June 27, 2010

Twenty-five years ago this Wednesday, on the hottest day in 25 years, I got married in the sun. I still remember the sweat trickling down my back while my husband-to-be whispered oh-so-casually that they had forgotten my ring in the “bachelor’s room.”

“No way!” I responded.

“Yes, we did.” Bill answered as Mike, his best man, nodded sheepishly behind him. We quickly told the minister, who came up with a plan that we agreed to – really, what choice did we have. When I let Jeanette, my maid of honor, in on the bungle, she stifled hearty laughter.

And so began our adventure. The first blip on the screen of our marriage. He and his friends screw up and me and my friends laugh at them. There have been many blips, which means there has been much laughter. No, really, we’re laughing with you not at you.

Then came the clash of the expectations. How was I to know that shit was a bad word. I walked him outdoors and pointed to all the dog shit in the yard and told Bill, “See, it’s not a bad word. It’s a real thing.” That didn’t go over so well. I got many the disapproving frowns because of my sailor-like vocabulary. I explained that as an English major, I know how and when some words are appropriate and a good “bad” word is appropriate at times. He was unconvinced. Then I went to one of his ball games unannounced and I heard him giving his players a good talking to – with “f-bombs.” I was so shocked I had to leave. And I was hearby granted permission to talk anyway I wanted, and I do. Those bleeps in our marriage add spice and fire. And at our age, cuss words are safe spice and fire. No one’s sore the next day.

And, there’s been all those times when I was done. Done with writing, done with a job, done with a friend, done with trying and Bill was there to brush me off, tell me “You’re fine” and send me on my merry way. That has been the bliss.

So, after twenty-five years, it really all is a cliche. Some days it feels like forever, like today when I was cleaning house while he laid on the couch and watched the Dodger’s game. “Watched” is the verb in that sentence because he couldn’t hear the game over me screaming, “You are a liability in this relationship. I think I’ll go looking for someone who is an asset! No I said ‘asset.’ I know how you hate me cussing!”

Then there are times it feels like yesterday that he took over the paper route I had taken on as a job because I was worried about money, but it quickly became clear that princess needs her sleep. Actually, it was yesterday that he called the insurance company to straighten out a billing mistake because princess doesn’t like haggling on the phone, it brings out too many opportunities for the use of colorful words.

So, this week I feel like the luckiest person in the world. I get to enjoy the marital blips which keep us laughing. Bill puts up with all those bleeps which I think make life more interesting. And, there is bliss. Lucky me.

This week I will keep the bleeps to a minimum even when he commits a blip so we can enjoy our marital bliss.

June 19, 2010

That should be a rhetorical question at my age, but still I ponder.

I’m going boating for the first time in two years. Why so long between trips, you might ask. Well, it’s complicated.

First there is the fact that we own the boat from hell. Seriously.

We used to have a nice 19 foot ski boat with an open bow which topped out at 35 miles per hour, but mostly ran at 25. Perfect speed in my book. Then this perfectly good boat met it’s demise in the middle of the Mohave desert and we needed to get a new boat.

I explained to my husband that I wanted to pontoon boats, you know, those slow, flat boats with a nice shade canopy that are sometimes painted in camouflage. I figured, nice and slow, lots of room to move around, we could even put in a nice stereo and just cruise. Yeah, cruising was my speed.

My husband talked about a speed boat. I didn’t pay that much attention because I was sure I would get my way. Or at least there would be a compromise, say, a deck boat.

The hubby shopped and shopped for boats, inviting me along in fact. I told him, “I trust you.”

Then he came home with a speed boat, a big speed boat with “tribal” flames in red along the side. I asked him if he was planning on leaving me since I was not the wife for that boat. Four years later, we are still married, though I rarely go boating.

But, sometimes my resolve wears thin and I grow weak and I agree to go on a trip.

So, tomorrow I will be floating, no, I will be cruising, no, I will be flashing up and down the river. Oh joy!

So, as I’m packing tonight I wonder, do I pack those bikinis which I usually only wear in the jacuzzi when no one is around.

Now, you may be asking, why would a 44 year old woman even be contemplating a bikini. That’s a good question.

Here’s the thing. When I look around, even at 44 I still look pretty damn good compared. So there’s a reason to pack those bikinis.

Here’s another thing, as my fellow writer, teacher and sun-worshipper, Daryl Womack, once told me, “Tanned fat looks better than white, pasty fat.” So there’s another reason.

Finally, the last reason,  I would be doing a favor to all other women. To those other women wearing a bikini, well, they would look good compared to me. To those women wishing they could wear a bikini, I’d be helping them with their diet, since seeing me in a bikini will make them so nauseated, they won’t eat and be well on their way to that bikini body they want.

As I rationalize it, there is no reason not to wear a bikini, except for good taste, oh and vanity.

So I suppose I will wear a tasteful one-piece, with a nice slimming black wrap.

If you see me, wave, though you probably won’t see me, because the boat will be passing by you so fast you’ll be wondering what just caused that breeze.

This week I will act my age, even in swimwear choices.

June 13, 2010

On Thursday night I could hear a young, vibrant voice echoing across the valley about chasing your dreams and fulfilling your destiny. I thought about how the voices I usually hear are older, raspy and demanding and wondered where this new voice was coming from.

Then I remembered. Graduation. I could hear the graduation speaker and boy was she excited.

So, it is that time of year, and I have bought several cards to fill with money, because that is the tradition right? “Here’s a little gate money. Now good luck and don’t look back.”

I did not buy the card that said, “Reach for the moon, even if you miss, you will land among the stars.” Someone, maybe me, should tell Hallmark and American Greetings that if you miss the moon, the stars are actually much further away and you just land where there is no oxygen, lots of flying debris and you will probably die.

I was thinking of creating my own graduation cards based on this moon and stars premise:

Jump off a tall building, even if you don’t defy gravity your name will be in the paper.

Hold you breath if you don’t get your way, even if still you don’t get your way, you will turn a nice shade of blue, pass out, wake up and you can try again.

Don’t expect anything from the future, even if you never accomplish anything, you will be fully in the now.

I’m happy to freelance for either company since I am not busy fulfilling my graduation dream of being a physical therapist. And I wondered, since I’m not fulfilling my dream, does that mean I am a failure?

Luckily my cherub doesn’t graduate until next year (God willing!), so I have an entire year to compose a vibrant, encouraging message for his graduation. I think it will go something like this:

Life is like snow skiing. You think you have made it to the top of the mountain and now you can get off the lift, or graduate, and things will be smooth sailing toward retirement and afternoons of naps. But, your lift partner will probably be clumsy and push you down as you get off the lift, they will have to stop the lift and people you don’t know, and even those you do, will be irritated with you for messing up everyone else’s mojo. You have your first decision to make, spend your time explaining how it was your partner’s fault and be mad at your partner for being clumsy, or brush yourself off, smile and move on. I suggest moving on.

Then you start skiing down the hill. Things are going smoothly. This is easier than you thought so you decide to go try the moguls. They are harder than you thought. You will probably fall down a lot. You will probably wish you hadn’t taken the moguls. And, to top it all off, your partner is below you yelling at you to hurry up and he told you the moguls were too difficult. So you have to decide, be mad at your dumb decision and take it out on your partner, or smile and keep at it. I suggest, smile and keep at it.

Finally you get past the moguls and take an intermediate run when a snowboarder hits you from behind, causing you to lose one of your skis, which you have to climb back up the mountain, dodging other less-than-talented-skiiers-and-snowboarders, to retrieve and when you look around for the guy who hit you, thinking he must be hanging around to see if you’re okay and if you need help and he’s nowhere to be seen, you can either sit down and cry, or put on your ski and coast the rest of the way. I suggest coasting.

Finally, you will get to the bottom of the mountain. Your partner will be there because he wants to ride up the lift with you again and while in line you see the guy who hit you. You can decide to ride the lift with a partner who will probably clumsily push you down again. You can decide to yell at the snowboarder who ran into you and didn’t wait to see if you needed help. You can decide to stay down the mountain and get some hot chocolate.

Whatever you decide, keep in mind that it is not the skiing that matters. It is not the moguls that matter. It is not the journey that matters. It is not the accomplishments that matter. What matters is how you conducted yourself with the people around you.

And, don’t jump off any buildings because no matter how great you feel, you cannot defy gravity.

This week I will stay in the now of my life, rather than lament the dreams I have not fulfilled, not yet.

June 6, 2010

Several months ago I read that if you are the smartest person in your group of friends, you need a new group. I looked around and thought, “I need a new group.”

I sought out people who were further in their career than I. I sought out people who were more published than I. I sought out people who held higher degrees than I. I began taking my daily dose of Flaxseed oil so I could keep up with all these really smart people.

I thought I was hanging pretty good. But, this week made me question whether or not my new friends aren’t looking around thinking, “Hey, I’m the smartest person in this group, maybe…”

First I was discussing a “delicate” work related problem with a colleague when he asked if I was in my office alone. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Yes, I’m alone.”

That was my first clue.

Then my master’s in philosophy friend sent me an email referring to “like so-and-so did” then followed it up within seconds to articulate fully which so-and-so action he was referring to, because obviously his trust in my ability to deduce what he meant was meager.

That was my second clue.

Then I posted what I thought was a witty response to a Facebook post, only to be schooled. Apparently I had posted a pun, which was redundant since the original post was the pun. Duh! Okay,so maybe my powers of deduction…

That was my third clue.

I do try to keep up with my friend’s expectations. Like when one girlfriend pointed out how the light fixture didn’t match the room at all, I made a point to refurbish it to match the rest of the decor. Of course, that friend hasn’t been over since. Strange…

Or my friend who wondered why my swimming pool was so freezing. After I explained the amount of shade the pool got and the elevation my house was at, I decided to solve the problem and buy a solar blanket to warm that pool up. Of course, that friend hasn’t bee over since either. Hum…

I wonder, are my friends looking around thinking, “I need some smarter friends”?

It’s a dilemma. Do I make my smart friends feel smarter by being me? Or do I make me feel smarter by hanging around all my regular friends? It seems like my smart friends are too smart to stick around as my friends for long anyway.

I’m hoping the universe provides me with my next set of instructions about this smart and not-so-smart friend dilemma.

And, now all my friends are thinking,”Hey, which friend am I?”

Well, I am smart enough not to tell, so don’t even ask.

This week I will relish all my friends, those who make me feel smart and those who make me feel like I have much still to learn in this world.