The cool thing about getting older is truly the wisdom that comes with having had so many life experiences. It is totally true that I am wiser now than ever. And I am really liking myself so much more now than ever. Have you ever had a moment where you kind think to yourself, "I like me"? And REALLY mean it??? I've had that happen to me this week, honestly, for the first time ever in my life that I can remember.
I see my twenty-something friends struggling both financially and emotionally. Your twenties can be such a hard time--finding your way in the world; planning who you're going to be for the rest of your life and all the pressures that come with it. Younger people feel like time is their enemy and they have to do it NOW or never. And it's funny, cuz whenever I see some old geezer driving five miles an hour under the speed limit I think, "you'd think he'd go a little faster cuz his days are numbered" and when I see some young woman stressed out behind the wheel clearly speeding I think, "What's her rush?"
I have come to understand so much about life, and a lot of this understanding comes from experiencing adversity and overcoming it. That's where maturity begins. I am so impressed with my twenty-something friends--most of them are in school trying to better themselves and set up a good financial future and working full-time. Some have kids already, and yet still independent. Some still live at home with parents, but struggling to get out of their situation. I see the optimism and energy they have and it's so fun to be around them. I think they are amazing people.
I have noticed that something interesting happens to many, many people as they leave their twenties and move into their thirties. I think being in your thirties has got to be the toughest age so far. My thrity-something friends lament to me about still not being married, or rich, still stuck in a dead-end job, and wanting so much more for themselves but somehow not understanding why they don't have everything they say the desire so badly. For my married friends in their thirties, I see them struggle to "have it all"--trying to be mommy and wifey and employee and still stay thin and sexy and eat right and exercise and keep a clean house. Societies' standards for women, AND for men, ruin people and ruin relationships.
We can thank the media for screaming at us everywhere we turn. We are inundated with direct and subliminal messages that we are less than constantly. I used to think that just muting the commercials on TV was enough, but now we've got Facebook ads and pop-up ads for diet this and diet that and you can't even Google a single thing without ads prompting you to "buy this and have better skin" or "eat this not that." It's EVERYWHERE. And no matter how hard you try to eliminate the chatter from your life, it's there. Unless you unplug yourself completely and go live in a cave somewhere.
I've gotten a lot of my current wisdom courtesy of a book by an amazing man named Augusten Burroughs. It's called, "This is How--Surviving what you think you can't." It's a collection of short, personal essays (like the kind you're reading right now) about everything from losing weight to suicide. I've read it backwards and forwards and I've bought copies for two important people in my life.
And their completely different reactions to it spoke volumes to me.
The girlfriend I gave the book to had a very similar reaction to mine--lots of "aha" (also known as "lightbulb) moments. My brother?? His was, "yeah, mostly common sense."
I think that change comes when we have those lightbulb moments of clarity. You know what they are, and how they feel. The thing is, we don't always listen to them. Sometimes they annoy us and make us feel things we don't want to feel. And we have to be receptive to really hearing it.
I love my brother dearly. We have grown close thanks to texting. He lives in California with my parents and he's had a rough life. BUT I see that a lot of it comes from his choices. And I realized something he said was so interesting. His car is 20 years old, and he was lamenting that he had to take it in again and would probably cost around $1000 he didn't have to fix it. I told him, 'maybe it's time to not waste that thousand dollars and save it to buy something newer." I told him, "maybe ride your bike or get a ride from Dad and in six months you can buy something newer. " But here's what upset him--I told him, 'Don't wait for a crisis, when you're stuck by the side of the road somewhere. It's not like you can't see the demise of this car coming. It's astounding it still runs at all!" He responded by saying something to me as if I didn't understand. That it's "not easy."
I felt bad for him and didn't know what else to say, but those last two words ate at me as I thought about what Augusten Burroughs says in his book about willpower and comfort. He basically says that we don't do the things we ought to do to help ourselves because we can't stand the feeling of discomfort. Isn't it true?? We don't like to be uncomfortable and those around us don't like us making THEM feel uncomfortable either, therefore, we don't change and we don't get better.
I'll use myself as an example.
I gave up red meat over a year and a half ago. It was a spiritual decision for me that just came to me one day. It was not easy for those around me to accept. It wasn't like I'd grown a third arm or anything but you'd think I had. It WAS weird for me too. Suddenly, this 4-day a week red-meat eater wouldn't touch a hamburger or a juicy steak cooked just-the-way-I-like-it-on-the-grill. I became an inconvenience and an annoyance, even to myself. If my husband chose to cook steaks, he had to go out of his way to first buy me something else I'd eat and then cook it separately. And while my family had no choice but to get used to this new non-red-meat-eating mommy and wife, for me, it was just about the easiest thing I'd ever done.
Because it was something I WANTED.
I have never for a second complained that I can't eat my favorite soup anymore because it's made with beef broth (french onion) and I actually will ask if the pepperoni on the pizza is pork or not. I don't apologize, and I don't feel bad about it, and I don't lament "poor me". I never have. Because I know that no one is stopping me from eating red meat products--not my doctor (it's not a health issue) or my religion (I don't have one). It is now who I am. I am someone who doesn't eat red meat. The same as someone who doesn't eat octopus either--I don't like it. So what's the big deal? If every fast food restaurant served octopus burgers (maybe that's what's REALLY in those Spongebob crabby patties!!) it would be a big deal. Because people have a group mentality that red-meat burgers are American and society accepts this and supports and encourages this. If I lived in a Hindi country like Nepal, I wouldn't be the odd-man out, I'd be just as common as everyone else.
I'm happy to say that now my family is nonplussed about the whole thing. It's a non-issue. And I'm so proud my family is proud of me. My husband made my heart flutter last weekend when we were at a wine festival that seemed to serve nothing but red meat and carbs--he was worried about me because we were drinking wine and I couldn't find anything to eat. He took me by the hand and said, "C'mon honey, let's go find you something", and he was on a mission to take care of me. I was filled with gratitude and love for this gesture. Not, "You've gotta stop with this silly diet. There's plenty of food here." He didn't make fun of me; he embraced the changes I'd made and honored them.
We need to be conscious of, "who is society anyway?? It depends on where you live. Who hasn't seen the picture of the plus-size mannequins in stores in Sweden? (or is it the Netherlands?) I can't remember, but the point is--it's so unusual it the picture spread like wildfire on the Internet. Seeing it made me uncomfortable, because it reminded me how painful it is to be a girl living in a society that drums into everyone heads that being thin is the most important thing a woman can be. I wanted to move to that country when I saw that picture and I know every American woman felt the same way: understood.
How often do we sabotage our loved ones with our own discomfort?? When was the last time you made a snide remark when we heard someone say, "Not for me, I'm trying to lose weight" or "Just iced tea, I'm trying not to drink so much." We say things like, "Oh come one, what will one hurt?" or something like that. How dare we tromp on someone else's efforts to better themselves? We do it because when the people around us change, it makes US uncomfortable. If they can decline dessert or a third martini and we don't want to, we put THEM down so we don't have to feel bad about the fact that we can't, or don't want to say no ourselves. Our weaknesses are triggered. We aren't sure we really want to say no, or change, but somehow, something in us is triggered when we are confronted with a major change in someone else.
This is so interesting to me. I have become so aware of this lately. My husband told me about a guy he works with who's lost 60 pounds. He has become completely different. He told me, "He's just not really fun to be around anymore. He used to be the fun guy. Now he's so serious." And when he told his co-worker this jokingly, the co-worker agreed. He knows he's different, he knows he's not so much fun anymore, but his health was more important. His definition of "fun" has changed. Fun for him means fitting into clothes he feels good in and not worrying about dropping dead of a heart attack anymore.
When we know what we want, we go and get it. It's not a matter of "easy".
It's not a matter of willpower, Augusten Burroughs says, and he's right. He says, "If willpower is required to achieve this goal, that's how you know you don't want it enough on a deep, organic level...willpower is like holding your breath: you can only do it for so long." So true.
Think about the last time you made a significant change in yourself or your life. How about an insignificant change, like driving a different way to work? How about abiding by the speed limit signs for a change? How about reading at bedtime instead of watching TV? How about not checking your phone every 5 seconds and really listening to your spouse, kids, or friends? These are truly "easy" things to do but yes, you will likely feel discomfort. That doesn't mean you shouldn't do them. Augusten thinks that the more uncomfortable you make yourself, the closer you will get to achieving your goals. And sometimes, the discomfort is not your own--it's dealing with everyone ELSE'S discomfort.
Just food for thought folks.
Me
Me
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Proof That I'm Insane
A miracle happened today. It's only December 14th, and I mailed my Christmas cards today! I dropped them into the box outside the post office at approximately 8:57 a.m. this morning after dropping my daughter off at school. How is this a miracle, you may be wondering??
I love the ritual of Christmas cards. Ever since I was a kid; my parents used to get tons of Christmas cards every year when my dad still worked for the Herald Examiner. Back then, cards were more glamourous than they are today. They were mini works of art; beautiful Christmas landscapes filled with snow, beautifully decorated homes, all resounding with the peace and love of home and family. My mom would tape each one up just tilted every-so-slightly, equi-distant apart from one another, displayed on the coat closet door--in the living room--the first place you'd see it when you entered the room. I wasn't big enough to reach the top cards, but from my small stature I'd revel in the beauty of them as they glimmered in the light. I didn't recognize any of the names of course; I had no idea who any of these people were that were sending all these beautiful cards. I wanted to meet them. They were secret, magical mystical people my dad worked with at his secret, magical, mystical desk in some building somewhere in Los Angeles. It was all very exciting to a small child like me.
Is it any wonder I am just like my mother now with the whole Christmas card business?? I have taken over where she's left off. My parents have been retired for some time; the lovely Christmas cards they used to receive trickled off when my dad was laid off in 1975. In her hurt and dismay, my mother retorted that if they had been "real friends" the cards would still be coming. I didn't know what to do with that.
So here I am, many many years later, stressing myself out trying to get my Christmas cards out before they should actually say, "Happy Easter". It's all self-induced. I know that. I can't help myself.
I used to do individual Christmas cards, you know, the boxed kind. I felt that a person's choice of a Christmas card said a lot about them, so I took great pains to choose boxed cards that reflected my personality, or rather, our personality as a family. I didn't really care for the religious ones or the Norman Rockwell artsy kind but rather the humorous ones, poking fun at either Santa or his reindeer--you know, the kind you love to get. A card that makes you laugh. That's me. I usually bought them around Thanksgiving, eager to get started. I'd usually do the envelopes first; the boring part. Then, one by one, I'd not only write "Love and God Bless, the Kuckelman's", but I'd write a mini-biography of our year in each one. We have moved so many times, and we have family and friends strewn all over the globe, and honestly, the only communication we have with some of them is the annual Christmas card tradition. Of course I was so worried I'd turn into one of those braggy moms and yes, I admit, I am. Hey, it comes with being a parent, and I'm so lucky to say I've got the kind of kids worth bragging about. Not every parent can say that. But the newsletter is only the beginning.
Don't forget the most important missing ingredient--the ultimate Christmas family photo.
We had a ritual for about ten years, since the year Ian was born, to have a professional sitting once a year. I'd happily schedule it for the Saturday BEFORE Thanksgiving, before the onslaught. I was so proud of myself. My husband would sulk and my toddlers would throw tantrums and I'd ignore their pleas for mercy and trudge us all into the photo studio year after year. I told them, "you'll thank me someday." (still waiting). But the year we stopped was the year the photos turned out absolutely frightening--I think they started hiring unqualified temporary workers for the holidays and I was mortified. I refused to pay for them and gave them back; bawling, I instructed them to just throw them in the trash. I resisted telling them what I REALLY thought of their skills as photographers.
So it became my duty to take our OWN perfect Christmas family photo every year! This was the beginning of the digital age, and it honestly couldn't have been more perfect timing. Instead of an expensive and angry family outing, we had an inexpensive and angry family afternoon trying to capture a harmonious photo of the four of us here at home. Last year was my favorite. Having just moved to Wisconsin from a lifetime of sunny California, I fantasized about a photo of the four of us standing by snowman we'd made ourselves. The snow obliged, but no one told me that Wisconsin snow is too soft to make into snowballs let alone snowmen. All dressed up for the picture and freezing in the frigid air, we were exhausted and my family was beyond annoyed with me. I settled for a pic of the four of us standing in our backyard, snow up to our ankles, taken by a little friend of my daughter's. It was dusk, and we ended up looking more of a silhouette. You couldn't really see our faces, no matter how hard I tried to Photoshop it. It was exasperating. Once again, self-induced. I realize this.
Doing this was so tedious, my Christmas cards never went out before Christmas Eve. It just took too damn long. Between hand-writing each and every card and the pursuit of the perfect Norman Rockwell family photo, I got wise. Not only did I start writing a newsletter about 5 years ago, this year I didn't require my family to get together for a photo. Yes, it's been sad, sad defeat for me; we can't get all four of us together for even one picture a year. This year I decided I'd scroll through all the pictures on my computer from the year and find of of the four of us and use it, like many people do. We didn't take any vacations, so none there. I was saddened to realize there was not ONE photo of all four of us taken the entire year!!! So what the hell was I going to do?!!?! MAKE A PHOTO COLLAGE, THAT'S WHAT!!!!!
There were so many good pics to choose from, I actually made 2 collages. My husband shrieked at my insanity. "You can't send out two sheets of pictures!" he scolded me. "But I can't decide which ones to delete!" I shrieked back at him. I sighed a big huge sigh, and realized that if I made the pics really small I could fit them all on one sheet!! I was so happy!! Hahaha WINNING!!!!!!!
But my perfect plan hit a snag. I had all the envelopes made out in red Sharpie (festive yes?), actual Christmas stamps (some Hanukkah ones for the Jews in my family. Perfectionist here!), custom Christmas family address labels with our likeness (leftover from last year, thankfully we didn't move again), and cute little stickers on the backs of the envelopes. I sought and sought for the perfect newsletter paper to print them on--40 sheets for about $10. I STUPIDLY BOUGHT EXACTLY THE AMOUNT THAT I THOUGHT I'D NEED. And lo and behold, wouldn't you know, after printing 20 perfect copies, the ink started to run out and ruined about 20 of the remaining sheets I had. I was distraught of course. Ruined!!! What was I to do?? I didn't have time to go all the way back to Office Max and buy more paper and with my luck, they'd be out of them anyway. So.....I looked and looked online for free borders for paper to make my own. Sure, they'll be different from the rest I'd already printed out, but I was okay with that. As long as they were festive. No boring plain paper for this girl!!! Well guess what?? There weren't any free ones. I am too cheap to even pay a dollar. And now it's December 13th. What was I willing to do?? Time is running out. I want to get these f***ing Christmas cards mailed NOW!!!!!!!
As I drove my daughter to school, went to the gym, and thought about the newsletters that still needed to be printed on my fantasy perfectly festive paper that was expensive and unattainable, I decided to make peace with PLAIN OLD WHITE PAPER. Yes, the bane of my existence--the proof that a person has absolutely NO imagination whatsoever---plain, old, boring, white printer paper.
I've made peace with myself over this. I think about the time and money I've saved, and I've made the best of a bad situation. Even though I was armed with enough replacement ink cartridges to furnish my daughter's school to avoid precisely what ended up happening because I got distracted. The ink ran out, and sparsely inked hieiogyphic ruined Christmas newsletter paper. I relented and used plain old boring white paper for the 25 or so newsletters left just to get them done. I stand accused, tried, and convicted. I sobbed quietly while folding them with my perfect collage into my perfectly addressed envelopes. I just somehow feel like I've let them down.
I gave myself a cheerful little pep-talk about how happy my friends and family will be to receive my newsletter and photo collage, and probably won't even notice the paper isn't Christmas-y. I know, I know, many of you will open the envelope and shriek, "HER NEWSLETTER IS ON PLAIN, OLD, BORING WHITE PAPER! DOESN'T SHE HAVE ANY IMAGINATION AT ALL?? JEEZ!!' And yes, I have to live with that.
And some of you won't even get one. In the move here, I can't find my Official Christmas Card Address List. I'm sorry. I really am. I hope you'll still send me a card so I can send you one back. There's still time!!
Those of you that got the Christmas-y newsletter paper know that you got the best I had to offer. The rest of you, my condolences. I hope you can see past this omission of character and forgive me.
At least I can brag that you got it before Easter.
I love the ritual of Christmas cards. Ever since I was a kid; my parents used to get tons of Christmas cards every year when my dad still worked for the Herald Examiner. Back then, cards were more glamourous than they are today. They were mini works of art; beautiful Christmas landscapes filled with snow, beautifully decorated homes, all resounding with the peace and love of home and family. My mom would tape each one up just tilted every-so-slightly, equi-distant apart from one another, displayed on the coat closet door--in the living room--the first place you'd see it when you entered the room. I wasn't big enough to reach the top cards, but from my small stature I'd revel in the beauty of them as they glimmered in the light. I didn't recognize any of the names of course; I had no idea who any of these people were that were sending all these beautiful cards. I wanted to meet them. They were secret, magical mystical people my dad worked with at his secret, magical, mystical desk in some building somewhere in Los Angeles. It was all very exciting to a small child like me.
Is it any wonder I am just like my mother now with the whole Christmas card business?? I have taken over where she's left off. My parents have been retired for some time; the lovely Christmas cards they used to receive trickled off when my dad was laid off in 1975. In her hurt and dismay, my mother retorted that if they had been "real friends" the cards would still be coming. I didn't know what to do with that.
So here I am, many many years later, stressing myself out trying to get my Christmas cards out before they should actually say, "Happy Easter". It's all self-induced. I know that. I can't help myself.
I used to do individual Christmas cards, you know, the boxed kind. I felt that a person's choice of a Christmas card said a lot about them, so I took great pains to choose boxed cards that reflected my personality, or rather, our personality as a family. I didn't really care for the religious ones or the Norman Rockwell artsy kind but rather the humorous ones, poking fun at either Santa or his reindeer--you know, the kind you love to get. A card that makes you laugh. That's me. I usually bought them around Thanksgiving, eager to get started. I'd usually do the envelopes first; the boring part. Then, one by one, I'd not only write "Love and God Bless, the Kuckelman's", but I'd write a mini-biography of our year in each one. We have moved so many times, and we have family and friends strewn all over the globe, and honestly, the only communication we have with some of them is the annual Christmas card tradition. Of course I was so worried I'd turn into one of those braggy moms and yes, I admit, I am. Hey, it comes with being a parent, and I'm so lucky to say I've got the kind of kids worth bragging about. Not every parent can say that. But the newsletter is only the beginning.
We had a ritual for about ten years, since the year Ian was born, to have a professional sitting once a year. I'd happily schedule it for the Saturday BEFORE Thanksgiving, before the onslaught. I was so proud of myself. My husband would sulk and my toddlers would throw tantrums and I'd ignore their pleas for mercy and trudge us all into the photo studio year after year. I told them, "you'll thank me someday." (still waiting). But the year we stopped was the year the photos turned out absolutely frightening--I think they started hiring unqualified temporary workers for the holidays and I was mortified. I refused to pay for them and gave them back; bawling, I instructed them to just throw them in the trash. I resisted telling them what I REALLY thought of their skills as photographers.
So it became my duty to take our OWN perfect Christmas family photo every year! This was the beginning of the digital age, and it honestly couldn't have been more perfect timing. Instead of an expensive and angry family outing, we had an inexpensive and angry family afternoon trying to capture a harmonious photo of the four of us here at home. Last year was my favorite. Having just moved to Wisconsin from a lifetime of sunny California, I fantasized about a photo of the four of us standing by snowman we'd made ourselves. The snow obliged, but no one told me that Wisconsin snow is too soft to make into snowballs let alone snowmen. All dressed up for the picture and freezing in the frigid air, we were exhausted and my family was beyond annoyed with me. I settled for a pic of the four of us standing in our backyard, snow up to our ankles, taken by a little friend of my daughter's. It was dusk, and we ended up looking more of a silhouette. You couldn't really see our faces, no matter how hard I tried to Photoshop it. It was exasperating. Once again, self-induced. I realize this.
Doing this was so tedious, my Christmas cards never went out before Christmas Eve. It just took too damn long. Between hand-writing each and every card and the pursuit of the perfect Norman Rockwell family photo, I got wise. Not only did I start writing a newsletter about 5 years ago, this year I didn't require my family to get together for a photo. Yes, it's been sad, sad defeat for me; we can't get all four of us together for even one picture a year. This year I decided I'd scroll through all the pictures on my computer from the year and find of of the four of us and use it, like many people do. We didn't take any vacations, so none there. I was saddened to realize there was not ONE photo of all four of us taken the entire year!!! So what the hell was I going to do?!!?! MAKE A PHOTO COLLAGE, THAT'S WHAT!!!!!
There were so many good pics to choose from, I actually made 2 collages. My husband shrieked at my insanity. "You can't send out two sheets of pictures!" he scolded me. "But I can't decide which ones to delete!" I shrieked back at him. I sighed a big huge sigh, and realized that if I made the pics really small I could fit them all on one sheet!! I was so happy!! Hahaha WINNING!!!!!!!
But my perfect plan hit a snag. I had all the envelopes made out in red Sharpie (festive yes?), actual Christmas stamps (some Hanukkah ones for the Jews in my family. Perfectionist here!), custom Christmas family address labels with our likeness (leftover from last year, thankfully we didn't move again), and cute little stickers on the backs of the envelopes. I sought and sought for the perfect newsletter paper to print them on--40 sheets for about $10. I STUPIDLY BOUGHT EXACTLY THE AMOUNT THAT I THOUGHT I'D NEED. And lo and behold, wouldn't you know, after printing 20 perfect copies, the ink started to run out and ruined about 20 of the remaining sheets I had. I was distraught of course. Ruined!!! What was I to do?? I didn't have time to go all the way back to Office Max and buy more paper and with my luck, they'd be out of them anyway. So.....I looked and looked online for free borders for paper to make my own. Sure, they'll be different from the rest I'd already printed out, but I was okay with that. As long as they were festive. No boring plain paper for this girl!!! Well guess what?? There weren't any free ones. I am too cheap to even pay a dollar. And now it's December 13th. What was I willing to do?? Time is running out. I want to get these f***ing Christmas cards mailed NOW!!!!!!!
As I drove my daughter to school, went to the gym, and thought about the newsletters that still needed to be printed on my fantasy perfectly festive paper that was expensive and unattainable, I decided to make peace with PLAIN OLD WHITE PAPER. Yes, the bane of my existence--the proof that a person has absolutely NO imagination whatsoever---plain, old, boring, white printer paper.
I've made peace with myself over this. I think about the time and money I've saved, and I've made the best of a bad situation. Even though I was armed with enough replacement ink cartridges to furnish my daughter's school to avoid precisely what ended up happening because I got distracted. The ink ran out, and sparsely inked hieiogyphic ruined Christmas newsletter paper. I relented and used plain old boring white paper for the 25 or so newsletters left just to get them done. I stand accused, tried, and convicted. I sobbed quietly while folding them with my perfect collage into my perfectly addressed envelopes. I just somehow feel like I've let them down.
I gave myself a cheerful little pep-talk about how happy my friends and family will be to receive my newsletter and photo collage, and probably won't even notice the paper isn't Christmas-y. I know, I know, many of you will open the envelope and shriek, "HER NEWSLETTER IS ON PLAIN, OLD, BORING WHITE PAPER! DOESN'T SHE HAVE ANY IMAGINATION AT ALL?? JEEZ!!' And yes, I have to live with that.
And some of you won't even get one. In the move here, I can't find my Official Christmas Card Address List. I'm sorry. I really am. I hope you'll still send me a card so I can send you one back. There's still time!!
Those of you that got the Christmas-y newsletter paper know that you got the best I had to offer. The rest of you, my condolences. I hope you can see past this omission of character and forgive me.
At least I can brag that you got it before Easter.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Big Girls Do Cry
Every once in a while, when I'm just be-bobbing along in my life, something will happen that will take me back to my previous life in Reedley, or West Covina, or any one of the many places I've lived in, and bring me to tears. For instance, we took a family trip to Minneapolis to the Mall of America this weekend. As we're walking around the enormous and crowded mall, Ian noticed all the strollers, and was getting annoyed trying to dodge them constantly. Before I could respond to him, I had a memory flash of Ian being the little boy in the stroller, feeling overwhelmed and frightened at being thrust about, zig-zagging powerlessly by his mother who was at the helm. I remembered how he used to cry and wanted out. I didn't tell him all this; it was a momentary memory flash that was so vivid, and so emotional, the tears just started to fall. Thank God for sunglasses. I blinked the tears away, and kept walking, and muttered, "yeah, they're annoying, huh?"
Last week it happened again. I just started a new job--bartender at the gym our family belongs to. I absolutely love my job, and being the new girl, I'm constantly meeting new co-workers and being introduced to them or, being the talkative one, I introduce myself. I met a new front-desk girl who the moment I laid eyes on her, the same familiar feeling came over me: a vivid memory flash as if my life in Reedley was a movie I was watching. This girl had welcoming wide eyes and a happy smile, and she was petite and giggly. Melanie. My beloved Melanie, whom I miss so very very much. I gasped, literally, and had to tell her right then and there she had a twin out in California.
"Really? I do?" she inquired.
"Yes! You do! And she was my BFF and I miss her SO much!" I excitedly declared to her. "Here! This is her!" and I thrust my iPhone to her and showed her a pic of Melanie. This girl, whom I just met and can't remember her name right now and another woman working with her, leaned over and glanced at the beautiful smiling face of my Melanie. I was beaming.
"Eh, different nose," the other woman sort of sneered. Clearly she wasn't impressed. The Melanie-twin didn't say anything. Her face didn't give away any clues either.
"She's 4'11" and wears a size 5 shoe!" I gleefully added. That was the clincher. Both women looked at me wide-eyed, mouths gaping open.
"Really? NO WAY!" they took turns saying.
"REALLY! YES!" I confirmed.
"SHE'S 4'11 WITH SIZE 5 SHOE TOO!!"
"REALLY? NO WAY!" I exclaimed.
"Yeah", they quietly admitted. It appeared she really might have a twin after all and it was sinking in. How this made her feel, I have no idea. Maybe I should've just kept it to myself. As it happens, a customer appeared and we all dissipated. I walked back to my bar and the tears started again. I didn't want to get to know this Melanie-twin. I wanted my Melanie.
And so it goes. I had a moment laying in bed in the middle of the night a few nights ago; I'd gotten up to let one of the cats out and sure enough, I have no idea how or why, but I started to cry realizing how much I missed our old pool. We don't have a pool here, and I just can't get excited about summer coming. What are we going to do? Yes, there's a lake, yes, but we don't have a boat, and it's not like you can just go out in your backyard and jump in. I cried and cried thinking about all the friends we'd entertained, all our kids' friends that went swimming there summer after summer, and I was just so sad. It's all over with, can't go back.
I know my kids feel the same way. I know it's been hard on Tim too. We see old friends in stranger's faces. We feel lonely, and sad, and we've put up a wall. It's a tremendous amount of effort to make new friends. It's hard not to feel that we're somehow replacing them. Nobody can replace anybody. The friends we made in California are in our hearts forever, and we hope they all know that. Thankfully we've got Facebook and texting and phone calls to stay in touch.
It's been 8 months since we moved here now, and sometimes it gets easier, and sometimes it feels like we're going backwards. The snow has melted but it's still freezing out. We see the temps in California and remember what we were doing a year ago there. Ian's in track now, and although daytime temps here are still in the 30's, they are running outside. In Reedley, the track kids are running outside too, but it's in the 60's and 70's. Stay with that for a moment and feel how that must feel to Ian. It's very hard.
Even the happy moments can be tinged with sadness. Ian's driving now. He's almost 16. Any parent who's been at this moment in time knows what I'm talking about. It's surreal, it really is. He's becoming a grown-up right in front of my very eyes. I'm proud of him and sad all at the same time, as my chauffering days are slowly coming to a close. He will no longer need me in a way that has defined me in a lot of ways. This is not easy to swallow. I'm getting used to it, and I will be happy for him. And scared. It's a scary world out there. I won't be able to protect him like I could when he was that little boy in the stroller.
Watching a young mom with her toddler daughter in the grocery store, the same thing happens. Even if she's angry at not being able to get her child to stop a tantrum, it's instant tears. I think of my curly-blonde cutie who accompanied me like glue to a stamp. We went everywhere together. Now Jenni would rather stay home and watch TV or play Wii while I go alone. No little hand to clutch onto and make sure she's safe constantly. She's a big girl now.
Whether it's moving to a new city, new state, or new country, or the kids growing up, the inevitableness of change can be so hard and so sad. The circle of life goes on, and with it, new experiences and people come into our lives as we grow and change along with it. I'm so grateful that my life partner, best friend and husband Tim has been along with me the whole way, and we're in it for the long stretch.
I know it will get warmer, and we know that we have enjoyed the snow. Like everyone else in Wisconsin, we are sick of the cold and can't wait to be able to be outside in a pair of shorts. And yes, as time goes on, and we say less and less, "I just moved here from California". The newness has worn off and we appear to be Cheeseheads like everyone else. Only we aren't. Our accent gives it away every time. And quite possibly the sadness in our eyes. We are trying, people. I'm proud of us. I'm proud of Tim. We are doing okay.
As they say, you can take the Kuckelman's out of California, but you can't take the California out of the Kuckelman's.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Just Because We're "Friends", Doesn't Mean We're Friends
Someone from my past found me on Facebook. It hasn't been pretty.
Twenty-three years ago, I was 27 years old. I was putting myself through college, living on my own, working three jobs to support myself. One of these jobs was a waitressing job at a small family-owned 300-bed hotel near Disneyland, in Anaheim, California. It was a tiny, 10-table cafe inside the hotel, where during the busiest shifts had only 3 waitresses working together. I met my wonderful friend Penny at this time. She and I worked together and became very close. We have not only stayed in touch through the years, but she was my maid of honor and I was her matron of honor. Although geography keeps us apart, we stay in touch through Christmas and birthdays, and now, Facebook and Twitter.
One of our other former co-workers was a woman I'll call "Monica" whom Penny and I had worked with for a few years and we had loads of fun together. I do remember lots of fun times. Dressing up in costume for Halloween, serving lots of tourists and making fun of them, eating lots of ice cream, dealing with "CHEF", this crazy old man who ran the kitchen. That's about it. My recollections of that time are minimal. It was one of my three jobs, and I was a full-time college student, on my own, involved with a jealous and abusive man who I'd nearly forgotten about, thank you.
I was fighting with my parents, I was trying to find out who I was. I cheated on my boyfriend to release the stranglehold he had on me. The job was a job. I had fun while I was there but it wasn't my life. I graduated college in May 1988, left behind all the drama and moved to LA to start a new life for myself. I was free and happy.
As with all of us, a lot has obviously changed with me in those 23 years since I last saw that co-worker.
About three weeks ago, I got a friend request from "Monica", and initially I was amused and happy to have been "found". I thought to myself, "WOW! She looks good! Has it really been 27 years?! " What I had remembered about her was that she was divorced, had re-married, became religious, and was older than me. That's about it. I knew she had kids but I think they were already grown when we worked together; I really don't remember. I haven't seen nor spoken to her since 1988.
I planned on checking out her profile and reading her wall to get to know her better after all this time, but I hadn't had a chance. In the meantime, I gathered that she was retired, had at least one adorable granddaughter, and maybe more free time than me as she was commenting a lot on things on my page. I thought it was nice and vowed to make time to respond as soon as I was able.
Everyone has what I call "Facebook Personalities". I have one friend who posts every little thing that happens to her, including finding noodles up her kids' noses. I love her posts. I have another friend who when she's between jobs, practically lives on FB and is on 24/7 and posts constantly not just on my profile but all her friends' profiles too. It's wonderful. I also have friends who rarely post updates or comments at all. They are either too busy or not interested. I don't take it personally.
And I like to think I'm like most people on FB---most days I check my FB primarily from my iPhone while I'm waiting to pick up my kids from school, or in the bathroom (it's true! It's quiet time for a mom). I rarely just sit there and read people's profiles, comb through their photos, or stalk them. I'm really just too involved in my own life to have much time and energy for everyone else's. I try to post things I think everyone can relate to. I do enjoy everyone's status updates--I quickly scroll through them when I get a chance and that's how I stay in touch with my friends and family who are on FB.
(Just for the record, I'm not one of those who collects "friends"--I only add people I know and have met personally.)
Without meaning to, I somehow offended my long-lost friend by not responding to her comments often enough to suit her. She felt I'd snubbed her, and she de-friended me. She was irritated that she'd posted something to me about a memory she had, and I hadn't mentioned it, but rather had posted a status update about the same time something that had nothing to do with what she'd written. This led her to believe that I had "issues" and needed mental help or something like that. I was not only shocked but infuriated. And sad.
People, if you're going to suddenly show up 23 years later in someone's life, as if dropped by a helicopter on top of a mountain to ski, think about why you want to connect with this person. Think about what is going on in their life. Maybe you want them back in your life, but why would they want you back in theirs? Do you have anything in common right now, other than you're both on Facebook?
Maybe her friend request stirred up something in me I didn't want to deal with. I do know that everytime she posted something, I had to stop and process it more than if someone I knew better thad said it. She was always positive, it wasn't anything negative, but it was coming from a virtual stranger. I had to try to put her comments into some sort of context that was unknown to me and therefore I wasn't responding quickly enough to make her feel appreciated. I feel bad about that, but that was unintentional. Maybe I don't want to think about who I was back then, and the jerk I was dating whom you will undoubtedly bring up in conversation. Why? Because all we have in common now is who we used to be.
Twenty-three years ago, I was 27 years old. I was putting myself through college, living on my own, working three jobs to support myself. One of these jobs was a waitressing job at a small family-owned 300-bed hotel near Disneyland, in Anaheim, California. It was a tiny, 10-table cafe inside the hotel, where during the busiest shifts had only 3 waitresses working together. I met my wonderful friend Penny at this time. She and I worked together and became very close. We have not only stayed in touch through the years, but she was my maid of honor and I was her matron of honor. Although geography keeps us apart, we stay in touch through Christmas and birthdays, and now, Facebook and Twitter.
One of our other former co-workers was a woman I'll call "Monica" whom Penny and I had worked with for a few years and we had loads of fun together. I do remember lots of fun times. Dressing up in costume for Halloween, serving lots of tourists and making fun of them, eating lots of ice cream, dealing with "CHEF", this crazy old man who ran the kitchen. That's about it. My recollections of that time are minimal. It was one of my three jobs, and I was a full-time college student, on my own, involved with a jealous and abusive man who I'd nearly forgotten about, thank you.
I was fighting with my parents, I was trying to find out who I was. I cheated on my boyfriend to release the stranglehold he had on me. The job was a job. I had fun while I was there but it wasn't my life. I graduated college in May 1988, left behind all the drama and moved to LA to start a new life for myself. I was free and happy.
As with all of us, a lot has obviously changed with me in those 23 years since I last saw that co-worker.
About three weeks ago, I got a friend request from "Monica", and initially I was amused and happy to have been "found". I thought to myself, "WOW! She looks good! Has it really been 27 years?! " What I had remembered about her was that she was divorced, had re-married, became religious, and was older than me. That's about it. I knew she had kids but I think they were already grown when we worked together; I really don't remember. I haven't seen nor spoken to her since 1988.
I planned on checking out her profile and reading her wall to get to know her better after all this time, but I hadn't had a chance. In the meantime, I gathered that she was retired, had at least one adorable granddaughter, and maybe more free time than me as she was commenting a lot on things on my page. I thought it was nice and vowed to make time to respond as soon as I was able.
Everyone has what I call "Facebook Personalities". I have one friend who posts every little thing that happens to her, including finding noodles up her kids' noses. I love her posts. I have another friend who when she's between jobs, practically lives on FB and is on 24/7 and posts constantly not just on my profile but all her friends' profiles too. It's wonderful. I also have friends who rarely post updates or comments at all. They are either too busy or not interested. I don't take it personally.
And I like to think I'm like most people on FB---most days I check my FB primarily from my iPhone while I'm waiting to pick up my kids from school, or in the bathroom (it's true! It's quiet time for a mom). I rarely just sit there and read people's profiles, comb through their photos, or stalk them. I'm really just too involved in my own life to have much time and energy for everyone else's. I try to post things I think everyone can relate to. I do enjoy everyone's status updates--I quickly scroll through them when I get a chance and that's how I stay in touch with my friends and family who are on FB.
(Just for the record, I'm not one of those who collects "friends"--I only add people I know and have met personally.)
Without meaning to, I somehow offended my long-lost friend by not responding to her comments often enough to suit her. She felt I'd snubbed her, and she de-friended me. She was irritated that she'd posted something to me about a memory she had, and I hadn't mentioned it, but rather had posted a status update about the same time something that had nothing to do with what she'd written. This led her to believe that I had "issues" and needed mental help or something like that. I was not only shocked but infuriated. And sad.
People, if you're going to suddenly show up 23 years later in someone's life, as if dropped by a helicopter on top of a mountain to ski, think about why you want to connect with this person. Think about what is going on in their life. Maybe you want them back in your life, but why would they want you back in theirs? Do you have anything in common right now, other than you're both on Facebook?
Maybe her friend request stirred up something in me I didn't want to deal with. I do know that everytime she posted something, I had to stop and process it more than if someone I knew better thad said it. She was always positive, it wasn't anything negative, but it was coming from a virtual stranger. I had to try to put her comments into some sort of context that was unknown to me and therefore I wasn't responding quickly enough to make her feel appreciated. I feel bad about that, but that was unintentional. Maybe I don't want to think about who I was back then, and the jerk I was dating whom you will undoubtedly bring up in conversation. Why? Because all we have in common now is who we used to be.
This woman and I had a marvelous working relationship 23 years ago, and we should've left it at that.
HolliandMichael SwingShoI don't know about you, but I don't have enough time for everything and everyone in my life. I've got 2 kids. 7 pets. A husband, a house, a job, a life. I just moved 1500 miles and left behind everything familiar to start over. I've got 30 boxes of stuff that still needs to be unpacked. Where's the empathy? Where's the common sense? What is this, high school? Come on, we're supposed to be grown-ups. When we give expecting to get, it loses it's value. If she'd given me a chance, I'd have responded the way she wanted me to. I just couldn't do it in her time frame. How selfless is that?People, if you're going to suddenly show up 23 years later in someone's life, as if dropped by a helicopter on top of a mountain to ski, think about why you want to connect with this person. Think about what is going on in their life. Maybe you want them back in your life, but why would they want you back in theirs? Maybe I don't want to think about who I was back then, and the jerk I was dating whom you will undoubtedly bring up in conversation. Why? Because all we have in common now is who we used to be.This woman and I had a marvelous working relationship 23 years ago, and we should've left it at that.
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Meaning Behind the Music
Green Day wasn't always my favorite band. When their "Dookie" album came out in 1994, I thought "Longview" and "Basketcase" were fun songs but nothing earth-shatteringly amazing to me. I was a newlywed then, and pregnant with our first child, so rock and roll wasn't a big part of my life then. It wasn't long till I was mostly listening to "Barney" in the car, along with "Donald Duck" and other children's CD's. I know the 90's had some great bands and tunes, but I was, for the most part, oblivious.
Five years later, Jennifer was born, and the children's music played on. And on. And on. Everything I listened to and watched for at least a decade was rated G. Whatever the kids wanted, I obliged. It never really occurred to me to listen to rock music, although when I was pregnant with the kids, I always put earphones to my belly and pumped in Pearl Jam, Van Halen, Mozart and Beethoven to expose them early. I do remember hearing, "Longview" once with the kids in the car, and my "mommy arm" over-extended faster than a lightning flash to grab the volume control to turn down the "bad" words.
Things changed slowly when Ian started kindergarten. Suddenly I had only one child at home, and often, Jennifer fell asleep in her car seat to various "Disney Princess" tunes. I mostly listened to the Jewish-motherly advice of Dr. Laura, as her show seemed to resonate with my own values at the time. Flash-forward to 2005, with a now-10 year-old and 6-year old, who had grown annoyed with "baby" music. I was sooo thankful, because to this day, Tim and I STILL know all the words to the "I Love You" song sung by the purple dinosaur himself.
*******
It was during this period of my mommy-hood that for the first time, I had two kids in school full-time. I was lost at first, didn't know WHAT to do with myself all day. It's funny how when your kids are babies, you fantasize about this over and over during those awful all-nighters, the sick days, the long bouts of crying (the babies' as well). The last person I wanted to listen to was Dr. Laura--this was MY time and kid-friendly shows were off-limits! I was lucky I didn't have to work--my wonderful husband Tim worked so I could stay home with the kids. Here was my reward for 10 years with no day off---weekdays to myself, from 8 am to 3 pm. What was my role now? Who was I without children clinging to me all day long? My life revolved primarily around them. I volunteered at their school, and I was there as much as they were. I was probably a little frumpy, and I know I wasn't into running then. I think I'd pretty much put myself on the back burner, as many moms do. But I relished uninterrupted hot showers, the occasional lunch or Starbucks with a friend, along with the laundry and housecleaning and grocery shopping. No one knocked on my bathroom door yelling, "MOMMY!!" It was phenomenally freeing.
Not having children in the car for a few hours a day was like serendipity. I could listen to all the bad words I wanted to! Yay! I didn't have to explain myself, I didn't have to talk to anyone. I could just sing along to whatever station I wanted to listen to. No mommy guilt. It felt weird. It felt good. It was during this time that I was driving alone, probably running mommy errands, when a song came on that made me stop and pay attention. The haunting guitar chords and sexy-voiced male lead beckoned to me. I had goosebumps. My heart was pounding as if I'd had a religious experience. Much like love-at-first-sight. "My shadow's the only one that walks beside me, my shallow heart's the only thing that's beating, sometimes I wish someone out there will find me, till then I walk alone...." I had tingles.. When the song ended, I gripped the steering wheel, praying the DJ would say the name of the song and band. Sure enough, he did. It was "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by, yes, Green Day. I felt a little ashamed I didn't recognize the band, but hey, 10 years of "Barney" and "Mickey Mouse" convoluted my musical perspective.
I had to have the album, "American Idiot". I immediately drove to Best Buy and bought two copies, a CD for me and one for Tim, so he could listen to it driving back and forth to work. Somehow, it spoke to us. I listened to it beginning to end, straight through, never stopping. I listened intently to each song, one after another, the way a mother listens to her new baby breathe--you're so mesmerized you can't pull yourself away. "Wake Me When September Ends" gave me more goosebumps and I KNEW it was going to be a huge hit post-9/11. Song after song, somehow, it spoke to me. "Jesus of Suburbia" was mind-blowing. Sometimes it takes a little kick in the behind to jolt us out of our stupor, even if it's a happy stupor. I didn't realize something was missing from my life, but the song slapped me in the face and woke up something inside of me.
I don't remember how it happened, but before I knew it, Tim and I had tattoos. We started dressing differently. We felt younger, we looked younger, and we felt more in love than ever. I bought Tim an electric guitar for Father's Day, as I'd remembered he was in a band in high school. He relished it, and I encouraged him to join a band to "blow off steam" from the stress of his job. I started walking, then running, and I dropped 20 pounds I didn't realize I'd gained. I got a new hairstylist and cut and colored my hair shades of purple and pink. We felt alive and happy, and thankfully, our kids loved the changes in us. I was still the devoted mom, and Tim the busy executive, but something exciting was happening.
Tim got us 11th row seats to see Green Day when they came to Fresno. We've been to a hundred concerts, but this one was like none other. To see Billie Joe Armstrong and his two best friends, in the flesh, for over 3 hours, I felt like I'd been baptized. It was a magical night, one I'll never forget. (Tim even got us Meet-and-Greet backstage passes, but Billie Joe didn't show; the drummer Tre Cool did but we couldn't get near him. Damn!) We weren't alone in our passion for this record album. It has sold 14 million copies world-wide, and subsequently won nearly 25 awards, ranging from best album, to best singles ("American Idiot", "Boulevard of Broken Dreams", "When September Ends"), to best rock band. Clearly, the Oakland-based trio touched a nerve in our collective consciousness.
*******
The lead singer of Tim's band couldn't make it to practice one night, and the bass player asked me to sit in for him since I knew all the songs. Without the pressure of being an actual band member, I hammed it up and belted out the songs as if it were Karaoke night at the local tavern. The band was so impressed with me, we actually formed a new band with me as lead singer! And for the next year and a half, we performed many times in local clubs and even recorded a demo CD. Every performance was an opportunity to honor my hero's music. How lucky was I to be singing Green Day's music?! It was always thrilling to stand up there and cover their songs. In all, we sing about 20, and Tim's always working on more.
The St. James Theatre on Broadway is a beautiful theater, with balcony seating and deep plush plum seats; much like you'd expect. One huge difference was the crowd. Many were young people, dressed in skinny jeans and studded belts and multi-colored hair and piercings. Many were your average middle-aged Mom and Brad. It was a packed house.
From where we were sitting, it turned out that Billie Joe spent much of his time onstage literally 15 feet away. He was so close, but I couldn't take a picture of him! (NOT allowed. I got yelled at for taking pictures of the theater before the curtain even went up. I didn't want to chance getting thrown out.....or did I? It was a hard decision...) He looked like Beetlejuice, his long hair gelled standing straight up. He had on his famous black jeans and studded belt and chains; a black T-shirt with a white suitcoat with black hanky in the front pocket. He was thin and good-looking, and belted out the songs while acting out the role of St. Jimmy, a kind of devil-on-your-shoulder character to the lead role of Johnny played by John Gallagher, Jr., an amazing talent who sang lead to most of the Green Day album with as much snark and snarl and tenderness as Billie did on the album. The whole cast sang along to various songs; it was a collaborative effort of dancing and singing the album straight through, just as I had listened to it that very day I brought it home with me from Best Buy. Tim and I were blown away.
Watching the actors and listening to the words of the songs I know so well, I was aware that I was learning what "American Idiot" meant to my hero, Billie Joe Armstrong. Those were words he'd written, music he'd written, painstakingly and lovingly created by that five-foot-nine man standing right there. The chords and melodies and words that cried out to me were his, and the play was basically his heart, outside of his body. "American Idiot" is a complicated story of a young man who is trying to find himself amidst the chaos of 9/11 and the war in Iraq. He uses drugs to numb the pain. He falls in love; she gives him an ultimatum. He sees his best friends go off to war, one loses his leg. He tries to conform, but where is the meaning in it all? The play exposes not only Billie Joe's contempt for our governments' reaction to 9/11 but our own.
As the character Johnny stumbles and finds his way, I realize that we all have our own journey of self-discovery. We all have our own story to tell. We all were once idealistic teenagers, and some of us conformed and became good citizens, while suppressing our rage at the same time for the establishment. Many of us are lucky to have found a balance between being wicked and being good, and being happy.
We can't just sit around and party forever--sooner or later we all have to grow up and be functional members of society. The people we hang around with help us achieve our goals or get in the way; we all have tough choices to make.
Green Day took their record and in transforming it into a play, it became a better version of itself. Just like the album did for me. Thank you, Billie Joe, and thank you my dear Timmy. I will be forever grateful.
Five years later, Jennifer was born, and the children's music played on. And on. And on. Everything I listened to and watched for at least a decade was rated G. Whatever the kids wanted, I obliged. It never really occurred to me to listen to rock music, although when I was pregnant with the kids, I always put earphones to my belly and pumped in Pearl Jam, Van Halen, Mozart and Beethoven to expose them early. I do remember hearing, "Longview" once with the kids in the car, and my "mommy arm" over-extended faster than a lightning flash to grab the volume control to turn down the "bad" words.
Things changed slowly when Ian started kindergarten. Suddenly I had only one child at home, and often, Jennifer fell asleep in her car seat to various "Disney Princess" tunes. I mostly listened to the Jewish-motherly advice of Dr. Laura, as her show seemed to resonate with my own values at the time. Flash-forward to 2005, with a now-10 year-old and 6-year old, who had grown annoyed with "baby" music. I was sooo thankful, because to this day, Tim and I STILL know all the words to the "I Love You" song sung by the purple dinosaur himself.
*******
It was during this period of my mommy-hood that for the first time, I had two kids in school full-time. I was lost at first, didn't know WHAT to do with myself all day. It's funny how when your kids are babies, you fantasize about this over and over during those awful all-nighters, the sick days, the long bouts of crying (the babies' as well). The last person I wanted to listen to was Dr. Laura--this was MY time and kid-friendly shows were off-limits! I was lucky I didn't have to work--my wonderful husband Tim worked so I could stay home with the kids. Here was my reward for 10 years with no day off---weekdays to myself, from 8 am to 3 pm. What was my role now? Who was I without children clinging to me all day long? My life revolved primarily around them. I volunteered at their school, and I was there as much as they were. I was probably a little frumpy, and I know I wasn't into running then. I think I'd pretty much put myself on the back burner, as many moms do. But I relished uninterrupted hot showers, the occasional lunch or Starbucks with a friend, along with the laundry and housecleaning and grocery shopping. No one knocked on my bathroom door yelling, "MOMMY!!" It was phenomenally freeing.
Not having children in the car for a few hours a day was like serendipity. I could listen to all the bad words I wanted to! Yay! I didn't have to explain myself, I didn't have to talk to anyone. I could just sing along to whatever station I wanted to listen to. No mommy guilt. It felt weird. It felt good. It was during this time that I was driving alone, probably running mommy errands, when a song came on that made me stop and pay attention. The haunting guitar chords and sexy-voiced male lead beckoned to me. I had goosebumps. My heart was pounding as if I'd had a religious experience. Much like love-at-first-sight. "My shadow's the only one that walks beside me, my shallow heart's the only thing that's beating, sometimes I wish someone out there will find me, till then I walk alone...." I had tingles.. When the song ended, I gripped the steering wheel, praying the DJ would say the name of the song and band. Sure enough, he did. It was "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by, yes, Green Day. I felt a little ashamed I didn't recognize the band, but hey, 10 years of "Barney" and "Mickey Mouse" convoluted my musical perspective.
I had to have the album, "American Idiot". I immediately drove to Best Buy and bought two copies, a CD for me and one for Tim, so he could listen to it driving back and forth to work. Somehow, it spoke to us. I listened to it beginning to end, straight through, never stopping. I listened intently to each song, one after another, the way a mother listens to her new baby breathe--you're so mesmerized you can't pull yourself away. "Wake Me When September Ends" gave me more goosebumps and I KNEW it was going to be a huge hit post-9/11. Song after song, somehow, it spoke to me. "Jesus of Suburbia" was mind-blowing. Sometimes it takes a little kick in the behind to jolt us out of our stupor, even if it's a happy stupor. I didn't realize something was missing from my life, but the song slapped me in the face and woke up something inside of me.
The most fun part of my transformation was that it was happening to Tim, too.
*******I don't remember how it happened, but before I knew it, Tim and I had tattoos. We started dressing differently. We felt younger, we looked younger, and we felt more in love than ever. I bought Tim an electric guitar for Father's Day, as I'd remembered he was in a band in high school. He relished it, and I encouraged him to join a band to "blow off steam" from the stress of his job. I started walking, then running, and I dropped 20 pounds I didn't realize I'd gained. I got a new hairstylist and cut and colored my hair shades of purple and pink. We felt alive and happy, and thankfully, our kids loved the changes in us. I was still the devoted mom, and Tim the busy executive, but something exciting was happening.
Tim got us 11th row seats to see Green Day when they came to Fresno. We've been to a hundred concerts, but this one was like none other. To see Billie Joe Armstrong and his two best friends, in the flesh, for over 3 hours, I felt like I'd been baptized. It was a magical night, one I'll never forget. (Tim even got us Meet-and-Greet backstage passes, but Billie Joe didn't show; the drummer Tre Cool did but we couldn't get near him. Damn!) We weren't alone in our passion for this record album. It has sold 14 million copies world-wide, and subsequently won nearly 25 awards, ranging from best album, to best singles ("American Idiot", "Boulevard of Broken Dreams", "When September Ends"), to best rock band. Clearly, the Oakland-based trio touched a nerve in our collective consciousness.
*******
The lead singer of Tim's band couldn't make it to practice one night, and the bass player asked me to sit in for him since I knew all the songs. Without the pressure of being an actual band member, I hammed it up and belted out the songs as if it were Karaoke night at the local tavern. The band was so impressed with me, we actually formed a new band with me as lead singer! And for the next year and a half, we performed many times in local clubs and even recorded a demo CD. Every performance was an opportunity to honor my hero's music. How lucky was I to be singing Green Day's music?! It was always thrilling to stand up there and cover their songs. In all, we sing about 20, and Tim's always working on more.
Never having been to a Broadway play, and never having been to New York City, I really didn't know what to expect from "American Idiot" the play. My wonderful husband of nearly 17 years surprised me with 3rd row orchestra seats as my 50th birthday present! I screamed even louder when he told me Billie Joe was in it as the character, "St. Jimmy". To say I was excited would be an extreme understatement.
The St. James Theatre on Broadway is a beautiful theater, with balcony seating and deep plush plum seats; much like you'd expect. One huge difference was the crowd. Many were young people, dressed in skinny jeans and studded belts and multi-colored hair and piercings. Many were your average middle-aged Mom and Brad. It was a packed house.
From where we were sitting, it turned out that Billie Joe spent much of his time onstage literally 15 feet away. He was so close, but I couldn't take a picture of him! (NOT allowed. I got yelled at for taking pictures of the theater before the curtain even went up. I didn't want to chance getting thrown out.....or did I? It was a hard decision...) He looked like Beetlejuice, his long hair gelled standing straight up. He had on his famous black jeans and studded belt and chains; a black T-shirt with a white suitcoat with black hanky in the front pocket. He was thin and good-looking, and belted out the songs while acting out the role of St. Jimmy, a kind of devil-on-your-shoulder character to the lead role of Johnny played by John Gallagher, Jr., an amazing talent who sang lead to most of the Green Day album with as much snark and snarl and tenderness as Billie did on the album. The whole cast sang along to various songs; it was a collaborative effort of dancing and singing the album straight through, just as I had listened to it that very day I brought it home with me from Best Buy. Tim and I were blown away.
Watching the actors and listening to the words of the songs I know so well, I was aware that I was learning what "American Idiot" meant to my hero, Billie Joe Armstrong. Those were words he'd written, music he'd written, painstakingly and lovingly created by that five-foot-nine man standing right there. The chords and melodies and words that cried out to me were his, and the play was basically his heart, outside of his body. "American Idiot" is a complicated story of a young man who is trying to find himself amidst the chaos of 9/11 and the war in Iraq. He uses drugs to numb the pain. He falls in love; she gives him an ultimatum. He sees his best friends go off to war, one loses his leg. He tries to conform, but where is the meaning in it all? The play exposes not only Billie Joe's contempt for our governments' reaction to 9/11 but our own.
As the character Johnny stumbles and finds his way, I realize that we all have our own journey of self-discovery. We all have our own story to tell. We all were once idealistic teenagers, and some of us conformed and became good citizens, while suppressing our rage at the same time for the establishment. Many of us are lucky to have found a balance between being wicked and being good, and being happy.
We can't just sit around and party forever--sooner or later we all have to grow up and be functional members of society. The people we hang around with help us achieve our goals or get in the way; we all have tough choices to make.
Green Day took their record and in transforming it into a play, it became a better version of itself. Just like the album did for me. Thank you, Billie Joe, and thank you my dear Timmy. I will be forever grateful.
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