Sunday, May 27, 2012

A Club I Can't Join

In grade school, I joined the Girl Scouts and that is how I made friends and met people.
In middle school, I joined the swim team and made friends.
In high school, I did field hockey and cheerleading.  And parties.
In college, I joined a sorority.
After college, I got a job and joined committees.

My entire life, I have been joining groups of people to be a part of something bigger.  Where there is a group of people who share a common interest, I want to be in it.  I want to meet people and forge bonds based on common interests, and this is what I have been doing all my life.  And yet there is one club I cannot join. 

All around me I am surrounded by women having babies and creating little groups of their own based on all the babies they are having and all the shared experiences this affords them.  And 99% of the time I am unbothered by this.  Because while they have their Mommy Club, I have my I Can Go Out And Party Whenever I Want Club, and my Shop All Day Saturday and Never Once Have to Change a Poopy Diaper Club.  And so most of the time I am not put out by the fact that I am not part of the Mommy Club because most of the time I don't want to be part of the Mommy Club. 

But then I go home and sit down with my mom and grandmother and two sisters in law and they are, of course, all Mommies.  And so they talk about Mommy things.  And this, also, is okay with me.  Of course they should.  And some of it is interesting, like when they are talking about my niece or nephew or a cousin's child or something that is not inherently beyond my realm of understanding like diaper rash or something.  Of course some of it is not interesting, and you know - this is okay too.  I'm sure they don't find my incessant chatter about work interesting all the time either.  That's what families and friends do for each other. 

But then photos get taken and stories get told and re-told, and I wonder how many photos are out there being shared among the Mommies that I never even get to see because I am just not part of the club.  And this goes for all my Mommy Friends too.  And how many stories I don't here because I'm not a Mommy and so by default I don't have the weekly phone calls about morning sickness and doctors appointments and nursery colors.  What baby showers am I not even invited to because not only am I a hundred states away but I am also not a parent? 

Of course, it's just like a non-parent to get all selfish about this and take it personally and make it about herself.  I get that.  If I were capable of putting myself out of the equation to see what's really important about the wonders of procreation, I probably would have had a child by now.  That's probably what plenty of parents would think if they read this.    But I'm like a billion miles away and I see my niece like twice a year and I miss her.  And I miss my brothers and my sisters in law and my parents and I'm jealous - I really am - that my two sisters in law are at this very moment having pregnancy moments together all over the place and adding these adorable little munchkins to the family that my parents can swoon all over and  I'm just this selfish DINK in Texas who doesn't have anything to contribute to the conversation other than what I did this weekend and how work is going.      And I know they don't feel this way at all - of course they don't.  But I do.  And I don't want to have a baby really, or at least I don't think I do, but this family is growing away from me with every day that passes and I can't do anything about it.    Because there is no club that I can join here that will get me any closer to them.  Not even the Mommy Club.

Do You Know This Feeling

There is a branch of my family tree that has always entranced me, like they have some special secret or grip on a fascinating piece of history that no one else has.  But they do not.  I can't pinpoint what it is about this family, but they - to me - are like the Kennedys.  They are a mystical group of people who had, over the years, gained some sort of celebrity status in my mind.    

And yet, I ran into some of them this weekend and found, not surprisingly, that they are just like any of the rest of us. Their story is no more or less fascinating than any of ours.   They are happy and sad and joyful and hopeful and heartbroken, just as I am and just like you, reader, are. 
 
So, I'm not sure what intirgued me so about this particular family all those years ago.  They stood out like a blonde woman in a room full of brunettes.  Despite being maybe only 5 or 10 at any one time, it always seemed like there were hundreds of them.  They took over a room. Perhaps because they seemed to move so fluidly and consistently as one group, it was hard to separate them from their larger unit and, therefore, hard to see them as fallible creatures with weaknesses just like everyone else. 

Now I see in them the same sort of steadfast loyalty that my own family has for each other and I am grateful for it.  Grateful that they have it, because no matter how mysterious this family is to me - they are family and I want for them the best.  Grateful that I have it, that my parents and brothers and aunts and their families have it. 

Perhaps that is what makes any family seem larger than life - because in the end the one unit you create is actually larger than all the lives that make it.  And within that safe haven, you can truly be yourself and be accepted and safe and open.  And that is what makes family so very very special. 

Pop Pop

My grandfather's name was John but everyone called him Jack.  So much so that all these years later, I couldn't be sure whether his given name was John or Jack, and I sometimes would address one letter to John and then another later a few months later to Jack.  A granddaughter should know her Pop Pop's first name without question, but more importantly, a granddaughter should know her Pop Pop.  And even if I couldn't be sure of the name on his birth certificate, because he was so familiar to us that it never occurred to wonder, I could be sure of something else.  He was a good man.  A loving and kind man.  The funniest man I have ever known. 

Raised in a house where discipline and order were of the utmost importance, my grandfather harbored a work ethic that masked an intense love for art.  While he chose to join the Marine Corps and later become a brick layer to provide for his family, he never let go of his creativity and allowed it to flourish both in and outside his career.  His talent was so great that he could seamlessly weave it into any project he was working on - whether it was incorporating a cross and an ornate walkway in the house he built with his own two hands, or creating a mural of a firefighter holding a child out of bricks in a local fire station. 

Art was his passion, but his family was his life.   John and Alice Kyle were fiercely committed to one another through good times and bad.  They raised three beautiful daughters who would one day grow into loving and successful adults who cared so much for their parents that they would sacrifice so much just to ensure their comfort and dignity at the end of their lives. 

My grandfather was funny.  Ask anyone who knew him and the resounding memory of him would undoubtedly be that he was funny.   He would put on Flip Wilson records for us to listen and laugh at.  He would tell jokes and dance and wear goofy costumes.   No visitor at Jack's house could feel anything but jovial.     Until his last days, you couldn't visit him without being told some joke.  His wit was so quick that you could visit a hundred times and not hear the same wise cracks, because he could pull them out of the thin area right in front of him without even having to think.  He never relied on the easy jokes, or the tried and true jokes.  He could take any conversation and make it funny.  It was his gift - to make any person comfortable and happy without having to even leave his chair.   Despite being a notorious home-body, I have always envied him his ability to put those around him at ease and be the life of the party, no matter what.

Yes, the life of the party.  That was my grandfather, and my grandmother really.  They were the sort of couple that you just want to be around.  They had fun - an immense amount of fun.  Every occasion felt special, if just because it was always a good time around them.  Everything felt like a party. 

I remember chips and dip on the table, grapefruits for breakfast, candy canes hanging from every branch of the Christmas tree.  I remember Vermouth in glasses and a porch that seemed always to be full of people.  A closet full of Barbie dolls on one side of the house, and priceless antique china just steps away.  A cupboard of board games, and a drawer overflowing with playing cards.  I remember beds made of blankets on the floor for the kids, and playing bocce ball in the backyard.  A classic car in the garage, and a game of handball in the driveway.  A pool under the shade tree and trivia in the living room.  A foundtain in the backyard, in front of which I often dreamt of getting married.  A house so full of memories that it's hard to focus when you're there sometimes, for all the gazing around. 

Oh my dear Pop Pop and Grammy - you had three daughters and five grandchildren and six great grandchildren.  Your daughters love you with a fierce loyalty and your grandkids admire the honorable and spirited way you lived your lives.  You created a world that was safe and sturdy and just, and encircled your loved ones in the goodness of your spirit.  You will never be forgotten.  For every time we see each other, we will see the house that you built standing firm and strong - a family that has withstood loss and heartache with devotion and loyalty and most importantly, the legacy of your love.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Skeptical....

Alright so here goes.  This is not going to be a popular opinion and I am all for that.  But I am getting so fed up with everyone running about touting energy efficiency, like just because some overzealous builder claims that a certain amount of reduction has been achieved it means it really happened.  Where is the proof?    Many taxpayers pay an exorbitant amount of money that eventually goes toward constructing public buildings that are allegedly energy efficient.  I have earned the LEED AP in Building Design and Construction credential, therefore I know a little bit about the subject of energy efficiency, though it certainly doesn't make me an expert.  Not by a long shot.  But I learned some things.  The most important, so far, being that anyone can run around saying that energy reduction is going to be X percent.  Until you force them to prove it, how will you know if it ever really happened?  What abotu plug loads?  What about human behavior ?    Damn, now my backsapce key is brken again.  Dm Damn Damn.

Anyway, I"m just tired of seeing all these new, supplsedly energy efficient buildigns being built, while the old skeletons of their former selves sit abaondoned on overwgrown and dneglected lots.  Owners are not held accountalbe for what happens to their former homes and towns become overrun with empty boxes.  So you reduced energy use by maybe 20%$, if you're lucky, but now you have towns being taken over by cinder block gardens that will never be anyhthing but places for skaters to hang out.  It's sickening.  And we're all paying for it out the nose.    If we're going to foxcus so much on building new and gbetter prerforming buildings, we should make corporations and cities and states and everyone find a way to responsibily address their current land leases and owenerships and suhch before moving on.  I really can't setand to see all these vaacant building popping up everywhere, bparticularly in downtaown areas that could be so vibrant if giventh the chance. 

Sorry for all the typos.  Not only am I worked up but my backspace key is again askew. 

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

The Special Thing about Simple Things

For no particulatr reason today, after a dinner of cereal due to a lunch of french fries, Adam suggested that he would take me to get frozen yogurt if I wanted to go.
Which of course I did.  Only a fool would turn down a trip to get frozen yogurt on a random Wednesday night. 
I love my husband - only he has the ability to make going to get frozen yogurt - a really simple little routine thing - seem special and  romantic.
What I feel like is sometimes missing from this life is an appreciation for little tiny moments like that.  In a wordl where we have access to whatever we want pretty much whenever we want, going tog et frozen yogurt is really no big deal.  It's not like we couldn't have gone   six times today if we wanted to.  But the fact that my husband - a practical no-nonsense knda guy at heart - decided on his own that he wanted to talke me out for it, that's what was special. 
I guess the point of this story is that in our culture of selfishness and instant gratification, it's sometimes nice to get a little thrill about the simplie things.  It's what is special about someone handing you a hanful of daisies picked from the backyard, or a miniature chocolate bar from the office candy jar.  It's just the idea that someone besides yourself was thinking about you and what might make you happy.  NOw, what is even more imporotant is to remember to return the favor!

Side note: the reason that this post is littlered with typods is because my backspace key is broken and Im' being lazy     So now you all know that my exceptionally fast typing skills comes with some serious typo problems.  70% of thoes key sounds when I'm typicng are the backspace key!  :-)

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Some Things are True... Others are Not

This is True:

No matter how many years pass and miles separate you, when your childhood best friend delivers her first-born child, your first instinct is to run to be at her side

This is Not True:

Canned green beans are just as good as the fresh kind

This is True:

No matter how certain you are that you know the correct date, it is impossible not to worry that you have missed your mother's birthday

This is Not True:

There is a good time on a Sunday to go grocery shopping.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

There Was a Time When...

There was a time when...

I was terrified to disappoint my father
I thought I was as grown-up as my mother
I tried to be as rebellious as my brother

There was a time when..

I wanted to grow up to be like my Aunt Barbie
I wanted to smell like my neighbor Mrs. Smith's freshly laundered towels
I wanted to look like Ashley McCabe

There was a time when..

I looked out of place everywhere I went
I wore myself like I was just trying to be someone else
I looked like I hadn't slept in weeks and weeks - and it was rarely worth it

Now....

I realize I could never disappoint my father
I know I'll never be as grown up as my mother
I wish I had rebelled as much as my brother - it would have been such fun

Now...

I still want to be as cool as my Aunt Barbie
I still search for that laundry detergent
Who I look like is no longer relevant

Now...

I am out of place sometimes.  It's exciting.
I wear what I like and it feels like me.
I sometimes look like I haven't slept in weeks - and it's always worth it

Now...

I am me.

There will be a time when your self feels wrong, out of place, desperate to be ... other than.
That feeling will pass and, someday, will be replaced by ...  Happiness.  Acceptance.  Selfness.
Wait for it.