When I was a kid, Attention Deficit Disorder/Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADD/ADHD) didn’t exist. Children who displayed ADD/ADHD-like symptoms were labeled, “unfocused,” “fidgety,” “hyper,” or in extreme cases “bad” because they couldn’t pay attention. I don’t think I would have been diagnosed with ADHD because I am able to focus when I care to; however, I was so energetic as a child that I refused to take naps. Even in kindergarten, I couldn’t fall asleep during naptime. I would lie there with my eyes open staring at the back of a sleeping classmate thinking the time would pass more quickly if the teacher would just give me a book to read. She never did.

I started pondering this whole ADHD thing after I saw the film Julie and Julia. Here is a woman, Julie Powell, who started a blog, The Julie/Julia Project, devoted to a specific subject—cooking. In fact, she cooked her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking by completing 536 recipes in 365 days. As a result, she received a book deal, followed by a movie, then another book deal, etc. Now Julie Powell is a successful, working writer.

Sensing that Ms. Powell was onto something, I researched the most popular blogs. I’m sure that you have heard of them even if you don’t read them: TMZ, Gizmodo, Perez Hilton, The Huffington Post, TechCrunch, and Mashable. Whether they cover politics, entertainment, celebrity gossip, or computer tips, all of the blogs are focused on one topic. One single subject. I understand the concept of carving out your niche, becoming a subject matter expert, being the person who knows everything about x. The problem is … I would rather know one fact about everything in the world than know everything about only one subject. I guess you could say I am a breadth over depth person.

I am somewhat exaggerating, of course. I can speak at length about more than one topic, but I prefer to expand my knowledge base. I titled my blog, “Seeking happiness, hope, and wisdom” because I want happiness, need hope, and crave wisdom. Writing my thoughts down, discussing a variety of subjects, communicating with others—these things help me grow as a writer, as a woman, and most of all, as a human being. If I limited myself to one topic, I would feel trapped. For example, when Michael Jackson died, I had no intention of writing about him, but a reader asked my opinion so I did. To date, The Case Against Michael Jackson is the most popular post I’ve ever written. If I only wrote about politics or travel—two of my passions—I would not have been forced to examine my feelings about the King of Pop. I am thankful to the reader who challenged me, and I always welcome topics from my audience.

While my blog may not be in Time Magazine’s 25 Best Blogs of 2009, I feel good knowing I have some devoted fans who enjoy my writing. Perhaps I do have ADHD, or maybe I’m a passionate person with a variety of interests. One time I made a list of all the classes I would take if time and money were not issues: poetry, art, ballet, swing dancing, tango, yoga, horseback riding, viticulture. I stopped when I realized that I had more classes than days in the week. Anyway, I will continue seeking happiness, hope, and wisdom, and I hope you will join me in my search. I cannot guarantee our final destination, but I promise our journey will be rich, rewarding, and full of surprises.

AWW — XoXo

* I hate that I used two adverbs consecutively, but they seemed to fit. My apologies to Stephen King.

P.S. In addition to this blog, I have decided to write a short-term blog devoted to a single subject: Exercising My Ass Off in time for my 20-year high school reunion.

Whenever I hear those words echo out of my car radio, I think two things: Is this my real life—the one without Adrienne? And is she talking to me right now? Queen was one of Adrienne’s favorite bands and even though “Bohemian Rhapsody” was not her favorite Queen song, whenever I hear it—especially the opening—I think of her, and lately, Queen seems to be following me everywhere.

Last month, just about the time I decided to buckle down and finish the second draft of my memoir, my husband commented, “Have you noticed we keep hearing a lot of Queen lately?” Indeed, I had. Whether we were in my car listening to Los Angeles radio stations or in his car listening to XM Satellite radio, Queen seemed to sing to us as soon as we pushed the power button. From Jack FM to KLOS, Freddie, Brian, Roger, and John reminded me that I had made a commitment to myself. To my husband. To Adrienne. Are you ready? Hey, are you ready for this? I don’t know, but then the song continued … Are you happy? Are you satisfied? How long can you stand the heat? It is just a coincidence, I told myself as I turned off the radio.

No matter what your religious beliefs are, I think we all hope that there is some kind of afterlife. I mean, who wants to believe this is it? This one life. I couldn’t get up in the morning if I thought Adrienne was gone forever. While I don’t believe that heaven is above us and hell is beneath us, I do think there are other planes of existence. The year after she died, I felt Adrienne’s presence near me several times, but I haven’t “seen” or “felt” her in seven years. I have this theory that maybe where she is at, time moves slower. Maybe in her world, one day there is one year here, and in her mind, she has only been gone a week so there is no need to keep in touch.

However, my theory starts to fall apart when I hear Queen nonstop for three weeks, and I wonder if Adrienne is reaching out to me. Telling me to just do it. You’re ready, Sissy, yes you’re ready for it. You’re standing on your own two feet. Write our story. You have a dream—a vision. Finish your book. Your voice, your hope, it’s your decision. Fight your pain, she says. Be a Killer Queen. That’s what you taught me. I guarantee you’ll blow their minds.

It is me, Sissy. Listen …
Open your eyes
Look up to the skies and see
You’ll be successful
You need no sympathy
Because you’re tough as nails, tough as stone
Little high, little low
Anyway the wind blows
We’ll always be together you and me.

I want to believe in blue faeries. I want to believe that people actually win the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes. I want to believe that one day I will live in my dream house in Gold Beach. I want to believe that the sudden barrage of Queen music is not a coincidence. But most of all, I want to believe Adrienne is out there and that some day we will be together again.

AWW — XoXo

Note: All of the italicized words are Queen lyrics or slightly altered Queen lyrics. This one is for you, Adrienne.

One by one
Only the Good die young
They’re only flying too close to the sun
And life goes on—
Without you …

Addendum
Hours after I wrote this post, I got into my car to go and tutor my students. I flipped the ignition switch, turned on the radio, and after less than a second, I heard the beginning notes of one of my favorite Queen songs “Somebody to Love.” The strange thing is that I was running late, yet the timing of the song was perfect. Stunned, I sat and listened. I have spent all my years in believing you … You’re okay, you’re alright. Ain’t gonna face no defeat. Okay, Adrienne, I hear you. I believe …

Apparently, yellow is associated with “joy, happiness, intellect, energy, and a strong sense of humor.” This quiz even figured out that I have a good head for business. (I guess Donald Trump’s soul is yellow, too.) I radiate a sunny personality. Sounds terrific—right? However, I remember another meaning for the word yellow: coward. Just watch some films from the 1930s and eventually a gangster will accuse one of his men of being “yellow.” In that sense, I do have a yellow soul, and I recall its worst public appearance.

I had been out drinking and dancing with two women—one friend Becky and her friend Sarah. Now Becky and I were not especially close, but she had been good to my sister while she was ill. Therefore, we tried to form a friendship despite our many differences. Though she volunteered her time to lots of causes, Becky didn’t actually work. She dry-cleaned her blue jeans. She once bought a $3000 watch just “because she could” but she had never worn it. I didn’t begrudge having more money than I did; I just didn’t understand her. Even if I had a million dollars in the bank, I cannot imagine not working (e.g., no one pays me to write my blog), I wouldn’t buy something that I wouldn’t wear, and I wouldn’t dry-clean clothes that can and should be laundered. However, she was a wonderful mother and a good person so we spent time together.

Deciding we were hungry after our evening at Howl at the Moon, Becky, Sarah, and I went to Mel’s on Sunset Blvd. The hostess sat us in the corner next to an obnoxious group of 20-somethings whose noisy racket could be heard over the buzz of the crowded restaurant. Becky and I sat next to each other with our backs to the “kids” while Sarah sat across from us. We complained about them while we waited for our food. When it arrived, I made a joke about doing something to shut them up. Becky and Sarah laughed. Without thinking, I threw the garnish on my plate—an orange slice—behind my head. Having a perfect view of what had happened, Sarah stopped laughing. Her face froze. I didn’t know it, but my aim had been flawless. The orange slice had hit one of the young women squarely in the face.

Everything happened so fast. The woman screamed, cursed, and pointed at Becky. The group turned to our table and started yelling at us. One young man accused Becky of targeting his girlfriend. There were three of us and six of them. Confused and trembling, Becky shook her head. Instead of claiming responsibility for my actions, I turned yellow. All I could muster was, “She didn’t do it. She didn’t do it.” Since oranges don’t magically fly through the air, no one was listening to me. I cannot remember any other time in my life when I’ve acted like such a coward. When I’ve allowed a friend to accept the blame for my bad behavior. When I’ve been so … yellow.

Eventually, the manager intervened and ejected all of us. (I think I may be banned from that Mels for life.) Outside, the security guard told us to stay back until the kids left the premises because they were members of an Asian gang that ran around in Hollywood. Even though our fear had been warranted, it was no excuse for what I had done. Or didn’t do. Becky barely spoke as she drove me home. Despite my numerous apologies, that incident incited the end of our friendship. Things were never the same between us. She had seen the color of sunshine turn ugly.

According to the quiz, someone with a sunny personality will also “shun responsibility, preferring freedom of thought and action.” (They always tell you the positive stuff first.) Wow. Maybe I do have a Yellow Soul—happy, humorous, and energetic, but also reckless, irresponsible, and cowardly. I can accept all of those adjectives except for the last one. I pride myself on living my life without fear. The next time I do something stupid (and I will) like throwing a piece of fruit at a bunch of gangsters, I’m going to stand up and say, “It was me. I did it. Take your best shot, asshole.” The first hit is for Becky.

AWW — XoXo

I see one floating peacefully toward the sky like a hot air balloon on a clear summer day and the other melting into a nasty pool of black sludge that boils with heat until his entire body evaporates. I imagine the wife waving from heaven down to her husband in hell.

Then I realized how stereotypical that was so I pictured the woman going to hell instead. Then I thought … what would happen if I went to hell?

If I lived in hell:

• I would donate all of my jackets, coats, sweaters, scarves, gloves, and boots to Goodwill. Yes, I live in Los Angeles and own twelve jackets and four full-length coats.
• I would need to wear Coppertone’s Faces SPF 70+ (this stuff works!) sunscreen all the time, which means I would smell like the beach instead of my usual vanilla oil or Poison perfume.
• I would have to change my hair color because otherwise I would blend in with the scenery. I’m not going to let hell turn me into a wallflower.
• I would make Smores every day for lunch instead of my usual boring turkey sandwich on one piece of gluten-free bread. Perhaps, we could import the marshmallows from heaven.
• I could meet some of my favorite actors including Katherine Hepburn (adulteress), Judy Garland (addict), Clark Gable (asshole), and Cary Grant (insert sin here). They would anoint me as the Hedda Hopper of Hell as long as I promised not to put them on any reality shows especially I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! because it’s filmed in heaven.
• Finally, I could raise hell, for the hell of it, as the head coach of Hell on Wheels, the local roller derby team, and no one could tell me I’m going to hell because I would already be there spending time with other people.

What the hell! H-E-double-hockey sticks sounds like a fun place for souls to go. I should make my reservation now because the waiting list is 20 years or longer. Senator John Edwards and South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford can’t even get a space, and they were guaranteed their spots. (O.J. Simpson is still going straight to hell.) I heard Michael Jackson’s death surprised hell’s administrative staff, former WWII SS officers, because they were not expecting him for another 13 years.

On second thought, hell seems too much like Los Angeles, a hot, dry climate full of bullshit artists, tainted politicians, and spoiled celebrities with criminal records. Hmm … I wonder who lives in heaven.

AWW — XoXo

I’ve known the answer all along, and it’s so damn simple. I don’t want people to forget about Adrienne. Her life. Her experiences. Her unbelievable strength. Her sadness. Her courage. She’s my hero. Please don’t forget her.

Don’t you forget about me
I’ll be alone, dancing—you know it – Simple Minds

AWW — XoXo

I need to ask you a favor. If you read my blog, can you please “register”? (See right-hand side of the screen.) That way I can track how many people actually care to peruse (I love that word!) my thoughts. You will only receive an email when I post on the blog, and I will not share your information with anyone. Plus, only registered users are allowed to comment on the posts, and I would love to see an exchange of ideas between many intelligent, diverse people. (Have I flattered your egos enough yet?)

Whether you agree or disagree with me, knowing that people read my blog encourages my writing in a way you wouldn’t believe. So if you like what you read, please register. Thank you in advance because I know you will honor my request. Hehe.

AWW — XoXo

Anyway, in my opinion, Obama had his best debate ever. Maybe he should give Hillary a call and thank her for teaching him the ropes. As for Sen. McCain, he needs to work on looking into the camera and addressing his opponent—not the moderator.

AWW — XoXo

I hate answering the question, “Why are your writing your book?” because sometimes, I don’t know. It is not a cathartic experience unless opening your femoral artery and bleeding nonstop is good for you. Give me the scab please so I can heal already.

AWW — XoXo

Thank you Queen and David Bowie. I couldn’t have said it (or written it) better myself.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. I’ve been reading Angela’s Ashes. Well-written but I don’t like it. The last time I looked forward to finishing a book this much was James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces. Since when did writers stop using quotation marks? Guess I’m a purist.

AWW — XoXo