Endangered Species

In 2007 my parents died ten weeks apart from each other. It has bothered me for years that I became an orphan virtually overnight. As traumatizing as it was, I still had my brother "around" so I had family. Now he has died.

I know people don't always realize what they are saying and the impact that their words may have. At get-togethers prior to the service, at the service and in conversations afterwords I was reminded that I was alone. The last of "my kind". Like I didn't already understand what had happened.

I have my memories. I have MY family. I have my friends. I'll move on. But the words just kept poking at me. In the quiet of the night when my thoughts all run together, all I could think of was Emily Litella. Emily was a character that Gilda Radner portrayed on SNL who sometimes got her words twisted or mis-understood noteworthy topics for theWeekend Update News. With your endulgance, I would like to share with you one of her scenes. It kind of sums it up for me.

Jane Curtin: And now, with tonight's commentary, is "Update" correspondent Emily Litella.

Emily Litella: [ peeking into frame before the full pullback ] Why, thank you, Jane!
Jane Curtin: [ sharply ] I can't wait to hear this "gem".
Emily Litella: What's all this FUSS I keep hearing... about endangered feces? Now, that's outrageous!! Why -- why are FECES endangered?! How can you POSSIBLY run out of such a thing?! Why -- why, just look around you, you can see it ALL OVER the place!! Besides, who wants to SAVE THAT, anyway?! My goodness, where would we KEEP it?! It's DANGEROUS, especially in the Summer!! Then -- then, it could REALLY hit the fan!! [ Emily begins to laugh, unable to stop, as Jane gives her a dirty look ]
Jane Curtin: What's so funny?
Emily Litella: Ohhh... oh, my joke! [ she continues to laugh for a moment ] Oh, come on, Miss Curtin, didn't you ever hear that one about "hitting the fan"? [ Jane remains silently annoyed ] Oh, come on, you old shiksa! Where have you been?

Jane Curtin: Species.
Emily Litella: What's that?
Jane Curtin: Species! The list of endangered species! Not feces -- species
Emily Litella: Ohhhh! I-I-I must have gotten carried away. [ turns to the camera and smiles ]

.

I'm not an endangered species. I am what I have always been. Unique.

Happy is a Relative term...really

Nellie in his "Burt Reynolds" era..

Yesterday was Father’s Day. I acknowledged the day to the father of my children and separately to the father of my step-daughter. I invited my in-laws and friends over for burgers and such in honor of the day. I read countless odes to fathers on FaceBook. Even the postings from the people that have lost their fathers were full of kind words.

All that said, I do not have wistful thoughts of time spent with my father. My memories are clouded with subterfuge of drunken debauchery, fighting, game-playing, and over-all anxiety. My memories do not hold playing in the park, holding hands while crossing the street, or life’s lesson being taught unless they held the wisdom of what not to do as based on his examples. I thought of him as “Nellie” more than “Dad”.

He made it apparent that another son would have been the better option as a child. He often told the story of how after I was born he immediately got a vasectomy. Like one sight of a daughter was the appropriate action in such a situation. Perhaps he meant it as a joke? Who knows.

There are not memories of father/daughter dances, seeing him in the stands at one of my sporting events or teaching me how to change a tire. He did pick me up from ballet practice on occasion…then took me to the Knights of Columbus in my “tights” and had me dance on the bar. (I can account for my first table dance, how many people can?)

I cannot account for one time I woke up with him tucking me in or reading a bedtime story. My memory was that of my mother waking me around the age of 7 and making get into the car to pick him up from the Elks Lodge. What man could resist a little girl with a plaid nightgown and blue horn-rimmed glasses staggering in to retrieve him, right? Mom was a great strategist.

He was big on “appearances”. He always dressed to the “nines” when he went out, and made sure my mom did too. Even when he “accidentally” gave my mother shiners, he made sure she had the best Jackie-O inspired sunglasses. What a champ…no pun intended.

Don’t mistake me, it wasn’t all bad. I never had to worry about a roof over my head, and I was always well fed. I went to private school for a few years and I feel my education was much superior there. I did have a cool car to drive through high school and was given a new one when I graduated. I learned more about cooking from him than I did my mother. I had my college paid for, although I didn’t finish (something he never let me forget).

Are there other people out there that feel like me or am I thankless daughter?

Cultural Irony

"It's a Juicy Contradiction" >>>

Mike and I recently visited Germany. We drove for too many hours the first day and we were heavily fatigued. The last thing we had on our mind was eating dinner; that is until we stopped off in the lobby of our hotel for real German beer. The first one was so good that we had to try another. These are not the conventional 12 ounce cans/bottles that we are use to in the US. These were huge 20+ ounce bottles of liquid heaven. We could tell that we needed food to counteract the effects of the German nectar.

We were staying in a town that I had previously stayed in so I was familiar with where the restaurants were. The alcohol had impaired my time-space continuum and I didn’t realize the time. Not many of the restaurants were open but we did find a sushi restaurant that was not only open, it had several patrons casually munching away from a conveyor belt of prepared sushi, sashimi, soups and such.

Not know what the rules were, we elected to sit at a full service table. All the employees looked to our direction and scampered about getting menus and serving sets. All the employees were Asian, complimenting the genre; something that I always wondered if that helped the ambiance of the restaurant or not. Our server came to greet us fully decked out in an Asian inspired frock to match the décor. He handed us menus and began speaking in clear, concise German. My mind could not grasp the cultural irony of the moment. I asked if he had English menus and he walked to a colleague for assistance.

I never thought of myself as a bigot or a racist. This event has made me think that I could lean toward pigeonholing. I expected him to have an Asian accent. I think I could have handled him not understanding me that way. Throw in the German and it was too much for me to handle.

I need more time for self-reflection.

Beef Stew or Sour Grapes

No, that isn't anyone I know>>>>

I missed out on a few months of going to the gym (darn) due to foot surgery. I was packing on the pounds and knew that either I was going to have to give up the things in life that I love (food and beer) or eventually head back to the gym in order to fit in to my (fat) clothes. As luck would have it, my gal pal said she wanted to try water aerobics at the same gym. Perfect. I would have a workout buddy and a slow re-introduction to the gym.

First things first…which of my swimsuits make me look the least fat? Lord knows I have a crap load of them. Do I wear sweats over my suit or change there? Good Gawd, there are going to be little old ladies there, and then me. Why do I even care?

The first few sessions were a rude awakening to how much time I spent at Hooters with Mike. I was huffing and puffing in the WATER! How embarrassing. All things considered, I felt I was making progress and actually doing some good. I’m not the youngest in the class, not the oldest. I’m not the thinnest by any means, but I am there with “my people” sweating to the splashin’. There are even guys taking the class so there has to be some physical benefit to it. I mean why else would they be there?

There are two instructors, depending on the day. Karla is personable, remembers everyone’s name and always has a smile. She likes to get the participants involved in the count downs and is light hearted as we whimper and gulp down water when we mis-step in the pool. Stephanie (?) is a young mother who obviously was a member of a Nazi training party in a former life. Her work outs are done with precision and to the second. Her trained eye is always on the clock as she audibly counts down each repetition.

So last night I squeezed myself into a suit that I picked up on sale somewhere on-line. I remember the description said something like “the array of colors dash diagonally from the waist drawing the eye to a tummy slimming effect”. Who the heck wouldn’t buy that suit!? Well, the moths or Texas humidity must have “shrunk” the suit a tad. I was feeling like the proverbial 10 pounds of potatoes in a 5 pound sack. And that was with the hidden tummy tucking panel. (Yeah, right.)

So there we were, with our noodles and water dumbbells. There was about 20 or so of us ranging in age from 30-something to a gal that somewhat resembled a raisin. I have no idea how old she was but she kept up! As we progressed through the workout a “Janie-Come-Lately” showed up and in the SAME suit I had on. Sweet Baby Jesus, what exactly is the protocol for such an occasion? Is this something for the Fashion Police? Do I squat down in the water and hope no one notices? Then it hits me, no one remotely cares. My catty-ness swells to the surface when I decide my “10 pounds of potatoes in a 5 pound sack” look still looks better. And her “array of colors” weren’t dashing. They were screaming.

So the class was half over and we were participating in a resistance activity called the “whirlpool”. (Before you ask, it’s not an aquatic dutch-oven.) Basically we take a “noodle” and twist it in a knot, you then push and pull the noodle under the surface of the water while the class walks in a circle forcing the water into a torrent resembling a whirlpool. Then I hear one of the ladies let out a yip of surprise. I look up in front of me and one of the guys ran his floaty into the back of a gal. He apologized and she responded that it was her fault, it was her 60th birthday and she was just day dreaming. Coyly he then asks what she was going to do for her birthday and she blushed. OMG…It was a geriatric meat market! I reminded him to keep his noodle to himself!

Wait. Was I supposed to be grossed out or jealous…

Introduction

Since the dawn of people, they have been chronicling their lives in the sand, sides of caves, stone tablets, books and electronically. I've not been one of them...until now. I thought I would give it a try. I apologize up front if I inadvertently offend anyone. Feel free to drop me a line if I have my facts wrong or if you have a differing opinion.

I've always envied people that could spin a yarn. Telling humorous stories to the point the listener can't tell if the story is fact or fiction is truly a gift.

Over the years I listened to my dad tell countless narratives of his work, who he saw or ran into, or of a time from his youth. Just when he was nearing the end of the story (or punch line) he would throw in a "but you remember so-and-so" and the story took a different path. It was frustrating but it was part of the package.

For several years I worked for a great organization who was building itself up from the ground up. The VP of the department had a great gift of make analogies of a situation to make his point. He had great heart, compassion, a sharp mind but lacked a sense of time. As he would express himself, he would get a little crooked grin and start on a side story. The side story always had something to do with the end result but it generally took a long time getting there, a trait we coined "a rabbit trail".

I don't know about you, but in my collection of friends I can pick out the truly gifted story tellers. One such character only has one volume and its ON. He can take any situation and find humor. Gawd I love that! He draws an audience like moths to a flame. As the story builds and builds you are sucked in hooked line and sinker he drops his signature line, "long story, longer". You are putty in his hands.

So all this said, I trust my rantings will not bore you. I will try to stay on topic but sometimes you just have to tell a different story to tell THE story. Stay tuned for my version of life with my friends, family, trips and ....
...but I digress