Look Son, No Hands
With a controller in one hand and a spindly book of directions in the other, I’d spent the better part of Saturday morning failing to unlock the secrets of motion-controlled video games. Touted as a great way to infuse aerobic exercise into our daily routine, I’d bought the system for my husband, Nick’s birthday so we could bowl, river raft or score a goal in the comfort of our home.I pushed every button and highlighted every TV screen option. No luck. Nick tried to help, but we both grew up in the generation that thought Pong and Space Invaders were futuristic. As I coached, Nick stood in front of the system’s motion-detector, resembling an amateur airman flagging down planes. He swung his right arm up, then his left arm out. He might have gotten a bit of a workout, but none of his gyrations got the console to perform. Piecing Things Together
Forrest Gump compared life to a box of chocolates. I’m a chocolate lover (especially when it’s covering nougat), but I disagree. I think life is more like a box of jigsaw puzzle pieces—1,000 lopsided segments, odd-shaped bits and unfamiliar parts. Some pieces are smooth and easy to recognize; others are downright jagged and unwieldy. You know it’s going to take awhile to figure out which side is up. Like many moments in life, puzzles start out a jumbled mess, but with consistent effort, piece-by-piece, it all comes together. Fun, frustration and unexpected surprises intertwine as the fuzzy picture comes into focus. Dad's A Catch! Earlier today--5 a.m., to be exact--I found myself sitting at our kitchen table, both hands curled around a lukewarm mug of coffee. My sons, Shawn, Jake and Seth had just left with their dad for a day of deep-sea fishing. For some crazy reason, I felt the need to get up early and see them off.
My quartet of fellas--donning jackets, gloves and baseball hats and carrying a tackle box full of fishhooks—looked somewhere between sleepy and joyful as they walked out the front door. An ocean adventure on the horizon. A day on the high seas is not my idea of a great time. The closest I’m willing to get to a body of water is a spa pedicure, like the one I indulged in this afternoon. Thankfully, none of my hobbies involve waking up before the sun rises,
taking seasick pills or inhaling the scent of fresh mackerel.
The Best of Buddies
My family is standing near the avocado trees in a corner of our back yard.
There’s whispered conversation, muffled sniffles. Lots of eyes stare at the ground.
Occasionally, a finger moves to wipe away tears trailing down a cheek. My husband
Nick stands off to the side holding a shovel.
It’s not the first time this solemn-faced group has gathered like this. The seven of us (including family friends, Lisa and Rachel) stood in this same spot two years ago to say good-bye to Max, our soccer-ball chasing terrier-spaniel mix. He’d joined our family 16 years ago after my oldest son, Shawn and then toddler Seth, picked him out as a surprise for their brother Jake’s 7th birthday. Spring Cleaning
Somewhere in the mountains, the frost is melting. The anticipated warmth will bring a bumper crop of bunnies, chicks and baby deer. My daffodil bulbs are in the ground and I’m awaiting early blooms in the next couple weeks. Soon butterflies and ladybugs will skitter through my backyard. I feel invigorated at the prospect of new beginnings, fresh starts, clean slates. I marvel at the outdoors, ready to burst with new life.
For me though it’s the crowded indoors—specifically my cabinets, closets and storage shelves--that are busting out all over. I fear that one more windbreaker, jacket or muffler hooked onto my entryway coat rack will topple it over like a poorly played Jenga game. What’s Your Rush?
It happened again today. I was late meeting a friend for coffee. As I drove around the parking lot searching for a spot, I caught a glimpse of her sitting at the sidewalk café. Not wasting time waiting for me to show up, she was cleaning out her purse. I apologized for my tardiness as she gave me a hug. “It’s no big deal,” Margaret said letting me off the hook. “I’ve been wanting to clean my purse for a while anyway, but I never could find the time.”
A New Wrinkle
Life isn’t fair. It’s taken me awhile to accept this reality. I’ve always had my suspicions though, starting when I was 6 and my brand new Slinky got a kink in it. But now I have verifiable proof. This morning as I washed my face with anti-aging cleanser, I discovered fresh wrinkles framing the sides of my smile like brackets. No surprises there. What I find really unjust is that right below these newborn laugh lines, nature gifted me with a zit. Guess the joke’s on me since I mistakenly believe that once you become old enough to earn wrinkles, your face should be a pimple-free zone. One or the other, I say, but not both. Acne and crow’s feet shouldn’t live in perfect harmony.
Friendships Across the Ages
A plaque hanging above my desk reads:
A good friend forgives your faults. A loving friend doesn’t see any.
Carole, my best friend since ninth grade, gave it to me after we graduated from college.
Even though we were both high school freshmen, Carole was a year and seven months older. (Mom snuck this mid-December birthday baby into kindergarten a tad early.) We shared a first-floor locker, worried about who’d ask us to the prom and found our first job at the same self-serve shoe store. Years later, we were in each other’s weddings.
