nakedjen

In the end, writers will write not to be outlaw heroes of some underculture but mainly to save themselves, to survive as individuals.

Oh my. My poor, neglected, dejected, pathetic blog.  I haven't been by here in what feels like a lifetime.  Of course, it hasn't been a lifetime, not at all, but it just feels that way what with days blending into nights blending into later nights blending into early morning sunrises where I am bleary eyed and stumbling about wondering if I really should suck down more espresso (the answer is always yes! yes to the espresso, never say NO to the espresso) before heading back into that dark theatre to watch yet another person's hopes and dreams and sweat and tears of perhaps the last twenty four months or years or lifetimes, even, unspool magically on the screen before my eyes.

Last night, between the final of the Sundance Festival films, (yes! there were two!!), my dearest of sisters, NeverNakedBeth, asked me if I might put together for her a directory of sorts, a catalogue, a personal and specific guide that would allow her to know which of the films screening on The Sundance Channel really were worth plopping in a comfy chair to watch all the way through?

She shared that the film we had seen at the previous year's festival, "Interviews with Pathetic Men" (which, honestly, is NOT the title of the film, but is what we both have decided it really should be called) always seems to be on and she knows, insists really, that all the festival films find their way there but how do you sort the good from the bad, the ones that you really do want to see from the things that are just, well, pathetic?

I agreed that perhaps my talents might be most useful as a sort of person who puts together just such a guide.  Especially for NeverNaked types who tread rather carefully in the Sundance waters.  Who have an open mind, but don't want things to be too shocking or revolting or disturbing.  Who appreciate good film and at the same time want their own little world to be "just so".  You know, the kind that want to go to Sundance and see a musical.

I will be putting together just such a specialized sort of movie guide for her.  She's my sister, I love her dearly, I have spent all of her 43 years on the planet absolutely loving her to bits.  It will be a joy to do this for her. 

As for the rest of you, I have more words coming.  Soon, hopefully.  I want to share with you my absolute best and favourite moments of the Sundance festival.  It was, positively, my most cherished festival yet.  I also hope to share with you a small and brief review of all those films that I did manage to see.  I do realize what I think about the films is of little importance or relevance to all of you.  I know this.  It is very important to me, however.  I need to save, and to savor, and to help myself remember in the coming years, the beautiful small important stories that were entrusted to me by all those talented filmmakers.

Isn't that really the reason any of us writes, though?  To cherish, to savor, to put things right in our upside down lives?  To remember the moments that caused us to suck in our breath, hold it and realize that we were truly alive?  Because we know, without question, that we may simply perish if we do not?  For me, next to loving with utter abandon, it may be the singularly most important thing I ever manage to do.

Are You My Mother?

The following is a verbatim email conversation between Emily Gilmore and me that happened just this afternoon:

Emily: 
The word is spreading.

Nakedjen: 

see mom?!  you've known since i was five that i've always been very precocious.  it only took 40 years for the rest of the world to catch up with me!

 

Emily:  no honey - the rest of the world will never catch up with you.  Robin will be here March 10th - 15th   

Nakedjen:  yes, i know.  she announced it on facebook!

i'm choosing my sundance tickets at 5:00.  so, i could get you some of the same tickets (maybe) for you on saturday.  should i try to do that for you.  for the films robert thinks you might like to see??

Emily:  i have been looking at the film list for a while - it is QUITE overwhelming - it sort of becomes a process of elimination.  I know I do not want SHORTS or documentary stuff or animation.    No gays, no alcoholism, no infidelity, no divorce, no cross-dressers, no violence, no TOO MUCH NOISE,   do they have any musicals?    i think i should just wait to see what to buy on day of   ???   we'll see how it works out.

Nakedjen:

Mom, in other words, NO FESTIVAL.  your email just made me laugh.  out loud.  because, honestly?  you just eliminated nearly the ENTIRE list of films at sundance this year.  i think the festival you want is showing at leisure world.

 

xoxo

Honestly, people, there are days, like today, where she truly earns her Emily Gilmore reputation and I shake my head and have to wonder is she REALLY my mother?  I hope Robert can find her something she might like because goodness knows I'm going to be seeing a lot of documentaries about divorced gay alcoholics who cheat on cross-dressing spouses while toting machine guns.  Somehow, I don't think those are the films Emily wants to go see with me, do you?

Sundance starts on my birthday this year.  Isn't it nice of Robert to always schedule Sundance for my birthday?  I can't think of a better or happier way to celebrate it.  For reals.

 

Wordless Wednesday

 

I am blessed, honestly, that she still thinks I'm cool and actually wants to hang out with me.  I consider that a win for both of us. 

I am Naked.

December 26 Insight or aha! moment. What was your epiphany of the year?

Being naked can be a very political statement.  If necessary.  That is all.

I'm Going To Call RR

I talk a lot about Sundance.  We all know this.  We also know that I'm a naked girl who truly knows how to festival.  Trust me, there is an art to it.  I'm a girl that has it down to a science and could probably teach a course called "How to Festival" at any university in the country.  If, you know, a university was truly interested in such a course.  Perhaps for their continued learning program, maybe?  It's a thought. 

Someone should be teaching this course to Emily Gilmore.  To wit, the following conversation between Emily and myself that happened just today.

Emily: help - now that i am going East I will not be here for the days the LOCALS get to purchase tickets - NOW what?

Nakedjen: you.are.screwed.  you should have thought of this before you booked!

Emily: does this mean i get NO MOVIES????? or can i buy the day of????  why do you make this sound so difficult?  Outrageous - I'm going to call RR

Nakedjen: I think what you might want to consider is having Beth take your spot and purchase the tickets for you.

Emily:  No, Beth can't do it.  I have to show PROOF OF IDENTITY and practically give my own fingerprints in order to buy these tickets.  They won't let her do it for me.  I will just go to the Beehive Tea house instead.

Nakedjen: I love how you refer to Robert Redford as RR.  Like he's your very best friend?

Emily: I knew you'd know exactly whom I was talking about!  Anyway, can't I just get tickets the day of the show?

Nakedjen:  You can go to the box office any morning and say, "What's available today...and they will tell you.  But you may not be able to see the movies you WANT to see if you do it that way."

Emily: How do I even know what I want to see?  This is all a practice in experimental theatre for me.  I don't have 70 films picked out that I must see.  Who does that anyway?  I can't plan my life like that!  I just want to see some movies. Why did you make this so difficult?

Nakedjen:  Why is this my fault?

Emily:  You worked there!  Certainly you created these silly ticket policies and procedures.

Nakedjen: No, mom, this isn't my doing.  I just know how to navigate the madness.  How to put it all together.  How to make sure you get to see all the best films and truly have the best festival.

Emily: Well, I'll just call Robert and ask him to send me some tickets for the movies he thinks I might like to see.  That will take care of it.

Nakedjen: Okay, Mom.  You call Robert.  I'm sure that will work out just fine for you.

Emily: Oh, it really will.  I'll do it tomorrow morning.  Thanks for calling.  RR will take care of everything.

(And we all wonder why I'm just a touch dramatic? This is the woman who raised me!)

I Just Know

December 5 Night out. Did you have a night out with friends or a loved one that rocked your world? Who was there? What was the highlight of the night? 

This is the story of the night that almost was.  The night that I very much regret did not happen.  The night I am hoping might still happen.  This is not a love story, but it is a story about love that might possibly be.  About a voice at the end of a phone that sounded like all those voices of my childhood, that mocked surprise when I shared with him that he had a Maryland accent.  This is the story of an unusually cold and rainy night spent sharing pizza with my favourite aunt and uncle, a dinner full of laughs and an incredulous story about a cruise ship trip going terribly awry, a night when I had other plans that had to be changed because family is sometimes more important than a possible affair of the heart.  This is a story about the vegetarian dinner I still plan to collect, the hug I still want, the man I am determined to meet and to know much better.  This is the story about you.  I still plan to have dinner with you the very next time my heart and head land in D.C.

Birth and death are easy. It is life that is hard.

Well, hello there.  Did that get your attention?  Snap your head right back around and have you say, "What?"  Yes, me too.

As some of you may have gathered, those who were paying closer attention than others, those who stop by this sometimes very lonely space even when there's really no reason to stop by this very lonely space, I was on a journey last week.  It was a spiritual journey.  Well, kind of.  Oh, no, well, maybe not?  I don't know?  It certainly felt spiritual in some spots, in others it felt like having surgery without anesthesia.  Not that I actually know what having surgery without anesthesia truly feels like, unless we count that time I was living in London and had that god awful tooth ache and had to rely on the good old National Health Services to take care of it for me and while I absolutely still am an advocate for socialized medicine, I will share that having the National health Services perform dental work without the use of any anesthesia is not your idea of a good trip to London.  So make sure you brush and floss regularly.

Where was I?

Oh, yes.  Last week. At my mother's home.  Where she's lived with all her earthly belongings (as well as everything she's believed it was oh so important to savesavesave) for the past 20 years.  That she sold.  That she needed sorted, boxed and packed into a moving truck.  Because guess what everyone?  In case you have not heard, have not received the National Emergency Broadcast Alert, Emily Gilmore is moving to Utah.  Last time I inquired, with those who know such things, there is only one Utah in these United States of America.  The same one Utah that I currently call home.

You all know where this is going, don't you? 

The unearthing, sorting, and packing of my mother's house last week unearthed plenty of my own childhood demons, as well.  Stuffed into the back of closets, into the bottom of drawers, back in the corner of the basement and forgotten for years were scraps and tokens of memories that dusted themselves off, paraded around and practically shook my shoulders in their glee to be remembered. As with any visit between me and Emily Gilmore, old behaviors surfaced quickly and even the matter of how many coffee mugs to truly pack for the long ride across America became a subject of debate. 

I was doing my best to be gracious, to be understanding, to realize that for Emily, this is all rather traumatic.  I kept reminding myself that she is an adult.  This is an adult decision.  She is choosing to leave her home, really the only place she's lived her entire adult life, to move 2000 miles away and live in the land of Mormon. 

At some point, though, in that short 36 hours, I just became far too overwhelmed and found myself, as I often did as a child, crammed into the back of a dark empty closet, sitting on the floor, knees to chest, sobbing.  The scariest part for me was that I was not at all sure why?

(It seems almost anti climatic to share, right here, right now, at this moment, that I have met someone.  However, it is at this point in the story that he makes an important appearance.  So, Internet?  I've met someone.  He will begin appearing now.  Perhaps with some frequency.  We'll call him The Outlaw.)

Inside that closet, in the dark, my sobs drowning out the world of chaos that swirled just beyond the closed doors, my phone buzzed inside my jacket pocket.  What surprised me, completely, was that The Outlaw, who honestly barely knows me, called at all, but even more so, that he called at that moment because "you seem forlorn."  Calmly, gently, carefully, he talked me back into this orbit, back from the oh so scary places that my childhood self can navigate without a compass, back into my own body with the tear stained cheeks and snotty nose and out of the closet.

Of course, we all know, especially I know, that even if The Outlaw had not called that night, I would have eventually found my way back into my body and out of the closet.  I always have in one fashion or another, sometimes leaving a bit of myself there behind, but always pretty much at least somewhat in tact.  What hit me, though, squarely in my chest that evening, in the darkness, in the closet, was the compassion and kindness I felt being shared with me so utterly freely, completely and unconditionally. 

It scared me.  Yes, it scared me. Could I actually be on the receiving end of thoughtfulness and understanding at this juncture in a new relationship?  Was this real?  Was The Outlaw truly so kind and generous or was my heart beginning to race because this was just another set up to shatter it?

His words, my words, our words kept flitting and tripping and falling and flowing until it just didn't matter what my heart or my head felt.  The only thing that truly mattered was the moment we were in. I was here. I was present. I was.

The car packed to overflowing, my sister, NeverNakedBeth and I spent the next four days navigating, moment to moment, the Interstates that connect our childhood home to our current one.  The Outlaw peppered the journey with a heart-skipping staccato of messages that always made me smile.  It's a curious thing, honestly, this sharing such proximity with my sister.  Until I crash landed here nearly two years ago, my sister and I had what could best be described as a formal familiar relationship.  We saw each other once a year.  We were kind, as sisters should be.  We loved each other because we were family.

I shared with NeverNakedBeth, as we wove our way through the orange and red and yellow speckled valleys of America, that while I could have never gazed into any crystal ball two years ago and have predicted that I'd be living in Utah, I was both glad and grateful for her love, her kindness, her compassion and, most of all, her friendship.  I took that opportunity, crammed in the front seat of our mother's car, snacks of Triscuits between us, to share with her that I truly loved her and to thank her for being my sister.

I talk often about how family is not the family we are born with, but the family we choose.  My family is quite large, it is vast, it encompasses many beautiful faces and souls from all facets of my life on all continents of this planet.  What I learned, though, on this journey, is that my family, the family that knows my secrets and has kept them stuffed deep in closets, that pushes my buttons and keeps childhood treasures boxed even when I insist they be thrown away, that will love me fiercely despite my obvious chinks and flaws, is very much mine and is very much here. 

Welcome to Utah, Emily.  Welcome Home.

The Tiny Moments Wearing Pink Skirts

Then there are those very early morning moments when the tears are caught, just there, in that space behind your throat above your chest, pushing hard against your heart, making it difficult to breathe.  The cold unforgiving Utah morning air is biting against your cheeks, the dark sky is pressing down, the stars still sparkle, but it all feels just a tad lonely, a little bit empty, the city is truly cold. 

But into your head pops the tried and true image of the gorgeous, toned and tanned half-naked hippie wearing only his flouncy pink skirt that he no doubt snatched from some sweet girl dancing near him the night before as he explains to the police officer that that pink skirt?  It's the only piece of clothing he currently has. 

Instead of tears, you surprise the silence with your own laughter, gasp for air, and thank the gods that your soul brother, NakedIan, is such a dear sweet part of your life.

Now You Are Four

Dear Puppies,

Now you are four. Four. If there is one wish I could make for you, now, right this very minute, right this very second, here on this planet Earth, I'd wish that you'd not get one second older.  Please.  That while I might age, I might get older, I might push along to that grand old age of 136, you will just stop and stay four forever.

My life with both of you is, well, just magical. I know that there are people who just read that sentence and snorted coffee out of their nose.  Or Diet Coke since we now live in Utah and those Mormons don't actually drink coffee, but for some reason they believe that Diet Coke is an elixir sent by Jesus to save them from the devil.  Coffee or Diet Coke, it simply does not matter. You are, really, just magical dogs. 

Last Saturday, which was your actual fourth birthday, I wanted to celebrate you in a way that would make you know just how much I love you.  Well my abilities to teletransport us to Santa Cruz for a romp on the beach were not up to snuff as every time I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined us there, smelled the ocean air, heard the gulls, felt the cold salty water swirling about my feet, heard the thunder and screams of the Big Dipper, I'd open my eyes and we'd be standing, the three of us, knee deep on the muddy banks of the Great Salt Lake, the black flies swirling about for the kill over our heads. You both are so forgiving, will find happiness even in those salty flats, but we all know that it is not the same.  Not at all.

NeverNakedBeth insisted that you would love the lakes up in the Uinta Mountains.  She said it wasn't a far drive (remember that detail, because I did) and that we could go up, take a hike, you could go swimming and we could still be home in time for dinner.  It sounded like a great way for you to celebrate your fourth birthday and that is why we were up much earlier than we ever like to arise on a Saturday.

I had told you on Friday night, when we were doing our NakedFriday usual, that we were going on a special trip to celebrate your birthday and because Stella can speak seven languages fluently in addition to DOG, she nearly knocked NeverNakedBeth over with her enthusiasm when she FINALLY arrived the next morning.  I think Stella was certain that NeverNakedBeth was just never ever ever going to get here, that NeverNakedBeth certainly must have had difficulty putting on her special undergarments that morning, stuck both legs in the same leg opening, fallen over, banged her head on the corner of the fish tank and was actually lying HALFNAKED in the middle of her bedroom for her God and all the rest of the world to see and our trip, that special trip, was ruined all because of the special undergarments.

But Stella's fears were for naught, because there she was, special undergarments all put on correctly, wearing her hiking boots, carrying her water bottle, odd snack bars stuffed in her pockets, ready to go,go,go! 

We drove and drove and drove and drove some more up highway 80 like we were going to go to Yellowstone, or Montana or maybe even Canada, it felt like, only in reality I suppose we didn't go quite that far.  And it is a good thing.  Because after we entered the National Park, after we were headed up, up, up the big mountain, I asked NeverNakedBeth quite innocently if she thought an 1/8th of a tank of gas would be plenty to get us where we were going and back?!

Puppies, remember that scene in the Exorcist?  That one where Regan's head turns green and spins all the way around and her eyes bulge way out of her head?  Remember that one?  The devil had possessed her, remember?

If I did not know better (and I truly do because she is, after all an upstanding, card-carrying SISTER) I would have thought, in that moment, that moment when I asked that innocent question about the gasoline, that NeverNakedBeth's body had been possessed by that very same devil.  Her head spun all the way around!  Her eyes bulged out of her head!  She spit!  She spat!  She sprayed! 

"What kind of idiot drives up the mountains into the National Forest with NO GAS?!?!  Oh wait, I forgot, you do!  This is exactly like our trip on Maui.  We're going to be coasting all the way home!"

(Puppies, I took NeverNakedBeth to Maui for her 40th birthday....oh...wait....should I share this with you..are you going to be upset that I didn't take you to Maui for your 4th birthday?  Tell you what, make it to 40, I'll take you to Maui, too.  Yes, of course, 40 in dog years!  Yes, I realize that's very soon.  Stella, stop doing the Hula! Yes, Buddha, you can have a coconut drink with a straw.  I took NeverNakedBeth to the Maui Film Festival for her 40th birthday and I also took her on a drive around the entire island.  All the way around.  With NO GAS.  And we had to coast the last ten or so miles until we finally found a gas station.  Obviously, this is the way I roll!).

I looked at her.  The woman beside me who had left her body and was now possessed by a she-devil.

"NeverNakedBeth," I said, "I had no idea where exactly we were going today.  We had gas in the car when we left the driveway.  That's all I ever worry about."

"Nakedjen!  You now live in Utah.  You are no longer in Hippy Dippy Do California.  In Utah we always have a full tank of gas.  Always.  It's just what we do. We are always prepared for the big disaster, the end of the world, Armageddon."

"Well, I still don't really want to believe that I actually live in Utah, you see.  I'm still living in California in my head.  And I don't really drive my car, honestly, that much anyway.  Only to come see you.  So, well, the gas tank and its quantity is not on my list of priorities!"

She hrumphed. Then said we would have to change our plans.  There was no way we were going to the BIG LAKE ON TOP OF THE BIG MOUNTAIN.  We'd have to find another lake and just make that do.  Too bad, so sad for the puppies.  But she wasn't getting stuck in the middle of nowhere without gas.  And we'd lost the GPS signal so, you know, we were now clearly in the middle of absolutely East Jesus no where.

Still, we kept winding our way up the road, higher and higher, with NeverNakedBeth now focused solely on the gas guage until she suddenly said, "Turn left!  Right here! Now!!"

I was not about to argue with her.  I had survived the head spinning.  Not sure what else might happen if I did not do as I was told!

We parked.  We walked.  We hiked.  The dogs, well, they were in absolute bliss.  No, really, absolute bliss.  We found three lakes.  Lakes that might as well have had neon signs shouting "WELCOME LABRADORS!" right at the waters edge because my dogs, when they even got the slightest hint that they were in the vicinity, did not even hesitate to just dive right in.  In fact, at one point we had "lost" Stella only to find her far ahead of us swimming laps around one of the lakes.  Literally.  Laps.  I do think that in a previous life Stella was Gertrude Ederle.  No really.  If I threw her into the English Channel, the dog would swim to the other side, parler avec les Français because she is fluent in seven languages, swim back and then ask me if she could, pretty please, do it again?!

It was, in terms of a dog's life, a day that would get ten wags.  Maybe even eleven. 

We coasted home, on our 1/8th tank of gasoline, me assuring NeverNakedBeth that it was all good, that I'd just "believe" that we'd make it without incident (and of course we did!).  The dogs and I are headed back up there tomorrow.  We're unplugging.  We're going to spend the weekend swimming laps.  Because if we can't live at the beach, we can certainly, absolutely, celebrate and enjoy the majestical beauty with which we're blessed right here.  Celebrations are not just for birthdays, you know.  Life is worth celebrating every day.

Love,

Mama

 

P.S. Internet?  You all need to know, that this NakedFriday photo was all NeverNakedBeth's idea.  True story.  She absolutely insisted we do it and celebrate the beauty of Utah. And...in the making of this fine photo for you we both nearly caused an entire cadre of Japanese tourists to snatch up their passports and busywalk as fast as their legs would take them right to the SLC airport for the first plane back to safety and sanctity of Japan where you can hike in the mountains and not worry about rounding a corner to find a very naked woman standing there CELEBRATING NATURE'S BEAUTY! My apologies to the tourists.  It's America.  Land of the Free, home of the Naked.

Because She Is My Mother

It's NakedMom's aka Emily Gilmore's birthday today.  Without NakedMom, well, we all know that there really wouldn't be a Nakedjen.  I'm not necessarily saying she gets ALL the props for me being who I am, but she did, you know, birth me.

I figured she'd like some Naked Swedish Men for her birthday.  But she'd also really love a flood of birthday wishes from total strangers.  In fact, I know that she would.  So go ahead, if you're feeling generous, and send her a birthday greeting.

Happy Birthday, Mom.  As it is Friday, I hope you spend at least part of it really naked!