My friends, chapter 5 : RACHEL

It has been uttered by wise sages for centuries that the holiest place on earth is where an ancient hatred becomes a present love. That is true. In our case, Rachel and I didn't have an ancient hatred for each other. In fact, our volatile beginnings were brief. We did not become instant friends. In fact, initially, we were under the impression that we hated each other. This is so hard to believe because we love each other so dearly now and have for so long. It all started freshman year. I was a 15 year old prima donna and so was she. We were of the same ilk, as it were, and attracted many of the same sets of eyes. I think we were being competitive at first. There were dirty looks exchanged, maybe some snide remarks here and there. I'm not clear on how it happened but there ended up being a huge verbal explosion near our lockers one afternoon that came frightfully close to a cat fight. That was a turning point. Somehow, after that detonation we became friends. I think the blast emitted some mutual respect that we gathered from the ashes. Within weeks we were suddenly pals! Go figure. I found out that that gorgeous little pixie was more than just a prissy, pretty thing. She was poetic and boisterous. She could dance circles around break dancers. She wrote lyrical notes to me that made me laugh and sometimes cry. Rachel loved all sorts of fine things. She introduced me to world music of all kinds from many different places. She played vinyl records. We went to shows, cafes, poetry readings, drum circles, parties, and plays. The most fun I had with her was just sitting around talking. We ran in diverse circles and had many, many adventures. We were inseparable for a couple of years.
Rachel moved to Oklahoma our senior year. I was pretty lost for a while. My freshman year of college she came to visit and stayed with me for Christmas. My boyfriend's best friend fell in love with her the minute he saw her and dumped his long standing girlfriend just for a shot at Rachel. Alas, it was short lived. He cried at the airport when she flew back. She was giggling like, "Oh, you poor fool." They never saw each other again. He was pretty mad that the long distance thing didn't survive. I had to take a verbal beating for that. Poor, poor boy. Things like that happened all the time with Rachel. It's not her fault she's so dang gorgeous and fun! Poor tortured boys. Their hearts were never the same.
Eventually, we grew up. She was one of my bride's maids. I'll never forget her reaction to my ex-husband upon meeting him, "You must be in love. There's just no other explanation." I love the honesty. She married Dario, who happens to be the best guy in the known universe. They have two gorgeous children, Giovanna and Hadriel, whom I adore and miss.
Rachel and I love to cook together, eat together, shop, talk, laugh and sometimes cry. I tell her everything, still. We've never lost touch. She came to my college graduation. She cried she was so proud of me. I love her so. She is such a golden friend, such a find, such a gift. I trust her with all my thoughts and dreams and drama and nightmares. She is sound in character and immense in heart. I love her to no end. Rachel; pixie; prima donna, friend, soul sister.

My friends, chapter 4: Jassem

Jass and I have been having a conversation for the last three years about exactly the same thing. Is there a God? I have stated my position, siting various scriptures, personal experiences, feelings, and other proofs. He's never ever satisfied with my answers. He says there is no definite reason to believe in God. He likes things pristine and austere. He likes everything communicated via math and/or science. I told him math and science were tinker toys compared with the things of God. As beautiful a vehicle it is, and as much as God uses its principles in all creation, what man has discovered so far about its meaning, presence, and uses is simply too elementary, at this point, to use it to prove His existence.
Beyond that conversation, there have been a few others. Jass will talk with me about anything. He always sets things right. In some ways, he's an emotional genius. If anything is bothering me, not only can he readily tell, but he wants to fix it, and he very often does. He is a rare gem. I really have never known another man my own age who is so emotionally in tune with the feelings of others. He is strong and sensitive at the same time.
I met Jass through my friend Doug, whom I adore and will write about very soon. Doug invited Jass to dinner with a group of us, I believe it was the Iguana Cafe on Lake Travis. I liked him immediately. I noticed his quick wit, his general impatience with anything less than wonderful, and his kind nature. After dinner we found ourselves at Doug's. We played Rock Band. I love to sing in that game. Then we went swimming. After that we talked for approximately three hours about whether or not there was a God. Now that I think of it, perhaps those three hours were foreshadowing for what the next three years would look/sound like. At the end of the night Jass and I went to our cars and drove away. He let me wear his jacket since it was cold. It was really cute because we stopped at like seven stop lights in a row and wound up right next to each other each time, and each time we rolled down our windows and talked a little bit more. It was so funny.
After that, I was hooked. He became one of my favorites instantly and I found myself missing him at odd and unexpected times. We began taking meals together on a regular basis and talking a lot via gchat and phone. At late hours he often spoke in an Armenian accent. I still haven't figured out why but I love that.
Jass has given me miles of great advice. Sometimes I take it and other times I do my own thing, often to his chagrin and my temporary demise. He has given me tremendous gifts through his friendship. I can actually credit him with getting me out of the funk of my divorce. He made me feel normal again. He also took the time to listen to the whole, horrible story, in bits and pieces, over months and years, and helped me put it into perspective, noting why some of those things may have happened and how none of them were my fault. I can't tell you how badly I needed to hear that and believe it. Somehow, after we talked about it, it sunk in. I seriously do not know how I would have recovered without his help. He doesn't like it when I say this but I know God sent him to me. He doesn't like feeling like a puppet but what he may not realize is he's not really a puppet so much as an instrument. Little does he know how much good he's done for God's cause, not just for me but for everyone he encounters. He is beloved wherever he goes. Well, whatever the motive, he has blessed my life tremendously and I love him immensely. Jassy, you make me smile. I look forward to our next three year conversation. New Topic: Gardening.

My friends, chapter 2: CHRISTY

Christy Kizerian is a wonder. I met her in the fall of '98. I had thrown myself into a culture I knew next to nothing about. Growing up, I had had very few Mormon friends. Those I did have you would hardly call Mormon, in the true sense. Heathen was much more accurate. Anyhow, there I was, trying my darnedest not to look clueless, failing miserably I'm sure, and there she was. She looked clueless too but not for the same reason. We were put together at a game night activity at the Relief Society president's home. We had both forgotten how checkers was played. So, as we strained to remember whether you could jump two pieces at a time or not, we ended up bagging the whole pursuit and talking instead. It turned out, neither of us cared for board games and we pretended to play just so no one would hassle us, or worse, find out we didn't know how to play checkers.
Who was this giggly girl? She was the picture of innocence. I had never had a friend like her. Most of my friends were savvy, cynical, and careworn by age 19. She was bubbling with an unabashed bliss. Where did this joy come from? How could I ever hope to understand such a thing? She told me all about her life as a ballerina, her first month at college, and her crush on a certain handsome young man we both knew. I told her very little about myself at first. I didn't want to scare her. Our life stories wouldn't be published in same book. Indeed, it is possible they wouldn't even be sold in the same store.
Before too long we were inseparable. I found ways to explain my background to her. She didn't judge me. She was always kind and accepting. At that point it seemed necessary to explain since it was such a recent change and I really knew very little about being a young Mormon person. I suppose I wanted someone to help me acclimate culturally and understand where I was coming from. We talked about anything and everything. She taught me many things about fitness, scriptures, old movies, and cooking. I taught her about flirting, dating, music, and philosophy. I found it amazing that I had more fun doing perfectly harmless things with Christy than I had ever had being careless and reckless with other friends. And there was the added bonus of no guilt attached! It was as if a whole new reality was opening itself up to me. I remember the elation well.
Christy and I spent a lot of our time laughing. We were in the habit of eating at Kirby Lane Cafe. It turns out, Christy hated the cuisine but never had the heart to tell me until years had gone by. There I was thinking she loved it just as much as I did! (Teenage taste buds aren't that discerning you know.)
We went to her parent's house in Corpus Christy for spring break that year. She still had her crush on the hottest guy in the ward/world. I had a crush on the smartest guy in the ward/world. We wrote their names in the sand on the beach with long sticks. Christy assured me doing so would guarantee the longevity of the relationships. It might have worked if it weren't for that blasted wind storm! Alas, my relationship with that genius boy only lasted about a year. Hers was a bit shorter with her man but I think that was because she was scared of the size of his biceps. ;) Either that or her interests went elsewhere. I don't quite remember.
The years went by and a lot has happened. Christy was a bride's maid at my wedding. She came with me on my move to Chicago. We drove in my car for three days. She helped me get moved in and settled. She received me with open arms in my broken state when I returned to Austin after my divorce, just a year later. It was her turn to coach me about how to be a savvy single girl. I had completely forgotten after six and a half years. Then I was her bride's maid, maid of honor. I gave a teary speech. I was at the hospital the day her baby, Claire, was born. I've spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, spring break, and summer days at her parent's home. We still talk nearly every day. She reads everything I write. She listens to all my hopes, fears, joys, mishaps, disasters, and ideas. She 's the first person I run to when I need honest advice. I honestly don't know who I might have become without her influence in my life.
Christina, Christina, the ballerina, to you, my dear, dear, and very best friend, I love you.

Conversion

Picture it: May, 1998. El Paso, TX. Living with my parents in the suburbs. It was a tough time because I was in the middle of a huge lifestyle change. I was leaving a lot behind; some good, some bad. I had spent the bulk of my teenage years as a very passive agnostic. "I don't know and I don't think I wanna know.....yet" was virtually my motto. I had spent those years as the faithful girlfriend of a semi-celebrated musician in El Paso. Well, one, and then another. Anyway, that's not the important part (though it is a fun story..later, later). Point is, I was now utterly alone in a new place, or at least it felt that way. I had friends I had known forever. Problem was, they were all doing all the things I had been doing for years and those were the things I knew I had to leave behind. Once my relationship with semi-celebrated musician No. 2 went south, artistic differences ;), I found myself questioning many things. For some reason, questions around existence, the meaning of life, the afterlife, etc. had found their way to my brain and were now making themselves quite a nuisance. I read philosophy voraciously, looking for answers. Too bad philosophy can only offer more and more questions. Fun to read but no solace. None. Would I have to turn to religion? The institution I had thought for so long was fraught with utter nonsense? The hypocrisy! The injustice! The folklore! The downright silliness and ridiculousness of it all! My brain fought hard against it. Still, the need for answers was stronger than the internal argument and the rather snotty, quasi-intellectual tendencies. I started reading about religion. I really wanted to be Jewish. There was something very pleasing about all the tradition and history. Alas, it didn't fill the void. Not that I tried very hard but Judaism isn't avid for converts. I looked into THE NEW CHRISTIANITY but I found it lacking the structure I sought. Resorting to the faith of my youth, I reluctantly decided to take the Mormon missionary discussions. I thought it would be worthwhile to try and scratch them off the list post haste, easing my conscience and showing my parents I had at least given it a fair shot. Problem was, by the third discussion, I knew it was true. It was as if it was to my own demise! It was, in fact, to the demise of the life and much of the self I had been existing in/as for most my life up to that point. Once I knew there was no point denying it. I couldn't fight it and I didn't want to waste any more time in illusion. There WAS a God, He abides by certain undeniable principles, we are His offspring, and I had better get with the program and align myself with these realities sooner rather than later or I would end up paying the price. What price? Missed opportunities to serve. Missed opportunities to learn. Missed opportunities in/with relationships. Missed opportunities for growth and development. And when it comes to missing opportunities, the saddest thing to consider is what you might have realized. And what you might have realized, noticed, or seen could have changed things, and drastically at that. What I am really saying is, the real price is the person you might have become. I couldn't take another minute pretending not to care. I did care, and how. I was overcome with a feeling of hope and trust In God. I was sorry for all the reckless, senseless, mean, rotten things I had done. I wanted to change and I was willing to do the work. So I had to sever some relationships. I had to stop frequenting certain haunts I had loved. There were certain practices and ideas I had to drop. I won't say it was easy, but I will tell you it felt very good. Some people were angry, others annoyed, some inspired, still others perplexed. I couldn't get too worked up about anyone else's reaction to my conversion. I only knew, and I knew I knew, that this was my path. How did I know? There is a distinct feeling associated with truth. There are zillions of lovely ideas, interesting notions, marvelous concepts of all shapes and kinds. But not all of those communicate to the soul the way truth does. I have learned the difference between the feeling I get when I experience something genius and when I experience something good, as in true, from a divine source. This was different, all these feelings I was getting talking with the missionaries. It wasn't overly intriguing, new, or intricately complex, or fascinating. But it was true. In the end, that was enough.
I moved to Austin. I started attending church each Sunday. I started attending institute classes during the week to learn more. I felt awkward often, as I was surrounded by people who had never tasted alcohol, smoked a cigarette, or kissed passionately......etc. I felt like I didn't really belong. That is, until I met Christy Kizerian. To be continued.....

My friends, chapter 1: ZACH

I am blessed. I am dearly, dearly blessed in my life. I have great friends. I think I should spend some time, now and again, talking about one friend at a time. Should you feel a little squirrely about appearing in/on this blog, please leave a comment to that effect and I will know to use a code name when it's your turn. Zach doesn't get that privilege I guess, 'cause he's first.
Zach and I grew up in exactly the same place at exactly the same time but we never met. El Paso, just on different sides of town. I grew up in the middle of the east side suburbs. He lived all the way on the other side of town, on the west side where all the rich kids grew up. We met in El Paso at a party but we never really talked much or got to know each other until we both lived in Austin. In 1998 I moved to Austin from El Paso. He was already here, going to UT. When I met him he had long hair in a pony tail. Once we met back up in Austin he had cut his hair and changed his attitude enough to talk to me. We became quick friends. He was good friends with Ryan, my friend since kindergarten, and we all used to hang out. I loved being with them because they let me be Mormon without a hassle. We liked going to shows, coffee shops, galleries, and just eating, chatting, and laughing. Zach was in an honors program at UT; Humanities. We used to talk a lot about religion; he liked the mythological side of it while I enjoyed the practical/applicable aspects. None of his girlfriends ever liked me. There was the one who made fun of me for not drinking saying, "Didn't Jesus Himself partake of wine?" Zach was kind of annoyed with her after she said that. He quickly came to my aid declaring, "We like Kristi not to drink." I don't even think it was a loaded remark but rather, a compliment of sorts. Like, we don't need her to participate in that in order to love her the way we do.
We had a lot of fun over the years. He saw me through some pretty weird transitional times. He even performed a song with me at church, Mormon church! I know that was a stretch for him, but he was a great sport. It was a song he wrote and I wrote lyrics on top of it. It was great. The only semi-difficult part of it was the laughs a certain lyric caused, something about a girl with volcanoes in her chest, an unfortunate metaphor for twenty somethings. Zach and I didn't catch the seeming innuendo. I wish we had. I would have kept the volcano singular instead. Ha ha! Good times.
Well, years came and went. He went with me to the jewelery store when I picked out my engagement ring. He was at my wedding reception, trying to keep Ryan and my brother from ditching the event. He was the only heterosexual guy friend I was allowed to have post-marriage. He moved to Champagne, IL for design school. Ryan went, too. We kept in touch. He ended up moving to Chicago. The following year I ended up there, too. My husband, at the time, got into law school up there. We stayed with Zach as we looked for a place to live, jobs, etc. He was a great host and took us to all kinds of great events and places including ART CHICAGO, a huge exhibit in a massive white tent in Grant Park. He introduced me to Margie's Candies, downtown Chicago, a place to get real hot fudge sundaes from heaven. Why they had a ceiling high, towering display of porcelain Victorian dolls covered in inches of grime and dust I will never know. But, yes, the fudge was life saving, especially during my divorce.
When I called Zach to tell him I was getting divorced he simply said, "Of course you are, Kristi, of course you are," in that knowing, kindly, big brotherly sort of voice. I hadn't even told him the part about the Ukrainian girl! He already knew it would be coming I guess, sooner or later. That reaction alone helped me feel better in a very bleak hour that lasted for about 27 months.
I ended up moving back to Austin. Zach is still up in Chicago. He's publishing books and designing things that make your mouth water and getting really famous. I saw him last weekend at Nomads, a place people apparently go to sing Indie Karaoke. It was great. I sang Morrissey. He sang Cat Power with Ryan. We parted with a forlorn hug. He's so like a brother, and not in the cheesy sense, like that thing you tell boys when they like you too much. No, he is like a soul brother, forever. I love you, Zach.

Back to School

Today is our first day back with kids. This is my best class ever! They are so sweet and hardworking and darling. They are cooperative and smart. They make my life a lot of fun. Today I read Jan Brett's The Mitten, a Ukrainian Folk Tale about a boy named Nicki who asks his grandmother to make him some snow white mittens. She warns him that they might get lost in the snow and tries to reason with him on picking a different color. Nicki insists upon white. So, she knits him snow white mittens. Sure as sugar, Nicki loses one almost the instant he gets outside. He doesn't even notice for quite a while, he's so busy playing. While the mitten lays in the snow, woodland animals discover it and pile in, one by one, until a bear sneezes and all the animals get thrown about. Nicki sees his mitten floating down from the sky. The animals were gone so it was quite a curious sight. Upon his return, his grandmother is glad to see him safe and sound with both his mittens. However, she looks quizzically at the one mitten that has been stretched to more than twice it's original size. Gosh! It's cold today!

Agency

We're all free agents. We've all got one life to live on earth. I like knowing myself. What I mean is, I like knowing what I'll do in any situation. I am very predictable. I like that. That doesn't mean I'm not spontaneous. Heavens, no!! It just means I can count on knowing what to do. There's never anything overly befuddling. I'm glad life works the way it does. The law of diminishing returns is harsh but so good for us, if we know what to do and what NOT to do. When it comes to decision making, some choices become more fulfilling the more you decide to do them: exercise, service, music, languages, various art forms, reading, being a good friend, or just becoming a better person. "All art gains freedom through discipline." Never mind who said it because I'm not sure just now. Anyhow, on the flipside, there are choices that we may make which, as we delve more and more into them, we derive less and less pleasure from, but they demand that we partake ever increasing amounts while simultaneously losing our freedom to stop the behavior. It's so sad to think about. As any addict will tell you, you can never ever get enough of what you can't stand. You love it. You hate it. You need it. You can't stand it. You want more. That is the conundrum. That is the problem with vice. It robs you of your agency. It struck me today: there are about a zillion ways to do this life the wrong way. The diversity is amazing, I'm sure. It's just, I'm not interested in any of those paths. The only path I'm interested in is the right one, and that one is straight and narrow, and there's only one! It doesn't meander. Novelty is just not as promising as being safe and sound.
I once had a conversation with a young man who described himself as being "a lot of fun" but not what one could call "safe". What good is fun if it makes you lose your luster? No. No, thank you. I'll take luster over fun. I like diamonds more than chocolate, even if it's much much easier to get chocolate and you can get it cheap from just about anywhere. Diamonds don't come as often and they're very expensive. That's okay.
"All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on." ~Havelock Ellis
I need to let some things go and to other things I must hold tightly.