The Gifted Joint

Four middle-aged, mom, drug "pushers"

Hey there wonderful readers,

I sat on the edge of a lake with my book in my lap and the sun on my skin. Summer vacation, by the magic of water, with endless reading - these were some of my mom’s favorite things. I often say “I have a terrible memory.” But that’s not entirely true. Thankfully, there are some things that are imprinted and cellular.

Books, water, sunshine in summertime = mom and me.

Thank you so much for reading my words, as I’ve stumbled my way through writing my memories and meta questions and heartbreak. I’m honored and humbled that you bother to give these words your time.

I hope you continue to find some value for yourself inside of my own writing “experiment.”

I haven’t shared a piece with you in a while, but I’ve written 30,000 words (!!) of this project on grief, motherhood, big living, parentlessness, middle-age… or whatever this book will be.

It’s messy and wildly flawed, as we humans are, but it’s me.

Here’s a bit more of it. I hope something in it lands for you and your own heart.

I always welcome your thoughts and questions. And if you know anyone who’d likes to read memoir-ish, sometimes funny, always honest essays - please share this with them.

Much love,

Sage

P.S. Because of your encouragement, I’m also working on a second addition of my first book “Naked Communication” - complete with a new cover (because we loathe the current one). I thought I’d let this first book fade quietly into the night and be lost to time… but then several nudges from unexpected readers reminded me that even imperfect words can be surprisingly powerful. So, stay tuned for a “rebirth” in September.

The Gifted Joint

Dear mom,

My girlfriends and I went to northern california for our annual women’s weekend together. For days we hiked along the coast, talked, and laughed. You loved that I had these relationships in my life. You were so proud of me for the friendships I’ve built and nurtured over decades.

There are so many stories that I want to share with you from the trip that would delight you. I’ll try to capture a few that give the essence of it all.

We left the small, sleepy oceanside hamlet for an afternoon exploring San Francisco, a city that has long been one of my favorites in the world. At first, I didn’t want to go because all of the loudness and people of a thriving city has made my porous shell feel too permeated since you died. But I told my friends that I’d go along if I didn’t have to plan any of it or make decisions, which is so often my role. The deal was struck and off we went, me as a simple follower of the afternoon adventure.

The car dropped us off at our first destination, a Catholic church in the heart of the Italian district. Pope Francis, the closest thing that the Catholic church has had to a progressive leader, had just died. One of my friends wanted to light a candle for both of her parents, who were devout Catholics. And since all of us have lost at least one of our parents, we figured candle lighting would be a shared honoring of them.

Before entering the church, we popped into an old corner coffee shop that has been in the city since 1953. Everything was worn down in the best ways. Walls covered with photographs through the decades. A mish mosh of eclectic furniture that somehow went together perfectly. And a line at the counter that was as varied as the chairs. Any attempts to identify the genders of the patrons quequed for their drinks would have been wasted energy. The clientele was too busy being themselves to be categorized. It was so fabulous I couldn’t stand it. I immediately remembered why I love cities, particularly this one.

As we stood outside people watching and sharing the best macaroon and coffee, two Fransican friars walked by wearing their full, brown-hooded garb and Birkenstocks. There was so much life on this one street corner. So many people living amongst each other. It was life affirming. Not utopia, of course. San Francisco is rife with the struggles of poverty, housing shortages, and crime. But mom, you’d have loved this corner in that moment. It would have given you hope and made you feel alive, like it did for me.

We cruised around the North Beach neighborhood, stopping to order an assortment of a dozen Italian cookies that were perfection. We sat on a green park bench, watching groups of people picnicking and lounging on this sunny Saturday afternoon. As my eyes were tracing over the crazy driverless cars that seemed out of a scary sci-fi show, a stranger interrupted my thoughts.

This was remarkable for reasons that you’d totally understand. And I think you’d be weirdly gleeful about it like I was.

One, she was carrying a large pizza box. She said they were heading to a museum and couldn’t take it with them. She wanted to know if we wanted it. In a world where people often are afraid to talk to strangers, and certainly don’t share food with them, she had done both.

Oh joyful hope for humanity!

Second, making the story even better, the pizza was from Tony’s, an iconic San Francisco pizzeria with a line out the door just half a block from where we were sitting.

Free, famous pizza!

Third, and the little cherry on top, it was damn good. You and I loved a good slice of pizza more than most. The fact that it was a gift from a stranger on a sunny, San Fran street - only you would have loved that as much as I did.

On our final morning in our Airbnb, perched up high on a hill with sweeping views of the ocean, we took out the trash and gathered our things to head out for lunch before catching our flights. There sat on the coffee table one brand new, still packaged, legally purchased joint.

Hmmm, what should we do with it?

We all agreed that we didn’t want to fly with it, but we were divided on how to dispose of it. Throwing it away would be wasteful. You’d hate that and we all agreed that was a no go.

We’d already discerned from the books, photos, and altars in the home that the owner was a woman about our age and of similar style. Maybe she’d be extra psyched to be gifted a joint?

In California 2025, it’s just like leaving a beer in the fridge, right?

But some worried that we’d get in trouble if the homeowner thought we’d been smoking in the house (which we weren’t, because #respectfuladults). So it was proposed that we take the joint to breakfast with us and leave it for someone there. But what if a kid picked it up?

That wouldn’t do, couldn’t put it in a cannabis “little free library.”

So, it was decided that one of us would offer it to someone at the hip cafe on the beach where we were headed. Only as we were standing in line fifteen minutes later, listening to our friend awkwardly offer this gift joint to the beautiful barista, did we realize the hilarity of four middle-aged, moms pawning off weed on an unexpecting millennial. She didn’t feel she could take it while working at the register, but offered to ask around.

And so our drug pushing story continued…

But here’s the best part. As we sat out in the California sunshine, enjoying our ridiculously good pastries and avocado bowl things, the gift joint lay innocuous on the table between us. Out from the cafe walks a young man, smiling and looking for “Mary, who might have something for me.”

When we handed him the gift joint he was truly elated. He told us that this was another sign from the universe that good things were coming his way, as he’d recently been gifted a free tattoo from a patron as well. He basically begged us to let him gift us some free coffee, even though we’d had plenty, because he wanted to reciprocate.

Nearly bouncing away on his toes, he called out over his shoulder jubilant thank yous for the joint, gifted to him by the women-who-could’ve-been-his-mother.

A gifted joint as a good luck sign from the universe!

And you, mom, a forever lover of a good joint, were on my mind the whole time. Me, the least likely stoner of the family, helping to provide a gift joint to an eager and joyful young padawan.

See, I’m carrying on your legacy in the little ways too.

Noticing the little moments of wonder.