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Man, I love my church. Journey is so out of the box, but not just for the sake of being out of the box. I am completely put off by churches that try too hard to be relevant, trendy, or weirder-than-thou (which is usually just a mask that covers up an agenda.) For the record, Journey is a weird place, but not because it's necessarily trying to be. It's a place where it's OK to be who you are, where you are, and what you are. Not only do I get to hear people like Darden Smith, Grace Pettis and Dave Madden play (they all happen to be a part of our little community) I regularly learn things if I'll just keep an eye on the little kids. About a month ago I posted a Facebook status from where I sat in the warehouse, saying, "Overheard in church: A five year-old telling his father, "Dad, I love ZZ Top." Today I sat behind a girl of about eight years old, long dirty blond hair, cute as a button. She had an American Girl doll, but since my kids are grown I've lost track of their names (plus they've added several over the years.) But I do know this: her doll was not white, as in Caucasian. She may have been black, but I suspect she was either the Latino girl, or the American Indian. And it delighted me to no end. In a culture that is often homogenous, where grown-ups tend to congregate around people of like mind, color, socioeconomic background (especially when it comes to churches) this kid picked a doll who was different than she was.

And I really smiled when, during a prayer, I looked up and she had her hands in, for lack of a better term, a modified "Ohm" meditation position (making a circle with the thumb and index finger.) She was swaying her arms back and forth while most of the rest of us just sat still.

Diversity. It does a body good.

Image Credit: thetasha - Flickr
Licensed Under Creative Commons

2009: Laura's Top Ten List

A few people have asked me what the highlights of 2009 were for me, so I'm gonna go for a top ten list (which is really mostly just a gratitude list.) I am a very fortunate woman. So without further delay, here they are in no particular order.1. Getting married. Up until a few years ago I never saw a second marriage in my future. I was married for 25 years to my first husband, and after our divorce I knew that though I needed to be single for a while (turns out it was 2+ years), I definitely did not want to spend the rest of my life "alone." Going back into the dating scene after a 28-year hiatus meant that I hadn't had a date since I was 19 years old. I remember one day, after having moved through a whole lot grief, uttering a really spur-of-the-moment prayer. I said, "Hey, could we perhaps just skip the whole singles scene? If it's in the cards for me to find love again, would it be too much trouble to let us find each other sooner rather than later?" I didn't necessarily expect an answer, and I certainly didn't expect an affirmative one. Enter: Craig. Wow. Never in a million years did I dream that I would find a man who was such a perfect fit for me. We joke sometimes that we are TOO much alike. Those who know me well can attest to the fact that I'm wacky, adventurous, weird, and often irreverent. Craig is moreso. I knew I had found my male twin the day he went shopping with me and disappeared, only to come sauntering up to me with gangster clothes on (over his clothes) grabbing his crotch and talkin' smack. He makes me laugh like no other. We both love music and the arts in general. (We have a game we play most every time we get in his truck, which has satellite radio. We shuffle through the stations and try to be the first to identify the artist of the song that happens to be playing. To put it mildly, we're pretty competitive. You get one fist bump if you identify it correctly, two if you identify it before there's any singing. We once played this for two hours straight while we were traveling, and would've continued if we hadn't reached our destination.) We have many of the same spiritual ideals and struggles. We both have a dark sense of humor. We place a high value on family - especially our six kids. We're both extroverts, love people, and also love our solitude. We are fond of good coffee, fine wine, cooking together, independent films, a handful of TV shows, and have a desire to travel and see the world. He is without a doubt my best friend. We got married July 3rd in his brother's backyard in Long Beach, with all of our children and grandchildren present (which was a feat to get them all out there!) Then we went on a weeklong trip up the California coast, stopping in Big Sur for a few days, and on to San Francisco. The whole experience was wonderful. Speaking of marriage, I not only found the love of my life, I also got…

2. Three new sons. Okay, technically they're "stepsons," but I agree with the oldest one when he says he's not a fan of the "step" label. They're awesome. For those who don't know, my three girls and Craig's three boys are nearly the exact same ages. And yes, we're aware that we're the Brady Bunch. Anyway, Brandon, Nathan and Cameron all have vastly different personalities and their own unique takes on life. Knowing them has enriched my life tremendously. Like their dad, they make me laugh a lot, and have introduced me to cool music, interesting people, and…drumroll please… Bon Qui Qui. (Thanks, Cameron.) One really wonderful thing has been to see how much they love their dad, and how much he adores them. In today's world, that's not terribly common. Oh - almost forgot… this means that my children now have brothers, and my granddaughters have more uncles. They think that's way cool, and so do I.

3. My mom's courage and fortitude. She has been fighting ovarian cancer for nearly three years, which is certainly nothing to celebrate. But her resilient spirit is definitely an ongoing source of inspiration to us all. It has been a horrendous road. She has endured hair loss, nausea, and a host of unimaginable side effects from the different courses of chemo. She has been in and out of the hospital, weathered pneumonia, and recently suffered a fractured knee, stitches and a possible broken nose as a result of a fall. And this was all just in the last month! Throughout it all she has managed to live her life to the fullest. She has been a part of family functions and celebrations (and was even able to make the trip to California for our wedding!) has enjoyed many different activities with friends, and even worked full-time up until about six months ago. She has struggled mightily but has a strong determination to live the life God gave her. I love her a lot, and am so glad she has fought so thoroughly and nobly. Thanks, mom, for showing us the true meaning of courage. I look forward to 2010!

4. The birth of my second granddaughter. Haven Kathryn Kelley Hauck was born on February 4, 2009, and I got to be in the operating room when she was delivered by caesarean section. I couldn't watch the procedure (for fear that I'd come unglued at the sight of someone slicing open one of my children) so I sat on a stool behind the drape, holding Amy's hand and talking to her as they brought Haven into the world. Her husband, Johnny, was behind the drape too, but he stood up and watched the whole thing! Haven weighed in at 11 pounds, two ounces, the exact same weight as Anna, so Amy and I now share the record. She is such an incredible gift, and I'd describe her personality as equal parts sunshine, wonder, and holiness. I love her fiercely, and I think she gets that. On Christmas Eve I was holding her and Amy held her hands out to take her from me. Usually she immediately leans in to her momma, but this time she turned away and clung to me. My jaw dropped; Amy and I were both stunned!! I couldn't have felt richer if you had given me all the gold in Fort Knox.

5. Watching my oldest granddaughter morph from baby into little girl. Where to start with this little genius? Piper is the cutest toddler on the planet. She has gone from cherub-faced baby to long and lean toddler, and has acquired some pretty impressive skills in the process. I will never forget the day she finally said my name, which was like hearing all the symphonies in the world gather for one resonant chorus. She's got personality pouring out of her, and is showing signs of having a few unique quirks (which delights me to no end because that means she's at least in part a little like her Gia.) On Christmas morning as we were all chattering away, she started with me and worked her way around the breakfast table: "Hi Gia. Hi Gia. Hi Gia…" She kept on until I finally put my conversation on pause and said hello. "Hi Happy. Hi Happy. Hi Happy…" "Hi Teenie. Hi Teenie. Hi Teenie…" etc. When she came over on Halloween to trick or treat, we walked outside to a full moon and she pointed up and emphatically said, "BALL!" (but now shouts, "MOON!") She loves the movie "UP" and is extremely affectionate - even known to walk up to strangers, lay her head down on their knee, and pat them sweetly. She dances to the Sesame Street theme, loves to torment our cat, and runs to hug me when she sees me. I won the lottery with this kid. She is rocketing toward her second birthday.


6.Three beautiful girls. I blinked and they were grown-ups. I am so proud of each one of them, and have deeply enjoyed their friendship and company this year. As a mother it makes me so happy to see them moving toward their dreams and goals. If I were to list everything that I admire about them it would take pages and pages. So I'll try to keep it compact and concise to avoid droning on and on (which I'm happy to do if you want to give me a call.) Amy: She's a new mom, but continued her quest to earn a graduate degree. Even though it's sort of cheating, I love talking about my daughter, the college professor (she's a T.A. at UTSA). Amy is also really involved in the lives of college students, and regularly has a kitchen full of kids who need hot chocolate, a kick in the pants, or a compassionate listening ear. She's simply one of the kindest people I know. This year I have loved seeing how much motherhood agrees with her. Mandy: My middle one never ceases to amaze me. After being one of the millions of Americans who were laid off from their jobs in 2009, she found a way to return to school while being a full-time mom. (Warning: I'm about to do one of those parental boasting things.) She made straight A's her first semester back, and is heading into another full load in the spring. Out of all my kids she got the keen crackshot business sense that is certain to take her far, wherever she may be headed professionally. She is an amazing mother, and Piper adores her. Can you tell I'm proud? Anna: if I didn't love her so much I'd kick her little butt for getting to spend some time in Europe this year (while I've never been.) But she worked hard for it, and totally deserved the amazing time that she had. Among other things she held down her job at the UT History office, and has been a professional violinist with the Temple Symphony. She is without a doubt one of the most creatively gifted people I know, and though it's been an exhausting year in many ways for her, it does my heart good to see that she consistently chases her dreams. In many ways, I think they chase her.

INTERMISSION: Yeah, I'm aware that the last three entries read a bit like a braggy Christmas letter, but anyone who has children and grandchildren understand that if there's anyplace to gush, its here. Don't hate.

7. My family. I love my sister and my brother. A lot. It's been a hard year for all of us, and I wish it hadn't been. But it's really brought us closer. I'm well aware that good sibling relationships aren't a given, which makes me all the more grateful for the many times we've been able to laugh and cry together. They are two of the most caring, kindhearted people I know, and I am incredibly fortunate that I get to be their sister. Beyond that, I'm really thankful that my dad has been in good health, and that he's tearin' up the road in his beloved vintage Jeep pickup truck. And on July 3rd I got another family… Craig's! Some people tolerate in-laws; I hit the jackpot with the Jenkinses. I truly adore them all and am looking forward to spending the rest of my life getting to know them.

8. A new sister. This could be an essay in and of itself (and probably some day will be.) But for now I'll keep it somewhat brief. I knew I had another sister out there somewhere, and in 2009, with my husband's help, I found her. But that didn't mean that I was brave enough to contact her. It was my sister Leslie who encouraged me to send her a message on Facebook - the introvert compelling the extrovert… go figure! So with knees knocking I went for it, and I am SO GLAD I did! Laurie is my "sorella maggiore," which simply means that she is my Italian big sister (age, not size.) I knew that contacting her was a risk - I'd heard wonderful stories about people finding long-lost biological relatives, but I'd also heard just as many horror stories. Mine turned out exceptionally well. Laurie is absolutely delightful, and I have loved every minute of our emails and phone conversations. It's mind-boggling how alike we are even though we've never met (other than on Skype.) We have tentative plans to meet in person in 2010, so stay tuned…

9. I made it through the hardest semester I've ever had in college. And I only have ONE MORE TO GO! I'm finishing my degree in English, Writing and Rhetoric, and love, love, love what I'm doing. But I'm very tired of being a student, especially amongst twenty year olds. When I went back to school in 2007, I was in a class with a girl who hosted my youngest daughter at a slumber party when they were in the fifth grade. The humbling part is that I had to work hard to keep up with her. Take note, all of you old folks who are considering a return to college. It ain't as easy when you've lost twenty more years worth of brain cells (yes, I said ain't.)

10. I love my church. That one sentence has the ability to conjure up a thousand different images in a person's mind. Go ahead and throw them all out. Journey Imperfect Faith Community is by and large comprised of people who are burned out on organized religion, and just want to learn how to love people the way one might hope God would. I have a long way to go. But I have never in my life felt like I fit in a spiritual community the way I do here. Here's a clue about the church: awhile back they put out a bumper sticker that said, " Journey IFC: Love. Healing. No B.S." I knew I was home when I looked up one day and saw an Anne Lamott quote on the wall.

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope 2010 is the year that your wandering hopes and dreams make a U-turn, and head straight for the center of your life.

Emmanuel

Make a puking sound. Go ahead - humor me. Now exaggerate it - bump up the volume and do it more slowly. Once you've got that down, do it from your toes - as though the heave is springing from your very soul. That's what I heard when I was leaving the hospital yesterday. My mom has been battling ovarian cancer and is in the hospital with pneumonia. As I left her room to go home, I heard some poor woman across the hall heaving so deeply, so loudly, that I wondered if it was a prankster pretending to be sick. Then I remembered that I was on the oncology floor. The nurses at the other end of the hallway looked up as if to say, "Is that for real?" I'm horrible with distances, but they were further away than the person who lives three doors down from our house. My heart absolutely ached for her. What a horrible, heinous thing to have to go through; I cannot even begin to imagine what it's like to be chained to a drug that leaves you like that. As I was walking toward the nurses (away from the sick woman) a nurse behind me said, "She's throwing uuup." I could be wrong about this, but she sounded a bit put out. And it pissed me off. Seriously? I don't like cleaning up vomit at all, which is one of the gazillion reasons I couldn't ever be a nurse. I have the utmost respect for those who put their whole heart and soul into caring for a sick person. They are the true good Samaritans. But in any field, there are a few who not only don't have the gift, they're grumpy and cold and rude, and let it be known that their heart isn't in the work. Maybe she was having a bad day, but I wouldn't doubt that the puking woman heard the tone of her voice between heaves. What's worse than throwing up your toenails when there's nothing coming out? Dry heaves + a caregiver who makes you feel like a burden.

It's been interesting observing what happens on the 7th floor of Seton Medical Center. Some of my mom's RN's have been absolute gems. Sarah is my favorite. She's very kind, soft spoken, easily engaged, and leaves you with the impression that she would do just about anything for you. I even know that her favorite dog is with her parents in Alaska. While she went about her routine - flushing my mom's port, taking her blood pressure and temperature, she shared some of her life with us. It was a very nice distraction, as we had been sitting in darkness and silence trying not to think about the seriousness of our situation. Lisa is the same way. She looks you in the eye and listens intently to your concerns, your questions and your incessant rambling. That's what people do when their loved ones are gravely ill - they ramble. We hate seeing our moms and sisters and friends suffer so. We are worried we will lose them. And we feel profoundly helpless because we're not powerful enough to neutralize the effects of the disease that is tormenting someone we love.

In contrast, there are also a handful of nurses who have been snippy. They give staccato answers, and act like you're putting them out when you ask for an extra pillow so you can prop up your mother, who is battling bedsores. One nurse came in and completely ignored me. She was talking to my mom, and when I politely interjected something - a question or an observation about something - she completely blew me off. She wouldn't even make eye contact. I can imagine that nurses have a lot to deal with in terms of demanding, meddling family members, but I was neither. Why do some people have to be so stingy with kindness?

By far, the most amazing person who has been a part of our hospital care-giving equation is Courtney. She is a CNA (certified nursing assistant). My mom was weak from having pneumonia right after a particularly brutal round of chemo, and she couldn't take a shower. Standing up for any length of time made her hyperventilate. So Courtney came in with her bag of goodies and gave my mom a sponge bath. She's an African-American woman, probably in her mid to late twenties, and is what my late friend Nita would call "sturdy." She had a smile that lit up the room, and her spirit was even brighter. (I am not even remotely a fan of "The Shack" by William P. Young, but I deeply appreciate the author's depiction of God as a loving black woman. I have always hoped that God is a lot like many of the African-American women I know.) Courtney lovingly and gently went about her task, though she worked with the swiftness of a racing gazelle. When she talked she had a song in her voice, affirming my mom, encouraging her. It almost seemed like she'd rather be doing nothing else. Come to find out that was true. When I commented on her incredible bedside manner she told us that she lost her mom to cancer seven years ago, and that she went back to school in order to be able to care for those who were battling the dreaded disease. As I watched her it occurred to me that God was giving my mom a bath. I don't know if Courtney is spiritual or not, but she sure did a stellar job modeling what I think true religion is. Screw theology and religious programs and endless striving to somehow lay hold of "the truth." Enough with all of the grandiose plans to save the world. How about we just care for each other, the way we hope God would care for us? Emmanuel - God with us. Could it be any simpler?

Image Credit: C. A. Muller
Licensed Under Creative Commons

ABCDEF...G

I think a lot about writing things on this blog, the operative word being think. I am doing so much academic writing in this last push to finish school, I have very little time or creative energy left over. However, I will admit that I tend toward perfectionism when it comes to writing, and I'm reminding myself today that something is better than nothing. Just recounting some of the funny, random, delightful things that happen along the way reminds me that I'm alive, and that I don't have to take life as seriously as Plato and William Wordsworth did (or as seriously as I think I have to!)

That said, I want to tell you about my grandmother name. When Mandy and I started talking about what Piper might call me, we were at a loss to find something that "fit." While I'm ALL about being a grandmother and will talk on and on about it to anyone who will listen, I just don't think I'm a typical, "Grandma." The name doesn't seem to fit. Neither does Meemaw, Granny, Grammy, or Mimi. I don't mind Mimi, but my grandmother was Mimi, and in my estimation there's only one of those. And I'm also not really in to the trendy alternatives, such as "GG" and "Ya-Ya." So one day I was in a night class at St. Edwards and there was a beautiful, twenty-something African-American girl sitting a few seats away from me. The professor called on her and said, "Please tell us your name." She replied: "Gia." The first thing I thought was, What a pretty name! Then I thought, "Wait a minute. Starts with a G...ends with an A... Maybe that would be a short and sweet grandmother name! My kids liked it, and so it was decided.

Fast forward about 16 months. Piper knew who I was, but never could say Gia. She could say "Mommy," "Daddy," "Happy" (Craig's grandpa name)and even "Nanos" (my mom's grandmother name.) But when we'd try and teach her to say Gia, she'd just point at me. Craig and I tried to walk her through it.

Craig: "Say G"
Piper: "G"
Craig: "Say UH"
Piper: "Uh"
Craig: "Say G-UH"
Piper: points at me and smiles

We worked with her on this, but it didn't do any good (or so we thought.) Then one day Mandy called me and said, "Piper and I were working on her alphabet today. I would call out the letter and she'd echo it - "A" "a", "B" "b" - and so on. But every time we get to "G" she replies with an emphatic "UH!" Oh no, I thought. We've confused her!

But finally last night - FINALLY - she looked up at me and out of nowhere said, "Hi Gia." Imagine the best fireworks scene you've ever seen, and that's what exploded in my heart. She said my NAME!!! Being a grandmother ROCKS. I couldn't even begin to tell you how much light and love my two granddaughters bring in to my world.

The Good Samaritan

So I wasn't quite sure what to expect from my Psychology of Religion class at St. Edwards. It satisfies two of my degree requirements, so it was more or less mandatory. When I was deciding between the Psychology of Religion course and Human Rights/Social Justice, several people chimed in with warnings that the Psych class could really mess with my head. While I appreciate their concern, I had a hunch that this course could be really good for me. After just one class I think I may have been right.

I want to say up front that I’m a novice in terms of psychological thought, so I may at times sound like I don't know what I'm talking about. And that is for good reason ☺. Still, I want to try and convey this experience.

The professor started out by defining both religion and psychology. We tossed around a whole lot of stuff about beliefs, practices, rules, deities, houses of worship, etc. But the bottom line is that talking about religion is by and large reification, i.e., taking things that are abstract and non-tangible and somehow engaging or examining them in concrete terms. For example, you can say you have "faith" but I cannot see it. I can see your actions, I can see you read your Bible, I can listen to your beliefs and ideals, but I can't take your faith, put it on a table, and say, "there's her faith."

Psychology, on the other hand, is scientific. Scientists rely solely on empirical data, meaning that they draw conclusions based upon observation. Deductions are made from information that is publicly verifiable. For example, if a group of scientists were considering what effect daily exercise had on cholesterol levels, they would likely do a controlled study where individuals were put to the test. After a determined amount of time they would compare the cholesterol levels of those who exercised daily and those who didn't. Then they could chart it and put it in a medical journal for all to see. It would all be more complex than that, of course, but you get the gist.

So according to my professor, one of the things we'll be doing in this course is examining the behavior of religious people and systems, and then pondering what that means. The first lesson really knocked my socks off. The assignment was to read Luke 10: 25-37 (the parable of the Good Samaritan), and then read a nine-page study conducted by two psychologists from Princeton University. Their aim was to observe what Christians would do in a scenario much like the Biblical parable. Among other things, they wanted to get a better idea of what drives people to certain decisions in such situations. Theories abound as to why the priest and Levite in the parable didn't stop and render aid, and why the Samaritan did. But in real-life situations today, why are some people more Samaritan-like and others aren't? How do their beliefs affect their behavior, or DO their beliefs affect their behavior at all? What were they thinking in the process? What outside forces played a role in their decisions?

So they got a group of seminary students together and invited them to participate in a study on religious education and vocations. They were asked to fill out a questionnaire that would reflect some of their ideas and beliefs. Then they were placed in an environment where they had to travel from point "A" to point "B", and along the way they planted a person in need. There were some controlled circumstances, i.e. one group was told to hurry, and another group was told they were going to be discussing the parable of the Good Samaritan when they got there. So the psychologists sat back and observed what people did. The findings are too extensive to list here, but they are fascinating. I will say, however, that many of the seminary students who knew they were going to be talking about the Good Samaritan still walked right on by the person slumped in the chair!

One of the reasons I am so excited about this course is that it's a way to look at the connection (or discrepancy) between our beliefs and our actions. Though I've probably read this parable hundreds of times, last night it really hit me: this was Jesus' answer to a man's question about how to inherit eternal life. He didn't launch into systematic theology, or rattle off a list of things you must believe or do to find favor with God. Instead, he said, "Love God. Be a neighbor." I think sometimes we trick ourselves into believing that we're good neighbors, when really we mostly just walk on by.

Clueless

So, I'm on a roll. There have been several situations in the last 24 hours that have left me feeling like an idiot. Today we were looking for a way to get tickets to see Wicked in San Francisco, and I trotted over to the concierge next door and asked him for inside info. He told me to just go to the box office, that you couldn't get tickets over the Internet or phone the "day-of." I ran back out to the car (Craig got it from valet and picked me up) and he said, "Do they have a map?" So I jumped back out of the car, ran into the hotel and asked the concierge where I might find one. He, of course, had one, and circled the civic center for me. I cheerfully thanked him, and was surprised that he seemed stand-offish and didn't crack a smile. I thought, "Aren't concierges supposed to be nice??" I got back in the car and Craig asked me if I tipped him. Oops. Was I supposed to tip him? DUH! Apparently everyone knew that but me. Sorry!

Second, we drove down to the civic center and of course in downtown San Francisco there is no parking. So Craig jumped out and I got in the driver's seat to circle around while he got tickets. BIG MISTAKE! If you're keeping a list of things Laura does not want to do, be sure and add, "Drive in San Francisco." What a confusing experience! There are all of these lanes, some of which are for buses and taxis only, and then there are bike lanes, but quite often they meld with the only other traffic lane, which left me guessing where the hell I should go. And then there are signs galore - about not parking here during these hours, about when and where you can turn, about cable cars, about pedestrians, about street washing, etc… I was trying to read them all and make sense of what I could and could not do, all the while motorcycles and bikes and people were darting out of nowhere, right into my path. Seriously. Two guys on bicycles cut in front of me much like an SUV would nose its way into a traffic pocket the size of a smart car. My bumper was less than 6 inches from their wheel when they cut in. I was so stressed out, because people kept looking at me, like, "Don't you know how to DRIVE?? Geez, lady, get a clue or get off the road." And I wanted to say, "I've never been here! I don't know how this works! I'm trying!!!"

Finally, I've been feeling very disjointed and disorganized and scattered lately, drained, foggy, way-too-much-on-my-plate, and that I cannot possibly keep up with everyone and everything that vies for my attention. One of the things that adds to this is Facebook. I've added friends and been added as a friend sometimes just to communicate about something quick. For example, a woman who is a friend of a friend of my daughter's in another city (yeah - that far removed) wanted to inquire about my shooting her sister's wedding. Within minutes we had determined that it wasn't a good fit for either one of us, and that was that. Except that we just stayed friends. Multiply that by at least ten or twenty, maybe more. And then there are folks that I've accepted a friend request from, or requested as a friend, and then we never even said two words to each other. Ever. We don't really communicate at all over Facebook and yet there's info on about 100 such people that filters through my news feed, and I get a headache trying to process and sort through it all. Having 550 friends makes me feel overwhelmed! I joined facebook for two reasons: to keep in touch with folks I have had a relationship with in the past, and as a business networking tool. When I got married and changed my name, I thought I'd just go through my friends and let some of the ones that I never communicate with go. It was an attempt at regaining some feeling of control over all of the chaos that is swirling of late. With very few exceptions, my removing someone as a friend had nothing AT ALL to do with whether or not I think they're a cool person, or worthy of being a friend. It was sort of like when you start cleaning out a closet and you get a little over-ambitious, not thinking about the ramifications of what the purge will do. Anyway, I heard through the grapevine that a relative of a family member somehow thought that my removing her was a bit of a slap in the face, and I was shocked. I mean really, why wouldn't I even think about how that might be taken by someone? I'd like to chalk it up to my age (i.e. us old folks don't quite know the lowdown on facebook etiquette.) But maybe just for that day I was clueless, not thinking about how it would feel to be removed. So with this person, I blew it. And now instead of feeling lighter for having cleaned out my "facebook friend" box, I feel heavier - like I have somehow offended folks. Man, isn't technology supposed to make our lives easier? Anyway, I sent her a note apologizing and asked to be her friend again, but I'm not holding my breath that she'll say yes.

All this to say, I wonder where we get the idea that we're supposed to know everything. I have this secret rule in my head that I should always "get it," and if I don't I'm a loser. Truth is, I don't get it sometimes. And I'd like to think that's just a part of the human condition. Problem is, when someone like me doesn't "get it," others often turn that in to a statement about them. And you know what? I can't blame them… I do it too. Like when I'm behind someone in traffic and they're being uber slow or changing their minds about turns - I'm inwardly ranting, "GEEZ! Go people! Why are you doing this TO ME??" But in reality maybe they're from another city, in another state, that is much smaller than where I live, and they're scared and confused.

To some degree, I think we're all scared and confused.

Applause

When was the last time someone spontaneously clapped when you walked in the room?
I honestly can't think of a time it's ever happened to me (except when introduced at a show I was playing.)

That is, until recently.

The last few times I've gone to Mandy's house my oldest granddaughter claps when she sees me. A big, wondrous smile spreads across her face and she bangs her hands together as she's walking toward me. I guess you already suspect that I'm going to say that there are no words to express the joy that brings, and you're right. Trite as it may seem, I can't wrap language around the sheer delight I feel when that little termite is happy to see me!. And I got to thinking today: isn't that what we all long for - someone who lights up at the very sight of us? Don't we all want to be that "special someone" - whether it be a romantic relationship, a cherished friendship, or - in this case - the love between a granddaughter and her grandmother?

My maternal grandmother would've been 100 last year. She died in 1995 and I always feared that when she left she'd take a part of me with her. And she did. Mimi was someone that I knew ALWAYS loved me, ALWAYS believed in me, and I am sure, if it had come down to it, she would've given her life for me. She offered a depth of unconditional love I have never since known, even though I know I am deeply loved. I remember going over to her house and playing dress up with all of her costume jewelry and hats, and of course that old mink stole. She lived in an apartment complex on North Loop, and the great majority of them housed retired folks or senior citizens. Usually when I'd visit we'd go swimming in the pool - she in her white bathing cap covered in floppity flowers, and me, a waterlogged prune who dragged her feet when it was time to get out. But I always knew that getting out around dinnertime meant that we were going to walk over to Luby's, and she always let me get Jello even though I rarely finished it. She'd chastise me for wasting perfectly good food and would also remind me she paid good money for it. But the next time I'd promise to eat it all and then inevitably left some of it on my tray. We did this dance for years. Bright yellow cubes of Jello just looked so enticing, so HAPPY, so full of promise; but they never quite delivered what I was longing for. I've discovered that there are a lot of things in life like that.

But Mimi delivered - even when she probably shouldn't have. She brought things to school that I had forgotten, she drove me to piano lessons, she took me shopping (which I'm certain was a nightmare for her) and she made me open-faced grilled cheese sandwiches on really thin bread. She'd slather mayonnaise all over the melted cheese (could that have been a factor in my chubbiness?) and and then put a big slice of tomato on top, peeled tomato, mind you. Then she'd put it on a white Corelle plate with a radish, a few celery sticks, a pickle or two, and a little bag of Fritos. She'd pop the top off of one of those little glass bottles of ice cold coke and my meal was complete. MORE than complete. I absolutely loved that lunchtime combination, and to this day I sometimes recreate it just to remember her.

I have so many fond memories of my grandmother, though there are a few bad ones. When I was about eight years old I thought it would be funny to sneak into her car and turn everything on so that when she started the car the radio would blare, the blinker would click, and the A/C would blast her. I hid and watched as she got into her car and it startled her so badly she just laid her head down on the steering wheel and cried. A chasm opened up and swallowed me - I was in anguish that I had caused her to cry. And to this day I'm not sure I've fully forgiven myself for it, even though I had no idea that it would harm her in any way. Of course today I understand how stressful life can be and how little kids have no idea how hard the grown-ups are working to keep things afloat.

And keep things afloat, she did. I am still stunned to know that when she gave birth to her first child at 18, she was alone. And the baby died. How does one recover from that? She endured being married to a violent alcoholic (two times to the same man!) and went on to give birth to two beautiful, strong women, one of which is my mother. Mimi's indomitable spirit has been passed down to her, and my mom has passed it on to me. Sometimes I look at my daughters and see the faces of the incredible women who came before us, and I am so incredibly grateful to be in the mix.

I like to imagine that someday when I leave this earth I'll walk through a door in the distance, and there will be Mimi, clapping.