Posts tagged ‘only connect’

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May 10, 2011

alex was here - pt. one

Note to Self, by alexandrawrote (featuring words by Edenland)


Remembrance is a form of meeting. — Khalil Gibran

I began writing here a few months ago, after saying that this great big world seems to shrink a little via the blogosphere. I could see this delicate string that seemed to connect so many together. However unexpectedly.

Only connect…

Eden and I became friends through tragedy. I don’t mean to sound melodramatic, but if not for the BP Gulf oil spill, I would not have been a part of a BlogHer/kirtsy benefit last July: artists and writers working to create pieces for the The Nature Conservancy. As a photographer, I was given the words of a stranger to work with. Eden was that stranger. I sent my completed artwork to BlogHer (Note to Self, above).

Then, I read Eden’s blog for the first time, read beyond the eight lines I had been sent for the project. And I saw words all too familiar. Words no one should know:

B-Cell Follicular Aggressive Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma

And a friendship across hemispheres was born. (Click here to read the posts that explain the whole story. Go ahead. I’ll wait.).

In March, Eden left me this note:

Wait til I email you a dastardly beautiful plan. HINT: It’s to do with creativity, hope, art, and cancer. You are so totally in.

And when she emailed me, once again, the world got just that much smaller.

Eden’s friend Vee, lost her husband, Alex, to an extremely rare cancer, Leiomyosarcoma, one year ago today (it’s officially the 11th in Australia). And while his wife and their baby boy are joined by friends and family to remember him, well, I just think Alex left this world before he could meet all the people he should have met. Photographed all the people and places he should have had the chance to see.

Eden had this brilliant idea to place his walk into oncology wards and brighten the world with his beautiful art. And yesterday, she and Vee did. Ah-mazing.

Unfortunately, I explained, here in LA it’s not quite possible to sneak into a hospital ward with a giant canvas. You first have to give the security guy your ID and get a sticker. And then your cover is blown.

NEWSFLASH: I’m not Banksy. I didn’t want to get arrested for trying to hang a picture at Cedars.

But I had another idea.

Vee sent me a beautiful mixed media piece of Alex’s and I penned a few words and had them printed on 5×5 cards. (Because the internet is ginormous, and Vee and Alex’s baby boy deserves a bit of privacy, I’m leaving out their last name.)

With some help, I spread the cards around town. From Santa Monica to Westwood to West Hollywood to the Valley.

On Third Street Promenade, I was met by various reactions. Many people were kind. I’d told Eden I was prepared for the cold shoulder by those who’d assume I was passing out flyers for a discount mani-pedi, but I was a bit surprised by how personally I took the rejection.

And the realization that I so often smile and shake my head when offered what I assume is a flyer for a discount mani-pedi but, in fact, could be someone who could is trying to share with the world the legacy of another human being.

It made me think a lot about the way we view each other. How little we listen and take in. The way we walk through life without interacting. Rushing, always rushing.

Only connect…

Cancer has touched all of us, too many of us.

I gave away so many cards. Spread Alex’s work through the streets and canyons and beaches. I have so many stories to share. I have so much more to say. But for now, I leave you with this email I received from a stranger who came upon one of the cards:

I found this postcard about Alex in West Hollywood, California … my thoughts are with him.

Vee, from LA to NSW, we’ve shared the beauty Alex saw in the world. Thank you for sharing him with us.

On the boardwalk off of Ocean Avenue. By the ferris wheel at the Santa Monica Pier. On Third Street Promenade, the palm lined sidewalks of Doheny Drive, on San Vicente and Ventura Boulevards. Alex is here.


xo a.

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May 3, 2011

post haste


Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company. - Lord Byron

The age of technology has both revived the use of writing and provided ever more reasons for its spiritual solace. Emails are letters, after all, more lasting than phone calls, even if many of them r 2 cursory 4 u. - Anna Quindlen

I was in Paper Source the other day, which has opened a lovely, new ephemeral palace in my neighborhood. Wandering the shelves of letterpress cards, the stacks of envelopes in all colors and sizes, I found myself amongst my people. A sanctuary for the lost art of written correspondence.

For almost a century, the telephone replaced most letters beyond Hallmark cards. But with email, texts, and tweets, it’s as though a lost art is being reclaimed. Which makes a letter-writing girl like myself very happy.

When I was nine, I had a pen pal in England. His name was Philip. All I remember was the delicate paper he wrote on, and that he lived on a street called something like Christmas Cottage Lane. We definitely didn’t have street names like that in Los Angeles.

In my nine-year-old mind, I imagined it was always snowing on Christmas Cottage Lane. And we definitely didn’t have snow in Los Angeles.

(Except February 8, 1989 - the thin blanket of white melted by midday but my parents let me stay home from school and play because it was snowing in Los Angeles.)

Two decades later, my correspondence is a mix of ink well, ink cartridge, and email, but I always love the chance to pick up a pen. I love the whole process from paper to stamp to double-checking that the letter didn’t get stuck in the mail chute. (Why check? Has anyone ever opened up the box and actually found their letter still sitting there?)

My love of epistolary novels began at 13 with the Griffin and Sabine series. And by high school, moved to nonfiction collections as well. How I longed to be a Victorian with the better part of the day devoted to letters. To reading and responding, of news learned and relayed from a stack of envelopes upon a silver tray.

With some friends and relatives, email has become as cherished as time we spend on the phone or in person. In writing, we share our lives in markedly different ways. And therein lies the beauty of a letter (whether it arrives in your mailbox or inbox):

In conversation, you’re always thinking about what to say next.

But reading a letter, you’re fully engaged in what is said to you.

It’s not quite the same settling in at my computer first thing each morning, tea in hand, checking email and my twitter feed, and yet I feel there’s a connection. The envelopes stacked onscreen. The mouse my silver tray.

xo a.

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April 25, 2011

this is the memory palace…

It’s no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense. - Mark Twain

If there were an official fan club for The Memory Palace, I’d run for president. I’d imagine it the sort of club with card-carrying members sporting lapel pins with icons from different episodes and wearing secret-decoder rings. And I’d like my secret-decoder ring to look like one of those fabulous cocktail baubles my grandmother wore in the sixties - because who said ciphers can’t be glam?

As a writer, I find the greatest aspect of my work not the actual writing but the research - culling fabulous, priceless, useless, crucial bits of information and inspiration from films and books and dinner party conversations.

Writing allows me to get to know a little bit about a lot of things. Sometimes, quite a lot. Whether I’m writing a magazine article or doing character research for a script, I am at my happiest when marinating in a sea of information.

About two years ago, my aunt introduced me to TMP, a podcast series created by her friend, Nate DiMeo. And I was hooked.

Nate gathers these incredible stories, facts that somehow slipped between the pages of our textbooks and faded from history, and gives them life in these beautifully written, often heart-wrenching, vignettes.

Don’t be put off by the need for a tissue or two. Consider it all the more reason to listen.

Generally running about six minutes an episode, Nate blends his gift for capturing the essence of these long forgotten people and places with moving soundtracks. (Always check out the Music, Footnotes & Ephemera after each podcast – the beauty is in the details.)

My introduction to TMP was with The Brothers Booth, which blew my always info-hungry mind in a million ways – and remains my favorite. But I have a lot of favorites. Like Nee Weinberg. And 400 Words for 79th Street. And Gigantic, which had me in tears late one night last week as I listened to it again. Trust me, you will listen to them again. And again.

Did I mention that they’re free? I still can’t wrap my head around that one. Nothing this good is free. And yet it is.

We spend so much time looking at the world – on TV, online, in print. The idea of listening to a story is truly a luxury. Our information tends to come with sensory overload. Multi-tasking sensory overload.

So, give yourself a gift. Take a few minutes to sit and simply listen. Start with The Brothers Booth. Start anywhere. And please come back and tell me what you think. xo a.

And thanks, Nate. The Palace is magnificent.

PS You can listen to TMP episodes on the site or download podcasts on iTunes, here. And, if you’re lucky enough, you just might hear an episode on your local public radio station. Sign up here to stay updated on TMP comings and goings.

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April 18, 2011

Be The Change: A Lullaby, A Giveaway

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not. - Dr. Seuss

If you think you are too small to be effective, you have never been in bed with a mosquito. - Betty Reese

(TEENSY UPDATE: I’m blaming Mercury in Retrograde, Passover, Easter, and a slew of other things, but this is going to be a chaotic week. So, This giveaway will go through Wednesday. xo a.)

I grew up in a family that has always been involved with non-profit organizations – from fundraising to helping coordinate events to serving on boards of directors – my entire life I was taught that that we truly must be the change we want to see in the world. Because it is ours to do.

And I learned very early on that the real work, the real rewards, come behind the scenes. And that work is unpaid, long hours filled with passion and frustration and late night brainstorming sessions, and brilliant inspiration, and collapsing in gleeful exhaustion once an event has ended.

And the events always end. And the generous supporters return to their daily to-dos - life goes on for them. But for those we’ve supported through cocktail parties and telethons and 10Ks and benefits, they return to the same lives and same struggles they faced the day before.

I’ve known Morgan of the818 most of my life. I have never met Getty Emilia Storm. But I think they are both extraordinary. Morgan for spearheading the cause inspired by little Getty. Getty, and her family, for bringing the realities of SMA into the consciousness of people everywhere.

And to Angela and Alex Dezen, who could have more than content making people happy with their music as The Damnwells. Who chose to make an album that brought beautiful music into the world for the greater good of Getty and all SMA families.

For Morgan and Getty and Angela and Alex – and sooo many others – the release of Lullabies for Getty was not a one-day deal. And that is why we must keep spreading the word about this album.

Supporting causes close to my heart has allowed me to do some pretty cool things in my life. I’ve met inspiring, incredible people. I’ve traveled. I’ve been in the circus.

I’ve found myself humbled in ways I never imagined. I’ve learned the meaning of gratitude. Of generosity. Of hope. Why is it that in giving I always feel I am the one who receives?

I’m giving away a copy of Lullabies for Getty on iTunes.

I am grateful to the people who worked to make this album possible. I am grateful for the fact that the Storm family fights to be the change in SMA. I still can’t believe that supporting SMA means we get the gift of this gorgeous music.

To enter, tweet or Facebook post a link about Lullabies for Getty and share it with me, here and I’ll announce the winner on Wednesday night.

If you already have the album, please tweet or post about the album, too.

Be the change. xo a.

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