Dear Oprah

Dear Oprah,

You do not know me, but well of course I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. I have watched your show, read your magazine, and I enjoy your book club selections. I am therefor a supporter and a contributor to your enormously successful empire. In fact in one way or another I am sure that I have at least partially funded the purchase of one of your Prada bags or a pair of you Jimmy Choo's. So we could say that I am more or less a friend. A friend. You like to help your friends, don't you Oprah? Of course you do. You take friendships seriously. We all know about the strong bond you have with you BFF, Gail. You would probably go to great lengths to help Gail out, right? Of course you would.

I realize that our friendship is, well not on the same scale. So I won't ask for much. Not much at all. In grand scheme of things. But you see, the thing is Oprah, you have a lot of money. A lot. And I don't have as much, not nearly. And I would really like to have more... more of that money stuff. As it turns out, I really was meant to be wealthy. I have "champagne taste" as they would say. I like designer clothes, I like good wine, fancy food, and pretty things. The problem is I am on a budget. A budget that consistently prohibits the spur of the moment impulse buy. A budget that requires a Target label in place of a Vera Wang. It means that I have one day in Calistoga instead of the 2 or um... seven that I would prefer. It is a big sacrifice Oprah.

My own BFF and I just went to Calistoga for one little night. We stayed in a modestly priced hotel with a little spa. One night. Only one short 50 minute massage. I window shopped Oprah... window shopped, which is probably unheard of in your circles. It translates into -no purchases. Empty bags. A beautiful pair of sparkly earrings left in the display case.

My friend and I had a fabulous time, we were on our own away from the pressures of our day to day lives, working and raising two kids a piece. But we certainly would have benefited from a few more days, if only we could afford the room and the childcare.

Oprah, with your millions, or perhaps billions of dollars, certainly, certainly you could afford to sponsor an annual 4 day girls weekend to napa for my friend and I could you not? At best it would cost $3-4000 a year. For that we could stay in a very nice hotel. We could get the 90 minute massages, and throw in a mud bath. We could upgrade to the reserve tastings instead of the standard. We could hire sitters to take care of our regular mama duties while we were recharging our parental batteries. We would have the opportunity to reinforce the lifelong friendship that our day to day responsibilities often cause us to neglect.

Oprah, I realize that you have worked hard for your fortune. You put in long hours. You are smart and talented. But I promise, we work hard too. We work full days at the office and come home for the second shift with the kids. Yet my annual income is probably less than the compensation that you receive for one 45 minute appearance.

So what do you say media giant? Could you help two average ladies out? Just think for the cost of one trip to your stylist each year you could give us every day chicks a whole bunch of joy....

Just thought I would ask.

Your Friend,

Rachel

All I have to give

It is hard to write now, because what does one write about? We write about what inspires us, what is in our hearts, and in our minds. At this moment Wiggum is all I can think about. And how many posts can one write about a dead cat? Well probably hundreds, but how many does the average reader want to spend time with? Probably one at best. So I mean to spare you my angst.

I am off to wine country tomorrow with a dear friend, and I am hoping for a wonderful refreshing time. Time with fantastic wine, sun, great conversation and a much needed massage. I hope that I will have something far more interesting to say upon my return. More than "poor kitty" "if only" "how did it happen so fast?".

Maybe in a few days I can refocus my attention and attempt at being witty. Until then...

Goodbye

And now he is gone. Wiggum passed away last night around 3:45am. The clinic called us and told us that his little heart stopped beating and it was done.

I sobbed, and sobbed. I know it's a cat, and I almost feel foolish, but honestly I loved that animal. Loved him. And I feel loss.

It came so unexpected. When we returned from Denver on Sunday I did not notice anything unusual, and I certainly would never have guessed that I would be writing this post on Thursday.

I feel drained, exhausted and like crawling back to bed. But it's a cat. Life doesn't stop for the death of a pet.

Am I crazy? Is this normal?

I miss you Wiggum. I wish that I knew this was coming so I could have held you in my arms more this past week, so that I could feel your soft body and know that you felt me. That last night, you weren't really there. Your eyes were vacant and you did not purr when you lied beside me. That wasn't you. I didn't get to say goodbye to you. My kitty.

Goodbye.

Just a Cat

Today my beloved cat of 13 years fell suddenly very ill. He is now at the vet's in critical condition and his prognosis is not good. We are hoping for the best, but as you will see by my post I am not particularly optimistic. I believe we may lose this sweet little kitty, and it might surprise you to know how much this has impacted me, and even my husband.... send your positive thoughts to a little orange kitty in Berkeley please.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat that I picked out from a pack of other kittens at the humane society 13 years ago. You were the the most affectionate.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat who greeted me at the door each and every day with a cheerful "meow" and a welcoming rub against my legs.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat who wanted to be close to my swollen belly throughout each of the nine months of my pregnancies.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat who slept under the covers with me on cold winter nights, snuggled up close, your soft purr warming me.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat who put up with the tiresome tail pulling of a toddler who you didn't invite into your home in the first place.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat who inspired me to start a growing collection of orange feline Christmas ornaments

You're just a cat.

Just a cat who loved me best, above all other people whom you encountered.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat with soft fur that I hope to always remember the feel of.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat who I will miss when I am awake and lonely in the middle of the night.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat who I will listen for, the sound of your paws padding up and down the stairs. I will swear that I heard you.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat who always found me when I was sick or sad and comforted me with a cuddle.

You're just a cat.

Just a cat who I am going to miss.

You're just a cat.

You're just my cat and I love you so.

.

Home from home

Back in Berkeley. Home from home. Vacation over, real life will now commence. The laundry is (partially) done, the groceries purchased, kids bathed and in bed, and the events of a long sun -splashed weekend have already been turned to memory.

All in all it was a wonderful trip, although far too short. I saw many people, yet we did not have time to visit with everyone. Four days just was not enough to get my Denver fill.

But our flight was already arranged, and we had work to return to. We boarded our plan at 11am this morning and Southwest Airlines transported us back to reality, to our new life. Miles and miles away from the hot mountain sun, family and friends. And what else can we do but live it? We are left to jump head-first back into the swing of la vida California.

I am glad we went. There was a part of me that was afraid to go. Afraid that it would only hurt to leave. And it did. But I have the memories and the happy photos to keep me warm until our next visit in December.

And until then, life goes on. I am headed to wine country next weekend with one of my best friends for a girls spa trip. I have a job that I enjoy to return to tomorrow. It is a different life than I expected ,but a good one. Best of all, I know that I can always go home when I want to, and that I will be greeted with open arms.

A family vacation. Daddy. Mommy. Zachary. Evan. Sea Lion. Ummm, wait Sea what? I do not remember inviting an oceanic creature on the Kargas holiday. Yet there he was, accompanying us on every single car trip we embarked upon. "Arrf! Arff! Arff!" barking from the back of the Toyota we borrowed from my father. Did a sea lion come with the car?

"Arff! Arff! Arff!" "Is that a Sea Lion?" I inquire from the my position on the passenger's side.

"Yes!" Zachary calls from his car seat.

"Why what do you have to say Mr. Sea Lion?" I ask (innocently)

"Sea lion wants to say that the speed limit is 65 miles and hour and that he is 6 and three quarters years old."

How cute I thought. What an imagination! And it was adorable. For like the first 30 minutes. After that well, I had this insane impulse to reach back and strangle the imaginary beast.

"Arff! Arff! Arff!" from the back of the car, again.

"Whats up Sea Lion?" Daddy asks, trying to conceal the annoyance in his voice.

"Sea Lion says that it is 10:32am and that the speed limit is now 55 miles per hour."

"Wow. Thanks Sea Lion. I'll keep the speed limit in mind." Daddy answers.

I try and engage in a conversation with my husband, turning the music up and hoping it will distract Zachary, and perhaps make him forget the imaginary sea creature.

Nope.

"Arff! Arff! Arff! Arff"

Oh for Pete's sakes.

"Yes Zack?" we say in unison with a tone of forced cheerfulness.

"I am not Zack! It is Sea Lion" we hear from the backseat.

I simply cannot take it anymore. After a weekend full of a barking sea-creature-child yelping at us every three seconds I am cursing the day I ever introduced the child to the beach.

"Sea Lion needs to take a nap! No more talking Sea Lion" I snap. "We want to talk to Zachary."

Our son responds with an ear piercing "Whaaaaaa!" Followed up by a heck of a lot more "Whaaaa" and some, "You hurt Sea Lion's feelings! You are so mean!" (over and over, and over again.)

Question, what is worse, a whiny crying four year old or a sea lion in your rear view mirror?

Home Sweet Home

The good thing about insomnia is that it affords plenty of time for blogging. I did not think I would have an opportunity to post while on vacation, however here it is 3am and I know that lying in bed is a hopeless waste of time. So thus I am ready to "blog" although at this hour I will not guarantee quality writing.

We arrived in Denver late Wednesday evening. The flight went remarkably well. Zack watched Nemo, Evan ate snacks and was generally content. Much to my surprise I did actually read several chapters in my novel and the whole experience was quite pleasant. Perhaps there will be payback on our journey home.

Home. For my 30th birthday my husband and I hopped a flight from home (Denver) to San Francisco for a fun filled get-away weekend. We walked through North Beach, caught a show, and took a limo ride through wine country. At the end of the whirl-wind trip we left San Francisco and headed for the mile high, exhausted from a great vacation and happy to be returning home. Now at nearly 36 it's all turned around. Denver is now the vacation destination and Berkeley is "home".

Except it's not. Not yet anyways. The feeling of home struck me as soon as I saw the silly roof top of DIA, designed to look like the peaks of the rocky mountains. I have experienced the comfortable sense of belonging throughout this entire brief journey.

We are staying at a friend's home, about a half mile from our old house. These aren't just any pals of course. This is Darren & Shannon and their two little boys who are some of our very closest friends. Being in their home is strange only because although we have spent countless hours here in the past, we never had cause to sleepover, until now. On Thursday morning I awoke to the sounds of our kids at the breakfast table. I said a quick hello and then threw on my running shoes and went for a jog. I was dying to see the old neighborhood. So I ran along Bryant street and was happy to see that everything looked very much the same. When I arrived at our old block it felt as though no time had passed at all. The Fletter's had their beautiful garden in full bloom. The Fischer's had election signs posted on their perfectly manicured lawn. Parked on the Stevenson's front porch was that same orange stroller.

Then there was our house. It felt as though I should just be able to walk right in and see it as it once was. But of course I couldn't. So I just stood there a while and looked at the two story Victorian that we bought when I was four months pregnant with Zachary. It was my dream home at the time. An enormous kitchen, modern bathrooms (did I mention that there were four of them?), a walk in closet and a master bedroom. Over time, I found reasons to complain about it, but knowing what I know now, after living in a 1200 square foot split level, I would do anything to have that cabinet space back.

Besides it was home. It was the the setting for countless holidays and birthday parties, playgroups and barbeque's. It is the house we bought to raise our family. Now we are renting it out to three single ladies who have no need for a nursery painted in "Christopher Robin's Swing" green.

Standing there, I wanted to run up and hug that house, if I could. Just throw myself at it and wrap my arms around it's four walls wailing "It was all a big mistake"

This trip has been amazing, but far too fast. I have seen many of my girlfriends over the past two days and I have been hearten to feel that after almost a year, I could fit right back in with them. We had a playgroup, and last night went out for a girls night out at Lola's one of my very favorite spots. The conversation was hurried, for there was so much to catch up on, but easy and comfortable. No-getting-to-know-you small talk, because we all had years of history under our belts.

Tomorrow I will go to see my sister and nephews and then head up the winding roads of Golden Gate Canyon to see my father and stepmother. Monday morning we leave for Berkeley. For our new "home". I remind myself that it isn't so bad. We have had all kinds of adventures in the bay area, work is good and we have met lovely people. In time perhaps, Berkeley could actually be home. Perhaps.

For now though, Denver has my heart.