It was a picture perfect day for an outdoor wedding. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, a light breeze blew and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I sat in the beautiful rose garden in the 5th row back, the husband on my left. We were surrounded by his co-workers and their wives. The large, stone mansion behind us was full of history and stories and anchored the site, lending a sense of grandness to the whole event. The glowing wedding couple stood underneath the arbor on the stone and brick terrace perched on the edge of the cliff. As we looked past the couple, the bright blue sky melted into the vast, equally blue water far below.
I’m not usually one who particularly enjoys sappy, emotional, romantic expression. Yet, when the bride and groom began to recite their wedding vows, and in such a beautiful, romantic setting, I found myself leaning my head to the left slightly and whispering quietly to the husband, “Awww…..isn’t that soooo sweet!” The promises they made, the hope they had, the belief and confidence they had in their future made me a bit jealous. It was all so innocent and rosy and happy. When they said their vows, you knew that they truly meant them. You got the feeling that they really would be married forever. It was all too much for me. I began to tear up a bit. I gazed over at the husband and it appeared as if he might be about ready to tear up as well. He looked down at me and grinned and nodded his head toward the couple standing on the edge of the cliff. I smiled back and nodded as well. My heart swelled. I reached out my hand and grabbed the husband’s hand. And it was wonderful. It was romantic. It was a special moment for us. We sat in that wonderful setting, listened to the touching words, and held hands. I found it extraordinary and so comforting that after 19 years of marriage we could still silently share the same thoughts. We were on the same page. We were connected.
After the ceremony we walked over to the large terrace at the back of the stone mansion where the reception was to be held. We sat and talked and ate some fabulous food with some of the husband’s co-workers and their wives. Soon, the conversation turned to the ceremony. One of the wives commented on what a beautiful ceremony it was. All of the wives nodded and echoed the sentiment. I mentioned that I was so touched I even began to tear up. The wives all agreed and continued to dissect every detail of the ceremony and the bride’s dress and the food. It was then that the bravest and most ignorant of the men rolled his eyeballs and piped up, “Hey, did any of you guys hear that twin big block Chevy engine offshore V-hull at full throttle that went by in the middle of their vows? Wasn’t that cool?”
The wives, in a rare and sudden moment of silence, glared at the ignorant husband in shock. Relieved to have the conversation topic changed from the unbelievable price of imported silk to the unbelievable sound of horsepower, my husband was the first to answer the ignorant man. “Oh, wasn’t that great!” he exclaimed, “I couldn’t believe I was hearing that out on the water. I’m thinking it was probably 502 Merc’s. It almost brought me to tears! “
“WHAT?” I managed to say to the husband a little too loudly. “You were almost brought to tears by a stinkin’ boat engine? Are you serious?”
“Well…um…yeah…” he reluctantly replied. “I thought you heard it too. You called it 'sweet'. I nodded to you......you nodded back. Remember?”
“I thought you nodded because of the vows and the roses and the old mansion…..and… and… the special moment that we had!” By this time all eyes at the table were upon us. There was a brief moment of uncomfortable stillness among our tablemates. And then the first giggle started. And soon they were all laughing. All of the other couples had been married longer than the husband and I and they found my naiveté and unrealistic expectations concerning manly wedding behavior most amusing.
I was most certainly disappointed and frustrated that the husband and I did not, apparently, share the same wedding thoughts and that our special moment was, apparently, completely fictional. Never one to hold a grudge for long though, my disappointment had faded by the time we were driving home in the car. I was back to my normal, positive thinking self. The husband and I had 45 minutes all to ourselves to talk and bond and grow closer without any children interrupting us. I had so many things that I wanted to tell the husband. I began to talk about our future and the fabric for the new furniture and how fat I was and the almost a teenager’s hormones. I went into detail about the kitten’s bowel movements and the new cleaner for the bathtub and the neighbor’s shoes that I liked. I finished up with telling him that Halle Berry was pregnant and that I needed to pay the cable bill and how I had stepped on a staple the day before. I was grateful to have this quality, one on one time with the husband where we could talk about our lives and get on the same page and really connect. I gazed over at the husband and smiled at him. He smiled back. I reached out my hand and grabbed the husband’s free hand. And it was wonderful. I found it extraordinary and so comforting that after 19 years of marriage we still cared about the same things.
Curious about the husband’s thoughts on everything “we” had just talked about and wanting to further our drive home bonding session, I asked him, “Honey, what are you thinking about right now?” He looked down at me and grinned and nodded his head toward a sign on the freeway.
“The truck scale is up ahead. Do you wanna go weigh the car? Motor Trend and the owner’s manual have different numbers for the weight of this car. I’ve always wondered blah, blah, blah, blah……..”
By the time we were home I was back to my normal, positive thinking self. And the good news is that I weighed 5 pounds less on the truck scale than my scale at home.
Check This Out!
Look for the documentary The Heart of the Game. Follow the true story of Seattle’s Roosevelt High School girl’s basketball team. This movie takes you through the tumultuous and gripping story of the young women playing the game, their unorthodox coach and a six year journey that ends up being about so much more than just basketball. It’s an inspirational sports movie that stands up to the best of them.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
Middle School President
I came down the stairs to the intrusive and bothersome blaring of the TV. I had just finished lecturing the almost a teenager and found myself a bit on edge. I began with sincere and naïve intentions that my lecture would be full of unconditional love and bonding. It would include idealized examples and life lessons that I thought important for my daughter to know. I would calmly possess a non-judgmental understanding and positive attitude toward her ideas that would be unwavering. After about two minutes, my motherly lecture had deteriorated into a futile and most frustrating exercise in bashing my head against the wall. Or at least that’s what it felt like. As I left the almost a teenager’s room I had serious doubts as to whether either of us would make it through middle school unscathed.
Needless to say, I was in no mood to hear from the newscaster that 5 more soldiers had been killed in Iraq, that the trapped miners were still trapped or that my children had been sucking on lead riddled toys for the last decade. And perhaps most of all, I was in no mood to hear about a presidential election that wasn’t going to happen until well over a year from now. I’ve always been a classic example of a politically apathetic member of Generation X. While I do manage do vote in every election, I do so with an extremely cynical and disaffected view of politicians and politics in general. So when the newscast began to speak of the eventual presidential election I started to leave the room. I stopped and turned around however, when the reporter said, “So, now it is up to the American people to seriously ask themselves, ‘What qualities, characteristics and attributes DO you want in your next president?’”
“For goodness sake!” I cried to the half asleep husband on the couch. “Is it really that hard? Heck, the characteristics I would appreciate in a president are the same exact qualities and attributes I’d appreciate in any person I meet!” In fact, the lecture I had just attempted to give my daughter could just as easily apply to my ideal presidential candidate. In fact, my expectations for middle school behavior and presidential behavior aren’t that far apart.
To my almost a teenager daughter I say: I want you to be secure and confident in who you are. Figure out who your true self is and then have the strength and determination to live your life as that complete person, whether you are musical or athletic or are a closet Sanjaya fan or secretly really don’t believe in paying $40 for a t-shirt. Never let peer pressure or low self esteem dictate the path your life will take. Do what you think is right, even if it's not popular. And never mistake arrogance or bullying for confidence. I want you to have a strong personal character. Don’t lie or cheat or steal. It’s just plain wrong, you’ll probably get in trouble and it just shouldn’t be a valid option. Don’t swear or gossip or spend more money than you have. It tarnishes who you are, you’ll probably get in trouble and there is always a better option. Find someone you admire who lives their life with strong moral and ethical guidelines and then emulate them. I hope you always employ an empathetic view toward the world. Realize that your school is full of kids with different histories, cultural identities and innate ways of thinking that you may never understand. Realize that being different doesn’t make them wrong or in need of change by you. Always treat people, animals and the earth kindly and with the utmost respect. Humbly help those in need whenever you can, not just when it makes you look good. Find a way to ensure that your life is full of joy and promise and security that isn’t dependent on how much money you have, how much stuff you own or how much you weigh.
To my almost a president I say: I want you to be secure and confident in who you are. Figure out who your true self is and then have the strength and determination to live your life as that complete person, whether you’re gay or straight or are a closet Democrat or secretly really don’t believe in abortion. Never let congressional pressure or low approval ratings dictate the path your presidency will take. Do what you think is right, even if it's not popular with the political action committees or your largest campaign contributer. And never mistake televised threats or war for confidence. I want you to have a strong personal character. Don’t lie or cheat or steal. It’s just plain wrong, you’ll probably get in trouble and someone will have video taped it and the video will be linked to the internet and then you will be the lead story on TMZ.com or the most downloaded video on You Tube and before long there will be congressional inquiries and Dateline investigations and you could eventually end up impeached or even resigning in shame from your presidency and people will always mention you and Richard Nixon in the same sentence and besides, it just shouldn’t be a valid option. Don’t swear or gossip or spend more money than you have. It tarnishes who you are, you’ll probably get in trouble and someone will have video taped it and the video will be linked to the internet and then you will be the lead story on TMZ.com or the most downloaded video on You Tube and before long there will be congressional inquiries and Dateline investigations and you could eventually end up impeached or even resigning in shame from your presidency and people will always mention you and Richard Nixon in the same sentence and besides, the taxpayers get really mad when you spend too much of their money. Develop some moral and ethical guidelines that you live your life by and then set a good example for everyone who is watching you. I hope you always employ an empathetic view toward the world. Realize that the world is full of countries with different histories, cultural identities and innate ways of thinking that you may never understand. Realize that being different doesn’t necessarily make them wrong or in need of change by bribes or sanctions or weapons or propaganda. Always support legislation that treats people, animals and the earth kindly and with the utmost respect. Humbly help those in need whenever you can, not just when it’s politically beneficial. Find a way to ensure that every American can live a life that is full of joy and promise and security that isn’t dependent on winning the lottery, working for Halliburton or getting plastic surgery.
At the end of the newscast my daughter came downstairs and was kind to her little brother, polite to her father and helpful to me. I began to consider then the possibility that there was hope for us. Could we really make it through middle school? Was it really possible she could turn out to be a confident, empathetic person with strong personal character? I’m certainly counting on it. As for the next president…..me and the rest of the apathetic, cynical and disaffected jury of Generation X members are still not so sure.
Check This Out!
If you’ve ever wondered why they keep throwing rocks and bulldozing houses over in Israel and Palestine then you need to read, The Lemon Tree: An Arab, a Jew and the Heart of the Middle East by Sandy Tolan. If you think you already know all about rock throwing and house crushing then read The Lemon Tree to hear about the true, personal story of an Arab family and the house they built, the Jewish family who came to live in that same house and the decades of personal dialogue that developed between the two. It’s required reading on many college campuses today. It’s full of history and sadness and hope. I couldn’t put it down.
Needless to say, I was in no mood to hear from the newscaster that 5 more soldiers had been killed in Iraq, that the trapped miners were still trapped or that my children had been sucking on lead riddled toys for the last decade. And perhaps most of all, I was in no mood to hear about a presidential election that wasn’t going to happen until well over a year from now. I’ve always been a classic example of a politically apathetic member of Generation X. While I do manage do vote in every election, I do so with an extremely cynical and disaffected view of politicians and politics in general. So when the newscast began to speak of the eventual presidential election I started to leave the room. I stopped and turned around however, when the reporter said, “So, now it is up to the American people to seriously ask themselves, ‘What qualities, characteristics and attributes DO you want in your next president?’”
“For goodness sake!” I cried to the half asleep husband on the couch. “Is it really that hard? Heck, the characteristics I would appreciate in a president are the same exact qualities and attributes I’d appreciate in any person I meet!” In fact, the lecture I had just attempted to give my daughter could just as easily apply to my ideal presidential candidate. In fact, my expectations for middle school behavior and presidential behavior aren’t that far apart.
To my almost a teenager daughter I say: I want you to be secure and confident in who you are. Figure out who your true self is and then have the strength and determination to live your life as that complete person, whether you are musical or athletic or are a closet Sanjaya fan or secretly really don’t believe in paying $40 for a t-shirt. Never let peer pressure or low self esteem dictate the path your life will take. Do what you think is right, even if it's not popular. And never mistake arrogance or bullying for confidence. I want you to have a strong personal character. Don’t lie or cheat or steal. It’s just plain wrong, you’ll probably get in trouble and it just shouldn’t be a valid option. Don’t swear or gossip or spend more money than you have. It tarnishes who you are, you’ll probably get in trouble and there is always a better option. Find someone you admire who lives their life with strong moral and ethical guidelines and then emulate them. I hope you always employ an empathetic view toward the world. Realize that your school is full of kids with different histories, cultural identities and innate ways of thinking that you may never understand. Realize that being different doesn’t make them wrong or in need of change by you. Always treat people, animals and the earth kindly and with the utmost respect. Humbly help those in need whenever you can, not just when it makes you look good. Find a way to ensure that your life is full of joy and promise and security that isn’t dependent on how much money you have, how much stuff you own or how much you weigh.
To my almost a president I say: I want you to be secure and confident in who you are. Figure out who your true self is and then have the strength and determination to live your life as that complete person, whether you’re gay or straight or are a closet Democrat or secretly really don’t believe in abortion. Never let congressional pressure or low approval ratings dictate the path your presidency will take. Do what you think is right, even if it's not popular with the political action committees or your largest campaign contributer. And never mistake televised threats or war for confidence. I want you to have a strong personal character. Don’t lie or cheat or steal. It’s just plain wrong, you’ll probably get in trouble and someone will have video taped it and the video will be linked to the internet and then you will be the lead story on TMZ.com or the most downloaded video on You Tube and before long there will be congressional inquiries and Dateline investigations and you could eventually end up impeached or even resigning in shame from your presidency and people will always mention you and Richard Nixon in the same sentence and besides, it just shouldn’t be a valid option. Don’t swear or gossip or spend more money than you have. It tarnishes who you are, you’ll probably get in trouble and someone will have video taped it and the video will be linked to the internet and then you will be the lead story on TMZ.com or the most downloaded video on You Tube and before long there will be congressional inquiries and Dateline investigations and you could eventually end up impeached or even resigning in shame from your presidency and people will always mention you and Richard Nixon in the same sentence and besides, the taxpayers get really mad when you spend too much of their money. Develop some moral and ethical guidelines that you live your life by and then set a good example for everyone who is watching you. I hope you always employ an empathetic view toward the world. Realize that the world is full of countries with different histories, cultural identities and innate ways of thinking that you may never understand. Realize that being different doesn’t necessarily make them wrong or in need of change by bribes or sanctions or weapons or propaganda. Always support legislation that treats people, animals and the earth kindly and with the utmost respect. Humbly help those in need whenever you can, not just when it’s politically beneficial. Find a way to ensure that every American can live a life that is full of joy and promise and security that isn’t dependent on winning the lottery, working for Halliburton or getting plastic surgery.
At the end of the newscast my daughter came downstairs and was kind to her little brother, polite to her father and helpful to me. I began to consider then the possibility that there was hope for us. Could we really make it through middle school? Was it really possible she could turn out to be a confident, empathetic person with strong personal character? I’m certainly counting on it. As for the next president…..me and the rest of the apathetic, cynical and disaffected jury of Generation X members are still not so sure.
Check This Out!
If you’ve ever wondered why they keep throwing rocks and bulldozing houses over in Israel and Palestine then you need to read, The Lemon Tree: An Arab, a Jew and the Heart of the Middle East by Sandy Tolan. If you think you already know all about rock throwing and house crushing then read The Lemon Tree to hear about the true, personal story of an Arab family and the house they built, the Jewish family who came to live in that same house and the decades of personal dialogue that developed between the two. It’s required reading on many college campuses today. It’s full of history and sadness and hope. I couldn’t put it down.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
I Can Fix That!
The smell of burning rubber permeated the house. The high pitched squealing accelerated higher and higher by the second. The low, rumbling motor struggled to maintain its wheezing efforts at efficiency. The cats, wide-eyed and puffy, attempted a desperate, furtive escape from the living room. The children came spurting down the stairs, holding their noses and loudly voiced extreme disapproval of my continued actions. I, on the other hand, had never been happier. I knew that finally, and with absolutely no regret whatsoever, I had killed my vacuum cleaner.
My vacuum was purchased for $99.99 from the Navy Exchange department store in Orlando, Florida in 1988. This vacuum did not have a HEPA filter or an air flow rating. It could not lift a bowling ball. It did not come with a crevice tool, a telescopic wand or a dusting attachment. It never had an upholstery nozzle, suction control grips or height adjustment. My vacuum did not resemble a wind tunnel nor was it self propelled. And my vacuum was most definitely not a self programming, rechargeable disc that could wander my house, at any time of my choosing, searching for stray pieces of lint to suck up. In fact, my simple, cheap vacuum was so old that it was becoming almost impossible to find the internal bags for the outdated beast. And at last, thankfully, it was dead.
As I opened the windows to get some of the burning rubber smell out of the house I became giddy. I rushed upstairs and started researching new vacuums on the internet. I had just picked out the Cadillac of vacuums, full of spectacular and absolutely necessary features when he walked in the door. The husband was home.
I ran downstairs to tell him the fabulous news. He hung up his coat, went to the bathroom and then walked into the living room to take a look at the vacuum. I assured him that it was most certainly, quite broken. I then proceeded to provide irrefutable evidence by demonstrating the smelling and squealing and rumbling and wheezing qualities our vacuum now possessed. As I started to recount the spectacular and absolutely necessary features of the new Cadillac vacuum I had decided upon as a replacement, the husband got down on the ground and turned the old vacuum over. As I tried to shove a picture of my new beautiful appliance in his face, the husband went to the garage to get a screwdriver…or something. When he returned, he started taking the old vacuum apart. After about 23 seconds he turned to me and said, “Oh! I see what the problem is. I can fix that!”
I had to sit down. I was devastated. The husband then tried to explain to me what was wrong with our vacuum cleaner. “You can see here that the blah, blah, blah has become wrapped around the blah, blah, blah. And it’s obvious that the blah, blah, blah has also come lose and has jammed the blah, blah, blah. So all I have to do is move the blah, blah, blah over here, unwrap the blah, blah, blah from the blah, blah, blah and it should be as good as new.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. I should have anticipated this outcome. I was feeling fairly foolish for thinking the broken vacuum would be beyond repair. You see, in my house the husband has a history of fixing things up. It started when he was young and found an old, broken TV in his parents’ garage. Before the afternoon was over he had become the only boy on his block with a working TV in his tree house. When he was in college he took a road trip to California. When the throttle pedal unexpectedly dropped to the floor, causing his old ’69 Plymouth Valiant to accelerate uncontrollably, the husband rationally shut off the car and came to a stop. He lifted the hood, retrieved the broken carb return spring, miraculously produced a pair of pliers…or something, bent a new hook in the spring and was back on the road in less than 3 minutes.
The husband’s MacGyver like qualities continued after we were married. It is a rare day when something in our house breaks and needs to be replaced. Over the years I have looked forward to getting many new items only to have the husband fix the broken one so that we no longer could justify replacing it. I’ve been denied the joy of shopping for a new weed eater, a CD jogger, a book lamp, an MP3 player, a backyard fence, a refrigerator icemaker, a dishwasher door, a lawnmower, a lawn sprinkler and a bedroom window. He’s fixed a car CD player, a box fan, a cell phone, a necklace, a garbage disposal and many computer components. And, of course, he has kept cars running for thousands of miles past when they should have died. He’s even denied the children new things by fixing broken Fisher Price toys, slot cars, electric trains, BRIO trains, and has most recently repaired the rivets on the almost a teenager’s jeans. All of these items were absolutely believed to be broken beyond repair-except by the husband who saw them as a challenge.
My vacuum is now fixed and is “as good as new”. I’ve accepted the fact that I may never get to own the Cadillac of vacuums. I’ve learned that with a little searching, I can even find my vacuum bags on the internet. I have also learned, however, that the husband’s ability to fix anything just might work in my favor as well. A few weeks ago, I walked in the door and was greeting by a giddy husband telling me that the old, ugly, boxy TV had finally blown up. He had run downstairs to tell me the fabulous news. I hung up my coat, went to the bathroom and then walked into the living room to take a look at the TV. He assured me that it was most certainly, quite broken. He then proceeded to provide irrefutable evidence by turning the now unresponsive TV on and off. As he started to recount the spectacular and absolutely necessary features of the new, big, flat screen TV he had decided upon as a replacement, I went behind the TV and took a look at the back of it. As he tried to shove a picture of his new, beautiful flat screen in my face, I went into the kitchen to get a snack. When I returned, I put my feet up on the coffee table and started eating. After about 23 seconds I turned to the husband and said, “Oh honey, I understand what the problem is with the TV. But, I have absolutely no doubt that you can fix that!”
Check This Out!
Someday when you aren’t on a diet try Fried Polenta.
Gradually whisk 1 ¾ cups yellow cornmeal into 6 cups boiling, salted water. Reduce heat to low and cook 15 minutes, stirring often. Remove from heat and stir in 3 tablespoons butter. Spread three cups of the polenta in an 11x17 inch baking dish, sprayed with PAM, to about ¾ inch thick. Refrigerate for two hours. Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Cut refrigerated polenta into 1x2 inch pieces and fry in oil, about 3 minutes on each side, until golden brown. Drain on paper towels and keep warm in the oven on a baking dish until all batches are done. Sprinkle warm polenta pieces with parmesan and serve with marinara sauce for dipping.
My vacuum was purchased for $99.99 from the Navy Exchange department store in Orlando, Florida in 1988. This vacuum did not have a HEPA filter or an air flow rating. It could not lift a bowling ball. It did not come with a crevice tool, a telescopic wand or a dusting attachment. It never had an upholstery nozzle, suction control grips or height adjustment. My vacuum did not resemble a wind tunnel nor was it self propelled. And my vacuum was most definitely not a self programming, rechargeable disc that could wander my house, at any time of my choosing, searching for stray pieces of lint to suck up. In fact, my simple, cheap vacuum was so old that it was becoming almost impossible to find the internal bags for the outdated beast. And at last, thankfully, it was dead.
As I opened the windows to get some of the burning rubber smell out of the house I became giddy. I rushed upstairs and started researching new vacuums on the internet. I had just picked out the Cadillac of vacuums, full of spectacular and absolutely necessary features when he walked in the door. The husband was home.
I ran downstairs to tell him the fabulous news. He hung up his coat, went to the bathroom and then walked into the living room to take a look at the vacuum. I assured him that it was most certainly, quite broken. I then proceeded to provide irrefutable evidence by demonstrating the smelling and squealing and rumbling and wheezing qualities our vacuum now possessed. As I started to recount the spectacular and absolutely necessary features of the new Cadillac vacuum I had decided upon as a replacement, the husband got down on the ground and turned the old vacuum over. As I tried to shove a picture of my new beautiful appliance in his face, the husband went to the garage to get a screwdriver…or something. When he returned, he started taking the old vacuum apart. After about 23 seconds he turned to me and said, “Oh! I see what the problem is. I can fix that!”
I had to sit down. I was devastated. The husband then tried to explain to me what was wrong with our vacuum cleaner. “You can see here that the blah, blah, blah has become wrapped around the blah, blah, blah. And it’s obvious that the blah, blah, blah has also come lose and has jammed the blah, blah, blah. So all I have to do is move the blah, blah, blah over here, unwrap the blah, blah, blah from the blah, blah, blah and it should be as good as new.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. I should have anticipated this outcome. I was feeling fairly foolish for thinking the broken vacuum would be beyond repair. You see, in my house the husband has a history of fixing things up. It started when he was young and found an old, broken TV in his parents’ garage. Before the afternoon was over he had become the only boy on his block with a working TV in his tree house. When he was in college he took a road trip to California. When the throttle pedal unexpectedly dropped to the floor, causing his old ’69 Plymouth Valiant to accelerate uncontrollably, the husband rationally shut off the car and came to a stop. He lifted the hood, retrieved the broken carb return spring, miraculously produced a pair of pliers…or something, bent a new hook in the spring and was back on the road in less than 3 minutes.
The husband’s MacGyver like qualities continued after we were married. It is a rare day when something in our house breaks and needs to be replaced. Over the years I have looked forward to getting many new items only to have the husband fix the broken one so that we no longer could justify replacing it. I’ve been denied the joy of shopping for a new weed eater, a CD jogger, a book lamp, an MP3 player, a backyard fence, a refrigerator icemaker, a dishwasher door, a lawnmower, a lawn sprinkler and a bedroom window. He’s fixed a car CD player, a box fan, a cell phone, a necklace, a garbage disposal and many computer components. And, of course, he has kept cars running for thousands of miles past when they should have died. He’s even denied the children new things by fixing broken Fisher Price toys, slot cars, electric trains, BRIO trains, and has most recently repaired the rivets on the almost a teenager’s jeans. All of these items were absolutely believed to be broken beyond repair-except by the husband who saw them as a challenge.
My vacuum is now fixed and is “as good as new”. I’ve accepted the fact that I may never get to own the Cadillac of vacuums. I’ve learned that with a little searching, I can even find my vacuum bags on the internet. I have also learned, however, that the husband’s ability to fix anything just might work in my favor as well. A few weeks ago, I walked in the door and was greeting by a giddy husband telling me that the old, ugly, boxy TV had finally blown up. He had run downstairs to tell me the fabulous news. I hung up my coat, went to the bathroom and then walked into the living room to take a look at the TV. He assured me that it was most certainly, quite broken. He then proceeded to provide irrefutable evidence by turning the now unresponsive TV on and off. As he started to recount the spectacular and absolutely necessary features of the new, big, flat screen TV he had decided upon as a replacement, I went behind the TV and took a look at the back of it. As he tried to shove a picture of his new, beautiful flat screen in my face, I went into the kitchen to get a snack. When I returned, I put my feet up on the coffee table and started eating. After about 23 seconds I turned to the husband and said, “Oh honey, I understand what the problem is with the TV. But, I have absolutely no doubt that you can fix that!”
Check This Out!
Someday when you aren’t on a diet try Fried Polenta.
Gradually whisk 1 ¾ cups yellow cornmeal into 6 cups boiling, salted water. Reduce heat to low and cook 15 minutes, stirring often. Remove from heat and stir in 3 tablespoons butter. Spread three cups of the polenta in an 11x17 inch baking dish, sprayed with PAM, to about ¾ inch thick. Refrigerate for two hours. Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Cut refrigerated polenta into 1x2 inch pieces and fry in oil, about 3 minutes on each side, until golden brown. Drain on paper towels and keep warm in the oven on a baking dish until all batches are done. Sprinkle warm polenta pieces with parmesan and serve with marinara sauce for dipping.
A Pain in the Back
I was sitting at the computer the day my comfortable and predictable life changed. I was checking my blog, desperately hoping to find that someone had commented, when my marriage vows from 18 ½ years ago returned to smack me up side the head. I had my back to my husband the day our marriage went from “for better” to “for worse”.
Never one to pour forth his feelings, it was no surprise to me that my husband handled his part of the incident silently. He simply bent down to pick something up from my son’s bedroom floor and collapsed in extreme, agonizing back pain. He couldn’t move. Apparently, he couldn’t speak either. He had been there a decent amount of time before I found him pale and in the fetal position. In concerned shock, my first words were, “Why didn’t you call for me?”
While on the floor writhing in pain, he had decided he didn’t want to worry me and that he didn’t need any wifely assistance. So, he didn’t get any. I left him there. In the rare moment that he found himself in great need of help from me, he couldn’t bring himself to ask me for it. I was hurt. I was ticked off. I took it quite personally. I stormed out of the room. “What kind of team were we?” I silently questioned. “What kind of marriage was this?” I stewed from downstairs as he lay helplessly on the floor above me.
I would like to say that my failure to rise to the occasion, to be the bigger person, and help out my husband in his obviously distressing time of need was a singular event. It wasn’t. And in the upcoming days I proved even more unsuccessful at supporting him the way I should have. Simply put, my husband hurt his back and it was a big pain for me. It was inconvenient, annoying and so unattractive.
Over the course of the next few days, (or was it weeks?) I did wait on my husband. I got off the couch to bring him his medicine and a glass of water even though I had finally sat down for the first time that evening. I shopped for a back support wrap instead of going for a run. I served him numerous bowls of ice cream to make him feel better. I filled a hot water bottle for him right when my book was getting to the good part. I picked up his book about the arctic explorer from the library when I wasn’t going to be anywhere near the library. I bought him a car magazine that had an almost naked hot chick on the cover even though the hot chick made me feel fat and inadequate. Sadly, however, I complained about all of these things frequently. It wasn’t always out loud. But it wasn’t a well kept secret. It was obvious that I was resentful of my husband and his injury and certainly held him responsible for my current, somewhat exacting and nettlesome lot in life.
Not only was I unhappy helping my husband with the physical demands of his injury, I secretly harbored a few psychological grudges as well. I married a strong, capable and competent man. I was not at all attracted to this vulnerable, needy and silent man. I felt a bit cheated and resentful that he was no longer an unwavering, steadfast constant in my life. He was suddenly somewhat unavailable and helpless. Now, there is no doubt that I am often in charge of many aspects of our daily routine and family life. It was quite a different story however, when confronted with the situation of being forced to be in charge, not by choice, by instead, by absolute necessity. Suddenly, being in charge was not satisfying, predictable and convenient. It was uncomfortable, frightening and nerve racking.
When I muttered the words, “for better or for worse” almost two decades ago, my husband and I were both young and healthy and naïve. When actually confronted with a “for worse” situation, however, I quickly became whiny, selfish and mostly unsupportive. My main concern with my husband’s back problem was how it affected me and my life. Of course, my behavior was shocking and disappointing. I was not proud of how I had acted. Even so, I became concerned for the future. Is this what I had to look forward to for the next 40 years? Would we take turns nursing each other, becoming more resentful each time, until one of us finally keeled over? I looked to the example of my older friends and family and found that is exactly what they did. They did help their spouses and other relatives through their “for worse” situations. And sometimes they did get frustrated. It was often exhausting, unrewarding work. But there was a huge difference between them and me. They did it selflessly. They did it with love. They did it remembering that their “for worse” situation paled in meaning and intensity and enormity to the collective “for better” situations they’ve experienced together throughout the years. They seemed so much wiser than me.
“What kind of team were we?” I silently questioned. “What kind of marriage was this?” I felt horrible. I knew then that if I placed any more focus on myself it would be to learn how to be truly selfless. The next time my husband needed nursing I would do it remembering all the good that we’ve had. I would nurse him remembering that the “for better” has always outweighed the “for worse”. I would get him his medicine remembering how grateful I am that he is still with me, no matter how vulnerable he is at that particular moment. Of course, there are still times when I insist on being in charge. I often nag him to do his special back exercises. I nag at him to eat right. I nag at him to drive carefully and put on his sunscreen. Because, while I am determined to be a little kinder and more sympathetic the next time my husband is in need, I’m also secretly hoping that many years that go by before we have to find out if I’m actually capable of that.
Check This Out!
Come Back to Afghanistan: A California Teenager’s Story by Said Hyder Akbar and Susan Burton is a great account of modern Afghanistan through the eyes of an American teenager whose father is instrumental in the rebuilding efforts in post Taliban Afghanistan. It’s a great contrast in life experiences that most Americans will never understand...and probably should.
Never one to pour forth his feelings, it was no surprise to me that my husband handled his part of the incident silently. He simply bent down to pick something up from my son’s bedroom floor and collapsed in extreme, agonizing back pain. He couldn’t move. Apparently, he couldn’t speak either. He had been there a decent amount of time before I found him pale and in the fetal position. In concerned shock, my first words were, “Why didn’t you call for me?”
While on the floor writhing in pain, he had decided he didn’t want to worry me and that he didn’t need any wifely assistance. So, he didn’t get any. I left him there. In the rare moment that he found himself in great need of help from me, he couldn’t bring himself to ask me for it. I was hurt. I was ticked off. I took it quite personally. I stormed out of the room. “What kind of team were we?” I silently questioned. “What kind of marriage was this?” I stewed from downstairs as he lay helplessly on the floor above me.
I would like to say that my failure to rise to the occasion, to be the bigger person, and help out my husband in his obviously distressing time of need was a singular event. It wasn’t. And in the upcoming days I proved even more unsuccessful at supporting him the way I should have. Simply put, my husband hurt his back and it was a big pain for me. It was inconvenient, annoying and so unattractive.
Over the course of the next few days, (or was it weeks?) I did wait on my husband. I got off the couch to bring him his medicine and a glass of water even though I had finally sat down for the first time that evening. I shopped for a back support wrap instead of going for a run. I served him numerous bowls of ice cream to make him feel better. I filled a hot water bottle for him right when my book was getting to the good part. I picked up his book about the arctic explorer from the library when I wasn’t going to be anywhere near the library. I bought him a car magazine that had an almost naked hot chick on the cover even though the hot chick made me feel fat and inadequate. Sadly, however, I complained about all of these things frequently. It wasn’t always out loud. But it wasn’t a well kept secret. It was obvious that I was resentful of my husband and his injury and certainly held him responsible for my current, somewhat exacting and nettlesome lot in life.
Not only was I unhappy helping my husband with the physical demands of his injury, I secretly harbored a few psychological grudges as well. I married a strong, capable and competent man. I was not at all attracted to this vulnerable, needy and silent man. I felt a bit cheated and resentful that he was no longer an unwavering, steadfast constant in my life. He was suddenly somewhat unavailable and helpless. Now, there is no doubt that I am often in charge of many aspects of our daily routine and family life. It was quite a different story however, when confronted with the situation of being forced to be in charge, not by choice, by instead, by absolute necessity. Suddenly, being in charge was not satisfying, predictable and convenient. It was uncomfortable, frightening and nerve racking.
When I muttered the words, “for better or for worse” almost two decades ago, my husband and I were both young and healthy and naïve. When actually confronted with a “for worse” situation, however, I quickly became whiny, selfish and mostly unsupportive. My main concern with my husband’s back problem was how it affected me and my life. Of course, my behavior was shocking and disappointing. I was not proud of how I had acted. Even so, I became concerned for the future. Is this what I had to look forward to for the next 40 years? Would we take turns nursing each other, becoming more resentful each time, until one of us finally keeled over? I looked to the example of my older friends and family and found that is exactly what they did. They did help their spouses and other relatives through their “for worse” situations. And sometimes they did get frustrated. It was often exhausting, unrewarding work. But there was a huge difference between them and me. They did it selflessly. They did it with love. They did it remembering that their “for worse” situation paled in meaning and intensity and enormity to the collective “for better” situations they’ve experienced together throughout the years. They seemed so much wiser than me.
“What kind of team were we?” I silently questioned. “What kind of marriage was this?” I felt horrible. I knew then that if I placed any more focus on myself it would be to learn how to be truly selfless. The next time my husband needed nursing I would do it remembering all the good that we’ve had. I would nurse him remembering that the “for better” has always outweighed the “for worse”. I would get him his medicine remembering how grateful I am that he is still with me, no matter how vulnerable he is at that particular moment. Of course, there are still times when I insist on being in charge. I often nag him to do his special back exercises. I nag at him to eat right. I nag at him to drive carefully and put on his sunscreen. Because, while I am determined to be a little kinder and more sympathetic the next time my husband is in need, I’m also secretly hoping that many years that go by before we have to find out if I’m actually capable of that.
Check This Out!
Come Back to Afghanistan: A California Teenager’s Story by Said Hyder Akbar and Susan Burton is a great account of modern Afghanistan through the eyes of an American teenager whose father is instrumental in the rebuilding efforts in post Taliban Afghanistan. It’s a great contrast in life experiences that most Americans will never understand...and probably should.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Reunion Lessons
I arrived at the reunion with my jumping and lurching stomach attempting a violent and twisted escape from my body. My shaking and sweaty hands reluctantly opened the car door. The husband had to drag me in. “This totally sucks,” I muttered under my breath. “What was I thinking? I never should have come.”
Then Barbie said hello to me. Such a simple thing. Saying hello. But it made all the difference in the world. I was still nervous. There definitely were people I didn’t recognize. There were people who didn’t recognize me. But, somehow, it became fun. Everyone was in the same boat. As the weekend went on and I gained more and more courage to speak to my classmates, I became aware that certain reunion moments and circumstances stood out more than others. It was during this microcosm of life that is the class reunion, that I ended up learning a few valuable reunion lessons, and really, perhaps, even life lessons, that form the basis of my fabulous reunion memories.
The Top 15 Ways to Make an Impression at Your Class Reunion
1. Having 6 kids, 2 step kids and 87 animals will most certainly make an impression at a reunion. Your classmates will wonder in awe how in the heck you had the time and the energy to even show up at the reunion after raising all those kids and animals. Some of us still struggle to just get ourselves out of bed in the morning. Wow.
2. Thongs and cleavage and piercings, oh my! Flash your thong underwear to your classmates, show up in a cleavage baring dress that your husband picked out or arrive at the reunion with a nose ring that you didn’t have in high school and your classmates will most definitely be whispering behind your back. And if you surreptitously adjust your adjustable push up bra to the highest level while speaking to your second grade crush, you are guaranteed to start a furor. It won't all be negative gossip, however. Some of us are a bit jealous we don't look like that in a thong or have the guts to pierce something other than our ears.
3. Dance on the table at the banquet and not only will you make an impression on your former classmates but you will earn a mention in this blog as well.
4. If your head looks different than it did in high school people may not recognize you immediately. Your classmates will stand across the room for a long time, casually glancing in your direction, wondering who that is with the shocking red hair. They will make desperate stabbing guesses at who is hiding underneath that bushy facial hair. There will be hushed, critical conjecture as to who in the class had a nose that was that perfectly sculpted and a forehead that didn’t move. Someone will eventually get up enough nerve to ask you your name. Be prepared for looks of shock and disbelief followed by cries of, “No way!”
5. Hold a thoughtful conversation with someone outside of your permitted and expected social circle from high school. At least one of you will walk away shocked, mumbling the words, “She never spoke to me once in high school. Hmmmm……”
6. Exchange furtive glances, subtle touches and personal phone numbers with another classmate and the entire class will know about it within 10 minutes. Gossip travels quickly.
7. Announce to a conservative, religious, Republican classmate that you thoroughly enjoy your new stem cell research job more than your last job at the abortion clinic. Or ask the liberal, environmentalist in the class to help you release all of the latex party balloons into the sky as you tell him all about how you would vote for Bush a third time if you could.
8. Be a jerk to a classmate when you are 8 or 13 or 16 years old. Some people don’t forget. Some people never move on. Some grudges are held for a lifetime. If you find someone giving you the cold shoulder at the reunion, ask yourself if you were unkind to them in 5th grade.
9. Make sure your kid knocks down a few other kids at the class picnic soccer game. If your kid appears to be an insensitive, aggressive bully it will most certainly make an impression on your classmates.
10. Be confident. Confidence is attractive and will be noticed. Whether it be the local radio celebrity or the wheelchair ridden, handicapped advocate, classmates with confidence in who they are stand out.
11. Become responsible. Men, who in high school, couldn’t dress themselves, find their homework, or speak in complete sentences have somehow turned into fabulous husbands and fathers who have no problem holding down a job, changing a diaper or cooking dinner for their wife. This shocks and amazes us all.
12. Live far away. If you travel a great distance to come to the reunion, you will be treated like an exotic celebrity who has an unusual but admirable dedication to your classmates. It helps to have acquired the local accent as well.
13. Overcome a health crisis. This scares us all. We don’t know if we’ll be next. We don’t know if we could do what you have done. You have the respect of everyone.
14. Be on the reunion committee. It is the ultimate thankless job. No one knows how much work it takes to pull off a successful reunion. Almost no one will recognize you for all of your hard work. But people will have a great time. People will enjoy themselves. My reunion was a huge success because of the reunion committee. Thank you.
15. Don’t come. The easiest way to make an impression at your class reunion is to not come at all. It will guarantee days or even weeks of speculation as to why you weren’t there. Your name will be Googled. Websites will be searched. Rumors will start. Before long, your real reason for not coming will pale greatly in comparison to the one created by your nosy, imaginative and curious classmates.
Almost every single person who showed up at my reunion had some issue that made them question whether or not they should go. Somehow though, we all found a way to walk in the door, even if we had to be drug in by the husband. As a result, our reunion was full of people with low self esteem, grey hair, and a few extra pounds. There were people who still looked exactly the same as they did in high school. We saw others with sun damage and wrinkles and age spots. We visited with people who are wealthier than most of us can imagine. There were even a few people that were absolutely, totally hot. We spoke with single mothers, recovering alcoholics and the passionately religious. We compared our adoptions and miscarriages and anti-depressant medications. We were introduced to our classmates’ partners. We saw children with mohawks. We found out someone was a grandparent. We saw classmates who live all over the country and classmates who live 2 blocks from the high school. Our reunion was full of people who brought their old photo albums, shared their story of diving at the Great Barrier Reef, and were able to laugh at their obnoxious ex-husband. What made our reunion great was the people who took a risk, ignored their nerves and walked through the door anyway. They shared their stories with old friends and acquaintances, found things in common with people they had never spoken to before in their lives and maybe even made a new connection or two.
I cannot even begin to guess where the next five or ten years will take us. I can only hope that when the next reunion comes around even more classmates will ignore their nerves and walk through that door--you won’t regret it. So to all my fellow reunion-ites--consider this the first notice for the next reunion. It should give you plenty of time to lose those last couple of pounds, get that MBA and find some inner peace. Then there will be no excuse as to why you can’t come. See you there!
Check This Out!
Definitely rent the movie Goal! The Dream Begins starring Kuno Becker. It's a wonderful rags to riches soccer story. It has great footage and is quite inspirational. Rent it now though, because Goal II: Living the Dream hits theaters in September.
Then Barbie said hello to me. Such a simple thing. Saying hello. But it made all the difference in the world. I was still nervous. There definitely were people I didn’t recognize. There were people who didn’t recognize me. But, somehow, it became fun. Everyone was in the same boat. As the weekend went on and I gained more and more courage to speak to my classmates, I became aware that certain reunion moments and circumstances stood out more than others. It was during this microcosm of life that is the class reunion, that I ended up learning a few valuable reunion lessons, and really, perhaps, even life lessons, that form the basis of my fabulous reunion memories.
The Top 15 Ways to Make an Impression at Your Class Reunion
1. Having 6 kids, 2 step kids and 87 animals will most certainly make an impression at a reunion. Your classmates will wonder in awe how in the heck you had the time and the energy to even show up at the reunion after raising all those kids and animals. Some of us still struggle to just get ourselves out of bed in the morning. Wow.
2. Thongs and cleavage and piercings, oh my! Flash your thong underwear to your classmates, show up in a cleavage baring dress that your husband picked out or arrive at the reunion with a nose ring that you didn’t have in high school and your classmates will most definitely be whispering behind your back. And if you surreptitously adjust your adjustable push up bra to the highest level while speaking to your second grade crush, you are guaranteed to start a furor. It won't all be negative gossip, however. Some of us are a bit jealous we don't look like that in a thong or have the guts to pierce something other than our ears.
3. Dance on the table at the banquet and not only will you make an impression on your former classmates but you will earn a mention in this blog as well.
4. If your head looks different than it did in high school people may not recognize you immediately. Your classmates will stand across the room for a long time, casually glancing in your direction, wondering who that is with the shocking red hair. They will make desperate stabbing guesses at who is hiding underneath that bushy facial hair. There will be hushed, critical conjecture as to who in the class had a nose that was that perfectly sculpted and a forehead that didn’t move. Someone will eventually get up enough nerve to ask you your name. Be prepared for looks of shock and disbelief followed by cries of, “No way!”
5. Hold a thoughtful conversation with someone outside of your permitted and expected social circle from high school. At least one of you will walk away shocked, mumbling the words, “She never spoke to me once in high school. Hmmmm……”
6. Exchange furtive glances, subtle touches and personal phone numbers with another classmate and the entire class will know about it within 10 minutes. Gossip travels quickly.
7. Announce to a conservative, religious, Republican classmate that you thoroughly enjoy your new stem cell research job more than your last job at the abortion clinic. Or ask the liberal, environmentalist in the class to help you release all of the latex party balloons into the sky as you tell him all about how you would vote for Bush a third time if you could.
8. Be a jerk to a classmate when you are 8 or 13 or 16 years old. Some people don’t forget. Some people never move on. Some grudges are held for a lifetime. If you find someone giving you the cold shoulder at the reunion, ask yourself if you were unkind to them in 5th grade.
9. Make sure your kid knocks down a few other kids at the class picnic soccer game. If your kid appears to be an insensitive, aggressive bully it will most certainly make an impression on your classmates.
10. Be confident. Confidence is attractive and will be noticed. Whether it be the local radio celebrity or the wheelchair ridden, handicapped advocate, classmates with confidence in who they are stand out.
11. Become responsible. Men, who in high school, couldn’t dress themselves, find their homework, or speak in complete sentences have somehow turned into fabulous husbands and fathers who have no problem holding down a job, changing a diaper or cooking dinner for their wife. This shocks and amazes us all.
12. Live far away. If you travel a great distance to come to the reunion, you will be treated like an exotic celebrity who has an unusual but admirable dedication to your classmates. It helps to have acquired the local accent as well.
13. Overcome a health crisis. This scares us all. We don’t know if we’ll be next. We don’t know if we could do what you have done. You have the respect of everyone.
14. Be on the reunion committee. It is the ultimate thankless job. No one knows how much work it takes to pull off a successful reunion. Almost no one will recognize you for all of your hard work. But people will have a great time. People will enjoy themselves. My reunion was a huge success because of the reunion committee. Thank you.
15. Don’t come. The easiest way to make an impression at your class reunion is to not come at all. It will guarantee days or even weeks of speculation as to why you weren’t there. Your name will be Googled. Websites will be searched. Rumors will start. Before long, your real reason for not coming will pale greatly in comparison to the one created by your nosy, imaginative and curious classmates.
Almost every single person who showed up at my reunion had some issue that made them question whether or not they should go. Somehow though, we all found a way to walk in the door, even if we had to be drug in by the husband. As a result, our reunion was full of people with low self esteem, grey hair, and a few extra pounds. There were people who still looked exactly the same as they did in high school. We saw others with sun damage and wrinkles and age spots. We visited with people who are wealthier than most of us can imagine. There were even a few people that were absolutely, totally hot. We spoke with single mothers, recovering alcoholics and the passionately religious. We compared our adoptions and miscarriages and anti-depressant medications. We were introduced to our classmates’ partners. We saw children with mohawks. We found out someone was a grandparent. We saw classmates who live all over the country and classmates who live 2 blocks from the high school. Our reunion was full of people who brought their old photo albums, shared their story of diving at the Great Barrier Reef, and were able to laugh at their obnoxious ex-husband. What made our reunion great was the people who took a risk, ignored their nerves and walked through the door anyway. They shared their stories with old friends and acquaintances, found things in common with people they had never spoken to before in their lives and maybe even made a new connection or two.
I cannot even begin to guess where the next five or ten years will take us. I can only hope that when the next reunion comes around even more classmates will ignore their nerves and walk through that door--you won’t regret it. So to all my fellow reunion-ites--consider this the first notice for the next reunion. It should give you plenty of time to lose those last couple of pounds, get that MBA and find some inner peace. Then there will be no excuse as to why you can’t come. See you there!
Check This Out!
Definitely rent the movie Goal! The Dream Begins starring Kuno Becker. It's a wonderful rags to riches soccer story. It has great footage and is quite inspirational. Rent it now though, because Goal II: Living the Dream hits theaters in September.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Reunion Ready
“I’m not going and you can’t make me.”
“Come on. You have to go. It’ll be fun.”
“It won’t be fun. I will be uncomfortable the whole time. You know I’m going to revert to my shy self, stand in the corner all night long and no one will talk to me. None of those people will even remember me. Most of them didn’t even know me back then and I’m sure they have nothing to say to me now. Besides… I’m too fat.”
“You are not fat.”
“I am fat. I’m certainly not hot. I wish I could go back totally hot.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I am not being ridiculous……..by the way, how long does it take to get an MBA?”
I am going to my high school reunion this week. My high school experience was perfectly enjoyable and relatively free of traumatic experiences. Yet, despite the positive memories, I find myself dealing with a few disconcerting reunion related issues.
I received the reunion notice months ago. I was sure it was just the impetus I needed to lose those last 5 or even 10 pounds. I now find myself 4 days before the reunion having gained another 5 pounds instead of having lost the 5 I had hoped to! Stupid Taco Bell Value Menu. Not wanting to spend too much money, I decided to wear an old, favorite dress from the back of my closet to the reunion. I was most frustrated and disappointed when my family pointed out that it was the exact same dress I had worn to the previous reunion. I don’t think you’re supposed to do that, are you? I bet no one would even notice. The dress and shoes I did eventually end up buying, both from the clearance rack, together cost the same amount as the “Sensational Shaper” girdle I bought to wear underneath. As long as I don’t have to eat or breathe, I think the outfit will work out well.
I tried filling out the questionnaire for the reunion booklet and froze. The only thing I could think of writing was, “Things are fine. I’m pretty happy.” I left many questions blank. I even began to wonder what the heck I was going to talk about when I got to the reunion. The way I was going, I could see myself bragging at the banquet about how I was thrilled to have gotten all my laundry done that day. Reunions have their own special language and unspoken expectations. I was failing miserably at the proper reunion marketing of myself. It helps to have something about your life that makes you stand out, makes you memorable. I haven’t lived in Italy or had 12 kids or started my own internet company. I’m not an actor, I haven’t been in jail and I’ve never been bungee jumping in the Grand Canyon. My average, suburban life was not nearly unusual enough or exciting enough or successful enough to make a proper, positive reunion impression on any of my former classmates.
Not only did I have expectations and hopes of how I would look at my reunion, but I also had a desire to have something in my life that made me special. I wanted something to make me stand out. At a minimum I wanted a size 6 dress, flat abs and a fabulous answer to the question, “So, what have you been up to?” It was obvious to me that I needed to do a little last minute work to become reunion ready. So I made a list of what I need to accomplish in the next 4 days before my reunion.
Reunion To Do List
1. Pluck out the 43 gray hairs on the front of my hairline. 2. Cover up my farmer’s tan with self tanner. 3. Sign up for an online, extremely accelerated MBA program. 4. Purchase alumnus car sticker from said school. 5. Rent a Prius…or maybe a Hummer. I do need to decide what impression I want to make. 6. Fast all week. 7. Get on the board of a charity. 8. Overcome an unfortunate health obstacle with the support of my loving and beautiful family. 9. Travel to Tibet to discover some resemblance of inner peace. 10. Meet someone famous. 11. Figure out how to casually mention this famous meeting in any conversation. 12. Become fluent in a second language. 13. Backpack somewhere for a year. 14. Run a marathon. 15. Buy a big bottle of the anti-wrinkle/anti-zit miracle potion I saw on that infomercial.
As I thought about my list I came to realize how superficial and unrealistic it was. It wasn’t me. But was it even a possibility that I could attend my reunion as………just plain me? Just average, normal, boring me? Faults and all? A little chubby, a little less successful than I rightfully should be? A little less wealthy than I want to be? Nobody would be impressed. Nobody would talk about me later. I wouldn’t be reunion famous.
And then it hit me. That’s exactly what I hope to find when I get there. I want my fellow classmates to come as exactly who they are-faults and all. It really doesn’t matter much to me if they are rich or fat or bald or famous. I’m more interested in what kind of people they turned out to be. I’m interested in their life story-the good and the bad. We’ve all had successes and high points. We’ve all had struggles and hardship. We’re guaranteed to have that in common. I’ll be going to the reunion to hear about the things in life that make my classmates happy and content. I’ll be going to the reunion to commiserate about the things that have made them sad and disappointed. Our life’s journey started at the same place many years ago. I want to hear what happened next.
So to all my fellow reunion-ites: we spent four years together at the same high school, in the same town. We cruised the same street. We spent time at the same river. We liked and disliked the same teachers. We cheered the same sports team. We worked in the same fields during the summer. We wore the same green and white. I look forward to seeing you, faults and all, and look forward to hearing where our common experiences have taken you since. Please come up and say hi to me, in case I revert to my old shy self. You will be able to find me at the head of the buffet line. I’ll be quite hungry since I’ve been fasting all week.
In Memory
Mira the cat
August 1990- July 2007
“Come on. You have to go. It’ll be fun.”
“It won’t be fun. I will be uncomfortable the whole time. You know I’m going to revert to my shy self, stand in the corner all night long and no one will talk to me. None of those people will even remember me. Most of them didn’t even know me back then and I’m sure they have nothing to say to me now. Besides… I’m too fat.”
“You are not fat.”
“I am fat. I’m certainly not hot. I wish I could go back totally hot.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I am not being ridiculous……..by the way, how long does it take to get an MBA?”
I am going to my high school reunion this week. My high school experience was perfectly enjoyable and relatively free of traumatic experiences. Yet, despite the positive memories, I find myself dealing with a few disconcerting reunion related issues.
I received the reunion notice months ago. I was sure it was just the impetus I needed to lose those last 5 or even 10 pounds. I now find myself 4 days before the reunion having gained another 5 pounds instead of having lost the 5 I had hoped to! Stupid Taco Bell Value Menu. Not wanting to spend too much money, I decided to wear an old, favorite dress from the back of my closet to the reunion. I was most frustrated and disappointed when my family pointed out that it was the exact same dress I had worn to the previous reunion. I don’t think you’re supposed to do that, are you? I bet no one would even notice. The dress and shoes I did eventually end up buying, both from the clearance rack, together cost the same amount as the “Sensational Shaper” girdle I bought to wear underneath. As long as I don’t have to eat or breathe, I think the outfit will work out well.
I tried filling out the questionnaire for the reunion booklet and froze. The only thing I could think of writing was, “Things are fine. I’m pretty happy.” I left many questions blank. I even began to wonder what the heck I was going to talk about when I got to the reunion. The way I was going, I could see myself bragging at the banquet about how I was thrilled to have gotten all my laundry done that day. Reunions have their own special language and unspoken expectations. I was failing miserably at the proper reunion marketing of myself. It helps to have something about your life that makes you stand out, makes you memorable. I haven’t lived in Italy or had 12 kids or started my own internet company. I’m not an actor, I haven’t been in jail and I’ve never been bungee jumping in the Grand Canyon. My average, suburban life was not nearly unusual enough or exciting enough or successful enough to make a proper, positive reunion impression on any of my former classmates.
Not only did I have expectations and hopes of how I would look at my reunion, but I also had a desire to have something in my life that made me special. I wanted something to make me stand out. At a minimum I wanted a size 6 dress, flat abs and a fabulous answer to the question, “So, what have you been up to?” It was obvious to me that I needed to do a little last minute work to become reunion ready. So I made a list of what I need to accomplish in the next 4 days before my reunion.
Reunion To Do List
1. Pluck out the 43 gray hairs on the front of my hairline. 2. Cover up my farmer’s tan with self tanner. 3. Sign up for an online, extremely accelerated MBA program. 4. Purchase alumnus car sticker from said school. 5. Rent a Prius…or maybe a Hummer. I do need to decide what impression I want to make. 6. Fast all week. 7. Get on the board of a charity. 8. Overcome an unfortunate health obstacle with the support of my loving and beautiful family. 9. Travel to Tibet to discover some resemblance of inner peace. 10. Meet someone famous. 11. Figure out how to casually mention this famous meeting in any conversation. 12. Become fluent in a second language. 13. Backpack somewhere for a year. 14. Run a marathon. 15. Buy a big bottle of the anti-wrinkle/anti-zit miracle potion I saw on that infomercial.
As I thought about my list I came to realize how superficial and unrealistic it was. It wasn’t me. But was it even a possibility that I could attend my reunion as………just plain me? Just average, normal, boring me? Faults and all? A little chubby, a little less successful than I rightfully should be? A little less wealthy than I want to be? Nobody would be impressed. Nobody would talk about me later. I wouldn’t be reunion famous.
And then it hit me. That’s exactly what I hope to find when I get there. I want my fellow classmates to come as exactly who they are-faults and all. It really doesn’t matter much to me if they are rich or fat or bald or famous. I’m more interested in what kind of people they turned out to be. I’m interested in their life story-the good and the bad. We’ve all had successes and high points. We’ve all had struggles and hardship. We’re guaranteed to have that in common. I’ll be going to the reunion to hear about the things in life that make my classmates happy and content. I’ll be going to the reunion to commiserate about the things that have made them sad and disappointed. Our life’s journey started at the same place many years ago. I want to hear what happened next.
So to all my fellow reunion-ites: we spent four years together at the same high school, in the same town. We cruised the same street. We spent time at the same river. We liked and disliked the same teachers. We cheered the same sports team. We worked in the same fields during the summer. We wore the same green and white. I look forward to seeing you, faults and all, and look forward to hearing where our common experiences have taken you since. Please come up and say hi to me, in case I revert to my old shy self. You will be able to find me at the head of the buffet line. I’ll be quite hungry since I’ve been fasting all week.
In Memory
Mira the cat
August 1990- July 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Terror on a Mini Spare
I can feel my heart pounding inside my chest. My sweaty hands grip the map tightly causing it to wrinkle. I look out the front windshield of the car to see the rutted, one lane dirt and gravel road curve steeply up the hill to the left. I could reach my hand out of my passenger window and touch the massive rock scree spilling down the treeless hillside. If I weren’t paralyzed with fear, that is. The nearly vertical hillside is covered in thousands of tons of sharp, craggy and charcoal colored fallen rock. On the left side of the car, the cliff drops off sharply continuing the flow of fallen, broken rock. I’ve been told the view from that spot was incredible. My attention however, was focused on the seemingly out of control SUV barreling down the hill toward us leaving behind it an overwhelming explosion of dust. For the first time in my life I am truly terrified. I am wide eyed and speechless as I bend over and lower my head to my legs, close my eyes and cover myself with the map to await my impending doom.
I’m not always this much of a chicken. I have even been known to seek out adventure a few times in my life. And perhaps this drive on this forest service road, in the middle of nowhere, would have been a bit more enjoyable—had it not been for the mini spare.
Our day began with a 2 hour drive into the mountains. We first visited an abandoned gold mining town that much to our surprise, was now quite populated. Our next plan was to head 30 miles back to town and then take a 2 mile gravel road up to a spectacular viewpoint with a 360 degree view of hundreds of miles of mountains and valleys. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as we headed out of the gold mining town and our chances of seeing this amazing sight at the spectacular viewpoint were promising. It was then the husband saw the sign. “This way to spectacular viewpoint! Only 16 miles!” The husband turns to me. “Look honey! It’s a shortcut!” The husband looked at the map and determined that this “well maintained” dirt and gravel forest service road was perfectly acceptable for a front wheel drive, family car such as ours.
For the first couple of miles it was gorgeous. We rolled down the windows and breathed in the cool mountain air. I could feel the stresses of every day life melting away with every fir and pine tree that we passed. The wildflowers were stunning. The orange, yellow and blue butterflies were the size of a small hand. I was so relaxed that I didn’t even mind when the children began their backseat commentary of our drive. We all chuckled when the almost a teenager would yell out, “blind curve!!” at each blind curve that we approached. We laughed at the most unlikely possibility of oncoming traffic in such a remote area. Each time the boy yelled out, “big rock!!” we all debated whether that rock was bigger than the last. We even managed to find it amusing when we would hear shouted from the back seat, “death drop!!” each time we came to a somewhat precarious section of the road which was bordered by a drop off or cliff. We did have to go somewhat slow on the forest service road but it was certainly passable and the trip was enjoyable.
And then it all changed. The road started to deteriorate significantly in spots. Just when I would begin to demand that we turn around, it would clear up and become quite passable again. 9 miles into our 16 mile shortcut something did not feel right. “Honey, what is that noise?” I asked. The boy in the back seat put in his two cents worth as well, “Yeah dad. And why does the forest smell like rubber?”
Our tire was utterly, completely flat. We had picked up a nail, probably back on the paved road. We had been driving on it for miles. We were going so slow that the leak wasn’t noticeable until we were driving on the rim. Fortunately the husband has changed plenty of tires and was quite competent in this area. When he was done, the family gathered around the dust covered car with three normal sized tires and one tire the size of a large donut. We looked at the map and realized we could continue on the same road of unknown, but increasingly irregular conditions for another 7 miles to the spectacular viewpoint and then travel the 2 more miles into town. Or, we could backtrack the 9 miles we had already travelled and then drive 30 more miles into town and not see the spectacular viewpoint at all.
We mistakenly chose the “quick” way into town. The last 7 miles of the forest service road were more challenging than anything we had encountered so far. The ruts were deep. The washboard was jarring. The July snow was unexpected. The speedometer rarely got over 5 miles an hour. Even the husband later admitted that he would have never taken the road any further if he had known just how bad it would get. The kids and I passed the time by calculating that at our current pace it would only take 9 hours to make it to town. I prayed the mini spare wouldn’t get swallowed by a deep rut. I prayed the mini spare would hold up on such rugged terrain. Needless to say, I was a bit on edge. I was nervous. I was jumpy. My body was continuously tensed. My thinking was beginning to become irrational. My thoughts were all negative ones. Suddenly, the almost a teenager daughter yelled out, “Blind curve!! And look at all that dust! This time someone IS coming toward us!” The boy, amazed by what he saw, shouted out, “Wow! Now THAT is a death drop! Dad, look at that snowmobile down there. Do you think it fell off this road?” It was all too much for my fragile state. It was about then that I lowered my head below the window line of the car, covered myself with my map, entered a semi catatonic state and waited to die.
When we pulled into town many hours later I almost jumped out of the car and kissed the pavement. Despite the fact that it was quite late on a Sunday afternoon, we easily found a new tire for our car. We were also fortunate that the rim was not damaged at all. As we sat at the local Dairy Queen eating burgers, my family began to reminisce about our adventure. The spectacular viewpoint really was quite spectacular. The wildlife and wildflowers were amazing. The July snowball fight will always be remembered. And wasn’t it funny when mom freaked out on the big cliff.
I have no explanation for my unusual reaction. My extreme fear is a bit embarrassing. I have learned however, that “shortcut” sometimes means an extra 7 hours. I’ve learned that “well maintained” could mean “enter at your own risk”. I’ve learned that otherwise well behaved children are capable of inciting great fear by verbal means alone. And I’ve learned that a full size spare is most preferable to a mini spare when off roading in the boonies with your family sedan. Experiencing any one of these events is enough to push the average stressed out mother over the edge. To have encountered all four in one day? Well, all I can say is I am sure glad I had that map.
Check This Out!
The book Between Two Worlds by Zainab Salbi and Laurie Becklund has the subtitle of Escape From Tyranny: Growing Up In the Shadow of Saddam. Find out what the private Saddam Hussein was like and how he affected this one woman's life forever.
I’m not always this much of a chicken. I have even been known to seek out adventure a few times in my life. And perhaps this drive on this forest service road, in the middle of nowhere, would have been a bit more enjoyable—had it not been for the mini spare.
Our day began with a 2 hour drive into the mountains. We first visited an abandoned gold mining town that much to our surprise, was now quite populated. Our next plan was to head 30 miles back to town and then take a 2 mile gravel road up to a spectacular viewpoint with a 360 degree view of hundreds of miles of mountains and valleys. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as we headed out of the gold mining town and our chances of seeing this amazing sight at the spectacular viewpoint were promising. It was then the husband saw the sign. “This way to spectacular viewpoint! Only 16 miles!” The husband turns to me. “Look honey! It’s a shortcut!” The husband looked at the map and determined that this “well maintained” dirt and gravel forest service road was perfectly acceptable for a front wheel drive, family car such as ours.
For the first couple of miles it was gorgeous. We rolled down the windows and breathed in the cool mountain air. I could feel the stresses of every day life melting away with every fir and pine tree that we passed. The wildflowers were stunning. The orange, yellow and blue butterflies were the size of a small hand. I was so relaxed that I didn’t even mind when the children began their backseat commentary of our drive. We all chuckled when the almost a teenager would yell out, “blind curve!!” at each blind curve that we approached. We laughed at the most unlikely possibility of oncoming traffic in such a remote area. Each time the boy yelled out, “big rock!!” we all debated whether that rock was bigger than the last. We even managed to find it amusing when we would hear shouted from the back seat, “death drop!!” each time we came to a somewhat precarious section of the road which was bordered by a drop off or cliff. We did have to go somewhat slow on the forest service road but it was certainly passable and the trip was enjoyable.
And then it all changed. The road started to deteriorate significantly in spots. Just when I would begin to demand that we turn around, it would clear up and become quite passable again. 9 miles into our 16 mile shortcut something did not feel right. “Honey, what is that noise?” I asked. The boy in the back seat put in his two cents worth as well, “Yeah dad. And why does the forest smell like rubber?”
Our tire was utterly, completely flat. We had picked up a nail, probably back on the paved road. We had been driving on it for miles. We were going so slow that the leak wasn’t noticeable until we were driving on the rim. Fortunately the husband has changed plenty of tires and was quite competent in this area. When he was done, the family gathered around the dust covered car with three normal sized tires and one tire the size of a large donut. We looked at the map and realized we could continue on the same road of unknown, but increasingly irregular conditions for another 7 miles to the spectacular viewpoint and then travel the 2 more miles into town. Or, we could backtrack the 9 miles we had already travelled and then drive 30 more miles into town and not see the spectacular viewpoint at all.
We mistakenly chose the “quick” way into town. The last 7 miles of the forest service road were more challenging than anything we had encountered so far. The ruts were deep. The washboard was jarring. The July snow was unexpected. The speedometer rarely got over 5 miles an hour. Even the husband later admitted that he would have never taken the road any further if he had known just how bad it would get. The kids and I passed the time by calculating that at our current pace it would only take 9 hours to make it to town. I prayed the mini spare wouldn’t get swallowed by a deep rut. I prayed the mini spare would hold up on such rugged terrain. Needless to say, I was a bit on edge. I was nervous. I was jumpy. My body was continuously tensed. My thinking was beginning to become irrational. My thoughts were all negative ones. Suddenly, the almost a teenager daughter yelled out, “Blind curve!! And look at all that dust! This time someone IS coming toward us!” The boy, amazed by what he saw, shouted out, “Wow! Now THAT is a death drop! Dad, look at that snowmobile down there. Do you think it fell off this road?” It was all too much for my fragile state. It was about then that I lowered my head below the window line of the car, covered myself with my map, entered a semi catatonic state and waited to die.
When we pulled into town many hours later I almost jumped out of the car and kissed the pavement. Despite the fact that it was quite late on a Sunday afternoon, we easily found a new tire for our car. We were also fortunate that the rim was not damaged at all. As we sat at the local Dairy Queen eating burgers, my family began to reminisce about our adventure. The spectacular viewpoint really was quite spectacular. The wildlife and wildflowers were amazing. The July snowball fight will always be remembered. And wasn’t it funny when mom freaked out on the big cliff.
I have no explanation for my unusual reaction. My extreme fear is a bit embarrassing. I have learned however, that “shortcut” sometimes means an extra 7 hours. I’ve learned that “well maintained” could mean “enter at your own risk”. I’ve learned that otherwise well behaved children are capable of inciting great fear by verbal means alone. And I’ve learned that a full size spare is most preferable to a mini spare when off roading in the boonies with your family sedan. Experiencing any one of these events is enough to push the average stressed out mother over the edge. To have encountered all four in one day? Well, all I can say is I am sure glad I had that map.
Check This Out!
The book Between Two Worlds by Zainab Salbi and Laurie Becklund has the subtitle of Escape From Tyranny: Growing Up In the Shadow of Saddam. Find out what the private Saddam Hussein was like and how he affected this one woman's life forever.
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