My Sideways Anniversary in Wine Country.

This week marks our 23rd anniversary (25 years together). Since Troy had a gig with Wilson Phillips in the Santa Ynez wine valley (where the movie Sideways was shot), we decided I'd tag along and make a mini-vacay out of it. We were to leave early Wednesday morning, but Tuesday night Evan developed a fever. After a bit of scrambling, and almost canceling the trip, thankfully our friends and our son Taylor stepped up to cover so we could go- and Evan's fever miraculously disappeared. 

From the moment we got to Santa Ynez, every morsel of food we put in our mouths was eye-rolling delicious…every wine we tasted was the best we’d ever had. I felt like Albert Brooks in Defending Your Life.

We stayed at the beautiful Hotel Corque in Solvang- a quaint little Danish town in the mountains above Santa Barbara. The next morning, we had the best Danish pancakes we’d ever tasted at Paula’s Pancakes, took a morning Jacuzzi, then spent the afternoon wine-tasting in Los Olivos, where we filled our senses sampling Danish cheeses, locally grown olives, organic local fruits and the most incredible wines we’d ever tasted (some of them over $100 a bottle)  ….I was in Heaven.

The Wilson Phillips gig Thursday night was fantastic. Several thousand people filled the venue. I was seated between Chynna’s hubby, Billy Baldwin, and Owen Elliott- Cass Elliott’s daughter. (I was ONE DEGREE OF SEPERATION away from Alec Baldwin, people. ONE DEGREE) During the Mama’s and Papa’s song “Dedicated”, Owen got up and sang her mother’s part and from the moment she opened her mouth, it was as if Mama Cass was alive again. Everyone had the chills. It was pretty special to see Chynna and Owen, daughters of the Mamas and Papas, singing their parents songs with Carnie and Wendy, daughters of the Beach Boys. The audience went nuts.

I was having the time of my life, dancing, cheering. And then suddenly, out of nowhere, I was woozy. I hadn’t had more than a glass of wine all day, but I felt lightheaded and nauseous. I headed for the exit to get some air, but before I could get out of the arena, I flat out fainted. The last thing I heard was the audience gasp. The next thing I knew the ushers were picking me up off the floor, my knees were bloody, and a team of EMT’s was whisking me away to a medical room in the casino, where I spent the rest of the show. It was one of the most bizarre things that’s ever happened to me and I still have no idea why it did. I mean it was a good show and all but...

Billy Baldwin was hosting a private party for the band and friends after the show (at a very swanky restaurant), and I was so bummed to miss it. Troy rushed me back to the hotel where I fell into a comatose 10-hour sleep. Anyhoo, I woke the next day feeling completely like my old self, so off to wine country we went!

“We are NOT drinking Merlot”

We just had to stop at the vineyard where the movie Sideways was shot, where we bought several bottles and YES, we did drink Merlot! While there, we were talking and joking with another couple, and lo and behold we find out the guy is Rex Smith- teen pop idol of the 70s. We had a great time swapping music biz stories with Rex and his wife Tracy, and drinking MERLOT, amongst other things. Troy and Rex talked about starting their own radio show, called “Rex and Dex in the Morning”. Whaddya think?

"What more can I saaaaayy, you take my breath awaaaay"

Rex Smith todaaaayyy

After another gorgeous sunny day eating and drinking in wine country, we headed home, spotting a herd of about thirty deer on the side of the highway, California condors circling overhead. Then as the 101 led us along the Pacific Ocean, we saw Pacific bottlenose dolphins breaching and playing in the waves.

All in all a pretty wild and wacky journey- and just like our marriage-  a few miracles, kismet moments and a little drama and mystery thrown in for good measure. Never a dull moment around here, I tell ya. I love my life with Troy- all 25 years of it. It’s been a rollercoaster ride and I couldn’t imagine it any other way. And at least there’s been Merlot.

Toasting the love of my life. 

And I'll leave you all with this...dedicated to my hubby. I couldn't say it any better so I'll hand this one over to Rex Smith. Rex- take it awaaaayyyy:

Love is a Risky Business

Love is a risky business. If you’ve ever opened your heart to another person, chances are you’ve been hurt. I know this, and yet I knowingly take the risk again and again. I’ve had friends and family chide me for it- saying I’m reckless, saying I have to protect myself. But I don’t want to protect myself from love.

And now, once again, I’m nursing a broken heart.

This is how it happened.

In the Fall of 2009, Troy and I had just gotten back from celebrating our 20^th anniversary in Jamaica, our daughter Cristen was beginning her promising career in the music industry, our son Taylor was thriving in college, and Evan was busy learning the countries of the world. Everything in our lives was going as planned. We were peaceful and happy, our proverbial ducks lined up in a row. Ha.

One night that September, with tears in his eyes, Taylor said he had something to tell me. I already knew. His girlfriend was pregnant. It’s one thing to have your college-attending son deliver this news, quite another when the girl is a Japanese exchange student, who speaks little English, is here on a temporary visa and, by the way, had just lost her student housing and had nowhere to go.

So we took the risk…we opened our hearts, our lives and our home to a little pregnant, scared, crying, puking Japanese girl who hid from us in Taylor’s room all day.

On Valentine’s Day of 2010, with only three weeks to plan, I threw a wedding for my son and new daughter-in-law Aya. Over time, I built a bond with Aya. I took her to doctor’s appointments and talked her through her fears of birth and parenting. I introduced her to comfort foods- she loved my homemade macaroni and cheese and especially my brownies. She made us sushi and udon noodles and Kim-chi dinners. We introduced her to Thanksgiving and American Christmas traditions, which she happily embraced. We did art projects together. We lived peacefully together and awaited the baby’s birth.

Ayumu Cameron Dexter came into our lives on June 1^st, 2010, changing our world forever. Once again, I was rocking a baby to sleep on my shoulder, carrying a little one around the house on my hip. Ayumu called me ‘Baba”. Aya and Taylor nicknamed him Baba-boy, because he was so attached to me.

In the mornings I would hear his little footsteps running across the hardwood floor, my bedroom door would fly open and he’d pounce. He loved to jump on my bed, count to three, then dive bomb on top of me. In the kitchen, he would push me away from my cooking and stand on his tippy-toes, arms stretched upward to be held. I’d pick him up and his whole body would relax into me, his head nestled into the curve of my neck. I would carry him around on my hip as I did chores or had phone meetings. He watched as I sat with my friends around the dining table, telling stories and laughing, and then would climb up on a dining room chair and tell loud animated stories in jibberish, emulating us,  cracking himself up. God I loved that.

He and Evan would chase each other through the house squealing with laughter. He loved to climb into bed with Evan as I read him bedtime stories. He loved to use our cats and dog as pillows. It would make me smile to see him asleep on Taylor’s chest, or playing guitar with Ojisan (Troy).

I loved when Aya would sit on my bed with me and talk until late in the night. I loved that every time she bought Ayumu a new outfit she would run into my room to show me. I loved doing arts and crafts with her, and taking her for knitting lessons and jewelry making lessons.

This house was full with chaos and music and two women cooking in the kitchen and dogs and cats and lots and lots of love. I was so happy. I thought we all were happy.

And then, just before Thanksgiving, Aya told me her Grandmother was having heart surgery, and that she’d be taking Ayumu to Japan to visit. I was fine with that, until she told me they’d be gone three months and would miss Christmas with us. But I understood her reasons, and had to adjust.

In January, Aya wrote to tell me she didn’t want to come back. She was happy being home with her mom and Grandmother - happy to be back where everyone spoke her language, where she could fully express herself. Her mother and grandmother had fallen in love with Ayumu. She had health insurance there, and public transportation. Free schooling, free childcare. She felt free there. Even though she loved Taylor and all of us, the pull of home was stronger.

Taylor flew to Japan for three weeks in February to see his son and try to work things out with Aya. The three of them had pre-purchased tickets to return on Feb 9^th.

I had been counting the days until February 9^th, and so had Evan. He ran into my room one Saturday morning, “Mommy! Only six more days until Ayumu comes home!”

That’s when I had to break the news to him, the news I had been carrying heavy in my heart. Aya and Ayumu were not coming home.

She says she needs more time. She says she might be back this year. Maybe she’ll come back to Taylor and they’ll get their own place, maybe she’ll just visit. She doesn’t know.

Taylor is absolutely committed to raising his son, and told her so. But what if she never comes back? How do you arrange joint custody across the world when a round trip flight is $1500 per person?

Every morning I get up and pray. I have never prayed harder for anything in my life. I am calling on every angel I have, every ancestor in spirit. I have always believed that love could heal anything, yet Aya was surrounded with love in this home, and it wasn’t enough. How can that be? Is my theory about love wrong?

I worry about my son’s heart- so heavy a burden for someone so young. I worry about my husband who carries this grief so heavily. And my daughter Cristen, and Evan and all of my friends who took Ayumu and Aya into their families as their own. We are all hurting.

Ayumu’s high chair sits empty in my dining room. His toys are piled in the corner of the living room gathering dust. I can’t bear to look at them. My cupboards are bursting with Japanese foods and recipe books. Every time I open them I feel a kick in my gut. Troy and I have been living with this - this dull throbbing ache that has become part of our existence.

We talk about it late into the night. We might as well talk, since neither of us can sleep. Did we do the right thing opening our homes and hearts in that Fall of 2009?  We always knew this was a possibility. Were we foolish to risk getting hurt this way?

We came to the conclusion that even though we will never heal from this, we wouldn’t have done it any other way. Even though the grief is unbearable, I couldn’t imagine a world without Ayumu. No matter what happens, I am grateful to have had these two years raising him, and loving him.

I am hurt by Aya’s decision to stay, but I remember how hard it was to be twenty-two, to be young and lost. I know she is afraid and confused by her feelings. We all made impulsive decisions at that age. All I can do is to love her, and embrace her, and hope that the pull of her American family brings her back.

My precious angel

And I have to believe in my heart that somehow, some way, love will bring Ayumu back to us. The storm winds have been blowing hard in my life the past couple years, and yet, some beautiful blessings have come with them. I must learn to bend like the willow. If I become bitter and rigid, I will break. I want to believe in love, no matter how many times it hurts me. I want to let the cold harsh winds blow through me, bend me, change me. I want to believe.

Happier times:

Oji gives Ayumu a guitar lesson

Troy-san walks Aya down the aisle

Aya's birthday

Father-son tradition

Evan and "his baby", as he calls him.

Cristen and her nephew, sitting in the audience before one of Taylor's concerts

Stich makes a good pillow

Family time doing Christmas crafts

Christmas dinner 2010

Ayumu in his usual place, right on my hip.

Taylor and Aya's first dance.

My heart will not heal until we are together as a family again.

When It Rains, It Pours.

Just as I hit the submit button on my "gratitude blog" yesterday, a pipe burst in the ceiling of Evan's room, black stinking liquid gushing through his ceiling fan and the air vents in the walls, then traveling through the air vents to my art studio.

If there is such a thing as "The Secret",  I suppose I'm not very good at it.

This is what was dripping on us from the ceiling. I hopefully asked Troy, "Am I being too Pollyanna to think we might have struck oil and are going to be millionaires?" (Oh but oil doesn't smell like this) Demolition crews are on the way to rip out the ceilings in Evan's room and my art studio. Carpets are already gone.

Troy and I were feeling very, very beat down yesterday. Depressed. And it happened to be our son Taylor's 21st birthday. (Sorry for the crappy birthday, Tay) But you know...we keep reminding each other, we have love, and we have our health. All the crap that's happened to us is just a huge hassle.  My friend Anita lies in a hospital bed fighting for her life. Now that's a problem.

So we keep trudging...through the muck. Literally.

I have no explanation except that life is just a freekin' rollercoaster ride. What can we do but make the best of it? Hands in the air everybody...Here we gooooooo....

Buried Treasure

Life. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on it, the plot changes. And always, in the thick of it, there are messages (if you’re paying attention), and lessons to be learned.

I had deluded myself into thinking I’d already paid my dues. In the early years of our marriage we had lost our home and everything we owned in a fire, we had been bankrupted, betrayed, estranged from my family. You’d think that would be enough. At least I did. I’d done my hard work in therapy. I finally had a grip on life, an understanding of the ways of the world. Smooth sailing from here on out, I thought. But in 2010, life threw us one curve ball after the next and there we were knocked on our asses again, a sickeningly familiar feeling.

One of the twists in the plot was Stitch. I’ve adopted rescues and strays all my life, but I had a feeling of trepidation when we adopted this little dog. I remember I kept asking my husband “Are you sure? Are you up to adopting this little guy?”  He said he was. Still I had this unsure feeling. Somewhere deep inside I sensed I was signing up for an unimaginable journey.

To anyone who thinks animals don’t have souls…I can only imagine you’ve never lived with a furry family member. I suggest you read my friend Monica Holloway’s book “Cowboy and Wills”, about how a golden retriever came into the life of her autistic son and changed him forever.  Similarly, our Stitch has been a messenger. He brought huge drama to our lives (no fault of his own) and through it has taught us how to stand up to bullies, how to keep ourselves centered in the middle of insanity, how to navigate the justice system (which can sometimes feel like an injustice system). But the most important lesson has been humility. We fought on our own as long as we could, and then, when we were losing the battle, we had to reach out for help – which was really, really hard. But then we learned more lessons, about true kindness and compassion, and how much of it there is in the world. We learned that there are a few bad apples out there, but the good and generous people far outweigh them. We learned that there are hundreds of people all over the country, both friends and strangers, who care deeply about the plight of one little dog.

Because of Stitch and our fight, I’ve connected with people all over the country. I’ve strengthened bonds with friends. We’ve been able to share a part of ourselves, our music, our art. We’ve been able to connect with others through our stories. And one Sunday evening in April, under beautiful Spring skies, we were able to gather with friends for a perfect evening, drinking good wine, sharing music, stories and laughter to raise money for the Stitch trial. Who ever could have imagined.

The week of the trial was truly awful. Troy and I were stressed out all day, buried in testimony, being cross examined on the stand, contacting witnesses and preparing briefs, passing each other in the halls as we struggled to handle our daily responsibilities. One night that week we both woke up at about 3 am.

“Hi” I said. “You up?”

“Yeah. Can’t sleep.”

“Well, how are you? I mean, we haven’t really talked in a while.”

“I know.” He said, “I miss talking to you.”

With that, I got a bottle of red wine and some dark chocolate, and we sat there in the dim glow of the nightlight, talking, laughing, drinking wine, and just enjoying that peaceful, precious moment while it lasted. We knew the morning would bring another grueling day in court, so we clutched that little bit of happiness while we could. I will never forget it.

Through this ugly battle, many beautiful things have come, and we have been forever changed. I have learned that no matter what dark times may come in the future, there is always a jewel to be unearthed. We had no control over the crazy things that have transpired over the last year and a half, but we did have a choice as to how we would react, and how we would receive the lesson. We chose to focus on the positive gifts.

No matter what the judge’s final decision will be, Troy and I feel great knowing that we did the right thing, we stood up for what we believed, and made it through this drama with our integrity intact. What better gift could there be?

Today I’ll sign off by sharing a beautiful poem by Rumi that has given me courage through the rough times in my life:

The Guest House 

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

~ Rumi ~

Venus and Mars

A blog by Hollye and Amy Ferris 

HOLLYE

I know it will make me unpopular to say that men and women aren’t equal, but its true. I mean, we are equally capable of course. We can reach the same magnitudes of greatness and accomplishment, but the way we get there is entirely different because – let’s face it, we are not the same animal.

Case in point: Amy and I spend a considerable amount of time weighing what we imagine other people are going to feel about any given situation. We second guess our friends behaviors and surmise what their emotions might be.

“A was a little quiet the other night. You know she’s been really fragile lately. Do you think B said something to upset her?”

“C hasn’t been commenting on facebook. Is she mad about something?”

Things of that sort.

So the other day I’m telling my very kind and patient husband a long drawn out story about something that happened that week and whose feelings appeared to be hurt and should I say something or mind my own business, because after all, she may not have been feeling anything at all and I’m just interpreting it wrong.

At that point my truly sensitive, sympathetic, sweetheart of a guy burst into uproarious laughter.

When he catches his breath, he says,“Oh honey, you can not imagine the enormity of the fuck I do not give.” He continues laughing.

I have to admit, I was a little miffed.

“Seriously sweetie,” he said “Can you imagine me saying this to you: The other day I called John and he seemed distant. I wonder if he’s upset because I had beers with Mark and Dave?”

And then, in spite of myself, I started laughing too. No, I can not ever imagine him saying something like that, nor any of his friends. And that’s where men are lucky. My husband feels no responsibility to take on his friends’ emotions, and they return the favor. Every man for himself.

But women? We are so freekin’ complicated and maybe it’s our intuition, or our built-in caretaking abilities, but we are always digging below the emotional surface. It seems to be in our nature to pick up on every cue, a slight difference in body language, a telling sigh, and geez, can that ever be exhausting. Especially in our relationships with men.

One time, after recounting an argument I’d had with my husband I jokingly said to a lesbian friend, “It must be so easy for you. At least you girls understand each other.”

“Not so easy.” She said. “If one of us is jumping off the emotional cliff, the other one follows.”

So maybe that’s where the Venus and Mars thing comes in handy. When I’m jumping off the emotional cliff, he brings me back to Earth. When he’s skimming the surface I show him how to dive, to see a different world underneath.

AMY

This is what I love about my conversations with Hollye. They're chock full of goodies. And because we share the same exact birthday, we're often, not always, but often in a similar mood. We share horoscopes, emotions, many (new) girl friends and... it does appear the same type o' guy. The thing about this particular blog which makes it oh so yummy, is that both Hollye and I had virtually the same exact conversations with our husbands (although slight variations on their & our reactions.)

I said to Ken that I needed/wanted his opinion about someone and something, and should I, you know, mind my own business. Ken looked at me, in a sort of tilting head kind of way, and said, "You know Hon, men never ask these kind of questions, we don't give a shit if one of our friends is having a beer with another friend and didn't invite us. We just don't give a shit."

And I looked at Ken, tilting my head, and I said, "And this is exactly why you have been married three fucking times, and I have only been married once, okay, and I have an entire virtual room full of Facebook friends and you're not even on Linked-fucking-In. Nevermind, I'll go ask Liz what she would do."

And he laughed, a thank you Jesus kinda laugh.

And so, I called Liz, and asked her what I should do, and we ended up talking about this, that the other thing for a good fifty-minutes and then she said/asked: "Are you going to Amy's tonight for dinner?" Uh-oh. No. No. I wasn't invited. Are you, I asked. No, she wasn't invited. But how did she know, I asked. Brenda told her. Uh oh. Brenda? Brenda is going, and we're not. And then the bulk of our conversation was about the fact we hadn't been invited and then of course, we went into a whole crazy whacky "wonder why" scenario. Did we say something? Do something? Insult someone? Gossip? Should we call and apologize and try to get invited to the next shindig? Were there other parties, other un-invited events and nights?

Amy is my best friend - why wouldn't she invite me?

I was mortified. 

And as I was hanging up, Ken came into my room, and saw that I was mortified - with a capitol M. I waved him off. Go away. Shoo. I said good bye to Liz and felt so, you know... excluded. He thought, assumed someone died. I continued shooing him away. But he pulled it out of me. He did. I didn't want to share it with him because I knew from his earlier reaction he was going to say, "Oh who gives it a shit, don't worry... it's only dinner."

"Fine, you wanna know. Amy didn't invite us to dinner, and she's having a party and..." and before I could finish, he interrupted, the kind of interruption with both hands up and the 'don't say another word' gesture: "Oh shit. I forgot to tell you, she called yesterday. I was supposed to tell you that she was doing a dinner tonight."

HOLLYE

Friendships amongst women can be a tricky thing. We feel too deeply, we care too much. Relationships with men can make us feel like we’re banging our heads against a brick wall half the time. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Early on, a marriage therapist said to Troy and I “Learn how to celebrate your differences.” We’ve held fast to that through the years as we count to ten and try to allow each other to be exactly who we are

And, as Paul Mc Cartney said, Venus and Mars are alright tonight…  

(and PS from AMY: Liz was also invited to the dinner, HER HUSBAND didn't give her the message!)   

The Other Shoe

Last night I woke at 3 am to worry. It’s my job. I do it for my family so they don’t have to, and I usually punch the timeclock at around 3 or 4 am. Another part of this job is to wander the house “checking” on things. Make sure everyone is breathing, doublecheck that all the doors are locked, no fires smoldering anywhere…you know.

What is it about worry? Do we think that if we worry enough about something, we’ll somehow protect ourselves from it happening to us? Take for instance the constant worry of mankind that the world will end soon – which we’ve been worried about since the beginning of time. It never happens, it likely never will, and yet we worry. Worry is such a ridiculous waste of energy. It helps nothing and only stresses and wears down our health and immune system (yet something else to worry about). If I could accumulate all the time and energy I’ve spent on worry, and reapply it to something positive in my life, what wonders could occur.

This particular night, I was worried about my dog. In the last four years, I have watched two of my dogs die a long painful death from some type of mysterious cancer that the vets couldn’t quite peg. And now the only dog I have left was suffering some type of allergy, itching all the time (common to French Bulldogs) and my goodness….he looked a little thinner to me, even though Troy thought he looked the same as always.

Nonetheless my eyes flew open at 3 am, and my mind was on alert – Okay, ready to worry. Let’s do this.

Then I realized now nutballs I am and instead used the time to talk myself down. Really, he looks the same, he acts the same, he’s only four years old and he’s itchy. That’s it. He’s not dying of cancer. So why not just focus on his good health, pray for continued good health, and trust that everything will be okay? So I prayed, and lied awake, and still worried.

In the morning I talked to Troy about it (who is not at all worried about the perfectly healthy, itchy dog). I told him that I myself sort of feel like a dog, one who’s been kicked for a while with repeated bad surprises from life, the kind of dog who recoils when you go to pet him for fear you’re just going to whack him on the head. That’s how much I trust life….goes back to what I said in my last post about waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And that’s when Troy said this to me -

“Honey, everything is okay. It’s a new year, a new beginning. The other shoe is not going to drop. And if it does, we’ll just dance like hell on the one shoe we have left.”

And that is reason number 1057 I love my husband. It also is the end of this blogpost because really….how can I top that?

My Birthday Wish

I woke early this morning (5:55 as a matter of fact…hmmm) as I always do on my birthday. I have a birthday ritual - I wake before everyone, when the house is quiet, and read what I wrote in my journal on my last birthday. I reflect on what my hopes were for the year, assessing how far I came, what I learned, how it all turned out.

Reading what I wrote last year on December 4^th…all I could think was wow. I wrote what a wonderful year 2009 had been, how happy I was, how much I had learned. 2009 was our 20^th wedding anniversary, and Troy and I renewed our marriage vows in Jamaica. It was a blessed year. Work was good, life was good, love was good. I was happy, happy, happy.

And these were my wishes for the coming year, 2010:

“I look forward to this year, and all the wonder and uncertainty it holds. My arms and heart are open, ready to feel and experience it all. Love, health, creativity, growth, passion, new experience.”

Well, I can’t say I didn’t get what I asked for. Love, health, creativity…check. Grateful for that. Perhaps I should have been more specific in the “growth” and “new experience” categories…like maybe adding the word POSITIVE before them (will definitely remember to do that today).

Anyone who’s been following my blog this year has heard ad nauseum about all the drama: law suits, dog attacks, threats of violence, restraining orders and police and court dates, bubbling sewage, failing septic system, thousands and thousands of dollars to home disasters, one dog attacked by pitbulls, the other dying of cancer, bug infestations, car blowing up, and worst of all, losing a dear, dear friend to an untimely death.

2010: A painful, frightening, disastrous year.

But it also was a year of love, inspiration and miracles. It was hard to see it at the time, but in reflecting back, here’s what I found:

Miracle #1 - I spent my birthday in a writing group at Joyce Maynard’s house last year. In a private moment, she took my hands, looked me in the eyes and said “You are a great writer.” My knees buckled and I cried. I had never taken my writing seriously before- it was just something I had always done since the second grade. I wrote just because, well, because it was in me. And then I stuffed it away in a steamer trunk. After that day, I got to business – working my ass off every day, through all the drama of the year, until finally - I finished my book.

Miracle #2 - Out of pain and frustration I launched a blog, so I could cry and whine to someone else and give my poor husband and girlfriends a break. Before that I had never entertained the thought- didn’t even read blogs or really know what they were. You all endured a lot of whining from me this year. You truly did, and you were kind and patient and loving. Thank you.

Miracle #3 - Friendship. Early this year I found my birthday sister Amy Ferris. Immediately she led me to Kristine and Molly, Richard, Monica, Linda and so many beautiful souls, that before I knew it I was surrounded by angels. Amy Ferris is an angel-magnet. Yes she is. And my relationships with each of my closest friends was put to the test this year- big time. But in every circumstance (and there were some jaw-dropping crazyass circumstances this year that I did NOT blog about) , I was amazed how LOVE was bigger than the problem, and how our friendships not only survived, but deepened. So to you wonders, Erin and Beth, Dani, Cindy - thank you. Man, our friendship kicks ass.

Miracle #4 - When our neighbor threatened us with violence, and the pitbulls were snarling at the gate…I was terrified. I couldn’t sleep. And I put it out there to all of you, my friendship angels, and you offered support, love and prayers. I felt your prayers around me like a shield. All of a sudden, I didn’t feel afraid anymore. You gave me courage, advice, solutions. You lifted my fear, countless times. When my father was in the hospital, when Greg died, when my dog Brandy died, when my house and appliances and life were all exploding…You lifted me.

Miracle #5 - My son Taylor was married to Aya on Valentine’s day (and the real miracle was that I planned a wedding in 20 days!)

Miracle #6 - Taylor and Aya’s son, Ayumu Cameron Ikuta Dexter, was born on June 1^st. Now there is more love and chaos under the Dexter roof. I couldn’t be happier.

Miracle #7 - My daughter Cristen not only survived a very painful break up, but thrived. Now she has a slammin’ new job at Live Nation, a slammin’ new apartment in West Hollywood, a new car, and a rich, full life. Who needs Mr. Wonderful to be happy? This girl oughta write a book for other young women. The title: “Create your own damn happiness!”

Miracle #8 - As many of you know, eight years ago I found my biological father, and my whole big, wacky, beloved family came with him. This year two of my brothers (Ted and Ted), my sister Heather, my nephews, my stepmom Susan, then Aya’s mom Kunie, all came to stay with us, filling our home with love and hope.

Miracle #9 - We were in Yosemite when we got the news that Greg had died. I think we were being looked out for, because the shock would surely have leveled us if we hadn’t been in the comfort and beauty of God’s country.

Miracle #10 - Evan. Just Evan.

And above all- my husband Troy. That we stood solid through all of this, didn’t let the stress affect our marriage, held hands and walked through the storms together, and that I love him ten times more now than I ever thought possible… I’d call that a miracle of almost biblical proportion. I would like to have t-shirts made. “We Survived 2010! and we still love each other! A lot!”

And I know many other seeds of miracles have been planted, that will take root in the future. I do know this.

So today, as I wrap this up, my birthday wish for the coming year is this:

Health, Financial Abundance, Safety, LOVE, Peace, Boundless Opportunity, Abundant Work, POSITIVE Growing Experiences (please!), Faith, Hope, Creativity and Inspiration

I wish these things not only for me, but for every one of you. And I hope (and trust) that the kindness you have shown me this year comes back to you ten-fold.

Thank you for being a part of my miracle year, and my life.

P.S.

(Mine and Amy’s astrological forecast for today from our newest obsession boothstars.com – and by the way, thanks a lot Barb Radecki for getting us addicted)

If today is your birthday: 
Even if you only achieve just a fraction of your goals you have set out for yourself today, you will end the year feeling exceedingly pleased with your progress. A rare and most fortuitous celestial canopy is today blessing your prospects for the next twelve months.

Is it true? Who knows. But I'm running with it!!!

A Miracle Story

Six years ago I had the worst birthday ever. Worst. It was December 2004. I was estranged from both of my parents. My mother had exiled me for speaking out against something awful that had happened in our family. My father was struggling with addiction again, and had let our relationship go. Neither of my parents called or acknowledged my birthday. In fact not one person in my extended family acknowledged it.

As if being estranged from my parents wasn’t bad enough, the nonprofit foundation I’d co-founded was in the middle of a hostile takeover by some ambitious board members. Power and greed overcame altruism. The musical instruments that had been donated to my students (kids in foster care) were taken away. The grant money was pulled from my arts programs so they could use it for advertising and self promotion. They were attempting to oust me and run the organization themselves. It was the year of the Grinch, for sure.

On top of that, my daughter was away at college, and I was missing her. My son was a teenager, busy with his own life and his rock band. All I wanted for my birthday was a couple of my close friends over for dinner. But even that didn’t work out. Two of them only stopped by briefly on their way to another event, one got drunk to the point of puking, and the other’s car broke down on the side of the road. So while my husband went to rescue her, I went to bed alone. Happy birthday to me….

The day after my birthday, I crawled into my bed like a wounded animal and cried a year’s worth of tears. I went through an entire box of Kleenex. But I did something else too. For the holidays, I had made a mix CD of songs about angels. I played this CD all day while I cried. And I prayed - not just any prayer- I remember this prayer specifically because I chanted it over and over for hours.

Please send me an angel to help me believe in the goodness of people again.

Over and over and over…crying, praying, crying some more. I spent the whole day doing this.

Often times, miracles are already budding just beneath the surface of your life, but you can’t yet feel it. Never in a million years did I imagine what would come next, and it wasn’t until late January that I found out. That Christmas morning, completely oblivious, I already had the gift nestled inside me. Just weeks after I sent that prayer out into space, I had become pregnant at forty-one years old (and using birth control).

After the initial shock (and boy oh boy…what a SHOCK) we figured out it must have happened right before Christmas, maybe even on Christmas Eve. I knew then my prayers (or my intent) had been heard and answered. Certainly not in the way I expected - but rarely are prayers answered the way we expect.

On the September night I went into labor, there was a freak electrical storm. Thunder and lightning, unseasonal for California, announced Evan's entrance into the world. I always tell him he rode into town on a lightning bolt.

Every birthday since, I’ve had this little angel-boy to spend my day with, running around the house, raising a ruckus like he always does, testing my patience, teaching me to love on the deepest level.

All three of my children were miracles that I hoped and prayed for. Each of them came to me in a different miraculous way, and each has taught me so much about the true nature of love.

As I was writing this, my son Evan, five years old, came into the room and asked what I was doing.

“I’m writing about how you – and how you came to me like a miracle.”

“What’s a miracle, mommy?”

Hmmm…had to think about how to define that to a five year old.

“It’s when…something really good happens to you right at the time you need it.”

“Oh. Like ice cream?”

“Yes honey, like ice cream.”

“Can I have ice cream after school?”

“Yes.” I smiled and held his little face in my hands.

“I love you,” he said.

And that, my friends, is the miracle.