WWRWP—"Nineteen Forever..."

We have a sweet ritual here at the Beach of honoring one another on our birthdays with written wishes, sometimes as many wishes as the age being turned. The wishes go out to the birthday girl (or boy) and then, as you write, the wishes naturally expand and contract, creating universal wishes for all...

           1. love and kindness for the dandelions.

Yesterday, one of the Wednesday gals, our baby, turned nineteen. Nineteen! This moves me for a couple reasons, mainly because we have been writing together since she was fourteen and she was a brilliant writer even way back then.

                     2. Unlimited minutes to talk face-to-face with your friends and family and loved ones.

                         3. Freedom to tell anyone you love that you love them. 4. Daily cake. 5. dessert always.

The other reason is... NINETEEN! Do you remember nineteen? Do you have nineteen wishes?


6. homecooked beautiful meals using every color found in the natural world. 7. a bouquet of marigolds. 8. Marigold honey. 9. Free Lunch! It's everywhere! 
10. A conversation per day with a stranger. 


     When I was nineteen I took the year off before going away to Evergreen. I stayed at home with Ma and worked at the frozen yoghurt shop and took classes at the Improv and got into Theatre Sports.


11. writing for the love of it. 12. singing as loud as you wish and feeling it massage your insides. 
13. cartwheels across the greenest grass. 14. a lindy hop beneath the bluest sky.

           Late at night I'd come home and find Ma still up watching TV in the dark, swallowed in her big bed with the layers of soft, white comforters and blankets, puffy with Ma love. I'd make her switch it to Star Trek and throw myself into the creamy softiness, merge with it.
         "You smell like cigarettes, Roc, Ish! Go brush your teeth!" I'd been at Dolores', our coffeeshop on Pico. Like most work nights, Sus and I smoked and coffeed ourselves into optimism, before coming down and heading home. After dropping Sus off in Bel Air, I'd head back down the hill toward Ma, blasting Blondie's The Tide is High over and over, fighting off the despair.
         "K," I'd say and not move. Maybe at the commercial.
We'd watch young Kirk, thin Kirk, with his globular muscles and tight space pants.
And we'd dream.
         "Roc! Honey, wake up. It's over. Go back to your room. You can't sleep in here."


15. Nineteen days of silence. 16. Nineteen days of silliness. 17. Nineteen days of inner-reflection. 18. loving your reflection in the mirror. 19. loving your reflection in others. AND * one for GOOD LUCK... Nineteen Forever, Baby!