Remembering the Northridge Earthquake

My friend Pam reminded me this morning that today is the 18 year anniversary of the 1994 Northridge earthquake in Southern California. It's amazing how time can put the fuzzy technicolor edges on a life-altering disaster, but writing brings it into clear focus again. I had just been writing about the earthquake in the book I'm working on now, which is about our home and life burning down that same year.  Here is an excerpt:

I found Troy in the hallway, shining a flashlight on the breaker box, the smoke swirling in its beam. When he flipped the override switch, it made a loud buzzing sound.

He jumped back, “What the hell…”

“Honey, please. Don’t mess with it,” I warned.

He stepped back closer to inspect, rubbing his eyes from the sting of the smoke, “It’s gotta be just a fuse…I can fix it.”

“Please! I have a bad feeling. Let’s just leave it and call an electrician in the morning.”

“Okay, okay.”

Cold air blew in from the cracked windows. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. “This day is really freaking me out.”

“Sweetie,” he put his arm around me, “everything is okay. Don’t worry.” His touch was warm, his voice soothing, but it did not calm me.

I went upstairs, sat on our bed and attempted to meditate. My mind prattled on with possibilities to rationalize my behavior. That January, in the middle of the night, we had experienced a terrifying earthquake that devastated California and killed 55 people. We had awoken to what sounded like the end of the world. The earth let out a deafening roar as power lines outside snapped and blew up. Our house shook with such violent force we thought we had been bombed.  


Fires erupted all over Los Angeles. Water mains broke and flooded the streets. Buildings flattened like pancakes, freeways snapped in half like legos. California was shut down, we had no power and no way to ship merchandise as freeways had crumbled. It almost put my children’s clothing company out of business. 


It took us quite a while to bounce back from that loss, and for all four of us to be able to sleep through the night again. Strong aftershocks continued to rock California all year. Many of us had become attuned to the signs and, like animals, we could feel the shifts in weather, the particular stillness in the air. Maybe I was feeling the onset of another aftershock. Or maybe what I was feeling was an emotional aftershock. Or maybe it was my childhood issues rising up to haunt me again. What was wrong with me?

Another excerpt:

Megan had slept over the night of the 1994 earthquake. As the house shook violently, Troy and I ran for the kids, bouncing against the walls as we made our way down the hallway.  I’d grabbed Cristen and Megan and Troy swooped up Taylor. I held the girls tight in my lap until the shaking stopped. Megan, only six years old, was so terrified she peed on me. We then ran outside and were huddled in the street with our neighbors, everyone wrapped in blankets, when Brian and Johanna’s truck pulled to a screeching stop. I’ll never forget the look of terror on Brian’s face as he ran toward us, and how it turned to relief when he saw his little girl wrapped in my arms.  He knew we loved Megan as much as one of our own, and we’d never let anything happen to her. We all hugged each other so tight,  crying and thanking God that night. 


Were you in Los Angeles for the 1994 earthquake? What are your memories?

A New Year's Revolution

My 2011 Vision Board. Gotta say, most of it came true.

Happy New Year Everyone. It’s 2012 and I’m about to make my vision board for the year. Every year I ask myself what I really want from life. I think long and hard about it. Have you thought about what you want this year?

I’m not talking about your average New Year’s Resolutions…lose weight, quit smoking, blah blah blah.  I’m talking about what you REALLY want. What your heart wants. What your soul craves.

What is it you want from this life?

This is a question I began asking myself some years ago, and at first I found it really hard to answer. Try asking someone that question at a cocktail party. You’ll hear a lot of hemming and hawing, because really, how often do we sit down and ask ourselves what we really want?

We usually say things like:

I want to be thin.

Why? What is the feeling being thin would bring? How would being thin change our lives? Would we feel healthier, or younger, or have more energy? Would people love us more? Would we love ourselves more? Maybe what we really want is to be loved as we are, or to have better self esteem. Or to speak up when we feel something rather than suppressing emotions with food. What do we really want?

I want to be rich.

Why does everyone want to be rich? What problems would it solve, really? Would it give us the freedom to do the things we’ve always wanted to do? Like what? What are the things we’ve always wanted to do, and why aren’t we doing them? What would you do with all that freedom? What would you do with the money? Would it change your relationships? Make you more lovable? What do we really want?

World Peace.

How can we achieve world peace? Maybe what we really want is inner peace. Where can we start? What do we really want?

I think we get it all wrong. We talk about the outer things we want, the possessions, the conditions.  But we don’t acknowledge the inner - the underlying reasons we want those things. The seed of every desire is in our souls. That is where to begin.

My belief is that if we take care of the matters of our hearts, of our souls, the rest will fall into place. 

If we want more love, we must be loving and lovable.

If we want more money, we must value ourselves and make ourselves valuable to others.

If we want to be thinner, we must value our health enough to make changes.

If we start within, take care of our hearts, listen to our inner wisdom – our resolutions can become a revolution.

2012. It’s a brand new year. Our year. Your year.

So …what is it you really, really want?

A Prayer for Gabriel

For over twenty years, Troy and I have made music with Gabriel’s family. Together, we have filled ballrooms and venues all over the country with music and laughter and joyous sound. But before Gabriel’s funeral, I never knew the sound of four hundred human souls wailing with grief. Now I do. As my husband Troy said, so eloquently, “The deafening thud of the first bit of earth dropped from mother's shovel to son’s casket is a sound I will not soon forget.”

On this darkest of days, the January sun shone bright, the cloudless sky above was never bluer, as we watched our sweet friend Susan bury her twenty-four year old son, then stand tall and call herself a blessed woman to have loved him. Such unbearable sorrow, such devastating grace and beauty. What to make of it all?

Everyone wants to know how it happened. How could such a young beautiful man die in his sleep? We don’t exactly know yet, and that’s not the point. The point is – it has happened. But still the questions… How? How? It’s as though we think if we can just understand how, we can immunize ourselves from such a terrible fate. I understand this, as I’ve done it myself. But the hard truth is we are not guaranteed any such security in life. Tragedies befall each of us in different ways.

Healing lies not in the how, not in the why, but in the acceptance of what is. It may take us a lifetime or beyond to understand, but this much I know of life. No one gets to elude the difficult parts. There are those who say that happiness is our birthright, but it’s not our only birthright. Suffering, joy, pain, health, illness, disaster, miracles…are all our birthright, because they are all part of the human experience. Pain is what leads us inevitably to Grace. As in the story of Michelangelo, every one of us is David, trapped in the marble, waiting for our Creator to chisel away our cowardice, our ego, our pride and resentments, to release the true essence of what we really are. Suffering opens the door to these defining moments, our holiest moments, if we allow ourselves to be broken open. And once we are, yes, we will know pain. But each of us carries the most powerful antidote in the world to pain, that miraculous healing medicine - love.

Susan and her children epitomized love as they each delivered raw, honest, heartwrenching eulogies to Gabriel. As I watched through tear-filled eyes, I saw light emanating from them, and knew at that moment they were being held by thousands of unseen hands, cradled in prayers from all over the world. Love in action.

They spoke of the overwhelming love Gabriel showed in his life, and asked us all to love each other better, that his life would not have been in vain.

Driving my youngest son Evan home from school yesterday, I was lost in thoughts of the funeral, still trying to process it all- what can I do, how can I help? when out of the blue Evan asked,

“Mommy, how much do you love me?”

“Oh my goodness,” I said, “I love you so much I could never even say…”

“Just try anyway...” he said.

I closed my eyes and absorbed his words. Just try anyway.

Maybe we don’t always know how to love each other better, but we can try anyway. That is what I intend. I will tell my children and all of the people in my life how very much I love them. I will show love through my choices and my actions until my very life becomes a form of prayer- a prayer which I offer in honor of Gabriel:

May my thoughts, my words, my deeds be centered in love.

It may be difficult on some days, and sometimes I may fail, but as my baby boy said…I will just try anyway.

The sun was just beginning to set as the funeral came to an end. The rabbi asked us to form a human walkway for the family to move through as they left the grave to walk back into life. There were so many of us - hundreds and hundreds- it was an astonishing sight. Susan held her head high, making eye contact with us as she passed, acknowledging the love being shown.

As Troy and I left the gravesite, we saw our beautiful friend Terry Lenley. We hugged each other so tight and cried. With tears running down his face, he gave us a reassuring look, “Love’s got this,” he said.

No truer words…

Silence is the sound we hear now. Silence to reflect, to pray, to remember. But one day soon, the silence will give way to music and laughter as Gabriel’s family once again fills their world with the joyous sounds of life. In those moments, I will imagine Gabriel dancing among us.

Rest in peace, Gabriel. And rest in Love.

Happy Holidays to YOU!

Dear friends and readers,

Thank you so much for reading my musings all through the year, for your support through my trial, and your love and kindness always!

Here is a gift, from my family to yours.






Download our Family Christmas album for free! Eight holiday songs performed by our family:
Yours truly on vocals and backgrounds
My husband Troy on all guitars, keyboards and vocals
Our daughter Cristen on bass and vocals
Our son Taylor on drums and vocals
and even Evan has a solo on Feliz Navidad.
(Listen for our Japanese daughter-in-law's holiday greeting at the end of Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays.)

We hope you enjoy, and again, THANK YOU and Happy Holidays!
The Dexter Family Holiday Album

Aging is NOT for sissies

While I was in Pennsylvania, Amy and I went out for a nice dinner after a productive day of work. We were all dolled up, out on the town looking pretty cute, I thought. We were enjoying a glass of wine and some great conversation when the waitress stopped by the table to check on us.

We told her we were visiting from out of town and loved Bethlehem.

“So what brings you to our town?” she asked.

“Her husband is the guitar player in Wilson Phillips…” Amy began to say when the girl gasped and turned to me wide-eyed, “Oh my God, are you Michelle Phillips?”

I laughed but then realized she was serious. “No! Michelle is Chynna Phillips mother.” I said indignantly, certain she mixed up their names. But her expression didn’t change. 

I continued, “I’m Chynna’s age!” (okay, full disclosure, I’m five years older but still…), “Michelle is almost 70 years old…”

To which she replied, ‘Oh I know, she’s an old hag now!” (which she is not- she's still beautiful) 

My mouth hung open for a moment. “…and yet, you just mistook me for her.”

She shrugged, apparently oblivious to the fact that she had just insulted us on a myriad of levels. “You really do look like her, though.” She smiled and walked away.

I turned to look at Amy, who was equally horrified, “Oh. My. God.” she said.

I put my head in my hands, “Time for botox.”

Michelle Phillips - still gorgeous.

Aging is not fun, and like Bette Davis said, it’s not for sissies. Gone are the days when people expressed shock that I have a grandchild. I blame 2010. For a good ten years I looked 35, and then 2010 hit me upside the head. The stress levels were off the chart and my body took the hit. I tried my best to combat it; ate healthy, did yoga and ran on my treadmill, tried to meditate, used my Dior skincare religiously…but still, stress is one bas-ass mofo. The wrinkles and gray hairs attacked me at a dizzying pace.

So I had to suck it up that night, and take the punch. I’m getting older. People may sometimes mistake me for a seventy-year old woman. It happens.

I’ve never done anything to my face- no botox or fillers or surgery. I hope I don’t feel the need to as time goes on, but I don’t judge it. Mostly, I just want to stick to my guns about living honestly, and that includes my face. My face tells my story. I have lived forty eight years, raised three kids, a grandkid, survived the ups and downs of a passionate but at times tumultuous marriage, and had my share of hard knocks in life. It’s all here, in these lines…in the circles under my eyes, in the gray around my temples. I have four scars on my face from basal cell skin cancer, a reminder of the teen years I spent baking in the sun because I wanted to look like someone else.

The truth. Me- no make up, under terribly unflattering light.

I’m aging, and I think it’s nature’s way of saying, “Oh get over yourself.” So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m still exercising and using good skincare, because I want to be healthy and take care of what I’ve got, but not because I’m fighting what is. I’m accepting the journey I’m on now. (Some days are better than others.)

You may think we stiffed that waitress. Nope. We gave her a really generous tip. We figured anyone that stupid is going to need all the help she can get. 

Yes Virginia, There is Justice in the World

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts I received this Holiday season was a letter I received from the twelve-year-old daughter of a friend. This little girl, Emma, is unbelievably bright and has had to grow up fast, losing her father Scott, our friend, at only five years old. Her mother Denise has done a beautiful job of raising her, and this letter she sent shows how thoughtful and articulate she is. Her words have given me the push I needed to trudge into year three of this ridiculous fight for our Stitch.

Dear Hollye,

I was given a project by my Leadership teacher to write a letter to someone I admire and who I believe possesses courage. I immediately thought of you.

My mom told me the unbelievable fight you have been going through for over three years since you adopted your family dog Stitch….and the lawsuit against you demanding the dog back, asking over $25,000 for the dog they neglected.

Instead of returning Stitch to this horrible person, you chose to fight to keep this little dog that had become part of your family. You could have given Stitch to them and avoided the harassment, police and lawsuit, but you stood courageously beside your furry family member and became his voice.

My mom told me that your legal bills are very expensive and that you have had to have fundraisers, turn to your family and friends for help, set up an online store, and most recently have a garage sale to raise money for Stitch’s defense.

The saddest part is that you lost the trial because the judge decided that Stitch is property, like a bicycle, and had to be returned to the original owner. I think comparing an animal to a bike is just disgusting!

After all this, you could have thrown your hands up in the air and walked away. But you didn’t! You chose to fight for what is right for Stitch, no matter how much time or money it takes. To me, that is the definition of courage – having the mental and physical strength to fight for what is right and not just throw in the towel.

I will keep my fingers crossed and pray you win the appeal to keep Stitch. I will also continue to tell your story. I hope Stitch’s story will inspire others to have courage in life, find strength, and FIGHT ON!

I have three questions for you: (1) Where do you find the courage to keep fighting for Stitch, after everything that has happened?  (2) What is your definition of courage?  (3) Lastly, who do you admire most for their courage?

Thanks for being a leader and answering my letter!

Sincerely,

Emma

Darling Emma,

In the beginning of this case, I was encouraged by friends and family to fight for Stitch. Everyone, including my attorney, thought that ours was a slam dunk case that would never make it to trial. The judge would take one look at the ridiculous charges against us and throw it out. An abandoned and neglected dog who was adopted by a loving family would surely stay with the loving family, right? But that’s when we found out that life isn’t always fair.

After a grueling trial, over $10,000, and a year of fighting, we lost and were told to turn Stitch over to the plaintiff (who, incidentally never proved ownership). My friends tearfully advised me to let go at that point. We had been through so much stress, money, tears, they didn’t want to see us get hurt any more.

Our attorney said we could appeal, but even she, an animal rights advocate, wouldn’t blame us if we didn’t. Troy and I talked this over for days. We had always been law- abiding citizens, but sometimes laws are wrong. Slavery used to be legal. Not long ago, women weren’t allowed to vote or own property. And then there were Jim Crow laws, Prop 8…The only way to change things is to rise up and fight injustice. Troy and I wanted to face ourselves in the mirror every day without regrets. Turning Stitch over would have left us feeling cowardly and disheartened. So we decided to fight on.

We took the first steps into this appeal not knowing if anyone would have our backs, but thankfully, many have. Some have helped with money, some have offered kindness and encouragement, and prayers, all which has strengthened us. And then we get a letter like this from you, dear Emma, that makes it all worth it.

My definition of courage is doing what you know is right, even when it scares you, standing up against a bully, speaking up when it’s unpopular. Courage is feeling the fear and walking through it.

Who do I admire for their courage? I would say Nelson Mandela demonstrated the greatest courage, standing up against racial apartheid, being imprisoned for it, never backing down from what he knew was right. He changed his country and affected the world.

We are in a fight against the Property Statute Law, which states that animals are property, with no regard for their treatment or care, or even their lives. It’s a huge battle that many animal rights advocates have been fighting for years and years. There is a very strong possibility that we will lose, but we are staying positive and focusing on the end result. If we win, it would be a great victory for animal rights advocates and pet owners everywhere.

Emma, your letter has given us tremendous encouragement, and by sharing it here, you will be helping to open others’ eyes to the importance of animal rights.

Thank you for being such a thoughtful and caring girl, and good luck on your project.

Love,

Hollye

* to read more and see how you can help our case: SAVE STITCH
Friend us on facebook at Stitchy the Wonder Dog

Grace in Bethlehem

December brings my birthday and the holidays. As a child, it was my favorite time of year, but these last ten years, being estranged from my family, I tend to get the blues. My sweet husband hangs Christmas lights and wears a Santa hat to cheer me up, and I do my best…focusing on the kids, playing Christmas music, making ornaments, baking cookies, watching my favorite holiday movies.

This year on my birthday, I would receive the greatest and most unexpected of gifts. I had just gotten back from a day of volunteer work, wrapping gifts for needy families. (I’ve found that the best cure for the blues is to get out of my own head and help someone else, so you see, I did this for completely selfish reasons.) I was unwinding after a long day when my brother Ted, who had flown in from Seattle, came walking up my stairs with a big red bow wrapped around him. My best friends Erin and Beth had picked him up from the airport and smuggled him in. Ted and I only found each other six years ago. We had lived a whole lifetime apart, and this was the first time I’d ever spent my birthday with him. We had dinner with my children that night, all of us together, laughing, celebrating. Six years ago, this was a scene I never could have imagined.

Several days later I was fortunate to tag along with Troy for a leg of the Wilson Phillips tour that took us to Pennsylvania, where my angel-friend and writing partner Amy Ferris lives. With our deadline looming, it was a perfect opportunity for Amy and I to buckle down and get some work done on our book “Dancing At The Shame Prom”.

I had my sleeves rolled up, ready to work. But what I didn’t expect was for those five days to be so inspired and spirit-filled. Walking in the brisk cold through Bethlehem at Christmas time was magical. Each street was lined with historic brick buildings, cobblestone churches, and graveyards dating back to the 1700s. Vendors sold handmade wares in their tiny Christmas Village. At night, candles glowed in every window of every house. And Bethlehem is where Amy and I sat together in an ancient haunted hotel, by a roaring fire and a glittering fifteen-foot Christmas tree, reading these heart-stopping, beautiful, honest, raw essays sent by our brave writers.

When someone chooses to open their heart and let you in, it is nothing short of a miracle. That’s what each writer has done for this book, and soon we will be able to share them with you. I felt so blessed to be midwifing this project, to be trusted with these intimate, courageous, hope-filled stories. How perfect that this book should be birthed in Bethlehem, during a time of hope and lovingkindness, by the sparkle of holiday lights.

I know it wasn’t the actual Bethlehem - just an old abandoned steel town in Pennsylvania - but I felt something magic there. Maybe I’m making too much of the connection – but I don’t think so. A blessing is a blessing, no matter where you find it. I found mine in the arms of my brother, and my friends, dancing and laughing with Troy, holding hands with Amy. And I experienced my true Christmas miracle through a bevy of beautiful writers, in the heart of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.