Red Rope

Barley.

 On the day we found out our pool is going to be weeks delayed, agreed a first world problem, but still annoying to have a very expensive crater in our backyard, and our sprinkler system computer croaked -  replacement on the way - I was in a mood.

We've got baseball tickets tonight. Season opener.

Wife, having had an equally frustrating but different day, said, "we have to have an attitude adjustment or we aren't going to have any fun tonight."

"We will have fun. We will drink beer and eat red vines and have all the fun."

In other news, I graduated from Invisalign today and into a permanent retainer. I'm really looking forward to eating without having to remove my 'teeth'. 

At the stadium, fresh Hops cap procured, I head to the concession stand. I can see the red vines. All coiled, deliciousness visible, I ordered a $9 beer and a red vine.

The cashier, confused, it's opening night, in Covid, they're all new, looked for the 'red vine' button.

"I can't find the button. Anyone know where the red vines button is?"

They all stared. Blankly.

"Um, I can see them. Right there. It's all I really want."

"There's no button for them."

Push the hotdog button and hand me a red vine... I'm certain, even with my hat, sun glasses and mask, he could read my face.

He stared at me. I stared back, trying not to blink, he held out, "fine... I'll just take the beer."

I walked to my seat. Defeated.

Cue my very long monologue to my audience of two.

After I finished my beer, I returned to the concession stand, "you guys figure out the red vines situation?"

"No."

"You're killing me."

Blank stares.

They've covered the red vines with bags of potato chips. But, I know they're there. We all know they're there!

I walked across the concourse, seeking out another stand. Stood in line for 10 minutes reviewing the menu options.

No red ropes.

But, Cracker Jack!

"I'll take a beer and a Cracker Jack", I said as I pulled my card out.

"This line is cash only."

I looked up and around, "there is not sign."

"Sorry."

Deep breath. Deep breath. Do not lose your ever loving mind over Cracker Jacks.

Walked over to the next window. 

Waited in line.

"You take cards?"

"Yes."

Whew.

"Great, I'll take a beer and a Cracker Jack."

"We don't have Cracker Jack at this window."

Mother*%$*ingSonofaB*&^%$.

"Just the beer then."

In good news, I got a photo with Barley, my wife found me some Cracker Jack and the Hops won. I also challenged, and likely beat some kids in a hill rolling contest on the way out of the stadium. I'm not saying that it was a bad idea to hill roll after 36 ounces of beer but I'm not saying it was a good idea either. An hour later, I'm still dizzy and perhaps a little sloshy.

And, yes, there is a video. 

For another time.

My wife. My hero.

A year!

It's been a fucking year. Exactly. 

The light at the end of the tunnel might not be a train. 

I haven't worked in the office in a year. A super bummer. I really liked my office. I had cool art and an excellent booze collection and a big screen TV that streamed sports all the time. 

Soccer? Yep. Cricket? Yep. Ping Pong? Hell yeah.

In that year, my office has been boxed up and moved. Moved to another building. Not unpacked. Just piles of boxes. There. Waiting. For the someday. I did go in and grab the booze. I would never trust the movers with that. Ever. Plus, I needed that at home. 

In good news, The Nimitz is in terrific shape. Hardly any miles in a year. And gas expenses have been miniscule. 

My mental health is not in terrific shape. I haven't done that well in this. Maybe I've cracked. It's been a hard year. I don't think I'm alone. I think extroverts in general are having a tough go of it. But, it's expanding beyond extroverts. Even my introvert friends are at the end. 

A couple weeks ago I donated blood with my blood donation bestie. We talked and laughed about how much fun we'll have in the someday. When we parted I said, "I want to have so much fun we wake up in a hotel and don't know how we got there." 

I mean that. 

Really.

When this started, it was like snow days. We figured, we'll go home for a few weeks. People will stay home. It'll stop spreading. But, they didn't and it didn't. The weeks turned to months. And now, a year.

As a GenXer I can deal with just about anything. Drop some mac and cheese and pop tarts on my porch and put sitcoms and MTV back on and I'm good. I can hang. But, instead of watching sitcoms 24/7 I started watching the news. It turns out that was a terrible idea. I've never had a ton of faith in humanity but now... now, I don't know if I have any. 

The zoom happy hours and virtual coffees have gotten old. I miss seeing people in 3D. Not hugging got old. Me. I miss hugging. That's enough evidence to prove that I've definitely cracked. Defense rests.

And then, today I got the text that I'll be scheduled for my vaccine soon. It's coming. The end is coming. There is hope. I've refreshed my email no less than 100 times waiting for the invite. 

This feels like Christmas. 

Look out people. In 8-10 weeks I will be hugging everyone I see. 

Lucky you.  

Laughing to Death

Years, and years, and years ago, when I was about seven, we were left home alone.

Not at all informative or instructional.

The three of us were around the kitchen table doing our homework. As this was the early 80's I'm going to guess that I was working on a coloring book or something. There weren't really 'homework packets' for first graders in my day. Again, as it was the early 80's, it wasn't anything of note to have 13, 11 and seven year olds home alone in the evening.

I was on one end of the 'wooden' formica table, Pat the other, Dionne in the middle. We were laughing and being silly and eating brownies. I took a bite and laughed. And sucked in ooey, gooey, delicious brownie. Stuck.

I couldn't breathe. I tried coughing. I started banging on the table. 

My sister Dionne who spent a considerable amount of our childhood trying to murder me, said, "I think she's choking! Are you choking?"

I was stunned that she wasn't just going to let me die but I did muster up a nod of some kind.

Patrick jumped up and started performing the heimlich maneuver, not sure where he learned it, likely a Very Special Episode of something or an After School Special. But, it worked. Brownie out.

I don't know that we ever really talked about it again. We just sat back down and went back to our stuff. We're GenXers after all. 

Now, as a full fledged adult I do think I had an irrational fear that at any moment one of the kids would choke. What if they were alone or in another room? I imagined every scenario. All of them horrible.

As a family, we try to eat dinner together most nights. It's a little easier now that there aren't many activities due to the pandemic. We make Sunday Dinner a priority no matter what. 

We have a funny family. We laugh a lot. 

You can see the foreshadowing, yes? 

I was laughing. Corn kernel. Sucked in. Stuck. 

I don't remember how my body reacted in the 80s. But I'm pretty certain it wasn't anything like this. I could breathe enough to cough. Sort of. But, I couldn't control my body. It was like my brain was calm but my body hysterical. Every muscle tensed trying to force the errant object from where it was. The coughing was incredibly violent and involved my entire body. I was repeatedly tensing. Every muscle. 

Deb, very calmly, said, "I don't think you can answer, are you choking?"

Good to have a wife who doesn't want me to die.

I slapped the table in the affirmative. 

My body tensed again. Full body cough.

Then I felt it. 

Oh. No.

The coughing continued. The body spasms continued, twisting me over.

I felt it again. And again. Warm.

The corn dislodged. 

It took time to catch my breath. My eyes were watery. My face felt hot.

I looked up at my family, staring at me. Stunned.

I sat for a moment, gathering my thoughts and options. I have no other option than honesty. Not my favorite option for this issue but the only one. I was, after all, in a room full of people.

"Well, we have a problem. I've peed my pants."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Henley glanced over at me, rolled his eyes and said, "I'll get some towels."

I started to giggle. Which is what started this whole thing to begin with.

I'm not sure what he expected but he returned with three oversized beach towels. I cleaned up the very small puddle. 

I've never been more thankful for wooden dining chairs in my life.

Wrapping a towel around myself I stated, "I'm going to cover myself for privacy and I'm going to take a long shower."

"Privacy? More like your pride and dignity, Mom."* 

"Thanks buddy."

More laughing. 

If we're going to keep being a funny family, we need to invest in some good CPR training. Obviously, laughing is dangerous. At least for me.

*Yes. I see where he gets it.

Fear

I'm living in fear. And, that is a place I don't want to be. 

I've become so angry. I really don't want to be angry. It's fucking exhausting. 

So, here it is. My plea. My hope to be less afraid, less angry. My hope is that people will understand that many of the rights we have as women and minorities have been fought for. A hard fight. The idea that a move on the court could impact our rights is keeping me up at night. 

Many parts ofmy life work because of the Supreme Court. 

I do or have:

Worked while pregnant and returned to my job.

Used birth control.

Owned property.

Have all my own financial accounts and credit cards.

Contributed an equal amount to my pension as men.

Been sexually harassed in the work place. 

Played sports.

Married the love of my life, who happens to be the same sex as me.

I won't get into 'fairness' as that doesn't seem to matter any more. There is no room for fairness in politics. Telling a group of senators in power to be 'fair' will get no one anywhere. Voting will. Protesting will. Sharing our stories will. Asking for help will. I'm doing many of these things. Voting, sharing, asking and yeah, I'll hold up a sign and chant when I can. 

When it comes down to everything, the only thing we have is each other. We may not agree on much, you may not be interested in being married to someone of the same sex, cool, marry whoever you want. But, if you care about me or anyone in my family, remember that once rights start being stripped away, we don't know where the line is. My marriage being invalidated? You may not care. But, the next thing to go might be your ability to own property. Or your ability to be on the pill - for pregnancy prevention or other health reasons. It's really not anyones business but you and your doctor. Being paid equally, having maternity leave, the list goes on. It would be great if we didn't have to have these rights written into law, but, we do. 

The erosion of rights is a scary. It's already happening. If you think it isn't, you aren't paying attention. Most people who (angrily) tell me to shut up (or worse) haven't had to be protected by any of the above. Most of them also fit into the same demographic. I'd be willing to bet that none of them have had to scrap and fight for equal pay, maternity leave or the right to be married.

I love my family. I have a high protective instinct. I am a middle aged lady with no fucks left to give. 'They' come after my family? I'd love to say I'll burn it all down. But, in reality, it's probably a much quieter response the preparation of which is already thought out.

Here's my ask. If my family being legally intact is at risk, is that the right thing? If you care about me or my family or have a gay brother or love anyone LGBTQ+, think about it. Consider the most vulnerable person you know. Vote for them, donate for them, send letters and make phone calls for them.

Because, as the adage goes, when they come for you, who will be left?

Staying Home

So, here we are. In a pandemic. And, it fucking sucks.

For me, I'm on week five, day six. My team moved to work from home a week before most companies did. We were certain that it was coming. Instead of being rushed and maybe not having everything at home that might be needed we told them to be prepared and stay home.

The first couple weeks were fun. It felt like snow days. We laughed on our video calls. We scheduled afternoon social hours where we would drink a cocktail and play an online game. I won the first online bingo. Boom.


The memes were fantastic. Laugh out loud funny.

My friend, Bill, and I joked over text that as GenXers we could sit at home for weeks. We're latchkey kids. We've been figuring shit out by ourselves since we were young. Too young, probably.

Put on some Price is Right (Bob Barker episodes), MTV, TBS afternoon syndication and some snacks and we can sit on the couch forever.

Or can we?

Because yesterday was it. For me. Yesterday was my max. I stood in our laundry room. Hands in my hair. Sobbing.

40 days. Turns out, 40 days is my max.

I miss my friends. And, yes, video happy hours help, but they're not the same. I, who, am not a big fan of being touched, miss hugs. So much. That's what this has come to - I miss being hugged.

I miss my team. I miss standing at a white board nerding out with them. Drawing workflows. Talking strategy. My team of mostly extroverts - wound up. Providing solutions. Coming up with acronyms for our latest feature. Mostly for fun, a little bit to torment people with one more acronym to remember.

I miss dinner out with my wife. I love sitting with her over a leisurely dinner. Long conversations over a glass(es) of wine. Making up stories about the other patrons. Who's on first a date? Who's breaking up? Which ones are the new parents out for the first time since the baby?

Right now, on this very day, we had planned on being in NYC. I just got the refund for our broadway tickets. For a show that was supposed to be tonight.

I miss our hectic regular old life. Running this kid to dance, this kid to Jui Jitsu, that kid to lacrosse.

Early morning lacrosse games, sitting in a row in our lawn chairs and coffee, chatting with the other parents. I miss all of it.

I know this is for the best, I know that staying home keeps us safe. I am horrified to see people out in groups protesting the stay at home orders. The fact that some are so selfish that they don't think of others frustrates me to no end. We're in this together. We have to function as a herd.
 
As I've developed asthma in the last few years I am terrified to get this. Absolutely. Terrified.

I'm thankful we both have jobs where we can work remotely. I'm thankful our kids have everything they need. I'm thankful that we are all healthy.

I'll keep plugging along. I'll be safe. I won't rush out as places start to open up as my fear of sickness is just slightly higher than my extroversion.

But, people.

Check on your extroverts.

If you don't know where they are, check the laundry room.

The Nimitz

The Nimitz.

In the 80's, my grandmother, in her gloves and dark glasses tooled around the county in a silver Lincoln Town Car. Her hands at 10 and 2. Cruise control set at 57*. Over the speed limit, but not so much that, 'the cops will get me'.

It was an enormous car.

Over 18 feet long.

It was beautiful. Leather for miles, wood interior accents, power everything, seatbelts for six but room for 12.

We referred to it as The Nimitz. As in the aircraft carrier.

I would say, that as a family, we love cars. Grandma went on to drive a Continental, (which became mine in the late 90's in what can easily be called the worst car deal I've ever been involved in) and then a Cadillac, which she liked but was embarrassed about having.  Even though I considered her to be very fancy, that car was too fancy from her perspective.

My love of cars started young. I love cars. I read about cars. I plan for future cars. I appreciate current cars. And, I always name them. Always.

I've driven some type of SUV since 1999. The SUV got larger as the kids came and grew. I felt settled on my last SUV. The largest model Infiniti. Named, Suzie-Q.

As we blended families and two kids became four, Suzie-Q still worked. We had to use the roof rack and we had to leave the dogs at home but the six of us could travel around.

Until the summer of 2018.

As we drove home from Wallowa Lake, I looked in the mirror. The boys looked to be in physical pain, the girls were twisted with their feet resting on their bags, knees up to their chests.

Shit.

I only had 14 payments left.

I was already planning on my next car. Oh, I'd have to keep Suzie-Q until the kids were out of the house. But, with her paid off, I would be free to buy something fun. Something for me. Something more convertible-like. Something that doesn't scream 'mom car' but rather, 'fantastical mid-life crisis car'.

A couple months later Costco had a special. With a big family we buy pretty much everything there. Might as well buy a car there too. An enormous one. A silver Denali XL. A Denali, well, because, I'm admittedly, a snob. An XL, well... because the requirement is for something enormous.

Over 18 feet** long.

It's beautiful. Leather for miles, wood interior accents, power everything, seatbelts for seven but room for 12.

I didn't really bond with her. She was a requirement. She checked boxes. The main one being: bigger. I tried to name her for over a year. Tried a bunch of names. Nothing stuck.

The Nimitz.

This morning, chatting at work, an office mate said, "Man, your car is huge."

"I know, it does fit four teenagers and a St. Bernard perfectly though. But, yeah, it's a land yacht."

Then, a whisper in my ear, "It's like The Nimitz."

And, just like that, she has a name.

*My hands are never at 10 and 2. I drive one handed at like 7. I rarely use cruise control but if I do, it's nowhere near 57.
**For the record, the Denali is 6 inches longer than the Town Car but weighs an astonishing 1600 more pounds. 

All I Want for Christmas

It's that time of year where I get asked what I want for Christmas. People laugh when I respond with, "What I want you can't buy me." But, it's the truth and one of the rare times I'm not being sarcastic. You should always assume sarcastic.

I'm going to go ahead and put it all down though, just in case you or someone you know can get this for me.

Ruffles Henley, worlds toughest cat.

I want to wake up from a late afternoon nap on a scratchy gold couch with a big gray cat kneading my chest while she purrs. Loudly. I've finally grown enough that my head rests on one arm and my feet almost touch the other. An exciting development.

I've woken because with the fire going behind me, the room is a little too warm. I hear her footsteps in the hall and then they pause at the squeak in the floor. The thermostat is adjusted. She hums as she returns to the kitchen. Always humming. Dinner is cooking. It smells so good. The news is on, Randy Shaw on Q6. Pans clank in the kitchen, the newspaper rustles, the fire pops. The kitchen door slams as she goes in and out, bringing Christmas leftovers in from the garage, where it is so cold things aren't in a refrigerator, just on the counter.

The phone rings. The conversation is brief and ends in, "Good enough." He goes back to the newspaper. The foot rest on the recliner snaps up. Ice cubes clink in the airplane glass.

Over the sounds of dinner being prepared, the news and the fire, I can hear the singing Christmas lights on the shrub just outside the den window. At the hardware store we were given an option - enough lights to decorate the whole front of the house or one string that sings 12 different Christmas songs while blinking to the song. We chose wisely.

Pretty sure I'm happier than I look.

We're eating dinner early because there will be popcorn and a rented movie later. A musical. Everything else is trash.

I'm refusing to open my eyes because even at 9, I get this.

She comes to the doorway and in her sing-song way calls me, "Staaay-seeee. Go wash your hands for dinner, lazybones."

I open my eyes. Ruffles is an inch from my face. Her green eyes widen as she embarrassedly realizes she's been drooling. Her purring stops as I set her on the floor. She stretches. At 15 she's got to hold a record for oldest farm cat ever. She heads to her dish for a snack of bacon soaked in half & half. Which probably explains her longevity.

After I wash my hands we'll eat dinner. He'll tease us all and talk about all the girls who were in love with him over the years. We'll eat canned peaches and frosted sugar cookies while she clears the table. And when she picks the last plate up, he'll say something that puts us all in stitches and she'll hit him in the head with that very plate. Right on top of his very bald head. It will echo like a gong through the kitchen.

Perfect Popcorn.

He'll take his coffee to the living room to read the mail. When he's finished he'll roll his mug across the living room floor and say something like, "Woman, I'm done with my coffee." to which she'll respond, "There were lots of boys chasing me too, you know." And then she'll giggle until she cries.

We'll watch the movie, probably Singing in the Rain. Because I've burned her out on Annie. 

We'll sing along and he'll say that we couldn't 'carry a tune in a bucket'. 

The roasting pan will be overflowing with perfectly buttered popcorn. Popcorn that I cannot duplicate.

It will be a perfect night. And I want it back. The sounds, the smells, the stories, giggles, everything. I want it all back.

Ruffles died in her early twenties. I was in high school. A very long life for a farm cat.

Grandpa left us in 2004. I've got one of the airplane glasses. There's nothing in life that a whiskey and seven served in an airplane glass can't cure. Nothing. And, it'll make you feel taller too.

Sadly we lost Grandma's memories soon after he passed - she stayed a few more years. Not quite the same. Those times I can't stop laughing and just dissolve into tears - that's her. Turns out that also cures anything life throws at you.