Hot and Cold!

I am my own compact and complete cooling and heating system.  It works better than the antiquated thermostat in our house. My body has this amazing ability to heat up and cool down randomly.  And it is a skill that only came on recently.  In the middle of the night it hits, temperature escalates to well over 98.6 degrees.  Toasty warm.  As the temp continues to rise, blankets get tangled up in a twisted mess below my lower legs. Pajama bottoms come off. Husband and dog sleeps peacefully near by. 

Miraculously, as beads of sweat collect on my exposed skin, air conditioning begins to cool this temple of mine, just a little too well.  I begin to shiver.  Where did I throw those pajama bottoms?  Never mind, untangle blankets and cover up.  Husband and dog sleep peacefully near by.

Heat up, sweat, cool down, repeat.  That’s the cycle until the break of dawn when the alarm annoyingly threatens to go off. 

I now understand what my comrades have been whining about. 

COFFEE KARMA!

Who says 18 year olds are callow, shallow, self-absorbed?  On her way to work a few days ago, our daughter pulled in line at a Starbucks drive-thru for a cup of coffee.  Much to her surprise and delight the barista handed the steaming “cup o Joe“ and proclaimed, “no charge”.  Why?  Apparently the car in front of her paid for her treat! 

Touched with the sweet gesture she glanced in the mirror at the car behind her.  Yep, kindness paid backwards, that’s exactly what she did, treated for the coffee of the person next in line without them knowing. 

With a warmth that penetrated deep within her, it wasn’t the coffee that produced that sensation. 

I imagine the smile on the baristas face on that chilly morning and wonder how far the chain of kindness continued.

"Lost and Found" by Gary

Last week, a few nights before Christmas, our daughter's 1994 Black Honda Accord was stolen from its parking space in front of our house.  I hate when that happens!

Its absence wasn't immediately alarming, or even noticed--any other time the car had been missing it was because it had been borrowed or left at a friends house overnight.  However when our daughter called us in at school in the middle of the day asking if we had taken it for our morning commute, we realized something was definitely amiss. We suggested she file a police report right away.

The Petaluma police officer was polite and efficient. He reported that Hondas were frequently stolen due to a forgiving entry key and ignition system and a strong demand in the secondary parts market. Ours was one of two hondas reported stolen that night.  Most likely, he told our daughter, the car was in the East Bay being stripped of it's parts. In my mind I imagined our honda perched on a carving board like a Thanksgiving carcass. I cringed inwardly to think of "Black Beauty" (all of our cars have names) ending it's existence in this way. The reported loss included the contents of the car: yoga mat, ipod charger, clothing, etc. Fortunately our daughter's product display table wasn't in the car; she had taken it out to make room for a 5 gallon pail filled with persimmons from her uncle's house.

The idea bothered us: car thieves driving up and down sleepy little Westridge Place, our cozy abode of more than twenty years, in the middle of the night????  Our consternation turned to anger a bit later. How low would someone go, to steal a car just days before Christmas? The loss was bad enough, but who needs the police report, insurance calls and alternate ride schedules at the busiest time of the season? 

The first call, to our insurance company felt like a sucker punch to the gut.  The honda was not insured comprehensively for theft. Chalk up another denied insurance claim for the O's,  completing the trifecta that went with last summer's botched drapery cleaning by the house cleaning service in Tahoe and Alyssa's Mustang, totaled by an uninsured driver in 2007. This has not been a good couple of years for us insurance-wise... Oh well, we decided to move on.

A friend offered unlimited use of a spare miata that she was selling, for as long as we needed it. It was a kind and generous gesture and we accepted.  Teresa was enamored with the little sports car and took to it quickly as she enjoyed  quick jaunts around the neighborhood. And when our daughter disclosed her uneasiness with driving a stick-shift,  Teresa became the logical driver of the miata. It would make sense for us to buy it. Our daughter would gladly take the old CRV.

Over the next few days, we adjusted to our new transportation assignments. The CRV was reliable, safe transportation for our daughter; and the little miata was a lot of fun. Teresa enjoyed the responsiveness and manueverability of the cherry-red sportscar. After trips to the DMV and insurance companies, we were back up to full speed and over the loss of the stolen car.

Then the phone call came....at 3:15 am, a time when calls are never a good thing. It was a Twin Cities police officer. The Honda had been recovered in Greenbrae.  We had less than an hour to come down and claim it, otherwise it would be towed and stored at our expense. I didn't quite understand why all this couldn't wait until a more reasonable hour. Weren't we the victims here?? Dazed, Teresa and I looked at each other and started to put on some sweats. "But I like Bing!" was all she could say.

The drive to Greenbrae was sureal. There were practically no other cars on the road. I remembered that we took the exact same, middle of the night trip to the hospital 18 and 21 years earlier when our daughters were ready to come into this world.

We pulled into the gas station where the car had been recovered. It was surrounded by three police officers, like a SWAT team, although instead of holding drawn guns they had donuts and coffee. The youngest, shortest officer of the group came forward to greet us, as if it was his duty as the 'rookie' while the more experienced officers watched.  He was very professional as he retold the recovery story and signed off the paperwork. Teresa blurted out her first and foremost  question: 'Did they recover the big pail of persimmons from Uncle Tommy's?!!"

The car ended up being in fine running condition. All the contents were gone, replaced by numerous cigarette butts and a seemingly absurd number of clues that the police overlooked or avoided (filed down keys, matchbook with phone numbers, prying screwdriver, and later, three toll evasion violations showing the precise time of trips back and forth over the Richmond bridge). Yet it was evident the police department's role was complete and this was a 'closed case'. We drove home, and the unspoken question lingered....somewhere between Terra Linda and Ignacio,  I looked over at  Teresa and said, yes, we could keep "Bing". Her smile told me I had read her mind exactly...Back at home, the return to a deep sleep came surprisingly easy.  And in the morning, we celebrated by slicing up and enjoying the only remaining persimmon from Uncle Tommy's tree. 

27 Sheets of Paper!

27 sheets of paper lay safely tucked away in a drawer beside our bed.  27 sheets of paper representing the 27^th New Year of this lovely little tradition of ours.  27 cups of tea later, we’ve dreamed of what we want to have, what we want to do, and most importantly how we want to be.  Bullet point by bullet point, written in alternating he and she script, these 27 sheets of paper chronicles the evolution of our marriage reduced to its essence. 

And it all started because we were broke!  Very broke.  No money, no savings, zip, nada, niente!  A very modest wedding behind us and a ton of growth before us, we were bound and determined to be intentional about, well just about everything.  Intentional before it was in vogue that’s how at ages 26 we began our lives together. 

Each year as we look back, we revel in the memories.

   1983 we needed to save money.  We also needed to earn some.

   1985 money saved we bought our first home.

   1986 we dreamed of starting a family.

   1988 dream came true when our first daughter was born.  Heaven!

   1989 husband becomes a teacher

   1991 the joyful anticipation of child number two.  Magical!

   And so it goes…..

Along the way there were trips taken, job changes, investments made, good health, bad health, first communions, confirmations, graduations, marriages, funerals, singing, dancing, births and deaths.  Year after year, adventure after adventure, we lovingly looked back at what was accomplished, what wasn’t, and looked forward to the possibilities of the coming year, but with this in mind.

You can be as intentional as ever, but be prepared for the unexpected.  Because all the planning in the world will never prepare one for the unbelievable depth of emotions, sadness, joy and love that come with lives fully lived.

And this year, keep reading.

PEACE ON EARTH GOOD WILL TOWARDS MOMS!

Oh lord!  What happened to my clean, peaceful, loving home?  Tension on the home front is palatable.  With both daughters home for an extended period of time, the walls are beginning to close in on me.  Is it possible that I got use to the space so quickly?

As I examine the root of the problem, I’ve come to a very simple conclusion.  Kids who leave home for the first time get use to their independence.  They think that all this “wisdom” acquired in the FOUR months they’ve been gone, entitles them to come and go as they please, not help out around the house, and look at the parent units as aliens from somewhere unknown to humankind.  Geez, would it be that painful to at least pretend that life is pretty darned sweet around here?

She was doing so well too.  She was communicating openly and expertly.  Our phone conversations, texts and emails felt meaningful.  There was no second-guessing or reading between the lines.  She shared her dreams, goals and what was going on in her life and we loved it.  What happened?  It may be possible that we are better with each other when we are not living together and that is a painful possibility.  It makes me sad.  I hope it’s not the case. 

And then there are those fleeting moments of sanity, a smile perhaps, or sitting down and watching a movie with us. These moments I silently thank my lucky stars that underneath the angst she still connects with us.

Here is what I think will happen because we are not the first family to go through this transition.  As she matures she will actually want to come and spend time with us.  Our conversations will be meaningful.  There will be sweetness in her disposition as she openly recognizes the blessings around her.  She may even see beyond her own needs and say, “oh, can I help with that”?  Better yet, she will just do without asking.  I know this to be true.  I did it.  My husband did it.  My oldest daughter is doing it. 

So, the youngest will get on board too.  That is if we don’t lose it and tear into each other in the meantime.  I’m waiting.  

TEACHERS DO NOT MAKE GOOD STUDNETS!

“You all weed pooty good!”  With a missing finger on his right hand, that’s what my Italian teacher, Mr. Paeri (pronounced pie air ee) would point and say after we would take turns reading from the text.  Truth was, we could read pretty good, but only understood about half of what we were reading.  At least that was true for me, one of the eager students in his Intermediate /Advanced conversation class. 

Mr. Paeri had been teaching for 50 years and by teaching standards, he was very old fashioned. Every class we’d begin reciting numbers, days, months, years, and seasons.  His reasoning? To warm up our lips to “pronounce” the words correctly. Every time he lumbered to the white board, he would use a faded red marker that strained the eyes of his more mature students, me included.  No technology in this class, just good old fashioned, teacher directed, auditory learnin’! I liked that.

Mr. Paeri was incredibly patient with us, gently correcting the improper word order or lack of noun verb agreement our brains just couldn’t seem to grasp.  Rarely would he cringe when la bella lingua was butchered by the most incredibly offensive mispronunciations!  Honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed him if he high tailed it out of the classroom to get his ears away from the cacophony of sounds that seemed offensive even to my untrained ears. Even though the class was from 7 to 10 pm on Thursday nights, I wanted to go just to hear Mr. Paeri speak and attempt to improve my rudimentary Italian.

One of our assignments was to put together a little presentation in Italian and speak in front of the entire class.  I chose to talk about a recent trip to New York complete with a slideshow of photos projected on a big screen. Teachers do not make great students and that includes me.  I signed up to present last, extending the time I needed to prepare.  And I cheated!  I just couldn’t bear not having a wonderful presentation, so I used Google translator.  Truth is I probably spent more time correcting the translator than it would have taken to write the darned thing myself.  Judging by his smile and slight nods of the head, it went ok

I enjoyed the teacher, students and class so much that I signed up for the next semester’s class with Mr. Paeri.  Much to my dismay, however, it was canceled and to this day and I do not know why.  But a visit from Italian friends and a return to the country where my husband spent half of three years, motivated me to continue.

I now have a private tutor, my husband, Gary!  There are advantages to having a mate who gives you a break on tutoring fees.  We ordered a very expensive set of cd’s to listen to on the way to work each morning.  Starting with the intermediate series, I felt “pooty good”.  Gary pleased with my progress, then ordered the advanced set of cds.  Here is where I hit a bit of a roadblock that could test the most solid of marriages.  But I continue to muddle through. Gary, in his ever-patient style has endured listening to me trying to translate in English, respond in Italian, and predict what’s coming up next, all while he must concentrate on his driving during the early morning commute.  

More than once I’ve been known to throw up a hand shushing and scolding him to silence so I can concentrate. He’s not complained once when I’ve asked him to pause the cd, rewind the cd, repeat the command or grill him on phrases that made absolutely no sense to me.  Phrases like “would you like to TAKE a cup of coffee with me?” Yet there are expressions that make me feel so genteel, like “how kind on your part!” I’ve spent many a minute mouthing those beautiful words, E gentile di parte tua, fantasizing when I may actually get to use them. 

At this age, I am no longer an ideal student. But, it’s fun and challenging to learn new things, especially when there is no concern about the grade.  And beyond the learning I have the utmost respect for teachers who have their own set of challenges to endure, trying to teach well meaning, linguistically challenged students like me.    

A Beer, A Burrito and A Bit of Comedy!

Nearly comatose!  That’s my state of being on Friday nights.  It used to be that I’d come home, cook, attend a sporting event and collapse into bed, ignoring my bodies signals to recover from a long week of work and attending to house, errands, yard, laundry and family.  No complaints, here, just stating the facts. I loved going to games and watching our kids and their friends do what kids do, even when fatigue made me resemble a glazed Stepford wife at times.  It was fun because I knew these kids and had watched them grow up.

So, when my ever-energetic husband asked me to attend the local football playoffs the last couple of weeks, I gladly declined the invitation.  Why oh why in the world would I want to move my behind out of the well worn cushy couch, to freeze it while watching kids I don’t know get pounded by other kids I don’t know, all the while trying to move an oddly shaped ball, yard by excruciatingly boring yard, down a field behind a goal line?  No can do.

My new Friday night tonic to reward myself from a productive week of work and attending to the house, yard, errands, laundry and family: a beer, a burrito and a bit of comedy.  Heaven.  My brain is bathed in just the perfect amount of dopamine to put me in a very relaxing, mildly serene state.  Nothing bothers me. No more Stepford wife, just one happy, glowing working mom, who chuckles at the silly recorded shows, enjoys not having to prepare dinner for four and can roll into bed any time I darned well please.  Sound euphoric? 

The last few years, I couldn’t imagine life on Friday nights without kids to attend to. I thought I would miss the action.  This phase of life is not without adventure.  I couldn’t live happily without that.  But Friday nights now have become sacred. It’s sweet to be able to choose what to do without selfish guilt:  cook dinner, order out?  watch TV or read? go to local game, stay home? bed at 9, bed at 11? Last night choice, order out, TV, home, bed at 11!

Here it is, Saturday morning, I’m well rested and ready for an adventure!