Ladies and gentlemen of the class of 2007:

Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '97:

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.


-Lyrics to "Everybody is free to wear sunscreen"
by Baz Luhrman

"The Look"

By Sara Teasdale

STEPHON kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Stephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day.

Three Things: A creative writing exercise

Made up meetings: Incorporating; Meeting, Ladies Room, Shoes & Cosmetics

How we met: Part 1.

The first thing I said to her when I met her was, “Who the hell taught you how to paint on your eyebrows?”
We were in the bathroom of some rock club. She was dressed to kill and I had had a few too many so I was feeling brave and brash.
I could not help but notice her incredible shoes when she walked through the door and as I followed her outfit from the feet up I was equally impressed, but I stopped dead when I got to her eyebrows.
She had clearly made the mistake that so many women make. She had over plucked and then turned them down with make up a little too soon. This gave her an extra wide and really unusual gap that made her look like she may be a little handicapped or something. They were uneven and angry black arches that seemed so very out of place. It was truly sad because they were framing such a lovely set of eyes.
“Excuse me?” she asked in a put off tone
“Yeah, I know, I can be a little too honest sometimes, sorry, but I promise you will come to appreciate this about me, or you will just decide to hate me right now and we will never speak again.” I answered playfully.
She took a long look at herself in the mirror, I saw a flash of insecurity cross her face and then it switched right back to righteous indignation. “Who are you anyway? Do you have a problem with me?”
“No,” I answered,” I actually think you look fabulous; it’s those eyebrows that I have a problem with! You know, I could fix them for you really quickly if you would like. I happened to have some make up in my purse right now!”
“I don’t know,” she said, “What if you mess them up?”
“Trust me, there is no way I can make them look any worst!” I answered and grabbed her hand and pulled her over to me near the mirror.
I removed what I could of her make up with some tissues I had in my purse and pulled out my brow kit that I always carry with me in my overstuffed bag of goodies. A few minutes, some powder and pencils later she was transformed from mildly retarded to drop dead gorgeous!
“Viola!” I said as I spun her around to look at herself in the mirror, “What do you think?”
“Oh my God, I love it!” she squealed, “How did you do that? You have to show me!”
“I just might be convinced to show you later if you buy me a drink right now.” I said
“But of course!” She smiled and we walked out of the bathroom arm in arm.


How we met: Part 2.

She was sitting at the only empty table left, the one that was closest to the door so every time someone walked in or out an ice cold breeze would make her pull her wrap tighter.
“Well, I know why this table was empty.” She thought to herself.
Her feet were sore from the three inch heels she had been wearing all night. She had decided that it probably wasn’t the best idea to break in a new pair of shoes on a night like this where she would be on her feet the whole time. Too bad she decided that after being at the party for about twenty minutes.
She had an urge to take her shoes off, but she was afraid her feet would be so swollen she would not be able to get them back on. Freezing seemed to be the lesser of two evils, so there she sat.
Every now and then a friend of her husband’s would stop by and say hello. Compliment her on her outfit, or tell her about what an inspiration they thought he was. (This particular night was a party to honor him and his achievements.) She, as always, was gracious and sweet and just as coy as she was supposed to be.
She scanned the room for a familiar face from her camp. One of the few people she knew on her own merits. No such luck on this night.
She pulled out her digital camera and looked for something to take a photo of. She landed on her sore feet wearing the fabulous shoes.
She started snapping photos, posing her feet at different angles trying to get the one that showed off her great shoes and made her ankles look the thinnest.
She was making up captions for the photos in her head. Things like, “This is how much pain $250 will buy you.” when she was interrupted by a voice.
“Well, you look like you’re having a good time!” a male voice said from the other side of her table.
“Oh, um, yeah..” she stammered as she looked up to see who belonged to the voice, “I was, um, I didn’t know what to take pictures of and um… these shoes hurt really bad... Hey! I know you!”
“You do?” the man look surprised. You could tell he was quickly flipping through his mental rolodex trying to place her face.
“Yes, I do.” She smiled feeling a little more relaxed now that she had taken back control of the conversation, “We actually work together!” she laughed
“We do!” he exclaimed peering at her a little bit closer, “Oh, you are right, I guess we do.” He said unconvincingly.
“Yeah, I work on the fourth floor in accounting and you work on the first floor in management. It’s all right, I’ve only been there four years. I hear that you don’t even get to meet management until you have been there for five!” She joked, immediately feeling stupid for making such a dumb joke.
Much to her relief he smiled in response looking genuinely amused, “Of course!” he responded this time sounding more convincing, “I’m sorry, I totally know you! You just look so, um, well… dressed up!” he said sounding relieved he found the right non-insulting word.
“Yeah,” she said with a smirk and stood up to reach across the table and shake his hand, “That is called hair and make-up! It was nice finally meeting you.” She shook his hand, “Have a lovely rest of your evening.”
“You too.” He shook back and smiled, “It was nice to finally meet you.”

With that she walked off towards the ladies room trying her hardest not to limp.

1993 - Again

Because I love you, I need to let you go.

There is so much you can't understand today
I hope tomorrow brings you clarity, friend.
You must be blind for now
to appreciate what is left when his storm passes.
-You still have so much to learn.-
When your chance to start over comes,
hopefully, this time, there will be more than lessons left for you to carry forward.
I hope you can stop the cycle
before you lose everything
trying to hold on to something
you never needed
again.

it is at moments after i have dreamed

By: ee cummings
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

-turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

Mad Girl's Love Song

By Sylvia Plath

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

It is time to take a moment to remember.

I remember his laugh, how he always smiled. He was one of those people who could lighten the mood in any room.

I remember how he gave the best long hugs. He would always squeeze me extra hard. His hair always smelled really good. He had long curls that I like to wrap around my fingers like little springs. I would wind it around my finger when we would talk, wrap it and unwrap it. Perfect little spirals.

He loved music. He was one of the most talented bass players I have ever met.

He came to every show I ever played and stood right in front of me. He would make faces and make me laugh. Even on the nights he had to work, he still would steal away long enough to come see me if I had a show. He would run in long enough for me to see him and then he would wave and whisk himself away as quickly as he had arrived.

He loved Marvin the Martian.

He was wearing a Mr. Bubbles shirt the last time I saw him.
I hugged him extra long that night. I didn’t want to let him go.
I drove away, and a few minutes later turned around again and went looking for him. I was not sure why. I went into the empty club and asked the guy sweeping up if he had seen him. The guy looked confused and told me they had all left a while ago. When he told me that, it felt like a punch in the gut.

I stood there in the empty band room where we had just played. I looked around at all of the paper and remnants of the night all over the sticky floor.
I could not figure out what I was doing there, something else was driving me, but I didn’t know what. All I knew was that I needed to see him.

I shook my weird feeling off the best I could and headed home.
I was going to see him the next evening at a party. There was no reason to be acting like I was not going to see him again.
That night I thought about him on the drive home. I relived every moment we had ever spent together in my head. I remember asking myself why I was suddenly so obsessed with the subject, but I really could not think about anything else.

The next day he called me early to confirm that I was going to the party. I told him I was getting a sitter and I was going to be there for sure.
About an hour before I was supposed to leave, I stood up and I crumpled to the floor. It felt like someone had taken a knife and started twisting in my back. I literally could not move. It hurt too much. The only thing I could do was lay on the floor, flat on my back. I called him and told him I wasn’t going to make it. He was bummed, but he understood. He said he would call me the next day and tell me about all of the fun I missed.
-------------------------------------------
My phone rang again at 6AM the next morning. It was my friend Jamie. She said there had been an accident. I asked her what hospital I needed to go visit them at. She said I didn’t understand. She said he was gone, they were all gone they didn’t live through the night, none of them. I told her she was lying and I hung up. I sat there for a long time trying to absorb what just happened.

I didn’t really believe it until I was standing by his casket wrapping his hair around my finger again. I stood there winding it up and unwinding it, waiting for him to open his eyes, or to look like him, or to look real at all.
Eventually the funeral director came up and gently took my arm and asked me if he could help me to my seat.

I kissed the cold marble that was now his forehead and whispered “Goodnight.”



For John David

So We Call it Bric-a-Brac

I sip this coffee slow
Don't want to burn my tongue
I'm running on fumes again
and the day has only just begun.

My head is in your space
Thoughts tumbling down like children on a grassy hill
They get to the bottom and climb back up again
with no real place to go
and superficial stains that can be stripped away
when the time is right to get out of our play clothes

My love for you is whole and complete
On a shelf collecting dust
like so many things we cherish too much to throw away
but we really don't know where it fits into our lives

so we call it bric-a-brac

My hands are tied like the knots in my stomach
and my body is the prison that sustains my life
My eyes close and I am lost in my head

Pulling heavy drapes closed on a sunny room

they are heavy with lack of sleep
unrealized dreams
and all of the potential I see wasted every day

These unspoken truths hang in every room we are in like a modern day painting in a Victorian house

The Cherry Blossoms always remind me of the Spring that Valerie died….

I had just moved to Washington for school, I didn’t know a whole lot of people here. I had a very small group of friends, and no family in the state. I was 23 years old, a single mother of one, a full time college student, and a struggling musician.
The amount of stress I was under was overwhelming. My life was going in fifty different directions at a time and it all depended on a very delicate balance of daycare, scheduling, and whatever juggling act I had to do to make it all work. One thing went wrong and the entire house of cards would all come tumbling down.
This one day in particular I was feeling especially overwhelmed. My daughter contracted the Chicken Pox the same week as final exams and my usual babysitter had never been exposed to Chicken Pox before so he could not watch her. I was forced to stay home with her. I called the school to plead my case to no avail.
Two of my teachers refused to let me make up the exams at a later time. I was going to a school that you would loose a grade for every day you missed no matter what the circumstances. I realized by the time the Chicken Pox were gone I would have failing grades in more than half of my classes.
I was in the doghouse with my band because I had already missed several practices and we had a big show coming up. They were already talking about finding a replacement for me.
Something had gone wrong with my financial aid so I was not sure how exactly I was going to pay rent that month or buy food.
I was wrecked emotionally and ready to give up. I was sitting on the floor in the middle of my living room, lights down, TV off, staring at the floor feeling sorry for myself.
I was thinking things like;
“How did I get here?”
“How is this my life?”
“Am I a good enough parent? Would my daughter be better off with different parents?”
“Should I quit school? Why do I even bother?”
“What is the point in all of this?”
“Wouldn’t everyone just be better off if I just gave up on living all together?”
That is when the phone rang. I’m not really sure why I picked it up. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.
“Hello.” I said flatly into the receiver
“Michelle? Hey, it’s Valerie.” The voice on the other end responded.
“Hi, how are you? How have you been feeling? Is everything going ok?” I asked, my tone changing when I realized who it was.
Valerie was my friend from back home that had moved to Washington about the same time I did. She was a sweet girl. She was twenty years old, very friendly, very likable. She was one of those friends you could call at any time and she would be there for you no matter what. In the time since we moved here we had become very important to each other, we were one another’s connection to “home” and things familiar.
Valerie found out she had Cancer four months before when she went to the doctor about a pulled muscle in her leg. It turned out what she thought was a strained ligament, was actually a cancer tumor.
“Yeah, well, the doctors said that it has traveled all over my body, the Chemo doesn’t seem to be helping.” She said. I could hear her voice wavering on the other end of the line. “I have lost all of my hair. I don’t even have eyelashes anymore Michelle!”
Suddenly my problems were looking smaller and smaller.
“Don’t you worry, you are young and healthy! We will beat this Val! I swear we will!” I said trying to sound as convincing as I could, “We will find you a great wig! I am sure it is fine. There is nothing a little make up can’t hide until you get better!” I was trying to sound positive.
Silence. There was nothing for a few minutes and then I could hear her take a deep breath. She was crying.
“Come on Val, don’t cry, it really will be ok.” I said weakly
“I am so scared. I don’t want to die Michelle! I really don’t want to die.” She said, “I don’t know what to do. I just know I want to live! Help me! What should I do?”
All I could say to her was, “It is going to be all right, don’t worry.” and try to hide the fact that I was crying too.
In reality, I didn’t know if it was going to be all right. My close friend was drowning before my eyes and I could do nothing to save her. I was terrified. All I wanted was to say anything that would make it all better. I couldn’t find those words no matter how hard I searched for them.
“I am so afraid. I don’t want to die.” was her only response, “I want to live.”
A few days later Val died in her sleep. That conversation was the last time I ever spoke to her.

Since she died, any time life has overwhelmed me, and my mind goes to a place of giving up, I remember that conversation. I remember clearly Valerie’s voice saying, “I want to live.” It reminds me of how lucky I am to still be alive. No matter how bad things get, I am alive. I AM ALIVE!
In her life she gave me friendship. In her last days she taught me the value of how precious every moment we have on earth is. In her death she taught me how important it is to never take any day you have alive for granted, because she would have traded even my worst days for the Cancer that took her life.
She taught me that we as humans have a responsibility to enjoy life and make the most out of it. In her friendship Valerie taught me that life truly is a gift.
Even all of these years later I think of her all of the time. That day and that conversation and the lessons she taught me I will carry for the rest of my life. In my memories my friend who changed my whole world will forever live on.

Oh, Father Time

Where were you when I was still full of adventure and careless and carefree and fun?
Where were you when I didn't know what it meant to be judged.
When lies were dismissed as nurture to protect the innocent ears
from the truths that years would inevitably reveal.

Where were you when I was still young enough to not know better
and could articulate my feelings without second guessing my each and every thought?

Before fear had his hands in my head
and your old lies lived in my bed
making me think I was not good enough.

I remember a girl who only wanted to live
and love
and die when it was time,
but then time was a lifetime away.
And now it creeps up
like a cold breath,
a snake in the grass,
like the woman that I don't know
who's trapped in the reflections of the shiny windows
on my way to a daily routine
fit for the queen of nothing.

They call it making a living
I call it losing my life.

When will I have time to have time to be happy?

The beginning of a Fender Love Story

I remember the first time he brought me to life. It was his sixteenth birthday. His youth made him giddy and overzealous when he first laid eyes on me.
He took me in his arms the first time. His fingers were green and inexperienced. They fumbled over me, as he tried to make me sing. It was almost painful. He would run his fingers one place, bend me, stroke me in another, but he was not getting the reaction from me that he wanted.
“Damn! Why can’t I do this?” he would exclaim in his frustration.
He would mumble to himself about how he should just break me, but then he would touch me with such care I knew his threats were idle.
He would try and try for hours, I could feel his sweat through his shirt making my back wet. Every now and then he would stop and towel me off and then start again. When the day was over, and only when exhaustion finally overcame him, he lay me down and covered me in velvet before he went to sleep.

The next day I woke to all of his friends. He was proudly showing me to them, displaying me with care. Some of them would ask if they could touch me, he would say they could only hold me for a second, but to be careful. He did not dare try to make me sing in front of them yet, he needed more practice, but I knew that it would happen some day. I could feel how proud he was of me, how much he really loved me.

He spent the next year loving me, touching me, as often as possible. He took such care of me, he made sure I was always beautiful, and I was always tucked in safely at night. He would touch me every chance he got. Before school, after school, all weekend long, sometimes he would wake me up in the middle of the night, his room would be filled with stale pungent smoke and his eyes would be red and glassy. Those times he would touch me softly, his fingers would be less skilled than usual, but he didn’t seem to be as frustrated. He would just revel in the feeling of stroking me and holding me.

Eventually he learned to make me sing, and then howl, and then whale, and then scream! Sometimes he would be so rough with me I thought I would break under his touch. He would squeeze my neck so hard I thought it would snap. This mostly happened when he would leave our world for a while, those times he went out of sight. He would come to me with a wet face from tears and his hands would be shaking. He would tell me I was all he had and how we were going to leave them some day. He would tell me how I was the only one who would ever really understand him. He would just hold me and cry.

One afternoon he came to me and said we were leaving. He got me dressed and held me in his arms, we left the only place I had ever known as home, we went out into a world far larger than I had ever imagined was beyond the door that would take him away from me and bring him back to me every day. He brought me to a place that was full of smoke and people who talked loudly about things I didn’t understand. He met up with some friends that I had met before in our room.
“Finally bringing her out huh?” the pimply faced boy with the stringy hair asked.
“Yup.” He said, “ I think it is time everyone see what she is really made of.”

I didn’t want to disappoint him. He had worked so hard to learn how to love me. The growth process was hard. It was painful for both of us, but we did it, we persevered. I wanted to sing for him, to make him love me and be proud of me.

He displayed me proudly and I sang for him, we sang together. He was nervous; I could feel his hands tremble. He was fumbling a bit, but that didn’t matter. I was the only one close enough to be able to tell. To me it was perfect; my place in his world was solid. I knew he would love me forever.

When it was over and they all smiled and cheered. They surrounded us and admired us. Some of them told him how beautiful I was, how lucky he was to have me. He would smile and nod. Some of them even asked if they could take me home. He would only laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. “I am his.” I would think, I would never sing for you! I was never worried. I knew I was the most important thing in his life, he told me as much many times. I am the only one who really understands him!

After that he took me out more and more. We went all over the place; sometimes we went to bars, sometimes to coffee houses, sometimes parks. My world got bigger all of the time. I loved how it felt when people would admire me, how he took such pride in me. I belonged to him. It was like I was a part of him.

A few more years went by. He was growing into a strong and handsome man. We were singing together almost every day, fast and powerful. His hands would no longer shake. When he would touch me it was skillful and adept. I loved how he made me scream such a beautiful melodic scream. His rhythm was hard and fast, his sweat was that of exhaustion and pleasure, no longer of nerves of tension. And they loved us, how they loved us!

One night he slowed down. I thought maybe he was trying something different. His touch was shaky and nervous again, but his song was slow and beautiful. The song we sang came from a place of magic; it had an intensity I had never felt with him before. He was anxious like he was when we first touched, but he was filled with a feeling that was spilling over into me. My song was full and soft and brought the room to silence until all you could hear was he and I.
When it was over, the thunder of claps and cheers was louder than it had ever been before. I knew he was proud, we had reached a new level, but then something happened. He let me go. Just left me there on the floor. He took no care in what happened to me, just walked away from me to her. She was the girl sitting in the front with the long brown curls. The one who kept watching him, like so many girls had before, but he would always ignore them. She was different; he walked away from me, and went to her! That had never happened before! Who was this? Can she sing like me? Does she think she could take my place? Could she?

I watched him nervously kick the floor as he talked to her. He didn’t once even turn to check if I was ok. He had his hands in his pockets so she would not see how they were shaking.