Happy New Year! Buon Anno Nuovo! May this be a year of Creation, Ambition, Exploration, Success and Fun.

Auguri!

You Wouldn't Know the Sahara Desert If You Were Standing In the Middle of It.

We are driving from Abu Dhabi to the south to the Saudi Arabian border. We pass lots of sand and camels on the side of the road giving me bedroom eyes. We then turned off the main "highway" (I use this term very lightly) and got onto a gravel road going into miles and miles of red sand dunes. In every direction that is all you can see. They are neverending, breathtaking, like silent soldiers, waiting patiently. They are comforting and daunting all at the same time. We drove for about 10 miles and came to this arch way made of ceramic. "This must be the camel sheperd colony," I thought to myself. Chris had told me we were staying in a tent. And I believed him. But as we passed through this gate, we headed down into a dune valley and all the sudden it appeared. Our oasis. Our 5 Star Oasis.

Little villas spread out over the dunes. We enter the palatial lobby greeted by men in turbans. We are served hot tea, dates and fresh crushed strawberry juice. We watched the sun set over the desert and there are now millions of stars. It's 3:10 in the morning. Chris is sleeping, but I'm out on the balcony star-gazing. The temperature has dropped considerably. I can't believe I'm here.

We had our first (and probably last) alcohol of the trip here. Beer tastes that much better when you know it is "forbidden."

http://qasralsarab.anantara.com/

It would be worth it to come to this paradoxical country simply to see the desert. The best part about it is that I would have been just as happy sleeping in a tent with the camel sheperds. But tonight I will settle for this mecca :-).

The Chronicles of a Jew-Talian: Part Uno

Tonight I made my annual pilgrimage to Temple with Grandpa to observe Yom Kippur. When I write annual, I mean annual. It is literally the one day a year that I make it a point to go to Synagogue. Many times, when I walk into Synagogue I feel like I'm walking into foreign territory without a passport, like I'm not "Jewish enough" to be there or that someone will look at me and be able to see that most of the time, the idea of organized religion makes my skin crawl. Maybe the ceiling will open up and I will be ejected from my seat and catapulted out onto the street so I won't taint the other members of the congregation with my non-Jewishness.

Or maybe someone will realize how little I actually know about the religion. Like this past Wednesday when I was sitting on a curb in my white T-shirt and jeans over at Roberston and Pico (aka the Hasidic heaquarters of L.A.). I was waiting for my brake pads to get replaced by my lovely mechanic. An older Russian Jewish lady approached me and asked me why I was wearing pants. I was a little stunned. My instinct was to say, "Duh lady, so I won't be sitting naked on a curb in the middle of L.A." But, being the smart woman that I am, I kept that response to myself. Then she informed me that the Torah says that women should only wear skirts, not pants.

Wow!!! I was shocked! I have never read the Torah in it's entirety (nor the Bible, nor the Bhagavad Gita - which yes, I did start). And I had most definitely never realized that there was a fashion portion in the Torah which tells women not to wear pants. If I had known there was fashion advice in the Holy Book, I would probably have paid more attention because God knows (and my friends have told me) that I definitely need help in the style department. Little did I know that Adonai was there for me all along.

But tonight, on Yom Kippur, something very different happened. I was sitting there during the service (held at the glamourous Westwood Horizons Senior Living Center) with Gramps, Cousin Judy and Grandpa's girlfriend Bernice (yes, at the age of 92 he's still workin' it), and something clicked. It was like being home, or for the first time, looking around the room and recognizing everyone's faces even though I had never met any of them before. I felt a part of it as opposed to apart from it. I realized that this room full of people over 80 was my reason for being there. These are the people that had to struggle to practice what they believe in, the ones that had to sacrifice and suffer and take risks so that they and their children and their children's children could be here in beautiful L.A. to celebrate together.

And it no longer was about a test that I could never pass.

I missed my grandma a lot tonight. We lost her almost exactly 7 years ago. It is very serendipitous that today, when I was cleaning out my old closet at my parent's house (something that my mom has been asking me to do for about 3 years now - you're welcome mom), I found several old pictures of my grandmother - Mina. One particular picture that struck me (that I now have propped next to me while sitting here at the computer) is of Grandma at about 16 years old. She's wearing a white sleeveless shirt and long flowy pants (guess she didn't get the no-pants memo either), her hair is falling around her shoulders and she's leaning against a tree in what looks to be some kind of forest or wilderness. She has a playful look in her eyes that is sexy, yet child-like, and makes me think that right after this picture was taken she began running barefoot through the woods screaming and singing and laughing. There are nights when I miss her and I wonder if I was as close with her in real life as I am with the memory of her.

I don't understand Hebrew, I don't read Hebrew, in fact for my Bat-Mitzvah, I memorized all the prayers by ear instead of going to Hebrew school and learning the language, like many of my admirable friends did. But if every language is really just a series of grunts that have gotten more sophistacted and specific over time, for me tonight, I was grunting like a champ. It was like the language became clear. The sounds were about feelings as opposed to meanings. I knew what those words mean because my grandparents know what they mean and their parents knew and their parents' parents knew. And it was strange, because I found myself singing along with the same reckless abandon that my grandmother had in that picture, as if they were songs I sing every day while skipping through the forest of my life. They are our tribal songs that have nothing to do with how devout we are, or to which place of worship we report to, and I'm pretty darn sure they have nothing to do with the clothing we wear.

So, it became blindingly clear, on this night, the beginning of the 5,770th year of Judaism, that it's not really about being Jewish, or Catholic, or Christian, or Muslim or Athiest etc... It's about understanding that there is something bigger than the physical - call it Adonai or Allah or spirit or vibration. It's expressed through us, through our art and our music, through our words and the love we have for eachother.

So this year: What do I choose to express?

If our thoughts become our words; and our words, our actions; and our actions, our character; and our character, our destiny; then I know: IT'S UP TO ME...it's up to me who I choose to be.

L'Shanna Tova. To a Happy, Healthy and Peaceful New Year.

I Do

Going to a best friend's wedding invariably brings up many questions. There are the initial questions: What should I wear? Should I wear an up-do or go o naturale? Should I buy them the ice cream scoop/gelato maker set from Williams Sonoma, or the Classy Cookbook and Cookbook Holder from Crate and Barrel? Questions, questions, questions. The time leading up to the wedding is full of fun and gossip and laughter. It is a thrill to take part in the whole process, to be a part of the drama. Even for someone who is not going to be getting married tomorrow (or the day after tomorrow), I get swept up in the magic of it all. I find myself fantasizing about how MY dress will look and where I'LL plan my special day. Yet, all of these questions, all these contemplations are just the tip of the iceberg.

We spend the first quarter of our lives in perfect step with our closest friends. I have been blessed to have a very eclectic group of friends that I look at as my sisters and brothers. We are ALWAYS by each others' side, we are always there to protect, support and make fun of one another. Growing up, there were soccer games (aka flower picking sessions for me) and talent shows, school dances and first kisses. There were the nights of slumber parties, toilet papering the neighbors' houses, daring each other to run down the street with our training bras outside our shirts. We moved from junior high to high school and then to college in perfect rhythm like dancers following the beat of a drum.

Sitting today at this beautiful wedding (third row on the aisle - I snagged a good seat)

back dropped by an emerald ocean, I watch as my two very special friends vow to spend their lives together. Two tribes merging, forming a new. I realize in this moment that the questions I have for myself are different than I thought they would be. I ask myself, do you still feel total connection to your friends even though you are taking different risks at this point in your lives? Do you still feel total love for your friends even if you are not going through the same experiences? Do you still adore your friends even if your paths are different?

All I could think was, "I do. I do. I do."

After so many years of being kept in step by the structure of our daily lives, it is great to know that the comradery, companionship and closeness of our bond is not reliant on any structure at all. It is a feeling that is with us always. We choose to allow the differences in our journeys to bring us together instead of separate us.

After the ceremony (and totally ruining my make-up from crying) we danced. We danced and danced and danced and I felt happy as a clam to have everybody there, exactly where they are, and to be there, exactly where I am, and to feel nothing but pure celebration dancing together to the beat of our favorite songs.

Vegas for Obama - or Bust!

I just returned from a weekend of campaigning in Vegas for Obama. Yes, this may sound like a very mavericky (this is my new favorite word - thank you John McCain) thing to do, but I know many many people who have been doing this same thing. It was quite a site. Thousands of volunteers, many from California, hauling ass out to Vegas to convince our neighbors that no we don't need another war-mongering robo-man governing the White House for the next eight years.

So Friday morning, my mom and I, armed with Peets coffee and homemade Egg McMuffins (compliments of Chef Dominic Cirincione) piled into the car and headed out for the dry-aired Nevada. I even got my hair flat-ironed so I wouldn't have to deal with the frizz-factor all weekend. We were full of anticipation and enthusiasm.

Spending a car-ride with my mom is always an adventure. What happens when you lock a mother and daughter in a tiny box with on only an AC and stereo for four and a half hours? This: laughing, bickering, laughing, bickering, listening to David Sedaris, then laughing some more. I like to play these games with mom where I say ridiculous things and see how fast I can get a rise. I start out simple. For example: "Mom, what would you do if I decided to join the circus?" (No response) "Mom, what you do if I got pregnant through Immaculate Conception?" (No response) "Mom, what would you do if I told you I was Gay?" (She responds: "There's too much evidence to the contrary"). "Mom, what would you do if I told you I had a big joint in the glove compartment waiting to be smoked?" (No response). "Mom, what would you do if I told you I was a Republican?" "THAT'S ENOUGH LISA..." she sighs, and I finally relent.

To change the subject, my mom begins telling me about being in High School and campaigning for John Kennedy. I was starting to understand why she, to this day, remembers that as one of the highlights of her life (of course none of it has to do with his dashing good looks). That feeling of excitement and optimism is contagious and became even more apparent when we rolled into Vegas.

We arrived just in time to drop our bags and hop back in the car to drive to Henderson, Nevada for a rally for Joe Biden (my boyfriend). Of course my car doesn't have GPS so we were relying on the ever so unreliable powers of MapQuest. Of course we got lost and finally had to stop at a gas station with no name. I asked the attendant (who was cross-eyed) "Can you tell me how to get to Morrell Park?" "No."she replied. "Okay...So...you can't tell me how to get there, or you don't now where it is?" I start to leave. "Are you going to that damn Biden thing?" "Yes, I am." "It's down the street on the left." I was going to begin my spiel about how she shouldn't put 'damn' and 'Biden' in the same sentence, but decided to spare my breath, and just said "Thank you."

We arrived at Morrell Park to a line around the block, security guards and more Obama paraphernalia than I have seen in my entire life. Of course there was some backlash. There was a McCain bus parked out front where McCainians were passing out free hot dogs...I don't really get it either. Nevertheless, the turn-out was overwhelming, and my mom and me hiked to the back of the line. People of all colors, ages, sizes and shapes were decked out with Obama-gear. To the left I heard a news reporter speaking in Italian. She was reporting for the national Italian station based out of Rome. I was feeling right at home. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. This sweet looking girl with a wonderful French accent asks if she can interview me. She introduces herself as Cecile is a reporter for Le Monde, Paris and is doing an article on women voters and especially on their response to Sarah Palin. The article is called: Sarah Palin peine à capter le vote des femmes. It's in French, but there is a voice over and photo of me at the end. Check it out: http://www.lemonde.fr/elections-americaines/portfolio/2008/10/20/sarah-palin-peine-a-capter-le-vote-des-femmes_1109164_829254.html .

Me and Mom at Biden Rally

The rally was fantastic. Biden was so down-to-earth. He was amiable and simple, but also specific and empassioned. The best part was meeting him at the end. I pushed my way up as far as I could, but was still stuck behind some giants. He reached over and pulled me to the front. I was starstruck. I gave him a big hug and said, "Joe, I feel like I know you!" He said, "We do know eachother, we're all the same."

The next day, Saturday morning, we started on our canvassing mission. We were assigned to Region 6, southwest Vegas. These were middle class neighborhoods made up of track housing, one house after another, all looking the same. Going door to door, I was astounded by the diversity of people that support Obama and believe that he is the one that can transform our country. There were Hispanics and African-Americans. Caucasians young and old. Filipinos, Ethiopians, Israelis and Palestinians. One Filipino man named Asisi said, "People are always talking about 'Pro-Life' that is their reason for voting for McCain. Well, what about Pro-Life for our soldiers in Iraq and for the innocent Iraqis? This is our opportunity to do good." Here are pictures of some of these awesome people I met along the way.

The Abdala Family. Me and Samir Abbasi. Me, Harvey the Bouncer, Jackie.

There were kids, teens, retirees, everyone so excited and pumped-up by the prospect of having new blood in the White House. And for those that were on the fence, when they asked me, why on earth they should listen to me, this is all I could say: "I believe Barack Obama to be a transformational and inspirational figure for our country. I believe he can help us start fresh on a more compassionate, humanitarian and humanistic path. For the first time, in a long time, I can truly say that I feel proud to be an American."

Thanks for reading.

Welcome!

Well, I am definitely new to this whole "blogging" thing. About a month before this, I thought blogging was a form medieval torture used against traitors to the Queen. I am really excited about this new expansion in my technological awareness. I will be using this space to keep up on my journaling and also to talk about the things that baffle, disturb and tickle me pink. Thanks for reading and I hope you'll report back frequently for my weekly updates! Ciao Ciao.

Lisa