"I want you to help me kill myself."

Sweaty, itchy, feeling too fat with my two month old daughter strapped to my chest, I had pushed my brother in his new wheelchair to the Starbucks about 10 blocks from my parents home.

"I already asked Mom but she said no. I'm not going to ask Dad. I don't think he would be able to."

"Well, I'm thrilled that I'm your third choice."

"I'm not kidding. I need your help."

And as I sat there with an iced chai and my new fussing baby I considered weather or not I would kill my brother.

All I could think was how the fuck did we get here?

Seven months earlier, at around 6:00 AM on Saturday, April 12, 1997, I was awakened by the phone. It was my Mom.

"Bumper has been in an accident. He's at Valley Med. They won't tell me anything."

I assured her, "They can't tell you anything. He's fine. He always is. I'll meet you there in a half hour."

Just a few months before that she had gotten a similar call that my brother Bumper had been in a snowboarding accident. He had bruised his ribs and spleen and hit his head. He'd temporarily lost his short term memory, his friend later explained to us.

The resulting phone conversations that my Mom and Dad and I had with him proved ridiculously funny. In part, I'm sure, due to our relief that nothing too serious had happened to him. But also because talking to him that day was an exercise in frustration. He could remember who we were, what our voices sounded like, but not what he had just said to us or us to him. He repeated himself again and again and we laughed and asked him questions so he would repeat himself once more. We were ridiculous. But we were laughing and really, you can get through anything if you can laugh, right?

That boarding accident proved to be relatively minor and he had recovered fully. He was a big strong strapping young man. At 21 years old and 6'4", his body was remarkable and resilient.

I felt sure everything was going to be fine this time as well.

We arrived at the hospital and asked at the admissions desk about Bumper. They made us wait. Then a nurse came for us and took us to the "Family Room," closed the door and left us alone. There I stood, four months pregnant with my first child, my mother and father looking confused and worried and overwhelmed. I tried to soothe them and comfort them. I tried to think why the nurses weren't telling us anything. I tried to hope for the best.

Then the doctor came. He spoke to my parents.

"Your son has broken his neck. He is paralyzed."

The doctor said a lot of other things. I heard none of them. I think I shook my head. I think I said "No. No. No. No." But honestly, I may have imagined that.

The following weeks were a blur of concerned friends and family, ICU, surgeries, Bumper's halo, recovery, ICU again, the rotating bed, endless batteries for the Sony disc man, my folks and I taking shifts around the clock to sit by his bed and then - when they would kick us out - to sit vigil in the waiting room with once hourly peeks in on him.

The hospital staff and management told us we should leave. Go home and let him face his recovery on his own. They told us that we weren't helping, being there all the time. That his adjustment would be easier if we didn't hover so much.

Over the weeks and months he had a number of roommates. Many of them had no family with them for days and weeks at a time. Some of them would leave the hospital and go "home" to a nursing care facility. No one who loved them would be caring for them. They were alone.

We did not budge. My folks and I stuck it out. We were there. With him every single day. If we couldn't trade places with him we were certainly going to do our best to know what brand new doorway of hell he was going to be "walking" through every day.

During his stay at that hospital I watched my brother move his arms, more and more with practice. I watched him get into the power wheelchair and roam the halls of the hospital after weeks of laying flat. I watched him do physical and occupational therapy every day and learn to tell the hospital staff about his needs. After a number of months he went home with my folks to their house. Ramps were built. A new bed was brought in. The front bathroom was remodeled to accommodate the shower wheelchair. Attendants were hired to help him with his daily needs.

While I was watching this, my little brother was living this. My parents baby boy was experiencing a life none of us had ever imagined. He was learning how to live a new way. Without the use of his hands and legs. Without the freedoms he had known his entire life. Without the ability to storm out on it all with a grand, "Fuck you!" letting the door swing behind him.

And, of course, I was pregnant. And let's be clear. I did not want to be pregnant anymore. I'm not saying that I wanted my baby to come out of me, here into the world. I did not want to be a mom. I did not want to hold my baby in my arms. This creature inside was, in my opinion, sapping energy and attention from me that I could not spare. I wanted this pregnancy to go away. I wanted it to end. I wanted God or the universe or whoever was in charge to know that I was not capable of giving any more of myself. That I was destroyed. Broken beyond repair and I had no business becoming a parent in the middle of this. But god/the universe/whoever turned a deaf ear to my desperate requests.

Because my daughter was born.

The OB nurse (phenomenal, amazing, wonderful woman) carried my minutes-old daughter over to Bumper and held her to his cheek, resting the weight if this new person on his shoulder. And things shifted.

Suddenly our tears were joy soaked. All of our sarcastic and surreal laughter that had helped us to survive the months of fear and misery gave way to laughter sprung from genuine delight. My new little person brought with her healing and peace and potential that none of us expected. She was an angel. Sent here with the daunting task of healing my whole family of our deep, open, painful recent wounds. And, apparently, she was up to the task. Who knew?

Hope springs eternal, or some shit like that.

So as I sat there at the Starbucks, with milk swollen breasts that I was resistant to whip out in public, I considered my brother's request.

If I really love him do I kill him or do I say no?

I LOVE HER. I HONESTLY LOVE HER.

This morning, while getting ready for work, I plunked down on the stairs next to my daughter, threw my arm over her shoulder and I asked her about the book she's been reading the past few days.

Sakes alive.

Madigan, much like her father, has no ability to edit. None. She droned on and on about every single excruciating detail of this 150 page book, sprinkled with the obvious, "Oh! Wait, I forgot this one part where..."

Twenty motherfuckingminutes later I had to cut her off. Cause if I didn't I was going to shove her face into the dog hair covered stairway carpeting just to muffle the sound of her voice so my ears could stop bleeding on to my work dress.

Honestly I should have known better because a few weeks ago my husband took her to see WALL*E and I couldn't be there so when they returned I'd asked her what it was all about. It took her nearly a half hour to describe a movie that has NO TALKING for the first hour.

How could I let this happen again?

My brain must have blocked it. Like childbirth.

CUPCAKE FAMILY RULZ

Every family has a few rules that set them apart. In our family:

1. We don't keep caged animals
We can't reconcile being prison wardens of a living creature. This makes it easier for our kids to understand why we will always turn down offers from loving friends and family for rats and snakes and gerbils. Also, it makes zoos just a little more tragic.

2. We don't have video games
Our kids don't need them. We don't need to think that they do. This means no Wii, no Gameboys, no retro Atari from my own precious teen hood. Harder than you might think. Oddly, this is the family rule that causes surprising numbers of friends and family to say, "Just wait. You'll cave." Which is great.

3. You get to choose how you wear your own hair
Rube has worn his hair long ever since I have known him. I, on the other hand, have had nearly every length and color, Madigan has had fuchsia stripes and tips, and Levi currently sports a look I like to call, "The Shaggy D.A." It's a festival up in here.

4. Our bodies stay intact until adulthood
(With the exception of Maddy's pierced ears)
At 18 my children will get to decide for themselves about piercings, body modifications, circumcisions, tattoos, etc... I'm hoping they will do it all ON their 18th birthdays. Cause you haven't really lived until you've gotten a stupid tramp stamp that you are embarrassed for and that will take thousands of dollars to remove in your late thirties. Or... so I've heard.

5. We make food and buy ingredients
At times when my friends might think we had nothing to eat in our house it is likely I could make a semi-formal sit-down dinner for eight. Most meals start with recipes and cookbooks are legitimate reading material. Just last night I was rummaging around for a sweet treat and because I keep a stocked larder I was able to throw together a Boston Cream Pie. It works for us.

6. We will treat others and one another with respect
Beyond name calling, beyond table manners. People deserve compassion and kindness. Even the people we live with.

7. Letter grades are not the end-all/be-all
My grades never accurately represented my brilliance. And really, if I'm focused on the letter and throwing away the chance to show my kids how fucking amazing it is to be able to learn, then I really am missing the point.

Keep your eyes peeled for Cupcake Family Gray Areas (or "Topics on which Rube and I will always Disagree")

THE SINS OF MY APATHY

On the night that Phyllis died she lay in her hospital bed reading a Reader's Digest. The article she'd been reading was about how to make a marriage last.

She was hours away from her own passing, but she was reading tips about how to honor her marriage in order to make it last.

Her example of grace is not lost on me.

I have been with my husband for a dozen years. We have born children and our life together has been very full and rich at times. There have also been long passages of time that have been angry and resentful and quite separate.

In this lonely and separate place I found a circle of women with whom I seek counsel and strength. My relationship with my own mother has become one of my proudest achievements. However, my relationship with my husband is still fraught with challenges. He is almost as stubborn as I am. He is passionate about his place on this planet and his responsibility not to piss his time here away. He is the only man I ever want to raise children with. He is engaged and thoughtful and kind and compassionate. He is present with our children in a way that I rarely see in the husbands of many of my peers. He reminds me of my father, but slower and more earthy, with fewer guns.

But this marriage thing - it can be relentless. It can be so hard and so lonely. My most terrified moments have been when I could not imagine going on in the marriage, and could not imagine going on without it. (This is not how I've been feeling lately or for quite some time, but my memory is strong of the despair I felt then.)

So I've been sitting with this lesson from Phyllis. Take care of your marriage. Be mindful of it. I've been letting it resonate. Letting it fill me. And I take with me one more lesson from this woman I loved who I do not get to see or hear anymore.

My marriage is my responsibility. Every single day. I can choose to care for it or I can be lazy. And my laziness may come at a very high price.

Today I brought my husband coffee from his favorite coffee shop and I kissed him on the mouth and told him that I know that I am so blessed to be able to love him. And today my eyes are open to that fact.

Thank you, Phyllis.

WHEN MET WITH RESISTANCE I STOP

I started writing about some painful memories and I kept writing and writing and then - I stopped.

So I have half of a huge post that may or may not be appropriate for public consumption. And my brain now resembles oatmeal.

I'm looking for a little happy!

What makes me happy, you ask? Well, let me tell you:


TULIPS!!!


Audible.com - because having a great book read to you is so delicious.

Avocado Oil Soap from Crabtree and Evelyn because it smells exactly like what heaven must smell like when a perfect little breeze is blowing. Seriously. Go to the store and smell it. You'll see.

This sofa - which is totally on sale. We actually need two, so this sale would be nice...

Licorice. Not all licorice. Only the ones with the right amount of mouth numbing anise oil and the right amount of chewiness.

My kiddos. My husband. My family. My friends. Sometimes my doggies.

I got it pretty good over here.

Happy Friday.

SAME BAT TIME, SAME BAT CHANNEL

This weekend is the Garlic Festival. My children and I will be joining my brother for a hot day of smelly food and people, like we do every year. (The food there is out of this fucking world. Seriously.)

Last year my family had quite an adventure there.

There will be no kid competitions this year (that I know about) so we should have a pretty normal day.

Then again, I would have thought that last year.

Anyhoo - Happy Sunday.

GIFT OF ABUNDANCE

Plums.

We've got quite a few. From a friend with trees overflowing. I will make a batch of jam or a plum cake or two.

But the word: plum. I adore it. Perhaps because it is in one of my favorite poems.

Perhaps because it is in the name of my favorite party store.

Perhaps because it reminds me of friends and plenitude and summertime love.

Regardless. I have a bunch of plums ripening on the table and filling my nose with their sour/sweet tang.

Sigh.

ASSUMPTIONS MAKE AN ASS OF MY UMPTIONS

Or whatever.

Things I have assumed of late:

1. Everyone knows that Tempest is the most bad-ass video game. Evah!

Turns out that there are only 16 of us who even remember this game, and my friend Angela is one of them. And I didn't even know this until today. Which makes her an even more precious flower of delight.

2. When I ask my kiddos to pick up their stuff around the house they understand that I mean the dirty socks, pokemon cards, pajama bottoms, water glasses, giant mountain of stuffed animals, books and 6 blankets from the now defunct living room fort.

Apparently they think I mean, "Put the remote controls on the coffee table."

3. If left long enough the laundry will do itself.

Nope, turns out it doesn't.

4. Anyone with a brain knows that SunChips KILL Doritos. Doritos don't deserve to lick the seat where the SunChips were just sitting a minute ago.

Sadly, it is not so. SunChips remain the red-headed step child in the (totally abusive and neglectful) snack food family.

5. You will judge me. Harshly.

I'll admit right now that I am totally judgmental. I judge. I judge before, during and after any given situation. This doesn't make the situation any different. It just makes me surprised when it turns out that I am wrong (always).

So when I am met with openness and warmth - well, it scares me a little.

At blogher '08 I met women of every shape, every size, every stage in life (including infants) and I found them, each and every one, so beautiful and lovely. The confident ones, the relaxed ones, the scared ones, the stressed ones (even the puking ones) - each of them a delicate brushstroke, exactly, perfectly just what and where they needed to be. And in the reflection of this masterpiece I found that I was, too. Perfectly me. Perfectly human. Perfectly accepted.

I am an ass. I own it. But I learn a lot though my assyness. It continues to serve me.

I assume you'll agree.

ASTROLOGY IS AN EXACT SCIENCE

Today's horoscope:

Your work activities get in the way of your real purpose today. It's not that you are a bad employee; it's just that right now your mind is not on pleasing your boss. You are ready for a real vacation or, at least, for a quick getaway to take your mind off the same old mundane tasks that prevent you from living out your fantasies.

By Rick Levine

I will never doubt this shit again.

I CAME, I SAW, I'M GOING TO NEED A MONTH TO CATCH UP ON THE LOST SLEEP

Smart women. Savvy women. One thousand of them. With the collective intention to be better in some way, for some reason.

There were lots of reasons for me not to go. Like the memorial service that I was missing. And the wedding anniversary that I would not spend with my husband. And when I got there my computer had some major issues and would not connect.

I could have stayed lost in the fear and guilt. I could have turned around and gone home. It would not have been hard.

Instead I met women who inspire me. Women whom I admire. Women who made me feel like I'd known them forever.

And after a while I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.

But seriously, I'm gonna need to take a nap tomorrow.

So. Damn. Tired.

PS: Is it just me, or do you go ape-shit crazy for free crap that you don't need? Why? Why, god, why? There is no room for me in my bed because it is covered in SWAG. Do me a favor. Hit me in the head with a ball peen hammer if I do this again next year. Thanks in advance.

SOME OF EACH

I will never be one of those people who slips away quietly in their sleep not to be discovered for 13 years because no one notices that I am gone. I have too many loves. Too many people keeping tabs. Plus, I live with 3 other humans and two dogs who still have a sense of smell, but I digress (as usual).

My last post had my friends in a frenzy. Not exactly up my ass, but openly concerned and texting, calling, emailing, etc... while I was away on my family vacation. And now that I am home there is more of the same.

Thank you. I am loved and I am so lucky and I know it.

I am not slipping away into the ocean of despair never to be seen again. And this really isn't the first time I have felt a great loss. This may well be the first time I've experienced it sometime near the time it occurred, however. And that is new for me.

So I am having sad feelings every day. I am also having feelings of joy and gratitude every day.

I am having some of each.

SILENCE

Many attempts to communicate are nullified by saying too much.

Robert Greenleaf

I have gone quiet. I am shocked by how little I have to say. If you know me at all this is a surprising phase for me. I am constantly sharing, endlessly prattling on, always coming up with something to say about one thing or another. And I really don't let lack of knowledge hinder me. Like the Energizer bunny I keep going and going and going...

Until now.

Now my heart is aching. My mind is full and my throat closes often.

Now I am reading sad books and watching sad movies and working myself too hard and trying to be with my kiddos during their fun Summer. I am quiet there too. I don't have anything to say so I am quiet.

I wonder when I will feel like me again. I wonder if the way "me" feels is changed forever.

But here is what I want people to know: I don't care that her body was just a vessel. I miss the fucking vessel. I miss it and I want it back. I don't care that we will have her in our hearts forever. She is too big for my heart. It hurts every day with her all crowded in there. I want her out of there and in the world where I can say more things and go to more movies and laugh more and seek her counsel more.

I know we will tell the stories but I want her grandkids to grow up with her, not the stories about her. I want her husband to not be so unmoored by the loss of his partner that his grief doesn't let him through the grocery store with enough food to sustain him. I want him to not have to berate himself when he calls every woman her name. That name that is supposed to come out of his mouth forever, same as it has for the past 40 years, but there is no one here to receive it, to respond to it.

She should be here. My heart is so sore. My chest feels bruised.

And what I know is that everyone I have ever loved will leave me in this way. And I'm scared to death.

I'm so scared.

CUPCAKE KIDDOS

Happy early Independence Day.

COMFORT COMES TO ME IN STRANGE WAYS

This book is coming to me from Amazon. Because when I'm sad I like to dive in and wallow in the sad. Swim in it. Do a backstroke and then flip over float face down in despair. I think this wonderful story of a woman's grief will help me to do just that.

In the event that you are looking for a beautiful, precious, tragic and sad tale, I have a few selections for you:

The Bridges of Madison County

Lucky

Tuesdays With Morrie

The Red Tent

A Time to Kill

Bridge to Terabithia

To Kill a Mockingbird

And I hear from my friend Mary (and a few thousand other people) that this one might be good for jerking a tear or two. We shall see...

IT IS, OF COURSE, POSSIBLE TO DANCE A PRAYER

I've never wanted anything more than to dance like a fucking nut job with a gaggle of complete strangers in every city of the world.

IN LOVING MEMORY

I met Heather in Mr. Williams 7th grade homeroom class. She sat in the next row. She had thick red hair and Jordache jeans. We started out just talking in class. About the teacher (Crazy. Not just odd, actually NUTSO. Left teaching the next year cause he was honest to god crazy.), about boys (Vance Beltran - 7th grade GOD sat right behind me. And occasionally he spoke to me. She witnessed these events), about school work (Lame. Always.), about ourselves.

We became best friends. We walked to school together every day of high school. We spent summers together. Mostly at her house because her folks were there. Her dad worked out of a home office in the converted garage long before it was normal to have a home office. Her mom was a stay at home Mom. She encouraged us to be kind and respectful. She called us MITs (Moms In Training). She cooked delicious treats (popcorn, chocolate donuts, fried fish and okra, biscuits and gravy) and made us feel welcome and loved.

Heather's Mom was a devoutly Christian woman. She knew her Bible chapter and verse but never forced her beliefs on anyone. She was kind and gentle and strong and loving. For the past 24 plus years she has been a second mom to me.

Heather's Mom loved my kids and their accomplishments and quirks like they were her own grand kids. She was lucky enough to have 2 grand kids of her own and she has delighted in them from the moment they hit the planet.

A little over 5 years ago doctors found a lump. Since then she has weathered 3 progressively worse rounds of chemotherapy. She withstood radiation, fatigue, pain and nausea. This year things got a lot worse for her and about 2 1/2 months ago the doctors told her family that she would not be surviving this. When Heather's dad asked if the doctors were talking 18 months (?) they let him know that they were talking more like 3 months.

From that moment everything changed. Suddenly people she loved were making time. Time for long distance visits, time for dinners and shopping and chats. Time for making chocolate donuts. Time together.

When she was asked what she would want to do she said she wanted to go to Greece.

And so all of those people who loved her and felt impotent because they couldn't do anything to change her prognosis suddenly had something they could do. They chipped in and sent her and her husband to Europe. To Italy and Greece for two weeks. This vacation was to have ended last Thursday.

Heather's mom, Phyllis Davis Kelly, died peacefully tonight. About one hour ago.

My best friend's heart is shattered and will never be the same again.

I loved Phyllis. I will love my friend and will remember her mother with with her for all the years that I have left here. I will tell stories to Heather's children about their wonderful grandmother. Her kindness, her humor, her amazing capacity for love and depth of patience beyond my understanding. I will make chocolate donuts and know that they will never taste as good or as sweet because the woman who perfected them is gone.

This is too hard.

A BETTER PERSON THAN ME

So my first kid, she's pretty great.

My second kid is quite OK, too. But that first one, she and I are an interesting team. I have a lot to learn in this earthly plane. And this one has a lot to teach me.

Last weekend was a 10 year-old's Shangri-La. Two birthday parties, photo session and a pedicure for her "graduation" (called "promotion" officially at the tiny school on our mountain).

First birthday party was a scavenger hunt at the mall. With cash and prizes. Second party was at the Fairmont. With swimming in the hotel and dinner at the fancy restaurant. (I'm going to interject here that I have never stayed at the Fairmont or eaten at said fancy restaurant, myself.)

Then the photo sessions. Two of them. For her dance classes.

Then off to the pedicure at the fancy new nail joint in town. Hers are purple with tropical flowers. Mine are pink-red. Wonderful by any standard.

When we got home she decided to bust out a Christmas gift that she hadn't touched since Christmas day. Because she needed to do something fun, I guess. Because life bores you when there aren't photographers standing by and teams of your friends swarming around you for extravagant fun every hour of the day.

When she started tearing the desk apart looking for the packaging from the gift we started arguing. And talking in circles. And I was trying to make her understand that when a package is opened in December, it is reasonable to assume that the packaging will be recycled some time before June. She was informing me that there was VERY important info on that packaging, and SOMEONE had better pony-up said packaging, or there was gonna be trouble.

I finally got fed up and said, "Look, just because you've had a weekend full of fabulous-ness doesn't mean you get to treat me like crap!"

This is where it gets ugly. Because I said "crap." And in my kid's eyes "crap" is a SERIOUS cuss word. SERIOUS. Seriously.

So she told me that I embarrass her sometimes. And other mom's don't cuss at their kids. And that she thinks that she is a better person than me.

What is a cussing addict to do?

I sent her to her room. Duh.

While she was in her room I invited her to be a little grateful for what she had and maybe even a little thankful for all that she is given every day.

And she cried. She felt bad. And she wrote me a lovely letter. Two pages about what a great mom I am and how I have always put her brother and her first, how she wants to be more like me and think about other people more than she currently does. Which, from my perspective, can't be all that hard.

So when we had a chance we talked. And I let her know that, sadly, she was stuck with me for a mom. But the good news was that she gets to know that her mom is a whole person. Not a Barbie, not a paper doll, but a flawed, imperfect, whole mommy/wife/daughter/friend. That what I want most in the world is not to to hand out guarantees that I will behave perfectly in each and every situation that I encounter, but rather that no matter where I go and what I do I will be loving her. And I will be her life long cheerleader no matter what. Even if she tells me that I suck and that she hates me. Even if she thinks that I am the most embarrassing person on the face of the Earth. Even if she wants to move away from me and never look back. I will love her. She will be in my heart and wherever I am she will have a safe place to come home to.

Even if I'm smoking and cussing and singing show tunes off-key while wearing fluffy slippers and a turquoise robe over my clothes.

Especially then.

VOCAB FOR IDIOTS

Mom, have you ever heard of the word exaggerating?

Yes, son. I have

Am I using it right now?

Um, no. Not that I can tell.

Didn't I just say that Mac (our dog) is bigger than this house?

Why, yes. You did.

Well, there it is.


Moments later...


Mom, what is "flu."

Flu is short for the word influenza. The influenza virus is like a germ that makes people sick. When we suddenly get really sick we say we have the flu because it is a shortened version of the word influenza. Like a nic-name.

Oh. I thought it was like"to fly."

OK. Well, yes. There's that too.

A TALE OF TWO MOTHERS

Saturday:

Mother's day for my mom. We went to my folks to spend the day. We went to lunch. We gave her a purple bike. And she loved it.

From there we took Maddy to her dance performance, Levi to his baseball game, grabbed some dinner and saw Speed Racer. We got home at nearly 11:00.

Which was far too late for me. And the kids. We were all exhausted.

Sunday:

Mother's day for me. I slept in until 8:00. I had my husband's famous eggs benedict. I opened beautiful cards and a fancy new crepe pan and crepe recipe book. Deliriously wonderful.

Then I climbed back in bed. I stayed there until 5:00. Audio book and Sunday paper, crap TV movies on LMN and laundry folding (because it is what I do with my hands while I watch crap television).

And it was just what I wanted.

The homemade kid cards:

Dear Mom,
I will love you forever,
And forever you will be,
The most wonderful mother,
You mean everything to me.

I thought of buying you flowers,
In the usual way, But, I knew you would prefer
A FOREVER BOUQUET!
- Love Levi
(Came with a paper bouquet that he made.)

Marvelous in every way
Over the top
Terrific at everything
Happiness wrapped up just for me
Everyone looks up to her
Reaches out and touches hearts
- Love Maddy, 2008
(Came on a rainbow painted watercolor card.)

Wishing all the wonderful mothers and all of the children of wonderful mothers a day for appreciating what you've got. And for those who feel they are lacking either or both of these, I wish you friends who love you and support you when you need it and even when you don't think you do.

Happy Mother's day from the La Familia Cupcake!

MY AMERICAN LIFE

How lucky are we?

Life can be hard. It can be frustrating. It can be disappointing.

But then it gets good. If only for a day. If only for one breathtaking moment, it gets good.

If you can't watch This American Life on Showtime, I understand. Showtime is pricey.

But if you can, you really should. I highly recommend. This week's show is about a man finding independence and choice and beauty in the most extreme life circumstances.

And Johnny Depp spoke for him because he is not able to speak for himself. And I cried like a baby.

And I felt really good.