Rod Stewart, Carefree Peppermint Gum, and Understanding a Life of Magical Realism

“Miracles can happen, even to those who are small, flammable, and dressed all in black.”
― Lemony Snicket

Friends, I just found out like, last week, that my life fits into a literary genre — Magical Realism.

And being someone who never wants to fit into anything, ever—as it turns out, I may have to admit that the writing world may have figured me out. You see, within a work of magical realism, life is still grounded in the real world, but fantastical elements are considered normal in this world. Magical realism blurs the line between fantasy and reality (with a straight face—my words).

See what I mean? Then when you add some snark and a bit of humor you have…well…me.

Most of the writers I know write memoir. When I thought about my memoir, I was immediately reminded of this blog and all of the posts about the crazy shit that has happened, and continues to happen to me. And you know what? Those damn genre mavens were right!  My memoir would actually sit comfortably on the shelf next to any work of magical realism!

I’ve been working on two magical realism novels, and much to my own amazement, all I’ve had to do is draw on my own experiences to give them the magic. 

Looking back has given me the opportunity to recall all the events, places, people, and thousands of essays from my past. And when I sat down to remember, this was just one of many wild stories culled from my own life of mystical realism that came to mind.

Stay tuned, I’ll post more…

If you recall, I was having a hard time of it back in the early nineties.
I had a good life. Great job, money, travel, the whole shebang, but I had opened myself up to a very life-altering spiritual experience – awakening is a better word, and it had knocked me on my ass in every way imaginable.

With one foot on terra firma and the other one in god-knows-where, I was having a hell of a time staying grounded. Which has its own set of problems. Lost and alone in a world of my own making, I was completely void of humor, whimsy, or any other emotions besides fear and loathing. In other words, I found NO joy in life.

“If this is enlightenment, you can have it!” I’d yell to anyone who would listen. 

It is my belief, garnered from the very extensive and exhaustive study of ME and my years of data; that in the midst of an up-leveling (as I like to call it) the Universe, in order to keep you in the game, lays a red carpet studded with mystical miracles at your feet. And in a blatant display of showoffery, these mystical experiences are so IN YOUR FACE that as whacked out and pissed off as you’ve become – you can’t miss them.

So, here’s how this one went down: I was a wacko with a big job, on my way to work a weekend jewelry show. Seeking joy in whatever way I could,  I stopped at a drugstore along my route to get some Carefree peppermint gum, my favorite at the time,  It came in a hurt-your-eyes, bright yellow package, with twenty-four sticks of minty yumminess. It was one of the few things that made me happy, so of course, the drugstore was out of it. Deciding nothing else could assuage my surly disposition, I left, gum-less and grumpy.

I pulled onto LaCienega Blvd. and waited at the light directly across from the Beverly Center. As I sat there, stewing in my own misery, I heard the radio blaring in the car to the left of me. Even with my windows up, it was unmistakable. Rod Stewart’s song Have I Told You Lately That I Love You. Annoyed, I shot the two young men with questionable musical taste, my best exasperated, too cool for school, are you fucking kidding me, stink eye. In response, the one sitting in the passenger seat motioned for me to roll down my window.

Did I mention they looked like a couple of angels who’d walked straight out of the pages of GQ?
It was West Hollywood in the nineties. All the men who looked like that batted for the other team, so, I just assumed they were going to ask me for directions.

Deciding to comply, I rolled down my window at the longest red light in history, and the beautiful GQ model/angel reached out to hand me something. I know I was wearing my resting-bitch-face as I pulled my whole body halfway out the window to be able to reach my arm far enough to take what he was so intent on giving me.

And there it was. Wrapped in a bright yellow wrapper. A stick of my favorite Carefree Peppermint Gum!
I kid you not.

I sat there slackjawed, holding the gum, while the drivers behind me began to honk. Apparently, in magical realism, life goes on. The light had been green for a second already. These real people were very important. And my magic was making them late.

The two smiley guys pulled ahead, the Rod Stewart song still hanging in the air like cheap perfume.

If you know that section of LaCienega heading south, you know there are several lights in quick secession that are synced up in such a way that they are perpetually red. It’s a sadistic joke, and if I hadn’t been on my quest for joy via some gum —I would have avoided it at all costs.

So, in less than a minute, I find myself stopped next to my new best friends. I glance over to find them still smiling so broadly, the whiteness of their teeth hurt my eyes. Meanwhile, Rod was still singing about how much he wanted me to know he loved me, and the entire scene was so ridiculous I’m surprised I was composed enough to remember my manners and mouth a quick Thank You while holding up the gum.

For three lights we stopped next to each other and they smiled and Rod sang. Until they finally turned left. Either the song had finished or they were embarrassed that they had given me their last piece of gum.

Okay, so, I added that to my growing list of things too weird to mention—and told no one. Which was no big hairy deal seeing that I had turned so dark and flammable at that point, dressing all in black with pennies in my shoes to ground me, that I don’t think anyone was taking me or anything I had to say very seriously anyway.

And here comes the plot twist.
After doing the show in Santa Monica for three days, when I got back to the shop I went about my usual mindless tasks, one of them being to check the answer machine. It was the early nineties, remember? Cell phones were the size and weight of bricks. We all had answer machines and the one that day at work told me it was full.

Machine Full—73 messages, it read for the first time ever.

Jeez. Okay. Must be some kind of jewelry emergency!

Press Play.

Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there’s no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness
Take away all my sadness
Ease my troubles that’s what you do

Yep. Rod Stewart, THAT song. Every message. All 73. Until the tape ran out.

Explain that away. You can’t because it’s magical realism! Boom!

Xox Carry on

Tell me about your miracles!