cried, followed by a huge burst of laughter at the thought.

I know I wouldn't like to be called a Lazy Warrant.

We then made up a game. I would call him a "saucy goblet", and his cutting rejoinder would be "Lazy warrant!"

"You saucy goblet."
"You lazy warrant!"
"You saucy goblet!"
"You lazy warrant!"

Cashel sat in the back seat of the car, as they drove off, seat belt on, looking so LITTLE, completely engrossed in his Star Wars magazine, and unaware that his two emotional Aunties were having a hard time saying good-bye.

We called at him, "You saucy goblet!"

I could see him call back "Lazy Warrant" obediently, but his mind was already elsewhere, on his magazine, but I could see his mouth form the words, "Lazy Warrant" - Couldn't hear his voice because the window was up, but it was so cute just the same.

Always does my heart good to see that little saucy goblet.

Snapshots o' Cashel

So much to say, so much to describe. Jean - if I'm forgetting anything, please chime in.

Cashel - my dear little white-haired boy. In his cute little corduroys.

Okay, so here are some of the highlights:

-- I was up at 7 am one morning, and so was Cashel and his mother. Outside, the snow was falling. NPR was playing, coffee was brewing. I made Cashel some EXTREMELY complicated toast, made to his order. I had to "put the butter on where I can see it" (he likes the butter to be in chunks, not evenly melted) - then I had to sprinkle said butter-chunks with sugar - and then sprinkle over that a light frosting of cinnamon. Following the cinnamon, I had to spread it all out evenly, over the toast. And then after that, I had to go take a damn nap because putting together that toast-concoction under his watching eyes was far too much for me.

-- Second of all, during our 7 am morning-time together, there was some interview with Edmund Hillary on NPR, but it was basically background. Cashel and I were discussing Batman, among other things. But suddenly, we heard the words "Shackleton" come out of the radio. Cashel stopped, alert. Then he informed me bluntly, "Ernest Shackleton's boats got crushed in the ice because they were wood and they hadn't invented steel boats yet."

I hadn't yet had my first cup of joe. I struggled to deal with this. I said, trying to add my two cents, "Yeah, I've seen the pictures of the boat being crushed!"

I saw this hit Cashel, he pondered it seriously, and then stated, putting two and two together, "So cameras were invented then." As opposed to steel boats. Smarty-pants.

I said, "Yes. Cameras were invented then. But they weren't like your mom's, small enough to fit in her pocket. They were huge."

Cashel looked thoughtful. He was trying to work out, for himself, the timeline of technological innovation involved in Ernest Shackleton's failed journey. Then a look of enormous worry floated over his face, and he looked up at me, piercingly, "But nobody was on the boat when it got crushed."

"Oh no. They were all off, standing on the ice, watching."

Phew. Cashel was quite concerned.

-- Somehow, over the weekend, I found myself describing the concept of the Big Bang to Cashel. I figure it's not too advanced for a boy who understands the innovation of steel, in terms of exploratory trips to the Antarctic.

It was so hilarious, because as I tried to describe it, I could see him just freaking out, with the awe of it all, trying to comprehend it. "And so everything in the universe, Cashel, EVERYTHING - even planets like Jupiter and everything - was all crushed together into a tiny tiny ball - about this big - " He gawked at the tiny-ness I showed him. "And even though it was so tiny, the ball was so heavy that if you dropped it, it would make a huge hole in the earth and fall right through--" Cashel BURST out laughing, in excitement, in fear. "And then - the pressure got too much in that small ball - and it EXPLODED - and in .546789234567 seconds the entire universe was created."

Cashel sat in stunned silence, contemplating this amazing thing. Then he stated in a ponderous important voice, "And that was the Dawn of Time."

-- Around the time of the Big Bang conversation - well, actually, after I described the Big Bang to him, it became a theme of the weekend. Jean and I were driving with Cashel and his friend in the backseat, and I could hear Cashel describing the Big Bang to his friend, using my exact words. It's scary, that power!! Anyway - Cashel had his own elaborations on the Big Bang theme, which he proceeded to share, eloquently, with his friend.

"And at first - everything was very bad - and going crazy - and the Old Gods were making everything go very bad - but then came the New Gods - the Titans - and they cleaned everything up - it was the Titans who came along and made the bad Old Gods go away..."

(Cashel's friend must have been like: "Is this what the whole afternoon is going to be like?")

Cashel kept going on his explanation: "Before the Titans came, everything was chouse." This was an unknown word - The "ch" was said the way you would say "checkers", and the "ouse" was said like "house". "Chouse."

Jean and I heard that word, glanced at each other, and then Jean said, "Everything was what, honey?"

Cashel said, "You know. Chouse. Like - everything is bad, and going crazy."

Chaos. Fucking chaos.

The kid is reading Edith Hamilton's mythology, he is 6 years old, he saw the word "chaos", he calls it "chouse", but he knows it means when everything is going out of control.

We were pretty much blown away by that.

Jean said, "Chaos. That's how you say that word. Chaos. But you're right - it means everything going crazy and bad."

Cashel was not embarrassed at having gotten the word wrong - he immediately corrected it - saying it carefully - "Chaos. The Titans got rid of the Chaos."

HEART-CRACK.

-- We went to go see Cashel compete in something called "the Pinewood Derby". It's a Cub Scout thing. (Cashel's only a Tiger Cub, but they're still involved). I was never a Cub Scout so I have never heard of such a thing. I was stuck in Brownie purgatory, making stupid duffel bags, and grumbling about how there was no fun, no ceremony in Brownies. What the pinewood derby is is: All the little boys get these pinewood cars, they have to be 5 ounces each - you put wheels on them - you paint them however you want - and then they have a day of races.

There's almost too much to even describe in this experience. I sat in the stalls at a little grade school with my sister, Cashel's mother, Cashel's grandfather - and watched the pinewood derby. Watching Cashel in action, watching how he was socially - reveling in all of these little precious obnoxious little souls - It was potent, and a bit overwhelming.

We were all collectively nervous about Cashel's car. We don't know anything about making cars. We don't know how to paint a car, etc., but we all worked on it the night before, and I have to say - it looked pretty damn cool.

And Cashel made it to the semi-finals. The first time his car won a race, Cashel's mom shrieked out, "YEEEOWWW!!!" in an embarrassing display of partisanship which we all found totally hysterical. This was not a crowd really given to overt displays of enthusiasm.

Cashel, to be honest, couldn't really have cared less. All of the other little kids had to be CONSTANTLY reminded not to run when they were near the track. Cashel never needed the reminder. He strolled about the gym like he was John Wayne. He never hurries. It was hilarious - we were watching him saunter around like a cowboy. At one point, he seemed on the verge of getting upset, as he was walking to his place at the end of the track, and he called out, randomly, to no one in particular, "I'M SUCH A SLOW POKE!"

He walks to the beat of his own drummer.

The Cub Scout leaders KILLED ME. These men were amazing. They took their jobs seriously - but not too seriously. These grown men, in Boy Scouts uniforms, making sure everything got done, quieting everyone down with a signal (two fingers up in the air - they never called out, "QUIET" - you had to pay attention, and if you saw the signal, you had to put up YOUR fingers, until the whole room caught on, and quiet descended - I liked that, because it kept everyone on their toes. You were all a part of something, it takes cooperation to make a room of small Cub Scouts and Tiger Cubs be quiet - and they all cooperated when they saw the sign.)

Cashel lost when he got to the semi-finals. He shed some tears when he sat back down with us, tears of disappointment, but he soon rebounded. He is a brave little man.

I'm overwhelmed, at times, by his courage. He's been through so much, so much "chouse". He's a good little man.

-- Other things discussed and done over the weekend:

-- Major talks about Cro-Magnon man. Cashel informing us that "the husbands" went out and hunted the Wooly Mammoths. I loved that. "The husbands." As though there were little Cro-Magnon marriage ceremonies. Cashel is highly knowledgeable about Cro-Magnon man.

-- He discovered that I have an irrational fear of spiders. He took full advantage of it. He made a pipe-cleaner spider and kept placing it on my notebook, beside my cup, it kept turning up where I least expected it.

-- We all watched Toy Story 2 (for the 8 billionith time) and had a great time, laughing like maniacs. Mr. Potato Head was KILLING US. His wife packing his bag before they left on their journey to save Woody, she saying, "I'm going to pack your angry eyes..."

-- Jean spearheaded a project to make Mr. Potato Heads using real potatoes. A group trip to Wal-Mart ensued. Much fun was had by all.

-- We took turns reading out loud to him at night. His little giggles beside me, as I read Uncle Wiggly.

-- I love how he is still little enough to submit to sitting on our laps. He loves that. I read to him with him on my lap. I will MISS that when he gets too old!!

-- As I hugged him good-bye I said, "We're definitely coming up again!" He said, "Next weekend?" Heart-crack.

"And that was the Dawn of Time...."

The Oral Tradition as continued by Cashel

My 6 year old nephew Cashel dictated the following stories to his mother, as she feverishly scribbled it down, then typed it out, and sent it out to all of us who love Cashel.

Here are Cashel's stories, written word for word as he told them. Peter Jackson should option these ideas now, while he still has the chance.

Cashel's Stories

Garl
Garl used to work for the Killer. But when Garl was mixing a potion because the Killer got a bad eye. And the potion was to make one of those thingys that have the glasses with the rope and they go on your eye. (Ed: I believe the reference here is to a monacle.) But Garl made a mistake and while he was mixing it he knocked over a potion and the glass bottle fell in. Garl was so surprised that his hand swung down into the potion, but it was hot hot hot. Then he went to get a bandage but the chemical z potion, its color just faded away, so the Killer didn't know that he had the wrong kind of eyeglass. Now he has the most powerful eyeglass [monacle] in the world. He is mad at Garl because he wanted a plain one. Now the Killer has been hunting down Garl to make him toast!

Shadow
Shadow was really just a plain kid. But then when Light Man grabbed him from Dark World, he fell into the Halls of Darkness and then he got circles around his eyes. Then he got super powers and all the people wanted to come see him, and he wanted to get away, so he got away to earth with his super powers. His super powers are a mystery. He has dark monsters that grab people that eat em and they go into Shadow's powers, but he has much more super powers that are a mystery, it's like a crack mystery except not soft. Then there were a lot of dark clothes on the ground and he had brought his chemistry set with him. He dipped some potions onto the clothes, he stuck them together, then with the last strike, he took one potion and a few strips of clothes were transformed into an armored helmet. Then 18 years later he met Garl. But the people from Dark World have been trying to find him for a thousand years. On Dark World you can live much longer. When he met Garl they started fighting together. Shadow was Garl's sidekick.

The Killer
I can't think of a story for the Killer so I'm going to skip over to Glop.

Glop
Glop was created by Sintizu. And now he's been trying to stomp down good guys for years and that's the end. This is a really short story.

A Cashel/Brooklyn Memory

My 6-year-old nephew Cashel lives far away from me now, but for the first five years of his life he lived in Brooklyn. I knew, at the time, how lucky I was, to be so close to him ... Many of my friends have nephews or nieces who live in France, or across the country ... They get to see them once a year, if that much. I saw Cashel every week, babysat him all the time. It was truly a blessing in my life.

Came across this old entry of a November afternoon I spent with Cashel, and wanted to share it.

A Brooklyn Afternoon
It's winter now, but the trees are still fighting with the season: "Dammit, we're not ready yet. It's still autumn! LOOK AT US. The yellows, the oranges....aren't we spectacular?" Meanwhile, everyone is wearing winter coats, and the babies in the strollers literally cannot move their limbs at all, and sit frozen, like mummified papooses in their massive snow suits. Their wide eyeballs staring out.

I arrived, rang the doorbell, and nobody answered. Hmmm. I called, left a message. Then I went across the street into Prospect Park. There's a playground right there and I thought that maybe Maria, Steve (her new boyfriend) and Cashel might be over there. They were not. Curiouser and curiouser. I left another message saying, "Okay, so clearly I have the time wrong ... I will be sitting in the park across the street, if you just stepped out for a second and come home and get this message." I sat at a picnic table and wrote in my journal for a while. About Crazy Erik. Which is a long story and absolutely none of your business.

There was a slope of hill behind me covered in flaming yellow leaves - not one spot of brown ground visible. The sun was low in the sky now, the rays long and mellow. Shining through the bare trees on the top of the slope, washing over the carpet of yellow. One of those images that pierce your heart.

It was cold enough that my fingers felt like little stiff carrot sticks. But I enjoyed my time with myself. Writing, listening to the screams of kids at the playground.

Finally Maria called. 45 minutes later. She had thought I was coming over in the evening. I was sure I had said, "So I'll be there at 3." She said, "Are you FREEZING?" "Yes. I am freezing." "Come over right now. Do you want tea or hot chocolate?" "Tea would be great." "Putting the kettle on right now."

In 2 minutes, I was ensconced in her warm and cozy apartment. Her living room now looks like an old-fashioned Victorian living room. The piano, the oriental rug, the dark walls. It is so cozy that I never want to leave. Steve was slicing up a pomegranate, Maria was at the stove ... and Cashel and Brendan were apparently on their way over, after seeing Attack of the Clones at the IMAX.

We sat around her table, eating, drinking tea, talking, laughing. Cashel eventually arrived. Or, perhaps, to be more accurate, I should say Obi Wan Kenobi arrived. Cashel was completely in the fantasy world. Leaping about with his invisible light saber, manically running by us, making light-saber sounds, checking himself out in the mirror.

Maria said to me at one point, "I guess I have been wondering lately: .... Is there such a thing as too much Star Wars?"

This brought up a memory for me.

When I was 9 and 10 years old, I became so obsessed with the movie Oliver that I was actually experiencing a semi-psychotic break with reality. I would sit in our den at the Paul Avenue house, listen to the whole thing through, pick up the needle, and place it back at the beginning again. Over and over and over and over. It bordered on being an unpleasant experience, to be quite honest. I ACHED. My heart ACHED. I would sit with my ear right next to the speaker, literally pressed up against the speaker, dreaming myself into the world of the musical. I couldn't even really have a conversation about it. Nobody could touch my level of obsession. Well, nobody except my friend Betsy. We would dress up, and act it out. She was Nancy, I was the Artful Dodger.

This was the ushering in, for me, of my dream-world, my fantasy-world, which I still live with today. I am truly the greatest "fan" you will ever meet. I am as loyal as a battered wife. I don't care if the object of my desire makes a bad film, puts out a crappy album, whatever. I will wait, loyal, faithful, for them to return to greatness. But Oliver was the first. And, again, it was almost a painful experience. No matter what I did, no matter how close I sat to the speakers, I couldn't get inside. I couldn't FULLY express how that musical made me feel.

And here is a vivid memory: I was in the den, sitting with my ear pressed up against the speakers, staring at the album cover, lost to the world, listening to the musical for probably the tenth time through, and suddenly the door opened, and my mother peeked her head inside. Her face was very kind, a bit tentative, and apologetic. And she said, with utmost gentleness: "I don't think we're gonna be able to listen to Oliver anymore, okay?" She said it as NICELY as she could.

Now, as an adult, I imagine her and my father sitting in the other room, and they hear the first strains of the overture start up for the tenth time in a row, and the two of them saying, "Oh my GOD, I can't take it anymore!!!"

My whole head got red at her request. So red I felt like it would explode spontaneously off of my neck. Reality crashed into my perfect dream-world. Silently, embarrassed, I took the needle off the record. And sat there, blankly, wondering what the HELL I was going to do with myself NOW.

Cashel's obsession with Star Wars has been raging on unabated for a couple of years now, and it shows no sign of stopping. Funny: I saw the damn movie in its original release, and I have to say that MY obsession with that film pretty much continues on to this day.

I hung out with Cashel in his room for a long time. He was playing feverishly with his Star Wars action figures, letting me know what was going on, informing me of things bluntly: "This is the assassin droid." "Anakin has the dark side in him, but then he goes back to the light side." I would ask him questions and he would answer me forthrightly, after giving the matter some thought.

"Cashel, which one of the Star Wars movies is your favorite?"

Brief moment of contemplation, then matter-of-fact statement: "Attack of the Clones--" (Of course, because he just saw it!!) "And then Phantom Menace."

I nodded. "I think my favorite is Empire Strikes Back."

He glanced at me briefly, took this in, kind of couldn't deal with it, and then went back to playing.

He was singing the Star Wars theme, as he played. I joined in at one point. But I guess I got TOO into it, because he said to me, "Stop." I said, "You don't want me to sing?" He said, "Well ... no ... because ... I am trying to concentrate."

Then would come the random questions from Cashel, his head tilted at me, thoughtful. "Why did the Senator turn the cameras off in her room?"

I said, "Well, I think she was so used to being stared at, and watched, that she just got sick of it. She wanted some privacy so that she could sleep. I mean, how would you feel if your whole life, people were looking at you like this --" I shoved my face right up against his face, with big googly eyes. Cashel burst into laughter. I love how he laughs. It's like that moment in "The Night Before Christmas" where Santa laughs like a bowlful of jelly. Cashel is definitely a bowlful of jelly.

I was then put through rigorous Jedi training. Obi Wan Kenobi was quite a stern taskmaster, I must say. I had a light saber, and I was practicing my moves. I was going in a very Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon direction. Obi Wan Kenobi then froze me like a statue. Told me sternly to not move, because he had to go have an important conference with another Jedi master. Cashel then walked away, leaving me there. Frozen. He was outside the room and I could hear him having a pretend conversation about important galaxy matters. Which was hysterical.

He also said to me, in a tone of huge generosity and open-mindedness, "Girls can be Jedi Knights."

"Phew! Glad to hear it!"

Why I'm proud to be an O'Malley

There may be other families who have similar stories to tell - but this is a short story about an O'Malley thing - an O'Malley "thing" being passed on to the next generation. I'm proud of it.

My nephew Cashel (of whom I write about a lot) is 6.

He got 5,891 presents for Christmas - because of "the aunties" (me and my sisters) - and all of the adults in his life who basically love him to pieces.

One of the things I gave him he was not too thrilled by. Or - I think he was a bit overwhelmed by the thousands of presents he had received, and had a hard time taking it all in. He could only focus on one or two things. (I know just how he feels.)

Anyway - I bought him two Play Mobile guys (member those?) - and they were two little Revolutionary War Minute Men - and there's a cannon, two cannon balls, and one horse. And a bucket for the horse.

I feared this would not attract his attention because of his overwhelming interest in Star Wars and Harry Potter, and I was right. Originally. He could not have cared less.

But two days later, I called home and talked with my mom. In the background, I could basically hear the sounds of some kind of war going on, running up and down the hallway. Explosions, etc. Our house was under attack?

"What's going on over there?" I asked.

"Oh, Cashel is playing with your two soldiers. It appears that ... a battle from the Revolutionary War is taking place in our hallway."

"He's playing with them? That's great!"

"I think one of them is Paul Revere. He appears to be fighting in the battles as well."

"That is so cute." (Burst of pride in my heart that Cashel knows of the existence of Paul Revere.)

Then my mom said: "He knows about Paul Revere because of Longfellow."

Let me repeat that:

My nephew Cashel knows about Paul Revere not because of a movie, or because he learned about it in school - but because we, as a family, have read to him Longfellow's great poem "Paul Revere's Ride". That poem is in the legacy of our family - and it has turned him on to the possibilities of the Revolutionary War as imaginary material.

This is the legacy of being an O'Malley.

The printed word comes first.

I think that Longfellow would be pleased!!

Here's my description of reading that poem to Cashel one night.

The Heart-Cracking Emotional Bravery of Children

So as I explained, I have been the primary Lego assembler over this Christmas holiday. The house is now filled with my creations. Quite elaborate. Cashel and I have had fun putting them together.

This morning - Cashel was, of course, up before any of us. He was wide-eyed and alert, playing up and down the hallway with his Luke Skywalker and Han Solo action figures, as though he had been up for hours.

I got up at the fiery crack of 10:30 am. I made some toast. I poured a cup of coffee. I got my 56 pound "Ring trilogy", and went to sit in the living room, for a glorious bacchanal of reading and caffeine. And QUIET.

On the edges of my consciousness, I became aware that Cashel was talking about taking apart one of the Lego constructions - so that he could have the fun of re-assembling it.

He was blabbing to my parents. "I think I want to take the Harry Potter room apart and then put it back together again ..."

My parents: "Good idea, Cash! Good for you!"

Cashel then said, calling out to me, as he set himself up at the dining room table, "Auntie Sheila - I'm gonna take this apart ... "

I knew he was telling me because I was "the one", in terms of Legos. Did he need my help? Did he want my aid? Was he okay?

Then Cashel said, "But I don't need your help, Auntie Sheila. Don't worry. I can do it. You can have some time alone."

You can have some time alone.

The sensitivity of that ... the selflessness of that ... to even notice that I wanted "some time alone" ... and to inform me that he could do it on his own ...

My heart literally cracked at his emotional courage.

And - of course - the second he said those words, I had no more desire for any "time alone" whatsoever! - I had to put my book down, put the toast down, and go and play Legos with Cashel.

He is 6 years old. He is very brave. He is smart.

I'd rather hang out with him than read about Hobbits any day.

Cashel's Christmas

For those of you who do not know - Cashel is my nephew. He just turned 6. He is here for Christmas.

It took me 24 hours to stop trying to hug him at every opportunity (as he tried to wriggle away) - It took me 24 hours to basically accept his presence, and not try to attack him.

I pretended to eat him at one point. I tried to scoop out his brains "like an avocado". I made ridiculous "yum-yum" noises, as Cashel writhed about in hysterical laughter. Then he began to nibble on my arm, trying to make "yum-yum" noises, only he was laughing too hard.

He is obsessed with Harry Potter. His entire life is Harry Potter. And here's the amazing thing: he has read none of the books yet, and he has seen none of the movies. His parents have struck a deal with him: once he finishes all the books (he is only 6, remember) - he will be allowed to see the movies.

This has filled Cashel with anticipation and ambition.

He will inform me, "My mom and dad told me I have to finish the books first."

He accepts the rules.

His friends must have told him all about Harry Potter, however, because Cashel knows all the characters, all the events, all the bad guys, all the good guys. He knows the rules of Quidditch.

I certainly hope the books won't be a let-down when he finally reads them!

I asked him, at one point, "So, Cash-man, have you finished any of the Harry Potter books yet?"

He was busy with something else. He said seriously, "No. I haven't accomplished that yet."

"A-ha. I see."

I have put together numerous very elaborate Star Wars and Harry Potter lego set-ups. I make Cashel find the little pieces for me, so he can feel like he put the damn thing together.

I peek in at him while he's sleeping - and see his flushed face, hear his heavy sleepy breathing, his little hands - and I feel like I am going to burst into a million pieces.

We trimmed the tree on Christmas Eve (the Advent Police would be proud) - There is a box of ornaments from the attic - all of stuff that we all made when we were little kids. They are great - it is like they are members of our family.

There's a big shiny green pear - which is mine. I put that one on every year.

There are little wooden ornaments, painted by all of us when we were little.

There are little felt animals, made by my mother when we were kids.

It's kind of incredible - also paper chains (now faded into greyish tones - it used to be red and green and blue) put together by us when we were kids.

And there's the Cash-man, in his pjs, reaching his hand into the box from the attic, taking out an ornament, an ornament made by one of his aunties, or by his father, when they were his age. A continuum. The continuity of family.

We sang Christmas carols. I loved hearing Cashel's wee voice, chiming in, as he rummaged around for more ornaments.

"We three kings of orient are..."

He's a good little boy. I love to hear his chattering voice, all about the house.

Cashel-isms

Had a long phone conversation with my now-6-year-old nephew Cashel, on Thanksgiving day. He's not really a phone person, so I clearly caught him in a good place ... and bombarded him with questions.

With Cashel, everything must be content-oriented. And by that I mean, if you ask him a question, "How are you?" you're gonna get NOTHING in response. But if you say, "So tell me your response to 'Finding Nemo'" - you will get a 10-minute-long in-depth monologue about the pros and cons of the film, and a little compare-and-contrast with other Pixel classics ...

It's hilarious. So I always ask him about what movies he's seen.

He and Brendan had gone to Lego-Land. He raved about it to me.

"So, Cashel, what was the best part for you about Lego-Land?"

He contemplated this important question. I could FEEL him pondering it, through the phone lines.

Unsurprisingly, Cashel said flatly, "The life-size Darth Vader. Made all out of Legos."

"Of course. Tell me all about it, please."

And so Cashel did.

It's so funny - Cashel's personality, to my eyes, is so HUGE, in person. He is unavoidable. He has this white head of hair, he is very articulate, he has hand gestures, he is very emphatic and specific ... his personality is huge. So it is so funny to me, so jarring, to hear how LITTLE his voice is over the phone. It's a teeny mouse-voice. I want to squeeze him so tight that he cries out for mercy.

He and Brendan also went to Sea World.

"I got to feed some dolphins." Then, to make sure that he didn't exaggerate his role in this activity, Cashel clarified, "Well, Auntie Sheila, what I did was - I put the food on top of the water ... and the dolphins could see it from underneath ... and then they would come up and get it."

At one point, Cashel dissolved into hysterical laughter, and said to me, "Isn't the word 'INSANE' so funny, Auntie Sheila? Isn't it so funny to call someone 'insane'? 'You're INSANE.'" Cashel broke up into hilarious guffaws.

I had to agree. "Insane" is a very funny word. Especially when said in this surprisingly little mouse-voice across 3000 miles.

Cashel was ... beyond shocked that it was my birthday. A whole new world opened up for him. A world of unimagined discoveries. Grownups have birthdays too. Auntie Sheila has a birthday. At first, when he heard the news, I was greeted with absolute dead silence from the other end. I could, again, feel him processing the news. Trying to fit it into his world-view.

Then, thrilled, excited, he turned around and shrieked at Brendan, "It's Auntie Sheila's birthday today!!!!" (Yes, he actually spoke with exclamation points. I could hear them.)

I heard Brendan say in the background, "I know!"

Immediately, Cashel launched into song. Singing "Happy Birthday" to me, over the phone.

The sound of his voice singing was so adorable, and so excited, and so vulnerable ... that I thought my heart would crack. Perhaps it did.

Gold - Purple - Red - Beannacht

The leaves up north were a-flame. Entire yards were completely covered in a blanket of sodden fiery yellow leaves. The streets were canopied over with blazing red, or deep purple. Colors to take your breath away. Wet hillsides, raging with color, low grey skies above.

There was a river down the street ... a raging tumultuous river ... catapulting itself down from the mountains ... filling the air with its chaotic sound. We went down there at night to look, shivering in our sweatshirts, teeth chattering, staring down at the foamy madness. Beautiful.

Cashel wore a bright orange hunter's cap.

The telescope gift was somewhat eclipsed (pun intended) by the deluxe Star Wars lego set.

I mean, please.

How could we compete with the Lego construction of the chamber where Han Solo was frozen up - complete with small carbonized Han figure (face screwed up in agony) and an actual chain which lifted Han's chamber up and down?

We did all huddle in the yard at night, with black clouds crossing over the half-moon, each taking turns with the telescope.

It truly was spectacular.

The craters were so clear, so vivid, you felt that you could reach out and touch them. Magnificent. Awe-inspiring. Makes one feel teeny-teeny-teeny, and yet also rather enormous, because, after all, one belongs to the race of beings who actually sent men up there!!

Cashel informed all of us, "We put men on the moon - but nobody has gone beyond the moon!"

He loved Apollo 13. I held him in my arms, while we waited for a turn at the 'scope, and discussed some of the issues in the film.

Cashel had to make sure I knew that the REAL STORY of Apollo 13 is that everything turned out ALL RIGHT. Yes, there was a near-disaster, yes, it was scary, yes, it was bad - "But they came home safe, Aunti Sheila! They came home safe!"

Yes.

We will not dwell on the negative, Cashel. They came home safe.

Oh, and speaking of "coming home safe" - the Aunties broke down in the car, not 10 minutes after getting on the road - at the beginning of our long journey.

It was 7 am.

A rattling sound grew and grew and grew - until suddenly - Auntie Jean lost control of the wheel - the steering belt had snapped, apparently - and calmly cruised us over to the side of the road. Where we sat for a bit.

Then came much improvising, many calls on cell phones, much discussion - much being on hold ... Triple A ... trying to come up with a Plan B - as cars hurtled by to our left.

Triple A man showed up within 20 minutes. Looked under the hood and immediately saw the snapped belt. He towed the car to Auntie Jean's garage --- with the 3 of us pig-piled on top of each other in his truck with him. Lucky man. The three of us were pretty much in a barely controlled state of hysterical laughter. Siobhan realized at one point that she was literally holding onto Jean's thigh with a death-grip, as we went around corners, and I realized at one point that I was gripping onto Siobhan's fur collar, with my own death-grip, during corners.

We basically needed a ride to the rent-a-car place in the next town and so who you gonna call? Friend Beth.

Too funny - after Beth dropped us off at the car place, I said, "Thank you SO MUCH, Beth - Thank you SO MUCH" - and as she slid back into the driver's seat, she called back, "Oh, no problem. I know I'll get a mention in the blog for this."

We ROARED.

Later in the weekend, Jean said to me something like, "I don't want THIS to go in the blog, okay??"

Ha ha ha

Finally: we picked up a rent-a-car, stopped and got some coffees, and were on our way, a couple of hours off schedule, which meant we would miss Cashel's party. Which made us sad.

We BLASTED music as we drove.

Charlie's Angel soundtrack. White Stripes. Eminem. A mix Siobhan made for Jean - awesome stuff: Johnny Cash, and others.

Further and further north ... into the hills, the mountains, the streets crowded up with trees, lakes off to the left, lakes off to the right, reflecting the silver sky, surrounded by this blazing gold - purple - red.

A family weekend.

Star Wars. Blueberry pancakes with chunks of butter.

Cashel does not like the butter to melt. As a matter of fact, he once ordered me, when I was making him toast, "Put the butter on so I can see it!" He actually called this to me from another room. Hilarious. We were laughing about it this weekend, and I said, "Suddenly, his voice sounded like Ray Charles' voice or something." Brendan said, "Well, that would be really interesting - for Ray Charles to tell you to put the butter on where he can see it."

Hm. Good point.

The Aunties all piled onto Cashel's bed with him, and tag-team read him a story.

(A terribly written story ... whatever it is. We kept making faces to each other, behind the book, so Cashel couldn't see.)

Cashel was leaning up against Auntie Siobhan, laughing, and happy. In his little pjs.

My heart hurts!! I feel like I could never be a parent because my love is too much.

A beautiful full weekend.

Flaming foliage, Cashel's happy face, raging river, endless cups of coffee, my parents smiling, uproarious laughter. Tears of laughter. Laughter that HURTS.

Oh, and to my little 6-year-old brave boy, here is my blessing for you:

(Do I have any fluent-in-Irish readers?? Oxblog Patrick? Do you? The translation of this may be very rough - I pieced it together on my own)...

A blessing (Beannact) for Cashel:

Go nueire an Bothar leat.
Go raibh an ghaoth go Brach ag bo chul.
Go lonrai an ghrian go te ar aghaidh
Go dtite an bhaistead go min ar do phairceanna.
Agus go mbuailimid le cheile aris
Go geoinni Dia i mbos A Laimhe Thu.

Well. I hope that says what I THINK it says.

It's the Irish Blessing. I just like the way it sounds better in Irish...

Blessings on you, my sweet little nephew, from Auntie Sheila.

Happy Halloween...

.. and also: Happy birthday, Cashel! You're six years old! Can't believe it!

The Aunties will be driving up to see you, telescope in hand ...

Next week...

or ... next Friday to be exact, Halloween, is my dear nephew Cashel's sixth birthday.

I can hardly believe it.

My sisters and I are piling into a car at 6 am on Saturday morning and driving up to Maine for his birthday party. We are buying him a telescope. A real one. One he can grow into. He is MR. Space - so I cannot wait for him to have it.

When Cashel was ... maybe 4 years old ... he turned to his dad, my brother, and announced, bluntly, "It's all about space."

Nobody needed to ask him what "it" referred to, because it was obvious.

Brendan promptly turned it into a kind of hypnotic Moby-esque rap song, with Cashel saying over and over and over and over again, "It's all about space. It's all about space. It's all about space. It's all about space."

We used to BLAST that song, and dance around, with Cashel giggling like a maniac at the sound of his own voice.

My dear little boy. My heart melts!

Cashel used to be positively unable to say the letter "r". He would contort his mouth into grotesque positions, and try to get the sound out, but finally, he ended up compromising, settling on the sound "ee".

"Auntie Sheila, let's go in the wat-ee!"

It was hilarious.

But best of all, and going along with the space theme, was the time when Cashel, who was sitting on my lap, both of us having come back from the beach, he was having some juice, and facing out, his little blonde head turned away from me.

But suddenly, with no warning, Cashel craned his neck around to stare up at me, and said the following:

"Auntie Sheila, 8 billion yee-ees ago, an asteeyoid cee-yashed into the ee-eath, and made a big kee-yay-tee, killing all the dinosau-ees."

A couple weeks ago, when he and I strolled through the Meteor section in the Museum of Natural History, I turned to him, and said that, word for word, imitating his pronunciation - He doesn't quite remember the moment, but he knows that that was who he used to be, and he thinks that it is DAMN funny.

His favorite part, as is mine, is his butchering of the word "crater" into an 8-syllable extravaganza: kee-yay-tee....

So this little Spaceman is gonna get himself a telescope from the 3 Aunties.

That's what he calls us: "the Aunties." "Where are the Aunties right now?" "I'm going swimming with the Aunties."

We are one.

Whales and dinosaurs

My little nephew Cashel (soon to be 6) was in town today. So we met up at the Museum of Natural History this morning at 10 am.

I haven't seen him since August. It has been a bit ... wrenching. I must say.

I sat, in the grey morning, reading, waiting for them to show.

Looked up. Saw Cashel and Maria (his mother) coming down the sidewalk. Cashel was already in a squirmy state of excitement - and when he saw me - he broke into a run. An excited run.

I jumped up and ran at him too.

To see him - his huge smile - as he ran at me - laughing hysterically - happily -

I have tears in my eyes. I love him so much.

I feel like the 3 of us must have walked 10 miles today - through the various exhibits in the museum. We looked at everything, we ate, we watched a movie about vertebrates.

Long conversations about whales, and dinosaurs, and meteorites, and the rain forests. Walking around and around and around, looking at everything, hanging out with my nephew.

It was beautiful.

But not as beautiful at the sight of him breaking into a run when he saw me.

Thank you, God.

Cashel Chomsky

Nephew Cashel bluntly told my brother Brendan (his dad), "I have informed a new language. Which is part Chinese, part French, part Italian, part English, part German, and part sign language. It's called Papahcoahlo." (Or something like that. The name of the language sounded distinctly Hawaiian, and Cashel had "informed" this language out of all other languages, including sign language.)

The thing that impressed Brendan the most was Cashel's word choice: "I have informed a new language."

Brendan's response to me about this was: "Woah. Okay, Chomsky."

Cashel and the Dead Composers

For Christmas he was given a little interactive book about famous dead composers. You press on the page, and certain facts are spoken out by a narrator, and you can also hear snippets of the music. Cashel has decided that he wants to be Mozart for Halloween next year. His mother said to me that she feels the dead composers have become the new "Star Wars", in Cashel's mind. One obsession replaced by another.

So he will randomly declare facts about composers to his mother, quoting the narrator. "So-and-so could read music by the time he was 3 years old."

He also said to Maria (and I quote): "A man named Holst wrote some music about the planets. The music for Neptune had a soothing harmonic sound, and the music for Mars was a fierce and martial sound."

Cashel is 5. He said the words "soothing harmonic" and "fierce martial sound" right to Maria.

One if by Land, Two if by Sea

Hanging with the nephew ... We colored for a while. As we waited for the pizza to arrive. Cashel commanded me to draw a house. So I did. Cashel was basically the architect and the interior designer. Telling me what he wanted to see.

"Put a playroom in the attic."

"But Auntie Sheila -- where are the stairs??"

I drew the bathroom, and the mere sight of the toilet caused Cashel to dissolve into mirth. Yes. Toilets are hilarious.

I drew a spiral staircase which blew Cashel away. "That's so COOL." Then I drew the living room. I said, "I think there needs to be a picture on the wall. Or a portrait. Whose picture should be on the wall, you think?"

Cashel said bluntly, "Einstein."

Okay, then. Einstein. So I drew this little cartoon of Einstein, with the crazy hair coming up, and Cashel said seriously, with all of his knowledge, "That really looks like Einstein."

We ate our pizza together, talking about stuff. Star Wars, Ben Franklin. Cashel informed me, "Ben Franklin discovered lightning."

Cashel is a wealth of information. Randomly, he told my parents that Vincent Van Gogh never sold a painting while he was alive, but that after he died, he became famous.

I read him a story. It was from the book of "Disney stories" which I had given him for his birthday. He loves it. He pulled it out of the bookshelf, and I said, "Oh! I gave that to you!" Cashel said, a little bit annoyed, "I know that."

He had me read the story of the little mouse who hung out with Ben Franklin, and basically (in the world of Disney) was the inspiration for all of Ben Franklin's famous moments. Cashel would shoot questions at me. "Why is Ben Franklin's hair white?" "Well ... he's old now. But also, in those days, men wore powdered wigs. I think." Cashel's little serious face, listening, sponging this all up. Probably the next day he informed his friends that men in the olden days wore powdered wigs. He's that kind of listener, that kind of learner.

Then he put on his Obi Wan Kenobi costume which Grandma Peggy made him for Christmas. A long hooded brown cloak ... and he hooked his light saber into his waist, and galloped off down the hall. Making me laugh. A mini Jedi knight.

I had him pick out three stories to read before bedtime. He sat beside me, curled up into me, looking at the pictures as I read to him. The last one we read was Longfellow's poem "Paul Revere's Ride". This poem was a favorite of ours, when we were kids. My dad would read it to us, and even now, when I read the words, I hear them in my father's voice. A magical poem. Really. The way my dad read it to us (along with Longfellow's help) made us SEE it. The clock tower, the moon, the darkness ... the sense of anticipation, of secrecy, of urgency. It was thrilling. So I love that this is being passed on to Cashel! I've never read the poem outloud before ... so I had one of those strange moments of the space-time continuum bending ... me stepping into my father's shoes, Cashel 5 years old beside me, feeling the ghost of my own 5 year old self listening.

I also remember how Brendan and I used to chime in gleefully: "ONE IF BY LAND, TWO IF BY SEA!" And Cashel did the same thing. I paused before that moment in the poem, glanced down at him, and he screamed it out.

There was also a subtlety of understanding in Cashel ... I read this section:

And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

And Cashel exclaimed, in a sort of "Uh-oh" tone, "They're comin' by sea!!" Now the words don't actually SAY that, but he remembered the "one if by land two if by sea" signal, and puts it all together. That's my boy!

I remembered the first lines from memory:

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

Again, those are just words on the page. But to me, they are filled with the echoes of my father's voice. I have tears in my eyes.

Cashel and I, as we went through the poem, had to stop many times for discussions.

There was one illustration of all the minute-men, hiding behind the stone walls, with a troop of Redcoats marching along, walking straight into the ambush. Cashel pointed at it, and stated firmly, "That's the civil war."

"Nope. Nope. That is actually a picture from the American Revolutionary War."

Cashel pondered this. Taking it in. Then: "The minute-men were in the civil war." But less certain.

"Nope. The minute-men were soldiers in the American Revolution. Do you know why they called them that?"

"Why?"

"Cause they were just farmers, and regular people ... but they could be ready to go into battle in a minute."

Again, a long silence. As Cashel filed this away for safekeeping. He forgets nothing.

"So ... Auntie Sheila ... what is the difference between the Revolutionary War and the Civil War?"

Woah. Okay. This will be a test. How to describe all of that in 5-year-old language. I mean, frankly, Cashel is not like a five-year-old at all. But still. Everything must be boiled down into its simplest components.

"Well. America used to be a part of England, and the American Revolutionary War was when America decided that it wanted to be free ... and Americans basically told the Brits to go home." Uh-oh. Brits? This is an inflammatory term. I corrected myself. "America told Great Britain that it wanted to be its own country. And the Civil War ... " Hmmm. How to begin ... what to say ... I know it was about more than slavery, but I decided to only focus on that one aspect. Economic theory would be too abstract. "In those days, Cashel, black people were slaves. And it was very very wrong. Can you understand that?"

He nodded. His little serious face.

"And the people in the South wanted to keep their slaves, and the people in the North said to the people in the South that they had to give up their slaves because it was wrong. And they ended up going to war. And eventually all the slaves were free."

Cashel accepted this explanation silently. Then he pointed back to the Paul Revere poem. "Read." he commanded.

Cashel's Dream

Just heard this story last night about my nephew, Cashel. He was explaining to my parents what Martin Luther King day was all about. He said:

"Back then, black people and white people couldn't do the same things. But then Martin Luther King's dream came true."

Cashel was being quite literal. Martin Luther King actually had a dream one night, while he was asleep, and then it came true.

Wisdom.

Babysitting Obi Wan Kenobi

A visit with Cashel...

Cashel arrived. Or, perhaps, to be more accurate, I should say Obi Wan Kenobi arrived. Cashel was completely in the fantasy world. Leaping about with his invisible light saber, running by us manically, making light-saber sounds, checking himself out in the mirror.

Maria said to me at one point, "I guess I have been wondering lately: .... Is there such a thing as too much Star Wars?"

This brought up a memory for me. When I was 9 and 10 years old, I became so obsessed with the movie Oliver that I was actually experiencing a semi-psychotic break with reality. I would sit in our den at the Paul Avenue house, listen to the whole thing through, pick up the needle, and place it back at the beginning again. Over and over and over and over. It bordered on being an unpleasant experience, to be quite honest. I ACHED. My heart ACHED. I would sit with my ear right next to the speaker, literally pressed up against the speaker, dreaming myself into the world of the musical. I couldn't even really have a conversation about it. Nobody could touch my level of obsession. Well, nobody except my friend Betsy Hall. We would dress up, and act it out. She was Nancy, I was the Artful Dodger. We were CRAZY.

This was the ushering in, for me, of my dream-world, my fantasy-world, which I still live with today. I am truly the greatest "fan" you will ever meet. I am as loyal as a battered wife. I don't care if the object of my desire makes a bad film, puts out a crappy album, whatever. I will wait, loyal, faithful, for them to return to greatness. But Oliver was the first. And, again, it was almost a painful experience. No matter what I did, no matter how close I sat to the speakers, I couldn't get inside. I couldn't FULLY express how that musical made me feel.

And here is a vivid memory: I was in the den, sitting with my ear pressed up against the speakers, staring at the album cover, lost to the world, listening to the musical for probably the tenth time through, and suddenly the door opened, and my mother peeked her head inside. Her face was very kind, a bit tentative, and apologetic. And she said, with utmost gentleness: "I don't think we're gonna be able to listen to Oliver anymore, okay?" She said it as NICELY as she could. Now, as an adult, I imagine her and my father sitting in the other room, and they hear the first strains of the overture start up for the tenth time in a row, and the two of them saying, "Oh my GOD, I can't take it anymore!!!"

My whole head got red. So red I felt like it would explode spontaneously off of my neck. Reality crashed into my perfect dream-world. Silently, embarrassed, I took the needle off the record. And sat there, blankly, wondering what the HELL I was going to do with myself NOW.

Ha ha ha ha.

Anyway. Cashel's obsession with Star Wars has been raging on unabated for a couple of years now, and it shows no sign of stopping. Funny: I saw the damn movie in its original release, and I have to say that MY obsession with that film pretty much continues on to this day.

I hung out with Cashel in his room for a long time. He was playing feverishly with his Star Wars action figures, letting me know what was going on, informing me of things bluntly: "This is the assassin droid." "Anakin has the dark side in him, but then he goes back to the light side." I would ask him questions and he would answer me forthrightly, after giving the matter some thought.

"Cashel, which one of the Star Wars movies is your favorite?"

Brief moment of contemplation, then matter-of-fact statement: "Attack of the Clones--" (Of course, because he just saw it!!) "And then Phantom Menace."

I nodded. "I think my favorite is Empire Strikes Back."

He glanced at me briefly, took this in, kind of couldn't deal with it, and then went back to playing.

He was singing the Star Wars theme, as he played. I joined in at one point. But I guess I got TOO into it, because he said to me, "Stop."

I said, "You don't want me to sing?"

He said, "Well ... no ... because ... I am trying to concentrate."

Aha. Good to know. I backed off.

Then would come the random questions. "Why did the Senator turn the cameras off in her room?"

I said, "Well, I think she is so used to being stared at, and watched, that she just got sick of it. She wanted some privacy so that she could sleep. I mean, how would you feel if your whole life, people were looking at you like this --" I shoved my face right up against his face, with big staring googly eyes. Cashel burst into laughter. I love how he laughs, because he literally shakes his whole body. Like that moment in "The Night Before Christmas" where Santa laughs like a bowlful of jelly. Cashel is definitely a bowlful of jelly.

I was then put through rigorous Jedi training. Obi Wan Kenobi was quite a stern taskmaster, I must say. I had a light saber, and I was practicing my moves. I was going in a very Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon direction. Obi Wan Kenobi then froze me like a statue. Told me sternly to not move, because he had to go have an important conference with another Jedi master. Cashel then walked away, leaving me there. Frozen. He was outside the room and I could hear him having a pretend conversation about important galaxy matters. Which was hysterical.

He also said to me, in a tone of huge generosity and open-mindedness, "Girls can be Jedi Knights."

"Phew! Glad to hear it!"

Cashel

The continuing tale of my nephew Cashel

Coloring fest with Cashel. He sat on my lap, in his pajamas, and we colored at the kitchen table. He drew (surprise surprise) Darth Vader fighting Luke Skywalker. Cashel purposefully drew Luke to have frowning eyebrows, to show how serious the battle was. He continuously informed me, lest I should forget: "You can't be too mad at Darth Vader because he does go back to the light. He starts out light, then he goes to the dark side, but then he goes back to the light." Yes. He goes back to the light. Eventually. So I won't be too mad at Darth Vader, because, after all, he does find redemption, eventually, and that is what matters.

Cashel's got a sensitive heart. A good heart.

Big news

Big big news.

My nephew Cashel, who will be 6 in October, lost his first tooth. He left me a message about it on my cell phone. Saying softly and seriously, informing me of the facts, "I lost a tooth." Then there was a brief pause, and he could no longer contain himself, so he shrieked gleefully, "I LOST A TOOTH."

I cannot believe it. I'm not ready for him to have big-boy teeth! He's only 5! What is this world coming to!!

Congratulations, Cashel! Welcome to the world of big-kid teeth.