2008 National Walk for Epilepsy
Greg Grunberg is not my brother, buy T$BD looks just like him, a fact established last year when T$ circulated a clip from Heros from You-Tube around to family and friends.
This was the 2nd year I’ve walked in the event in support of a girlfriend of mine whose too-young son just had brain surgery at the Cleveland Clinic last month to remove the smushy part of his brain that they believe was causing his seizures. In fact, I’m told that in part that’s how the doctors know what part of the brain to operate on, that they can tell a texture difference in the brain with the part most likely responsible for the seizures. He’s been seizure-free since the surgery and will be getting a new brother over the summer.
Since I had been in California for so long (ok, it was only two weeks but felt longer to me especially those last few days when I would have given anything to be able to teleport back and forth from my bed in Virginia to my mom’s bedside in California), I was going through another one of my existential navel-gazing phases where I was wondering if I should move to California to be closer to my mom and uncle. The universe answered back by giving me a gorgeous day on the Mall with daffodils in full bloom, Cherry Blossom trees at peak and a blue sky filled with kites. It then put a bow on it by leading me to an new organic market that had vegan (!!!) donuts. Seriously. Each donut was 32 cents (don’t ask) and 50 calories. So it was a perfect day.
In other words, me and my teeny mortgage are going to stay here.
I met two great women at the walk and and again had to, I don’t know? Thank God? Hail to the Universe? But wonder if these two women weren’t thrown in my path as a salve from the sting of losing two close friends of mine. It made me think that maybe I’ve been a bit selfish, holding onto my friends for so long like a childhood toy held on too long.
On Sunday, I flew to Boston (which is where I’m typing this) to watch the Celtics decimate the Miami Heat, a team so bad that the head coach has been on the road recruiting better players. The Garden is a great place and our seats were phenomenal. They have a cheerleader named “Jennifa”. Seriously. Only in Boston do you name your kid “Jennifa”. In fact, my customer and his wife were telling me about a homework assignment that their daughter brought home on homonyms. As a refresher, homonyms are words that are pronounced the same, spelled differently with different definitions. To, two, and too. There and thier. Aid and Aide. By and Bye and (according to the teacher, Father(in Boston this is pronounced “Fah-Tha”) and Farther(which in Boston is also prounounced “Fah-Tha”)! Used in a full sentence, “Hey Danielle, go tell your Fah-Tha that I can throw this beer Fah-Tha than he can.” So, uh not a homonym.
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