Happy Birthday, Sean!

Sean doesn’t like when my family tells stories over and over again, nor does he like to talk about himself. Hold on, Sean. Here we go.

When I was three years old, I fell out of bed and gave myself a concussion. I was in the hospital a few days. On the way home from the hospital, Sean and I sat in the back of my parent’s van on a side seat facing to the right. The seats were vinyl with no seat belts. Sean was very concerned, and sat next to me with his arm around me the whole way home. 

One of my earliest memories was making a hideout in my closet. I cleared out clothes and shoes to make room for my favorite things. There was a pillow on the floor encased in my B. Kliban cat pillowcase. On top of my red box of 45s was my favorite ball of candle wax that I would warm and mold with the heat of my hands. I also had a Koala clip with its fur rubbed off that had a tiny clothespin inside so you could grab things with its arms. Sean did the same in his closet. His spot included matchbox cars, Transformers, books, and a pillow with a Star Wars pillowcase on which to sit. A single sheet of drywall separated our two closets. Once we realized this, we each started picking away at the drywall seam until we formed a hole to talk to each other. We were quite pleased with ourselves. Our parents were not.

Sean and I would play together, but as we got older, it involved some negotiation. “I’ll play matchboxes with you if I can do your hair.” I have a photo of Sean sitting on the floor in front of the tv with a headful of barrettes, rubber bands, and ribbons. We compromised nicely.

Sibling pictures were scarce between our high school years, 1985-1991. We had minimal contact. Sean and I ignored each other while passing in the upstairs hall before school.

We didn’t even catch the bus together. As the older, more rule-conscious child, at 6:45 am, I caught the bus at the bottom of our street at our designated stop. This was the first White Haven stop and our assigned pick up location. Sean, as the younger, smarter, freer spirit, ran through the woods to intercept the bus at 7:15 am at the ice cream stand. This was the last White Haven stop. I always pretended I wasn’t checking to make sure Sean made it.

Once we were in college and graduate school, we reconnected. And that started our adult friendship.

Soon after graduating from Penn with his MFA, Sean moved from Philadelphia to Los Angeles. Whenever I was going through something big, spending time with Sean helped. His far-away, interesting life was my escape- a place of warm weather, distraction, and acceptance. Having marital problems? Surprise Sean by showing up on his Venice Beach doorstep for his art gallery opening. Break up with a boyfriend after planning a trip to Europe? Sean replaces him and escorts me to a black-tie awards ceremony in London. (Unique Optique was nominated for our unusual marketing.) I find it easier to heal if I can spend some time distanced from my life and accepted into Sean’s world.

Boyfriends learn that meeting my parents isn’t the usual big deal. My Mom and Dad are around often, even when I lived far away. Steadfast in their support, they are present for big and little events. I enjoy informing them of my life’s details. EVERYONE knows my parents. Some friends even call them “Mom” and “Dad”.

Now, if a boyfriend meets SEAN, they really rank. I outright tell them, “Meeting Sean means you are IN.” That is something worthy of nervousness. Sean trusts my judgment and accepts anyone with whom I chose to spend my time. At least he never tells me otherwise.

It is more difficult to maneuver time with Sean since he lives on the west coast. Our times together are epic when measured by my standards. They are (probably) mildly entertaining when measured by Sean’s.

Sean’s modest house is painted black. The front yard is enclosed by a horizontal slotted fence with a wrought iron framed gate. The steps leading to the hot pink door are lined with blooming, flowered cacti. A visit to his house is filled with delicious food and stunning art. He has coddled plants, unusual books, and various bikes hanging from their wheels on the wall. He whips up homemade french onion soup, and serves it with a side of Humboldt Fog cheese and organic crackers. It will be the best thing you have ever eaten. Sean doesn’t have cable. His house is filled with either peaceful silence or the sound of records. He collects vinyl because he likes the distinct sound, not because it’s cool.

Sean has a knack for engaging activities. Dinner out becomes an experience in Thai cuisine. A hike in Griffith Park ends at the most iconic backdrop for car commercials. A drive through the city opens up to the most gorgeous mountains and cliffs. An errand to Whole Foods is fun just because Sean will know some crazy fact about Sumo oranges.  On one visit, we drive past the house from the Charles Manson murders. The next excursion, we attend a premier art gallery opening with eccentric people. We go to the Angeles forest to hike to a gorgeous waterfall. A visit to the Huntington desert garden teaches me about succulents. Always, I fly home with new information to ponder.

After I spend time with Sean, I develop new fascinations that last for an eternity. The day after completing the Half Dome hike, we stood at the base of El Capitan watching the rock climbers. This experience causes a rock climbing obsession. I don’t want to do it myself. I have an intense curiosity about the lifestyle, relationships, and accomplishments. I haven’t shaken the fascination. I rented The Dawn Wall, which is a documentary about the effort of climbers Tommy Caldwell and Kevin Jorgeson to climb the seemingly impossible 3,000 foot rock face in Yosemite.  I saw Free Solo, which is about Alex Honnold’s attempt to climb El Capitan without ropes. As I leave the theatre, I text Sean to describe my overwhelming awe. 

Another epic trip is to London. Sean and I head for a pub dinner of fish, chips and mushy peas. The next day, I tag along with Sean, who wants to see Tate Modern. I love that I can soak up Sean’s art knowledge by listening to him talk about and observe art. The art world is overwhelming for me to learn on my own.

One great thing about traveling with Sean is that we can say “I’m taking off on my own today” and it is more than ok. One day, I tour Kensington Palace and have high tea at the Orangery. Meanwhile, Sean visits another art gallery. We meet up for dinner afterward. When traveling with Sean, it’s comfortable to do so in silence. There isn’t always a reason to talk.

While on a trip Dublin, Ireland, we tour the Guinness factory. We learn about making beer and the beer casks. I watch vintage Guinness advertising videos while Sean waits. We finally make it to the Gravity Bar on the top floor that has 360-degree windows. The bitterness of my first Guinness surprises me. Sean happily finishes mine after his. The view of the city is filling enough for me.

While we both dislike Las Vegas, Sean and I have been there together at least four different times. Often I have conferences or continuing education meetings there and it is a quick 5-hour drive from LA. We go to the top of the Eiffel Tower, watch the Bellagio fountains, stare at the Chihuly flowers, and walk the strip. We are mostly wishing we are somewhere else.

Sean and I visit the Big Island and Maui in Hawaii. We see molten red lava flows, hot springs heated by lava, black sand beaches, and lava tubes. My love for mochi is born at Two Ladies, which is a family business that opened two decades ago with three ladies- a niece, her aunt and mother. We learn that you can go underwater, sit motionless, and hear the whales singing. We jump off a 25-foot cliff. Sean is reading Michael Pollen’s book about fruit. We go to the local Hilo farmer’s market to find the most exotic specimens. That is one of my favorite Sean excursions. We go on a whale-watching boat tour. We are lucky enough to see two whales fighting for dominance. This creates yet another favorite memory with Sean.

I feel like I am the younger sibling for how much I admire Sean. Sean is comfortable as himself, and you can sense that accepting quality. Sean is naturally intelligent and he just knows things. He doesn’t work at his acumen, nor would he showcase his cleverness. He just is.

I love visiting Sean because, for a short time, I peek at his perception of life. Whenever I leave Sean at the airport, whether I am getting on a plane or he is, I have a sense of sadness and loss. Unless solid plans exist, I can’t escape his goodbye hug without some tears. Sometimes, I suppress them until he walks away. Soon, happiness replaces the melancholy. What remains are the memories of an amazing adventure with someone whom I admire and love. That feeling morphs into anticipation for our next exciting experience.

As Sean would say, “Right on.”