Category: Everyday Life

Last night my friend Carol and I found ourselves without our male counterparts at dinnertime.  Our husbands had been invited to  a business dinner at a nice restaurant downtown (spouses aren’t included anymore). Neither of us wanted to eat alone so planned on meeting at one of the many local Mexican restaurants in Greene County.  Carol had a craving for a margarita so we decided on meeting at El Jaripeo at 5:30.

When we arrived at the restaurant, another woman who arrived at the same time held the door for us to walk in.  We exchanged very brief pleasentries in the foyer before the hostess came to seat us.  When the hostess asked how many we had in our party, we told her there were two of us.  As we began to walk away I turned back and asked the woman who had held the door if she was meeting someone.  She said no.

Well, since Carol and I were there to avoid eating alone, it seemed only natural to ask her if she’d like to join us.  After hesitating for a second to make sure we really wanted her to join us, she said yes.  We ordered our margaritas and the conversation began.

It’s amazing how quickly women begin to share information.  I think we instinctively try to find as many commonalities as possible.  And, in more cases than not, we find them.

Like Carol and I, our new friend Lyndsay was also married to a former career military man.  She also has two grown children and is new to the area having only been here for a year or so.  It wasn’t long before we were sharing ideas of ways she could become involved in the community and make more connections.

The evening passed pretty quickly and it wasn’t long before our happy hour tumblers were empty and our tummies were full.  As Carol and I reached for our wallets to pay our portions of the check, Lyndsay swept it away and insisted dinner was her treat; totally disregarding our protests.  Incredibly, she even sent us emails thanking us for inviting her to join us last night.

Obviously we never expected to get a free meal last night at El Jaripeo but then, we never expected to make a new friend either.

Forty-three years ago today I sat on the floor of my friend Gail’s dorm room waiting for the phone in the booth down the hall to ring. I was waiting for a call from this guy Dave who I’d recently been introduced to.  He’d said he’d give me a call on Friday after dinner.  It was Friday evening and I was worried that he wasn’t going to call.  But then he did and my life was changed forever.

We didn’t have the kind of first date romanticized by Hollywood.  We didn’t go to a movie or a dance.  In fact, we didn’t really go anywhere.  I suppose you could say we “hung out” for several hours.  In a previous chat between classes,  Dave was surprised to hear that I’d never tasted Southern Comfort before.  He suggested if wanted he could get some for me to try.  That night he picked up a fifth of the stuff for us to share.

I honestly don’t remember what Southern Comfort tastes like. It must have at least been drinkable because we managed to finish the bottle off over the course of the evening.  What I do remember is the two of us sitting on the wall of the fountain that sat between our dorms on a clear spring evening, talking and laughing as we opened our lives to each other.

I remember telling Gail that there was something about Dave that was special.  She wasn’t so sure, telling me he looked like he was someone who could kill someone.  Fortunately for me, I was right, he was special.

And forty-three years later, I still feel that way.  No, he’s not perfect but then neither am I.  But together we form a perfect, imperfect union.  Through the years we’ve been through a lot, as most couples do.  We’ve had great joys and immense sorrows, surprises and disappointments.  But no matter how great the challenge, we have always managed to find our way back to that place in ourselves where we began; two young souls sharing of themselves under God’s heaven.

So Happy Southern Comfort Day Dave!  I’m so glad you called that night and that I didn’t listen to Gail.  Love you Sweetie!

For the past week I’ve  been following the daily meditations posted by Matthew Kelly called “Best Lent Ever”  which follows his book, “Resisting Happiness.” And, so far, I can honestly say that the short video messages I listen to each morning are leading me in a direction that seems to make more sense than my attempts at observing Lent in the past.  Each day has a focus and a little mind homework to do.  Today’s assignment was to take a few moments to write down my image of God as well as how that image has evolved throughout my lifetime.  And, because I have a very positive image of God, I thought I’d share it with you.

My first image of God was that of a father.  In that respect I am very fortunate because my own father was and is someone who reflects the kind of parent I believe God to be.  Above all things, my father loved us and showed that love.  I’m not merely talking about hugs and kisses, but rather his day in and day out dedication to his family, doing everything in his power to insure we were well cared for, healthy and happy.  Like God, my father was generous; not giving us everything we wanted, but all that we needed.  He was forgiving and tender; even at the times when we were what we would consider unlovable or unforgivable.  Simply put, my dad provided the examples in my life necessary for me to form a vision of God.

When I left home, I sort of left God behind for a while as well.  And, while that in itself is a long story, suffice it to say that because I had my vision of God fully formed in my heart, when I was ready to come back, I knew that God, like the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son (or daughter) would welcome me back with open arms.  And God did just that.

In my early adulthood, after I became a mother, my vision of God really began to expand as I realized that in large part, I had become “god” to my babies.  I provided them with what they needed and loved and nurtured them.  It was then I really began to envision the depth and scope of God’s love for me and indeed, every one of us.

As my children grew from sweet toddlers into awkward and sometimes mouthy pre-teens with contrary opinions I began to realize that no matter how much they exercised their free will and made choices that were not what I would have wanted, I could not imagine not loving them.  I simply can’t image anything they could do that would make me stop feeling that way.  Like God’s covenant with us, that God will be our God and we will be God’s people; I am Maggie and Andy’s mother and they are my children. Period.

I don’t know how or if my vision of God will change as I move into the later chapters of my life.  Perhaps I will add old friend to my vision.  After all, God has known me since before I was born.  What I do know is that I have truly been blessed throughout my life by God’s presence in it.

 

ps.  More information on “Best Lent Ever” can be found at:  www.dynamiccatholic.com/bestlentever/   I wouldn’t say it’s specifically a “catholic” thing, but a good thing to check out.

 

 

 

Last week I recorded an episode of Hawaii Five – O to catch a glimpse of one of Maggie’s best friends, and my favorite people, who had landed a part as a villain.  Brandon was more than just one of her closest friends when we lived in Mililani.  He seemed to always be at our house and was essentially part of our family, our Ohana.  And, even though we left Oahu more than twenty years ago, the bonds were formed there remain strong.

So, the opportunity to see my little Brandon take his shot on network TV was something I wasn’t going to miss.  He’d let us know that he was only in the last few minutes of the show, so I bypassed the beginning and fast forwarded up to the point when Brandon made his entrance.

There is no question that his character was a dark soul.  He lived in a remote cabin in the woods where he was holding a young woman captive.  The scene started with a lone female law officer entering the home, gun drawn, looking for the girl.  After finding her and beginning their escape, they encountered the villain, played by Brandon in the kitchen.  I don’t remember what happened to the officer’s gun, but a scuffle ensued and she began hurling pots and pans at Brandon, several hitting him.  I have to admit, it upset me to see my little Brandon being attacked, even if he was the “bad guy”.

After briefly stunning their attacker, the woman retreated to a back bedroom where they attempted to barricade themselves but Brandon got there before the door could be shut and inserted his foot in the door jamb.  A close-up of his face revealed sinister intent.

Then, as if the cavalry had been called, Steve MacGarrett and the Five-O crew busted in and in an instant, shot Brandon’s character in the back, killing him as if he were a rabid dog.  He crumpled to the floor and the woman were safe.

At first I thought I found this scene disturbing because even though it was a television program, it was my Brandon that was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.  But then I began to ask myself if this could have really happened this way with no repercussions to the police officer involved.  Would an officer really simply shoot an unarmed person in the back as the first attempt to subdue them?  There was no evidence that Brandon’s character was armed and Steve was not alone.  Surely the group of them could have taken one bad guy down without taking a kill shot.

I know Hawaii-Five-O is only a television program and the details are probably as factual as most of the other dramas – taking advantage of the poetic license.   But I also know that many people who watch these programs believe what they see and when a “good guy” like Steve MacGarrett shoots a bad guy seemingly without taking the time to consider an option, and the crowd cheers, what does that say about us as a people?

I’m glad I got to see Brandon’s debut on network television but in a way I’m also glad he won’t be a recurring character because I don’t think I could stand watching any more.

Love you Brandon!

 

Sunday afternoons in the winter provide the perfect opportunity for Dave and I to rest up from one busy week and get charged for the next.  When the sky is gray, we take full advantage by curling up beside each other on the couch and watch TV.

Yesterday afternoon we watched in hopeful anticipation as our VA Cavaliers led the Villanova Wildcats through the entire first three-quarters of their out of conference match in Philadelphia.  Dominating in both shooting and defense, victory seemed a slam dunk.  Then, somewhere in the middle of the second half, Villanova found their stride and ended up winning the game by two points.  We were disappointed by our team’s loss but in the end, it is only a game, our guys played well and we look forward to the next one.

Later in the day the national news was full of the latest round of protesters demonstrating their disapproval of the new government administration’s policy direction change from the status quo.  It seems every day new groups are taking to the street in cities not only in this country but worldwide, voicing their dissatisfaction in our new president.  As the dots began to connect in my brain I realized that this fall’s election was a lot like the game we saw earlier in the day.  Our candidate was leading in the polls throughout the race but in the end, lost the election.  My reaction to that loss was not so philosophical…..

But elections are not like basketball games.  Just because you lose an election, doesn’t mean you go home and wait until the next one to cast your vote.  Active participation as a citizen in this country means you know who what the issues are, who your representatives are and when you disagree with the course your government is taking, you speak out.  You are not a crybaby.  You are not a sore loser.  You are actively participating in the narrative.

As Americans were are afforded the right to speak out for and against issues that move us to do so. The First Amendment guarantees Americans the right to do so, and with as much if not more merit than the Second Amendment allows us to own a gun. After all, it was included in the First Amendment.

Despite how you might feel about the agenda of any group,  Americans are  guaranteed the right to free and peaceable assembly.  While that may include happy events like parade and picnics, it also includes ugly assemblies of unhappy people (and nasty women) in an effort to provide a visual display of their desire to be heard by those elected to represent them. They also become a rallying point for others to join in.

Social media sites like Facebook have quickly become a platform for people to share their thoughts and fears and based on recent postings, there are some who would rather be spared from the dialog. (Which can be easy done in Preferences.)  After all, the internet is where we congregate these days.  For a while I agreed, it would be nice to live in a world of cute kitten videos and yummy recipes; which I think if Marx were alive today, he might also call the opiate of the people.

If I could change one thing about the social media dialogue, it would be that people shared more about what they actually thought rather than merely sharing memes without doing the fact checking first.   It is that false narrative that irritates me, not someone else’s differing opinion.  If the information on which you base your opinion is untrue, doesn’t that shake your stance or at least suggest your should do some research?

Bottom line is I believe the dialogue is necessary, as long as it’s done with facts: real facts, not alternative facts.  We need to approach dissenting opinions with sincere respect, open to listen, not merely preparing our rebuttal while someone else in talking.  Frankly it’s a challenge I find myself failing at regularly.  But I believe it is just as worthy a challenge to exercise and work at as my dreaded dead lifts.

 

In the more than five years since I began my twice weekly workout sessions with my trainer, Lorenzo, I have been given many challenges, both physical and mental to accomplish the tasks offered on any given day.   It has been work, transforming my well-developed couch potato body and mind into one with athletic intent.

I have come a long way, no longer intimidated by the people or equipment of the gym.  I have mastered many tasks like crunches, curls, and squats and am working at improving my planks and push-ups.  For the most part I am achieving things I never thought I’d be able to do except for one thing; balance myself on one foot.

This morning’s routine for example included thirteen reps each of standing lunges, kettle bell squats, push-ups (full extension – not on my knees), superman quads, and a one minute plank followed by thirteen dreaded dead-drop one leg lifts.

If you’re not familiar with a dead-drop lift, the goal is to bend over at the waist, lifting up one leg up and back while reaching down to pick up cones set on the floor in front of you.  Ideally your hands should touch the cones as your outstretched leg is at its furthest point out.  Then, as your leg returns to the ground you return to the full standing position.  Sounds easy, right? (Try it and see.)

Right now, this exercise is the most challenging thing I am asked to do in the gym.  And, it seems that no matter how I try to focus, as soon as I bend over, my leg begins to wobble and although I may execute the movement, it definitely lacks the control and grace it should.  Occasionally, one will be pretty good and I think I’ve mastered the movement, then on the following one my ankle gives way.  Looking back, I think I even did better with this the last time it was a part of my routine weeks ago.  Working to keep balance can be very frustrating.

I suppose I could make excuses on why my particular physical construction makes the dead drop lift an impossibility for me, but that would require the use of alternative facts. And although I might convince someone else that I am physically unable to perform the exercise, I would be hurting myself by not trying and possibly giving others an excuse to not even try.

The thing is, I’m not going to give up on it just because it’s hard or frustrating or uncomfortable because the fact is that these dead drop lifts are really important exercises to my over all well-being.  Like it or not my body is aging and gravity it taking its toll.  I need to work harder at keeping myself in control of each and every muscle to insure I am able to continue to fight the forces of gravity and remain upright when I choose to.

 

 

 

With Thanksgiving in my rear view mirror and our neighborhood lit up at night like Fifth Ave. in New York City, there is little doubt that the Christmas Season is here.  Many of my friends have proudly proclaimed that they are done with their shopping; all the gifts are even wrapped and under the tree.  It is a much different story here at our house.  Our tree is standing in its usual spot in the living room but is only about 10% decorated.

I could lie and say we’ve just been too busy to hang the ornaments  but the simple fact is that I am generally the driving force behind the holiday transformation and for the past month have elected to sit, knit and watch old BBC reruns in my spare time.

I love Christmas.  And, while I should be embracing the season, I have been avoiding it, feeling like an alien dropped in a strange land, or like Charlie Brown asking, “Is this all there is?”  And, because I feel it necessary to analyze everything, I’ve been trying to get the root of my funk.

At the risk of beating and then dragging a dead horse, last month’s election has really hit me hard.  I’m struggling to steel myself through these next four years with our new “Tweeter-In-Chief”.  And, as Forrest Gump said, that’s all I have to say about that.

This weekend, Dave and I had a chance to getaway and have a change of scenery.  Every year he’s invited to attend a holiday open house at a senior associate’s home in Reston but never felt like making the two-hour ride to attend.  This year he suggested with try to hook up with our good friends, Lynda and Larry for an overnight and make a weekend of it.  I did.  They are not only available but tickled to have us come and spend the night with them. So, just after noon on Saturday, dressed in semi-semi-formal holiday attire, we headed up north for the weekend.

I’ve attended enough holiday affairs at flag officers’ homes to have a good idea of what to expect; decorations that were extensive and perfect without being overdone, buffet tables laden with good food and drink and rooms crowded with people I’ve never seen before.  I promised Dave not to desert me, something I’ve never done before.  I think it was more a product of my finding my voice than anxiety, although it’s been more than a few years since my last party on Admiral’s Row. He squeezed my hand and promised not to.

Our hosts did not disappoint.  They were warm and gracious and their  home was gorgeous! I can’t imagine the hours it took to plan and execute the decorations or the amount of storage it takes to maintain them.  The food was beautifully presented and I did my best to stay away since we were having dinner later with our friends.  Best of all, despite the fact I walked in not knowing a soul, it wasn’t long before I remembered that these were Dave’s colleagues and they are for the most part a genuine good bunch of folks.  Conversation was easy and on the whole was much more of a delight than a box checking corporate affair.

The greatest bonus of the trip was having the opportunity to visit our friends.  It’s so hard to believe it’s been twenty years since we first moved to Vienna, because in the two short years we were there, we became so close and have thankfully stayed that way.  Spending the night with them gave us the luxury of catching up in a warm, relaxed way.

As we shared our first cup of coffee on Sunday morning, Lynda opened a Little Blue Book tucked in the center of her Advent Wreath and had me read the devotion for the day.  It was just the thing I needed to read; a reminder that we shouldn’t worry about trying to make the perfect Christmas because when we celebrate Christ’s birth, we should remember that He wasn’t born into a perfect world. We should embrace the imperfections in the realization that in turn, we are embraced by Jesus for our imperfections. Wow.

Later, when we attended Mass with them, I began to feel that embrace.  It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way; church has been a real struggle for me.  But for that hour, I let myself go and offered myself into the moment.  The reminder of why I still go to church despite my struggles was profound.

Our weekend ended back at home with Dave’s Christmas Concerts with the Greene County Singers.   The venue is the tiny Stanardsville United Methodist Church, an old white clapboard building with hardwood floors that creak when walked on and white wooden pews that are short seated and straight backed.  But, with two beautifully lit Jesse Trees as a backdrop for the concert, it is magical.  The quality of the chorus is wonderful as they present an hour-long program of holiday music.

As I sat and listened, I kept my eyes on Dave’s face which radiates when he sings.  I think he looks happiest when he’s singing and I love to see the transformation.

As we walked back to our car in the dark and rain, I realized that over the course of the weekend, I too was transformed.  My funk is gone and I am ready to take on the holiday, embracing the imperfections  the best I can.

Last Wednesday night I was again reminded why I love college basketball so much.  Dave and I had tickets to the UVA vs Ohio State game, our local installment of the ACC – Big 10 rivalry.  And, while I was excited at the prospect of a good game, I was not so happy about the late tip-off time to accommodate ESPN.

Admittedly, I am old and a 9:20 start time is the equivalent of 11:20 in OP (old people) terms.  My end of day fatigue combined with a less than stellar first half, had me secretly yearning to go home and go to bed, foregoing the second half entirely.  I couldn’t see how my team would make up a 16 point deficit and come back to win.  And, while winning isn’t everything, it does make life a little sweeter.

Then, to my delight, our guys took the floor for the second half and went on an 11-0 run, bringing the point spread down and victory back into the realm of possibilities.  The arena became electrified as the fans joined the team in the fight, making noise when Ohio State had the ball, cheering politely for each UVA possession and booing mercilessly at each perceived slight or bad call by the refs.

With less than five minutes to go, UVA took the lead, lost it and regained it again.  The John Paul Jones Arena went wild!  For the last couple of minutes, we were all on our feet cheering our hearts out to keep the hope alive and then, with seconds left to go and UVA leading by one point, Ohio State took possession and as the last few seconds ticking by, took the last shot …. and missed! WE WON!

I’m not sure how much the cheering of the fans had any effect on the outcome, but it sure felt like we were doing something to further our cause.  But, nonetheless, winning felt very good.  It lifted my spirits and gave me hope.  After last month, I needed a positive reminder to help shake off my blues.

Thanks Tony Bennett for coaching your guys onto this win, it was amazing!  And thanks to you Jay Pinto for introducing me to this incredible game!