I called my in-laws to see about driving out for a visit. I was going to wait until later in the week but I figured what the heck. I felt bad about bailing on Uncle Harold and Aunt Lorraine and Jeannie on the very first day, but dad is 85 so...well...expedience is important!
My Uncle Harold very kindly lent me one of his cars. Sadly, it wasn't the Lexus, but still a beautiful Buick LeSabre that makes me green with envy. I realized as I pulled out of the the driveway, I wasn't even sure I remembered how to get to Wasco, but I had a vague recollection. I knew for sure that it was about 30 miles and it was north. After that it got a little fuzzy.
I found highway 99 with only one wrong turn. As I merged onto the highway my first thought was how ugly it was and my second thought was how familiar it was. I cranked up the music and as I drove past countless big rigs and farm trucks, 30 years slipped away and I was a 19 year old girl again, driving out to Wasco to see my boyfriend (only in a much better car than my powder blue '78 Chevette had been). I still wondered whether I'd remember the way. How far was Kimberlina Road again? As a few miles passed, I realized that what my brain thought it had forgotten, my muscle memory apparently knew as my hands took each turn without error. This is not the first time I have driven to Wasco in all these years, but visits are usually several years apart and Derek is usually driving. I drove past miles of almond orchards and vast fields of roses as each visit back merged together like the cars and trucks merging onto the highway. As I took the turn onto Palm Avenue just outside Wasco's city limits my pulse began to race as though when I arrived on Cypress Street, a 19 year old Derek would be waiting there for me. Then my grown up brain reminded me that Derek was back in Nebraska keeping the home fires burning and I was a little disappointed.
I pulled up in front of Mom and Dad's house. The front yard is as perfect and pristine as always. Derek's cousins, Darrel and carol were in town to drive their 1930 Chevy in the Wasco Rose festival parade. Did I mention that Wasco is one of the largest growers of roses in the world? Every year they hold the Wasco Rose Festival and it is quite a spectacle. It is an unforgettable sight driving through thousands of acres of roses, all blooming at the same time. Much prettier than Bakersfield.
As an added bonus, Derek's brother Kent and his family were also in town for the day. Kent's wife is this terrific woman named Virginia. She is Filipino and even after living in the Philippines ourselves, and Virginia living in the states for 20 years, when she gets excited, I can't understand a word she says. She's like the Mario Andretti of speed talkers. Sorry, I don't know any current Nascar names to use as a comparison, so I'll just have to date myself. Anyway, she's adorable. They have three sweet boys who I'm certain should be just slightly older than preschool, but as it turns out, are actually 17, 14 and 12! This does not seem possible.
I settled in to an almost perfect afternoon. I have sat in mom and dad's living room so many times in the past thirty years. I think there is something about a death in the family that makes us nostalgic and a little more aware of the past because as I sat there I pictured the room over and over again with different furniture, different flooring and the same people, but changed over the years; Chi at six months old the first time we brought him to California. Chi with his wife and his own kids. Christmas's spread out over the years; spouses added; each of us aged a little more from gathering to gathering. There was a reassuring sense of familiarity and belonging. The last time I was here was when my mother died and we came out for the funeral. It had helped to be here with them.
I lingered longer than I had planned to. Kent and Virginia packed up their crew and left for Canyon Country, about an hour and a half away. By 8:30 my internal; clock was reminding me that in Nebraska it was 10:30. I dragged myself off the couch, hugged mom and dad and headed for the Buick. As I headed out of town, I opted to roll down the windows instead of turning on the air conditioning. As the evening air rushed in and swirled around the interior, so did a blast of olfactory triggered memories. These weren't really memories of events; more of just living in this place. The air smelled like dust and almond trees and roses and oil refineries and occasionally cattle. I was overwhelmed by how intense my feelings were. Snippets of memories floated around the car on the evening breeze. This was the scent of late night drives with Derek and visits to grandparents with the kids. It also smelled like elementary school and my teenage years. It smelled like old boyfriends and visits to relatives and everything else about my life prior to my marriage. It surrounded me like a warm embrace.
When Derek and I married, we split to the four winds. Leaving Bakersfield behind in the dust and never looking back. I don't like Bakersfield; I never really have. It does have it's moments though. For about two weeks in the spring it's actually kind of pretty, but it's not a place that I love. However, as I drove, I realized that no matter how far across the globe I travel, no matter how many times I do or don't come back, I will always be from Bakersfield and it will always be home.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Goodbye Uncle Art
I won't be having Nana day with Julia this next week after all. My dear Uncle Art passed away Thursday afternoon after a long and arduous battle with Parkinson's disease. He was my fathers youngest brother. He was the Uncle who was the most like my dad. I'm not sure that it was necessary for me to fly out to California for the funeral. I've barely been here over the years and haven't stay in touch with family that closely, but then that is not something I'm particularly proud of, so when I told Derek that Uncle Art had died and he told me that I needed to go, I went. I trust Derek. He's a pretty smart guy. So here I am in Bakersfield yet again, wanting so much to reconnect with my extended family and share this time of grief with them. It's a place I try hard to avoid. I have lived in some breathtakingly beautiful places and this is not one of them. But all the matters is that family is here and so Jeannie and I hopped a westbound plane and headed for California. As we began our descent and drew close enough to see the city, it was clear that Bakersfield would not disappoint me and my determination never to live here again remains staunch. It is as dry, dusty and unappealing as it has always been. I scanned the landscape below for some sign of green but found it only in the paint jobs of the ancient low riders driving around like matchbox cars. Many cities across America spend exorbitant sums of money on beautification projects to make their cities more appealing. I think it's safe to say that Bakersfield could never be accused of such frivolous spending. I admit that there are areas that would be interesting to photograph. For instance, the vast oilfields could be graphically interesting, but Bakersfield will NEVER win any beauty contests.
speaking of photography, I have done the unspeakable. I, Leni Hester, a professional photographer, forgot my camera! I did mention in a recent blog that I was not designed to fly at 6:00 am. Well, this was yet another 6:00 am flight and once again we had to be at the airport at 4:30. Rest assured, I made absolutely certain that there were NO bomb ingredients (toiletries) in my carry-on bag this time, but sadly, there was also no camera. Derek informs me that when he got home after dropping Jeannie and I at the airport, he found it sitting forlorn and abandoned at the bottom of the stairs. I feel particularly stupid because it's not exactly an inconspicuous camera. It is a Nikon D700 with an extended batter back. It is a veritable behemoth of a camera and I might as well have forgotten my left arm. I feel naked without it.
There WAS one glorious reprieve. I had expected the temperature to be a hellish 110 degrees, because after all, it's only September. We were pleasantly surprised to find that it was a balmy 79 when we landed. Uncle Harold and aunt Lorraine picked us up at the airport. Thought I know that they are getting older (I certainly am, so it stands to reason everyone else is too), but to me they looked the same as they always have. They are simply...themselves, sweet as ever.
Have I mentioned that in the past several months I have lost 50 lbs? I have converted to a life of Weight Watchers and have met with great success. When Aunt Lorraine produced lunch yesterday, I knew that this week was not going to be a weight watchers week. I suspect that this will be a weight gainers week, but I will try to be valiant. The only problem is that Bakersfield is like so many of the 'Pasta Mama's' of Italy. Not much to look at, but a great cook! There is a bakery here called, simply, Smith's Bakery. I have a framed pastry box top with there logo on it in my home. Do I really need to say any more? In addition, Bakersfield was originally settled by Basque sheep Herders. Have you ever had Basque food? It's practically a religious experience. Go to the Wool Growers some time. You'll see. Then after sheep herding took a downturn in popularity, Mexico took over. Bakersfield is over 80 percent Hispanic. You won't find better Mexican food in Mexico than you'll find here. So, I have decided that I can stay here and visit family, but I will, unfortunately, not be able to leave the house. Of course, this won't be much help either because Aunt Lorraine is a really great cook and being in her 80's, has never even heard of health food. This is a home of comfort food, so my goal for this week is simple. Try not to gain back the entire 50 lbs in 7 days. Pray for me....
speaking of photography, I have done the unspeakable. I, Leni Hester, a professional photographer, forgot my camera! I did mention in a recent blog that I was not designed to fly at 6:00 am. Well, this was yet another 6:00 am flight and once again we had to be at the airport at 4:30. Rest assured, I made absolutely certain that there were NO bomb ingredients (toiletries) in my carry-on bag this time, but sadly, there was also no camera. Derek informs me that when he got home after dropping Jeannie and I at the airport, he found it sitting forlorn and abandoned at the bottom of the stairs. I feel particularly stupid because it's not exactly an inconspicuous camera. It is a Nikon D700 with an extended batter back. It is a veritable behemoth of a camera and I might as well have forgotten my left arm. I feel naked without it.
There WAS one glorious reprieve. I had expected the temperature to be a hellish 110 degrees, because after all, it's only September. We were pleasantly surprised to find that it was a balmy 79 when we landed. Uncle Harold and aunt Lorraine picked us up at the airport. Thought I know that they are getting older (I certainly am, so it stands to reason everyone else is too), but to me they looked the same as they always have. They are simply...themselves, sweet as ever.
Have I mentioned that in the past several months I have lost 50 lbs? I have converted to a life of Weight Watchers and have met with great success. When Aunt Lorraine produced lunch yesterday, I knew that this week was not going to be a weight watchers week. I suspect that this will be a weight gainers week, but I will try to be valiant. The only problem is that Bakersfield is like so many of the 'Pasta Mama's' of Italy. Not much to look at, but a great cook! There is a bakery here called, simply, Smith's Bakery. I have a framed pastry box top with there logo on it in my home. Do I really need to say any more? In addition, Bakersfield was originally settled by Basque sheep Herders. Have you ever had Basque food? It's practically a religious experience. Go to the Wool Growers some time. You'll see. Then after sheep herding took a downturn in popularity, Mexico took over. Bakersfield is over 80 percent Hispanic. You won't find better Mexican food in Mexico than you'll find here. So, I have decided that I can stay here and visit family, but I will, unfortunately, not be able to leave the house. Of course, this won't be much help either because Aunt Lorraine is a really great cook and being in her 80's, has never even heard of health food. This is a home of comfort food, so my goal for this week is simple. Try not to gain back the entire 50 lbs in 7 days. Pray for me....
Nana day and other things...
Thursday's are 'Nana' day. This is a red letter day each week because on Thursday, I pick up my sweet granddaughter, Julia and we spend the morning together...just us...no distractions. This week I arrived at Chi and Heathers house and rang the doorbell. I heard a flurry of scrambling and then a boisterously ,"Nana's here"! Even though my day had already been going well, it improved rabidly at the sound of Julia's sweet little voice, eagerly yelling those words.
If I could have my way, I would have 'Nana' day Monday through Friday. One for each grandchild, though technically one of those days would have to be spent with Samantha as grandchild number five hasn't actually hatched yet, but sadly two granddaughters live in Colorado Springs and I only see them every few months and CJ, at just over a year old still only likes Mommy and isn't quite ready for the excitement of 'Nana' day. So, for now, I enjoy my Thursday with Julia and I take consolation in talking to Eden and Autumn on the telephone.
It doesn't matter what you do. Whether you're a doctor or a movie star or a physicist...you feel exponentially more important in the presence of a grandchild. This is probably because they haven't yet learned all the things about you that your children have, so they still adore you and think you are amazing. The good news is that since you are the grandparent and not the parent, they will probably continue to think highly of you as long as you don't screw things up by getting all parental on them.
So I stood on the front porch and heard Julia's impatient anticipation as her mom apparently struggled to get the door unlocked and open it. I knelt down as the door opened and came face to face with a smiling CJ who threw himself into my arms with rocket-like intensity. Julia jumped up and down behind him. "Nana! Nana! It's Nana day! Are we going to spend time together"?
This is how most Nana days start. In the car we discuss what we will be doing and decide that the play room at Burger King will be a good place to start. Julia starts jabbering nonstop, explaining to me that she wants an ice cream but first she will eat her chicken nuggets and apple fries and chocolate milk and that she will hold my hand in the parking lot because she knows all the rules!
After Burger King it is decided that we need to go shopping next and that maybe buying a new outfit would be a good thing. It turns out that Julia has very strong opinions about fashion and shopping took a good bit of time as she dismissed outfit after outfit as unacceptable. When she finally declared that she had found "some good clothes" I suggested she try the jeans on under her dress. She was indignant and informed me that girls didn't try clothes on in the middle of the store, they used a special room, so it was off to the 'special' room where she deemed the outfit a winner and after paring it up with glittery pink tennis shoes we made our purchases and headed home. At home, we decided that our next activity would be sitting on the green, retro glider on the front porch (would I have anything else) and reading Harold and the Purple Crayon.
Eventually, Heather came and retrieved Julia. She was very sad to have to go but I promised that we would have another 'Nana' day next week.
Some may wonder at this entry. There is no sarcasm, no humorous twist to my generally disastrous adventures. Just a blurb about a day with a little three year old girl, and unless you have ever been a 'Nana' spending the day with an adoring three year old granddaughter this will probably seem insignificant, but I can assure you that compared to the many adventures I have had in my life, this is right at the very top of the pile!
If I could have my way, I would have 'Nana' day Monday through Friday. One for each grandchild, though technically one of those days would have to be spent with Samantha as grandchild number five hasn't actually hatched yet, but sadly two granddaughters live in Colorado Springs and I only see them every few months and CJ, at just over a year old still only likes Mommy and isn't quite ready for the excitement of 'Nana' day. So, for now, I enjoy my Thursday with Julia and I take consolation in talking to Eden and Autumn on the telephone.
It doesn't matter what you do. Whether you're a doctor or a movie star or a physicist...you feel exponentially more important in the presence of a grandchild. This is probably because they haven't yet learned all the things about you that your children have, so they still adore you and think you are amazing. The good news is that since you are the grandparent and not the parent, they will probably continue to think highly of you as long as you don't screw things up by getting all parental on them.
So I stood on the front porch and heard Julia's impatient anticipation as her mom apparently struggled to get the door unlocked and open it. I knelt down as the door opened and came face to face with a smiling CJ who threw himself into my arms with rocket-like intensity. Julia jumped up and down behind him. "Nana! Nana! It's Nana day! Are we going to spend time together"?
This is how most Nana days start. In the car we discuss what we will be doing and decide that the play room at Burger King will be a good place to start. Julia starts jabbering nonstop, explaining to me that she wants an ice cream but first she will eat her chicken nuggets and apple fries and chocolate milk and that she will hold my hand in the parking lot because she knows all the rules!
After Burger King it is decided that we need to go shopping next and that maybe buying a new outfit would be a good thing. It turns out that Julia has very strong opinions about fashion and shopping took a good bit of time as she dismissed outfit after outfit as unacceptable. When she finally declared that she had found "some good clothes" I suggested she try the jeans on under her dress. She was indignant and informed me that girls didn't try clothes on in the middle of the store, they used a special room, so it was off to the 'special' room where she deemed the outfit a winner and after paring it up with glittery pink tennis shoes we made our purchases and headed home. At home, we decided that our next activity would be sitting on the green, retro glider on the front porch (would I have anything else) and reading Harold and the Purple Crayon.
Eventually, Heather came and retrieved Julia. She was very sad to have to go but I promised that we would have another 'Nana' day next week.
Some may wonder at this entry. There is no sarcasm, no humorous twist to my generally disastrous adventures. Just a blurb about a day with a little three year old girl, and unless you have ever been a 'Nana' spending the day with an adoring three year old granddaughter this will probably seem insignificant, but I can assure you that compared to the many adventures I have had in my life, this is right at the very top of the pile!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
And away I go...
Well, here I am. Back by popular badgering. I'm actually happy to be back. I've missed blogging. Here's what I've recently discovered. ...sometimes, we just lose our voice. Not physically, though heaven knows I've done that often enough; but mentally and emotionally. So, for a while I lost my voice, but scratchy and hoarse though it is, here I am.
Interestingly enough, currently, "here" is sitting on an airplane bound for Las Vegas. Well...technically THIS airplane is bound for Houston. Once I am there, THEN I will board an airplane bound for Las Vegas. I am on my way to an exciting four day stay at The Mandalay Bay Resort and Hotel, where I will be attending a conference held by the National Association of Photoshop Professionals. (We're the people who manage to make your blemishes and laugh lines disappear after we take your picture. It is my experience that Photoshop is far superior to Clearasil when it comes to clearing up acne).
For those of you, who, upon hearing that I would be attending this conference alone, were rude enough to suggest that I was bound to have any number of disastrous misadventures, let me alleviate the suspense and tell you that I managed to have my first misadventure before even boarding the airplane.
I do not believe that this particular misadventure was my fault. I have two solid foundations upon which to base this theory. The first is that any packing of luggage done after midnight is automatically doomed to some sort of disastrous failure. Secondly, I blame Derek because he should have know better than to let me pack by myself without the benefit of him questioning me repeatedly as to whether I was doing it right or not.
Here is the frustrating part though. The part I just can't figure out. I am not a travel novice. I have traveled the world quite extensively and have been in a vast number of airports. Dare I say it? I am actually quite travel savvy. So please, one of you...tell me what could have possessed me to carefully pack my suitcase with all of the right stuff, and then with equal care and clevereness, fill my carry on with every deadly, terrorist related looking gel and liquid on the market. Yes...it's true. I'm pretty sure I'm on Homeland Security's watch list by now.
There I was...Jeannie had dropped me off at the airport at the stunningly inappropriate hour of 4:30 am to catch my 6:00 am flight. With all the flair of a seasoned traveler, I had checked in after having cleverly printed up my boarding pass night. I have even prepaid my baggage fee. Yes, the cheapskate, money grubbing airline charged me $23.00 for the one lousy bag that I brought with me.
I stopped off at the gift shop to purchase a new John Grisham novel because, as everyone who is travel savvy knows, you can't read a book from home on an airplane. It's just no good. You must read a brand new book, purchased at the airport specifically for the trip. Even if you plan on reading the Bible, you are really better off just buying a new one at the gift shop. You'll enjoy it more.
So there I was, ready to start my adventure. As a savvy traveler, I had even removed my shoes prior to getting into the boarding gate line. I knew the drill. I had my boarding pass at the ready along with my photo ID (drivers license, not military ID because the picture is way better).
I pulled out my laptop and dropped it into a gray plastic bin. My shoes, camera and iTouch went into another bin and my purse and carry-on went directly onto the conveyor belt. I was waved through the metal detector without incident and went to stand at the other end of the conveyor anticipating the arrival of my gear. Imagine my surprise when a light began flashing directly over the x-ray machine and a burly woman who surely does mixed martial arts looked directly at me and said in a clear, authoritative voice "M'am? Is this bag which is obviously filled with liquids and gels meant for nefarious purposes and/or terrorism yours?"
Okay, maybe those weren't her EXACT words, but I assure you, the implication was there in her voice and demeanor. I looked at her blankly. "Yeah, that's my bag". She gave me a suspicious look as though sizing me up. She was clearly trying to decide whether I was an exceedingly crafty and devilishly devious terrorist, or whether I was just really stupid. Sadly, at this point I must own up to the really stupid thing, but in my defense, it WAS 4:30 in the morning. I continued to stare blankly at her. She continued to stare back. "M'am, passengers are prohibited from carrying liquids and gels onto the airplane. Your case is full of liquids and gels". ..................Oh! There is twas! Understanding finally poked its weary head through the fog of early morning travel. Apparently too much of my extensive travel had been done pre 9/11. I have certainly flown often since then, but had apparently blanked out on all the rules in the wee hours of the morning. Depression settled on my sleepy brain at the realization that I hadn't even left the airport and I had already engaged in a "Leni event". All those people who had foretold this were going to gloat now, especially after I had indignantly and vehemently refuted their claims that "Leni" and "Misadventure" were practically synonymous.
My blank expression shifted from one of incomprehension to one of confused desperation. What was I supposed to do now, because throwing away about $300.00 worth of toiletries was simply not an option, not to mention the fact that, at the tender age of 49, I am no longer willing to be seen in public without all of the appropriate moisturizers and makeup.
The burly woman gave me a look which screamed "if I've got to deal with this ditz at four in the morning, clearly the rest of my day is really going to suck". Then she gave me her best "Wow, you really pulled a "Leni" look and said "You can either throw it away, or you can go back to the baggage counter and check it through".
Check it through! Yes! Here was a reasonable option. I flashed her a bright, friendly, non-terrorist smile and indicated that I would take the dangerous and offensive toiletries back to baggage and check them through, but that I needed to take a few things out first. As I reached for my stylishly retro, blue trimmed, black BeautiControl bag, she jerked her arm back as though I had just asked her to let me take the detonator out before I checked it through. "I'm sorry M'am; I'll have to keep this until I escort you out of the boarding area". I tried hard not to look dangerous and muttering my compliance, I shuffled meekly behind her to the exit.
Once out of the boarding area, I was released on my own recognizance. I checked the time and broke into a sprint when I realized that it was now only ten minutes until boarding time. Back at the baggage claim area, I waited for my turn with increasing agitation as I realized that the sky pirates were probably going to charge me an extra $35.00 for a second bag. Mustering what little civility I had left, I stepped to the counter and beamed apologetically at the agent. With dignity and aplomb I owned up to my early morning lapse in judgment and oozing a completely non-terrorist like sincerity, I queried whether it might be possible to retrieve my already checked bag so that I might add my bag of ingredie....er...toiletries to my already checked bag. In my head, I knew this was never going to happen. I was just not going to be that lucky and in addition, they were going to charge me an additional $100 suspicious character fee before allowing me to board the plane, so you can imagine my shock and delight when the simply adorable girl behind the counter smiled and said "sure, no problem"! Oddly enough, she hadn't seemed quite as adorable before she said that, but I really liked her a lot now.
Off she went to retrieve my bag which was blessedly and serendipitously under-packed. I waited, relieved that my trip would not be tainted by the resentful frustration of being forced to pay outrageous fees just so that I would have clean underwear and a moisturized face on my trip. I was starting to get concerned as minutes ticked by and entered the "missing my plane" zone.
Finally my new hero returned, breathless, with my bag. She piped up cheerfully, "I'm sorry that took so long, they had already loaded your bag onto the plane so I went out and got it"! My humor was restored! My misadventure resolved! All because a very sweet airline employee went out of her way to be helpful when she could just as easily have slapped me with a $35.00 baggage fee and went on with her day.
So to all of you out there gloating that I've proven you right about my inability to do anything without a disaster, I thank you for the bit of predestination. :-) I have decided to embrace my misadventures because it often seems that it's only through those that we can genuinely appreciate these sweet little victories in our lives!
To Shane and Arwen, thanks for egging me on. This is probably more detail than anyone could ever want to hear about a little thing like inadvertently trying to smuggle contraband onto an airplane, but the telling kept me busy for the whole flight!
I'll try my best to keep you up on any further adventures or misadventures that I might stumble upon.
Interestingly enough, currently, "here" is sitting on an airplane bound for Las Vegas. Well...technically THIS airplane is bound for Houston. Once I am there, THEN I will board an airplane bound for Las Vegas. I am on my way to an exciting four day stay at The Mandalay Bay Resort and Hotel, where I will be attending a conference held by the National Association of Photoshop Professionals. (We're the people who manage to make your blemishes and laugh lines disappear after we take your picture. It is my experience that Photoshop is far superior to Clearasil when it comes to clearing up acne).
For those of you, who, upon hearing that I would be attending this conference alone, were rude enough to suggest that I was bound to have any number of disastrous misadventures, let me alleviate the suspense and tell you that I managed to have my first misadventure before even boarding the airplane.
I do not believe that this particular misadventure was my fault. I have two solid foundations upon which to base this theory. The first is that any packing of luggage done after midnight is automatically doomed to some sort of disastrous failure. Secondly, I blame Derek because he should have know better than to let me pack by myself without the benefit of him questioning me repeatedly as to whether I was doing it right or not.
Here is the frustrating part though. The part I just can't figure out. I am not a travel novice. I have traveled the world quite extensively and have been in a vast number of airports. Dare I say it? I am actually quite travel savvy. So please, one of you...tell me what could have possessed me to carefully pack my suitcase with all of the right stuff, and then with equal care and clevereness, fill my carry on with every deadly, terrorist related looking gel and liquid on the market. Yes...it's true. I'm pretty sure I'm on Homeland Security's watch list by now.
There I was...Jeannie had dropped me off at the airport at the stunningly inappropriate hour of 4:30 am to catch my 6:00 am flight. With all the flair of a seasoned traveler, I had checked in after having cleverly printed up my boarding pass night. I have even prepaid my baggage fee. Yes, the cheapskate, money grubbing airline charged me $23.00 for the one lousy bag that I brought with me.
I stopped off at the gift shop to purchase a new John Grisham novel because, as everyone who is travel savvy knows, you can't read a book from home on an airplane. It's just no good. You must read a brand new book, purchased at the airport specifically for the trip. Even if you plan on reading the Bible, you are really better off just buying a new one at the gift shop. You'll enjoy it more.
So there I was, ready to start my adventure. As a savvy traveler, I had even removed my shoes prior to getting into the boarding gate line. I knew the drill. I had my boarding pass at the ready along with my photo ID (drivers license, not military ID because the picture is way better).
I pulled out my laptop and dropped it into a gray plastic bin. My shoes, camera and iTouch went into another bin and my purse and carry-on went directly onto the conveyor belt. I was waved through the metal detector without incident and went to stand at the other end of the conveyor anticipating the arrival of my gear. Imagine my surprise when a light began flashing directly over the x-ray machine and a burly woman who surely does mixed martial arts looked directly at me and said in a clear, authoritative voice "M'am? Is this bag which is obviously filled with liquids and gels meant for nefarious purposes and/or terrorism yours?"
Okay, maybe those weren't her EXACT words, but I assure you, the implication was there in her voice and demeanor. I looked at her blankly. "Yeah, that's my bag". She gave me a suspicious look as though sizing me up. She was clearly trying to decide whether I was an exceedingly crafty and devilishly devious terrorist, or whether I was just really stupid. Sadly, at this point I must own up to the really stupid thing, but in my defense, it WAS 4:30 in the morning. I continued to stare blankly at her. She continued to stare back. "M'am, passengers are prohibited from carrying liquids and gels onto the airplane. Your case is full of liquids and gels". ..................Oh! There is twas! Understanding finally poked its weary head through the fog of early morning travel. Apparently too much of my extensive travel had been done pre 9/11. I have certainly flown often since then, but had apparently blanked out on all the rules in the wee hours of the morning. Depression settled on my sleepy brain at the realization that I hadn't even left the airport and I had already engaged in a "Leni event". All those people who had foretold this were going to gloat now, especially after I had indignantly and vehemently refuted their claims that "Leni" and "Misadventure" were practically synonymous.
My blank expression shifted from one of incomprehension to one of confused desperation. What was I supposed to do now, because throwing away about $300.00 worth of toiletries was simply not an option, not to mention the fact that, at the tender age of 49, I am no longer willing to be seen in public without all of the appropriate moisturizers and makeup.
The burly woman gave me a look which screamed "if I've got to deal with this ditz at four in the morning, clearly the rest of my day is really going to suck". Then she gave me her best "Wow, you really pulled a "Leni" look and said "You can either throw it away, or you can go back to the baggage counter and check it through".
Check it through! Yes! Here was a reasonable option. I flashed her a bright, friendly, non-terrorist smile and indicated that I would take the dangerous and offensive toiletries back to baggage and check them through, but that I needed to take a few things out first. As I reached for my stylishly retro, blue trimmed, black BeautiControl bag, she jerked her arm back as though I had just asked her to let me take the detonator out before I checked it through. "I'm sorry M'am; I'll have to keep this until I escort you out of the boarding area". I tried hard not to look dangerous and muttering my compliance, I shuffled meekly behind her to the exit.
Once out of the boarding area, I was released on my own recognizance. I checked the time and broke into a sprint when I realized that it was now only ten minutes until boarding time. Back at the baggage claim area, I waited for my turn with increasing agitation as I realized that the sky pirates were probably going to charge me an extra $35.00 for a second bag. Mustering what little civility I had left, I stepped to the counter and beamed apologetically at the agent. With dignity and aplomb I owned up to my early morning lapse in judgment and oozing a completely non-terrorist like sincerity, I queried whether it might be possible to retrieve my already checked bag so that I might add my bag of ingredie....er...toiletries to my already checked bag. In my head, I knew this was never going to happen. I was just not going to be that lucky and in addition, they were going to charge me an additional $100 suspicious character fee before allowing me to board the plane, so you can imagine my shock and delight when the simply adorable girl behind the counter smiled and said "sure, no problem"! Oddly enough, she hadn't seemed quite as adorable before she said that, but I really liked her a lot now.
Off she went to retrieve my bag which was blessedly and serendipitously under-packed. I waited, relieved that my trip would not be tainted by the resentful frustration of being forced to pay outrageous fees just so that I would have clean underwear and a moisturized face on my trip. I was starting to get concerned as minutes ticked by and entered the "missing my plane" zone.
Finally my new hero returned, breathless, with my bag. She piped up cheerfully, "I'm sorry that took so long, they had already loaded your bag onto the plane so I went out and got it"! My humor was restored! My misadventure resolved! All because a very sweet airline employee went out of her way to be helpful when she could just as easily have slapped me with a $35.00 baggage fee and went on with her day.
So to all of you out there gloating that I've proven you right about my inability to do anything without a disaster, I thank you for the bit of predestination. :-) I have decided to embrace my misadventures because it often seems that it's only through those that we can genuinely appreciate these sweet little victories in our lives!
To Shane and Arwen, thanks for egging me on. This is probably more detail than anyone could ever want to hear about a little thing like inadvertently trying to smuggle contraband onto an airplane, but the telling kept me busy for the whole flight!
I'll try my best to keep you up on any further adventures or misadventures that I might stumble upon.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The Great Communicator
Today is my grandson CJ's 1st birthday. He is a quiet little guy. Smiley and pleasant. Not much of a talker. He is very like his father (saints preserve us)! I have been told that he has a small supply of words that he now uses, but I believe that for his Nana, he prefers to wait until he can rattle off an entire conversation about the insanity of the new Healthy Care Reform bill rather than give me any sneak peaks into his liguistic skills, so he has remained stoically silent in my presence. Amazingly though, today presented a most enlightening opportunity to get to know my little grandson better. I had him for several hours, all to myself. He still refused to utter a single word in front of me, but a whole different form of communication emerged before my very eyes. Usually when I am around CJ, Julia is there as well demanding my attention (usually at the top of her lungs), but today, CJ and I went shopping. Shopping is a fascinating experience with these little ones because you spend a great deal of time face to face with them as they sit in the shopping cart and if you bother to notice it, they will tell you everything you need to know about...everything. For instance, while meandering through the bed linens at Target, I picked up a comforter set that I was contemplating for our bedroom. CJ looked at the comforter and then looked up at me. His look very clearly said "Nana, I don't think Papa would appreciate that color and besides, it's way too expensive". I put the comforter set back. As we wandered through the toy aisle, we passed a large castle complete with Knights and dragons and all manner of mideaval accoutrements. CJ suddenly sat bolt upright and declared loudly grrrrblop dowdowdow gungdroop. Looking into his shining little boy eye's his meaning was quite clear. "Nana, this would make a wonderful Christmas present for a little boy and I distinctly remember hearing Papa mention something about starting your shopping now so you could spread the cost over several months." In the clothing department, one quick sharp look said "Yes Nana, that blouse WOULD make your butt look big". Throughout the store his earnest little expressions and seemingly unintelligible commentary helped me navigate safely through the treacherous aisles of Target and Walmart, preventing his dear old Nana from making fashion faux paux's, spending too much or suffering a nasty case of buyers remorse tomorrow. Just as I was dumping a 12 pack of charmin into the cart at Walmart, he gave a deep sigh, dropped his head against my chest, then pulled back and eyeballed me with a serious expression. Clearly, he was suggesting that maybe this shopping expedition was dragging on a bit too long and needed to come to a close. He also suggested that next time I would be able to shop faster if I brought a list. Once in the car he smiled sweetly at me and then dropped his head against his car seat, and started quietly jabbering. I could hear him sweetly telling me all about his adventures and the things that he had seen in each store. One minute he was jabbering and the next, fast asleep with a satisfied look on his cherubic little face. It has been years since my kids were this tiny and it was a magical experience to remember that inside those tiny bodies, that haven't quiet gotten the hang of speech yet, is a little mind just begging to be listened too. Thank you for reminding Nana, CJ. Happy Birthday!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
And once again, I am in awe...
I am writing this from the wicker love seat on my patio tonight! To my loved ones living in warmer climates this will not seem an astonishing accomplishment, but right here...tonight...in Nebraska, it is nothing short of miraculous. It is a bonafide wonder in fact! This is special and amazing because two or three weeks ago my patio was literally covered in about 3 ft. of snow. The snow first appeared out of the blue (uninvited I might add) in October and there it has stayed without relief until a couple of weeks ago. My son, Colt, was married on February 20th and we were buried in snow for his wedding. We shot another wedding the middle of March and were still buried in snow then, yet here I sit on my lovely decked out patio staring at the stream as it rushes into the pond. In the daylight, the grass is green and the daylillies seem to be shooting up at the rate of about an inch a minute. I am in awe! I have never been a garden person. Our yards have consisted of...well...not a whole lot. One of the nicest yards we've ever had was in England, but it was just always sort of there. It frosted where we were, but we rarely ever got snow so though it greened up a bit more in the spring, it didn't change drastically. Of course, we had a spectacular yard in the Philippines but as it was tended to by our gardner and it looked pretty much the same twelve months out of the year, I was never in awe. Since having our yard landscaped a couple of years ago though, I have reveled in the amazing resilliance of nature. What was a wintery wasteland a mere 10 days ago is now breathing in a whole new life. Derek, sensing my impatience for spring, indulged me wildly by putting the canopy and netting back up on the gazebo weeks before I know he would have preferred. He even dragged out the patio furniture. For the past few days I have watched in amazement as the withered, brown meadow behind our house has greened up noticably before my very eyes. Yesterday I decided to clear away all of the dead leaves and debri from the Lady's Mantle and found to my amazement a wealth of new green growth bursting with tiny, tightly furled leaves hiding beneath last years brown remnants. Excited by my discovery, I started the same process with the Speedwell and again discovered with delight, all new growth. You can sense the eagerness and growing excitement of the entire yard! So here I sit, two weeks after the last snowfall staring out into my own garden fairyland. Even thought it is dark, my gazebo is lit by tiny white lights wrapped along its cross bars and frame. Little solar lights highlight the fairy doors against a few choice rocks (that only fairies can open, of course). Spot lights catch the water tumbling over four waterfalls as it slips into the blue pond, lit from under the water. The Koi are dashing wildly across the pond reveling in renewed life, ravenous after a long winters sleep at the bottom of the pond, and our big wind chimes are singing softly from the ceiling of the gazebo. In another week or so, the wildflowers will have taken hold and soon after that will explode in a riot of colorful blossoms. This has been a hard winter, in so very many ways. It has been dark and cold and difficult and at times, it felt insurmountable. But now, here we are on the other side, emerging intact and excited and ready for spring and all of the possibilities that it brings and here's my little revelation. Spring and it's beauty would not be nearly so awe inspiring and spectacular and filled with promise if we had never endured the hard cold winter. So go outside, take a deep breath and then plunge headlong into a new season.
Friday, March 5, 2010
...so I didn't buy the pizza rolls
There I was, meandering through the aisles of the grocery store when I saw the extra large party bag of Totino's Pizza Rolls in the freezer section end cap. I automatically reached for them and as I started to put them into my cart I looked down at my other purchases. Fresh marinated mozarella, Hummuss, poppadoms, watermelon. Everything there looked suspiciously dissimiliar to the bag of pizza rolls in my hand. A sad sigh escaped my lips as I realized that I hated pizza rolls. Derek mostly hated pizza rolls. Colt is the only one in the family who embraces pizza rolls. I put the pizza rolls back in the freezer dejectedly. I miss Colt.
I discovered today that I particularly notice his absense when i'm dragging all of the groceries in from the car by myself, or dragging the vaccumm cleaner up two flights of stairs and then back down again. I also realized that I am going to figure out how to haul off the bales of hay in my backyard all by my little lonesome and I get no more get out of jail free cards when it comes to hauling laundry up and down the stairs. Oh sure, I can probably get Derek to do a lot of that, but Colt just does it all with such flair and panache. I suspect that even as I type this, he is being mentally beaten down and remolded to suit the army's needs.
His wife, Michelle, asked me if he would come back a different person. I said yes. He will, but only the parts of him that the army uses. He will always and forever be my Colt. He will always throw his fist into the air and yell "Colt Wins"! Whenever things go the way he wants them to, and when things don't go his way, he will always say "Oh...sad day". He may never have learned to keep his room clean...at all...ever...but I tip my hat to him for his cheerful attitude whenever I asked him to haul things for me or put things away.
I love you kid!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
I sit back, take a deep breath and turn the page on a new chapter.
Yesterday I stood in a crowded, wood paneled room lined with carved wooden seals of the various branches of military and watched as my youngest son raised his arm and swore an oath to become a soldier in the United States Army. His dad was also there and so was his brand new wife. It was not only the final step in a month of huge steps, it was the culmination of a chapter in Derek's and my lives and the beginning of a whole, brand new book for Colt and Michelle.
In the space of ten days, Colt and Michelle were married and will now be separated for at least 2 1/2 months while Colt completes boot camp. As for Derek and I, we are now empty nesters. Don't get me wrong. We are willing to embrace our empty nest. We've been telling Colt for the last couple of years that we can't miss him if he isn't gone.
To mothers everywhere, don't get the mistaken impression that I don't want him around. Colt is incredibly easy going and has always been pleasant to have around. I kind of have a soft spot for him because he has always been comfortable hugging me and telling me he loves me. Even in high school, he would invite to to go to a movie with him. I love having him around. Well, HIM, not his room. His room is not pleasant at all. In fact, it's a little scary. What is important here is that it is our job to miss him. He's all grown up. We don't get to keep him. it wouldn't be good for him. What I saw in him for a long time, was someone getting increasingly restless. If we keep them too long, they don't grow (and they can get spoiled and start to smell). So we worked on kicking him to the curb, in the nicest possible way.
In the end, he kicked himself to the curb, or at least changed streets when he and Michelle announced that they were engaged! Michelle is a very sweet girl that he's known for a couple of years. So, the past few months have been a whirlwind of surgery, Christmas, and wedding plans. I'm eternally grateful that I was the mother of the groom. So much easier! The only real challenge with the wedding preparations, was getting the bride and groom to make a decision on ANYTHING!
So time flew by and the wedding day approached. As with any wedding, or should I say, more accurately, any Hester wedding, there has to be at least one catastrophe on or before the day. Just to keep things interesting, and to give us stories to tell for years to come.
In the space of ten days, Colt and Michelle were married and will now be separated for at least 2 1/2 months while Colt completes boot camp. As for Derek and I, we are now empty nesters. Don't get me wrong. We are willing to embrace our empty nest. We've been telling Colt for the last couple of years that we can't miss him if he isn't gone.
To mothers everywhere, don't get the mistaken impression that I don't want him around. Colt is incredibly easy going and has always been pleasant to have around. I kind of have a soft spot for him because he has always been comfortable hugging me and telling me he loves me. Even in high school, he would invite to to go to a movie with him. I love having him around. Well, HIM, not his room. His room is not pleasant at all. In fact, it's a little scary. What is important here is that it is our job to miss him. He's all grown up. We don't get to keep him. it wouldn't be good for him. What I saw in him for a long time, was someone getting increasingly restless. If we keep them too long, they don't grow (and they can get spoiled and start to smell). So we worked on kicking him to the curb, in the nicest possible way.
In the end, he kicked himself to the curb, or at least changed streets when he and Michelle announced that they were engaged! Michelle is a very sweet girl that he's known for a couple of years. So, the past few months have been a whirlwind of surgery, Christmas, and wedding plans. I'm eternally grateful that I was the mother of the groom. So much easier! The only real challenge with the wedding preparations, was getting the bride and groom to make a decision on ANYTHING!
So time flew by and the wedding day approached. As with any wedding, or should I say, more accurately, any Hester wedding, there has to be at least one catastrophe on or before the day. Just to keep things interesting, and to give us stories to tell for years to come.
A week before the wedding, I was getting into the back seat of our SUV and somehow whacked my head on the door frame. Within ten minutes I was throwing up. The next day, Colt had to take me to the emergency room for a cat scan, where thankfully, I was declared to have no fractures, just a concussion. This incident is not wildly relevant to the wedding except for the part where I had a raging headache and a very low tolerance for...we...everything. Family started arriving mid week. Samantha and Mark arrived with their girls on Wednesday. Colt's best man, a very pretty blond woman named Christine, arrived Thursday at 10:00 pm from Las Vegas, and Derek's parents and sister were scheduled to arrive the same night at 1`1:30 pm. As they were whisking their way across the country, Chi and Heather were heading over to our house. When they arrived it was immediately evident that Chi was not feeling well. Heather reported that he had actually called in sick to work the night before because of terrible abdominal pain. The symptoms she described sounded suspiciously like appendicitis and after some intense co-ercing, Chi's friend Brandon drove him to the emergency room while Heather stayed at our house with their kids. Sure enough, within a short time, Chi was calling to say that he was being whisked off to surgery for an emergency appendectomy. This was VERY late Thursday night. The wedding was Saturday.
Having survived Friday without incident, we headed into Saturday. Much to my amazement, Chi actually insisted on donning his tux and standing with his brother at the wedding as Colt's appointed "Patron of Honor"...duly titled by the same confused groom who had a woman as his best man.
The wedding was held in a tiny historical church in Old Bellevue, It's actually very quaint, with lots of stained glass and honey hued wood. Fortunately the ceremony was relatively short, as part of the churches quaint and rustic charm is its lack of a restroom. Apparently the city has solved this particular problem by having a porta potty out behind the church, unfortunately, as the temperature was in the twenties, we were informed that it was frozen and would not be usable.
As preparations for the wedding began, a kind of ordered chaos filled the building. Bridesmaids primped, the bride's parents cried, pictures were taken. Did I mention that we were the photographers? Once Michelle was ready, she had to go out the side door and go back around to the front door to enter. The flower girls (my two oldest, stunningly adorable granddaughters) performed flawlessly, dropping flower petals down the aisle as they entered. The only hitch was that they seemed to be having a fabulous time and were hesitant to continue over to their seats, instead electing to twirl for the congregation a couple of times before being enticed to their seats by their mothers with (I suspect) gummy bears.
Next came the ring bearers (Michelle's three year old twin nephews), who did not actually bear any rings, but were, in fact, carried up the aisle, one under each arm, by a cousin of the bride.
The rest of the wedding party entered and the ceremony began. It was lovely, in spite of Chi looking like he might pass out at any moment. The Bishop spoke, then Samantha sang a song (beautifully I might add). Then the Bishop had them exchange their vows. That all went smoothly, but I was a little surprised that when they went to exchange the rings they each had a little slip of paper, which they both dropped, from which they read the sentence and a half required to complete the transaction. I know for a fact that Colt can recite the lyrics to several hundred songs and will come home from a movie and retell the entire story line, quoting entire scenes verbatim, but apparently could not remember that simple line and a half. The important thing though, was that they laughed and they smiled and they were obviously completely in love. Once the ceremony was complete, the guests were invited to congregate outside with bubbles as the couple left the church. I was a little fearful that there might be injuries caused by frozen bubbles smacking guests on the head, but all went well.
Between the wedding and the reception, we took the wedding party to the Joslyn museum for photographs. The museum is beautiful and this seemed like an excellent alternative to the whole wedding party being treated for frostbite and hypothermia, which were very real possibilities if we tried doing the shoot outdoors.
Upon our arrival at the reception, we were informed that the chef had gotten the time wrong and somehow thought that in spite of the fact that the reception started at 5:00, he didn't need to have the food ready until 6:30. After a run in with an angry mother of the bride, he hustled and provided what was essentially, roast beef tartar at 6:00. The guests were very patient! After that, things went pretty well, other than the mother of the groom (me) discovering than an outrageous headache, the stress of shooting the wedding and trying to participate as a guest, and a few minor run ins with persons unnamed, had stretched me a bit too thin. All you had to do was look at me and I was likely to burst into tears. Just ask Derek.
Finally, the bride and groom headed to their hotel and we headed home. I sat on the couch and realized that our last child had just gotten married. Children are always your children, no matter how old or how married they are, but at some point, they aren't your responsibility anymore. As Derek is so fond of saying, "We don't get a vote". So all you can do is continue to Love them and their spouses and their children and be their cheerleaders and be there to pick them up when they fall, IF they ask for your help. They are forever and always your children, but they are also adults with their own families and their own lives. I was a little sad.
The week flew by and suddenly we found ourselves in that crowded little room surrounded by other parents and spouses, while a handful of young men and one women took their oath of service. At times I cried, just a little, but mostly I thought how great it was to see Colt starting his own adventure. It made me think of myself, nearly thirty years ago, standing and watching as Derek took that same oath. A time he will never forget mostly because I was wearing neon yellow overalls and a bright striped shirt (cut me some slack, it was the 80's).
I know how Michelle must have felt as they took the recruits away and she faced a couple of months on her own, but i also remember the amazing adventure that began all those years ago for us. The places that we lived, the fun that we had, the trials that we faced, raising our kids in various countries and various parts of the states. It has been an amazing adventure. Now it's time for a new adventure, both for Colt and Michelle, and for Derek and I. It feels a little like we are newlyweds again, only this time we get to rediscover each other, play with Grand kids and enjoy the adults that our children have become.
I think this will be a very good adventure.
Friday, February 5, 2010
My brain dissolves and I sink into an abyss of lethargy
I don't feel well. At all. I would feel better if I were deathly ill and on life support. This infection induced lethargy is so much worse than being actively sick. If I was suffering from Dengue Fever or Bubonic Plague I wouldn't feel like I was just being lazy. I would feel justified in lazing around on the couch all day. I simply do not do inactivity well. I have felt this way all week. Everything is too much of an effort except for one thing. It turns out that the perfect antibiotic for my malaise is...grandchildren. Yesterday I spent the day struggling to make a sandwich to say nothing of actually getting anything done. Then my daughter called and my fuzzy brain brightened as my granddaughter Eden 'read' a book to me over the phone. After their phone call, I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to be content that I had actually gotten some scanning done (even though the housework remained unfinished). Then the doorbell rang and as I struggled to get off the couch I heard tiny footsteps stomping across the hardwood floor upstairs. My step quickened slightly as I struggled up the basement steps to the main floor and as I hit the top of the stairs, a little pink and purple rocket hurtled towards me. My granddaughter, Julia, beamed up at me and I felt a little more of my lethargy evaporate. The sight of a smiling little 10 mo. old C.J. sealed the deal and for the next few hours I forgot that I was sick. I'd barely gotten my bed made in the morning but I was able to spend at least 15 minutes bouncing Julia up and down as I sat in an arm chair and pumped my legs up and down with Julia standing on my feet and squealing with glee, shaking her head from side to side to deliberately heighten her spatial disorientation. I tickled and roared and laughed, forgetting that my whole body hurt. This same phenomenon occurs every time Eden calls and I hear her sweet little voice chirping "Hi Nana! I love you!", or Autumns voice in the background chanting "Nana, Nana, Nana, Nana". I've known a number of women who insist that their grandchildren call them by their first name because they don't want to feel old. It is a common mis-belief that grandchildren are a sign that we have reached our golden years. I would refute that philosophy and say that grandchildren have a nearly magical ability to re-infuse you with energy and enthusiasm and the sound of little voices bellowing for Nana invigorates me and makes me feel ten years younger, so I may not feel up to doing the dishes, but bring on the grand kids and I can move mountains!
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Apparently, I DON'T get to run the universe...
It has occurred to me in recent months that life does not always happen exactly as we would like it to, and there is not much we can do about that short of beating our chests and screaming "why me"?, which to me seems singularly unhelpful. Given the circumstances of my own life, what with parents dying, volcano's erupting, children's illnesses, a bad back, yoyo dieting and a multitude of other personal and natural disasters, one would have to conclude that I am profoundly obtuse not to have noticed this sooner.
This idea of circumstances being beyond our control is an extremely vexing concept for someone who is compelled to try and orchestrate every moment of her life and I...I mean, they...yes...they must find it quite difficult to accept. As for me (because I'm not "they"), if I could choose it to be so, my life would be set to a truly epic soundtrack (and in my head it already is). I would have no physical trials and all of my relationships would go perfectly. My perfect life would be filled with masses of witty repartee and perfect weather (my definition of perfect, of course). Fascinating friends and loving family would abound, and I would fly to far off, exotic locations at the drop of a hat. On Friday date night, Derek and I would decide to whisk off to India for the weekend in search of some really exceptional Tikka Masala and Pompodoms, and over the Easter holiday, we would jet down to South America to photograph Mayan ruins for National Geographic. Oh, and I would also be younger, thinner and better looking.
It is a lucky happenstance that I actually have many of those things in my life now (aside from the younger, thinner, better looking thing). I am surrounded by intelligent and witty people who care about me and whom I adore. I have traveled the world extensively (and yet always seem to want to see more) and done and seen some pretty fabulous things. I have amazing children, adorable grandchildren, a truly exceptional husband, a beautiful home and great friends, and yet I have not mastered the ability to control all of the events in my life. For instance, if I WERE in control, my bust line would not have gone south for the winter and crows would not have built nests at the corner of my eyes and stomped their stupid little crow's feet all over them. If I were in control, on cold mornings it would not take Derek's helping hand and a significant amount of Motrin to get me out of bed in the morning. There are so many things that would be different if I were in control. For instance, it is my belief that if nations and governments would just ask me for my opinion, things would even run smoother on a global scale.
Then it occurs to me what a good thing it is that I am NOT in control, because I suspect that if I were, I would muck things up royally. Instead, I have discovered that being in control of our fate is not what is important. Don't get me wrong. I agree with that whole master of my own destiny thing for the most part. I can choose an education, I can choose a career, I can choose my spouse, with a little plastic surgery, I could even choose a different nose or bigger lips...by the way...yuck. I'm not talking about the control we have over OUR decisions. I'm talking about the control that we DON'T have over other people's decisions. The real trick in getting by in this life is what we do with the hand that is dealt us. I don't think that God sits up on some glistening throne thinking "You know, just for kicks I'm going to really mess up so-and-so's life today". I suspect he is more likely thinking, "I can't wait to see what imaginative and inventive solution so-and-so will come up with to solve THIS little conundrum"!
Our God is not like mythological Gods of Ancient Greece and Rome. He is not motivated by malice, jealousy or arrogance. Whoever thought those guys up had issues and should have sought out a few counseling sessions with Plato or Aristotle, or Dr. Phil.
No, our God is the cleverest of parents. He sees when we will not learn a lesson simply by being told. He knows just when to twist our knickers into just enough of a bunch to get us riled into taking control of OUR actions, and more importantly, our REactions vs. trying to control things that are simply beyond our control.
So, while my life does not always go in the exact direction that I think it should, I have found that if I work within certain parameters, it will always go in the direction that is best for me, whether I like it or not. Thank Heaven (literally) for the little trials and hiccups that are sent our way every day. Life really would be mind numbingly boring without them.
This idea of circumstances being beyond our control is an extremely vexing concept for someone who is compelled to try and orchestrate every moment of her life and I...I mean, they...yes...they must find it quite difficult to accept. As for me (because I'm not "they"), if I could choose it to be so, my life would be set to a truly epic soundtrack (and in my head it already is). I would have no physical trials and all of my relationships would go perfectly. My perfect life would be filled with masses of witty repartee and perfect weather (my definition of perfect, of course). Fascinating friends and loving family would abound, and I would fly to far off, exotic locations at the drop of a hat. On Friday date night, Derek and I would decide to whisk off to India for the weekend in search of some really exceptional Tikka Masala and Pompodoms, and over the Easter holiday, we would jet down to South America to photograph Mayan ruins for National Geographic. Oh, and I would also be younger, thinner and better looking.
It is a lucky happenstance that I actually have many of those things in my life now (aside from the younger, thinner, better looking thing). I am surrounded by intelligent and witty people who care about me and whom I adore. I have traveled the world extensively (and yet always seem to want to see more) and done and seen some pretty fabulous things. I have amazing children, adorable grandchildren, a truly exceptional husband, a beautiful home and great friends, and yet I have not mastered the ability to control all of the events in my life. For instance, if I WERE in control, my bust line would not have gone south for the winter and crows would not have built nests at the corner of my eyes and stomped their stupid little crow's feet all over them. If I were in control, on cold mornings it would not take Derek's helping hand and a significant amount of Motrin to get me out of bed in the morning. There are so many things that would be different if I were in control. For instance, it is my belief that if nations and governments would just ask me for my opinion, things would even run smoother on a global scale.
Then it occurs to me what a good thing it is that I am NOT in control, because I suspect that if I were, I would muck things up royally. Instead, I have discovered that being in control of our fate is not what is important. Don't get me wrong. I agree with that whole master of my own destiny thing for the most part. I can choose an education, I can choose a career, I can choose my spouse, with a little plastic surgery, I could even choose a different nose or bigger lips...by the way...yuck. I'm not talking about the control we have over OUR decisions. I'm talking about the control that we DON'T have over other people's decisions. The real trick in getting by in this life is what we do with the hand that is dealt us. I don't think that God sits up on some glistening throne thinking "You know, just for kicks I'm going to really mess up so-and-so's life today". I suspect he is more likely thinking, "I can't wait to see what imaginative and inventive solution so-and-so will come up with to solve THIS little conundrum"!
Our God is not like mythological Gods of Ancient Greece and Rome. He is not motivated by malice, jealousy or arrogance. Whoever thought those guys up had issues and should have sought out a few counseling sessions with Plato or Aristotle, or Dr. Phil.
No, our God is the cleverest of parents. He sees when we will not learn a lesson simply by being told. He knows just when to twist our knickers into just enough of a bunch to get us riled into taking control of OUR actions, and more importantly, our REactions vs. trying to control things that are simply beyond our control.
So, while my life does not always go in the exact direction that I think it should, I have found that if I work within certain parameters, it will always go in the direction that is best for me, whether I like it or not. Thank Heaven (literally) for the little trials and hiccups that are sent our way every day. Life really would be mind numbingly boring without them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)